GEN. Tribute, and wonted homage therewithal. KING. Then blest be Heav'n, and Guider of the heav'ns, From whose fair influence such justice flows! CAST. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat aether, Et conjuratae curvato poplite gentes Succumbunt: recti soror est victoria juris! KING. Thanks to my loving brother of Castille. But, general, unfold in brief discourse Your form of battle and your war's success, That, adding all the pleasure of thy news Unto the height of former happiness, With deeper wage and gentle dignity We may reward thy blissful chivalry. GEN. Where Spain and Portingal do jointly knit Their frontiers, leaning on each other's bound, There met our armies in the proud array: Both furnish'd well, both full of hope and fear, Both menacing alike with daring shows, Both vaunting sundry colours of device, Both cheerly sounding trumpets, drums and fifes, Both raising dreadful clamors to the sky, That valleys, hills, and rivers made rebound And heav'n itself was frighted with the sound. Our battles both were pitch'd in squadron form, Each corner strongly fenc'd with wings of shot; But, ere we join'd and came to push of pike, I brought a squadron of our readiest shot From out our rearward to begin the fight; They brought another wing to encounter us; Meanwhile our ordnance play'd on either side, And captains strove to have their valours try'd. Don Pedro, their chief horsemen's colonel, Did with his cornet bravely make attempt To break the order of our battle ranks; But Don Rogero, worthy man of war, March'd forth against him with our musketeers And stopp'd the malice of his fell approach. While they maintain hot skirmish to and fro, Both battles join and fall to handy blows, Their violent shot resembling th' oceans rage When, roaring loud and with a swelling tide, It beats upon the rampiers of huge rocks, And gapes to swallow neighbor-bounding lands. Now, while Bellona rageth here and there, Thick storms of bullets ran like winter's hail, And shiver'd lances dark the troubled air; Pede pes & cuspide cuspis, Arma sonant armis, vir petiturque viro; On every side drop captains to the ground, And soldiers, some ill-maim'd, some slain outright: Here falls a body sunder'd from his head; There legs and arms lie bleeding on the grass, Mingled with weapons and unbowel'd steeds, That scattering over-spread the purple plain. In all this turmoil, three long hours and more The victory to neither part inclin'd, Till Don Andrea with his brave lancers In their main battle made so great a breach That, half dismay'd, the multitude retir'd. But Balthazar, the Portingales' young prince, Brought rescue and encourag'd them to stay. Here-hence the fight was eagerly renew'd, And in that conflict was Andrea slain,--