MASSEY
LXXXVI
SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE’S LAST FIGHT
Our second Richard Lion-Heart
In days of great Queen Bess,
He did this deed, he played this part,
With true old nobleness,
And wrath heroic that was nursed
To bear the fiercest battle-burst,
When maddened foes should wreak their worst.
Signalled the English Admiral,
‘Weigh or cut anchors.’ For
A Spanish fleet bore down, in all
The majesty of war,
Athwart our tack for many a mile,
As there we lay off Florez Isle,
With crews half sick, all tired of toil.
Eleven of our twelve ships escaped;
Sir Richard stood alone!
Though they were three-and-fifty sail—
A hundred men to one—
The old Sea-Rover would not run,
So long as he had man or gun;
But he could die when all was done.
‘The Devil’s broken loose, my lads,
In shape of popish Spain:
And we must sink him in the sea,
Or hound him home again.
Now, you old sea-dogs, show your paws!
Have at them tooth and nail and claws!’
And then his long, bright blade he draws.
The deck was cleared, the boatswain blew;
The grim sea-lions stand;
The death-fires lit in every eye,
The burning match in hand.
With mail of glorious intent
All hearts were clad; and in they went,
A force that cut through where ’twas sent.
‘Push home, my hardy pikemen,
For we play a desperate part;
To-day, my gunners, let them feel
The pulse of England’s heart!
They shall remember long that we
Once lived; and think how shamefully
We shook them—One to fifty-three!’
With face of one who cheerily goes
To meet his doom that day,
Sir Richard sprang upon his foes;
The foremost gave him way;
His round shot smashed them through and through,
At every flash white splinters flew,
And madder grew his fighting few.