“Heere strike, strike, sirs, the top mast:” one doth crie, Another saies: “Vale misene and sprit saile:” And heere a third bids: “Let the maine sheate flie:” All fall to worke themselves from death to baile, Some cut the saile-cloaths, some againe do haile The saile yards downe, while others pumpe with paine, Sending the seas into the seas againe. 266. Heere one vp lifted on a mountaine steepe, By dreadfull flashing of heau’ns lightning bright, With pallid feare lookes downe vpon the deepe Into a pit, as deepe and blacke in sight, As Tartarus the lothsome brood of night, In whose wide gulfie mouth he thinkes to drowne, Seeing the ship all topsie turning downe: 267. Another heere in sandie shoale doth lie, With mountaine waues on all sides walled round, And seemes from hell to see the loftie skie, Looking, when wallowing waues with windie bound, In that deepe pit the vessell would confound, Till with the lustie waue, the mounting ship From thence to heau’n doth in a moment skip. 268. The poore sad sailers beaten out of breath With toilesome paine, and with long watching worne, Through feare, the feeble consort of cold death, Not knowing, alas, which way themselues to turne, With wofull cries their fatall fall did mourne, And cast their eyes to heau’n, where, what was seene, Was blacke as hell, as if no heau’n had been. 269. Heere the greene billowes bounding gainst a ship, Vncaukes the keele, and with continuall waste, Washing the pitch away, the seames vnrip, While th’angrie tempest, with a boistrous blast, Beares the false stem away, springs the maine mast, And breaking downe the decke, doth passage win For the next surging sea to enter in. 270. Then all amaz’d shriekes out confused cries, While the seas rote doth ring their dolefull knell, Some call to heau’n for helpe with weeping eies, Some moane themselues, some bid their friends farewell, Some idols-like in horrors senselesse dwell, Heere in sad silence one his faint heart showes, Another there doth thus his feare disclose: 271. “Thrice happie they, whose hap it was in fight Against the foes to fall, when others stood: Ye conquering English, causers of our flight, Why were your swords not bath’d in my deare blood; And why did I not perish in the flood? Where braue _Moncada_ di’d with many more, Whose bodies now do swim about the shore.” 272.