THE Most Honorable Tragedie of Sir Richard Grinuile, Knight.
Bramo assai, poco spero, nulla chieggio.
At London, Printed by I. Roberts, for Richard Smith. 1595.
To the right Honorable his singuler good Lord, Charles, Lord Montioy.
THE zeale (most excellent Lord) which in my soule hath euer beene deuoted to your seruice, intangl'd with your honorable fauors to mine vnable deseruings, hath giuen fier to my hart, & wings to my youngling Muse, to raise her leaden humor aboue the ordinarie pitch of her dull Anthems, and sing of a subiect, the [Page] height of whose action, might, if I had might, make my verse most mightie, graunt then (renowned Lord) that thine eyes may lighten on my layes, and thy graces keepe from scandall my poore wydowed Orphan: pyttie renowned Grinuile, in his death-renowning hower, & excuse his rough Poet, whose sences are vnshapt, for more softer melodie, so shall hee liue happie, and I vnfaultie; both satisfied.
Your Lordships eternally, Ieruis Markham.
TO THE RIGHT HOnorable, Robert, Earle of Sussex.
GReat Lord, to whom infinitiues of fame
Flock like night starres about the siluer Moone,
That giuest new fier to learnings late quencht flame,
Sauing the Muse by stonie times vndoone,
Let me finde fauour in thine honord sight,
Daring my rimes vnto thy sacred hand:
And whilst their accents talke of valures might,
Yeeld them some splendour from thy valures brand,
Thou in their lines, they in thine eyes shall see,
Nothing but honors vncontrouled minde,
Thou lending, they exacting still from thee,
Substance, that might to mightines doth binde,
And for his sake whose praise my Muse hath sought
Fauour my worke, the image of thy thought.
I. M.
To the right Honorable, Henrie Wriothesly, Earle of South-hampton, and Baron of Titchfielde.
THou glorious Laurell of the Muses hill,
Whose eyes doth crowne the most victorius pen,
Bright Lampe of Vertue, in whose sacred skill,
Liues all the blisse of eares-in chaunting men,
From grauer subiects of thy graue assayes,
Bend thy coragious thoughts vnto these lines,
The graue frō whence mine humble Muse doth raise
True honors spirit in her rough deseignes;
And when the stubborne stroke of my harsh song,
Shall seasonlesse glide through almightie eares,
Vouchsafe to sweet it with thy blessed tong,
VVhose wel tun'd sound stills musick in the sphears,
So shall my tragick layes be bleft by thee,
And from thy lips suck theyr eternitie.
I. M.
To the honorable Knight, Sir Edward VVingfield.
WHen Alexander read Achilles prayse,
VVith honours enuie, and a loftie hart,
He shed stout teares, in ruth of stonie dayes
VVhich to his acts no Musicke could impart,
So all my all, essence of what I am,
Though our Achilles praise play in thine eye,
Feare not records for thine inrouled name,
VVhich shall out-liue immortall Poesie,
A thousand Sirens in the worlds last age,
Shall sing of thee, thy valure, and thy skill,
And to their lines, lay Angells eares in gage,
With soueraign charmes sent frō a soueraigne quill;
Meane while, vouchsafe to grace my worke & me,
Gracing the soule beloued of heauen and thee.
I. M.
The argument of the whole Tragedie.
SIr Richard Grinuile, lying at anchor neere vnto Flores, one of the westerlie Ilands of the Azores, the last of August in the after noone, had inteligence by one Captayne Midelton of the aproch of the Spanish Armada, beeing in number fiftie three saile of great [Page] ships, and fifteene thousand men to man them. Sir Richard, staying to recouer his men which were vpon the Iland, and disdayning to flie from his Countries enemy, not beeing able to recouer the winde, was instantlie inuirond with that hudge Nauie, betweene whom began a dreadfull fight, continuing the space of fifteene howers, in which conflict, Sir Richard sunck the great San Phillip [Page] of Spaine, the Ascention of Siuel, the Admirall of the Hulks, and two other great Armados; about midnight Sir Richard receiued a woūd through the bodie, and as he was in dressing, was shot againe into the head, and his Surgion slaine. Sir Richard mayntained the fight, till he had not one corne of powder left, nor one whole pike, nor fortie lyuing men; which seeing, hee would haue sunke his owne [Page] ship, but that he was gaine-stood by the Maister thereof, who contrarie to his will came to composition with the Spanyards, and so saued those which were left aliue. Sir Richard dyed aboard the Admyrall of Spayne, about the fourth day after the battaile, and was mightelie bewaild of all men.
Faults escaped in the printing.
IN B. the second page, the third stanza, and the first line, for night eternall, read nights eternall.
In F. page eight, the second stanza, and the last line, for Abrahams, read Abr'ams.
Also, in the next stanza folowing, and the thyrd line, for bard, read bar'd.
¶The most Honourable Tragedie of Sir Richard Grinuile, Knight.
To the fayrest.
A Heauenlie fier is crope into my braine,
A heate diuine and all celestiall,
A burning furie spreads through euery vaine;
A turret-climbing thought maiesticall,
All these infuse a spirit-giuing raine,
Vnto my humble wits great festiuall.
Whose reede vnpleasing hermonie hath found,
Thus to transforme her into warlike sound.
Of wonders, miracles, and famous chiualrie,
Of Honours Image, and of Vertues iarres,
(Things past beliefe, yet pure in certaintie)
Of Death dead-slaine by Death, of glorious scarres,
Of mortall, made immortall Dietie,
And all containd in Valures stainelesse warres,
My homelie Muse stretching her oaten string,
Vnlearn't to thunder, mildlie meanes to sing.
Rest thee dread boy, the night eternall Lord,
Faire feathered Cupid thy Licaenas ioy,
Of thy tryumphant Chariot richlie stord,
VVith bleeding harts that breathing sighes destroy,
Nor thee, nor of thy kingdome I record,
Nor louers teares, nor loue, nor loues annoy.
Nor ought that in the vast world may be found,
Where tears in sighes, & sighes in tears are drownd.
Fit subiects those for Poets golden quills,
Such as haue trod the true Pierian race,
VVhose sacred braines those numbers tun'd distills,
VVhich giues conceit the child of heauen her grace.
But now this flame that all my bodie fills,
Is Englands weeping ioy, and Spaynes disgrace.
Fearefull alarums, and the wet worlds sacke,
Swells in my song, the Dirge for glories wracke.
To thee faire Nymph, my loue, my life, my gaze,
My soules first mouer, essence of my blisse,
Thought-chast Dictinna, Natures onlie maze,
Heauen of all what euer heauenlie is,
More white then Atlas browe, or Pelops blaze,
Compleat perfection which all creatures misse.
More louelie then was bright Astioche,
Or Iunos hand-mayd sacred Diope.
To thee which neuer lifts thine eyes to heauen,
But harts of Kings are showred in the same,
Fairer then Sunne, Moone, Starres, or Planets seauen,
True brand of Vertue, Honours liuing flame,
O thou whom hate adors, whose praise is euen
Matcht with the glories of the greatest name,
Thou like thy selfe, or better much by ods,
Nere made without a Parliament of Gods.
To thee this labour of my Sunne-burnt braine,
Ill limn'd memorials of diuinest rage,
I offer as oblations to detaine,
Thy life-inspiring sight, (my peaces gage)
From those celestiall mirrors which remaine,
Obiects made happie in thy lookes suffrage,
Of Grinuile, armes and honors soueraigne,
My sower Muse shapes this Nectar seeking straine.
Euen of that man and his almightie minde,
Boundlesse like heauen in magnanimitie,
Conuerting all things of what euer kinde,
VVithin his bodie held societie,
To glad-some starres in cleerest skyes assign'd,
VVanting but onely true eternitie.
Of him I sing (Fairest) but reade I pray,
Thine eyes makes happie, all yt thine eyes suruay.
And with her thou great Soueraigne of the earth,
Onelie immatchlesse Monarchesse of harts,
From whose faire eyes issued the Muses birth,
Murderd by Iron-age, and barb'rous darts,
Yeeld from thy beams plentie to my wits dearth,
That I may sing valures almightie parts,
And Chronicle those tropheys to thy throne,
VVhich from this Ile, and his great spyrit shone.
And thou deare Soule, the portraiture of Fame,
For whom Ioue made a newe fourth Hirarchie,
Of whose lost drops millions of vertues came,
Extold in heauen beyond the third degree,
Now giue thy selfe a light in this selfe flame,
That thou maist liue beyond posteritie;
And whilst I of th'vnconquered conquest write,
Sit on my hand and teach me to indite.
The Tragedy of Sir Richard Grinuile.
THat time of yeare when the inamored Sunne
Clad in the richest roabes of liuing fiers,
Courted ye Virgin signe, great Naturs Nunne,
Which barrains earth of al what earth desires
Euen in the month that from Augustus wonne,
His sacred name which vnto heauen aspires,
And on the last of his ten trebled dayes,
VVhen wearie labour new refresh assayes.
Then whē the earth out-brau'd ye beautious Morne,
Boasting his cornie Mantle stird with aire,
Which like a golden Ocean did adorne
His cold drie carcasse, featurelesse, vnfaire,
Holding the naked shearers scithe in scorne
Or ought that might his borrowed pride empaire,
The soule of vertue seeing earth so ritch,
VVith his deare presence gilds the sea as mitch.
The sea, which then was heauie, sad, and still,
Dull, vnapplyd to sportiue wantonnesse,
As if her first-borne Venus had beene ill,
Or Neptune seene the Sonne his loue possesse,
Or greater cares, that greatest comforts kill,
Had crownd with griefe, the worlds wet wildernesse,
Such was the still-foote Thetis silent paine,
VVhose flowing teares, ebbing fell backe againe.
Thetis, the mother of the pleasant springs,
Grandam of all the Riuers in the world,
To whom earths veins their moistning tribut brings,
Now with a mad disturbed passion hurld,
About her caue (the worlds great treasure) flings:
And with wreath'd armes, & long wet hairs vncurld,
VVithin her selfe laments a losse, vnlost,
And mones her wrongs, before her ioyes be crost.
Thus whilst diuining sorrowe ceaz'd her hart,
Grinuile (ô melt my spyrit in that name,)
As sings the Swan her funerall depart,
And waues her wings, the ensignes of her fame,
So he, with vertue sweetning bitter smart,
VVhich from the seas long toyling seruice came:
For why, sixe Moones, & so oft times the Sunne,
VVas past, and had one halfe the signes ore-runne,
Ere he the earth, our common Mother saw;
Now earlie greets black Flores banefull Ile,
(Flores, from whence afflictions selfe doth draw
The true memorialls of a weeping stile;)
And with Caisters Querristers which straw
Descant, that might Death of his darts beguile,
He tunes saluting notes, sweeter then long,
All which are made his last liues funerall song.
Skillesse in deaths great Parliament he cals
His fellowe mat's, and minions to his fame,
Shewes them long lookt for land, and how it brauls,
Repulsing backe the billowes as they came,
Much he triumphes, and passed griefe for-stals
VVith present ioy (sorrow lights pleasures flame:)
And whilst his hopes of Happy-fortune sings,
Misfortune by, controls them with her wings.
Desird reliefe, and euer welcome rest,
The elements that forme the wearie man,
Began to hold a counsaile in his brest,
Painting his wants by sicknes pale & wan;
VVith other griefes, that others force opprest,
Aduising stay, (as what is but they can,)
VVhilst he that fate to come, and past, nere feard,
Concludes to stay till strength decayd repaird.
Then casts he Anchor hulling on the maine,
And all his shyps poore Cittizens recounts,
An hundred iust were free from sicknes paine,
Fourescore and ten death their redresse accounts,
So that of all both sicke and sound vnslaine,
Vnto two hundred wanting ten amounts.
A slender armie for so great a guide,
But vertue is vnknowne till it be tride.
Those whom their harts enabled to attempt,
He puts a shoare to make supplie for neede;
Those whom long sicknes taught of death cōtempt,
He visits, and from Ioues great Booke doth reede
The balme which mortall poyson doth exempt;
Those whō new breathing health like sucklings feed,
Hie to the sands, and sporting on the same,
Finde libertie, the liues best liuing flame.
Looke how a troupe of Winter-prisoned Dames,
Pent in th' inclosure of the walled townes,
VVelcoms the Spring, Vsher to Somers flames,
Making theyr pastimes on the flowrie downes,
Whose beautious Arras wrought in natures frames,
Through eyes admire, the hart wt wonder crownes,
So these wood-walled Cittizens at sea,
VVelcome both Spring and Sommer in a day.
The warring byllowes, seas artillerie,
With long held siege, had bruz'd their beaten keele,
VVhich to repaire the most, most busied be,
Lab'ring to cure, what want in labours feele;
All pleasd with toyle, clothing extremitie
In Hopes best robes, that hang on Fortunes wheele.
But men, are men, in ignorance of Fate,
To alter chaunce, exceedeth humaine state.
For when the Sun, towred in heauens head,
Downe from the siluer mountaine of the skye,
Bent his bright Chariot on the glassie bed,
Faire christall, guilded with his glorious eye,
Fearing some vsurpation in his stead,
Or least his Loue should too-long daliance spy
Tweene him and Virgo, whose attractiue face
Had newly made him leaue the Lyons chase,
In that same myd-daies hower came sayling in,
A thought-swift-flying Pynnase, taught by winde,
T'outstrip in flight Times euer-flying wing;
And being come where Vertue was inshrinde,
First vaild his plumes, and wheeling in a ring,
With Goat-like daūcing, stays where Grinuile shynd,
The while his great Cōmaunder calls the name,
VVhich is ador'd of all that speakes the same.
The great commaunder of this little Barke,
VVhich like an Eglet armes the Eagles side,
VVas Midleton, the ayme of Honors marke,
That more had prou'd then danger durst haue tride,
Now seeing all good fortunes sun-shine darke,
Thrise calls Sir Richard, who as oft replyde,
Bidding him speake, and ring his newes aloude,
Ill, not apald, nor good could make him proude.
O then (quoth Midelton) thou soule of all
VVhat euer boasts in magnanimitie,
Thou, whom pure Vertue her best part doth call,
Better then valure, stronger then dietie,
VVhom men adore, and all the gods exhall
Into the bookes of endlesse memorie,
I bring thee tidings of a deadly fray,
Begun in Heauen, to end vpon the Sea.
The glorious Senate of the Skyes was set,
And all the gods were royaliz'd in state,
VVhen Happy-fortune and Ill-fortune met,
Striuing who first should enter Heauens gate,
The one made mad the others fame to let,
Neither but stirr'd with rage to wonder at,
Confusedly, as water-floods doe passe
Their common bounds, such their rude entrance was.
The gods disturb'd, admire their strange aproch,
Censuring their angers by their gloing eyes,
Ill-fortune was attended by Reproch,
Good-fortune, Fame and Vertue stellefies;
One sweares the other doth her right incroch,
VVhich is the elder house, none can deuise:
The gods deuide, yet in the end agree
The Fates shall iudge each others pedegree.
Good-fortune, drawes from heauen her hye descent,
Making hie Ioue the roote of her large tree;
Shee showes from him, how many god-heads went,
Archangells, Angells, heauens posteritie:
From thence, she showes the glorious thrid she lent
To Monarks, Emperours, and Kyngs in fee,
Annexing as Colatteralls to her line
Honour, Vertue, Valure, and Endles-time.
Naithlesse, Ill-fortune will be elder borne,
Shee saith, she springs from Saturne, Ioues wronged Sier,
And heauen, and earth, & hell her coate haue borne,
Fresh bleeding harts within a field of fier;
All that the world admires, she makes her scorne,
VVho farthest seemes, is to Ill-fortune nier,
And that iust proofe may her great praise cōmend,
All that Best-chaunce begins, Ill-chaunce doth ende.
Thus they dispute, guilding their tongues report
VVith instances, and argumentall sawes,
Ill-fortune, bids let all the worlde resort
And show within their Chronicles and lawes,
The man whose liues-line neuer did consort
VVith sharpe affliction, deaths first grounded cause,
Then will she yeeld, else, is shee victor still,
VVorlds good is rare, perpetuall is their ill.
Euen as the racket takes the balls rebound,
So doth Good-fortune catch Ill-fortunes proofe,
Saying, she wil her in her selfe confound,
Making her darts, Agents for her behoofe;
Bow but thine eies (quoth she) whence ha'ts abound,
And I will show thee vnder heauens roofe
Th'vnconquered man whō no mischaunce importunes,
Crown of my kingdom, deaths mā to misfortunes.
At this, the casments of the skye broke ope,
Discouering all what's girdled in her frame,
VVhilst Happy-fortune through her eyes large scope
Like a Cosmographer comments on the same;
Three parts with praise she past and future hope,
Then to the fourth, the VVesterne world she came,
And there, with her eyes festrawe paints a storie,
Stranger then strange, more glorified then glorie.
See (sayd Faire-fortune, to her foule shapt Foe)
How on the sourge which beates against the Ile
Of Flores, whence thy curst oblations growe,
A winde-taught capring ship which ayre beguiles,
(Making poore Cephatus for-lorne with woe,
Curse arte, which made arte framed saile such smiles)
Richlie imbrodred with the Iems of warre,
In thy dispight commaunds a lucky starre.
In that faire vessell liues my garlands flower,
Grinuile, my harts immortall arterie;
Of him thy dietie had neuer power,
Nor hath hee had of griefe one simpathie;
Successe attends him, all good hap doth shower
A golden raine of perpetuitie
Into his bossome, where mine Empire stands,
Murdring the Agents of thy blacke commands.
Say, and say true, (for what but thou wilt say,)
That euer Grinuils fortunes came before thee;
Or euer prostrate at thine Altars lay,
Or with one wreath of Cipresse did adore thee?
Proue one blacke storme in all his Sommers day,
Whose threatning clouds compeld him to implore thee,
Thē wil I staine my milkwhite vaile with weeping,
And as thine handmaide dye in sorrowes keeping.
As wounds the lightning, yet preserues the skinne,
So did these words split Lucklesse-fortunes hart,
Her smiling Superficies, lockt within
A deepe exulcerated festring smart;
Heere shee perceiu'd her first disgrace begin,
And wordlesse from the heauens takes her depart.
Yet as she flewe, her wings in flying cri'd
On Grinuile shall my fame and power be tride.
At her departure all the heauens were glad,
Triumphing in Ill-fortunes banishment,
Apollo set new Anthems as Ioue bad,
VVhich spheare tunes made more then most excellent;
No light in heauen but with new fier was clad,
Making next Ioue, Good-fortune president,
Enrowling in the Bookes of destenie,
This memorable famous victorie.
Onely the Fat's su'd for her backe repeale,
(For they Ill-fortune lou'd exceeding well)
Many her deedes and Tropheis they reueale,
And all her liues blacke legend, weeping tell;
Yet all they speake, cannot in heauen preuaile,
Which seene, in spight they follow her to hell,
And there inhoused with their mother Night,
All foure deuise, how heauen and earth to spight.
Hence sprang the loues of Ioue, the Sonnes exile,
The shame of Mars and Venus in a net;
Iunos forsaken bed; Saturns compile
Of frantike, discontentment, which beset
All heauen with armes; Diana hence had while
To court her sleeping boy; whilst Thetis let
Phoebus imbrace her in her Neptunes stead,
Who made complaints, breach of his bridall bed.
Yet not content with these disparagments,
Much greater mischiefes issues from their minds,
Grinuile, thy mountaine honour it augments
VVithin their brests, a Meteor like the winds,
VVhich thrall'd in earth, a reeling issue rents
With violent motion; and their wills combinds
To belch their hat's, vow'd murdrers of thy same,
Which to effect, thus they begin the same.
Fast to Iberia flies vntoward chaunce,
Iberia, which we vulgar Christen Spaine,
Vpon whose Sunne-burnt continent doth daunce
VVesterne Ducallidon, the greatest maine,
Thither shee packs, Error doth their aduaunce
Her coale-blacke standerd in the hands of paine;
And as escapt from rauishment or bale,
With false teares, thus shee tunes a falser tale.
Great Empire (said shee) blessed in thy birth,
Beautious created for-head of this round,
That with thy smiles first lent to heauen mirth,
And bout thy temples all perfections woond,
Lodgd in th'immagin'd corners of the earth;
Thou whom our centers Monarchesse art crownd,
Attend my suite, baptisd in mournefull teares,
VVho but ere while triumphed on the spheares.
Nor for my selfe more then thine owne decay
Which blindfold pleasure clouds as they arise,
Be gracious, and retort the domefull day,
VVhich thee and me to shame would sacrifice.
Loe, on the great west-walling boistrous sea,
VVhich doth imbrace thy gold-inclosing eyes,
Of many sailes one man, of one poore Ile,
That will my fame, and all thy faire defile.
His numberlesse great infinits of fame,
Haue shut against me heauens great christall dore,
The clouds, which once my feets dust had to name,
Hang ore my forhead, threatning euermore
Death to my praise, life to my infant shame,
Whilst I with sighes mediate a new restore.
And in my selfe behold my pleasures past,
Swimming amongst the ioyes I cannot tast.
Th'ambrosian Nectar-filled banqueting,
No more shall I communicate, or see,
Triumphes in heauen, Ioues masks, and reuelling,
Are cleene exempt, both from my ioyes and me.
The reason, for my loue to thee I bring,
Trimming thy locks with Iems of dietie,
Making the gods a dread a fatall day,
VVorse then the Giants warre or Centaurs fray.
Poore goddesse, rob'd of all eternall power,
VVhose broken Statues, and downe razed Fan's,
Neuer warm'd altars, euer forgotten hower
VVhere any memorie of praise is tane,
VVitnes my fall from great Olympus tower;
Prostrate, implore balme for receiued bane,
And dyre reuenge gainst heauens impietie,
VVhich els in shame will make thee folow mee.
Behold these robes, maps of my fortunes world,
Torne, and distaind with eye-scornd beggerie;
These rags deuide the Zones, wherein is hurld
My liues distemprate, hote cold miserie;
These tears are points, the scale these hairs vncurld,
My hands the compasse, woe the emperie:
And these my plaints, true and auriculer,
Are to my Globe the perpendiculer.
Looke how I am, such art thou like to be
If armes preuent not heauens intendiment,
Grinuile, which now surfeits with dignitie,
Burd'ning the Sea with my disparagement;
Chiding the wanton winds if greedelie
They kisse his sailes; or els too slowlie vent,
Like Ioue, which bad the day be and it was,
So bids he Conquest warre; she brings to passe.
The sole incouragement he giues his power,
Is Prophet-like presaging of thy death,
Courage he cries, euen in the dying hower,
And with his words, recalls departing breath;
O (sayes he to his Mat's) you are my glories tower,
Impregnable, wall'd with vnuanquisht faith,
You are the hands and agents of my trust,
I but the hart reuoluing what we must.
Liue Saints, til we haue ript the wombe of Spayne,
And wounded Error in the armes of hell,
Crushing the triple Myter in disdaine,
Which on ye seauenfold mounted Witch doth dwel,
Angells rewards for such dissignes remaine,
And on heauens face men shall your stories tell;
At this they shoute; as eager of the pray,
as Ants in winter of a sunne-shine day.
Thus like triumphant Caesar drawne in Rome,
By winged Valure, and vnconquered Chaunce,
He plowes the Sea, (ô were it made his tombe)
VVhilst Happy-fortune pypes vnto his daunce.
Yet may thy power alternat heauens doome,
So pleaseth thee thy forward will t'aduaunce,
And cheare ye sinews of thy mighty arme,
VVhose out-strecht force shall quell his proud alarme,
Then giue newe fuell to thine honours fier,
Least slight regard wealth-winning Error slay,
And so old Saturns happie world retyer,
Making Trueths dungion brighter then the day;
VVas neuer woe could wound thy kingdom nyer,
Or of thy borrowed beautie make display,
Because this vow in heauens booke doth remaine,
That Errors death shall consumate thy raigne.
Now, for my god-heads remnant liues in thee,
VVhose lost successe breeds mine eternall end,
Take for thine ayde, afflicting Miserie,
Woe, mine attendant, and Dispayre my freend,
All three my greatest great Triumuerie,
Blood-bath'd Carnifici, which will protend
A murdring desolation on to that will,
VVhich me in thee, and thee in mee would kill.
Here, with her fixed Comet-blazing eyes,
The damned Augurs of vntimely death,
Shee ends her tale, whilst from her harts caue flyes
A storme of winds, no gentle sighing breath,
All which, like euill spirits in disguise,
Enter Iberias eares, and to her sayth,
That all the substance of this damned storie,
VVas zealous true, coynd for her Spanish glorie.
Sworne to beleeue, for ill, in ill affies,
Spayne then enamour'd with the Romane trull,
Calls all her forces, more then Atomies,
And tells Ill-fortunes storie to the full;
Many Parenthises shee doth deuise,
And frost-relenting words doth choycely cull,
Bewitching those whom oft shee had deceiued,
VVith such like Hemlock as her selfe receiued.
The first and greatest one, commaunding, all
The soule of mischiefes old created mother,
VVas Don Alphonso Bassan, proud in brall,
The Marques Sancta Cruces onely brother:
Him shee coniures by typ's emperiall,
And all that falshoods seeming trueth could couer,
To vndertake this hie (she termd it) act,
VVhich craues a curse of all that reads the fact.
Her selfe (shee said) and all the flowers of Spayne,
Should vnder his, as heauens Ensigne warre:
Thus from her harts foule dunghill flyes amaine
Grosse vapours, metamorphosd to a starre;
Her words in fumes like prodogies retaine
His hart, by her tongues witchcraft bound so farre,
As what shee will, that will hee vnder-take,
Be it to warre with heauen for her sake.
The seeming Nectar of her poysoning speech,
So well shee saw surprise his licoras sence,
That for to reare her ill beyond ills reach,
VVith selfe-like tropes, decks self-like eloquence,
Making in Britan Dona such a breach,
That her arm'd wits, conqu'ring his best wits fence,
He vowes with Bassan to defend the broile,
VVhich men of praise, & earth of fame shal spoile.
To him shee giues the Biscaynnoys for guard,
Mechannicall Artificers for death,
And those which of affliction neuer hard,
Shee tempers with the hammer of her breath:
To euery act shee giues huge lyp-reward,
Lauish of oathes, as falshood of her faith;
And for the ground of her pretended right,
T'is hate, which enuies vertue in a Knight.
These two to her fast bound in vassailage,
Vnto the Marques Arumburch shee flyes,
Him shee prouokes, him shee finds apt to rage,
Imprisoning Pitties teares in flintie eyes;
To him the power of Siuill for a gage
Shee doth bequeath; bidding his prowesse ryse,
And clense his Countries face frō widowes tears,
To which he posts, like lightning frō the sphears.
Lastly, to make vp mischiefes perfect square,
To Luis Cutino shee takes her flight,
Him shee commaunds, he to her homage sware
To guide a Nauie to this damned fight,
Of Hulks and Fly-boats, such as durst to dare.
Shee giues him soueraigne rule, and publique right,
And then vniting all foure powers in one,
Sends them to sea, to calme Misfortunes mone.
And now behold (diuine for valiancie)
Like flying Castells sayle they to this strand;
Fiftie three saile, strong in artillarie,
Best men of warre knowne in the Spanish land;
Fifteene Armados, Kings of soueraigntie,
VVhich led the lesser with a mightie hand:
And these in foure battalions hither flie,
VVith whom three dayes I saild in companie.
Then gentle Grinuile, Thetis parramoure,
Dearer then Venus, Daughter of the flood,
Set sailes to wind, let not neglect deuoure
Thy gracious fortunes and thine Angell good,
Cut through the maine, compell thy keele to scoure,
No man his ill too timelie hath with-stoode
And whē Best-chaunce shal haue repaird thy fortune,
Time for this flight may iust reuenge importune.
Here Midelton did end the passing peale
VVhich gaue the warning to a dismall end,
And as his words last knell began to faile,
The damned Nauie did a glimmering send,
By which Sir Richard might their power reueale,
VVhich seeming conquerlesse, did conquests lend:
At whose appearance, Midelton did cry,
See where they come, for fame and pitty flie.
This certaine story, of too certaine ill,
Did not extinguish, but gaue honor fier,
Th' amazing prodigie, (bane of my quill,)
Bred not astonishment, but a strong desier,
By which this heauen-adopted Knights strong will,
Then hiest height of Fame, flew much more hier:
And from the boundlesse greatnes of his minde,
Sends back this answer through his lyps refin'd.
Thanks hardie Midelton for thy dilate,
Perswasiue presage to auoyde my death,
But if thou wed my fortunes with my state,
This sauing health shall suffocate my breath,
To flye from them that holds my God in hate,
My Mistres, Country, me, and my sworne fayth,
VVere to pull of the load from Typhons back,
And crush my selfe, with shame & seruile wrack.
Nor if my hart degenerate should yeeld,
To entertaine an amorus thought of life,
And so transport mine honour to the field,
VVhere seeming-valure dies by cowards knife,
Yet zeale and conscience shall new forces build,
And others soules, with my soule holdeth strife;
For halfe my men, & all that draw sound breath,
Are gone on shore, for foode to conquer death.
If I forsake them, certaine is their end,
If I obtaine them, doubtfull is our fall,
Vpon my flight, shame and their sacks depend,
Vpon my stay, hope of good hap doth call,
Equall to me, the meanest I commend;
Nor will I loose, but by the losse of all:
They are the sinewes of my life and fame,
Dismembred bodies perish cripple-lame.
This sayd, he sends a cock-boate to the shore,
To summon backe his men vnto their ship,
Who com'd a board, began with some vprore
To way their Anchors, and with care to dip
Their hie reuolues in doubt, and euermore
To paint deaths visage with a trembling lip,
Till he that was all fearelesse, and feare slew,
VVith Nectard words from thē all dangers drew.
VVhen Midelton Saw Grinuills hie reuolue,
Past hope, past thought, past reach of all aspire,
Once more to moue him flie he doth resolue,
And to that purpose tips his tongue with fier;
Fier of sweete words, that easelie might dissolue
And moisten flint, though steeld in stiffe attire,
Had not desier of wonder, praise, and fame,
Extinkt the sparks, and still keepe dead the flame,
Greater, and better then inarked he,
VVhich in the worlds huge deluge did suruiue,
O let thy wings of magnanimitie,
Not vainelie flatter, Honour to acchiue,
Gainst all conceit impossibilitie,
By which thou murderst Vertue, keepe aliue,
Nor in thy seeking of diuinitie,
Kill not heauens fame by base mortallitie.
O Grinuile, thou hast red Philosophy,
Nature and Arte hath made thee excellent,
And what thou read'st, hath grafted this in thee,
That to attempt hie dangers euident
VVithout constraine or neede, is infamie,
And honor turnes to rashnes in th'euent;
And who so darrs, not caring how he darrs,
Sells vertues name, to purchase foolish starrs.
Deere Knight, thou art not forst to hazard fame,
Heauens haue lent thee meanes to scape thine ill,
If thou abide, as true as is thy name,
So truly shall thy fault, thy death fulfill:
And as to loue the life for vertues flame,
Is the iust act of a true noble will,
So to contemne it, and her helps exclude,
Is basenes, rashnes, and no Fortitude.
He that compard mans bodie to an hoast,
Sayd that ye hands were scouts, discouering harmes,
The feete, were horsemen, thundring on the coast,
The brest, and stomacke, footmen, huge in swarmes.
But for the head, in soueraigntie did boast,
It Captayne was, director of alarms,
VVhose rashnes, if it hazarded an ill,
Not hee alone but all the hoast did spill.
Rashe Isadas, the Lacedemon Lord,
That naked fought against the Theban power,
Although they crown'd his valure by accord,
Yet was hee find for rashnes in that hower:
And those which most his carelesse praise affoard,
Did most condemne what follie did deuoure;
For in attempting, prowesse is not ment,
But wiselie doing what we doe attempt.
Then sith t'is valure to abandon fight,
And base to darre, where no hope is to winne,
(Renowned man, of all renowne the light)
Hoyst vp thy sailes, delay attackts thy sinne,
Flie from ill-boding starres with all thy might,
Vnto thy hart let praise and pittie in.
This sayd, and more desirous much to crie,
Sir Richard stayd him, with this rich replie.
Captayne, I praise thy warlike eloquence,
And sober Axioms of Philosophie,
But now's no time for schoole points difference,
VVhen Deaths blacke Ensigne threatens miserie;
Yet for thy words sound of such consequence,
Making flight praise, and fight pale obloquie,
Once ere I die, Ile clense my wits from rust,
And proue my flying base, my stay most iust.
Whence shall I flie? from refuge of my fame,
From whom? euen from my Countries mortall foe,
VVhither? but to the dungeon of my shame,
VVhy shall I flie? for feare of happie woe,
VVhat end of flight? to saue vild life by blame,
VVho ist that flies? Grinuile? Captayne no,
T'is England flies, faire Ile of happines,
And true diuine Elizas holynes.
Shall then my lifes regard taynt that choyce faire?
First will I perrish in this liquid round,
Neuer shall Sunne-burnt Spanyards tongue endeare
Iberian eares with what shall me confound,
The life I haue, I for my Mistris beare,
Curst were that life, should it her scepter wound,
And trebble cursed be that damned thought,
Which in my minde hath any fayntnes wrought.
Now, for Philosophie defends thy theame,
Euen selfe Philosophie shall arme my stile,
Rich buskin'd Seneca, that did declaime,
And first in Rome our tragicke pompe compile,
Saith, Fortitude is that which in extreame
And certaine hazard all base feares exile:
It guides, saith he, the noble mind from farre,
Through frost, and fier, to conquer honors warre.
Honie-tongd Tullie, Mermaid of our eares,
Affirmes no force, can force true Fortitude,
It with our bodies, no communion beares,
The soule and spyrit, sole doth it include;
It is that part of honestie which reares
The hart to heauen, and euer doth obtrude
Faint feare, and doubt, still taking his delight
In perrills, which exceeds all perrills might.
Patience, Perseuerance, Greatnes, and Strong Trust,
These pages are to Fortitude their king,
Patience that suffers, and esteemeth iust
VVhat euer woe, for vertue fortunes bring;
Perseuerance, holds constant what we must,
Greatnes, that still effects the greatest thing,
And aimed Trust, which neuer can dispaire,
But hopes good hap; how euer fatall deare.
The Roman Sergius, hauing lost his hand,
Slew with one hand foure in a single fight,
A thing all reason euer did with-stand,
But that bright Fortitude spred forth her light.
Pompey, by storme held from th'Italyan land,
And all his sailours quaking in his sight,
First hoisted saile, and cry'd amidst the strife,
There's neede I goe, no neede to saue my life.
Agis that guilt the Lacedemon streete,
Intending one day battaile with his foes,
By counsaile was repeld, as thing vnmeete,
The enemie beeing ten to one in shoes;
But he reply'd, Tis needfull that his feete
VVhich many leads, should leade to many bloes:
And one being good, an Armie is for ten
Foes to religion, and known naughty men.
To him that told Dienecus, his foes
Couer'd the Sun with darts and armed speares,
Hee made reply, Thy newes is ioy in woes,
Wee'le in the shadow fight, and conquer feares.
And from the Polands words my humor floes,
I care for naught but falling of the Spheares.
Thunder afrights the Infants in the schooles,
And threatnings are the conquerers of fooles.
As these, my case is not so desperate,
And yet, then these, my darre shall be no lesse:
If this in them, for fame was wondred at,
Then this in mee, shall my desiers expresse;
Neuer shall Greece, nor Rome, nor Heathen state,
With shining honor, Albions shine depresse,
Though their great circuits yeelds their acts large boūds,
Yet shall they neuer darr for deeper wounds.
And thus resolu'd, deere Midelton depart,
Seeke for thy safetie in some better soyle,
Thy stay will be no succour in my smart,
Thy losse will make them boast of better spoyle.
And be assur'd before my last breath part,
Ile make the Sunne, for pittie backe recoyle,
And clothe the sea within a scarlet pale,
Iudge of their death which shall my life exhale.
This ship which now intombs my iealious soule,
Honestlie enuious of aspiring laude,
Is cald Reuenge, the scourge which doth controule,
The recreants that Errors right applaud,
Shall like her selfe, by name and fame enroule
My spyrits acts, by no Misfortune aw'd,
VVithin eternall Bookes of happie deeds,
Vpon whose notes, immortall Vertue reeds.
Say if I perrish, t'was mine honours will,
My Countries loue, religion, and my Queene,
And if that enuie glorie in mine ill,
Say that I dyed, conqu'ring, vnconquered seene.
Say fiftie three strong shyps could not fulfill,
Gainst one poore mayden vessell their foule teene,
But that in spight of death, or miserie,
She fought, and foyld, and scapt captiuitie.
Replie not Midelton, mine eares are closd,
Hie in heauens for-head are my vowes ingrau'd,
I see the banefull Nauie now disclosd,
Begon betime, Fate hath thy fortune sau'd;
To me good starres were neuer yet opposd,
Glorie hath crownd me when I glorie crau'd,
Farwel, and say how euer be my chaunce,
My death at honours wedding learnt to daunce.
This sayd, away sailes Midelton with speede,
Sad, heauie, dull, and most disconsolate,
Shedding stout manlie teares at valures deede,
Greeuing the ruine of so great estate;
But Grinuile, whose hope euer did exceede,
Making all death in daungers fortunate,
Gan to prouide to quell this great vprore,
Then which the like was neuer heard before.
His fights set vp, and all things fit prepard,
Low on the ballast did he couch his sick,
Being fourscoore ten, in Deaths pale mantle snar'd,
whose want to war did most their strong harts prick.
The hundred, whose more sounder breaths declard
Their soules to enter Deaths gates should not stick,
Hee with diuine words of immortall glorie,
Makes them the wondred actors of this storie.
Nothing he left vnsaid that tongue could say,
To breede contempt of death, or hate of thrall,
Honors reward, fame for a famous day,
VVonder of ears, that men halfe gods shall call;
And contrarie, a hopelesse certaine way,
Into a Tyrants damned fists to fall,
VVhere all defame, base thoughts, and infamie,
Shall crowne with shame their heads eternally.
In this great thunder of his valiant speech,
From whence the eares-eyes honors lightning felt,
The Spanish Nauie came within the reach
Of Cannon shot, which equallie was delt
On eyther side, each other to impeach;
VVhose volleys made the pittying skyes to melt,
Yet with their noyse, in Grinuills hart did frame,
Greater desier, to conquer greater fame.
And now the sunne was past his middle way,
Leaning more louely to his Lemans bed,
And the noones third hower had attacht the day,
VVhen fiftie three gainst one were basely led;
All harts were fierd, and now the deadlie fray,
Began tumultuouslie to ouer-spread
The sea with fier, the Element with smoake
Which gods, & monsters frō their sleepe awoake.
In foure great battailes marcht the Spanish hoast,
The first of Siuill, led in two great squares,
Both which with courage, more then can be most,
Sir Richard forst to giue him way with cares;
And as the Sea-men terme it in our coast,
They sprang their luffe, and vnder lee declares
Their manie forces feebled by this one,
Whose thoughts, saue him, are rightly due to none.
And now he stands amidst the thickest throngs,
VValld round with wooden Castels on the waue,
Fiftie three Tygers greedie in their wrongs,
Besiedge the princlie Lion in his caue:
Nothing sees Grinuile which to hope belongs,
All things are fled that any hap could saue;
Bright day is darkned by incurtaind light,
And nothing visits them but Canons night.
Then vp to heauen he lifts his loftie hart,
And cryes, old Solon, I am happy made.
All earthie thoughts cleane frō his spirits part,
Vertue and Valure all his sences lade,
His foes too fewe, too strong he holds his part,
Now doth he wish for millions to inuade,
For beeing conquerer, he would conquer all,
Or conquerd, with immortall honor fall.
Neuer fell hayle thicker then bullets flew,
Neuer show'rd drops faster then showring blowes,
Liu'd all the Woorthies, all yet neuer knew
So great resolue in so great certaine woes;
Had Fame told Caesar what of this was true,
His Senate-murdred spirite would haue rose,
And with faire honors enuie wondred then,
Cursing mortalitie in mightie men.
VVhilst thus affliction turmoyld in this brall,
And Grinuile still imployd his Actor death,
The great San-phillip, which all Spayne did call
Th'vnuanquisht ship, Iberias soule and faith,
Whose mountaine hugenes more was tearmd then tall,
Being twice a thousand tuns as rumor saith,
Came rushing in, becalming Grinuiles sailes,
Whose courage grew, the more his fortune failes.
Hotlie on eyther side was lightning sent,
And steeled thunder bolts dinge men to hell,
Vnweldie Phillip, backt with millions lent,
VVorse cracks of thunder then on Phaeton fell,
That with the dayes fier fierd the Element;
And why? because within her ribs did dwell,
More store of shot and great artillarie,
Then might haue seru'd the worlds great victorie.
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,
Aunswerd her cuffe for cuffe, and threat for threat.
Anon they graple eyther to the other,
As 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 & with thronging smother
The day, 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 preuaild,
For the Reuenge, her Canon loud-dogs ships,
VVhose 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 vild retraite,
None durst abide, but all with shame recoild,
VVhilst 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,
VVrit 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 spred his golden locks,
Vpon the pale greene 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,
VVhilst all the Spanish host stoode maz'd in sight,
None darring to assayle a second fight.
VVhen Don Alfonso, Generall of the warre,
Saw all his Nauie with one ship controld,
Hee 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 pulssance, 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;
VVoe to the wombe, ceaselesse the teats I ban,
That cherrisht life, which all our liues ioyes kills;
VVoe to our selues, our fortunes, and our minds,
Agast and scarrd, with whistling of the winds.
See how he tryumphes in dispight of death,
Promethean like, laden with liuing fier,
And in his glorie spits disdainfull breath,
Loathing the basenes of our backe retire;
Euen now me thinks in our disgrace he saith,
Foes to your fames, why make you Fate a lyer,
When heauen and she haue giuen into your hand,
VVhat all the world can neuer backe demaund?
Say that the God of Warre; Father of Chiualrie,
The Worthies, Heroes, all fam'd Conquerours,
Centaurs, Gyants, victorious Victorie,
VVere all this Grinuils hart-sworne paramours,
Yet should we fightlesse let our shyps force flie;
Well might we crush his keele Wt rocklike powers,
And him with them ore-whelme into the maine,
Courage then harts, fetch honour backe againe.
Heere shame, the fretting canker of the mind,
That fiers the face with fuell from the hart,
Fearing his weapons weakenes, est assignd
To desperate hardines his cōfounding dart,
And now the Spanyards made through words stone blind,
Desperate by shame, ashamd dispaire should part,
like dāned scritchowles, chimes to dead mēs 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,
VVhen 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 eares that heares the dole of this sad night.
The fier of Spaynes pride, quencht by Grinuils sword,
Alfonso reinkindles 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 canons tell,
And those which make euen rocky Mountains 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,
Bids 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 foggie dewe descended.
Now on our Knight, raines yron, sword, and fiers,
Iron wrapt in smoke, swords bath'd in smoking blood,
Fiers, furies king, in blood & smoke aspiers
The consumation of all liuing good;
Yet Grinuile, with like Agents like expires
His foe-mens dat's, 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,
VVhich with continuall boardings nurst the fight,
Two great Armados, howrelie plow'd their way,
And by assault, made knowne repellesse might.
Those which could not come neere vnto the fray,
Aloofe discharg'd their volleys gainst our Knight.
And when yt 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,
VVhen one of Spaynes great Gallions did repine,
That one should many vnto death ingage,
And therefore with her force, halfe hold diuine,
At once euaporats her mortall rage,
Till powerfull Grinuile, yeelding power a tombe,
Splyt her, and sunck her in the salt waues wombe.
VVhen Cutino, the Hulks great Admirall,
Saw that huge Vessell drencht within the surge,
Enuie and shame tyerd vpon his gall,
And for reuenge a thousand meanes doth vrge:
But Grinuile, perfect in destructions fall,
His mischiefes with like miseries doth scourge;
And renting with a shot his wooden tower,
Made Neptunes liquid armes his all deuouer.
These two ore-whelm'd, Siuills Ascention came,
A famous ship, well man'd, and strongly drest,
Vindicta from her Cannons mouthes doth flame,
And more then any, our dread Knight oprest:
Much hurt shee did, many shee wounded lame,
And Valurs selfe, her valiant acts confest.
Yet in the end, (for warre of none takes keepe)
Grinuile sunck her within the watry deepe.
An other great Armado, brusd and beat,
Sunck neere S. Michaels road, with thought to scape,
And one that by her men more choicely set,
Beeing craz'd and widow'd of her comly shape,
Ran gainst the shore, to pay Ill-chaunce her debt,
VVho desolate for desolations gape:
Yet these confounded, were not mist at all,
For new supplies made new the aged brall.
This while on Grinuile ceazed no amaze,
No wonder, dread, nor base astonishment,
But true resolue, and valurs sacred blaze,
The crowne of heauen, and starrie ornament
Deckt his diuine part, and from thence did raze
Affects of earth, or earths intendiment.
And in this broyle, as cheerefull was his sight,
As Ioues, imbracing Danae by night.
Looke how a wanton Bridegroome in the morne,
Busilie labours to make glad the day,
And at the noone, with wings of courage borne,
Recourts his bride with dauncing and with play,
Vntill the night which holds meane blisse in scorne,
By action kills imaginations sway,
And then, euen then, gluts & cōfounds his thought,
VVith all the sweets, conceit or Nature wrought,
Euen so our Knight the bridegroome vnto Fame,
Toild in this battailes morning with vnrest,
At noone triumph'd, & daunst, & made his game,
That vertue by no death could be deprest;
But when the night of his loues longings came,
Euen then his intelectuall soule confest
All other ioyes imaginarie were
Honour vnconquerd, heauen & earth held deare.
The bellowing shotte which wakened dead mens swounds,
As Dorian musick, sweetned in his cares,
Ryuers of blood, issuing from fountaine wounds,
Hee pytties, but augments not with his teares,
The flaming fier which mercilesse abounds,
Hee not so much as masking torches feares,
The dolefull Eccho of the soules halfe dying,
Quicken his courage in their banefull crying.
VVhen foule Misfortune houering on a Rock,
(The stonie girdle of the Florean Ile,)
Had seene this conflict, and the fearefull shock,
VVhich all the Spanysh mischeifes did compile,
And saw how conquest licklie was to mock
The hope of Spayne, and fauster her exile,
Immortall she, came downe her selfe to fight,
And doe what else no mortall creature might.
And as she flew the midnights waking starre,
Sad Cassiopea, with a heauie cheare
Pusht forth her forehead, to make known frō farre,
VVhat time the dryrie dole of earth drew neare,
But when shee saw Misfortune arm'd in warre,
VVith teares she blinds her eyes, and clouds ye ayre,
And asks the gods, why Fortune fights with man?
They say, to doe, what else no creature can.
O why should such immortall enuie dwell,
In the inclosures of eternall mould?
Let Gods with Gods, and men with men rebell,
Vnequall warres t'vnequall shame is sould;
But for this damned deede came shee from hell,
And Ioue is sworne, to doe what dest'nie would,
VVeepe then my pen, the tell-tale of our woe,
And curse the fount frō whence our sorrows flow.
Now, now, Misfortune fronts our Knight in armes,
And casts her venome through the Spanysh hoast,
Shee salues the dead, and all the lyuing warmes
With vitall enuie, brought from Plutos coast;
Yet all in vaine, all workes not Grinuils harmes;
VVhich seene, shee smiles, and yet with rage imbost
Saith to her selfe, since men are all too weake,
Behold a goddesse shall thy lifes twine breake.
VVith that shee taks a Musket in her hand,
Raft from a dying Souldiour newlie slaine,
And ayming where th' vncōquered Knight did stand,
Dischargd it through his bodie, and in twaine
Deuids the euer holie nuptiall band,
Which twixt his soule, & worlds part shold remaine,
Had not his hart, stronger then Fortunes will,
Held life perforce to scorne Misfortunes ill.
The bubling wound from whence his blood distild,
Mourn'd to let fall the hallowed drops to ground,
And like a iealious loue by riuall illd,
Sucks in the sacred moisture through the wound;
But he, which felt deaths fatall doome fulfilld,
Grew fiercer valiant, and did all confound,
VVas not a Spanyard durst abord him rest,
After he felt his deaths wound in his brest.
Hundreds on hundreds, dead on the maymed fall,
Maymed on sounde, sound in them selues lye slaine,
Blest was the first that to his ship could crall,
For wounded, he wounds multituds againe;
No sacrifice, but sacrifice of all,
Could stay his swords oblations vnto paine,
Nor in Phillippie, fell for Caesars death,
Soules thicker then for Grinuils wasting breath.
[...] [...]
The Nemian Lyon, Aramanthian Bore,
The Hircanian Tyger, nor the Cholcean Bulls,
Neuer extended rage with such vprore,
Nor in their brests mad monstrous furie lulls;
Now might they learne, that euer learnt before,
Wrath at our Knight, which all wrath disanulls,
For slauish death, his hands commaunded more,
Then Lyon, Tyger, Bull, or angrie Bore.
Had Pompey in Pharsalia held his thought,
Caesar had neuer wept vpon his head,
Had Anthonie at Actiome like him fought,
Augustus teares had neuer drownd him dead,
Had braue Renaldo, Grinuiles puissance bought,
Angelica from Fraunce had neuer fled,
Nor madded Rowland with inconstancie,
But rather slayne him wanting victorie.
Before a storme flew neuer Doues so fast,
As Spanyards from the furie of his fist,
The stout Reuenge, about whose forlorne wast,
Whilome so many in their moods persist,
Now all alone, naught but the sourge imbrast,
Her foes from handie combats cleane desist;
Yet still incirkling her within their powers,
From farre sent shot, as thick as winters showers.
Anger, and Enuie, enemies to Life,
Strong smouldring Heate & noisom stink of Smoke,
With ouer-labouring Toyle, Deaths ouglie wife,
These all accord with Grinuiles wounded stroke,
To end his liues date by their ciuell strife,
And him vnto a blessed state inyoke,
But he repeld them whilst repell he might.
Till fainting power, was tane from power to fight.
Then downe he sat, and beat his manlie brest,
Not mourning death, but want of meanes to die;
Those which suruiu'd coragiouslie he blest,
Making them gods for god-like victorie;
Not full twice twentie soules aliue did rest,
Of which the most were mangled cruellie,
Yet still, whilst words could speake, or signes could show,
From death he maks eternall life to grow.
The Maister-gunner, which beheld his eyes,
Dart fier gainst death triumphant in his face,
Came to sustaine him, and with courage cryes,
How fares my Knight? worlds glory, martiall grace?
Thine honour, former honours ouer-flyes,
And vnto Heaven and Vertue bids the bace;
Cheere then thy soule, & if deaths wounding paine it,
Abrahams faire bosome lyes to entertaine it.
Maister, he sayes, euen heers the opned dore,
Through which my spirit bridgroome like must ride,
(And then he bard his wounded brest all gore)
To court the blessed virgine Lambe his bride,
VVhose innoncence the worlds afflictions bore,
Streaming diuine blood from his sliced side,
And to that heauen my soule with courage flyes,
Because vnconquerd, conquering it dyes.
But yet, replyd the Maister once againe,
Great vertue of our vertues, striue with Fate,
Yeeld not a minute vnto death, retaine
Life like thy glorie, 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 Grinuile downe below,
Into my Cabbin for a breathing space,
In thee there let thy Surgion stanch our woe,
Giuing recuer to thee, our wounded case,
Our breaths, frō 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 & 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 of this vpper deck I haue not runne,
But fought, and freed, and welcomd victorie,
Then now to giue newe couert to mine head,
VVere 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 haue 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,
Sayes, 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)
VVithin her selfe kindles a home-bred strife,
And for those words ye Surgions doomes day swears
VVith 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 tēples like was led.
Downe fel the Surgion, hope and helpe was rest,
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 hope and helpe, for life to win deaths gole;
Yet Grinuile vnamaz'd, with constant faith,
Laughing dispisd the second stroke of death.
VVhat foole (saith he) ads to the Sea a drop,
Lends Etna sparks, or angry stormes his wind?
VVho burnes the roote whē lightning fiers the top?
VVho 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 lothe captiuitie,
Where rests no trust to purchase victorie.
Then vp he came with feeble pace againe,
Strength frō his blood, blood frō his woūds descending,
Saies, here I liu'd, & 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,
Vntill the day chast shadowes from the sky.
But when the mornings dewie locks drunke vp
A mistie moysture from the Oceans face,
Then might he see the source of sorrowes cup,
Plainly prefigur'd in that hatefull place:
And all the miseries that mortals sup
From their great Grandsire Adams band, disgrace;
For all that did in circle 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 foes in ranks remaine,
Displaying multitudes, and store of all
VVhat euer might auaile for victorie,
Had they not wanted harts true valiancie.
When Grinuile saw his desperate drierie case,
Meerely dispoyld of all succes-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 thē 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 our side,
Haue not our harts in cowards colours died.
Not fifteene thousand men araungd in fight,
And fifteene howers lent them to atchiue,
VVith 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 liues no larger circuite lends)
Confound our wondred actions and assayes,
VVhereon the sweete of mortall eares depends,
But as we liue by wills victorious,
So let vs die victours of them and vs.
VVee 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 vs 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 retaine,
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.
Scarse had his words tane wings frō his deare tong,
But the stout Maister-gunner, euer ritch
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
Grinuiles desier, by ending Deaths defect.
But th'other Maister, and the other Mat's,
Disented from the honour of their minds,
And humbly praid the Knight to rue their stat's,
VVhom miserie to no such mischeife binds;
To him th'aleadge great reasons, and dilat's
Their foes amazements, whom their valures blinds,
And maks more eager t'entertaine a truce,
Then they to offer words for warres excuse.
They show him diuers gallant men of might,
VVhose wounds not mortall, hope gaue of recuer,
For their saks sue they to diuorce this night
Of desperate chaunce, calld vnto Deaths black lure,
Their lēgthned liues, their coūtries cares might right,
And to their Prince they might good hopes assure.
Thē qd. the Captaine, (deere Knight) do not spill,
The liues whom gods and Fat's seeke not to kill.
And where thou sayst the Spanyards shall not braue,
T'haue tane one ship due to our virgin Queene,
O know, that they, nor all the world can saue,
This wounded Barke, whose like no age hath seene,
Sixe foote shee leaks in hold, three shot beneath the waue,
All whose repaire so insufficient beene,
That when the Sea shall angrie worke begin,
Shee cannot chuse but sinke and dye therein.
Besides, the wounds and brusings which she beares,
Are such, so manie, so incurable,
As to remoue her from this place of feares,
No force, no wit, no meane, nor man is able;
Then since that peace prostrate to vs repaires,
Vnlesse our selues, our selues make miserable,
Herculeen Knight, for pittie, pittie lend,
No fame consists in wilfull desperat end.
These words with emphasis and action spent,
Mou'd not Sir Richard, but inrag'd him more,
To bow or yeeld, his hart would neare relent,
Hee still impungs all thought of lifes restore;
The Maister-gunner, euer doth consent
To act his wish, swearing in beds of gore
Death is most louelie, sweete and amiable,
But captiu'd life for foulenes admirable.
The Captayne, seeing words could take no place,
Turnes backe from them vnto the liuing few,
Expounds what pittie is, what victors grace;
Bids them them selues, them selues in kindnes rew,
Peace if they please, will kindlie them imbrace,
And they may liue, from whom warres glory grew;
But if they will to desperate end consent,
Their guilty soules too late shall mourne repent.
The sillie men, which sought but liuing ioyes,
Cryes to the Captaine for an honord truce,
Life they desire, yet no life that destroyes
Their wonne renownes, but such as might excuse
Their woes, their wounds, and all what els anoyes
Beautie of laude, for other they refuse;
All which the Captaine swears they shal obtaine,
Because their foes, in doubtfull states remaine.
O when Sir Richard saw them start aside,
More chaynd to life then to a glorius graue,
And those whom hee so oft in dangers tryde,
Now trembling seeke their hatefull liues to saue,
Sorrow and rage, shame, and his honors pride,
Choking his soule, madly compeld him raue,
Vntill his rage with vigor did confound
His heauie hart, and left him in a swound.
The Maister-gunner, likewise seeing Fate
Bridle his fortune, and his will to die,
With his sharpe sword sought to set ope the gate,
By which his soule might from his body flie,
Had not his freends perforce preseru'd his state,
And lockt him in his Cabbin, safe to lie,
Whilst others swarm'd where haplesse Grinuile lay,
By cryes recalling life, late runne away.
In this too restlesse turmoile of vnrest,
The poore Reuenges Maister stole away,
And to the Spanish Admirall adrest
The dolefull tidings of this mournfull day,
(The Spanish Admirall who then oprest,
Houering with doubt, not daring t'end the fray,)
And pleads for truce, wt souldiour-like submission,
Anexing to his words a straight condition.
Alfonso, willing to giue end to armes,
For well he knew Grinuile would neuer yeild,
Albe his power stoode like vnnumbred swarmes,
Yet daring not on stricter tearmes to build,
Hee offers all what may alay their harmes
Safetie of liues, nor any thrall to weild,
Free from the Gallie, prisonment, or paine,
And safe returne vnto their soyle againe.
To this he yeelds, as well for his owne sake,
Whom desperate hazard might indamage sore,
As for desier the famous Knight to take,
Whom in his hart he seemed to deplore,
And for his valure halfe a God did make,
Extolling him all other men before,
Admiring with an honourable hart,
His valure, wisdome, and his Souldiours Art.
VVith peacefull newes the Maister backe returns,
And rings it in the liuing remnants eares,
They all reioyce, but Grinuile deadly mourns,
He frets, he sighs, he sorrowes and despaires,
Hee cryes, this truce, their fame and blisse adiourns,
He rents his locks, and all his garments teares,
He vowes his hands shal rent the ship in twaine,
Rather then he will Spanish yoke sustaine.
The few reseru'd, that life esteem'd too well,
Knowing his words were warrants for his deede,
Vnkindly left him in that monstrous hell,
And fled vnto Alfonso with great speede.
To him their Chieftaines mightines they tell,
And how much valure on his soule doth feede,
That if preuention, not his actions dim,
Twill be too late to saue the shyp or him.
Bassan made proude, vnconquering t'ouer-come,
Swore the braue Knight nor ship he would not lose,
Should all the world in a petition come:
And therefore of his gallants, fortie chose
To board Sir Richard, charging them be dombe
From threatning words, from anger, & from bloes,
But with all kindnes, honor, and admire,
To bring him thence, to further Fames desire.
Sooner they boarded not the crazed Barke,
But they beheld where speechlesse Grinuile lay,
All smeard in blood, and clouded in the darke
Contagious curtaine of Deaths tragick day;
They wept for pittie, and yet silent marke
VVhether his lungs sent liuing breath away,
VVhich when they saw in ayrie blasts to flie,
They striu'd who first should stanch his misery.
Anon came life, and lift his eye-lids vp,
Whilst they with teares denoūce their Generals wil,
VVhose honord minde sought to retort the cup
Of Deaths sad poyson, well instruckt to kill:
Tells him what fame and grace his eyes might sup
From Bassans kindnes, and his Surgions skill,
Both how he lou'd him, and admir'd his fame,
To which he sought to lend a liuing flame.
Aye mee (quoth Grinuile) simple men, I know
My bodie to your Generall is a pray,
Take it, and as you please my lyms bestow,
For I respect it not, tis earth and clay:
But for my minde that mightier much doth grow,
To heauen it shall, despight of Spanish sway.
This said, ore-come with anguish & with paine,
Hee swounded, and did neuer speake againe.
They tooke him vp, and to theyr Generall brought
His mangled carkasse, but vnmaimed minde,
Three dayes hee breath'd, yet neuer spake he ought,
Albe his foes were hūble, sad, & kinde;
The fourth, came downe the Lambe that all soules bought,
And his pure part, from worser parts refind,
Bearing his spirite vp to the loftie skyes,
Leauing his body, wonder to wonders eyes.
VVhen Bassan saw the Angell-spirite fled,
VVhich lent a mortall frame immortall thought,
With pittie, griefe, and admiration led,
He mournfully complaind what Fat's had wrought,
VVoe me (he cryes) but now aliue, now dead,
But now inuincible, now captiue brought:
In this, vniust are Fat's, and Death declared,
That mighty ones, no more thē mean are spared.
You powers of heauen, rayne honour on his hearse,
And tune the Cherubins to sing his fame,
Let Infants in the last age him rehearse,
And let no more, honour be Honors name:
Let him that will obtaine immortall vearse,
Conquer the stile of Grinuile to the same.
For till that fire shall all the world consume,
Shall neuer name, with Grinuils name presume.
Rest then deere soule, in thine all-resting peace,
And take my teares for trophyes to thy tombe,
Let thy lost blood, thy vnlost fame increase,
Make kingly eares thy praises second wombe:
That when all tongues to all reports surcease,
Yet shall thy deeds, out-liue the day of doome.
For euen Angels, in the heauens shall sing,
Grinuile vnconquerd died, still conquering.
O vtinam.
FINIS.
WHat became of the Reuenge after Sir Richards death, diuers report diuersly, but the most probable and sufficient proofe sayth, that within fewe dayes after the Knights death, there arose a great storme from the VVest and North-west, that all the Fleet was disperced, aswell the Indian Fleet, which were then come vnto them, as all the rest of the Armada, which attended their ariuall; of vvhich fourteene sayle, together with the Reuenge, and in her two hundred Spanyards, were cast away vppon the Ile of S. Michaels; so it pleased them to honour the buriall of that renowned Ship the Reuenge, not suffering her to perrish alone, for the great honour shee atchiued in her life time.