The satirist, now thoroughly warmed to his congenial task, continues:—­

      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 sees 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.

So much for the conquest of Neptune, which in another nation were a laudable enough enterprise.  Marvell then passes on to the national religion and the heterogeneity of Amsterdam:—­

      ’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-baptize. 
    Though Herring for their God few voices mist,
    And Poor-John to have been th’ Evangelist,
    Faith, that could never twins conceive before,
    Never so fertile, spawn’d upon this shore
    More pregnant than their Marg’ret, that laid down
    For Hans-in-Kelder of a whole Hans-Town. 
      Sure when Religion did itself 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 ourselves we bear;
    The universal Church is only 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 subject bores! 
      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.

There is something rather splendid in the attitude of a man who can take a whole nation as his butt and bend every circumstance to his purpose of ridicule and attack.  Our satirists to-day are contented to pillory individuals or possibly a sect or clique.  Marvell’s enjoyment in his own exuberance and ingenuity is so apparent and infectious that it matters nothing to us whether he was fair or unfair.

The end is inconclusive, being a happy recollection that he had omitted any reference to stoofjes, the footstools filled with burning peat which are used to keep the feet warm in church.  Such a custom was of course not less reprehensible than the building of dykes to keep out the sea.  Hence these eight lines, which, however, would have come better earlier in the poem:—­