Dutch War. As poetry the lines have no great merit; they do not even
jingle agreeably--but they are full of the spirit of the time, and
breathe forth that "envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness"
which are apt to be such large ingredients in the compound we call
"patriotism." They begin thus:--

"Holland, that scarce deserves the name of land,
As but the off-scouring of the British sand,
And so much earth as was contributed
By English pilots when they heaved the lead,
Or what by the ocean's slow alluvion feel
Of shipwrecked cockle and the muscle-shell,--
This indigested vomit of the sea
Fell to the Dutch by just propriety."

The gallant struggle to secure their country from the sea is made the
subject of curious banter:--

"How did they rivet with gigantic piles,
Thorough the centre their new-catched miles,
And to the stake a struggling country bound,
Where barking waves still bait the forced ground,
Building their watery Babel far more high,
To reach the sea, than those to scale the sky!
Yet still his claim the injured ocean laid,
And oft at leap-frog o'er their steeples played,
As if on purpose it on land had come
To show them what's their _mare liberum_.
A daily deluge over them does boil;
The earth and water play at level coil.