THE
BRAVE ENGLISH
SOULDIERS RESOLUTION.
|
ROuse up my Muse, arise thou silly Girle
|
Like a brave Amazon come crisp and curle
|
Thy Locks, tune up thy voice, sound an alarm,
|
Alarm, alarm, stout hearts, brave Souldiers arme;
|
What shall the drunken Dutchmen brave it thus;
|
They scorn to stoop, they say, what stoop to us!
|
They swear they'l never do't; the Belg'an Land
|
Shall flourish still, and bear a free command
|
Over her Natives all the narrow Seas:
|
In them they'l sail, in them, if so they please,
|
They'l fish and never ask King Charles his leave;
|
Nor shall he more his Rent therefore receive.
|
Courage brave English hearts, what can you hear
|
Such words stout hearts, what can you bear
|
Such taunts, proud Belgians vaunting out their threats
|
What they will do if crost, what goodly feats
|
Perform. Hold Dutchmen, hold, enough y' have spoke,
|
We'l give no time to act, your words provoke
|
Us to your cost you'l find: See, see, how fast we arm,
|
Saint George for England is; his Sword shall charm
|
Your roaving tongues to sing another Song;
|
It shall you teach 't shall not be very long
|
Ere that of Amsterdam, the Lords for peace
|
To Charles shall sue, using such words as these,
|
We the Distressed States of Netherlands
|
Humbly thee beg that thy Victorious bands
|
Thou wilt withdraw, we smarted have full sore
|
For our offence; Oh let thy Sword no more
|
Destroy we pray; how easily revenge
|
Thyself thou canst, thy Armies that do range
|
Without controule over the Belg'an soile,
|
Which raze our Walls, which do our Cities spoil;
|
Do plainly show those that thy conqu'ring Sword
|
Hath left unslain, let by thy gracious word
|
Preserved be for th' future, we profess
|
Ourselves thy leige-men true, we'l nere transgress
|
Against the peace which in thy Royalty
|
Thou shalt us grant for Hostages let ly,
|
What thou'lt require we proffer all our Land,
|
Cities and Cittadels at thy command.
|
Till then our Fortunes all we do suspend,
|
Forgeting all concerns, but this we bend
|
Our utmost force for Royal Charles his sake,
|
Nor of our dearest blood such care we'l take
|
As of our Kings renown; for him we'l fight,
|
We'l watch, we'l ward, we'l march by day or night;
|
As cause requires, we'l serve by Sea or Land;
|
Nor grudge the toile since under thy command,
|
Great Albemarle, Englands stout General,
|
By whose great Deeds 'gainst foes Domestical;
|
All English souls have no small cause to sing,
|
We now enjoy our lives, our laws, our King.
|
Go on brave Duke, make Forreign foes confess
|
Unto their cost they find thou art no less,
|
Than Valours abstract, fortunes favourite,
|
The most invincible Heroick wight.
|
My Muse hath vow'd, so have the Virgins nine
|
Engag'd by Oath a Panegerick line,
|
To each thy famous deed Parnassus hill
|
Shall sound, resound with songs thy praise shall fill
|
Heavens spacious Vaults, the Starry sphear
|
Shall env'ous be when it thy fame shall hear.
|
|
|
|
|
|