And thee braue _Holstock_ may I not forget, Whose conquering sword on Neptune’s high command _Elizae’s_ haplesse foes hath often met, And brought them captiue with victorious hand, Rich fraught with spoile to _Albion’s_ rockie strand, Whereby the greatnesse of _Elizae’s_ name A terror both by land and seas became. 56. O what a princely charge did she maintaine Of men, munition and artillirie In flying castles on the purple maine, Which on the clowds of Thetis liquid skie, Seeming to frisk about for iollitie, Stood like safe centinels 'bout England’s shore Making seas tremble at their cannons rore. 57. Thus did the heau’ns showre downe felicitie In ample manner on _Elizae’s_ state, At which Rome’s holie sire did still enuie, Who failing in our English home-bred bate, In foraine shoares shew’d his malignant hate: For by false _Desmond’s_ meanes he made great show Gainst our _Elizae’s_ weale to worke much woe. 58. [Sidenote: _Anno Reg. 22._] But heau’n did soone oppose against his might Th’heroick spirit, that burned in the hart Of noble _Grey_ of _Wilton_, that bold knight, Who vnto wounds did challenge th’aduerse part In manie a field, who hauing felt the smart Of his keene sword, the stoutest hid his hed, And from his furie to the wilde woods fled. 59. And when th’Iberian troopes did there display Rome’s ensigne, in that castle hight Del Ore, In _Desmond’s_ cause against our queene, great _Grey_ Did thunder gainst their walls with cannons rore, Ne would from fierce assault desist before Vnto his furie passage he had made In Spanish blood to bathe his conquering blade. 60. Thus all his plots still failing in th’euent, Preuented by heau’n’s all foreseeing eye, A thousand mischiefes now he gan inuent, Inuasion, outrage, murder, treacherie, Sounding the depths of all iniquitie; For all blacke deedes his vice-blackt thoughts could find, He turn’d and return’d in his vengefull minde. 61. Vpon his furrowed front, the signes of ire, Furie and rage, did sit like lowring night, And both his burning eyes like glowing fire Beneath his bended browes did sparkle bright, As irefull lightnings of his heart’s despight, Yea nought could mollifie his raging teene, But blood and vengeance gainst our royall queene. 62.