XLV

The Golden Vanity

I HAVE a ship in the North Countrie,

And she goes by the name of the Golden Vanity ; I'm afraid she will be taken by some Turkish gallee, As she sails on the Low Lands Low.

Then up starts our little cabin boy,

Saying, 'Master, what will you give me if I do them destroy?'

'I will give you gold, I will give you store;
You shall have my daughter when I return on shore,
If you sink them in the Low Lands Low.'
The boy bent his breast, and away he jumpt in;
He swam till he came to this Turkish galleon,
As she laid on the Low Lands Low.

The boy he had an auger to bore holes two at twice;
While some were playing cards, and some were playing

dice,

He let the water in, and it dazzled in their eyes, And he sunk them in the Low Lands Low.

The boy he bent his breast, and away he swam back again,

Saying, 'Master, take me up, or I shall be slain,

For I have sunk them in the Low Lands Low.'

'I'll not take you up,' the master he cried,'I'll not take you up,' the master replied;

'I will kill you, I will shoot you, I will send you with the tide,

I will sink you in the Low Lands Low.'

The boy he swam round all by the starboard side; They laid him on the deck, and it's there he soon died:

Then they sewed him up in an old cow's hide,

And they threw him overboard to go down with the tide,

And they sunk him in the Low Lands Low.

XLVI

The Fame of Sir Francis Drake

SIR DRAKE, whom well the world's end knew,
Which thou did compasse round,

And whom both poles of heaven once saw,
Which north and south do bound.

The starres above would make thee known,

If men here silent were;

The sun himselfe cannot forget

His fellow-traveller.

XLVII

The Triumph of Sir Francis Drake

Steersman.

ALOOF! and aloof! and steady I steer!

'Tis a boat to our wish,

And she slides like a fish,

When cheerily stem'd, and when you row clear.

She now has her trimme!

Away let her swim,

Mackrels are swift in the shine of the moon,
And herrings in gales when they wind us,
But, timeing our oars, so smoothly we run
That we leave them in shoals behind us.

Chorus.

Then cry one and all!

Amain! for Whitehall.

The Diegos wee'l board to rummidge their hould, And drawing our steel they must draw out their gold.

Steersman.

Our master and's mate, with bacon and pease,
In cabins keep aboard;

Each as warm as a lord,

No queen, lying-in, lies more at her ease.
Whilst we lie in wait

For reals of eight,

And for some gold quoits, which fortune must send : But, alas, how their ears will tingle,

When finding, though still like Hectors we spend, Yet still all our pockets shall jingle!

Chorus.

Steersman.

Then cry one and all! &c.

Oh how the purser shortly will wonder,

When he sums in his book

All the wealth we have took,

And finds that wee'l give him none of the plunder;

He means to abate

The tyth for the state;

Then for our owners some part he'l discount:
But his fingers are pitcht together;

Where so much will stick, that little will mount,
When he reckons the shares of either.

Chorus. Then cry one and all! &c.

Steersman.

At sight of our gold the boatswain will bristle, But not finding his part

He will break his proud heart,

And hang himself strait i' th' chain of his whistle. Abaft and afore!

Make way to the shore!

Softly as fishes which slip through the stream,
That we may catch their sentries napping.
Poor little Diegos, they now little dream
Of us brave warriors of Wapping.

Chorus. Then cry one and all!

SIR WILLIAM Davenant.

XLVIII

The Spanish Armada

FROM mercilesse invaders,

From wicked men's device,
O God! arise and helpe us,
To quele owre enemies.

Sinke deepe their potent navies,

Their strength and corage breake,

O God! arise and arm us,

For Jesus Christ, his sake.

Though cruel Spain and Parma
With heathene legions come,
O God! arise and arm us,
We'll dye for owre home!

We will not change owre Credo
For Pope, nor boke, nor bell;
And yf the Devil come himself,
We'll hounde him back to hell.

BISHOP JOHN Still.

XLIX

Sir Francis Drake: or Eighty-Eight

SOME Years of late, in Eighty Eight,
As I do well remember a;

It was, some say, on the Ninth of May,
And some say in September a.

The Spanish Train launch'd forth amain,
With many a fine Bravado;

Whereas they thought, but it prov'd nought,
The Invincible Armado.

There was a little Man that dwelt in Spain, That shot well in a Gun a;

Don Pedro hight, as Black a Wight,

As the Knight of the Sun a.