King, they died helpless; our unwieldy fleet Made such a target to the English guns That we were riddled through like sifted wheat. We never came to grappling with them once. They raked us from a distance, and then ran. Each village throughout Spain has lost a man; The widows in the seaports fill the streets. PHILIP. Uncertain chance decides the fate of fleets. MESSENGER. Now the North Sea is haunted for all time By miserable souls whose dying words Cursed the too proud adventure as a crime. Our broken galleons house the gannet-birds. The Irish burn our Captain’s bones for lime. O misery that the might of England wrought! PHILIP. Christ is the only remedy for thought When the mind sickens. We are pieces played, Not moving as we will, but as we are made; Beaten and spurred at times like stubborn steeds, That we may go God’s way. Your spirit bleeds, Having been proved in trouble past her strength. Give me the roll in all its ghastly length. Which of my friends survive, if any live? MESSENGER. Some have survived, but all are fugitive. Your Admiral in command is living still; Michæl Oquendo too, though he is ill, Dying of broken heart and bitter shame. Valdes is prisoner, Manrique the same. PHILIP. God willed the matter; they are not to blame. Thank God that they are living. Name the rest. MESSENGER. They are all dead ... with him you loved the best. PHILIP. I dreamed De Leyva died, so it is true? MESSENGER. Drowned on the Irish coast with all his crew. After enduring dying many days The sea has given him quiet. Many ways Lead men to death, and he a hard one trod, Bearing much misery, like a knight of God. PHILIP. Amen. Go on. MESSENGER. Hugh de Moncada died, Shot in his burning ship by Calais side, Cheering his men to save her. Pimentel Sank in a galleon shambled like a hell Rather than yield, and in a whirl of flames Pedro Mendoza, Captain of St. James, Stood with Don Philip thrusting boarders back Till their Toledan armour was burnt black, And both their helms ran blood. And there they fell, Shot down to bleed to death. They perished well, Happy to die in battle for their King Before defeat had fallen on their friends; Happier than most, for where the merrows sing Paredes and his brother met their ends, And Don Alarcon, cast alive ashore, Was killed and stripped and hanged upon a tree. And young Mendoza, whom the flagship bore, Died of starvation and of misery. But hundreds perished, King; why mention these? Battle and hunger, heart-break, and the seas Have overwhelmed the chivalry of Spain. PHILIP.