A Skeltonicall Salutation, Or condign gratulation, And just vexation Of the Spanish Nation, That in a bravado, Spent many a Crusado, In setting forth an Armado England to invado. Imprinted at London for Toby Cook. 1589. A SKELTONICAL salutation. O KING of Spain Is it not a pain To thy heart and brain, And every vain, To see thy train For to sustain Withouten gain The world's disdain, Which doth despise As toys and lies, With shouts and cries Thy enterprise, As fit for pies, And butterflies, Then men so wise? O waspish King, Where's now thy sting, Thy dart, or sling, Or strong bowstring, That should us wring, And underbring, Who every way, Thee vex and pay, And bear the sway By night and day, To thy dismay, In battle array, And every fray? O pufte with pride, What foolish guide Made thee provide To over-ride This land so wide From side to side, And then untried, Away to slide, And not to abide, But all in a ring Away to fling? O conquering, O vanquishing With fast flying, And no replying, For fear of frying! So hurt us still, As oft as you will, So fight your fill, So show your skill, So sink us, and sack us, So burn us, and wrack us, So cleave us, and crack us, And rend us, and rack us, Or if you will remain In Castille, or Spain, And not venture again, Our force to restrain, If you so it please, You shall take your ease, To cure your disease, You have got by the seas. And though we be poor, We will come to your shore. And knock at your door, As oft heretofore. And spare you the cost, Which of l●te you have lost, When as you were tossed, From pillar to post, To your small boast. And cast on the sands, And many islands, Into your enemy's hands, And many a rock, With many a knock, For a laughing stock, And a jest, and a mock, But who but Philippus, That seeketh to nip us, To rob us, and strip us, And then for to whip us, Would ever have meant, Or had intent, Or hither sent, Such ships of charge, So strong and so large, Nay the worst barge, Trusting to treason, And not to reason, Which at that season, To him was geason, As doth appear, Both plain and clear, To far and near, To his confusion, By this conclusion, Which thus is framed, And must be named Argumentum à minore. Cum horrore & timore. If one Drake o, One poor snake o, Make us shake o, Tremble and quake o, Were it not trow ye, A madness for me, To undertake, A war to make, With such a land, That is so mand, Wherein there be Of certainty, As hungry as he Many a thousand more, That long full sore For Indian gold, Which makes men bold? But you were blind, As now you find, Till in your kind You have well tasted How you are wasted, With all your brags, Gennets, and nags, And money bags: Whereof the most The Irish cost, As a good host, Doth now possess, With thankfulness, And can no less, Than the time bless, That you set out, And came about, With all your rout, So proud and stout. But woe to the heart, That feeling smart, For just desert, Growth worse and worse, And God doth curse, And cannot repent, But keepeth intent, Come six, or seven, Come hell, or heaven, To undertake, With all he can make, A new invasion, At the Pope's persuasion. But Spaniard proud, The Lord hath vowed He will defend, Unto the end, His Church and sheep, That his law keep. Wherefore to be short, I thee exhort, For thine own comfort, If wit thou have, Think him a knave, That doth advise Such an enterprise: For in this cause, Our Faith and Laws, We will sell our lives, Our lands, and wives, Too dear for thee, When soever it be, And ere it be long, Make thee sing a song, Of O siscivissem, Me continuissem, Et nonfecissem. But now Pope bliss him, And Midas kiss him, And so I dismiss him, To his good Physician, Master Inquisition, By whose disposition, He taketh the diet, That will him disquiet, And turn upside down, (Which would make a man frown) Both kingdom, and crown, And fame and renown, And so sirs valet, Et vobis cavete, A medicis ignaris. Chirurgis avaris, Meretrice Romana, Insulsa, & insana, Et factione Guisiana. Except you be so expert, That you can convert, At your own pleasure, Which were a great treasure, The Lutheran seas, Which do you displease, To be of your faction, And join in your action. Or some way can find, To master the wind, Or else so to bind, That it be to your mind. And then regnate, Et prae gaudio cacate, Per omnia monasteria monachorum. A Question annexed, touching our sea-fish, nourished with Spanish blood. But now must I call, My countrymen all. And you Scotsmen tall, And Irish rugs, That were such hugs, To the Spanish pugs. As never were seen, With your skeins so keen, So bright and clean. To tell you a surmise, That of late did rise, Which is to advise, With the learned and wise Whether for this year, It were not best to forbear, On such fish to feed, Which our coast doth breed, Because they are fed, With carcases dead, Here and there in the rocks, That were full of the pocks. For Physicians hold, As I am told, Such is our blood, Either had or good, In each degree, As our aliments be: Whereupon at this season, Some make this reason, Sith our Cods, and our Cunger, Have filled their hunger, With the heads, and feet, Of the Spanish Fleet, Which to them were as sweet, As a Goose to a Fox. And seeing the pox, Possessed each carcase, From the slave to the marquess. No man can avoid, But he may be anoide, If he make them his meat, Be they little or great: Except by some correction, Or wholesome confection, And by art they be so used, That they need not be refused. Wherein the counsel, Of those that can tell, And in learning excel, Would do very well. But if you inquire, Of masspriest, or Friar, To hear what they will chatter Concerning this matter, They will answer anon, And swear by Saint john, That every one, Of the Fleet that is gone, Was holy and good, Both in flesh and blood. And therefore object, That they could not infect, Neither fish, nor seas, With any disease. But leave to the mire, Both Priest, and Friar, Or else to the sire, For each is a liar. And touching the question, Know this that digestion, Wheresoever it be found, In things that be sound, Is of such operation, That it maketh separation, Of the bad from the best, And never doth rest, Until in the end, It doth clean away send, That which doth offend. And what can be found, Either simple or compound, Than a fish more sound? Then doubt not I pray you, Let nothing dismay you, Or trouble, or fray you, If fish be well dressed, And your stomachs not oppressed, You need them not detest, Howsoever they are fed, Or wheresoever they are bred. For both Frogs and Snails, And Mallards' and quails, Though on poison they feed, And many a weed, And dangerous seed, Both to man and beast: Yet sith they them digest, They do no man harm, Be they cold or warm. Wherefore as is said, Be no more afraid, On sea-fish to feed. If them thou love or need. But now I hear one say, This question might stay, As needless and vain, Because it is plain, That the Devil of hell, Loved Spaniards so well, That he carried them all, Both great and small, Either dead, or quick, Through thin and thick, Both body, and soul, To his pinnefole, As the place appointed, For the Pope's anointed. FINIS. Cum tua non fuerint heroica facta Philippe, Risu digna cano carmine ridiculo. QVi regis Hispanos Superbos, & vanos, Crudeles, & insanos, Multum aberrasti, Cùm tnos animasti, Et bellum inchoasti Contra Anglos animosos. Fortes, & bellicosos, Nobiles, & generosos, Qui te excitavit, Proculdubio deliravit, Et te fascinavit. Nam omnes sperabant, Qui te amabant, Ideóque iwabant, Multùm te valere Viribus & aere, Hísque respondere Animum generosum, Caput tuum annosum, Et pectus animosum. Sed nunc cernentes, Et conspicientes, Licet dolentes, Omnes tuas copias Redactas ad inopias, Migrasse ad Vtopias, Stupent, & mirantur, Plurimùm vexantur, Et penè exanimantur. At Angli & Germani. Qui sunt Antihispani, Et omnes mente sani, De tuâ ruinâ, Quâ paenâ divinâ, Turbaris ad ima, Valde laetantur, Et exhilarantur, Sibíque gratulantur, Quod stultitia detecta, Vi tua reiecta, Et re infecta, Ignominiam nactus, Es in fugam actus, Et funditus fractus. Post tantos clamores, Sumptus, & labores, Mundíque terrores, Sed vestros errores. Non sapuisti, Inquiunt isti, Quando cecinisti, Ante victoriam, Falsam victoriam, Et planè ingloriam: Anglos superatos, Prorsus subiugatos, Et ad unum enecatos, Cum contrà conspectis, Hostibus, & detectis, Animis deiectis, Illico trepidantes, Et minime ovantes, animas exhalantes, Ob ignis horrorem, Qui vobis pavorem, Incussit, & timorem, Fuga matura, Per maria obscura, Aspera & dura, Vobis consuluistis, bene novistis, Probéque meministis, Licet sine honore, Non sine rubore, Mundíque stupore. O Angliae eversores, O praeclari victores, O promeriti honores! Sic saepe redite, Quoties libet venite, Et Anglos punite. Sic operam impendite, Sic agros divendite, Et sic naves incendite. Quis unquam cogitasset, Nisi ipsa confirmasset Res, & probasset, Patres tam acutos. Subtiles, & astutos, Calidos, & nasutos, Vel prorsus neglexsisse, Aut parum advertisse, Aut non satis persensisse, Argumentum a minore, Quod suo summo cum honore, Magnóque vestro cum dolore, Draco vobis nectebat, Cum vos ut decebat, Pro meritis afsligebat, Cum vobiscum disputabat, Vrbes expugnabat, Et singula vastabar. Nam si ab uno Dracone, Pusillo homuncione, Tanquam a crabrone, A vobis excitato, Paucis stipato, Et vix armato, Ita estis icti, Vexati, & afflicti, Superati & victi. Non erat sapientis, Compotis mentis, Aut dialecticam callentis, Angliam oppugnare, Et ridiculè irritare, Quae potest suppeditare, Non paucos Dracones, Plurimos scorpiones, Et innumeros crabrones, Quorum nullus recusabit, Aut Hispanum declinabit, Cum res ipsa postulabit: Sed se virum vult praestare, Tam per terram, quàm per mare Vbi licet provocare: Licet Domini Inquisitores, Evangelij osores, Et patriae proditores, Cum an tesignano Suo Romano, Et Antichristiano, Ista ridebunt, Pro fabulis tenebunt, Et pro ioco habebunt, Quia sunt elati, Tumidi, & inflati, Et prorsus excaecati. Verùm hoc lugete, Vlulate & flete, Trepidate, & timete, Vivere virunculum, Valere homunculum, Et strenuum Dracunculum, Quem Deus excita vit, Ab utero segregavit, Et in hoc educavit, manum extendat, Ecclesiam defendat, Et vobis rependat Sanguinem Sanctorum, Nec non Indorum, A vobis occisorum, Et iam arma prendere, Naves conscendere, Et ad vos contendere. Et sic ô Rex valeto, Mihíque praebeto Aures, & caveto, A fundo, & lapillo, Sagitta, & bacillo, Draconis pusillo: Ne te cogat plorare, Palinodiam cantare, Et turpiter exclamare, Ob amissos honores, Sumptus, & labores, Et Indiae cultores, O si scivissem, Aut saltem credidissem, Me continuissem, Nec Papam amassem, Nec filium necassem, Nec Deum irritassem: Et tune te accusabunt, Salsè subsannabunt, Et haereticum clamabunt, Examina monstrorum, Turba monachorum, Fratrum, & sororum, Et omnium Deorum Deo exosorum, Per omnia secula seculorum. FINIS.