Besides, the wounds and brusings which she beares, Are such, so manie, so incurable, As to remoue her from this place of feares. No force, no wit, no meane, nor man is able; Then since that peace prostrate to vs repaires, Vnlesse our selues, our selues make miserable, _Herculeen_ Knight, for pittie, pittie lend, No fame consists in wilfull desperat end.
These words with emphasis and action spent, Mou'd not Sir _Richard_, but inrag'd him more, To bow or yeeld, his heart would neare relent, He still impugns all thought of lifes restore; The Maister-gunner euer doth consent To act his wish, swearing, in beds of gore Death is most louelie, sweete and amiable, But captiu'd life for foulenes admirable.
The Captayne, seeing words could take no place, Turnes backe from them vnto the liuing few, Expounds what pittie is, what victors grace; Bids them them selues, them selues in kindnes rew, Peace if they please, will kindlie them imbrace, And they may liue, from whom warres glory grew; But if they will to desperate end consent, Their guilty soules too late shall mourne repent.
The sillie men, who sought but liuing ioyes, Cryes to the Captaine for an honord truce, Life they desire, yet no life that destroyes Their wonne renownes, but such as might excuse Their woes, their wounds, and al what els anoyes Beautie of laude, for other they refuse; All which the Captaine swears they shal obtaine, Because their foes, in doubtfull states remaine.
O when Sir _Richard_ saw them start aside, More chaynd to life then to a glorius graue, And those whom hee so oft in dangers tryde, Now trembling seeke their hatefull liues to saue. Sorrow and rage, shame, and his honors pride, Choking his soule, madly compeld him raue, Vntil his rage with vigor did confound His heauie hart; and left him in a swound.
The Maister-gunner, likewise seeing Fate Bridle his fortune, and his will to die, With his sharpe sword sought to set ope the gate, By which his soule might from his bodie flie, Had not his freends perforce preseru'd his state, And lockt him in his Cabbin safe to lie, Whilst others swarm'd where haplesse _Grinuile_ lay, By cryes recalling life, late runne away.
In this too restlesse turmoile of vnrest, The poore _Reuenges_ Maister stole awaye, And to the _Spanish_ Admirall adrest The dolefull tidings of this mournfull day, (The _Spanish_ Admirall who then oprest, Houering with doubt, not daring t'end the fray,) And pleads for truce, with souldier-like submission Anexing to his words a straight condition.