skilled not of the goodly ornaments of poetry: yet were they sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural device, which gave good grace and comeliness unto them, the which it is a great pity to see so abused, to the gracing of wickedness and vice, which with good usage would serve to adorn and beautify virtue. This evil custom therefore needeth

reformation.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH

OF DEATH

BY this which we have already set down, is seen the

beginning and end of the three first monarchies of the world; whereof the founders and erectors thought that they could never have ended. That of Rome which made the fourth, was also at this time almost at the highest. We have left it flourishing in the middle of the field; having rooted up, or cut down, all that kept it from the eyes and admiration of the world. But after some continuance, it shall begin to lose the beauty it had; the storms of ambition shall beat her great boughs and branches one against another; her leaves shall fall off; her limbs wither, and a rabble of barbarous nations enter the field, and cut her down.

Now these great Kings and conquering nations have been the subject of those ancient histories which have been preserved, and yet remain among us; and withal of so many tragical poets as in the persons of powerful princes, and other mighty men have complained against infidelity, time, destiny; and most of all against the variable success of worldly things, and instability of fortune. To these undertakings, the greatest lords of the world have been stirred up, rather by the desire of Fame, which ploweth up the air, and soweth in the wind; than by the affection of bearing rule, which draweth after it so much vexation and so many cares. And that this is true, the good advice of Cineas to Pyrrhus proves. And

certainly, as fame hath often been dangerous to the living, so is it to the dead of no use at all; because separate from knowledge. Which, were it otherwise, and the extreme ill bargain of burying this lasting discourse, understood by them which are dissolved; they themselves would then rather have wished, to have stolen out of the world without noise; than to be put in mind, that they have purchased the report of their actions in the world by rapine, oppression and cruelty, by giving in spoil the innocent and labouring soul to the idle and insolent, and by having emptied the cities of the world of their ancient inhabitants, and filled them again with so many and so variable sorts of sorrows. . . .

For the rest, if we seek a reason for the succession and continuance of this boundless ambition in mortal men, we may add to that which hath been already said; that the Kings and princes of the world have always laid before them, the actions, but not the ends, of those great ones which preceded them. They are always transported with the glory of the one, but they never mind the misery of the other, till they find the experience in themselves. They neglect the advice of God, while they enjoy life, or hope it; but they follow the counsel of death, upon his first approach. It is he that puts into man all the wisdom of the world, without speaking a word; which God with all the words of his law, promises or threats, doth not infuse. Death, which hateth and destroyeth man, is believed; God, which hath made him and loves him is always deferred. I have considered (saith Solomon) all the works that are under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit: but who believes it, till Death tells it us? It was Death, which opening the conscience of Charles the Fifth, made him enjoin his son Philip to restore Navarre; and King Francis the First of France, to command that justice should be done upon the murderers of the Protestants in Merindol and Cabrieres, which till then he neglected. It is therefore Death alone, that can suddenly make man to know himself. He tells the proud and insolent, that they are but objects, and humbles them at the instant;

makes them cry, complain and repent; yea, even to hate their forepassed happiness. He takes the account of the rich and proves him a beggar; a naked beggar, which hath interest in nothing, but in the gravel that fills his mouth. He holds a glass before the eyes of the most beautiful, and makes them see therein their deformity and rottenness; and they acknowledge it.

O eloquent, just and mighty death! whom none could advise thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised: thou hast drawn together all the far stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet.

THE

SIR J. SMITH

THE ENGLISH LONG Bow

HE imperfections of the long bow do consist only in the breaking of the bow or bowstring, for the which, in times past (when there was great account made of archery) there was special care had, that all livery or war bows being of the wood of yew, were longer than now they use them, and so very well backed and nocked that they seldom or never brake. Besides that, the archers did use to temper with fire a convenient quantity of wax, rosin, and fine tallow together in such sort that rubbing their bows with a very little thereof laid upon a woollen cloth, it did conserve them in all perfection against all weather of heat, frost, and wet; and the strings being made of very good hemp, with a kind of waterglue to resist wet and moisture; and the same strings being by the archers themselves with fine thread well whipped, did also very seldom break; but if any such strings in time of service did happen to break, the soldiers' archers had always

in readiness a couple of strings more, ready whipped and fitted to their bows, to clap on in an instant.

R. HAKLUYT

THE VALIANT
FIGHT PERFORMED IN THE STRAIGHT OF
GIBRALTAR, BY THE CENTURION OF LONDON, AGAINST
FIVE SPANISH GALLIES, IN THE MONTH OF APRIL, 1591

N the month of November, 1590, there were sundry ships

appertaining to several merchants of London, which were rigged and fraught forth with merchandize for sundry places within the Straight of Gibraltar: who, together having wind and weather, which oft-time fell out very uncertain, arrived safely in short space, at such places as they desired. Among whom was the Centurion of London, a very tall ship of burden, yet but weakly manned, as appeareth by this discourse following.

This aforesaid ship called the Centurion safely arrived at Marseilles, where after they had delivered their goods, they stayed about the space of five weeks and better, and then took in lading, intending to return to England.

Now when the Centurion was ready to come away from Marseilles, there were sundry other ships of smaller burden which entreated the master thereof (whose name is Robert Bradshaw, dwelling at Limehouse) to stay a day or two for them, until they were in a readiness to depart with them, thereby persuading them, that it would be far better for them to stay and go together in respect of their assistance, than to depart of themselves without company, and so haply for want of aid fall into the hands of their enemies in the Spanish gallies. Upon which reasonable persuasion, notwithstanding that this ship was of such sufficiency as they might hazard her in the danger of the sea, yet they stayed for those little ships, according to their request, who together did put to sea from

to stop the issuing out of the Spanish army from a strait; with what alacrity soever he went to actions of honour, yet remembering that upon just grounds the ancient sages describe the worthiest persons to be ever best armed, he had completely put on his; but meeting the Marshal of the camp lightly armed-whose honour in that art would not suffer this unenvious Themistocles to sleep-the unspotted emulation of his heart, to venture without any inequality, made him cast off his cuisses; and so, by the secret influence of destiny, to disarm that part, where God, it seems, had resolved to strike him. Thus they go on, every man in the head of his own troop; and the weather being misty, fell unawares upon the enemy, who had made a strong stand to receive them; near to the very walls of Zutphen; by reason of which accident their troops fell, not only unexpectedly to be engaged within the level of the great shot, that played from the rampiers, but more fatally within shot of their muskets, which were laid in ambush within their own trenches.

Now whether this were a desperate cure in our leaders for a desperate disease; or whether misprision, neglect, audacity, or what else induced it, it is no part of my office to determine, but only to make the narration clear, and deliver rumour, as it passed then, without any stain or enamel.

Howsoever, by this stand, an unfortunate hand out of those forespoken trenches, brake the bone of Sir Philip's thighs with a musket-shot. The horse he rode upon was rather furiously choleric than bravely proud, and so forced him to forsake the field, but not his back, as the noblest and fittest bier to carry a martial commander to his grave. In which sad progress, passing along by the rest of the army, where his uncle the general was, and being thirsty with excess of bleeding, he called for drink, which was presently brought him but as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a poor soldier carried along, who had eaten his last at the same feast, ghastly casting up his eyes at the bottle. Which Sir Philip perceiving, took the bottle from his head, before he drank, and delivered it to the poor man, with these words Thy necessity is yet