129 Their open’d sides receive a gloomy light,
       Dreadful as day let into shades below: 
     Without, grim Death rides barefaced in their sight,
       And urges entering billows as they flow.

 130 When one dire shot, the last they could supply,
       Close by the board the prince’s mainmast bore: 
     All three now helpless by each other lie,
       And this offends not, and those fear no more.

 131 So have I seen some fearful hare maintain
       A course, till tired before the dog she lay: 
     Who, stretch’d behind her, pants upon the plain,
       Past power to kill, as she to get away.

 132 With his loll’d tongue he faintly licks his prey;
       His warm breath blows her flix[44] up as she lies;
     She trembling creeps upon the ground away,
       And looks back to him with beseeching eyes.

 133 The prince unjustly does his stars accuse,
       Which hinder’d him to push his fortune on;
     For what they to his courage did refuse,
       By mortal valour never must be done.

 134 This lucky hour the wise Batavian takes,
       And warns his tatter’d fleet to follow home;
     Proud to have so got off with equal stakes,
       Where ’twas a triumph not to be o’ercome.

 135 The general’s force, as kept alive by fight,
       Now not opposed, no longer can pursue: 
     Lasting till heaven had done his courage right;
       When he had conquer’d he his weakness knew.

 136 He casts a frown on the departing foe,
       And sighs to see him quit the watery field: 
     His stern fix’d eyes no satisfaction show,
       For all the glories which the fight did yield.

 137 Though, as when fiends did miracles avow,
       He stands confess’d e’en by the boastful Dutch: 
     He only does his conquest disavow,
       And thinks too little what they found too much.

 138 Return’d, he with the fleet resolved to stay;
       No tender thoughts of home his heart divide;
     Domestic joys and cares he puts away;
       For realms are households which the great must guide.

 139 As those who unripe veins in mines explore,
       On the rich bed again the warm turf lay,
     Till time digests the yet imperfect ore,
       And know it will be gold another day: 

 140 So looks our monarch on this early fight,
       Th’ essay and rudiments of great success;
     Which all-maturing time must bring to light,
       While he, like Heaven, does each day’s labour bless.

 141 Heaven ended not the first or second day,
       Yet each was perfect to the work design’d;
     God and king’s work, when they their work survey,
       A passive aptness in all subjects find.

 142 In burden’d vessels first, with speedy care,
       His plenteous stores do seasoned timber send;
     Thither the brawny carpenters repair,
       And as the surgeons of maim’d ships attend.