We saw, but oh! how sad were we to see,
Spains (prouder) Fleete on the proud Ocean spred:
An hundred ships there were, and eight times three.
Which made it deem’d and nam’d unconquered.
   The ancient Pilots were amaz’d to see’t,
   When they beheld this new-huge-bodied Fleete.
The Sea with mazed smile saw in her bounds,
All the Earths wealth and honor brought by ships,
But we all trembled at the frequent sounds
Of Trumpets, Drummes: at naked Swords and Whips,
   (Sore threatned) wherewith all the Spaniard fell,
   Came arm’d this Brittaine nation to quell.
Our hopes are in alone-torne Ship (befitted,
With fire and Brimstone as her chiefest loade)
Shee, without guide, is to the winds committed,
And forth with cruel destiny she roade;
   (Them and her self with her own flames to spoile)
   Winds serve; she burnt her self, put them to foile.
Here were we cheer’d to see the Ocean maine,
All white before with Sails, now purple growne.
As suddenly with bloud of Spaniards slain:
Their fleete is scatted, and their Ships o’re thrown:
   Some sink, some burn I’ th’ Sea, and some at last,
   After long wandring, on strange Shores are cast.

We saw, but oh! how glad were we to see,
O cruel Rome, out of thy darksome den,
So many weapons of thy villanie
And mightie engines, pluckt by hands of men?
   Stones, Faggots, Crows, Gun-powder tubs we saw,
   These wines The whore doth from her vessels draw.
Long were they hid under the secret vaulte,
Of that great house; and there they were to lye,
Till they were made (O horrible assault!)
By wicked Faux his hand, aloft to flye.
   Those sacred rooms where Laws were wont to breed,
   To sudden wrack and ruine were decreed.
King Prince, Peers, Prelates, Commons, Gospel bright,
All at one blow together were to fall:
Match was in hand to give the Trains their light,
But God reveal’d, destroy’d, reveng’d them all.
   Hell needs not blush: for this Impiety
   Doth worst of men, fiends furies justifie.
Hell never knew such wickedness as this,
Another Hell (like it there need a’-bin.
Should Plot and pay be like? for both there is
One measure: none of pay; for, none of sinne.
   Should praise be like Gods grace? there is but one
   Measure for both: Grace had, praise must have none!

This poem is in the public domain.