But when the mornings dewie locks drunk vp
A mistie moysture from the Oceans face,
Then might he see the source of sorrowes cup,
Plainly prefigured in that hatefull place;
And all the miseries that mortals sup
From their great Grandsire Adams band, disgrace;
For all that did incircle him, was his foe,
And that incircled, modell of true woe.
His masts were broken, and his tackle torne,
His vpper worke hew'd downe into the Sea,
Naught of his ship aboue the sourge was borne,
But euen leueld with the Ocean lay,
Onely the ships foundation (yet that worne)
Remaind a trophey in that mighty fray;
Nothing at all aboue the head remained,
Either for couert, or that force maintained.
Powder for shot, was spent and wasted cleane,
Scarce seene a corne to charge a peece withall,
All her pykes broken, halfe of his best men slaine,
The rest sore wounded, on Deaths Agents call,
On th'other side, her foe in ranks remains,
Displaying multitudes, and store of all
What euer might auaile for victorie,
Had they not wanted harts true valiancie.
When Grinuile saw his desperate drierie case,
Meerely dispoyled of all success-full thought,
Hee calls before him all within the place,
The Maister, Maister-gunner, and them taught
Rules of true hardiment to purchase grace;
Showes them the end their trauailes toile had bought,
How sweet it is, swift Fame to ouer-goe,
How vile to diue in captiue ouerthrow.
Gallants (he saith) since three a clock last noone,
Vntill this morning, fifteene howers by course,
We haue maintaind stoute warre, and still vndoone
Our foes assaults, and driue them to the worse,
Fifteene Armados boardings haue not wonne
Content or ease, but beene repeld by force,
Eight hundred Cannon shot against her side,
Haue not our harts in coward colours died.
Not fifteene thousand men araungd in fight,
And fifteene howers lent them to atchiue,
With fifty three great ships of boundlesse might,
Haue had or meanes or prowesse to contriue
The fall of one, which mayden vertue dight,
Kept in despight of Spanish force aliue.
Then list to mee you imps of memorie,
Borne to assume to immortalitie.
Sith loosing, we vnlost keepe strong our praise,
And make our glories, gaynours by our ends,
Let not the hope of howers (for tedious dayes
Vnto our lines no longer circuite lends)
Confound our wondred actions and assayes,
Whereon the sweete of mortal eares depends,
But as we liue by wills victorious,
So let vs die victours of them and vs.
Wee that haue mercilesse cut Mercies wings,
And muffeld pittie in deaths mistie vale,
Let vs implore no mercie; pittyings,
But from our God, deere fauour to exhale
Our soules to heauen, where all the Angells rings
Renowne of vs, and our deepe tragick tale;
Let us that cannot liue, yet liue to dye,
Vnthrald by men, fit tropheys for the skye.
And thus resolu'd since other meane is reft,
Sweet Maister-gunner, split our keele in twaine,
We cannot liue, whom hope of life hath left,
Dying, our deaths more glorious liues retain,
Let not our ship, of shame and foile bereft,
Vnto our foe-men for a prize remaine;
Sinke her, and sinking with the Greeke wee'le cry,
Best not to be, or beeing soone to dye.
Scarce had his words tane wings from his deere tong,
But the stout Maister-gunner, euer rich
In heauenlie valure and repulsing wrong,
Proud that his hands by action might inritch
His name and nation with a worthie song,
Tow'rd his hart higher then Eagles pitch,
And instantlie indeuours to effect
Grinuils desier, by ending Deaths defect.