The Storm. An Essay.

He pity'd Her to whom he left the Crown:
Foreseeing long and vig'rous Wars,
Foreseeing endless, private, Party Jarrs,
Would always interrupt Her Rest,
And fill with Anxious Cares Her Royal Breast.90
For Storms of Court Ambition rage as high
Almost as Tempests in the Sky.

Could I my hasty Doom retrieve,
And once more in the Land of Poets live,
I'd now the Men of Flags and Fortune greet,
And write an Elegy upon the Fleet.
First, those that on the Shore were idly found,
Whom other Fate protects, while better Men were drown'd,
They may thank God for being Knaves on Shore,
But sure the Q – will never trust them more.100

They who rid out the Storm, and liv'd,
But saw not whence it was deriv'd,
Sensless of Danger, or the mighty Hand,
That could to cease, as well as blow, command,
Let such unthinking Creatures have a Care,
For some worse End prepare.
Let them look out for some such Day,
When what the Sea would not, the Gallows may.

Those that in former Dangers shunn'd the Fight,
But met their Ends in this Disast'rous Night,110
Have left this Caution, tho' too late,
That all Events are known to Fate.
Cowards avoid no Danger when they run,
And Courage scapes the Death it would not shun;
'Tis Nonsence from our Fate to fly,
All Men must once have Heart enough to die.

Those Sons of Plunder are below my Pen,
Because they are below the Names of Men;
Who from the Shores presenting to their Eyes
The Fatal Goodwin, where the Wreck of Navies Lyes,120
A thousand dying Saylors talking to the Skies.
From the sad Shores they saw the Wretches walk,
By Signals of Distress they talk;
There with one Tide of Life they're vext,
For all were sure to die the next.
The Barbarous Shores with Men and Boats abound,
The Men more Barbarous than the Shores are found;
Off to the shatter'd Ships they go,
And for the Floating Purchase Row.
They spare no Hazard, or no Pain,130
But 'tis to save the Goods, and not the Men.
Within the sinking Supplaints Reach appear,
As if they'd mock their dying Fear.
Then for some Trifle all their Hopes supplant,
With Cruelty would make a Turk relent.

If I had any Satyr left to write,
Cou'd I with suited Spleen Indite,
My Verse should blast that Fatal Town,
And Drowned Saylors Widows pull it down;
No Footsteps of it should appear,140
And Ships no more Cast Anchor there.
The Barbarous Hated Name of Deal shou'd die,
Or be a Term of Infamy;
And till that's done, the Town will stand
A just Reproach to all the Land.

The Ships come next to be my Theme,
The Men's the Loss, I'm not concern'd for them;
For had they perish'd e'er they went,
Where to no Purpose they were sent,
The Ships might ha' been built again,150
And we had sav'd the Money and the Men.
There the Mighty Wrecks appear,
Hic Jacent, Useless Things of War.
Graves of Men, and Tools of State,
There you lye too soon, there you lye too late.
But O ye Mighty Ships of War!
What in Winter did you there?
Wild November should our Ships restore
To Chatham, Portsmouth, and the Nore,
So it was always heretofore,160
For Heaven it self is not unkind,
If Winter Storms he'll sometimes send,
Since 'tis suppos'd the Men of War
Are all laid up, and left secure.

Nor did our Navy feell alone,
The dreadful Desolation;
It shook the Walls of Flesh as well as Stone,
And ruffl'd all the Nation.
The Universal Fright
Made Guilty H — expect his Fatal Night;170
His harden'd Soul began to doubt,
And Storms grew high within, as they grew high without.

Flaming Meteors fill'd the Air,
But Asgil miss'd his Fiery Chariot there;
Recall'd his black blaspheming Breath,
And trembling paid his Homage unto Death.