Three tire of Cannon lodg'd on eyther side,
And in each tire, eleuen stronglie lay,
Eyght in her chase, that shot forth right did bide,
And in her sterne, twice eight that howerlie play;
Shee lesse great shot, in infinets did hide,
All which were Agents for a dismall day.
But poore Reuenge, lesse rich, and not so great,
Aunswered her cuffe for cuffe, and threat for threat.
Anon they graple eyther to the other,
And doth the ban-dogge with the Martins skinne;
And then the wombe of Phillip did vncouer,
Eight hundred Souldiers, which the fight beginne:
These board Sir Richard, and with thronging smother
The daye, the ayre, the time, and neuer linne,
But by their entrance did instruct eight more,
To doe the like, on each side foure and foure.
Thus in one moment was our Knight assaild,
With one huge Argosie, and eight great ships,
But all in vaine, their powers naught prevaild,
For the Reuenge, her Canon loud-dogs slips,
Whose bruzing teeth, so much the Phillip quaild,
That foundring in the greedie maine, he dips
His damned bodie in his watrie tombe,
Wrapt with dishonour in the Oceans wombe.
The other eight, fighting, were likewise foild,
And driuen perforce vnto a vile retraite,
None durst abide, but all with shame recoild,
Whilst Valures selfe, set Grinuile in her seate;
Onely Don Luis Saint Iohn, seeing spoild,
His Countries honour by this strange defaite,
Single encountred Grinuile in the fight,
Who quicklie sent his soule to endlesse night.
George de Prunaria, a Spanish Knight,
Euer held valiant in dispight of fate,
Seconded Luis, and with mortall might,
Writ on Sir Richards target souldiers hate,
Till Grinuile wakned with his loud rung fight,
Dispatcht his soules course vnto Plutos gate:
And after these two, sent in post all those
Which came within his mercie or his blowes.
By this, the sunne had spread his golden locks,
Vpon the pale green carpet of the sea,
And opned wide the scarlet dore which locks
The easefull euening from the labouring day;
Now Night began to leape from iron Rocks,
And whip her rustie wagon through the way,
Whilst all the Spanish host stoode maz'd in sight,
None darring to assayle a second fight.
When Don Alfonso, Generall of the warre,
Saw all his Nauie with one ship controld,
He toare his hayre, and loudlie cryd from farre,
For honour Spanyards, and for shame be bold;
Awaken Vertue, say her slumbers marre
Iberias auncient valure, and infold
Her wondred puissance, and her glorious deeds,
In cowards habit, and ignoble weeds.
Fie, that the spyrit of a single man,
Should contradict innumerable wills,
Fie, that infinitiues of forces can,
Nor may effect what one conceit fulfills;
Woe to the wombe, ceaselesse the teats I ban,
That cherrisht life, which all our liues ioyes kills;
Woe to our selues, our fortunes, and our minds,
Agast and scarrd, with whistling of the winds.
See how he triumphes in dispight of death,
Promethean like, laden with liuing fier,
And in his glorie spits disdainfull breath,
Loathing the baseness of our backe retire;
Euen now me thinke in our disgrace he saith,
Foes to your fames, why make you Fate a lyer,
When heauen and she haue giuen into your hand,
What all the world can neuer back demand?
Say that the God of Warre; Father of Chiualrie,
The Worthies, Heroes, all fam'd Conquerours,
Centaurs, Gyants, victorious Victorie,
Were all this Grinuils hart-sworne paramours.
Yet should we fightlesse let our shyps force flie:
Well might we crush his keele with rocklike powers,
And him with them ore-whelme into the maine,
Courage then harts, fetch honour backe againe.