A Ballad of the Fleet，1591.At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay，And a pinnace，like a flutter‘d bird，came flying from far away：
“Spanish ships of war at sea！we have sighted fiftythree！”
Then sware Lord Thomas Howard：“’Fore God I am no coward；But I cannot meet them here，for my ships are out of gear，And the half my men are sick.I must fly，but follow quick.We are six ships of the line；can we fight with fiftythree？”
Then spake Sir Richard Grenville：“I know you are no coward；You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.But I‘ve ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore.I should count myself the coward if I left them，myLord Howard，To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.”
So Lord Howard past away with five ships of war that day，Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven；But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the landVery carefully and slow，Men of Bideford in Devon，
And we laid them on the ballast down below；For we brought them all aboard，And they blest him in their pain，that they were not left to Spain，To the thumbscrew and the stake，for the glory of the Lord.
He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight，And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight，With his huge seacastles heaving upon the weather bow.“Shall we fight or shall we fly？
Good Sir Richard，tell us now，For to fight is but to die！
There’ll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.”And Sir Richard said again：“We be all good English men.Let us bang these dogs of Seville，the children of the devil，For I never turn‘d my back upon Don or devil yet.”
Sir Richard spoke and he laugh’d，and we roar‘d a hurrah，and soThe little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe，With her hundred fighters on deck，and her ninety sick below；For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen，And the little Revenge ran on thro’the long sealanebetween.
Thousands of their soldiers look‘d down from their decks and laugh’d，Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craftRunning on and on，till delay‘dBy their mountainlike San Philip that，of fifteen hundred tons，And upshadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns，Took the breath from our sails，and we stay’d.
And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloudWhence the thunderbolt will fall Long and loud，Four galleons drew awayFrom the Spanish fleet that day，
And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay，And the battlethunder broke from them all.
But anon the great San Philip she bethought herself and wentHaving that within her womb that had left her illcontent；And the rest they came aboard us，and they fought us hand to hand，For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers，And a dozen times we shook ‘em off as a dog that shakes his earsWhen he leaps from the water to the land.
And the sun went down，and the stars came out far over the summer sea，But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fiftythree.