At FLORES, in the Azores, Sir Richard Grenville lay, And a pinnace, like a flutter'd bird, came flying from far away: "Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!" Then sware Lord Thomas Howard; "'Fore God I am no coward; But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick. We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?" * * * * * The rugged metre, and the exaggerated national sentiment of this ballad were thus amusingly parodied:-- RETRIBUTION--A XIXTH CENTURY BALLAD OF THE SLOE. _By the Author of "Vengeance, a Ballad of the Fleet."_ At his chambers in the Albany Sir Richard Tankard lay, And a missive, like brown buttered toast, was brought him on a tray; "Come, drink my Spanish wine--fifty dozen, all is thine, And bring your friends with you, we'll drink till all is blue." Then sware Lord Thomas Drunker: "By jingo, I'm no funker; But I cannot go, I fear, for my liver's out of gear, And my head feels like to burst, and I only slake my thirst With Apollinaris water, for I dare not touch port wine." Then spake Sir Richard Tankard, "I know you are no funker, And fly wine for a moment to return to it again, But my liver and my brain are free from ache and pain. I should count myself the funker if I left them, my Lord Drunker, Unsatisfied, and craving for the purple wine of Spain." He called his friends together to go with him and dine. He told them of the telegram that told him of the wine. "We will go for we are dry; Good Sir Richard, we are thine, And the vintage we will try. If good there will be little left ere morrow's sun be set!" And Sir Richard said again, "We be all good Englishmen; Let us empty all the bottles down our sturdy British throttles, For I never turned my back upon glass or bottle yet." Sir Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roared a hurrah, and so, Like true-born sturdy Englishmen, we all of us would go. And found the wine all laid along the floor in many a row, And half was laid on the right-hand side, and half on the left was seen, And the table, like the white sea foam, ran down the room between. The dim eyes of the waiters winked with an inward laugh; They seemed to mock the notion that we the wine would quaff. But as the night was waning they watched the rows grow small, And whispered to each other, "I bet they'll drink it all!" For the wine was flowing swiftly down, as a cataract might be When it leaps from a mountain to the sea!