THE LEGEND OF Captaine JONES.
I Sing thy Armes (Bellona,) and the Mans
Whose mighty deeds out did great Tamberlans:
Thy Trump (dire goddesse) send, that I may thunder
Some wondrous strain, to speak this man of wonder.
When Fates decreed that Captain Jones should be
The life and death of men, they could not see
A place more suiting to bring forth this mirror
Of martiall spirits, this thunder crack of terror,
Then some vast mountaines womb, whose rigid rocks
Might forme him, and foreshew the hard knocks
Which he should give and take: Nor were they nice
To thinke it base, that mountaines bring forth mice,
Since from a Brittish mount and Mars his stones,
They sent this Man of men, sterne Captaine Jones.
Wild Mares milk nurst him on the mountaines gorse,
Which gave him strength and stomach like a horse;
Goats flesh matur’d him, kill’d on craggy tops,
Which taught him to mount Rampiers like those rocks.
Ere eighteen winters fully waxen were,
This imp of Mars began to doe and dare.
With Reymond a stout brother of the sword
He first attempted Sea, and went abroad,
Two hundred strong, for the East Indies bound,
Fame was the only prize he fought or found.
Twice twenty days auspicious waves and winds
Lull’d them: then Æolus and Neptune joynes
To work Great Iones his fall. Envy and ire
To see him more then Man, made them conspire:
Rough Boreas whistled to the dancing ship,
The boisterous billows strove to over-skip
The bounding vessell. In this great disaster
Reymond, the souldiers, Mariners and Master
Lost heart & heed to rule, then up starts Iones,
Calls for six Gispins, drinks them off at once.
Thus arm’d at all points, yet as light as feather,
He ascends, and drew, and pist against the weather;
And are we borne (my hearts, quoth he) to die?
Shall we descend? Thy immortality
Neptune thou must resigne, if I come thither:
One Sea may not contai[n]e us both together.
Nor waves nor winds could fright him with the motio[n]
Who thought he could containe and pisse an Ocean.
His fatall Smiter thrice aloft he shakes,
And frownes; the Sea and ship and canvasse quakes:
Then from the hatches he descends, and stept
Into his Cabbin, drank again, and slept.
When these rough gods beheld him thus secure,
And arm’d against them like a man pot-sure,
They stint vaine stormes; and so Monstrifera
(So hight the Ship) toucht about Florida,
Upon a desart Island call’d Crotona,
Where savage beasts and serpents live alone:
Here Iones would needs no land, though Reymond swore
Danger was in’t: he laught and leapt ashore.
Danger (quoth he) to the[m] who[m] danger fright,
My heart was fram’d to dare, my hands to fight.
Some six and thirty more put forth to ground,
These for fresh food, he for adventure bound;
They limit their return when three houres ends,
Which Reymond with the ship at Sea attends.
These Sea sick souldiers, rang hills, woods, and vallies,
Seeking provant to fill their empty bellies;
Iones goes alone, where Fate prepar’d to meet him
With such a prey as did unfriendly greet him;
A Beare as black as darknesse, and as fell
As Tyger, vast as the black dog of hell,
Runs at him open jaw’d, so fierce, so fast,
That he no leisure had to draw for hast
Kilzadog his good sword, with fist he aim’d,
Alarm’d, a blow, wch sure the bear had brain’d,
But that betweene her yawning teeth it dings,
The gauntlet there stuck fast, his hands he wrings
Unarm’d, unharm’d from thence; her formost pawes
The Beare on Jones his shoulder claps, and gnawes
The gauntlet wedg’d between her teeth: Jones claspt her
With both his armes, and strove by force to cast her.
And here they try a pluck, and grasp, and tug,
And foame; but Jones who knew the Cornish hug,
Heaves her a foot from footing, swings her round,
And with a short turn hurles her on the ground;
Then came his good sword forth to act his part,
Which pierc’t skin, ribs and riffe, and rove her heart.
The head (his trophee) from the trunk he cuts,
And with it back unto the shore he struts,
Where Reymond was appointed to attend
His and the rest returne: but he (false friend)
When they were once on shore and out of sight,
Hoist sailes to sea, and tooke himself to flight.
Here Iones found fraud in man, and deeply sweares
Revenge on Reymonds head, the rest he cheares;
All safe return’d, but all in desperation
To see themselves left there to desolation:
Nor grain nor ground, but wilde; nor man, nor beast,
But savage; yet (O strange) here Jones doth feast
His six and thirty daily, ’twas with fishes
Tost from his halberts point into their dishes;
Wherewith he took them standing on the shore
Out of the Ocean: whether ’twas the store
Frequenting this unpeopled coast, or whether
To see this wondrous man they shoald together
And so astoni[sh]ed, yield themselves a prey
To him from whom they durst not swim away.
Bee’t so, or so, I’le not decide, but I
Know Jones tells this for truth, who knows no lye.
Thus from his weapons point, nine moneths they fed
Till fate Sir Richard Greenfield thither led,
Who to America transports with Jones
His six and thirty fish-fed Mermydons,
To Insip were they brought and left; oh then
‘Twas time, had they had meat, to play the men.
Their first encounter there with famine was,
A dry and desart soile, nor graine nor grasse,
Nor drink, but water had they here, nor bread
For thrice twelve moneths, but caves four house and bed.
Such living as that Country could afford
Bold Jones was forc’t to win by dint of sword
Eleven fierce Kings possesse the fertile tract
Of this great Coast, who all their powers compact
To vanquish Jones: A brave attempt ’tis true,
Yet more then twice eleven fierce Kings could doe.
Two thousand choise and doughty men they chose,
To bid him battaile, arm’d with darts and bowes,
And arrows fadome long, well barb’d with bone
Of some strange fish, which pierc’t through steel and stone
And thus they came prepar’d. When they drew neer him,
He brought his soldiers forth, and thus did cheare them;
My five and twenty friends (for onely those
Had fate & famine left) these darts and bows
Are fit to deale with fearful Crows and Daws,
But us whose hearts of oak and empty maws,
Hungers sharp dart hath pierc’t & yet we sta[i]d
To fright & foil our foes with sword in hand)
These weapons cannot conquer, not the nu[m]ber
Were they two thousand such as Iohn a Cu[m]ber.
Doth hunger bite you? bite your foes as fast,
Eat these men-eaters (souldiers) kill and tast.
Would you gaine glory? Kill by six and seaven,
If Crownes of Kings, then here behold eleven.
And this he spake and drew. With stomack fierce
They give the first assault, Now for a verse
To speak great Jones his deeds, who headlong goes
Amongst the thickest ranks, cuts, kils, & throws,
Some by the legs, some by the wast he makes
Shorter; another by the lock he takes,
Reaps off his head, wherewith he braines another,
Then at one stroke kils father, sonne, and brother;
Few scap’d with life, but strangely; happy those
Which scap’d with losse of half a face or nose.
Nor may I passe his men, who cut and slash
Like those that fought for life, not Crowns or Cash.
Want made them seem (which sure their foes dismaid)
The very sons of death, whose parts they plaid;
The Insips now no aime can take aright,
They thinke each foe they meet, a mighty Sprite;
And so they fly. Six Kings he took, and kil’d,
Five, with eight hundred soldiers left the field;
Twelve hundred fel: for those that went off safe
Their heels & not their hearts the praise he gave.
Unto their fullest towns, whe[n] he had kild them.
He brought his ragged regiment and fill’d them.
Here on the river of Mengog they finde
A Weare with fish of wondrous growth and kind,
Where with a thousand herrings they were fed,
All two foot long besides the tail and head.
Here some may aske what came of all the wealth,
(For Jones brought nothing hime besides himselfe)
This conquest gain’d; sure many precious things
Must needs attend the death of six such Kings.
I answer briefly; His heroick desire
Ascends above earth excrements as fire:
Nor can descend to Crownes. The souldiers found
Much wealth, which in their home-return was drownd;
Still fortune favours Jones. Amidst this river
He spies a saile directly bearing thither;
He calls, and find them English, homeward bound,
Who for fresh water thrust into the sound.
With these his men and he for England comes,
Had England known it, all her guns & drums
Had been too little to expresse her joy,
As when victorious Hector entred Troy;
Yet ere he can attaine his native coast,
Æneas like he must be tyr’d and tost
With storms, till meat and water wax’d so scant,
That Jones drank nought but pisse one week for want.
At last when they had cast out all their goods,
(To save themselves) into the furious flouds,
The ship all bruis’d with sands, and stormes, and stones
At Ipswich doth disburthen the sea of Jones.
England salutes him with the generall joys
Of Court and Countrey, Knights, Squires, fools, & boys
In every towne rejoyce at his arrivall,
The townsmen where he comes their wives do swive all
And bid them thinke on Jones amidst this glee,
In hope to get such roaring boyes as he:
Others this joy, into a fury rapt
To sing his praise, though elegant and apt;
Yet mixt with fixions, which he scornes. ‘Tis knowne
Jones fancies no additions but his owne;
Nor need we stir our braines for glorious stuffe
To paint his praise, himselfe hath done enough,
And hath prescrib’d that I should write no more
Then his good memory hath kept in store
Of what he did. Perhaps he hath or can
Doe more, but hides it like a modest man.
His Brittish expedition make he hie
From his vagary to his Chivalry.
This Dukedomes confines pointing on the South,
Great Ke[e]per Castle guards on Morligs mouth;
Which key of Brittaine (like great Brittaines Dover)
Was wel nigh lost by siege til Jones went over,
To dye or raise it; ‘Twas begirt by land
With fifteen thousand. Foure tall ships withstand
All succours from the sea: Against this force
He goes as boldly as an eyelesse horse,
With one small Bark (the Shit-fire ’twas) a hot one,
And save a hundred men was with him not one:
But these were Welsh blades, born for hacks & hewing,
And car’d not what they did so they were doing.
Thus like some tempests these foure ships he frightens,
His guns roare thunder whilst his powder lightens,
And from his broad side poures a showre of haile,
Which rakes them thorow & thorow, ribs, masts, & sail.
Their shot replies, but they were rankt too high
To touch the Pinnace, which beares up so nigh
And playes so hot, that her opponents thinke
Some Devill is grand Captaine of the Pinke.
One English Pirat with them, whilst he watches
His time to shoot, spies Jones upon the hatches
And cryes out, Ho, hoise Canvas all at once,
And fly, or yield; Zounds it is Captain Jones:
The man swore reason, and ’twas quickly heard,
For, not a Bullet like that name was feard;
They fly, he followes, but a partiall winde
And wings of feare sav’d them, left him behinde.
To Kemper he returnes him, and supplies it
With fifty men, and victualls to suffice it
Six moneths: The foes by land lose hope and heart
To oppose this new supply, and so depart:
Then on the Gate this title was ingraved,
Jones rescued Kemper, and the Dukedome saved.
Thus plum’d with Laurell, Jones for England came,
Where George of Cumberland, rapt with his fame,
Wooes him to be Vicegenerall of his fleet;
Which Iones vouchsaft, because he was to meet
Men like himselfe, the doughty Dons of Spain,
Whose honour (or lose all) he vow’d to gaine.
And better fate in this designe he wisht not,
The[n] to cope single wth their great Don Quixot.
Stay Muse and blush, and sigh & sing no more,
Here Jones his Mistris Fortune plaid the whore.
Yet, whilst thou loath’d her lightnesse to rehearse,
Let indignation make thee chide in verse;
Ah deity! and blindly to go on so
From thy deare minion Iones, to Iohn D’Alonso,
Whose out and inside is no better mettle
Then an old Drum, or a base Tinkers Kettle.
And tak’st thou him for Iones? that glorious boy,
Whom Venus self would kisse (were Mars away.)
Well fickle goddesse, if thou be divine,
I’le sweare, heaven hath like earth, light feminine.
Twas thus, This fleet cut through the Westerne maine,
And so lay hovering on the coast of Spaine:
Iones led the front (as twas his custome still)
The first in fight, last to be kil’d or kill:
His ship went swiftest too, as did his minde
On honors wings: But (oh) an envious winde
Fild all his saile, and wrapt him in a mist
From being seen, or seeing, ere he wist.
And thus he lost his traine, and cast about,
And beat these Seas five dayes to find them out,
Till in his quest it was his fate to meet
Don Iohn D. Alonso with the Spanish fleet.
This Generall bid amaine, and Jones defi’d
From Canons mouth. The Don againe repli’d
“With foure for one. Ah Iones, had I my wish,
“Some Godhead should have turn’d thee to a fish,
“To escape this dire assault; thou shouldst not then
“Be taken like a tame beast in thy den.
Nine thousand souldiers was the force that fought
This day with Iones, whom six huge gallies brought,
The stoutest boats to make a bold Bravado
That were in Spaines invincible Armado:
Iones first commands his men to take their victuall,
He souldier-like dranke much, and prayd a little;
Then tells them briefly, here’s no place to fly,
Come friends, let’s bravely live or bravely die.
By this the gallyes had inclos’d him round,
And sought to board him; but they quickly found
The ship too hot to grapple with sosoon,
And so bore off againe, and paid her roome.
Then each by turne present her the broad side,
Which she repaid with intrest, and so ply’d,
That where her bullets pierce, whose streames of blood
Spout through the gallyes ribs, and dye the flood;
The foes disdaine thus long to stand in fight
Gainst one, and so presse on with all their might;
And now the storme grew hot, and deep in blood,
“Mad rage had got the place where reason stood:
Guns, drums, and trumpets stop the souldiers eares,
From hearing cryes and groanes; and fury reares
This fatall combate to so strange a height,
That higher powers expresse th’effects of fright.
Great Neptune quakt and roar’d, clouds ran and pist,
The windes fell downe, and Titan lurkt in mist.
Then belch huge bullets forth, smoak, fire, & thunder:
Their fury strikes the gods with feare and wonder.
One gally which two hundred slaves did row,
Affront the ship in hope to buldge her prow.
Jones gave her leave; but when she once came nigh,
One burst his murdering shot; here doom’d to dye
Downe dropp’d the brave Viceroy of Saint Iago,
Don Diego de Cordona and Gonzago.
Stones, chaines, and bullets tare their passage out
Through men and galley, which soon tackt about
In hope to get aloofe; but Jones sent after
Two lucky shots, which light twixt wind and water.
“In crept the quaking billow, where he spide
“Those holes, in hopes its fearefull head to hide;
“The galley like afeard, worse hurt, doth creep
“Into the trembling bowels of the deep;
“And so she sanke. Thus Diego whilst he try’d
His force with Jones, with fifteen hundred dy’d.
Now Jones all breathlesse sat to take his breath
Upon a But of sack, and drank the death
Of Don Iohn de Alonso, which his men
Pledge in a rowse, and so they fight agen.
Ninescore there were, but threescore now remaine
To doe or suffer, for the rest were slaine.
The Spanish force distract twixt hope and feare,
Yet by their fellowes fall forewarnd, forbeare
This hot assault, keep distance, and at Jones
Let fly their shot at randome all at once,
Some halfe a Cable short and some flew ore
The top saile, some the sterne and rudder tore:
One, all the rest in fatall fury past,
And all to shivers rove the master mast,
Downe fell the tackle, and the vessell lay
An English prison and a Spanish prey.
Starboard and Larboard side, from poope to prow
They all let drive and rak’d her through and through.
All now but Iones and one man more were kill’d,
Who cry’d, Now fight and die or live and yield.
Iones kil’d the first, the latter he besought him
Upon his knees, whilst by the knees he caught him
Begging for life, a bullet tooke away
His head, when when ’twas off still seem’d to pray;
Out flew the head and bullet both at once
Between the manly thighes of Captaine Iones;
Who lookt behind him, art thou gone (quoth he)
Still may they die so, that cry yield to me.
Now nought to him but blood and death appear’d,
Death was his wish, captivity he fear’d;
Which to prevent Kil-za-dog forth he drew,
And thus spake, Brave Cato, Cato slew.
And when victorious Brutus could not stand,
He fell, but by his owne victorious hand.
Brutus, I am a Brute, and have thy spirit,
Thy fortune and selfe-death I will inherit.
Thus said, his sword unto his side he plyes,
Which his good Genius stays & thus replyes;
HoldIones, reserv’d for thy Countries good,
Born to shed hostil, not thy home-bred blood,
And know that self death is the Cowards curse,
For, he that dyes so, dyes for feare of worse;
The time will come when Irish bogs shall quake
Under thy feet, whilst great Oneale doth shake.
I may not on thy future deeds dilate,
Thy sword must right what is involv’d in fate;
This know, in thy old age thou shalt impart
Unto thy Countries youth thy martiall art,
Teach them to manage armes, and how they must
Make bright their swords, which peace hath wrapt in rust.
NowIones vouchsaf’d to live, not for himself
But for his Countries good and Common wealth,
His scarlet cap he dons, with crimson plume,
And he ascends the hatches all in sume.
The Musketiers ambitiously desire
To hit this mark, and all at once give fire:
Some Bullets raze his plume, his haire, his nose,
His velvet Jerkin, and his sattin hose,
(The scars may yet be seen) yet draws he breath
Fearlesse and harmlesse in the jawes of death.
The Spaniard now conjectur’d his intent,
By seeking death t’avoid imprisonment,
And so forbore to shoot, drew neere and fought
To take the prey, which they so deare had bought.
Then Iones all raging throwes into the maine
That sword which men and wolves & beares had slain,
That sword which erst had drunke the blood of Kings,
Into the bowels of the deep he dings.
The Ocean thirld for feare, and gave it place,
And greedy Neptune snatcht it for his mace.
Then from the ship he leaps amongst his foes,
And so undaunted to Don Iohn he goes,
Who bid him Live, Don-like, but gave him breath,
Onely to breath in greater paines then death.
This shock had sent to Styx six thousand men,
Whose soules Don Iohn to satisfie againe
Inflicts more servile punishments on Jones,
Then countervails six thousand deaths at once.
He beds on boards, is fed with bits and knocks
Ape-like, barefoot with neither shoos nor socks.
Haire shirt, blew bonnet, made a servile knave,
A lowsie, dusty, nasty galley slave.
At last he brings Jones to the Spanish King,
And says: Great Monarch, see this pretious thing;
Six thousand of your bravest men he cost,
Who to gain him alive, their lives have lost,
Nor think the bargain deare, for here’s a man
Can doe & say more then your Viceroyes can.
This praise was given him by the crafty Don,
For feare his losse seem’d more then what he won;
And so it did indeed, for Phillip thought
Jones inside by his outside dearely bought.
To try he askes him, whither bound, and whence
He was, and Jones replies with little sense,
Whether through feare or faining, he affords
To all the King demands, not three wise words.
To try him further, in a Jaile they cast him,
Which serv’d for nothing but to stink & fast in.
And here it was his destiny to light
Upon a learned Priest, a Jesuite:
With him falls Iones to work. The sacred word
His weapon was, for he had drown’d his sword.
Their question was of purgatory, where,
And whether ’tis at all, if so, ’tis here
(Quoth Iones.) For he half tir’d with paines would needs
Go straight to heaven: And thus the question breeds.
Iones was no Schoolman, yet he bore a braine
Which nere forgot what ere it could containe.
Yet this old Priest so wrests the letters sense,
Equivocates, denies plaine consequence,
Starts to and fro, and raiseth such confusions,
That Iones chief ward was to deny conclusions:
But, doe this subtill Schoolman what he can,
Such was the vigour of this martiall man,
Though he was no good disputant or Text-man
Nor knew to spell Amen, to serve a Sexton;
Yet truth, with confidence and his strong fist
Doth first convince, and then convert the Priest.
Some talke of Garnets straw and Lipsius lasses,
Whose miracles made many Artists asses;
But here’s a miracle transcends them all,
An artist made wise by a Naturall.
Now Englands Court rings all of Iones his fetters,
And men of rank were soon sent ore with letters,
To ransome him for gold, or man for man,
On any termes. The King with many a Don
Consults upon this point: One thought it fit
To deale upon exchange; some better wit
Thought it more fit to keep this second Drak,
For so he term’d him wisely, and thus spake;
Armies are Englands arme, Captaines the hand
Of this strong arme that rules by sea & land:
And of this arme and hand I think in summe,
This captive Captaine is the very thumb.
This speech was short and sound, but could not goe so
Without th’opposing of old Don Mendozo;
Who lov’d and favour’d Jones, but knew not why,
(Nature it seems had wrought some sympathy)
Pardon (quoth he) (dread Soveraign) are we come
To talke of armes and hands and Captaine Thumb?
From East to West our Arms and armies raigne,
And feare we now for one to re-obtaine
So many Viceroyes in the Isle captiv’d,
For us, of light and almost life depriv’d;
Were Drake’s and Candish spirit in this dragon,
Let not their future times have this to brag on,
That Englands Queen did prize one Captaine more
Than Spaines great Monarch did his twenty foure.
His speech prevail’d, and so they all attone,
And twenty foure were askt and given for one,
All which had led great armies to the field,
And never knew but once, what twas to yield.
And thus was Iones dismist; yet ere he goe
The King, to grace him, made him kisse his toe.
Long maist thou live old man, and may thy tongue
And memory, as thou grow’st old, wax young:
Then wilt thou live in spight of time, and be
Times subject, and time thine t’imblazon thee.
Pardon my forward Muse, striving to soare
A pitch with thee at mid-day tyr’d, gives ore;
For, who can speak thee all (thou mighty man?)
Not Greece’s Homer, nor Rome’s Mantuan.
Thy Irish warres, thy taking great Tyrone,
Whole heards of Wolves kill’d there by thee alone,
Thy severall single duels with fie[r]ce men
And Bears, all slain; and that dry journy when
Thou drank’st but what thou pist for thrice seven daies,
Which made thee dry ere since; then th’amorous waies
The Queen of No-land us’d to make thee King
Of her and hers (Oh) many a precious thing.
Thy London widow next in love halfe drown’d,
Which thou refus’dst with forty thousand pound:
Thy daunting Essex in his rash bravado,
‘s hard scaping of thy bastinado;
Lastly, thy grace with thy great,
Who, hadst thou had the learning to suffice a
Man, but to write and read, had made thee able
To fit in Councell at her highnesse Stable.
These trophees of thy Fame, and myriads more
Kept by thy fertile braine for time in store,
I leave unsung, and wish they may be writ
In golden lines by some more happy wit,
Whose Genius, till some fury doth inspire,
Let me sit downe in silence, and admire.