The Principal Navigations, Voyages, Traffiques and Discoveries of the English Nation
Chapter 161 : At this remorsles Dirgie for the dead, The siluer Moone, dread Soueraigne of the Deepe

At this remorsles Dirgie for the dead, The siluer Moone, dread Soueraigne of the Deepe, That with the floods fills vp her horned head And by her waine the wayning ebbs doth keepe: Taught by the Fat's how destenie was led, Bidds all the starres pull in their beames and weepe: For twas vnfit, chast hallowed eyes should see Honour confounded by impietie.

Then to the night she giues all soueraigne power, Th'eternall mourner for the dayes diuorce, Who drowned in her owne harts killing shower, Viewes others torments with a sad remorse.

This flintie Princesse, ayme cryes to the hower, On which to looke, kinde eies no force could force.

And yet the sight her dull hart so offended, That from her sight a fogge dewe descended.

Now on our Knight, raines yron, sword, and fiers, Iron wrapt in smoke, sword bath'd in smoking blood, Fiers, furies king, in blood and smoke aspires The consumation of all liuing good, Yet _Grinuile_, with like Agents like expires His foemen's darts, and euermore withstood Th'a.s.saults of death, and ruins of the warre, Hoping the splendour of some luckie starre.

On eyther side him, still two _Gallions_ lay, Which with continuall boardings nurst the fight, Two great _Armados_, howrelie ploy'd their way, And by a.s.saulte, made knowne repellesse might.

Those which could not come neere vnto the fray, Aloose dicharg'd their volleys gainst our Knight.

And when that one shrunk back, beat with disgrace, An other instantly supply'd the place.

So that their resting, restlesse him containd, And theyr supplies, deny'd him to supply: The _Hydra_ of their mightines ordaind New spoile for death, when old did wounded lie: But hee, _Herculian_-like one state retaind, One to triumph, or one for all to die.

Heauen had onelie lent him but one hart, That hart one thought, that thought no feare of smart.

And now the night grew neere her middle line, Youthfully l.u.s.tie in her strongest age, When one of _Spaynes_ great _Gallions_ did repine, That one should many vnto death ingage, And therefore with her force, halfe held diuine, At once euaporates her mortall rage, Till powerfull _Grinuille_, yeelding power a toombe Splyt her, & sunck her in the salt waves wombe.

When _Cutino_, the Hulks great Admirall, Saw that huge Vessel drencht within the surge, Enuie and shame tyered vpon his gall, And for reuenge a thousand meanes doth vrge; But _Grinuile_, perfect in destructions fall, His mischiefes with like miseries doth scourge, And renting with a shot his wooden tower, Made _Neptunes_ liquid armes his all deuouer.

These two ore-whelm'd, _Siuills Ascension_ came, A famous s.h.i.+p, well man'd and strongly drest, _Vindicta_ from her Cannons mouthes doth flame, And more then any, our dread Knight oppresst: Much hurt shee did, many shee wounded lame, And _Valurs_ selfe, her valiant acts confest.

Yet in the end, (for warre of none takes keepe) _Grinuile_ sunck her within the watry deepe.

An other great _Armado_, brusd and beat, Sunck neere _S. Michaels_ road, with thought to scape, And one that by her men more choicely set, Beeing craz'd and widow'd of her comly shape, Ran gainst the sh.o.r.e, to pay _Ill-chaunce_ her debt, Who desolate for desolations gape: Yet these confounded, were not mist at all.

For new supplies made new the aged brall.

This while on _Grinuile_ ceazed no amaze.

No wonder, dread, nor base astonishment, But true resolue, and valurs sacred blaze, The crowne of heauen, and starrie ornament Deck't his diuine part, and from thence did raze Affects of earth, or earth's intendiment.

And in this broyle, as cheerefull was his fight, As _Ioues_, embracing _Danae_ by night.

Looke how a wanton Bridegroome in the morne, Busilie labours to make glad the day, And at the noone, with wings of courage borne, Recourts his bride with dauncing and with play, Vntil the night which holds meane bliss in scorne, By action kills imaginations sway, And then, euen then, gluts and confounds his thought, With all the sweets, conceit or Nature wrought,

Euen so our Knight the bridegroome vnto _Fame_, Toild in his battailes morning with vnrest, At noone triumph'd and daunst, and made his game, That vertue by no death could be deprest; But when the night of his loues longings came, Euen then his intellectuall soule confest All other ioyes imaginarie were Honour vnconquerd, heauen and earth held deare.

The bellowing shotte which wakened dead mens swounds, As _Dorian_ musick, sweetned his cares, Ryuers of blood, issuing from fountaine wounds, Hee pytties, but augments not with his teares, The flaming fier which mercilesse abounds, Hee not so much as masking torches feares, The dolefull Eccho of the soules halfe dying, Quicken his courage in their banefull crying.

When foule _Misfortune_ houering on a Rock, (The stonie girdle of the _Florean_ Ile,) Had seene this conflict, and the fearfull shock, Which all the _Spanish_ mischiefes did compile, And saw how conquest licklie was to mock The hope of _Spayne_, and fauster her exile, Immortall shee, came downe herselfe to fight, And doe what else no mortall creature might.

And as she flew the midnights waking starre, Sad _Ca.s.siopea_ with a heauie cheare, Pusht forth her forehead, to make known from farre, What time the dryrie dole of earth drew neare, But when shee saw _Misfortune_ arm'd in warre, With teares she blinds her eyes, and clouds the ayre, And asks the G.o.ds, why _Fortune_ fights with man?

They say, to doe, what else no creature can.

O why should such immortall enuie dwell, In the enclosures of eternall mould?

Let G.o.ds with G.o.ds, and men with men retell, Vnequall warres t'vnequall shame is sould; But for this d.a.m.ned deede came shee from h.e.l.l, And _Ioue_ is sworne, to doe what dest'nie would, Weepe then my pen, the tell-tale of our woe, And curse the fount from whence our sorrows flow.

Now, now, _Misfortune_ fronts our Knight in armes, And casts her venome through the _Spanysh_ hoast, Shee salues the dead, and all the lyuing warmes With vitall enuie, brought from _Plutos_ coast; Yet all in vaine, all works not _Grinuils_ harmes; Which seene, shee smiles, and yet with rage imbost[5]

Saith to her selfe, since men are all too weake, Behold a G.o.ddesse shall thy lifes twine breake.

With that shee takes a Musket in her hand, Raft from a dying Souldiour newlie slaine, And ayming where th' vnconquered Knight did stand, Dischargd it through his bodie, and in twaine Deuids the euer holie nuptiall band, Which twixt his soule, and worlds part shold remaine, Had not his hart, stronger then _Fortunes_ will, Held life perforce to scorne _Misfortunes_ ill.

The bubling wound from whence his blood distild, Mourn'd to let fall the hallowed drops to ground, And like a iealous loue by riuall illd, Sucks in the sacred moisture through the wound; But he, which felt deaths fatall doome fulfilld, Grew fiercer valiant, and did all confound, Was not a _Spanyard_ durst abord him rest, After he felt his deaths wound in his brest.

Hundreds on hundreds, dead on the maymed fall, Maymed on sounde, sound in them selues lye slaine, Blest was the first that to his s.h.i.+p could crall, For wounded, he wounds mult.i.tuds againe; No sacrifice, but sacrifice of all, Could stay his swords oblations vnto paine, Nor in _Phillipie_, fell for _Caesars_ death, Soules thicker then for _Grinuils_ wasting breath.

The _Nemian_ Lyon, _Aramanthian_ Bore, The _Hircanian_ Tyger, nor the _Cholcean_ Bulls, Neuer extended rage with such vprore, Nor in their brests mad monstrous furie lulls; Now might they learne, that euer learnt before, Wrath at our Knight, which all wrath disanulls, For slauish death, his hands commaunded more, Then Lyon, Tyger, Bull, or angrie Bore.

Had _Pompey_ in _Pharsalia_ held his thought, _Caesar_ had neuer wept vpon his head, Had _Anthonie_ at _Actiome_ like him fought, _Augustus_ teares had neuer drowned him dead, Had braue _Renaldo_, _Grinuiles_ puissance bought, _Angelica_ from France had neuer fled, Nor madded _Rowland_ with inconstancie, But rather slayne him wanting victorie.

Before a storme flewe neuer Doues so fast, As _Spanyards_ from the furie of his fist, The stout _Reuenge_, about whose forlorne wast, Whilome so many in their moods persist, Now all alone, none but the scourge imbrast, Her foes from handie combats cleane desist; Yet still incirkling her within their powers, From farre sent shot, as thick as winters showers.

_Anger_, _and Enuie_, enemies to _Life_, Strong smouldering _Heate_ and noisom stink of _Smoke_, With over-labouring _Toyle_, _Deaths_ ouglie wife, These all accord with _Grinuiles_ wounded stroke, To end his liues date by their ciuell strife, And him vnto a blessed state inyoke, But he repelld them whilst repell he might, Till feinting power, was tane from power to fight

Then downe he sat, and beat his manlie brest, Not mourning death, but want of meanes to die; Those which suruiu'd coragiouslie be blest, Making them G.o.ds for G.o.d-like victorie; Not full twice twentie soules aliue did rest, Of which the most were mangled cruellie, Yet still, whilst words could speake, or signes could show, From death he maks eternall life to grow.

The Maister-gunner, which beheld his eyes Dart fier gainst death triumphant in his face, Came to sustaine him, and with courage cryes, How fares my Knight? worlds glory, martiall grace?

Thine honour, former honours ouer-flyes, And vnto _Heauen_ and _Vertue_ bids the bace; Cheere then thy soule, and if deaths wounding pain it, _Abram's_ faire bosome lyes to entertaine it.

Maister, he sayes, euen heers the opned dore, Through which my spirit bridgroome like must ride, (And then he bar'd his wounded brest all gore) To court the blessed virgine Lambe his bride, Whose innocence the worlds afflictions bore, Streaming diuine blood from his sliced side, And to that heauen my soule with courage flyes, Because vnconquered, conquering it dyes.

But yet, replyed the Maister once againe, Great vertue of our vertues, strive with fate, Yeeld not a minute vnto death, retaine Life like thy glory, made to wonder at.

This wounds recouerie well may entertaine A double triumph to thy conquering state, And make thee liue immortall Angell blest, Pleaseth thee suffer it be searcht and drest.

Descend then gentle _Grinvile_ downe below, Into my Cabin for a breathing s.p.a.ce, In thee there let thy Surgion stanch our woe, Giuing recuer to thee, our wounded case, Our breaths, from thy breaths fountaine gently flow, If it be dried, our currents loose their grace: Then both for vs, and thee, and for the best, Descend, to haue thy wound bound vp and drest.

Maister, reply'd the Knight, since last the sunne Lookt from the hiest period of the sky, Giuing a signall of the dayes mid noone, Vnto this hower of midnight, valiantly, From off this vpper deck I haue not runne, But fought, and freed, and welcomd victorie, Then now to giue new couert to mine head, Were to reuiue our foes halfe conquered.

Thus with contrarie arguments they warre, Diuers in their opinions and their speech, One seeking means, th' other a will to darre; Yet both one end, and one desire reach: Both to keepe honour liuing, plyant are, Hee by his fame, and he by skilfull leach, At length, the Maister winnes, and hath procurd The Knight discend, to have his woundings curd.

Downe when he was, and had display'd the port Through which his life was martching vp to heauen, Albe the mortall taint all cuers retort, Yet was his Surgion not of hope bereuen, But giues him valiant speech of lifes resort, Saves, longer dayes his longer fame shall euen, And for the meanes of his recouerie, He finds both arte and possibilitie.

_Misfortune_ hearing this presage of life, (For what but chimes within immortall eares) Within her selfe kindles a home-bred strife, And for those words the Surgions doomes day swears.

With that, her charg'd peece (_Atropos_ keene knife,) Againe she takes, and leueld with dispairs, Sent a shrill bullet through the Surgions head, Which thence, through _Grinuils_ temples like was led.

Downe fell the Surgion, hope and helpe was reft, His death gaue manumition to his soule, _Misfortune_ smyld, and euen then shee left The mournfull Ocean, mourner for this dole; Away shee flyes, for all was now bereft, Both hopes and helpe, for life to win deaths gole; Yet _Grinuile_ vnamaz'd with constant faith, Laughing dispisd the second stroke of death.

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 h.e.l.l, can worse then h.e.l.l 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 s.h.i.+p aboue the sourge was borne, But euen leueld with the Ocean lay, Onely the s.h.i.+ps 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 mult.i.tudes, 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 a.s.saults, 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.