What foole (saith he) ads to the Sea a drop, Lends _Etna_ sparks, or angry stormes his wind? Who burnes the root when lightning fiers the top? Who vnto hell, can worse then hell combind? Pale hungry Death, thy greedy longings stop, Hope of long life is banefull to my mind: Yet hate not life, but loath captiuitie, Where rests no trust to purchase victorie. Then vp he came with feeble pace againe, Strength from his blood, blood from his wounds descending, Saies, here I liu'd, and here wil I sustaine, The worst of Deaths worst, by my fame defending, And then he fell to warre with might and maine, Valure on death most valiantly depending, And thus continued aye coragiously, Vntil the day chast shadowes from the sky. But when the mornings dewie locks drunk vp A mistie moysture from the Oceans face, Then might he see the source of sorrowes cup, Plainly prefigured in that hatefull place; And all the miseries that mortals sup From their great Grandsire _Adams_ band, disgrace; For all that did incircle him, was his foe, And that incircled, modell of true woe. His masts were broken, and his tackle torne, His vpper worke hew'd downe into the Sea, Naught of his ship aboue the sourge was borne, But euen leueld with the Ocean lay, Onely the ships foundation (yet that worne) Remaind a trophey in that mighty fray; Nothing at all aboue the head remained, Either for couert, or that force maintained. Powder for shot, was spent and wasted cleane, Scarce seene a corne to charge a peece withall, All her pykes broken, halfe of his best men slaine, The rest sore wounded, on Deaths Agents call, On th'other side, her foe in ranks remains, Displaying multitudes, and store of all What euer might auaile for victorie, Had they not wanted harts true valiancie. When _Grinuile_ saw his desperate drierie case, Meerely dispoyled of all success-full thought, Hee calls before him all within the place, The Maister, Maister-gunner, and them taught Rules of true hardiment to purchase grace; Showes them the end their trauailes toile had bought, How sweet it is, swift _Fame_ to ouer-goe, How vile to diue in captiue ouerthrow. Gallants (he saith) since three a clock last noone, Vntill this morning, fifteene howers by course, We haue maintaind stoute warre, and still vndoone Our foes assaults, and driue them to the worse, Fifteene _Armados_ boardings haue not wonne Content or ease, but beene repeld by force, Eight hundred Cannon shot against her side, Haue not our harts in coward colours died. Not fifteene thousand men araungd in fight, And fifteene howers lent them to atchiue, With fifty three great ships of boundlesse might, Haue had or meanes or prowesse to contriue The fall of one, which mayden vertue dight, Kept in despight of _Spanish_ force aliue. Then list to mee you imps of memorie, Borne to assume to immortalitie.