Maister, he sayes, euen heers the opned dore,
Through which my spirit bridgroome like must ride,
(And then he bar'd his wounded brest all gore)
To court the blessed virgine Lambe his bride,
Whose innocence the worlds afflictions bore,
Streaming diuine blood from his sliced side,
And to that heauen my soule with courage flyes,
Because vnconquered, conquering it dyes.
But yet, replyed the Maister once againe,
Great vertue of our vertues, strive with fate,
Yeeld not a minute vnto death, retaine
Life like thy glory, made to wonder at.
This wounds recouerie well may entertaine
A double triumph to thy conquering state,
And make thee liue immortall Angell blest,
Pleaseth thee suffer it be searcht and drest.
Descend then gentle Grinvile downe below,
Into my Cabin for a breathing space,
In thee there let thy Surgion stanch our woe,
Giuing recuer to thee, our wounded case,
Our breaths, from thy breaths fountaine gently flow,
If it be dried, our currents loose their grace:
Then both for vs, and thee, and for the best,
Descend, to haue thy wound bound vp and drest.
Maister, reply'd the Knight, since last the sunne
Lookt from the hiest period of the sky,
Giuing a signall of the dayes mid noone,
Vnto this hower of midnight, valiantly,
From off this vpper deck I haue not runne,
But fought, and freed, and welcomd victorie,
Then now to giue new couert to mine head,
Were to reuiue our foes halfe conquered.
Thus with contrarie arguments they warre,
Diuers in their opinions and their speech,
One seeking means, th' other a will to darre;
Yet both one end, and one desire reach:
Both to keepe honour liuing, plyant are,
Hee by his fame, and he by skilfull leach,
At length, the Maister winnes, and hath procurd
The Knight discend, to have his woundings curd.
Downe when he was, and had display'd the port
Through which his life was martching vp to heauen,
Albe the mortall taint all cuers retort,
Yet was his Surgion not of hope bereuen,
But giues him valiant speech of lifes resort,
Saves, longer dayes his longer fame shall euen,
And for the meanes of his recouerie,
He finds both arte and possibilitie.
Misfortune hearing this presage of life,
(For what but chimes within immortall eares)
Within her selfe kindles a home-bred strife,
And for those words the Surgions doomes day swears.
With that, her charg'd peece (Atropos keene knife,)
Againe she takes, and leueld with dispairs,
Sent a shrill bullet through the Surgions head,
Which thence, through Grinuils temples like was led.
Downe fell the Surgion, hope and helpe was reft,
His death gaue manumition to his soule,
Misfortune smyld, and euen then shee left
The mournfull Ocean, mourner for this dole;
Away shee flyes, for all was now bereft,
Both hopes and helpe, for life to win deaths gole;
Yet Grinuile vnamaz'd with constant faith,
Laughing dispisd the second stroke of death.
What foole (saith he) ads to the Sea a drop,
Lends Etna sparks, or angry stormes his wind?
Who burnes the root when lightning fiers the top?
Who vnto hell, can worse then hell combind?
Pale hungry Death, thy greedy longings stop,
Hope of long life is banefull to my mind:
Yet hate not life, but loath captiuitie,
Where rests no trust to purchase victorie.
Then vp he came with feeble pace againe,
Strength from his blood, blood from his wounds descending,
Saies, here I liu'd, and here wil I sustaine,
The worst of Deaths worst, by my fame defending,
And then he fell to warre with might and maine,
Valure on death most valiantly depending,
And thus continued aye coragiously,
Vntil the day chast shadowes from the sky.