The foremost of them was a personage of so composed a presence,
that Nature and Fortune had done him wrong, if they had not
made him a soldier. _In his countenance there was a kind of
indignation, fighting with a kind of exalted joy_, which by his
very gesture were apparently decipherable; for he was jocund,
that his soul went out of him in so glorious a triumph; but
disdainfully angry, that she wrought her enlargement through no
more dangers: yet were there bleeding witnesses enow on his
breast, which testified, he did not yield till he was conquered,
and was not conquered, till there was left nothing of a man in
him to be overcome.

That the poet's loyalty and devotion were at least as ardent when
offered by his gratitude to sailors as to soldiers we may see by this
description of "The Seaman" in his next work:

A progress doth he take from realm to realm,
With goodly water-pageants borne before him;
The safety of the land sits at his helm,
No danger here can touch, but what runs o'er him:
But being in heaven's eye still, it doth restore him
To livelier spirts; to meet death with ease,
_If thou wouldst know thy maker, search the seas_.[1]

[Footnote 1: The italics are here the author's.]

These homely but hearty lines occur in a small and mainly metrical
tract bearing a title so quaint that I am tempted to transcribe it at
length: "The Double PP. A Papist in Arms. Bearing Ten several Shields.
Encountered by the Protestant. At Ten several Weapons. A Jesuit Marching