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SONGS AND BALLADS |
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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 Counce.1 with thy grace, and end this mortall strife. |
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