’Twas off the point of Portland Bill the first great fight took place; The year was fifteen-eighty-eight, of our Redeemer’s grace, Throughout a glorious summer day, July the twenty-third, A cannonade both fierce and loud on either coast was heard. The hulking Spanish galleons then were sorely put about, The English ships sailed out and in, sailed briskly in and out. As when a mighty baited bull the valiant dogs surround, And all his bulk and all his strength of little use are found, So many a great three-decker then threw wide her shot and shell; The balls flew o’er the English masts, and in the billows fell! But now the light and gunpowder alike were spent and gone, And, in the night, the Spanish fleet their eastward way went on. In Calais roads the foemen next their anchors huge let fall, And to the Duke of Parma then they sent an urgent call: “Send out your pinnaces in haste, your boats with all dispatch; To fight these English devils thus is not an equal match!” But to this plan the Hollanders, old England’s staunch Ally, Refused consent, and would not let the pinnaces pass by. At length the Spaniards spread their sails and took their onward way Till off the Flemish coast, becalmed, the great Armada lay; And still the gallant English ships kept up with their advance Till six-score sail around them lay, and waited for their chance. Meanwhile on land, Her Grace’s troops, as active as the fleet, Prepared themselves with urgent haste the foreign foe to meet. Ten thousand Londoners in arms rallied around the Queen, A hundred thousand, hastening up from every shire, were seen; And as they came they leapt and danced and sang, with cheerfull face, As nimble runners gird their loins, with joy to run a race. At Tilbury Fort Elizabeth reviewed the bright array: O long did loyal English hearts recall that famous day! And long shall grateful Englishmen, that know her faults no less, Revere the gallant memory of England’s Good Queen Bess; For, riding on her war-horse white, the serried ranks between, A noble sight it was to see Old England’s Virgin Queen! A helmet crowned her golden hair, and they that saw it tell No coronet of diamonds became Her Grace so well; A coat of mail of burnished steel the Royal Maiden wore, And, in her fair white hand, aloft a truncheon-sceptre bore; Then up she spoke, and reined her steed before the troops to stand, And all could hear her accents clear beside the Essex strand: “My loving friends, my courtiers say I run a risk this morn, That treason lurks in martial throngs! Their cautious speech I scorn! For rather than distrust you all, from life I’d sooner part: Let tyrants fear! Next to my God I trust my people’s heart: So come I in your midst to-day, the Spaniards to defy, And for my God, and for my lands, with you to live or die. But well I know my frame is weak; what can a woman do?