SONGS AND BALLADS

Lithes and the batail I sal bigyn of Inglisch men and Normandes in the Swin.

Minot with mowth had menid to make Suth sawes and sad for sum mens sake; The wordes of sir Edward makes me to wake, Wald he salue vs sone mi sorow suld slake; War mi sorow slaked sune wald I sing: When God will sir Edward sal vs bute bring. Sir Philip the Valas cast was in care; And said sir Hugh Kyret to Flandres suld fare, And haue Normondes inogh to leue on his lare, All Flandres to brin and mak it all bare; Bot, vnkind coward, wo was him thare: When he sailed in the Swin it sowed him sare; Sare it tham smerted that ferd out of ffrance; Thare lered Inglis men tham a new daunce. The buriase of Bruge ne war noght to blame; I pray Ihesu saue tham fro sin and fro schame, For thai war sone at the Sluse all by a name, Whare many of the Normandes tok mekill grame. When Bruges and Ipyre hereof herd tell, Thai sent Edward to wit that was in Arwell; Than had he no liking langer to dwell, He hasted him to the Swin with sergantes snell, To mete with the Normandes that fals war and fell, That had ment if thai might al Flandres to quell. King Edward vnto sail was ful sune dight With erles and barons and many kene knight: Thai come byfor Blankebergh on Saint Ions night; That was to the Normondes a well sary sight, Yit trumped thai and daunced with torches ful bright, In the wilde waniand was thaire hertes light. Opon the morn efter, if I suth say, A meri man, sir Robard out of Morlay, At half eb in the Swin soght he the way; Thare lered men the Normandes at bukler to play; Helpid tham no prayer that thai might pray; The wreches er wonnen thaire wapin es oway. The Erle of Norhamton helpid at that nede, Als wise man of wordes and worthli in wede, Sir Walter the Mawnay, God gif him mede, Was bold of body in batayl to bede. The duc of Lankaster was dight for to driue, With mani mody man that thoght for to thriue, Wele and stalworthly stint he that striue, That few of the Normandes left thai oliue; Fone left thai oliue bot did tham to lepe; Men may find by the flode a ·C· on hepe. Sir William of Klinton was eth for to knaw; Mani stout bachilere broght he on raw. It semid with thaire schoting als it was snaw; The bost of the Normandes broght thai ful law; Thaire bost was abated and thaire mekil pride, Fer might thai noght fle bot thare bud tham bide. The gude Erle of Glowcester, God mot him glade, Broght many bold men with bowes ful brade; To biker with the Normandes baldely thai bade And in middes the flode did them to wade; To wade war tho wretches casten in the brim; The kaitefs come out of France at lere tham to swim. I prays Iohn Badding als one of the best; Faire come he sayland out of the suthwest, To proue of tha Normandes was he ful prest, Till he had foghten his fill he had neuer rest. Iohn of Aile of the Sluys with scheltron ful schene Was comen into Cagent, cantly and kene, Bot sone was his trumping turned to tene; Of him had sir Edward his will als I wene. The schipmen of Ingland sailed ful swith, That none of the Normandes fro tham might skrith. Who so kouth wele his craft thare might it kith: Of al the gude that thai gat gaf thai no tithe. Two hundreth and mo schippes on the sandes Had oure Inglis men won with thaire handes; The kogges of Ingland war broght out of bandes, And also the Cristofir that in the streme standes; In that stound thai stode, with stremers ful still Til thai wist full wele sir Edwardes will. Sir Edward, oure gude king wurthi in wall Faght wele on that flude, faire mot him fall; Als it es custom of king to confort tham all So thanked he gudely the grete and the small, He thanked them gudely, God gif him mede, Thus come oure king in the Swin till that gude dede This was the bataile that fell in the Swin, Whare many Normandes made mekill din; Wele war thai armed vp to the chin; But God and sir Edward gert thaire boste blin, Thus blinned thaire boste, als we wele ken: God assoyle thaire sawls, sais all, Amen.

How King Edward and his menye Met with the Spaniardes in the see

I wald noght spare for to speke, wist I to spede, Of wight men with wapin and worthly in wede, That now er driven to dale and ded all thaire dede, Thai sail in the see-gronde fissches to fede; Fele fissches thai fede for all thaire grete fare It was in the waniand that thai come thare. Thai sailed furth in the Swin in a somers tyde, With trompes and taburns and mekill other pride; The word of tho weremen walked full wide; The gudes that thai robbed in holl gan thai it hide, In holl than thai hided grete welthes, als I wene, Of gold and of silver of skarlet and grene. When thai sailed westward, tho wight men in were, Thaire hurdis, thaire ankers hanged thai on here; Wight men of the west neghed tham nerr. And gert tham snaper in the snare, might thai no ferr, ffer might thai noght flit bot thare most thai fine, And that thai bifore reved than most thai tyne. Boy with thi blac berd, I rede that thou blin, And sone set the to schrive with sorow of thi syn; If thou were on Ingland noght saltou win, Cum thou more on that coste thi bale sall bigin; Thare kindels thi care kene men sall the kepe, And do the dye on a day and domp in the depe. Ye broght out of Bretayne yowre custom with care, Ye met with the marchandes and made tham ful bare; It es gude reson and right that ye evill misfare, When ye wald in Ingland lere of a new lare, New lare sall ye lere, sir Edward to lout: For when ye stode in yowre strenkith ye war all to stout.

Men may leue alle gamys, That saylen to seynt Jamys! Ffor many a men hit gramys, When they begyn to sayle. Ffor when they haue take the see, At Sandwyche, or at Wynchylsee. At Brystow, or where that hit bee. Theyr hertes begyn to fayle. Anone the mastyr commaundeth fast To hys shyp-men in alle the hast, To dresse hem sone about the mast, Theyr takelyng to make. With “howe! hissa!” then they cry, “What, howe, mate! thow stondyst to ny, Thy felow may nat hale the by;” Thus they begyn to crake. A boy or tweyn anone up styen, And ouerthwart the sayle-yerde lyen;— “Y how! taylia!” the remenaunt cryen, And pulle with alle theyr myght. “Bestowe the boote, bote-swayne, anon, That our pylgryms may pley theron; For som ar lyle to cowgh and grone Or hit be full mydnyght. “Hale the bowelyne! now, vere the shete!— Cooke, make redy anoon our mete, Our pylgryms haue no lust to ete, I pray god yeue hem rest!” “Go to the helm! what, howe! no nere? Steward, felow! A pot of bere!” “Ye shalle haue, sir, with good chere, Anon alle of the best.” “Y howe! trussa! hale in the brayles! Thou halyst nat, be god, thow fayles! O se howe welle owre good shyp sayles!” And thus they say among. “Hale in the wartake!” “hit shal be done.” “Steward! couer the boorde anone, And set bred and salt therone, And tary nat to long.” Then cometh oone and seyth, “be mery; Ye shall haue a storme or a pery.” “Holde thow thy pese! thow canst no whery Thow medlyst wondyr sore.” Thys mene whyle the pylgryms ly, And haue theyr bowlys fast theym by, And cry aftyr hote maluesy, “Thow helpe for to restore.” And som wold haue a saltyd tost, Ffor they myght ete neyther sode ne rost; A man myght sone pay for theyr cost, As for oo day or twayne. Som layde theyr bookys on theyr kne, And rad so long they myght nat se; “Allas! myne hede wolle cleue on thre!” Thus seyth another certayne. Then commeth owre owner lyke a lorde, And speketh many a Royall worde, And dresseth hym to the hygh borde, To see alle thyng be welle. Anone he calleth a carpentere, And byddyth hym bryng with hym hys gere, To make the cabans here and there, With many a febylle celle. A sak of strawe were there ryght good, Ffor som must lyg theym in theyr hood; I had as lefe be in the wood, Without mete or drynk; For when that we shall go to bedde, The pumpe was nygh oure beddes hede, A man were as good to be dede As smell therof the stynk!

As itt beffell in m[i]dsumer-time, When burds singe sweetlye on every tree, Our noble king, King Henery the Eighth, Over the river of Thames past hee. Hee was no sooner over the river, Downe in a fforrest to take the ayre, But eighty merchants of London cittye Came kneeling before King Henery there. ‘O yee are welcome, rich merchants, [Good saylers, welcome unto me!’] They swore by the rood the were saylers good, But rich merchants they cold not bee. ‘To Ffrance nor Fflanders dare we nott passe, Nor Burdeaux voyage wee dare not ffare, And all for a ffalse robber that lyes on the seas, And robb[s] us of our merchants-ware.’ King Henery was stout, and he turned him about, And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might, ‘I thought he had not been in the world throughout That durst have wrought England such unright.’ But ever they sighed, and said, alas! Unto King Harry this answere againe: ‘He is a proud Scott that will robb us all If wee were twenty shipps and hee but one.’ The king looket over his left shoulder, Amongst his lords and barrons soe ffree: ‘Have I never lord in all my realme Will ffeitch yond traitor unto mee?’ ‘Yes, that dare I!’ sayes my lord Chareles Howard, Neere to the king wheras hee did stand; ‘If that Your Grace will give me leave, My selfe wilbe the only man.’ ‘Thou shalt have six hundred men,’ saith our king ‘And chuse them out of my realme soe ffree; Besids marriners and boyes, To guide the great shipp on the sea.’ ‘I’le goe speake with Sir Andrew,’ sais Charles, my lord Haward; ‘Upon the sea, if hee be there; I will bring him and his shipp to shore, Or before my prince I will never come neere.’ The ffirst of all my lord did call, A noble gunner hee was one; This man was three score yeeres and ten, And Peeter Simon was his name. ‘Peeter,’ sais hee, ‘I must sayle to the sea, To seeke out an enemye; God be my speed! Before all others I have chosen thee; Of a hundred guners thoust be my head.’ ‘My lord,’ sais hee, ‘if you have chosen mee Of a hundred gunners to be the head, Hange mee att your maine-mast tree If I misse my marke past three pence bread.’ The next of all my lord he did call, A noble bowman hee was one; In Yorekshire was this gentleman borne, And William Horsley was his name. ‘Horsley,’ sayes hee, ‘I must sayle to the sea, To seeke out an enemye; God be my speede! Before all others I have chosen thee; Of a hundred bowemen thoust be my head.’ ‘My lord,’ sais hee, ‘if you have chosen mee Of a hundred bowemen to be the head, Hang me att your maine-mast tree If I misse my marke past twelve pence bread.’ With pikes, and gunnes, and bowemen bold, This noble Howard is gone to the sea On the day before midsummer-even, And out at Thames mouth sayled they. They had not sayled dayes three Upon their iourney they tooke in hand, But there they mett with a noble shipp, And stoutely made itt both stay and stand. ‘Thou must tell me thy name,’ sais Charles, my lord Haward, Or who thou art, or ffrom whence thou came, Yea, and where thy dwelling is, To whom and where thy shipp does belong.’ ‘My name,’ sayes hee, ‘is Henery Hunt, With a pure hart and a penitent mind; I and my shipp they doe belong Unto the New-castle that stands upon Tine.’ Now thou must tell me, Harry Hunt, As thou hast sayled by day and by night, Hast thou not heard of a stout robber? Men calls him Sir Andrew Bartton, knight.’ But ever he sighed, and sayd, ‘Alas! Ffull well, my lord, I know that wight; He robd me of my merchants ware, And I was his prisoner but yester-night. As I was sayling upon the sea, And [a] Burdeaux voyage as I did ffare, He clasped me to his archborde, And robd me of all my merchants-ware. And I am a man both poore and bare, And every man will have his owne of me, And I am bound towards London to ffare, To complaine to my prince Henerye.’ ‘That shall not need,’ sais my lord Haward; ‘If thou canst lett me this robber see, Ffor every peny he hath taken thee ffroe, Thou shalt be rewarded a shilling,’ quoth hee. ‘Now God fforefend,’ saies Henery Hunt, ‘My lord, you shold worke soe ffarr amisse! God keepe you out of that traitors hands! For you wott ffull little what a man hee is. ‘Hee is brasse within, and steele without, And beames hee beares in his topcastle stronge; His shipp hath ordinance cleane round about; Besids, my lord, hee is verry well mand. ‘He hath a pinnace is deerlye dight, Saint Andrews crosse, that is his guide; His pinnace beares nine score men and more, Besids fifteen cannons on every side. ‘If you were twenty shippes, and he but one, Either in archbord or in hall, He wold overcome you everye one, And if his beames they doe downe ffall.’ ‘This is cold comfort,’ sais my Lord Haward, ‘To wellcome a stranger thus to the sea; I’le bring him and his shipp to shore, Or else into Scottland hee shall carrye mee.’ ‘Then you must gett a noble gunner, my lord, That can sett well with his eye, And sinke his pinnace into the sea, And soone then overcome will hee bee. ‘And when that you have done this, If you chance Sir Andrew for to bord, Lett no man to his topcastle goe; And I will give you a glasse, my lord, ‘And then you need to ffeare no Scott, Whether you sayle by day or by night; And to-morrow, by seven of the clocke, You shall meete with Sir Andrew Bartton, knight. ‘I was his prisoner but yester night, And he hath taken mee sworne,’ quoth hee; ‘I trust my L[ord] God will me fforgive And if that oath then broken bee. ‘You must lend me sixe peeces, my lord,’ quoth hee, ‘Into my shipp to sayle the sea, And to-morrow, by nine of the clocke, Your Honour againe then will I see.’ And the hache-bord where Sir Andrew lay Is hached with gold deerlye dight: ‘Now by my ffaith,’ sais Charles, my lord Haward, ‘Then yonder Scott is a worthye wight! ‘Take in your ancyents and your standards, Yea that no man shall them see, And put me fforth a white willow wand, As merchants use to sayle the sea.’ But they stirred neither top nor mast, But Sir Andrew they passed by: ‘Whatt English are yonder,’ said Sir Andrew, ‘That can so little curtesye? ‘I have beene admirall over the sea More then these yeeres three; There is never an English dog, nor Portingall, Can passe this way without leave of mee. ‘But now yonder pedlers, they are past, Which is no little greffe to me: Ffeitch them backe,’ sayes Sir Andrew Bartton, ‘They shall all hang att my maine-mast tree.’ With that the pinnace itt shott of, That my Lord Haward might itt well ken; Itt stroke downe my lords fforemast, And killed fourteen of my lord his men. ‘Come hither, Simon!’ sayes my lord Haward, ‘Looke that thy words be true thou sayd; I’le hang thee att my maine-mast tree If thou misse thy marke past twelve pence bread.’ Simon was old, but his hart itt was bold; Hee tooke downe a peece, and layd itt full lowe; He put in chaine yards nine, Besids other great shott lesse and more. With that hee lett his gun-shott goe; Soe hee well settled itt with his eye, The first sight that Sir Andrew sawe, Hee see his pinnace sunke in the sea. When hee saw his pinace sunke, Lord! in his hart hee was not well: ‘Cutt my ropes! itt is time to be gon! I’le goe ffeitch yond pedlers backe my selfe! ‘When my lord Haward saw Sir Andrew loose, Lord! in his hart that hee was ffaine: ‘Strike on your drummes! spread out your ancyents! Sound out your trumpetts! sound out amaine!’ ‘Fight on, my men!’ sais Sir Andrew Bartton; ‘Weate, howsoever this geere will sway, Itt is my lord Adm[i]rall of England Is come to seeke mee on the sea.’ Simon had a sonne; with shott of a gunne— Well Sir Andrew might itt ken— He shott itt in att a privye place, And killed sixty more of Sir Andrews men. Harry Hunt came in att the other syde, And att Sir Andrew hee shott then; He drove downe his fformast-tree, And killed eighty more of Sir Andriwes men. ‘I have done a good turne,’ sayes Harry Hunt; ‘Sir Andrew is not our kings ffreind; He hoped to have undone me yester-night, But I hope I have quitt him well in the end.’ ‘Ever alas!’ sayd Sir Andrew Barton, ‘What shold a man either thinke or say? Yonder ffalse theeffe is my strongest enemye, Who was my prisoner but yesterday. ‘Come hither to me, thou Gourden good, And be thou readye att my call, And I will give thee three hundred pound If thou wilt lett my beames downe ffall.’ With that he swarved the maine-mast tree, Soe did he itt with might and maine; Horseley, with a bearing arrow, Stroke the Gourden through the braine, And he ffell into the haches againe, And sore of this wound that he did bleed; Then word went throug Sir Andrews men, That the Gourden he was dead. ‘Come hither to me, Iames Hambliton, Thou art my sisters sonne, I have no more; I will give [thee] six hundred pound If thou wilt lett my beames downe fall.’ With that hee swarved the maine-mast tree, Soe did hee itt with might and maine Horseley, with another broad arrow, Strake the yeaman through the braine That hee ffell downe to the haches againe; Sore of his wound that hee did bleed. Covetousness getts no gaine, Itt is verry true, as the Welchman sayd. But when hee saw his sisters sonne slaine, Lord! in his heart hee was not well: ‘Goe ffeitch me downe my armour of prove, For I will to the topcastle my-selfe. ‘Goe ffeitch me downe my armour of prooffe, For itt is gilded with gold soe cleere; God be with my brother, Iohn of Bartton! Amongst the Portingalls hee did itt weare.’ But when hee had his armour of prooffe, And on his body hee had itt on, Every man that looked att him Sayd, Gunn nor arrow hee neede feare none. ‘Come hither, Horsley!’ sayes my lord Haward, ‘And looke your shaft that itt goe right; Shoot a good shoote in the time of need, And ffor thy shooting thoust be made a knight.’ ‘I’le doe my best,’ sayes Horslay then, ‘Your Honor shall see beffore I goe; If I shold be hanged att your maine-mast, I have in my shipp but arrowes tow.’ But att Sir Andrew hee shott then; Hee made sure to hitt his marke; Under the spole of his right arme Hee smote Sir Andrew quite throw the hart. Yett ffrom the tree hee wold not start, But hee clinged to itt with might and maine; Under the coller then of his iacke, He stroke Sir Andrew thorrow the braine. ‘Ffight on, my men,’ sayes Sir Andrew Bartton ‘I am hurt, but I am not slaine; I’le lay mee downe and bleed a-while, And then I’le rise and ffight againe. ‘Ffight on, my men,’ sayes Sir Andrew Bartton, ‘These English doggs they bite soe lowe; Ffight on for Scottland and Saint Andrew Till you heare my whistle blowe!’ But when they cold not heare his whistle blow, Sayes Harry Hunt, ‘I’le lay my head You may bord yonder noble shipp, my lord, For I know Sir Andrew hee is dead.’ With that they borded this noble shipp, Soe did they itt with might and maine; They ffound eighteen score Scotts alive, Besids the rest were maimed and slaine. My lord Haward tooke a sword in his hand, And smote of Sir Andrews head; The Scotts stood by did weepe and mourne, But never a word durst speake or say. He caused his body to be taken downe, And over the hatch-bord cast into the sea, And about his middle thre hundred crownes: ‘Whersoever thou lands, itt will bury thee.’ With his head they sayled into England againe, With right good will, and fforce and main, And the day beffore Newyeeres even Into Thames mouth they came againe. My lord Haward wrote to King Heneryes grace, With all the newes hee cold him bring: ‘Such a Newyeeres gifft I have brought to your Grace As never did subject to any king. ‘Ffor merchandyes and manhood, The like is nott to be ffound; The sight of these wold doe you good, Ffor you have not the like in your English ground.’ But when hee heard tell that they were come, Full royally hee welcomed them home; Sir Andrewes shipp was the kings Newyeeres guifft; A braver shipp you never saw none. Now hath our king Sir Andrews shipp, Besett with pearles and precyous stones; Now hath England two shipps of warr, Two shipps of war, before but one. ‘Who holpes to this?’ sayes King Henerye, ‘That I may reward him ffor his paine;’ ‘Harry Hunt, and Peeter Simon, William Horseleay, and I the same.’ ‘Harry Hunt shall have his whistle and chaine, And all his iewells, whatsoever they bee, And other rich giffts that I will not name, For his good service he hath done mee. ‘Horslay, right thoust be a knight, Lands and livings thou shalt have store; Howard shalbe Erle of Nottingham, And soe was never Haward before. ‘Now, Peeter Simon, thou art old; I will maintaine thee and thy son; Thou shalt have five hundred pound all in gold, Ffor the good service that thou hast done.’ Then King Henerye shiffted his roome; In came the Queene and ladyes bright; Other arrands they had none But to see Sir Andrew Bartton, knight. But when they see his deadly fface, His eyes were hollow in his head; ‘I wold give a hundred pound,’ sais King Henerye, ‘The man were alive as hee is dead! ‘Yett for the manfull part that hee hath playd, Both heere and beyond the sea, His men shall have halfe a crowne a day To bring them to my brother, King Iamye.’

As it fell on a holy-day, and upon an holy-tide-a, John Dory bought him an ambling nag, to Paris for to ride-a: And, when John Dory to Paris was come, a little before the gate-a, John Dory was fitted, the porter was witted, to let him in thereat-a. The first man that John Dory did meet, was good King John of France-a; John Dory could well of his courtesie, but fell down in a trance-a: ‘A pardon, a pardon, my liege and my king, for my merie men and for me-a; And all the churles in merie England, Ile bring them all bound to thee-a.’ And Nicholl was then a Cornish man, a little beside Bohide-a. And he mande forth a good blacke barke, with fiftie good oares on a side-a. ‘Run up, my boy, unto the maine-top, and looke what thou canst spie-a.’ ‘Who ho! who ho! a goodly ship I do see, I trow it be John Dory-a.’ They hoist their sailes, both top and top, the meisseine and all was tride-a; And every man stood to his lot, whatever should betide-a. The roring cannons then were plide, and dub-a-dub went the drumme-a; The braying trumpets lowd they cride to courage both all and some-a. The grapling-hooks were brought at length, the browne bill and the sword-a; John Dory at length, for all his strength, was clapt fast under board-a.

Lustely, lustely, lustely let us saile forthe; The winde trim doth serve us, it blows from the north. All thinges we have ready and nothing we want To furnish our ship that rideth hereby; Victuals and weapons thei be nothing skant, Like worthie mariners ourselves we will trie. Lustely, lustely, &c. Her flagges be new trimmed, set flanting alofte, Our ship for swift swimmyng, oh! she doth excel; We fear no enemies, we have escaped them ofte; Of all ships that swimmeth she beareth the bell. Lustely, lustely, &c. And here is a maister excelleth in skill, And our maister’s mate he is not to seeke; And here is a boteswaine will do his good will, And here is a ship, boy, we never had leak. Lustely, lustely, &c. If fortune then faile not, and our next voiage prove, We will return merely, and make good cheare, And holde all together as friends link’d in love; The cannes shall be filled with wine, ale, and beer. Lustely, lustely, &c.

O noble England, fall doune upon thy knee, And praise thy God with thankfull hart, which still maintaineth thee. The forraine forces, that seekes thy utter spoile: Shall then through his especiall grace be brought to shamefull foile. With mightie power they come unto our coast: To over runne our countrie quite, they make their brags and boast. In strength of men they set their onely stay, But we upon the Lord our God will put our trust alway. Great is their number of ships upon the sea; And their provision wonderful, but, Lord, thou art our stay. Their armed souldiers are many by account, Their aiders eke in this attempt doe sundry waies surmount. The Pope of Rome, with many blessed graines, To sanctify their bad pretense, bestowed both cost and paines. But little land, be not dismaide at all; The Lord no doubt is on our side, which soone will worke their fall. In happie houre our foes we did descry, All under saile with gallant wind as they cam passing by. Which suddaine tidings to Plymmouth being brought, Full soone our Lord high Admirall for to pursue them sought. And to his traine coragiously he said: ‘Now for the Lord and our good Queene to fight be not afraide. Regard our cause, and play your partes like men: The Lord no doubt will prosper us in all our actions then.’ This great Galleazzo, which was so huge and hye, That like a bulwarke on the sea did seeme to each man’s eye, There was it taken, unto our great reliefe; And divers nobles, in which traine Don Pietro was the chiefe. Strong was she stuft, with cannons great and small, And other instruments of warre, which we obtained all. A certaine signe of good successe we trust, That God will overthrow the rest, as he hath done the first. Then did our navie pursue the rest amaine With roaring noise of cannons great, till they neare Callice came. With manly courage they followed them so fast, Another mighty Gallion did seem to yeeld at last, And in distress, for savegard of their lives, A flag of truce they did hang out, with many mournful cries: Which when our men did perfectly espie, Some little barkes they sent to her, to board her quietly. But these false Spaniards, esteeming them but weake, When they within their danger came, their malice forth did breake. With charged cannons, they laide about them then; For to destroy those proper barkes, and all their valiant men. Which when our men perceived so to be, Like lions fierce they forward went, to ’quite this injurie, And bourding them, with strong and mightie hand, They kild the men untill their arke did sinke in Callice sand. The chiefest captaine of this Gallion so hie, Don Hugo de Moncaldo he, within this fight did die, Who was the Generall of all the Gallions great: But through his braines with pouders force a bullet strong did beat. And manie more by sword did loose their breath; And manie more within the sea did swimme and tooke their death. There might you see the salt and foming flood, Dyed and staind like scarlet red, with store of Spanish blood. This mightie vessell was threescore yards in length: Most wonderfull to each man’s eie, for making and for strength, In her was placed an hundreth cannons great; And mightily provided eke, with bread, corne, wine and meat. There was of oares two hundered, I weene: Three-score foote and twelve in length, well measured to be seene, And yet subdued, with manie others more: And not a ship of ours lost, the Lord be thankt therefore. Our pleasant countrie, so fruitfull and so faire, They doe intend by deadly warre to make both poore and bare: Our townes and cities to racke and sacke likewise: To kill and murder man and wife, as malice doth avise; And to deflower our virgins in our sight; And in the cradle cruelly the tender babe to smite. God’s holy truth they meane for to cast downe: And to deprive our noble Queene both of her life and crowne. Our wealth and riches, which we enjoyed long, They doe appoint their prey and spoile, by crueltie and wrong; To set our houses a fier on our heades; And cursedly to cut our throates, as we lye in our beds. Our children’s braines to dash against the ground; And from the earth our memorie for ever to confound. To change our joy to griefe and mourning sad: And never more to see the dayes of pleasure we have had. But God almightie be blessed evermore, Who doth encourage Englishmen to beate them from our shoare. With roaring cannons, their hastie steps to stay, And with the force of thundering shot to make them flye away: Who made account, before this time of day; Against the walls of faire London their banners to display, But their intent the Lord will bring to nought, If faithfully we call and cry for succour as we ought. And you, deare bretheren, which beareth armes this day. For safegarde of your native soile, marke well what I shall say. Regard your dueties, thinke on your countrie’s good: And feare not, in defense thereof, to spend your dearest bloud. Our gracious Queene doth greete you every one: And saith she will among you be in bitter storme. Desiring you true English hearts to beare; To God, and her, and to the land wherein you nursed were. Lord God almightie, which hath the harts in hand: Of everie person to dispose, defend this English land. Bless thou our Soveraigne with long and happie life: Indue her Councel with thy grace, and end this mortall strife. Give to the rest of Commons more and lesse, Loving harts, obedient minds, and perfect faithfulnesse. That they and we, and all, with one accord On Sion hill may sing the praise of our most mightie Lord. T(homas) D(eloney).

Long the proud Spaniards had vanted to conquer us, Threatening our country with fire and sword; Often preparing their navy most sumptuous, With all the provision that Spain could afford. Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, thus strike their drums; Tan-ta-ra, ta-ra-ra, the Englishmen comes! To the seas presently went our Lord Admirall, With knights couragyous, and captaines full good; The Earl of Essex, a prosperous Generall, With him prepared to passe the salt floode. Dub-a-dub, etc. At Plymouth speedily took they shipp valiantly, Braver shippes never were seen under sayle; With their fayre colours spread, and streamers o’re their head Now, bragging Spanyards, take heed of your tayle. Dub-a-dub, etc. Unto Cales, cunningly, came we most speedylye, Where the King’s navy did secretelye ride, Being upon their backe, piercing their butts of Sacke, Ere that the Spanyards our coming descry’d. Tan-ta-ra, ta-ra-ra, the Englishmen comes; Bounce-a-bounce, bounce-a-bounce, off went the guns. Great was the crying, running and ryding, Which at that season was made in that place; The Beacons were fyred, as need then required, To hyde their great treasure they had little space. ‘Alas!’ they cryed, ‘Englishmen comes,’ etc. There you might see the shipps, how they were fired fast, And how the men drowned them selves in the sea: There you may hear them cry, wail and weep piteously, When as they saw no shift to escape thence away. Dub-a-dub, etc. The great Saint Philip, the pryde of the Spanyards, Was burnt to the bottom, and sunke in the sea; But the Saint Andrew, and eke the Saint Matthew We took in fight manfully, and brought them away. Dub-a-dub, etc. The Earl of Essex, most valyant and hardy, With horse-men and foot-men march’d towards the towne The enemies which saw them, full greatly affrighted, Did fly for their safe-guard, and durst not come downe. Dub-a-dub, etc. ‘Now,’ quoth the noble Earl, ‘courage, my soldiers all! Fight and be valiant, the spoyl you shall have; And [be] well rewarded all, from the great to the small; But looke that the women and children you save!’ Dub-a-dub, etc. The Spaniards, at that sight, saw ’twas in vain to fight, Hung up their flags of truce, yielding the town; We march’d in presently, decking the walls on high With our English colours, which purchas’d renown. Dub-a-dub, etc. Ent’ring the houses then, and of the richest men, For gold and treasure we searched each day; In some places we did find pye baking in the oven, Meat at the fire roasting, and folkes fled away. Dub-a-dub, etc. Full of rich merchandize every shop we did see, Damasks, and sattins, and velvets full fair; Which soldiers measure out by the length of their swords, Of all commodities each one hath a share. Dub-a-dub, etc. Thus Cales was taken, and our brave generall March’d to the market-place, where he did stand; There many prisoners of good account were took; Many craved mercy, and mercy they found. Dub-a-dub, etc. When as our brave generall saw they delayed time, And would not ransom their town, as they said, With their faire wainscots, their presses and bedsteads, Their joint-stooles and tables, a fyre we made; And when the town burned all in a flame, With tan-ta-ra, tan-ta-ra rara, from thence we came. (By Thomas Deloney.)

The George-Aloe and the Sweep-stake too, With hey, with hoe, for and a nony no; O they were merchant-men and bound for Safee, And alongst the coast of Barbary. The George-Aloe to anchor came, But the jolly Sweepstake kept on her way. They had not sayled leagues two or three, But they met with a Frenchman of war upon the sea. ‘All haile, all haile, you lusty gallants, Of whence is your fair ship, or whither are you bound?’ ‘We are Englishmen and bound for Safee, Of whence is your fair ship, or whither are you bound?’ ‘Amaine, amaine, you gallant Englishman,’ ‘Come, you French swads, and strike down your sayle.’ They laid us aboord on the star-boord side, And they overthrew us into the sea so wide. When tidings to the George-Aloe came, That the jolly Sweep-stake by a Frenchman was tane. ‘To top! to top, thou little ship-boy! And see if this Frenchman of war thou canst descry.’ ‘A sayle, a sayle, under our lee, Yea, and another under her obey.’ ‘Weigh anchor! weigh anchor, O jolly boat-swain, We wil take this Frenchman if we can.’ We had not sayled leagues two or three, But we met the Frenchman of war upon the sea, ‘All haile, all haile, you lusty gallants, Of whence is your faire ship and whither are you bound?’ ‘O, wee are merchant-men and bound for Safee.’ ‘I, and wee are French-men, and war upon the sea. ‘Amaine, amaine, you English dogges!’ ‘Come aboard, you French rogue, and strike down your sailes.’ The first good shot the George-Aloe (made), He made the French-men’s hearts sore afraid. The second shot the George-Aloe did afford, He struck their mainmast over the board. ‘Have mercy, have mercy, you brave Englishmen,’ ‘O what have you done with our brethren, As they sayled in Barbarie?’ ‘Wee laid them aboard on the starboard side, And we threw them into the sea so wide.’ ‘Such mercy as you have shewed unto them, Then the like mercy shall you have againe. Wee laid them aboard on the larboard side, And we threw them into the sea so wide. Lord! how it grieves our hearts full sore, To see the drowned French-men swim along the shore. Now, gallant sea-men all, adieu, With hey, with hoe, for and a nony no; This is the latest newes that I can write to you, To England’s coast from Barbarie.

Gallants, you must understand, Captain Ward of England, A pyrate and a rover on the sea, Of late a simple fisherman In the merrry town of Feversham, Grows famous in the world now every day. From the Bay of Plimouth Sayled he towards the south, With many more of courage and of might; Christian princes have but few Such seamen, if that he were true, And would but for his King and country fight. Lusty Ward adventurously In the Straights of Barbary Did make the Turkish gallyes for to shake. Bouncing cannons fiery hot Spared not the Turks one jot, But of their lives great slaughter he did make. The islanders of Malta, With argosies upon the sea, Most proudly braved Ward unto his face But soon their pride was overthrown, And their treasures made his own, And all their men brought to a wofull case. The wealthy ships of Venice Afforded him great riches; Both gold and silver won he by his sword. Stately Spain and Portugal Against him dare not bear up sail, But gave him all the title of a lord. Golden-seated Candy, Famous France and Italy, With all the countries of the Eastern parts, If once their ships his pride with-stood, They surely all were cloath’d in blood, Such cruelty was plac’d within their hearts. The riches he hath gain’d, And by bloodshed obtained, Well may suffice for to maintain a king; His fellows all were valiant wights, Fit to be made prince’s knights, But that their lives do base dishonors bring. This wicked-gotten treasure Doth him but little pleasure; The land consumes what they have got by sea, In drunkenness and letchery, Filthy sins of sodomy, Their evil-gotten goods do wast[e] away. Such as live by thieving Have seldome-times good ending, As by the deeds of Captain Ward is shown: Being drunk amongst his drabs, His nearest friend he sometimes stabs; Such wickednesse within his heart is grown. When stormy tempest riseth, The Causer he despiseth, Still denies to pray unto the Lord. He feareth neither God nor devil, His deeds are bad, his thoughts are evil, His onley trust is still upon his sword. Men of his own country He still abuseth vilely; Some back to back are cast into the waves; Some are hewn in pieces small, Some are shot against a wall; A slender number of their lives he saves. Of truth it is reported That he is strongly guarded By Turks that are not of a good belief; Wit and reasons tell them He trusteth not his country-men, He shews the right condition of a thief. At Tunis in Barbary Now he buildeth stately A gallant palace and a royal place, Decked with delights most trim, Fitter for a prince than him, The which at last will prove to his disgrace. To make the world to wonder, This captain is commander Of four-and-twenty ships of sayl, To bring in treasure from the sea Into the markets every day: The which the Turks do buy up without fail. His name and state so mounteth, These countrey-men accounteth Him equal to the nobles of that land; But these his honours we shall find Shortly blown up with the wind, Or prove like letters written in the sand.

Sing we sea-men, now and than, Of Dansekar the Dutchman, Whose gallant mind hath won him great renown; To live on land he counts it base, But seeks to purchase greater grace By roving on the ocean up and down. His heart is so aspiring, That now his chief desiring Is for to win himself a worthy name; The land hath far too little ground, The sea is of a larger bound, And of a greater dignity and fame. Now many a worthy gallant, Of courage now most valiant, With him hath put their fortunes to the sea; All the world about have heard Of Dansekar and Captain Ward, And of their proud adventures every day. There is not any kingdom, In Turkey or in Christendom, But by these pyrates have received loss; Merchant-men of every land Do daily in great danger stand, And fear do much the ocean main to cross. They make children fatherless, Woful widows in distresse; In shedding blood they [take] too much delight; Fathers they bereave of sons, Regarding neither cries nor moans, So much they joy to see a bloody fight. They count it gallant bearing To hear the cannons roaring, And musket shot to rattle in the sky; Their glories would be at the highest To fight against the foes of Christ, And such as do our Christian faith deny. But their cursed villanies, And their bloody pyracies, Are chiefly bent against our Christian friends; Some Christians so delight in evils That they become the sons of divels, And for the same have many shameful ends. England suffers danger As well as any stranger; Nations are alike unto this company; Many English merchant-men, And of London now and then, Have tasted of their vile extremity. London’s Elizabeth Of late these rovers taken hath, A ship well laden with rich merchandize; The nimble Pearl and Charity, All ships of gallant bravery, Are by these pyrates made a lawful prize. The Trojan of London, With other ships many a one, Hath stooped sail, and yielded out of hand, (These pyrates they have shed their bloods, And the Turks have bought their goods), Being all too weak their power to withstand. Of Hull the Bonaventer, Which was a great frequenter And passer of the Straits to Barbary, Both ship and men [late] taken were By Pyrates Ward and Dansekar, And brought by them into captivity. English Ward and Dansekar Begin greatly now to jar About [the true] dividing [of] their goods; Both ships and soldiers gather head, Dansekar from Ward is fled: So full of pride and malice are their bloods. Ward doth only promise To keep about rich Tunis, And be commander of those Turkish seas; But valiant Dutch-land Dansekar Doth hover neer unto Argier, And there his threat’ning colours now displays. These pyrates thus divided, By God is sure provided In secret sort to work each other’s woe; Such wicked courses cannot stand, The Divel thus puts in his hand, And God will give them soon an overthrow.

Strike up, you lusty gallants, with musick and sound of drum: For we have descry’d a rover upon the sea is come; His name is Captain Ward, right well it doth appear There has not been such a rover found out this thousand year; For he hath sent unto our King, the sixth of January, Desiring that he might come in, with all his company; ‘And if your King will let me come, till I my tale have told, I will bestow for my ransome full thirty tun of gold.’ ‘O nay! O nay!’ then said our King, ‘O nay, this may not be, To yield to such a rover my self will not agree; He hath deceiv’d the French-man, likewise the King of Spain, And how can he be true to me, that hath been false to twain?’ With that our King provided a ship of worthy fame; Rainbow she is called, if you would know her name. Now the gallant Rainbow she rowes upon the sea, Five hundred gallant seamen to bear her company. The Dutch-man and the Spaniard she made them for to flye, Also the bonny French-man, as she met him on the sea. When as this gallant Rainbow, did come where Ward did lye, Where is the captain of this ship?’ this gallant Rainbow did cry. ‘O that am I,’ says Captain Ward, ‘there’s no man bids me lye; And if thou art the King’s fair ship thou art welcome unto me.’ ‘I’le tell thee what,’ says Rainbow, ‘our King is in great grief That thou should’st lye upon the sea and play the arrant thief, ‘And will not let our merchants’ ships pass, as they did before; Such tydings to our King is come, which grieves his heart full sore.’ With that this gallant Rainbow she shot, out of her pride, Full fifty gallant brass pieces, charged on every side. And yet these gallant shooters prevailed not a pin; Though they were brass on the out-side brave Ward was steel within. ‘Shoot on, shoot on!’ says Captain Ward; ‘your sport well pleaseth me; And he that first gives over, shall yield unto the sea. ‘I never wrong’d an English ship, but Turk and King of Spain, For and the jovial Dutch-man, as I met on the main. If I had known your King but one two-years before, I would have saved brave Essex life, whose death did grieve me sore. ‘Go, tell the King of England, go tell him thus from me, If he reign king of all the land, I will reign king at sea.’ With that the gallant Rainbow shot, and shot, and shot in vain, And left the rover’s company, and home return’d again. ‘O Royal King of England, your ship’s returned again; For Wards ship is so strong it never will be ta’ne.’ ‘O everlasting!’ says our King, ‘I have lost jewels three, Which would have gone into the seas and brought proud Ward to me! ‘The first was Lord Clifford, Earl of Cumberland; The second was the Lord Mountjoy, as you shall understand; The third was brave Essex, from field would never flee; Which would ’a gone unto the seas and brought proud Ward to me!’

Not many moones have from their silver bowes Shot light through all the world, since those sworne foes To God and all good men ... that hell-borne crew Of pirates (to whome there’s no villanies new), Those halfe-Turkes and halfe Christians, who now ride Like sea-gods (on rough billows in their pride), Those renegadoes, who (their Christ denying) Are worse than Turkes, Turkes them in heart defying; These, these are they, that have from Christians torne, Of ships, sixescore but one, and the men borne (To th’ number of a thousand) to th’ Turkes shore, All they being slaves now tugging at the oare. Count from what time the worthy Mansfield came From that divels den (Argiers).... Just since that flame Of warre went out at sea, in that short space From thence till now these thieves have held in chase All ships which pass’d the Straights of Gibraltar, To rob or sinke them; were they men of warre, Merchants, or others; and when worst they thrive And nothing get, yet get they men alive. O wretched state of Christian soules so taken! To looke upon whose torments would awaken Tyrants, to thrust their armes up, through their graves, To gard from blowes these Christian galley-slaves. They that could safely stand but on the shoare To view a sea-fight, heare the cannons roare, See Turkes boord English ships, whilest Englishmen Like lyons fight, and fling them o’re.... But when Numbers of big-boan’d runnagates so swarme, That not one man of ours dare lift an arme At a Turkes head, the ship with blood imbrude, And over-mastered with damn’d multitude, Should any stand so, and get off unwounded, They would, to see this, bee with griefe confounded: But on these following lines fasten your eyes, Your selves may draw foorth all their miseries. Being boorded so, and rob’d, then are they tide On chaines, and drag’d t’ Argiers, to feede the pride Of a Mahumetan dog (eight in a row) (Each eighth man to the Argier king must goe), And th’ eighth part of what’s tane is still his prize; What men he leaves are any-ones who buyes And bids most for them, for they then are led To market, and like beasts sold by the head, Their masters having liberty by law To strike, kick, starve them, yet to make them draw In yoakes, like oxen, and if dead they beate them, Out are they throwne for beasts and ravens to eate them He that’s condemn’d to th’ oare hath first his face, Eyebrowes, and head close shaven (for more disgrace Cannot betide a Christian). Then, being stript To th’ girdle (as when roagues are to be whipt), Chain’d are they to the seates where they sit rowing, Five in a row together; a Turke going On a large plancke between them, and though their eyes Are ready to start out with pulling, he cryes ‘Worke, worke, you Christian curres,’ and though none needs One blow for loytering, yet his bare back bleeds, And riseth up in bunches, which the Turke With a bulls-pizzle gives him, crying still, ‘Worke, Worke, dog,’ whilest some so faint, at th’ oare th[e]y dye, Being cast (like dogs) over-boord presently. Their slavery done at Sea, then are they laid In dungeons, worse than jayles, poorely arraid, Fed with course horse-bread, water for their drinke, And such sometimes puddles cannot worser stinke. Then if upon a Turkish roague they frowne, Or give him a crosse word, held are they downe Oth’ ground upon their backs, whilst on the rim Of their bare bellies they are forc’d from him To beare four hundred blowes: their soles oth’ feet And shinnes like payment now and then doe meet. Why are the Turkes thus cruell, but to draw Christians from Christ to their Mahumetan law? You, who at home in golden pleasures dance, Wasting both noones and nights in dalliance, O when these groanes of Christians pierce [y]our eares To free them, give your charity, and your teares, Whilst you that are our Christian Princes stil’d (All jarres amongst your selves being reconcil’d) Into the field with one knit army come, To kill this lyon that thus teares Christendome.

Attend you and give ear awhile, and you shall understand Of a battel fought upon the seas, by a ship of brave command; The fight it was so famous, that all men’s heart doth fill, And makes them cry, ‘To sea, with the Angel Gabriel!’ The lusty ship of Bristol sail’d out adventurously, Against the foes of England, their strength with them to try; Well victual’d, rig’d, and man’d, and good provision still: Which makes men cry, ‘To sea, with the Angel Gabriel!’ The captain, famous Netheway, so was he call’d by name; The master’s name John Mines, a man of noted fame; The gunner Thomas Watson, a man of perfect skill: With other valiant hearts, in the Angel Gabriel. They waving up and down the seas, upon the ocean main: ‘It is not long ago,’ quoth they, ‘since England fought with Spain! Would we with them might meet, our minds for to fulfill; We would play a noble bout with our Angel Gabriel.’ They had no sooner spoken, but straight appear’d in sight Three lusty Spanish vessels, of warlike force and might; With bloody resolution they sought our men to spill, And vow’d to make a prize of our Angel Gabriel. Then first came up their admiral, themselves for to advance; In her she bore full forty-eight piece of ordinance; The next that then came near us was their vice-admiral, Which shot most furiously at our Angel Gabriel. Our gallant ship had in her full forty fighting men: With twenty pieces of ordnance we play’d about them then; And with powder, shot, and bullets we did imploy them still, And thus began the fight with our Angel Gabriel. Our captain to our master said, ‘Take courage, master bold;’ The master to the seamen said, ‘Stand fast, my hearts of gold;’ The gunner unto all the rest, ‘Brave hearts, be valiant still; Let us fight in the defence of our Angel Gabriel!’ Then we gave them a broadside, which shot their mast asunder, And tore the bowsprit of their ship, which made the Spaniards wonder; And caused them for to cry, with voices loud and shrill, ‘Help! help! or else we sink, by the Angel Gabriel.’ Yet desperately they boarded us, for all our valiant shot; Three-score of their best fighting-men upon our decks were got, And then at their entrance full thirty we did kill, And thus we clear’d the decks of the Angel Gabriel. With that their three ships boarded us again with might and main, But still our noble Englishmen cry’d out, ‘A fig for Spain!’ Though seven times they boarded us, at last we shew’d our skill, And made them feel the force of our Angel Gabriel. Seven hours this fight continued, and many brave men lay dead, With purple gore and Spanish blood the sea was coloured red; Five hundred of their men we there outright did kill; And many more were maim’d by the Angel Gabriel. They seeing of these bloody spoils, the rest made haste away. For why? they saw it was no boot any longer for to stay; Then they fled into Cales, and there they must lye still, For they never more will dare to meet our Angel Gabriel. We had within our English ship but onely three men slain; And five men hurt, the which, I hope, will soon be well again; At Bristol we were landed, and let us praise God still, That thus hath blest our men and our Angel Gabriel. Now let me not forget to speak of the gift given by the owner Of the Angel Gabriel, that many years has known her; Two hundred pounds in coyn and plate he gave with free good will Unto them that bravely fought in the Angel Gabriel. [Probably by Lawrence Price.]

Of thee, great State, the god of waves In equall wrongs assistance craves, Defend thyselfe and mee: For if ore seas there be no sway, My godhead cleane is tane away, The scepter pluckt from thee. Such as ore seas all sovereigntie oppose, Though seeming friends, to both are truly foes. If little Venice brings alone Such waves to her subjection, As in the Gulfe doe stirre, What then should great Britannia please, But rule as ladie ore all seas, And thou as queen of her? For sea-dominion may as well be gain’d By new acquests, as by descent maintain’d. Goe on, great state, and make it knowne, Thou never wilt forsake thine owne, Nor from thy purpose start: But that thou wilt thy power dilate, Since narrow seas are found too straight For thy capacious heart. So shall thy rule, and mine, have large extent: Yet not so large, as just and permanent.

Cease now the talke of wonders, nothing rare Of floateing ilandes, castles in the aire, Of wooden walls, graves walkeing, flieing steedes, Or Trojan horse. The present truth exceeds Those ancient fables; floating iles great store, Sent from the British Ile, now guard her shore, And castles strong without foundation stande More safe on waters pavement then on lande. Now wooden walles defend our walles of rocke; These walles are cittyes too; tooke from the block Arise those christned frames, which are the health And moddle of a vaster Commonwealth; Beyond the Kentish stratagem now ghosts Of trees not greene doe walk about our coasts, Which humane art hath made move quick, by death Inur’d to motion, taught to feed on breath. Now winged steeds with bridles plac’d behinde, Leaving no print, accompany the winde, Their bowells greate with sonns of Mars doth groane To be delivered into action. Ride on, Arts liveing creatures, flie and swell Your wings like angry swans, while wee that dwell On shore, with prayer and fame [?] encrease the gale Which Heaven shall breath into each pregnant saile. Powre out the language of a chastning Jove That speakes in thunder here, like him above. Cannot your Lion roare and act her king? Is shee with all her Whelpes not swift to bringe Her pray into her den? Is not your Rose Worth lilies three, or any flower that growes? Your Honour (which is admirall) maintaine; She leades you forth, come home to her againe. For sea and fish, if tempests rise, bee free [?]. Give them to what they love, that troublers bee [?].

1 Old Paul’s steeple, fare thee well, Thy famous building Ile not tell, Of that thy lofty little bell Shall ring. But I am in another vaine, Now you shall heare a merry straine, It is of Royal Soveraigne I sing. 2 I meane the ship so lately built, Without, within soe richly gilt; O never man saw rapier hilt Soe shine. I think there’s none since Noah’s Flood Was ever like to prove soe good; You never saw thing made of wood Soe fine. 3 Edgar sitts horse, in glorious wise As glorious artists could devise, And under seven kings prostrate lyes. I’me told His horse with mettle soe abounds That he shall shortly scowre the Downes, And winne, Ile hold, a hundred pounds Of gold. 4 To tell you of her bredth, her length, Her height, her depth, her bulk, her strength, Her anchor’s weight too, and the length Oth’ cable, Her guns, her tackle and the rest Quæ nunc proscribere longum est, It might be counted for a ieast Or fable; 5 For there be very few will guesse Her half a mile or little lesse, Her lanthorne to feast forty messe Unbidd, Her mast for to be thrice as high As Grantham steeple. If I lye Ask them that saw her, pray, for I Nere did. 6 To see how lasses flock each day, And leave their maydenheads by th’ way, I doubt that some will shortly pay Dearely; And most men wives will alsoe goe [To ’t] whe’r their hussbands will or noe To meet a freind, I don’t say soe, Not I. 7 There’s many more will see this sight; Some call their wives, and they doe right, But some with others to delight Are bent. Thus good and bad and midling some, To see this ship, to Woolwich come, This wonder of all Christendome And Kent. 8 Kent was never conquered yet, Kent was thought a place most fitt To build this goodly arke in it, Soe stronge. Kent and men of Kent have showne By sea, by land, that of their owne Which other countries have not knowne Soe long. 9 Yet a word or two in merriment To cheer up some were discontent, And thought theire mony had bin lent In vaine; But now the truth they plainely see, They all in one consent agree To double it if need shalbe Againe. 10 She will be Neptune’s greatest grace; She vows our chiefest foes to chase, And Triton with triforked mace Doth sweare Noe Remora there shall her stay, Leviathan must give her way, And all the divills that this day Dwell there. 11 The syrens sitt and sweetly sing, And hold it for a happy thing That now they shall enioy the King Oth’ mayne, And say it’s a most Christian worke To curb the Pope and scourge the Turke, And ferret those that theeving lurke Neer Spaine. 12 Our freinds are glad and mirth doe make, Our foes are sad, their hearts doe quake, Soe some doe laugh, and some doe shake For woe, And I amongst the rest make sport, Singing to you in civill sort, And if you have not thank’d me for’t Then doe. 13 God blesse King Charles with length of daies, That doth deserve immortal praise, In this and many thousand waies Our guide. God blesse the Queen and ship so tall, God blesse the great, God blesse the small, The blade that made this song and all Beside.

Countrie men of England, who live at home with ease, And little thinke what dangers are incident o’ th’ seas, Give eare unto the saylor who unto you will shew His case, his case: how ere the winde doth blow. He that is a saylor must have a valiant heart, For, when he is upon the sea, he is not like to start; But must with noble courage all dangers undergoe: Resolve, resolve: how e’re the wind doth blow. Our calling is laborious, and subject to much [care]; But we must still contented be with what falls to our share. We must not be faint-hearted, come tempest, raine or snow, Nor shrinke: nor shrinke: how e’re the winde doth blowe. Sometimes on Neptune’s bosome our ship is tost with waves, And every minute we expect the sea must be our graves. Sometimes on high she mounteth, then falls againe as low: With waves: with waves: when stormie winds do blow. Then with unfained prayers, as Christian duty bindes, Wee turne unto the Lord of hosts, with all our hearts and minds; To Him we flie for succour, for He, we surely know, Can save: can save: how ere the wind doth blow. Then He who [brake] the rage [of] the rough and blustrous seas, When His disciples were afraid, will straight the stormes apease; And give us cause to thanke, on bended knees full low: Who saves: who saves: how ere the wind doth blow. Our enemies approaching, when wee on sea espie, Wee must resolve incontinent to fight, although we die; With noble resolution we must oppose our foe In fight, in fight: how ere the wind doth blow. And when, by God’s assistance, our foes are put to th’ foile, To animate our courages wee all have share o’ th’ spoile. Our foes into the ocean we back to back do throw, To sinke, or swimme: how ere the wind doth blow. Thus wee gallant sea-men, in midst of greatest dangers, Doe alwaies prove our valour, wee never are no changers; But what soe ere betide us, wee stoutly undergoe, Resolv’d, resolv’d: how ere the wind doth blow. If fortune doe befriend us, in what we take in hand, Wee prove our selves still generous wherere we come to land; Ther’s few that shall out brave us, though neere so great in show We spend, and lend: how ere the wind doth blow. We travell to the Indies, from them we bring som spice; There we buy rich merchandise at very little price; And many wealthy prizes we conquer from the foe In fight, in fight: how ere the wind doth blow. Into our native country with wealth we doe returne, And cheere our wives and children, who for our absence mourne Then doe we bravely flourish, and where soe ere we goe We roare: we roare: how ere the wind doth blow. For when we have received our wages for our paynes The vintners and the tapsters by us have golden gaines. We call for liquor roundly, and pay before we goe: And sing: and drink: how ere the wind doth blow. We bravely are respected when we walke up and downe, For if wee meete good company wee care not for a crowne; Ther’s none more free than saylors, where ere he come or goe, They’ll roare o’ th’ shore: how ere the winde doth blow. Then who would live in England and no[u]rish vice with ease, When hee that is in povertie may riches get o’ th’ seas? Let’s saile unto the Indies, where golden grass doth grow: To sea, to sea: how ere the wind doth blow. M[artin] P[arker].

Sail forth, bold sea-men, plough the liquid main; Fear neither storms nor pirats, strive for gain; Whilst others sleep at home in a whole skin Your brave adventures shall great honours win.

I am a jovial marriner: our calling is well known; We trade with many a foreigner to purchase high renown; We serve our country faithfully, and bring home store of gold; We do our business manfully, for we are free and bold. A sea-man hath a valiant heart, and bears a noble minde; He scorneth once to shrink or start for any stormy wind. ’Tis known what hardships we endure abroad upon the seas, Whilst others sleep at home secure, and spend their time in ease; We seldom dare lie down to rest, lest danger should ensue; Our heads with care is sore opprest: beleeve me, it is true! A sea-man hath a valiant heart, etc. A cowardly spirit must not think to prove a sea-man bold, For to be sure he may not shrink in dangers manifold; When sea-fights happen on the main, and dreadful cannons rore, Then all men fight, or else be slain [and braggarts proud look poor. A sea-man hath a valiant heart, etc.] ’Tis sea-men stout that doth deserve both honour and renown; In perils great we may not swerve, though Neptune seem to frown; If once his curled front we spy, drencht in the foamy brine, Then each man doth his business ply, there’s none that doth repine. A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc. When angry billows brush the skye, most hideous to behold, Then up our ships are tost on high, and with the waves are roull’d; When tempest fierce our sails doth tear, and rends the masts asunder, O! then we have great cause to fear, or else it were a wonder. A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc. Great rocks which lye amongst the waves do threaten us with death, And many sea-men finde their graves in sands which are beneath; To see the masts of ships appear, which hath been cast away, Would make a land-man dye with fear, ’tis best at home to stay. A sea-man hath a valiant heart, and bears a noble minde, etc. Brave England hath been much inricht by art of navigation; Great store of wealth we home have fetched for to adorn our nation: Our merchants still we do supply with traffick that is rare; Then, sea-men, cast your caps on high, we are without compare. A sea-man hath a valiant heart, and bears a noble minde; He scorneth once to shrink or start for any stormy wind. Who should the ladies’ pallats please, with spices of the best, If sea-men all should take their ease, and stay at home to rest? Our gallants they would finde a want of silks to make them fine, And tearing boyes no more would rant if once they wanted wine. A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc. Our land it would invaded be if sea-men were not stout; We let our friends come in on sea, and keep our foes without; Our privilege upon the seas we bravely do maintain, And can enlarge it when we please in Royal Charles his reign. A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc. Such countries as do lie remote doth tremble at our fame, For we have taught them all to note ’tis England bears the name: In foreign parts where ere we come our valour is well known, What ere they be they dare not mumm, if we say all’s our own. A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc. When as our ships with merchandize are safely come to shore, No men like us under the skies to drink, to sing, and rore; Good wine and beer we freely tope, until the ground look blew: We value neither Turk nor Pope, we are a jovial crew. A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc. We kiss our wives when we return, who long for us did wait, And he that’s single need not mourn, he cannot want a mate: Young women still are wondrous kinde to sea-men in their need; And sure it shows a courteous minde to do a friendly deed. A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc. With pretty, courteous, dainty knacks we please the females well, We know what longing women lacks, most surely we can tell; A sea-man is a cock o’ th’ game, young maidens find it true; We never are so much to blame to let them want their due. A sea-man hath [a valiant heart], etc. Thus, gallant sea-men, I have spread abroad your high renown, Which shall survive when you are dead, and gain a lasting crown: Your praise to future ages shall most gloriously appear; Then courage, noble sea-men all, ’tis you I love most dear. A sea-man hath a valiant heart, and bears a noble minde He scorneth once to shrink or start for any stormy wind.

You gentlemen of England, that lives at home at ease, Full little do you think upon the dangers of the seas: Give ear unto the marriners, and they will plainly show, The cares and the fears when the stormy winds do blow. All you that will be seamen must bear a valiant heart, For when you come upon the seas you must not think to start, Nor once to be faint-hearted in hail, rain, or snow, Nor to shrink, nor to shrink when the stormy winds do blow. The bitter storms and tempests poor seamen must endure, Both day and night, with many a fright, we seldom rest secure; Our sleep it is disturbed with visions strange to know, And with dreams on the streams, when the stormy winds do blow. In claps of roaring thunder which darkness doth enforce, We often find our ship to stray beyond our wonted course, Which causeth great distractions, and sinks our hearts full low; ’Tis in vain to complain when the stormy winds do blow. Sometimes in Neptune’s bosom our ship is tost in waves And every man expecting the sea to be their graves: Then up aloft she mounteth and down again so low; ’Tis with waves, oh! with waves, when the stormy winds do blow. Then down again we fall to prayer with all our might and thought; When refuge all doth fail us ’tis that must bear us out; To God we call for succour, for He it is, we know, That must aid us and save us when the stormy winds do blow. The lawyer and the usurer that sits in gown of fur, In closets warm, can take no harm, abroad they need not stir; When winter fierce with cold doth pierce, and beats with hail and snow, We are sure to endure when the stormy winds do blow. We bring home costly merchandise, and jewels of great price To serve our English gallantry with many a rare device; To please the English gallantry our pains we freely show, For we toyl and we moile when the stormy winds do blow. We sometimes sail to the Indies to fetch home spices rare, Sometimes again to France and Spain for wines beyond compare Whilst gallants are carousing in taverns on a row Then we sweep o’er the deep when the stormy winds do blow. When tempests are blown over, and greatest fears are past, In weather fair and temperate air, we straight lie down to rest: But when the billows tumble and waves do furious grow Then we rouse, up we rouse when the stormy winds do blow. If enemies oppose us, when England is at wars With any foreign nations we fear not wounds and scars; Our roaring guns shall teach ’em our valour for to know, Whilst they reel in the keel when the stormy winds do blow. We are no cowardly shrinkers, but Englishmen true bred; We’ll play our parts like valiant hearts, and never fly for dread; We’ll ply our business nimbly, where’er we come or go With our mates, to the Straits, when the stormy winds do blow. Then courage all, brave mariners, and never be dismayed; Whilst we have bold adventure[r]s we ne’er shall want a trade; Our merchants will employ us to fetch them wealth, we know; Then be bold, work for gold, when the stormy winds do blow. When we return in safety with wages for our pains The tapster and the vintner will help to share our gains; We’ll call for liquor roundly and pay before we go, Then we’ll roar on the shore when the stormy winds do blow.

Where ever English seamen goes They are a terror to their foes.

Come all you brave sailors that sails on the main, I’ll tell you of a fight that was lately in Spain; And of five sail of frigats bound to Malago For to fight the proud Spaniards; our orders was so. There was the Henry and Ruby, and the Antelope also, The Grey-hound and the Bryan, for fire-ships must go; But so bravely we weighed, and played our parts, That we made the proud Spaniards to quake in their hearts. Then we came to an anchor so nigh to the mould; ‘Methinks you proud English do grow very bold!’ But we came to an anchor so near to the town That some of their churches we soon battered down. They hung out their flag of truce, for to know our intent, And they sent out their long-boat to know what we meant; But our captain he answered them bravely, it was so, ‘For to burn all your shipping before we do go.’ ‘For to burn all our shipping? You must us excuse; ’Tis not five sail of frigats shall make us to muse!’— But we burnt all their shipping, and their gallies also; And we left in the city full many a widow. ‘Come then,’ says our captain, ‘let’s fire at the church!’ And down came their belfrey, which grieved them much; And down came the steeple, which standeth so high, Which made the proud Spaniards to the nunnery fly. So great a confusion we made in the town That their lofty buildings came tumbling down; Their wives and their children, for help they did cry, But none could relieve them, though danger was nigh. The flames and the smoak so increased their woe That they knew not whither to run or to go; Some to shun the fire leapt into the flood, And there they did perish in water and mud. Our guns we kept firing, still shooting amain, Whilst many a proud Spaniard was on the place slain; The rest, being amazed, for succour did cry, But all was in vain, they had no where to fly. At length being forced, they thought it most fit Unto the brave English-men for to submit; And so a conclusion at last we did make Upon such conditions as was fit to take. The Spanish Armado did England no harm, ’Twas but a bravado, to give us alarm; But with our five frigats we did them bumbast, And made them of English-men’s valour to taste. When this noble victory we did obtain, Then home we returned to England again, Where we were received with welcomes of joy, Because with five frigats we did them destroy.

What means this silence, sirs? what’s here becom? Some heavy tidings sure hath struck you dumb. Light griefs make teares distill out from the eye, When great ones dull, and often stupifie. What! Is there none dare speak? Alas! I feare It is too harsh to sound in English eare. Must my misgiving soul divine the cause Of your sad aspects? Stay, for I must pause: Is he that over Neptune once bore sway, And ’gainst our foes did often get the day: Is he that was to sea-men their delight, And led them on most daringly to fight: Is he whose face a terror strooke; whose name The darling was of Fortune and of Fame: Is he that by example spent his breath, And shew’d a new way how to out-face Death: He that strook terror wheresoere he came, And made his foes to tremble at his name— Speak, is it true? Is noble Blake then gone, And left us here in dark oblivion? Is his seraphick soul then fled away, Leaving nought but his ashes and his clay? Your silence seems to say so. Is he dead? Sure then your griefs cannot be numbered. I see the lasting’st monuments must bend; All things must have their period and end. His brave example in our infant dayes Of war, when he alone deserv’d the bayes; When by his virtue onely Lime held out Against a potent foe both bold and stout. Taunton her liberty to him doth owe, His bounty onely did on her bestow. Dunster, that pleasant seat, whose lofty tow’rs E’ne peirc’t the clouds, did stoop unto his pow’rs Bridgewater gave him birth, for that fam’d more, And honoured, then ere she was before. His enemies did oft amaz’d stand When he held up his sure dead-doing hand; And Death grew pale to see himself out-done By one of mortall race. The setting sun Oft peep’d abroad, as oft did blush to see Neptune forc’t weare his sanguine livery. Though Death did often strive him to affright Yet he out-lookt him, made him mad with spight, And when with open force he durst not seise him In a consumption did at last surprise him. His head a mint of reason was; when he Once spake he used no tautologie. His arguments dilemmas were, which he Confirm’d b’ example out of history: His own experience was so great that all With one consent still clos’d in generall: And for his intellectualls so rare That few now living could with him compare. A man that alwayes valued his word; Bright honour ever shining on his sword: To vice and basenesse ever most severe, And to his friends and goodnesse very deare: From affectation free, and, what was more, A zealous enemy of the Scarlet Whore; Whose able judgment in a hot dispute Two of the stoutest champions did confute, Deserving to be (by their own confession) His countryes honour call’d; twas their expression. No charming syren could his ears entice; Nor tempting Venus him allure to vice; Nor Cleophis with her bewiching eyes Ere put a period to his victories. War was his mistris, he did her embrace; She hath a princely and majestick face; She nurst him, bred him, made him her delight, Conducted him in many a dreadful fight; He was her darling, she in him took pleasure, He was her chiefest and her onely treasure. Though threats on threats, and promises succeeded From Royalty, yet he them never heeded. Threats could not drive him, nor allurements high Ere make him part with his integrity. No sceptick in religion was he found, His head and heart and principles were sound. Constant beyond compare, and to his nation A faithfull servant in his generation: No faction would he heed, nor plots contrive, Nor did he wish that ever they should thrive; And midst our various changes still kept free, Hating cold dullnesse, base neutrality. Riches he valued not, nor them respect, Nor glorious titles ever did affect. Armes and the Arts did wondrously comply In him to make a perfect harmony; In both admir’d, in both he did excell, And liv’d and dy’d without a parallell. His valour was diffused, and now dead, He the Tenth Worthy may be reckoned The civick, murall, and the navall crown He has deserv’d, all due to his renown. In peace he was a Seneca, in war He out-did Mars, still prov’d a conqueror. No chamber-musick squeaking in the night, Nor noyce of vialls did him much delight; The deep-mouth’d canons thundring in his eares Was unto him the musick of the spheres: Those bore the base, the whistling bullets they Made up the treble on a fighting day; Small shot division play’d, whose nimble motion Made many a soul drink up a sleepy potion: This was the musick most did cheer his spirit, And made him justly so much prayse to merit. His noble, lively, active, vigorous fire Ne’re quencht in him untill he did expire. Oh! how my soul bemones my countryes losse, Her onely genius gone; oh! ’tis a crosse Beyond compare, now hardly felt, but when Our sins a war on us shall bring agen, Who then shall stand i’ th’ gap? His noble arme Did quail our home-bred, forreign foes disarme. May those succeed Elisha-like inherit A double portion of Elijah’s spirit. The Hollander in bloudy lines can write What harms he did them by the God of might; The Portigalls, as every one doth know, Their peace, their plenty, and their traffique owe Unto his worth, when Rupert he was fain To face about and get him home again; Loth to appear with his poor glow-worm light When such a sun as this appear’d in sight. The barbarous pirates upon Tunis strand Felt the effects of his revenging hand. The Spaniards lately fear’d the name of Blake, As once their children did the name of Drake. What shall I say? his last attempt so bold At the Canaries, it cannot be told Unto its worth; that done with gallantry He makes his exit with a plaudite; And having done to Spaine abundant harms, Comes home in peace and dyes free from allarms: The George the first ship bore him out, and then The mournfull she that brought him back agen. Oh that some Virgil, for his greater glory, Would please to write his everlasting story; Or else some Homer bravely to reherse His glorious actions in heroick verse; For me to limne the noble act h’ as done, Is but to light a candle to the sun: That task I’le leave to some more able hand That view’d his action both by sea and land; And though in blacks I may not mourn his end, Yet none shall more bemone him as a friend. Or’e death he is victorious, and he Bequeaths it us as his last legacy. Now unto God be everlasting prayse, That thus in peace hath finished his dayes: And since his fatall thred is quite spun out, Let’s draw the curtains, put the candle out, And let us leave him to his silent tomb, Free from all troubles, clos’d up in the womb Of Mother Earth let him in quiet rest, Till he enjoy the choycest and the best Of his desires, in glory for to see His Saviour Christ to all eternity. Epitaph Acrostick R est here in peace the sacred dust O f valiant Blake, the good, the just, B elov’d of all on every side; E ngland’s honour, once her pride, R ome’s terror, Dutch annoyer, T ruth’s defender, Spain’s destroyer. B ring no dry eyes unto this place: L et not be seen in any case A smiling or an unsad face. K indle desires in every brest E ternally with him to rest. By Geo. Harrison, Gent.

Great Charles, your English seamen upon our bended knee, Present ourselves as freemen, unto your Majesty, Beseeching God to blesse you where-ever that you go, So we pray, night and day, when the stormy winds do blow. In darkest nights, or shipwracks, alwayes we are on our guard: Of French or Turkish pirats, we never were afraid. But cal’d stout English sea-men where-ever that we go, For we make, them to quake, when the stormy winds do blow. We are your valiant sea-men that brought you out of Spain: And will as war-like free-men your royal cause maintain. If you will give commission to wars with France wee’l go: Then shall we, merry be, when the stormy winds do blow. ’Twas we did sail you over to English ground agen; And landed you at Dover, with all your noble men. For which we are renowned where-ever we do go: Honour will, tend us still, when the stormy winds do blow. And now we are a ranging upon the ocean seas, The Frenchmen they are changing and cannot be at ease, For we will make their top-sailes unto our fleet shall bow: Then shall we, merry be, when the stormy winds do blow. Sometimes our tacklings breaking, our masts are cut in two: Our ships are often leaking, great straits we’re put unto. In great tempestuous weather, which few at home doth know, Thus do we, live at sea, when the stormy winds do blow. When some at home are feeding and cheering up themselves, Then we at sea are bleeding amongst the rocks and shelves. Yet greater dangers ready, still we will undergo, For our King, and will sing, when the stormy winds do blow. Sometimes when we are sailing our victuals they grow scarse, Our wives at home bewailing and pittying of our case, In thinking of the dangers poore seamen undergo. For our King, still we sing, when the stormy winds do blow. Yet we are still couragious with any foe to fight: If Turk or Jew ingage us we put them to the flight, And make them give us homage before we let them go: For our King, then we sing, when the stormy winds do blow. We are the prop of trading, what kind so ere it be: The originall of lading youre ships with treasury. None goes beyond a sea-man in riches, gold, and store: For he brings, wealth to kings, when the stormy winds do blow. We have some sneezing pouder, the Dutch-man fain would have, ’Twill make him speak the louder, if Kings he will not have. And cause him to remember the phisick taking so: When shall we, merry be, when the stormy winds do blow. Great King wee’l make you famous, youre glory shall out-shine Romulus and Remus, Godolph or Constantine. Wee’l bring you gold and treasure by sailing to and fro: And will fight, day and night, to preserve you from your foe.

Dutchmen beware, we have a fleet, Will make you tremble when you see’t, Mann’d with brave Englishmen of high renown, Who can and will your peacock plumes pull down; Then cease your boasting, it will nought availe, You know its but your duty to strike sayle.

Brave loyal hearted English-men, attend whilst I declare, What noble preparations is made for the Hollands war; For certain such a bloody fight hath never been before, As is near, you shall hear, when the cannons loud do roar. View but our Navy Royal, and you will find it plain, The like thereof was never seen to sayle upon the maine: The Duke of York High Admiral will daunt the Dutch-man sure With his name and his fame, when the cannons loud do roar. Our ships are bravely rigged, and mann’d with seamen stout, Our souldiers good will spend their blood to bang their foes about: They long to be a dealing blows, delay doth vex them sore, With delight, they will fight, when the cannons loud do roar. The care and good provision for seamen that is made, Will make them fight for England’s right and never be afraid: They’l find far richer plunder then e’re they did before: Every day, in the fray, when the cannons loud do roar. Hark how the Dutchmen bluster, they prate and domineer, They stamp and sweat, they fume and fret, would make one laugh to hear: Their merchant ships are taken for prizes, grives them sore: But in vain, they complain, when the cannons loud do roar. Although they be rebellious, yet we shall pull them down, And teach them how they shall submit to England’s Royal Crown: Wee’le thump their sides most soundly and beat them ore and ore, In each fight, for our right, when the cannons loud do roar. There will be noble knocking, when once the navy’s meet, Then Holland’s States beware your pates, we shall you roughly greet: Your treachery at Guiny stands yet upon the score: You shall pay, at the day when the cannons loud do roar. Then volontiers come in amain to fight against the foe, For your reward, you shall have gaine, when to the wars you go; The Hogan Mogan’s for us all, their riches keep in store: Then be bold, fight for gold, when the cannons loud do roar. Brave Allen our Rear Admiral, it was his hap to meet, Near Cadiz on the Spanish coast, part of the Smyrna fleet: Where some he took, and others sunk, the rest he battered sore, Thus they lost, and were crost, when the cannons loud did roar. Then Butter-boxes mark your hitts, for all your wits are dull, Wee’le teach you better manners yet, than ever did old Noll: You then were basted pretty well, and forc’t to cry and lower: And to weep, on the deep, when the cannons loud did roar. We have tall ships, that’s newly built, the best that e’re did sayl, We shall the Flemish vessels pelt, no doubt we shall prevail: Our oaken-boards will hold it out as well now as before; Wee’le not flinch, not an inch, when the cannons loud do roar. Then courage all brave English-men, and never be dismaid, But fight it out most gallantly, we shall be nobly paid: When we return with victory, with gold and silver store, Bells shall ring, whilst we sing, and the cannons loud shall roar.

To all you ladies now at land We men at sea indite; But first would have you understand How hard it is to write; The Muses now, and Neptune too, We must implore to write to you. With a fa, la, la, la, la. For though the Muses should prove kind, And fill our empty brain, Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind To wave the azure main, Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, Roll up and down our ships at sea. Then if we write not by each post, Think not we are unkind, Nor yet conclude our ships are lost By Dutchmen, or by wind; Our tears we’ll send a speedier way, The tide shall waft them twice a day. The King with wonder and surprise Will swear the seas grow bold, Because the tides will higher rise, Than e’er they did of old; But let him know it is our tears Brings floods of grief to Whitehall-stairs. Should foggy Opdam chance to know Our sad and dismal story, The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, And quit their fort at Goree, For what resistance can they find From men who’ve left their hearts behind? Let wind and weather do its worst, Be you to us but kind, Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, No sorrow we shall find; ’Tis then no matter how things go, Or who’s our friend, or who’s our foe. To pass our tedious hours away, We throw a merry main, Or else at serious ombre play, But why should we in vain Each other’s ruin thus pursue? We were undone when we left you! But now our fears tempestuous grow And cast our hopes away, Whilst you, regardless of our woe, Sit careless at a play,— Perhaps permit some happier man To kiss your hand or flirt your fan. When any mournful tune you hear, That dies in every note, As if it sighed with each man’s care, For being so remote, Think then how often love we’ve made To you, when all those tunes were played. In justice you cannot refuse To think of our distress, When we for hopes of honour lose Our certain happiness; All those designs are but to prove Ourselves more worthy of your love. And now we’ve told you all our loves, And likewise all our fears, In hopes this declaration moves Some pity from your tears: Let’s hear of no inconstancy, We have too much of that at sea. With a fa, la, la, la, la. Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset, 1665.