Great was the crying, the running and ryding, Which at that season was made in that place; The beacons were fyred, as need then required; To hyde their great treasure they had little space. There you might see their ships, how they were fyred fast, And how their men drowned themselves in the sea; There you might hear them cry, wayle and weep piteously, When they saw no shift to 'scape thence away. The great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spaniards, Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the sea; But the St. Andrew, and eke the St. Matthew, Wee took in fight manfullye and brought away. The Earl of Essex, most valiant and hardye, With horsemen and footmen march'd up to the town; The Spanyards, which saw them, were greatly alarmed, Did fly for their savegard, and durst not come down. Now, quoth the noble Earl, courage my soldiers all, Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall have; And be well rewarded all from the great to the small; But look that the women and children you save. The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain to fight, Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the towne; Wee marched in presentlye, decking the walls on hye, With English colours which purchas'd renowne. Entering the houses then, of the most richest men, For gold and treasure we searched eche day; In some places we did find, pyes baking left behind, Meate at fire rosting, and folkes run away. Full of rich merchandize, every shop catch'd our eyes, Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre: Which soldiers mèasur'd out by the length of their swords; Of all commodities eche had a share. Thus Cales was taken, and our brave general March'd to the market-place, where he did stand: There many prisoners fell to our several shares, Many crav'd mercye, and mercye they fannd. When our brave general saw they delayed all, And would not ransome their towne as they said, With their fair wanscots, their presses and bedsteds, Their joint-stools and tables a fire we made; And when the town burned all in a flame, With tara, tantara, away we all came. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON There was a youth, a well-beloved youth, And he was a squire's son; He loved the bayliffe's daughter dear, That lived in Islington. Yet she was coy and would not believe That he did love her so, No nor at any time would she Any countenance to him show. But when his friends did understand His fond and foolish mind, They sent him up to faire London An apprentice for to bind. And when he had been seven long years, And never his love could see: Many a tear have I shed for her sake, When she little thought of me. Then all the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and play, All but the bayliffe's daughter dear; She secretly stole away.