Heere shame, the fretting canker of the mind,
That fiers the face with fuell from the hart,
Fearing his weapons weakenes, eft assigned
To desperate hardines his confounding dart,
And now the Spanyards made through words stone blind,
Desperate by shame, ashamd dispaire should part,
Like damned scritchowles, chimes to dead mens hours,
Make vowes to fight, till fight all liues deuours.
And now the tragicke sceane of death begins,
Acts of the night, deeds of the ouglie darke,
When Furies brands gaue light to furious sins,
And gastlie silence gaping wounds did marke;
Sing sadlie then my Muse (teares pittie wins)
Yet mount thy wings beyond the mornings Larke,
And wanting thunder, with thy lightnings might,
Split cares that heares the dole of this sad night.
The fier of Spaynes pride, quencht by Grinuils sword,
Alfonso rekindles with his tong,
And sets a batelesse edge, ground by his word
Vpon their blunt harts feebled by the strong,
Loe animated now, they all accord,
To die, or ende deaths conflict held so long;
And thus resolud, too greedelie assay
His death, like hounds that hold the Hart at bay.
Blacker then night, more terrible then hell,
Louder then thunder, sharper then Phoebus steele,
Vnder whose wounds the ouglie Python fell,
Were bullets mantles, clowding the haplesse keele,
The slaughtered cryes, the words the cannons tell,
And those which make euen rocky Mountaines reele,
And thicker then in sunne are Atomies,
Flew bullets, fier, and slaughtered dead mens cries.
At this remorsles Dirgie for the dead,
The siluer Moone, dread Soueraigne of the Deepe,
That with the floods fills vp her horned head
And by her waine the wayning ebbs doth keepe:
Taught by the Fat's how destenie was led,
Bidds all the starres pull in their beames and weepe:
For twas vnfit, chast hallowed eyes should see
Honour confounded by impietie.
Then to the night she giues all soueraigne power,
Th'eternall mourner for the dayes diuorce,
Who drowned in her owne harts killing shower,
Viewes others torments with a sad remorse.
This flintie Princesse, ayme cryes to the hower,
On which to looke, kinde eies no force could force.
And yet the sight her dull hart so offended,
That from her sight a fogge dewe descended.
Now on our Knight, raines yron, sword, and fiers,
Iron wrapt in smoke, sword bath'd in smoking blood,
Fiers, furies king, in blood and smoke aspires
The consumation of all liuing good,
Yet Grinuile, with like Agents like expires
His foemen's darts, and euermore withstood
Th'assaults of death, and ruins of the warre,
Hoping the splendour of some luckie starre.
On eyther side him, still two Gallions lay,
Which with continuall boardings nurst the fight,
Two great Armados, howrelie ploy'd their way,
And by assaulte, made knowne repellesse might.
Those which could not come neere vnto the fray,
Aloose dicharg'd their volleys gainst our Knight.
And when that one shrunk back, beat with disgrace,
An other instantly supply'd the place.
So that their resting, restlesse him containd,
And theyr supplies, deny'd him to supply:
The Hydra of their mightines ordaind
New spoile for death, when old did wounded lie:
But hee, Herculian-like one state retaind,
One to triumph, or one for all to die.
Heauen had onelie lent him but one hart,
That hart one thought, that thought no feare of smart.
And now the night grew neere her middle line,
Youthfully lustie in her strongest age,
When one of Spaynes great Gallions did repine,
That one should many vnto death ingage,
And therefore with her force, halfe held diuine,
At once euaporates her mortall rage,
Till powerfull Grinuille, yeelding power a toombe
Splyt her, & sunck her in the salt waves wombe.