The Character of Holland
- Holland, that scarce deserves the name of Land,
- As but th'Off-scouring of the Brittish Sand;
- And so much Earth as was contributed
- By English Pilots when they heav'd the Lead;
- Or what by th' Oceans slow alluvion fell,
- Of shipwrackt Cockle and the Muscle-shell;
- This indigested vomit of the Sea
- Fell to the Dutch by just Propriety.
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- Glad then, as Miners that have found the Oar,
- They with mad labour fish'd the Land to Shoar;
- And div'd as desperately for each piece
- Of Earth, as if't had been of Ambergreece;
- Collecting anxiously small Loads of Clay,
- Less then what building Swallows bear away;
- Transfursing into them their Dunghil Soul.
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- How did they rivet, with Gigantick Piles,
- Thorough the Center their new-catched Miles;
- And to the stake a strugling Country bound,
- Where barking Waves still bait the forced Ground;
- Building their watry Babel far more high
- To reach the Sea, then those to scale the Sky.
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- Yet still his claim the Injur'd Ocean laid,
- And oft at Leap-frog ore their Steeples plaid:
- As if on purpose it on Land had come
- To shew them what's their Mare Liberum.
- A daily deluge over them does boyl;
- The Earth and Water play at Level-coyl;
- The Fish oft-times the Burger dispossest,
- And sat not as a Meat but as a Guest;
- And oft the Tritons and the Sea-Nymphs saw
- Whole sholes of Dutch serv'd up for Cabillan;
- Or as they over the new Level rang'd
- For pickled Herring, pickled Heeren chang'd.
- Nature, it seem'd, asham'd of her mistake,
- Would throw their land away at Duck and Drake.
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- Therefore Necessity, that first made Kings,
- Something like Government among them brings.
- For as with Pygmees who best kills the Crane,
- Among the hungry he that treasures Grain,
- Among the blind the one-ey'd blinkard reigns,
- So rules among the drowned he that draines.
- Not who first see the rising Sun commands,
- But who could first discern the rising Lands.
- Who best could know to pump an Earth so leak
- Him they their Lord and Country's Father speak.
- To make a Bank was a great Plot of State;
- Invent a Shov'l and be a Magistrate.
- Hence some small Dyke-grave unperceiv'd invades
- The Pow'r, and grows as 'twere a King of Spades.
- But for less envy some Joynt States endures,
- Who look like a Commission of the Sewers.
- For these Half-anders, half wet, and half dry,
- Nor bear strict service, nor pure Liberty.
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- 'Tis probable Religion after this
- Came next in order; which they could not miss.
- How could the Dutch but be converted, when
- Th' Apostles were so many Fishermen?
- Besides the Waters of themselves did rise,
- And, as their Land, so them did re-baptise.
- Though Herring for their God few voices mist,
- And Poor-John to have been th' Evangelist.
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- Faith, that could never Twins conceive before,
- Never so fertile, spawn'd upon this shore:
- More pregnant then their Marg'ret, that laid down
- For Hans-in-Kelder of a whole Hans-Town.
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- Sure when Religion did it self imbark,
- And from the east would Westward steer its Ark,
- It struck, and splitting on this unknown ground,
- Each one thence pillag'd the first piece he found:
- Hence Amsterdam, Turk-Christian-Pagan-Jew,
- Staple of Sects and Mint of Schisme grew;
- That Bank of Conscience, where not one so strange
- Opinion but finds Credit, and Exchange.
- In vain for Catholicks our selves we bear;
- The Universal Church is onely there.
- Nor can Civility there want for Tillage,
- Where wisely for their Court they chose a Village.
- How fit a Title clothes their Governours,
- Themselves the Hogs as all their Subjects Bores
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- Let it suffice to give their Country Fame
- That it had one Civilis call'd by Name,
- Some Fifteen hundred and more years ago,
- But surely never any that was so.
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- See but their Mairmaids with their Tails of Fish,
- Reeking at Church over the Chafing-Dish.
- A vestal Turf enshrin'd in Earthen Ware
- Fumes through the loop-holes of wooden Square.
- Each to the Temple with these Altars tend,
- But still does place it at her Western End:
- While the fat steam of Female Sacrifice
- Fills the Priests Nostrils and puts out his Eyes.
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- Or what a Spectacle the Skipper gross,
- A Water-Hercules Butter-Coloss,
- Tunn'd up with all their sev'ral Towns of Beer;
- When Stagg'ring upon some Land, Snick and Sneer,
- They try, like Statuaries, if they can,
- Cut out each others Athos to a Man:
- And carve in their large Bodies, where they please,
- The Armes of the United Provinces.
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- But when such Amity at home is show'd;
- What then are their confederacies abroad?
- Let this one court'sie witness all the rest;
- When their hole Navy they together prest,
- Not Christian Captives to redeem from Bands:
- Or intercept the Western golden Sands:
- No, but all ancient Rights and Leagues must vail,
- Rather then to the English strike their sail;
- to whom their weather-beaten Province ows
- It self, when as some greater Vessal tows
- A Cock-boat tost with the same wind and fate;
- We buoy'd so often up their Sinking State.
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- Was this Jus Belli & Pacis; could this be
- Cause why their Burgomaster of the Sea
- Ram'd with Gun-powder, flaming with Brand wine,
- Should raging hold his Linstock to the Mine?
- While, with feign'd Treaties, they invade by stealth
- Our sore new circumcised Common wealth.
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- Yet of his vain Attempt no more he sees
- Then of Case-Butter shot and Bullet-Cheese.
- And the torn Navy stagger'd with him home,
- While the Sea laught it self into a foam,
- 'Tis true since that (as fortune kindly sports,)
- A wholesome Danger drove us to our ports.
- While half their banish'd keels the Tempest tost,
- Half bound at home in Prison to the frost:
- That ours mean time at leisure might careen,
- In a calm Winter, under Skies Serene.
- As the obsequious Air and waters rest,
- Till the dear Halcyon hatch out all its nest.
- The Common wealth doth by its losses grow;
- And, like its own Seas, only Ebbs to flow.
- Besides that very Agitation laves,
- And purges out the corruptible waves.
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- And now again our armed Bucentore
- Doth yearly their Sea-Nuptials restore.
- And how the Hydra of seaven Provinces
- Is strangled by our Infant Hercules.
- Their Tortoise wants its vainly stretched neck;
- Their Navy all our Conquest or our Wreck:
- Or, what is left, their Carthage overcome
- Would render fain unto our better Rome.
- Unless our Senate, lest their Youth disuse,
- The War, (but who would) Peace if begg'd refuse.
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- For now of nothing may our State despair,
- Darling of Heaven, and of Men the Care;
- Provided that they be what they have been,
- Watchful abroad, and honest still within.
- For while our Neptune doth a Trident shake, Blake,
- Steel'd with those piercing Heads, Dean, Monck and
- And while Jove governs in the highest Sphere,
- Vainly in Hell let Pluto domineer.
1653.
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