‘Worke, worke, you Christian curres,’ and though none needs One blow for loytering, yet his bare back bleeds, And riseth up in bunches, which the Turke With a bulls-pizzle gives him, crying still, ‘Worke, Worke, dog,’ whilest some so faint, at th’ oare th[e]y dye, Being cast (like dogs) over-boord presently. Their slavery done at Sea, then are they laid In dungeons, worse than jayles, poorely arraid, Fed with course horse-bread, water for their drinke, And such sometimes puddles cannot worser stinke. Then if upon a Turkish roague they frowne, Or give him a crosse word, held are they downe Oth’ ground upon their backs, whilst on the rim Of their bare bellies they are forc’d from him To beare four hundred blowes: their soles oth’ feet And shinnes like payment now and then doe meet. Why are the Turkes thus cruell, but to draw Christians from Christ to their Mahumetan law? You, who at home in golden pleasures dance, Wasting both noones and nights in dalliance, O when these groanes of Christians pierce [y]our eares To free them, give your charity, and your teares, Whilst you that are our Christian Princes stil’d (All jarres amongst your selves being reconcil’d) Into the field with one knit army come, To kill this lyon that thus teares Christendome. _THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL._ Showing how the _Angel Gabriel_ of Bristol fought with three (Spanish) Ships, who boarded us many times, whereon we cleared our decks, and killed five hundred of their men, and wounded many more, and made them flye into Cales, where we lost but three men; to the honour of the _Angel Gabriel_ of Bristol. To the Tune of _Our Noble King in his Progress_. Attend you and give ear awhile, and you shall understand Of a battel fought upon the seas, by a ship of brave command; The fight it was so famous, that all men’s heart doth fill, And makes them cry, ‘To sea, _with the Angel Gabriel_!’ The lusty ship of Bristol sail’d out adventurously, Against the foes of England, their strength with them to try; Well victual’d, rig’d, and man’d, and good provision still: Which makes men cry, ‘To sea, _with the Angel Gabriel_!’ The captain, famous Netheway, so was he call’d by name; The master’s name John Mines, a man of noted fame; The gunner Thomas Watson, a man of perfect skill: With other valiant hearts, _in the Angel Gabriel_. They waving up and down the seas, upon the ocean main: ‘It is not long ago,’ quoth they, ‘since England fought with Spain! Would we with them might meet, our minds for to fulfill; We would play a noble bout _with our Angel Gabriel_.’ They had no sooner spoken, but straight appear’d in sight Three lusty Spanish vessels, of warlike force and might; With bloody resolution they sought our men to spill, And vow’d to make a prize of _our Angel Gabriel_.