THE LEGEND OF captain Jones: CONTINUED From his first part to his end: Wherein is delivered His incredible adventures and achievements by sea and land.  
Particularly;  
His miraculous deliverance from a wrack at Sea by the support of a Dolphin.  
His several desperate duels.  
His combat with Bahader Cham a giant of the race of Og.  
His loves.  
His deep employments and happy success in business of State.  
All which, and more is but the tithe of his own relation, which he continued until he grew speechless, and died.  
LONDON, Printed by M F. for Richard Marriot, and are to be sold at his Shop under the Kings-Head Tavern in Fleetstreet, near Chancery lane end. 1648.   

To the READER.  
REader, read on: here you may haply meet  
News, pleasing more, then what's cried in your street.  
Jones is revived; ne'er start: the danger's past;  
What he hath done long since, now makes him last.  
His last brave actions never sung before  
We offer to your view, nor write we more  
Than he made good on oath: then (pray) believe  
What here you'll find: thus by your faith he'll live.  
Next, spare your censure on his poet's style;  
Had it gone high, his ghost had kept a coil  
To be surmounted: down-right were his blows;  
Down-right his speech; down-right to's grave he goes.  
Only his fame by your opinion may  
Make him still live, though now he's dust or clay.   

THE LEGEND OF captain Jones, Continued from his first part to his end.  
WIll nothing please the taste of these rough times  
But rue and wormwood stufed in prose or rhymes?  
No verse to make our poets Laureate  
But smart iambics lashing King or State?  
Must all turn Mercuries, these times to fit  
By poisoning fame with their quicksilver wit?  
That name that's got by some notorious ill,  
And merits Gives, is hateful to our quill.  
But if the last brave acts of captain Jones  
Which can move mirth and fear, and break no bones,  
May be admitted in this ruffling age,  
Behold him here remounted on our stage.  
Yet know we still are tied to our low strain,  
We must not once transcend his downright vein.  
And if you meet aught favouring of a lie,  
(Reader believe't) 'tis Jones that speaks, not I.  
We left him prized on change, too dear 'twas thought,  
Twenty four Donnes, 
24 Spanish commanders given in exchange for him.  and all not worth a groat  
Compared to him, though each had had command  
Over great armies pressed for sea and land.  
Here see him shipped for his dear native coast;  
Where e'er he comes you'll find he'll rule the roast  
With new found foes, who attempt his force to shake;  
But sleeping Lions 'tis not wise to wake.  
Now once more Neptune doth his waves enlarge  
Swollen big with pride, that Fate had given him charge  
And weighty convoy of this mighty man  
To whence he came; but ere the ship had run  
Ten glasses out, comes Boreas with a cloud  
As black as ink; the steersman cries aloud  
Down with the topsail, keep the spritsail tight,  
Hail the main bowling. Whilst this mask of light  
Ushered with lightning ploughs the angry deep  
High as herself in ridges, and as steep  
As Cair's tall Pyramids: the labouring ship  
Like a chafed bear with mastiffs, strives to keep  
Her beak aloft; some billows she breaks throw,  
Others mount over her at poop and prow.  
Jones heard this stir unmoved: from Neptune still  
He hoped no good, nor ever feared his ill.  
Thus whilst the careful seamen work and pray,  
He careless, to his cabin calls his boy,  
And makes him read to him the ancient stories  
Of our old English Worthies, and their glories;  
How our S. George did the fell Dragon gore:  
The like achievement of Sr. Eglemore:  

Sr. Topas rhyme in Chaucer.  Topas hard quest after th'Elfe Queen to Barwick:  
Sr. Bevis cow, and Guy's fierce boar of Warwick,  
These stories read, exalt his haughty mind  
Above the servile fear of sea or wind,  
The ships hard state grew now from ill to worse:  
Between too hideous seas across her course,  
Her whole bulk groans: her beak and main mast break.  
Shaken with this shock, she springs a dangerous leak,  
Which her sly foe soon finds, and to begin  
Like a dire dropsy, drenches all within.  
Thus whilst a treacherous inmate fills her womb,  
She's forced to be her own destruction's tomb.  
And over burdened with what bore her before,  
She's downright foundered, and can work no more.  
Here might be seen the sad effects of fear  
Which several ways in several men appear:  
Some cried, some prayed, whilst others swear or rave,  
To leave the land to make the sea their grave.  
Jones swollen with the brave actions of his Knights,  
Big as the sea, ascends and Neptune citys  
To single combat: when a boisterous wave  
Which Neptune sent to make him Neptune's slave,  
Whirls him a cables length to sea, the ship  
Sinks with the rest, who give this world the slip.  
Well now Sr. Jones 'tis time to show your skill;  
You must swim stoutly for't, or drink your fill.  
No danger frights thee, thou brave man of merit,  
Thy body is buoyed up by thy blown spirit.  
As a grim 
* always portending storms when they are seen to play.  sea-calf still presaging storms  
Wallows and wantons in cold Thetis arms:  
Just such is Jones: as if he had been bred  
With her finned fry within her watery bed.  
No ship for help, no land for hope appears;  
Horror of billows roaring in his ears.  
Nothing supports but confidence alone, as  
If some pressed Whale must take up Jones like Jonas?  
At last (Alas!) he finds he is no fish,  
His spirit begin to leave his treacherous flesh●  
Continual labouring makes his limbs wax stark  
And stiff with cold, his optic sense grows dark,  
Neptune insults, and brandishing his mace  
Makes his rude billows dash him o'er the face.  
Now see the fate of noble resolution,  
When Jones thought nothing but of dissolution,  
Man's constant friend a gentle Dolphin glides 
The Dolphin is always observed to be a lover of man.   
Between his thighs, on whom he mounts and rides  
In post with mighty speed, through wind and weather;  
So his kind fish holds out, he cares not whither;  
Like a bold Centaur bravely he curvets  
From ridge to ridge; 'twas strange, how fast he sits  
In this rough road; but Jones learned from his cradle  
To ride without a stirrup or a saddle  
When on the mountains tops wild mares he spied,  
He sucked them dry, and then straight up and ride.  
At last at this high speed he gets the sight  
Of land, so near, he's ready to alight,  
When his kind fish much grieved to leave the burden  
She loved so well, to sea again doth turn  
With mighty speed, still Jones doth her bestride  
Believing now he should tothth' India's ride.  
Fain would he turn her, but he knew not how,  
He never knew a bridles want till now:  
At last the faithful fish preferring higher  
Her rider's safety than her own desire;  
She turns her course about with happy haste,  
And so our errant Knight on land she cast.  
Some Spanish writers flatly do deny  
He suffered wrack, and plainly term't a lie:  
They say the ship that led this dangerous dance  
Was built by Lewis King Henry's son of France,  
And took that name from him, who bears that name  

The eldest son of the King of France always styled the Dolphin.  As eldest son, who still is styled the same:  
They write Jones got this ground t'augment his glory  
And cheat the world with this stupendious story;  
But let the reader judge if this be true,  
And know pale envy still doth worth pursue.  
Well now to Jones again, we may conceive  
He was not ill apaid to take his leave  
Of this rough element: nor did account it  
Much worse to go on foot, then ride so mounted.  
'Tis true, he rode this lofty fish in state,  
But 'twas too near the boisterous fit of fate,  
He feared not Fortune nor her wheel, though fickle,  
Yet loathe he was to be laid up in pickle;  
Or that his manly limbs should be a feast  
For sharks, or crabs, or congers to digest.  
His next work is to find some habitation,  
Though he came safely there 'twas in mean fashion,  
The selfsame clothes which when Alonso braved him,  
He made him wear, and to the galley slaved him.  
And though this last foul storm had little harmed him,  
It seemed to some strange thing to have transformed him  
Rigid and rough, long wet and feltered locks,  

Nebuchaduezzar.  Like Babel's King when turned into an ox:  
For a freshwater soldier none could doubt him,  
The seas salt tears ran trickling round about him.  
In this cold plight he leaves the beachy strand,  
And coasts the main with many a weary stand.  
At last he spies a house, not great, but good:  
For here he finds a brother of his brood,  
Who had adventured in those ways before,  
And raised some fortune by't, and gave it o'er.  
He quickly finds that Jones had scape some wrack;  
Experience, charity and pity spoke  
On his behalf; the good man bids him in,  
And with Y'are kindly welcome doth begin.  
He spoke't in Dutch, which gladded Jones, for he  
Could speak't as well as 
† The same in Welsh.  GRACE dw worth awhee.  
Which language a Dutch Pilot well had taught him  
When Greenfield to America had brought him.  
By this, the Stove's made ready, in goes Jones:  
Dries his wet garments, comforts nerves and bones.  
The table's set with homely wholesome cheer,  
And to make all complete, strong Lubeck beer.  
A Dutch fro was his mate, more fat than fair,  
But wondrous free, and thereto debonair.  
Which made Jones ask what Country 'twas that gave  
This noble welcome to her humble slave?  
He's answered, 'tis the Netherlands; the States  
Brave seat of war, where many broken pates  
Are got and given, and for his wants supply  
The good strong town of Flushing stood fast by,  
Where Sir John Norrice did command in chief  
For England's glory and the state's relief.  
This tickled Jones with joy; for Horace Vere,  
Norrice, and he had been (I know not where)  
Comrades in arms, ere Jones did entertain  
That cross design with Cumberland for Spain.  
But now a bed does well, to take some rest  
Where this good host directs his weary guest.  
And having slept his fill, he timely rose,  
Takes a most thankful leave, and on he goes.  
His purpose is to take his passage over  
At the next Port he finds: from thence to Dover.  
But first at Flushing he resolves to touch,  
Where his old friend, the Bulwark of the Dutch,  
Brave Norrice holds his troop; Here Jones arrives,  
Just as he came from jail, except his gyves,  
Clad in his slavish robe of friars grey,  
His cap true blue; no company, but they  

lousy.  That will not leave him whilst he hath a rag,  
Such as possess the beggar with his bag.  
Winds, storms, nor seas, nor aught that could undo him,  
Could make them flinch, like friends they stick close to him.  
And thus accompanied he doth approach  
To th' general's house, neither with steed nor coach;  
But in his manly foot-march: 'twas the time  
When Norrice with his chiefs were set to dine.  
Jones presseth to the parlour from the Hall,  
And there accosts the noble general.  
Who eyed him quickly, and cries out (O fate!)  
Live I to see the strength of England's State?  
Breathest thou brave man at arms? Jones art thou he?  
Or is it Mars himselse disguised like thee?  
Quoth Jones, The scourge of Spaniards and of Spain,  
Whom they have felt and foiled, but to their pain,  
Stands here; and yet would breathe some few years longer,  
To prove King Philip or myself the stronger.  
The rest was dear embraces, and his place  
By Norrice side; and than a hasty grace.  
Now might I dwell upon the luscious cheer,  
Which here grew cold, whilst each man's eye and ear  
Fed on the person and discourse of Jones,  
And quite forgot their toasts and marrow bones.  
And whilst his strange adventures past, hetels;  
The captains, sergeant majors, colonels  
Fast to admire him, and are filled with wonder,  
And feel no hunger though their bellies thunder.  
Here mark his constancy, beyond these men,  
He eats and talks, and eats and talks again.  
Their maws are cloyed to hear those deeds of his,  
His stories are his meal's Parenthesis.  
But when he spoke of Spain, 'tis past belief,  
What fearful wounds he gave the chine of beef.  
A capon garnished with sliced lemons stood  
Before him, which he tore as he were wood;  
And made it leglesse ere he made a pause,  
Merely in malice to the Spanish sauce.  
He wrecks his wrath on every dish that's nigh him,  
And spoiled a custard that stood trembling by him;  
Grown pikes and carps, and many a dainty dish,  
That far excelled his tame Crotonian fish.  
At last his fury 'gan to be assuaged,  
And then the general all his friends engaged,  
To give him soldiers welcome in a rouse  
Of lusty Rhenish, till both men and house  
Turn round. Once two great deities conjoined  
To work his fall, with hideous seas and wind:  
Now only Bacchus takes the man to task;  
And lays sore to him with his potent cask.  
And whilst with lusty grape ore-born Jones reels,  
H'assaults his head, and so trips up his heels.  
But up he rose again with vigour stout,  
And swears though foiled, he'll try an other bout.  
They all were now high flown, when colonel Skink  
Fills a huge bowl of sherry Sack, to drink  
A health to England's Queen, and Jones is he  
Must take't in pledge; and so he did: but see  
The strange antipathy between this man  
And Spanish grape as well as Spanish Don.  
Against them both his stomach fierce doth rise,  
No sooner drunk but up again it flies.  
This odd distemper made him half ashamed,  
But there's no help, he was with wrath inflamed.  
Nor was he pleased with Skink for this affront,  
(For so he took't) he knew Skink could not want  
The wine of Rhine for healths: why then in Sack,  
Unless it were to lay him on his back?  
Fired with this thought, he catched at his buff coat,  
Then grapples close; and had plucked out his throat,  
But that the wary general interposes  
His hands and friends between their bloody noses:  
And with strong reasons, smiles, and smooth allays,  
He damps the fury of these fiery boys:  
And left them (as he thought) well reconciled,  
But by th'effect he sound he was beguiled.  
The night dispersed them now to several ways,  
As they were quartered. Jones with Norrice stays,  
Who sent him the next morn a brave rich suit  
Intended for himself, with all things too't.  
Scant was he dressed, when Skink unto him sends  
A captain, boldly to demand amends  
For last night's work, and Jones to do him right,  
A bullet must exchange in single fight.  
For which himself and Second would not miss,  
Where Jones designed to meet with him and his.  
This Jones accepts; and swears before that night  
He shall hear from him, how and where he'll fight.  
He thus dispatched; Sir Roger Williams enters,  
To whom much kind discourse past o'er; he ventures  
To tell his difference with Skink; which told,  
Sr Roger like a Britain true and bold,  
Protests himself his Second, hasts to Skink,  
Tells him, h''d need fight well, as well as drink:  
That Jones and he at the south-postern gate  
Early next morn would meet him and his mate,  
With sword and pistol horsed, and there agree  
To fight it two to two, or Jones and he.  
Then comes to Jones, supplied him with a horse  
Well rid and fierce; Bucquoy had felt his force  
Before Breda; then gives that sword and belt  
Which Prince Llwellin wore when slain near Bealt. 
The Prince of South-Wales, who was slain near Bealt a town in brecknockshire.   
The hour come, these champions soon appear,  
They spend no time in words; in full career,  
Jones charges bravely close up to his breast,  
And fires, but fortune turned it to the best:  
Makes him through haste forget to prime his pan,  
So missed his shot, and so preserved the man.  
Vexed with this fail, he flings with all his might,  
Worse than the bullet, had his hand gone right,  
His pistol at his face; 'twas aimed so near,  
It razed his cheek, and took quite off his ear.  
Skink's bullet pierced the bow of Jones his saddle,  
And slightly circumcised his foreman's noddle.  
The Seconds stood attending the event  
Of this first charge, both resolutely bent,  
If either in th'encounter had been sped,  
To run the same adventure they both did.  
But when they saw the bravery of their fight,  
Both having lost their blood, the quarrel slight:  
They both detest such men should be destroyed  
By which their country should be fore annoyed:  
With joint consent their power they unite  
To ride up to them, and break off the fight:  
Thus got between them, all best means they use  
To take it up: which both enraged refuse.  
They urge the equal terms on which they stood,  
In point of honour: both had lost their blood,  
Both fought it well; how light their quarrels ground,  
Not worth one drop of blood, much less a wound.  
Then bid them look on their dear country's woe,  
Whose breasts must suffer for the ill they do.  
Reason takes place of wrath, they both accord,  
And mischief's engine rests: they sheathe the sword.  
And thus (in few) this dangerous duel ends,  
Fierce foes they met, and now return good friends:  
Their surgeons staunch their blood, for yet they bled,  
And clap a cap on Jones his nether head.  
This news comes quickly to the general's ear  
Who when he heard their lives were out of fear,  
He gently chides them that they would expose  
Their limbs unto the various chance of blows  
In single duel, when the common good  
No longer stands then such good members stood.  
Ten days are spent ere Jones could stand upright  
Through his slight hurt: which come, the noble Knight  
Brave Norrice he takes leave of, with the rest  
Of that brave martial crew, and then addressed  
Himself for England: joy thou happy Isle,  
Thy son returns, that hath kept all this coil;  
Ye blustering boys of Britain feast and quaff all:  
The man's at hand whose presence makes you laugh all.  
Welcome to Dover thou great son of Mavors,  
So spoke the Mayor of Dover on his grave horse,  
Mounted to meet him with his reverent train,  
All gownd, who cry him welcome home from Spain.  
After some short repast, on post he rides  
To Non-such where her majesty resides,  
Where he was soon brought up, to kiss her hand,  
By his dear friend George Earl of Cumberland.  
But then when took to private conference,  
What news of moment, what intelligence,  
What Spanish plots, what mysteries of State,  
Unto her majesty he did relate,  
'Twas wrapped in clouds too high for me to know it;  
Then pardon Reader that I do not show it.  
But 'twas observed he gave a written book  
Unto her hand: on which she daign'd to look,  
And seemed to slight it in the public face  
Of Court; yet made some use of't in a place  
That's privy, so dismissed him to his rest  
Or her Courts welcome; as to him seemed best.  
'Twas now the time when 
* Robert Earl of Essex.  Essex was engaged  
In Ireland 'gainst Tyrone, with whom he waged  
A bloody war: which to the Queen and State  
Seemed long and costly: after much debate  
It is resolved to pick out such a man,  
Whose active force and spirit dares and can  
Put a full period to this war at once,  
Without delay, and this was Captain Jones,  
On whom they pitch, who fed on hopes in vain  
To get some small command to conquer Spain.  
'Tis first resolved, he must reduce Tyrone,  
Till that be done he must let Spain alone.  
Thus his Commission's sealed to raise his force,  
A complete regiment of British horse:  
he's thence to waft them o'er the Irish brine;  
And then his force with noble Essex join.  
Jones lost no time, goes in five days to Wales:  
Shows his commission, tells them glorious tales;  
He need not beat a drum or sound his trumpet,  
His name's enough to make these Britons jump at  
This brave employment under such a Chief,  
Whose fame's reserve enough for their relief.  
Perplexed he was in choosing his commanders,  
For he still fancied best his old Highlanders;  
But many worthies of the lower parts  
Offer to him their fortunes and their hearts.  
But all respects put by, h'inlisteth ten  
Of his old gang, all hard bred mountain men,  
For his lifeguard, Thomas Da Price a Pew,  
Jenkin Da Prichard, Evan David Hugh,  
John ap John Jenkin, Richard John dap Reese,  
And Tom Dee Bacgh, a fierce Rat at green cheese,  
Llewelling Reese ap David, Watkin Jenkin,  
With Howell Reese ap Robert, and young Philkin;  
These for his guard, his Officers in chief  
Lieutenant colonel Craddock, a stout thief,  
With Major Howell ap Howell of Pen Crag,  
Well known for plundering many a cow and nag,  
Captain Pen Vaure, a branch of Tom John Catty  
Whose word in's colours was, YE ROGVES have at ye;  
Griffith ap Reese ap Howel ap Coh ap Gwillin,  
Reese David Shone ap Ruthero ap William,  
With many more whose names 'twere long to writ,  
The rest their acts will get them names in fight,  
We must conceive they all were men of fame  
For here we see them all men of great name.  
Jones with these blades advanceth to the 
* A little village by Milford.  Dale,  
There lines himself and them with noble Ale  
Of such antiquity as hath not been there  
The like since 
* An old Wel●h prophet who ●or●told the landing of Henry the seventh there.  Robert of the Vale was seen there  
Who used to sink those kinterkins of merit,  
To raise the heat of his prophetic spirit.  
His forces shipped, at last a board he goes,  
A lusty southeast gale so fairly blows,  
That forty hours easily brought him in  
To Dubline Harber where he lands his men,  
There getting knowledge where the Army lay  
To the Lord general he takes his way  
From whom a noble welcome he receives,  
And good fresh quarter to his troops he gives.  
Jones first informs himself in what condition  
Tyron's made up for war, what ammunition,  
How fortified in camp, what force, what watch,  
How victualled, all occasion he doth catch  
To take him tripping; when at length he found,  
He would not give nor take an equal ground,  
To hazard battle, he resolves to try him  
In such a way as he should not deny him,  
Unless with loss of honour; he indites  
This fearful challenge which his squire writes:  
False traitor to thy country and thy Queen,  
I he who yet my peer have never seen  
In feats of arms, whose martial hand hath slain  
Kings with their armies, half unpeopled Spain:  
Done more than I can write; I say, I he  
Urge thee to single duel: and to thee  
Give the free choice of weapon, time, and place,  
On foot or horseback: think it no disgrace,  
That I a private captain, thou a Chief,  
(My deeds make me admired, thee thine a thief)  
Call thee to question, 'twere ambition  
In thee, to hope to fall by such a one,  
T'augment my praise I wish thee five times stronger.  
Live till I meet thee: and but little longer.  
This done, a Herald is straight charged with it,  
In public to Tyron's own hand to give it,  
Who to him hastes, and in the public view  
Of all his army says, (Tyrone) to you  
I have command to bring from captain Jones  
This challenge; read it, and resolve at once.  
He takes it, reads it, and admires the man,  
That sends him this high Brave, who if he can  
But half he writes, he counts himself but lost,  
To meet him; yet in sight of all his host  
This brave was given him: thus his honour lies  
At stake, and therefore desperately replies.  
Tell your brave man I am not conquered yet,  
Nor can by words but blows, he shall be met,  
Before to morrow noon, on yond green plot,  
Surrounded with the bog, neither with shot,  
Nor head steeled dart: this sword I wear shall do't,  
Armed cap-a-pe, no horse but foot to foot.  
He thus dispatched, Tyrone doth straight seek out,  
Brian Mac-kilkow, a strong sturdy lout,  
Made up with nerves, and brawn and bone so mighty.  
He felt no burden were it ne'er so weighty.  
The strongest man in all his camp by half,  
Milo's great Bull to him was but a calse,  
Bred in the Irish wilds 'mongst bogs and woods,  
And like an outlaw lived on others goods.  
And this is he on whom Tyrone now fixed,  
To personate himself in fight betwixt  
Him and our Jones, true arms of largest size,  
He donns on him, then to his loins he ties  
Morglay his trusty sword, than swears devoutly,  
If in this combat he behave him stoutly  
he'll raise his means above two English Barons  
In lands and sheep and cows and lusty garrons:  
Bryan's all confidence and hastens thither  
Where Jones and he must try their force together,  
The place designed was hardly twelve yards square,  
No traversing of ground, no boys play there,  
The rest was bog, o'er which some planks were laid  
To pass them o'er: and then to stop all aid,  
Were took from thence: here Jones our valiant fighter  
Advanceth first: Bryan with his fell smiter  
Is hard at hand, they spare no time for words,  
Their mettle is the whetstone of their swords.  
They clap togeher like two sons of thunder,  
Their blads struck lightning, whilst the earth quaked under  
The burden she boar; no stroke that's given, but death  
Seems to attend it, till both out of breath  
Consent to make a stand, but this short rest  
Was like a salad with a matins breast  
To their sharp stomachs, to't they go again,  
And lay on load like devils, not like men.  
Their well tried arms do blush with their own blood  
To find their flesh in whose defence they stood,  
Stand, whilst it fell: for that their keen swords whipped off  
As if they would each other make a chipped loaf.  
At last as I have seen a Man of war  
Assault a carack which exceeds him far,  
In bulk and strength: so Jones deals now with Bryan,  
With shunn's and shifts, more like a Fox than Lion.  
For (to speak truly) this fell Pagan lout  
Doth so belabour Jones from head to foot,  
That both his ears do oft with sorrow sing  
And's eyes see stars at noon: (a wondrous thing)  
We must conceive those furious blows he dealt  
Were well repaid with use, which Bryan felt.  
But Jones esteeming it an equal thing  
To be self conquered and long conquering,  
Resolves to put the business out of doubt  
With one pass more, which was the fatal bout.  
On this Resolve, with both his hands he pressed,  
The pummel of his sword against his breast  
Then like a thunderbolt tilts swiftly at him:  
With th'feare of this, Bryan had quite forgot him.  
That 'twas a bog behind, so backward springs,  
And his whole body up to th'arm pits flings,  
Amidst the bog. Jones driven with his own force  
Missing his thrust falls headlong in the gorse  
But pitched upon his foe, by happy fate  
With which o'er borens, our Jones so mauls his pate,  
That th'helmet flies, and leaves his head to th'danger,  
Of being the anvil of our Jones his anger:  
And now the day is his, his strength he strains  
With hand and hilt to beat out Bryan's brains:  
Who cries out quarter, Man of Mars I yield  
Myself and sword, the honour of the field.  
And where the power rests, 'tis much better far  
To give then take a life in chance of war.  
This and the bog doth cool the wrath of Jones,  
He spares his life and draws him forth at once.  
Besides he scorned posterity should tell,  
That by his hand Tyrone so nobly fell.  
And thus O neal his captive (as he thought,)  
In this foul plight unto the camp he brought.:  
Presents him to the general, and then spoke,  
Sir if you have ten more Tyrones' to take,  
Command, I'll do't; here see him hither led  
By me, who all this charge and stir hath bred.  
The joy was great, but short; 'twas quickly known,  
This was but some impostor for Tyrone:  
And this an Irish Captive at first view  
Made known, who him and his condition knew.  
This bred a qualm in some, whilst others smiled  
To see their British Champions so beguiled,  
And that Tyrone had bobbed him with this jeer,  
To match his Cow-herd with our mountaineer.  
Jones vexed with this, retires unto his tent,  
An angry, dirty, desperate, malcontent.  
Three days thus spent, his wrath no longer bears  
This base affront; (like Scaevola) he swears 
Scaevola against Porsenna in Livy.   
he'll kill Tyrone in midst of all his force,  
Though in the act himself be made a coarce:  
In this wild mood by night he doth convey  
Himself where he supposed the rebel lay:  
Who wisely raised his camp the day before,  
Marched far through desert woods, and would no more  
Of these affronts; which to put off again  
Might breed contempt of him with his own men.  
Two days Jones spends in quest to find him out;  
At last he was encountered with a rout  
Of ravening wolves, who fiercely all at once  
Assailed the back and face of manly Jones.  
'Twas time to draw, else these wild Irish dogs  
Had been so bold to shake him by the logs:  
But when his sword was out he makes them feel,  
Their teeth are not so sharp as his true steel.  
The first good blow he dealt took off a head,  
The second made one two; the next he sped  
With a sore thrust at mouth and out at tail:  
A fourth which his posteriors doth assail,  
With his strong heel he hurls against a tree  
Twelve paces from his kick, and there lies he:  
His sword rips out another's empty paunch;  
The next limps off from him with half a haunch.  
We must conceive 'twas time to lay about him,  
For here were those that fought to eat, not rout him.  
Nor scaped he free, the rich sword-skarf he wore  
About his loins, they all to fitters tore.  
His boots plucked off by bits, some flesh to boot,  
No quarter free from scars from head to foot.  

Lupanthropos. Witches that take shapes of wolves upon them in Ireland.  And (to conclude) from these wild Irish witches  
He 'scape scant with a hands breadth of his breeches.  
Wearied with blows and kicks, at last they fly him,  
And take a snarling leave as they go by him.  
Thus Jones half worried, hasts unto the camp;  
There's none could say the clothes he wore were damp  
With night perdues, unless they meant to flout him;  
For (to speak truth) he had no clothes about him.  
Thus come; he swears by the immortal Powers,  
He had maintained a battle full five hours,  
With forty duels, five and twenty killed,  
Routed the rest; who all had took the field  
'Gainst him alone; all raised with him to fight,  
To his destruction, or t'eclipse his might,  
By that old timorous treacherous kern Tyrone,  
Who durst as well meet Death as him alone.  
The plight our Jones appeared in, made none doubt  
But he had had at lest a devilish bout,  
If not with Devils; on him each man seeth  
The fearful characters of nails and teeth.  
We may not stand to show what Essex's sense  
Was on these actions, nor the consequence  
They did import: the progress of this story,  
Hastens our Muse to Jones his further glory.  
Fame these achievements brings to England's State;  
Which held the Queen and council in debate  
About this man; and all at last supposed,  
In policy he's not to be expos●d  
To the close dangerous plots of such a foe  
Who neither values faith nor honour, so  
His mischiefs take success: and thus the State  
Lose this dear limb, and then repent too late.  
Some looking deeper into Jones his spirit,  
Knowing he knew too much of his own merit,  
Hold it not safe he should be open to  
The windy baits of that so subtle foe,  
To gain him to his part; whose haughty mind  
Would soon take fire; then could not be confined.  
And if by such a plot they should be crossed,  
They all conclude that kingdom were but lost.  
These grounds invite them wholly to decline  
His warfare there; so on some grand design  
Pretended, they invite his quick repair  
To England's Court to act this great affair.  
He comes, but leaves his British troops to fight  
Tyrone to death; whose acts who please to write,  
May meet with subjects brave to rant upon,  
But for myself I am quite tired with one.  
And thus transported from the Irish strands,  

A town and Port in the County of Cardigan.  At Aberustwith a Welsh Port he lands;  
Where e'er two days he fully spent for rest,  
A goodly vessel with cross winds oppressed,  
Comes boiling in; Jones by her colours knows  
She is of Spain: his colour comes and goes  
At sight of hers; that such a goodly prey,  
Should come (as 'twere) to meet him in his way.  
He musters straight a troop of British lads,  
Who on their mountain-geldings clap their pads;  
With rusty bills in steed of Staves in rest;  
Such were their horse, such were their arms at best.  
Then with a fowling piece the ship they hail,  
With confidence that she would straight strike sail:  
But she makes answer, that she was too hot,  
From her broad side with twenty culverin shot.  
This struck a stand, till Jones cried out, what doubt ye?  
The day is ours, masters lay about ye,  
Lead the forlorn up bravely, and be bold,  
I'll bring the rear, for they know me of old,  
If once my name or person they descry,  
My life for yours they'll either yield or fly.  
Made bold with this, in full career they ride  
Up to the ridges of the flowing tide.  
But when they came brest-high amongst the waves,  
Their horse more wise by half than these mad knaves,  
Snort at the foaming billows, turn their tails,  
And make a fair retreat from sea and sails;  
Which lest it should seem done on terms of fear,  
Jones to the front now hastens from the rear,  
And leads them back again in good array,  
Neither with hasty flight nor much delay.  
At his return he searcheth all that coast,  
To find a herring boat or two at most;  
With which he doubts not but he'll sink or take  
This lusty ship; whose bravest men will quake  
To hear his name. But Fate that had decreed  
To save her, caused her hoist her sails with speed:  
So with a strong fore wind away she flies,  
And leaves our Jones to seek some other prize.  
Thus crossed in this design to Court he went,  
Where he is met with noble compliment;  
And from the Queen such grace he doth receive,  
As he deserved and stood with her to give.  
Now for the great affair that called him back,  
The Lords must pump for't in a cup of Sack  
To help invention: Jones must be preferred  
To some employment, be it ne'er so hard.  
In deep consult and long discourse they sat on't,  
And studied for't; at last they lighted pat on't.  
It is resolved, that he must be the man  
To go in embassy to Prester John.  
The business carried with't a glorious face;  
Employed ambassador unto his Grace.  
The dangerous voyage to a place remote,  
Affects him most to get his name more note  
In foreign Lands; he'll not refuse the work,  
Were't to the Great Magul or the Great Turk.  
A lusty Ship's prepared, again he goes;  
But what this great employment was, who knows?  
Reader I know thy thoughts are strongly bent  
To know this great design, on which he went.  
But know this first, that Princes secret ways,  
Are such as Ships cut thorough deepest Seas,  
Which shut still as they open, and him that sounds  
And enters too far in, their deepness drowns.  
If bare conjectures may give light to thee,  
Here take them freely; harmless thoughts are free.  
Perhaps this high blown spirit now is sent  
To foreign air, where it may purge and vent,  
And so return more fit the State to serve,  
In their commands, who yet must him observe.  
Perhaps he went this Priestly Prince to gain  
Unto our Church, who gave good proof in Spain  
Of's power in this; or to negotiate  
Commerce between the AEthiop and our State,  
For tusks of Elephants to haft our knives,  
Apes and baboons and pugs to please our wives;  
Which things satiety makes common there,  
And curiosity orepriseth here.  
Be't what it will, our Jones is gone upon't,  
And we may know he will make something on't.  
His treacherous friend the Sea his charge receives,  
And with some flattering gales his hopes deceives,  
Making the Land his firmer friend appear  
Still less; until at last it brought him where  
He lost her sight: for three months' time he makes  
Good way; at last the wind his wings forsakes,  
The Ship's becalmed, and to the Port she seeks,  
She gains not half a league for thirteen weeks.  
Jones finds this lazy war offends him more,  
Than all those hideous storms out-rid before.  
These sad effects this sleepy calm attend;  
Victual and beverage spent; less hope of end.  
Then fear of further miseries ensues,  
The Sea with calms his patience doth abuse,  
Turns devilish statesman, puts on a smooth face,  
Salutes and kills them with a soft embrace.  
'Twas now far worse with Jones then erst with Skink;  
For three weeks his own urine is his drink,  
Which his hot body had so oft sublimed,  
'Tis grown a cordial, like gold thrice calcined.  
Breeses of wind at last his sails display,  
And waft him into the barbaric bay,  
Then to the Arabic, next the Pilot laves  
His boisterous charge in Mare rubrum's waves.  
And lastly he attains beyond all hope,  
Errocco the sole Port of Aethiop:  
And here he lands, and empties many a bowl  
To allay the fury of his thirsty soul.  
After some rest he gets intelligence,  
Where 'twas the Prince then kept his residence;  
Where he repairs, and's told when he comes thither,  
The Prince and town are both removed together  
Some ten miles off. The Prince and town? (quoth Jones)  
I have met my match: here's people make no bones  
Of things beyond belief. And yet 'twas true;  
This town was tents which fifty thousand drew,  
And raised in th'instant wheresoever the Prince  
Sat down to sport, or show magnificence.  
By Mount Amara now his Court he rears;  

Read Purchas in his relations of AEthi●pia, touching this Mount.  A Mount far differing from the name it bears:  
If Paradise had ere a second birth  
Below the seat of Saints, 'tis there on earth.  
An humble valley is the Garden where  
This Mount is raised; a vale so rich, so rare;  
Nature grew banrkupt drawing this rich plot;  
And striving to be quaint, she quite forgot  
To keep reserves: for by this work we know,  
She made it such she could make no more so.  
Amidst this vale is raised this lofty structure,  
Five leagues upright. It's outsides architecture  
Unpolished Marble; but so rich, so fair,  
You'd think't a pillar of one stone in th'air,  
By some high power unto Atlas given,  
To ease his shoulders whilst it proppeth Heaven.  
This goodly Mount a specious plain doth crown,  
Embossed with nature's gems, a velvet down  
That's always green; no frost, no winter here,  
Continual Spring: here Phoebus all the year  
From rise to set, doth always fire his eye,  
As loath to put so fair an object by.  
Here grow those happy trees from whence there springs  
That precious oil, which erst anointed Kings,  
And sacred Priests. Nor crowd they here to take  
One sense alone; the sent and sight partake.  
So are they ranked, as well to give a grace,  
As sweet perfumes, for tribute to the place.  
No orchard here, nor garden but the plain;  
The choicest fruit all Europe doth contain,  
Grow here unplanted, here's the luscious Grape,  
That makes Jove's Nectar: 'twas not Helen's rape  
That ruined Troy: the 
The Apple which three goddesses Juno, Pallas and Venus, contended for, which was given by Paris to Venus whereupon followed the destruction of Troy.  Apple got from hence,  
Had worth enough to do't. Here every sense  
Would surfeit, but each objects rarity  
Gives appetite without satiety:  
Roses and Tulips Flora gathers here  
When we have none, to crown her golden hair,  
And here Medea picked (if Jones speak truth)  
Those herbs which turned antiquity to youth:  
The only Phoenix deigns to wether here,  
The only place like her without a peer:  
Lest all these sweets should want sweet harmony,  
A numerous choir of nightingales, comply  
To warble forth the sweet Amara's praise,  
Who turns their mourning notes to merry lays.  
Amidst this plain there glides a silver brook,  
So gently, that the suttlest eye may look,  
And find no motion; on his violet banks  
Thick cypress trees marshal themselves in ranks,  
To keep out Phoebus: whose enamoured beams,  
Peep through each little crink to view his streams:  
His pavement azure gravel intermixed  
With orient pearls and diamonds betwixt,  
Which as the airs soft breath his surface purls,  
Vary their gloss, and twinkle through his curls:  
Like a steeled glass presenting to the eye,  
The spangled beauty of the starry sky.  
Here Dolphins leave the sea to wanton; here  
Carps since the deluge their grown bodies cheer:  
Umbrana's too; such had 
A great epicure & Emperor of Rome.  Vitellius known,  
A province should have gone to purchase one:  
Such is Amara, such is Tempe field,  
Elysium on earth unparalleled.  
'Twas here this royal Priest now kept his Court,  
A place well suiting with his fame and port.  
And here comes Jones, where having made's address,  
Letters of credence given at his access  
In Latin writ: in the same tongue he gives  
Jones gracious words, which language Jones conceives  
To be Arabic, for the Latin tongue  
He ne'er endured to learn nor old nor young,  
But that's all one, there's no reply expected.  
Unto a rich pavilion he's directed  
By men of State, where he is well attended,  
With all that's rich, and to his rest commended.  
Some few days spent and time for audience got,  
When Prester John in royal State was set;  
Jones studying how t'express his eloquence  
In some strange language which might pose the Prince,  
Now trouls him forth a full mouthed Welsh oration,  
Boldly delivered as became his nation.  
The plot proved right, for not one word of sense  
Could be picked from't, which vexed the learned Prince.  
His learned Linguists are called in to hear,  
Who might as well have stopped each others ear  
For aught they understood, and all protest  
It was the very language of the Beast.  
Jones hath his end, and then to make it known  
He had more tongues t'express himself then one;  
In a new tone he speaks, not half so rich,  
But better known, 'twas English; unto which  
An English Factor is interpreter  
Between our Captain and John Presbyter;  
His business takes effect (what ere it was)  
And great expresses of respect do pass  
To Jones from him, as one he thought most rich  
In unknown tongues expressed in his first speech,  
And so admires him for he knows not what:  
But Jones may thank his mother-tongue for that.  
His business done he's led for recreation,  
To take the pleasures of that pleasant nation,  
To mount Amara's top, the chiefest grace,  
And perfect beauty of that kingdom's face;  
And finding his great heart was most inclined  
To martial feats, all in one motion joined  
T'invite him to their deserts, where he might  
Make trial of his force in manly fight,  
With their wild beasts, and promised him consorts  
All truly tried t'assist him in those sports.  
The motion takes, a brave accoutred horse,  
And his own arms, he and's associate force  
Advance to hunt; me thinks I see them all  
Drawn to the life in canvas 
* painted clothes in Inns and victualling houses.  'gainst the wall,  
In some mean house made for good-fellowship,  
How fierce they look, how brave they prance and skip;  
With hounds and horns, and bills and pikes and glaves,  
And spears and clubs, and many lightfoot knaves:  
In this brave equipage they march away  
To the known haunts where these wild creatures pray.  
'Twas Jones his trick of old to ride alone:  
In hard adventures he'll admit of none  
To share with him, from them he steals aside,  
And in the desert by himself doth ride.  
Nor rode he long till just against him stalks  
A ramping Lion new come from his walks,  
Jones draws, the furious beast with fiery eyes  
And bristled mane, against his bosom flies,  
But his keen sword met full with his fore paws,  
And whipped them off; and so he scap't his claws.  
Nor stayed it there, but gave a cruel wound  
To his left jaw, and felled him to the ground.  
Then nimbly wheels about, and stepped aside,  
Leaps from his horse which to a tree he tied:  
Then turns again and with his sword falls to't,  
To end this combat with him foot to foot.  
The wounded beast with all his power doth hasten,  
His fearful fangs in Jones his throat to fasten.  
Whilst on's hin feet he assaults him bolt upright,  
With left hand armed, Jones stunnes him, with the right,  
Strikes both his hin legs off: yet on his stumps  
The noble beast unconquered fiercely jumps  
Full at his face with open mouth, and there,  
(For his grim face could raise in Jones no fear)  
In shoots the deadly blade, and out behind,  
Where't makes a second vent for life's short wind;  
This thrust with right hand armed so home was lent  
That hand and hilt quite throw together went,  
Where taking hold of his strong stern (for truth  
He swears) he drewed quite through his trunk t'his mouth  
Then with fine force (the like was never seen)  
He strips his inside out, and 's outside in.  
Thus tergiverst upon his steed he flings him,  
Then mounts himself, and to the Court he brings him.  
Never was royal beast so grossly jaded,  
But 'twas his fate which could not be evaded,  
Unto the gallants of the Court he shows,  
How hard th'adventure was, what thrusts, what blows;  
On every circumstance he doth dilate;  
Nor adds he much to truth, nor much doth 'bate:  
For much he spoke, the Lion made it good  
With loss of his four legs, and his best blood.  
This strange achievement strikes them all with wonder;  
'Twas never seen since Greece's Alexander.  
Lysimachus, Lisander, nor Perdiccas, 
Read Curtius, touching these.   
Nor any of his Chiefs, ere did the like as  
Our Jones in this: 'Tis true, they write they killed,  
In single fight some few of these in field;  
But here's a force born with a higher sail,  
Transtorting tail to head, and head to tail.  
The Prince in words this high achievement praised:  
But inward fear and jealousy it raised  
Of our brave Queen, whose sceptre doth command  
Such men whose power no Nation can withstand.  
Jones might so far on his own strength presume, as  
To seize his throne, as 
* A private Spanish Commander, that took this great King of Mexico with a handful of men.  Cortes Montezeuma's  
Had done before. These thoughts he oft revolves  
With troubled mind, and so in fine resolves  
To shift him thence: makes for his fair pretence,  
Matter of high and hasty consequence,  
To be with speed conveyed unto our Queen;  
Except herself it must by none be seen.  
This past on Jones, who parts with high content,  
Nobly presented with fair compliment.  
Amongst the rest, a Parrot that could speak  
All tongues but Jones his own; that had a beak  
Of perfect coral, plumed as white as snow:  
This he accepts, and so to Sea does go.  
Where under sail such welcome he receives,  
As one dire foe unto another gives.  
With calms, and storms, and winds, all cross, that bear  
The ship quite off the course that she would steer.  
Long time thus spent, into a Bay he drives,  
And at a Port unknown at last arrives:  
Where he beholds a glorious Castle built  
High on a cliff, whose walls pure gold, or guilt  
To him appeared. Which object caused him land,  
To know who did this Princely seat command.  
He's told it is the Queen of No-lands place,  
The only relict of her royal race,  
A Maiden Queen that here doth keep her Court,  
Where many Kings and Princes of high port  
Make their address, and lose themselves in love,  
To purchase hers, for not a man can move  
Her heart to wed, though ne'er so great his state,  
Or form exact, such was the will of Fate.  
Here as he lands, a large Cannow was sent  
To know from whence he was, and whither bent.  
In this a Dutchman came by happy Fate,  
Who could his Language to the Queen translate.  
This man he tells as briefly as he can,  
His voyage from his Queen to Prester John:  
How by cross winds in his return he's blown,  
And forced into this Port to him unknown.  
Jones is resolved to see and to be seen  
Of this great Princess, that our virgin-Queen  
Might know when he returns what form, what port  
This royal Virgin carried in her Court.  
Thus like an errant Knight all armed complete,  
He marcheth boldly to her Palace gate,  
All massy polished brass; at this first ward,  
Six milk-white Panthers fierce were chained for guard.  
Thence through a large great specious Court he past,  
And so ascends twelve ivory steps at last,  
With ebon columns, unto which were tied  
Twelve sharp kept Lions, who all yawned wide  
When strangers do approach Jones through them all  
Is safely guarded to a goodly Hall.  
From thence ascends to rooms of greater state,  
And comes at last where this Princess royal sat  
Upon a strange rich bed, not stuffed with down,  
But closely wrought, and like a bladder blown;  
Three AEthiops on each side, to fan the air  
With ostrich plumes perfumed as rich as fair.  
Her beauty could not boast of white and red,  
But jet-like black; about her crisp curled head  
And cheeks, there hang rich flaming stones and pearls,  
That past Mark Anthony's Egyptian girls.  
In brief; if Tuscan lived to limne the night  
Sparkling with stars, this were her picture right.  
No sooner to her sight doth Jones appear,  
Then to her heart his piercing eyes shot fire;  
Which Cupid blows and raised into a flame,  
That warms her zeal to invocate his name.  
No part of Jones but in her eye exceeds  
All human shape; some god he must be needs.  
But when at her request he doth relate  
The chances of his past and present state;  
Never was ear with Orpheus harp possessed  
As hers with Jones, whilst he his life expressed.  
Those that have warmed themselves by these strong fires,  
May easily guess what fruits her wild desires  
Produced to Jones; The observance of the Court,  
With feasts and banquets, and all Princely sport,  
Are at his foot: he cannot name nor wish  
That meat he likes, but straight 'tis in his dish.  
In this high state some months he takes his ease,  
Whilst this sick Princess feeds on her disease:  
At last a sharp alarm damps these desires,  
Which threatened death, but could not quench her fires.  
A Prince there was mighty in bulk and mind,  
Whose Kingdoms confines unto No-land joined:  
Descended in his race from Og of Basan;  
You'd think his very name might well amaze one,  
Bahader Cham Mombaza's King; h''d been  
A long hot suitor to this mighty Queen,  
But still repulsed: now this unruly fire  
Suppressed with scorn, breaks forth from love to ire.  
A mighty host he raised, and marcheth through  
The heart of No-land, to command, not woo:  
Approaching near her Court, he sends her word  
She must be his own Queen at bed and board,  
Or see her kingdom burn in higher flames,  
Than his for her: yet (for his spirit shames  
To war with women) if she can find out  
One man in all her Realm, that is so stout  
In her defence with him his sword to try,  
he'll bravely win her, or he'll bravely die.  
Her Courtiers quailed at this, who knew his force  
Could not be paralleled by man nor horse.  
Nor could it choose but make the Queen look black,  
Not pale. Th'interpreter at Jones his back  
Rounds in his ear this proud imperious speech;  
Had she been thence, h''d bid him kiss his breech  
For this proud message: up howe'er he starts,  
And this loud answer with his mouth he farts;  
go tell Bahader Cham Mombaza's King,  
One Mars begot in's wrath will have a fling  
With him ere night, that one who at one breath  
Don Diego and Gonzago did to death,  
Will look him dead; nor will I only be  
This Princess champion, but (thy Cham to see)  
I'll walk through beds of Scorpions: for I hear  
He dares enough, and I can brook no peer.  
This high reply ne'er moved the haughty Cham,  
Let Jones be what he will he's still the same.  
The day's his own before the fight's begun:  
Were Mars himself in steed of Mars his son.  
A back and breast and helmet strong he Donned,  
Well wrought and varnished by some Indian hand,  
A whale-bone bow he takes of special strength,  
With arrow's barbed, at least two yards in length:  
A crooked scimitar whose edge was flint,  
Quaintly conjoined and some tough spell was in't,  
To make it proof against the strength of steel.  
Oft had this sword made headstrong Giants reel.  
By his right side a massy Mace he hangs,  
With which his sturdy foes to death he bangs.  
A buckler like a Spanish ruff he wore  
About his neck, full half yard deep, or more:  
He wore not this for his defence, or grace,  
But to keep off his urine from his face.  
For you must know that member was still mounted:  
The bravest woman's man on earth accounted.  
And thus prepared, this lusty Termagant,  
Ascends his castle on his Elephant.  
And then advanceth to a spacious Green,  
Before the castle of this maiden Queen.  
A brave Arabian courser is prepared  
For Jones, his own true arms he dons for guard,  
Llewellin's sword to do; and so descends  
Down to the Green, where the fierce Cham attends.  
Jones was to seek what kind of fight were best,  
To make against this Giant and his beast.  
Both far exceed in strength himself and horse,  
And therefore art must now be joined with force:  
No breast to breast, a nimble charge, and gone.  
His ready steed as soon comes off as on.  
Had not the well tried arms he wore proved true,  
The Chams smart whale bone bow had made him rue  
This bold attempt: but what can whales weak bones,  
When whales themselves came short to swallow Jones?  
Thus thrice he charged, and thrice he came off clear,  
At last he came close up in full career,  
And turning short, the horses hind feet slipped:  
Through which mischance the Carry-castle ripped  
His bowels forth, with's tusk; down falls the horse:  
The furious beast clasped Jones with his probosce;  
And mounts him high, but in his rise he found  
The means to give Bahaders face a wound,  
And cuts in th'instant off, the trunk that clasped him:  
So down the Elephant was forced to cast him.  
This hard exploit none e'er performed before,  
But one of Caesar's 
Read the Commentar●es de bello Africano.  soldiers, and no more.  
The wounded beast enraged with pain cries out  
With hideous voice, and plunged and pranced about  
The Green, till from his seat the prince he throw'th,  
And then (for by the Cham from his first growth,  
This feat he had been taught,) though mad with pain,  
He strives to mount him on his back again.  
But Jones had lopped off his strong trunk before,  
Whereby he could perform this feat no more.  
Here Jones denies he bred this docill beast,  
Taught to his hand he got him from the East;  
And his report must have belief before us,  
Who swears it was the same that carried 
Read Curtius touching that El●phant of Porus, who often remounted his master with his trunk in tha battle between him and Alexander.  Porus  
Against the Macedon. I cannot see  
How by wise natures rules this thing should be,  
Unless in Pliny's Volumes it appears,  
That Elephants may live two thousand years.  
Now Jones leaps up in haste, and swiftly flies,  
With sword in hand, where bruised Bahader lies;  
And ere he could get up, one washing struck  
His head and buckler from his shoulders took;  
Which when 'twas off, they may compareed that will,  
To the grim S John's head on Ludgate hill.  
His numerous Army struck with grief and sright  
At his sad fate betook itself to flight,  
And thus was No-lands Queen redeemed by Jones  
From bondage, rape, and No-lands loss at once.  
Now if she loved our captain well before,  
In reason she must love him ten times more,  
Which she expressed by laying at his foot  
Her people, No-land, and her self to boot:  
But whether 'twas the god of loves deep curse,  
That she refused for better or for worse,  
Those mighty Princes which to her he sent,  
To make her do●e on a nonresident;  
Flings snowballs at his heart, and flames at hers,  
To keep conjunction from these errant stars;  
Or whether Jones his genitals had got  
Some lame defect by Skinks late desperate shot;  
And so his noble heart made him refuse,  
What having got he could not rightly use.  
'Tis not in me to Judge, but this I know,  
Her violent fires scorched her, and him his snow,  
So cold that to avoid her amorous sight,  
He leaves her court, and steals to sea by night:  
So Jason used Medea erst, but he's  
So wise to take with him the golden fleece,  
Which Jones contemned to do, and thought himself  
When safe returned, his country's Mine of wealth.  
No certain ground I have here to relate,  
This great deserted Queens unhappy fate,  
But Sr. John Mandivils, who doth deliver,  
As Jones reports, he came soon after thither,  
And found the people's outside all in black;  
A sad expression for their Princess wrack.  
Who told him lately there arrived a man,  
All white, who for them wondrous things had done,  
Redeemed their Queen and kingdom from the shame  
Of rape and rapine, which Bahader Cham  
Came there to act, and was in open field,  
By this white man in single combat killed.  
Their Queen enamoured with this matchless man,  
Refused and left by him: when nothing can  
Quench her wild fires but Carthage Queens hard fate;  
Whilst on the cliff with pensive thoughts she sat,  
A sudden spring she gave, and so commends  
Herself to sea, where life and love she ends.  
No more of this sad stuff: let's all at once  
Join in a joyful welcome home to Jones.  
In six months' sail he steers by Goodwin sands,  
Casts anchor at the downs: the next day lands,  
Hasts to the Queen at London, there expresses  
Every particular of his addresses  
To Prester John; the great affairs success  
As she desired: Lastly, in his progress,  
He might have married the great Queen of No-land,  
But this the Queen gave credit to at no hand,  
Till 'twas confirmed by Sir John Mandevill,  
Whose strange reports they may believe that will.  
Now let us well observe the happy Fate,  
Which still provided for the Queen and State.  
Jones had not rested fully three days here,  
But out there breaks a great and fearful fire  
Of strong rebellion; and to quench it, none's  
So fit in common sense, as Captain Jones.  
Brave Essex through affronts turned malcontent,  
Hatches in's breast a desperate intent,  
To seize the Person of the Queen, and those  
He found most near about her his strong foes.  
Her Grace and council call for Jones, to know  
What in his judgement now were best to do.  
Who first her gracious pardon doth beseech,  
And then delivers this short pithy speech.  
First guard the Court with Westminster's strong bands;  
Call in the neighbouring Counties by commands.  
Out with your household men, shut up your gates;  
we'll make your foes turn tail with broken pates.  
Then call to you the richest of your citts,  
But seek no cash; for in their bags their wits  
Are close knit up: but only thus much make  
Them know, their wives and fortunes lie at stake;  
That they shall want no succour, whilst your hand  
Can grasp the sword, and sceptre of this Land.  
Thus arm their hearts, and rouse them from their beds,  
And then let us alone to arm their heads.  
She now requires, that Jones in person go  
To Essex, his intents to sound and know;  
To use all fairest means that may reduce him,  
From those lewd ways, to which lost men seduce him.  
He undertakes it; hastens to the Lord,  
And is admitted in as soon as heard.  
And here he finds Sir Walter Raleigh with him;  
Some ill was in't, his fancy straight doth give him.  
He knew he came not to the Earl for good,  
But to provoke him to some madder mood.  
Therefore from thence our Jones doth Raleigh rate,  
Shaking his martial truncheon o'er his pate:  
Bids him pack thence to th'knaves of his Grand Jury,  
he'll make him else th'example of his fury.  
Raleigh was wise, and ruled by his best sense,  
Gives place to time, and so withdraws from thence.  
Then Jones these counsels to the Earl began,  
How full of dangers were the ways he ran:  
How weak his power; much less unto the force  
Of England's, than his rein-deer's to a horse.  
Thus his brave Family must be destroyed,  
His honours lost, his ancient house made void:  
Beside, his cause was nought; for though himself  
near read the laws of this great commonwealth,  
Yet he had heard some Lawyer say long since,  
There was no law to captivate our Prince.  
Thus all the harmless blood that shall be spilled  
In this bad cause, must lie on Essex guilt.  
Lay hand on heart most noble peer, (quoth Jones)  
The Queen can pardon, and enrich at once.  
Be you but good, she can be gracious,  
Your own experience can inform you thus.  
Thus Jones possessed his noble heart so far,  
He is resolved to wave the chance of war;  
Himself and house he yields unto the Queen,  
And her cold mercy, which too soon was seen.  
This is the last great act I can relate,  
Of his good service for the Queen and State.  
Rewards fit for his worth there were prepared,  
Which his high spirit past by without regard:  
And his great Queen was seriously bent,  
To put him in some place of government;  
But Nature only taught the man to fight,  
And his rude Mother not to read and write.  
Which was the chiefest cause that made him hate  
To be employed in mysteries of State.  
Besides, he was not pleased that her Grace  
Cut off this Noble man before his face,  
Whom he brought in; it may be his own lot,  
With axe or cord for nought to go to pot.  
Thus ignorance, a discontented mind,  
And worth ill weighed, do make him fall behind  
Occasions lock; which lost, he never more,  
Though bred and breathed on hills, shall get before.  
Now time and bruises, and much loss of blood,  
Had made Jones feel cold age was not so good  
As fiery youth; he needs must find a fail  
Of what he was: declined from top to tail.  
Which made him wish he might put up his rest,  
And breathe his last in his own country's breast.  
And for this cause he went unto her Grace,  
And begged of her a Muster-masters place,  
In Wales, near his first home: where he may spend  
His later days in peace, and in it end:  
And yet to leave behind his martial art,  
To Wale's posterity, before he part.  
This suit with speed and readiness is granted,  
And so to Wales our Muster-master's janted.  
Here many years he spent in telling more,  
Or less of those strange things he did before:  
At last in his old age he grows so wild,  
He needs must marry, to beget a child:  
Which though he missed, the mastery he must have  
O'er every sex, Jones sent her to her grave.  
Devotion now with his old age increased,  
He meditates thrice every day at least.  
His only prayer was the Absolution  
In our old Liturgy, with some confusion  
Of short ejaculations in his bed,  
For some old slips, and for the blood he shed;  
Especially for those six Kings he killed  
Without remorse at the Juzippian field:  
At last death comes, whose power he defied  
From first to last, and thus he lived and died.  
Now you wild blades that make loose inns your stage.  
To vapour forth the acts of this sad age,  
Your Edghil fight, the Newberies, and the West,  
And Northern clashes; where you still fought best:  
Your strange escapes, your dangers void of fear,  
When bullets flew between the head and ear:  
Your pia matters rent, perished your guts,  
Yet live, as than ye had been but earthen butts:  
Whether you fought by dam, or the Spirit,  
To you I speak, still waving men of merit,  
Be modest in your tales, if you exceed  
My Captain's hard achievements, I'll proceed  
Once more to imp my rural muses wings,  
And tune my lyre so high, I'll break her strings,  
But I will reach ye, and thence raise such laughter,  
As shall continue for five ages after.  

The captain's elegy.  
ANd art thou gone brave man? hath conquering death  
Put a full period to thy blustering breath?  
Thus hath she played her masterpiece? and here  
Fixed her nil supra on thy sable beer?  
Scap'st thou those hideous storms, those horrid fights,  
With many Giants; cruel beasts, fierce Knights?  
Such dangerous stratagems, such foes entrapping,  
And now hath death done't? sure she took thee napping.  
For hadst thou been awake to use thy sword,  
She would have shunned thee, and have ta'en thy word  
For thy appearance, till the last return  
Of her long term. Or did thy metle burn  
Through thy chapped clay unto Elysium's shades  
T'encounter with the ghosts of those old blades,  
Great Caesar, Scipio, Annibal; 'cause here  
Thy fiery spirit could not find its peer?  
How couldst thou else find time to fold thy arms  
In thy still grave, now Mars rains bloody storms,  
On Christian earth? great Austria would be ours  
Without pitched field, without beleaguering towers:  
Wert thou but here, thy sword would strike the stroke  
To break or bring their necks to Britain's yoke.  
Perhaps it was the providence of Fate,  
To snatch thee up, lest thou shouldest come too late,  
Now soldiers drop pell-mell, whose souls might thrust  
Thine from the chiefest place, which thou from first  
Hast gained on earth; now what shall England do?  
Limp like some grandam that hath lost her shoe.  
Put case a new Tyrone again should spring  
From his old urn, or some such furious thing  
As fierce Mac-kil-cow, where were then our Jones,  
To bring these Rebels on their marrow bones?  
Or say 'gainst Spain our pikes we readvance,  
For their old Sack, as such a thing may chance,  
Where shall we then find out that martial man,  
That killed six thousand with nine-score? he's gone.  
And we that lick the dish that Homer leapt in,  
What fury now shall our dull brains be rapt in?  
We must go sing Sr. Lancelot and rehearse  
Old Huan's villainous prose in wilder verse;  
Or else put up our pipes, and all at once,  
Cry farewell wit: all's gone with captain Jones.  
Well go thy ways (old blade) th''ve done thy share  
For things beyond belief time (never fear)  
Will give thee being here: th''ve left us stuff,  
To build thy Pyramid, more then enough,  
To equal Cayre's, and happily 'ttwill out last it,  
So with thy glorious deeds we may rough-cast it.  
Fare well great soul, and take this praise with many;  
Fxcept thy foes, thou ne'er didst harm to any:  
And thus far let our Muse thy loss deplore,  
Well she may sigh, but she shall ne'er sing more.   

His EPITAPH.  
TRead softly (mortals) o'er the bones  
Of the world's wonder captain Jones:  
Who told his glorious deeds to many,  
But never was believed of any:  
Posterity let this suffice,  
He swore all's true, yet here he lies.   
FINIS.