His ghost regardlesse did not passe away Without reuenge: for where in haplesse fight, Vnhappie fate did worke his liue’s decay, There _Frobisher_ and _Borrough_ that bold knight, To his Iberian foes did worke despight; For by th’Azores on the stormie maine, Many a faire price they daily did obtaine. 342. The Indian barkes at th’ilands they did stop, For which, that naked people which adore The king of flames in steepe Olympus top, With wicked steele their grandames ribs had tore, To glut their spacious wombes with golden ore, Whom _Frobisher_ did send with all their treasure, To be dispos’d at his _Elizae’s_ pleasure. 343. Meane time, stout _Crosse_ and _Borrough_ valiant knight, Against that monster of the fleet of Spaine, The _Madre Dios_, did a noble fight Before those ilands many houres maintaine, Whom by plaine strength, at length they did constraine To stoope her pride, and hazarding the might Of twice three hundred, boorded her in fight. 344. Who to inrich their noble enterprize With a small world of treasure did abound, Ten smaller ships fraught with her merchandize, Which sto’d within her spacious bulke were found, Arriued safe in Thamis siluer sound; For fifteene hundred tunne she did containe, And thirtie foot she drew within the maine. 345. They tooke likewise the Santa Clare in fight, Which from the Indian east for Spaine was bound, And on the ilands in their foe-men’s sight, With flames of hungrie fire they did confound The Santa Cruze, which did with wealth abound, Making each creeke and corner of the maine To know the rule of their _Elizae’s_ raigne. 346. But should I heere assay to sing of those, Who to eternifie their soueraigne’s name, Renown’d their swords with fall of thousand foes, Had I a brazen trumpe to sound the same, Which might out-sound th’eternall trumpe of fame, Yet not an age drawne out in length of daies, Would me suffice to sing their worthie praise. 347. [Sidenote: _Huighen van Linschoten._] [Sidenote: _Iohannes Parmenius Budæus._] The Belgian author of that large discourse Of th’Indian trafickes, truly doth explaine The matchlesse vertue of their nauall force, And of their high aduentures on the maine, That Saxons Latin muse in loftie straine About the world doth sing; yet cruell fate Vnto his life did adde too short a date. 348. [Sidenote: _Anno Dom. 1584._ Sir _Humfrey Gilbert_.]