Of these swift Messengers, they just now sent,
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Whirling through the amazed Element:
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May the sure Bullets, they (like Spiders) spun
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From their own bowels, prove destruction.
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And never from their bellies let um go
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But into those of the capacious Foe.
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Then may the Guns, as though theyd Victory got,
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With a great shout applaud the lucky shot.
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May the great cloud of Smoak be, while they fight,
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To our men Day, to those Egiptians Night.
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And when our Ships laden with Fire and Death,
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Directed by some Winds auspicious breath.
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Shall catch their perjurd Hulks, may they enlarge
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Whatever is committed to their charge.
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Chains, Bullets, Fire, and whatsoever else kills.
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As though they were Pandoras box of Ills.
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Let those ambitious Semeles of theirs
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Dye i th embraces of our Thunderers.
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Let nere a drunken Bacchus of them fly,
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For safety to the shelter of Joves thigh.
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May our great Admiral still Victorious prove,
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Assisted by the Almighty Power above.
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Let wild-Fire from his Guns so swiftly fly,
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As if had borrowd lightning from the Sky.
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And if from theirs any attaque his Ship,
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Let it like lambent Meteors harmless skip,
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And on his Sails a lucky Castor be,
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A certain token of Prosperity.
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Whilst ore the Dutch-men to inhaunce their fears,
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Nothing but Hellens boading Torch appears.
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And when great York from Sea returns again,
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May Squadrons of Dutch-Ships augment his train.
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Let Captive Holland into England come,
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And Conquering England into Holland roam.
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