Greater, and better then inarked he, Which in the worlds huge deluge did suruiue, O let thy wings of magnanimitie, Not vainlie flatter, _Honour_ to acchiue, Gainst all conceit impossibilitie, By which thou murderst _Vertue_, keepe aliue, Nor in thy seeking of diuinitie, Kill not heauens fame by base mortalitie. O _Grinuile_ thou hast red Philosophy Nature and Arte hath made thee excellent, And what thou read'st, hath grafted this in thee, That to attempt hie dangers euident Without constraint or neede, is infamie, And honor turnes to rashhes in th'euent: And who so darrs, not caring how he darrs, Sells vertues name, to purchase foolish starrs. Deere Knight, thou art not forst to hazard fame, Heauens haue lent thee meanes to scape thine ill, If thou abide, as true as is thy name, So truly shall thy fault, thy death fulfill: And as to loue the life for vertues flame, Is the iust act of a true noble will, So to contemne it, and her helps exclude, Is baseness, rashness, and no _Fortitude_. He that compard mans bodie to an hoast, Sayd that the hands were scouts, discouering harmes, The feete were horsemen, thundring on the coast, The brest, and stomacke, footmen, huge in swarmes. But for the head, in soueraigntie did boast, It Captayne was, director of alarms, Whose rashness, if it hazarded an ill, Not hee alone but all the hoast did spill. Rash _Isadas_, the _Lacedemon_ Lord, That naked fought against the _Theban_ power, Although they crown'd his valure by accord, Yet was hee find for rashness in that hower: And those which most his carelesse praise affoard, Did most condemne what follie did deuoure; For in attempting, prowesse is not ment, But wiselie doing what we doe attempt. Then sith t'is valure to abandon fight, And base to darre, where no hope is to winne, (Renowned man, of all renowne the light) Hoyst vp thy sailes, delay attrackts thy sinne, Flie from ill-boding starres with all thy might, Vnto thy hart let praise and pittie in. This sayd, and more desirous much to crie, Sir _Richard_ stayd him, with this rich replie. Captayne, I praise thy warlike eloquence, And sober Axioms of Philosophie, But now's no time for schoole points difference, When Deaths blacke Ensigne threatens miserie; Yet for thy words sound of such consequence. Making flight praise, and fight pale obloquie, Once ere I die, Ile clense my wits from rust, And proue my flying base, my stay most iust. Whence shall I flie? from refuge of my fame, From whom? euen from my Countreis mortall foe, Whither? but to the dungeon of my shame, Why shall I flie? for feare of happie woe, What end of flight? to saue vile life by blame, Who ist that flies? _Grinuile_? Captayne no, T'is _England_ flies, faire Ile of happines, And true diuine _Elizas_ holynes.