You Gallants bold, of Albions fertile soyle,

For Countries fame, on land and seas that toyle,

Searching with paine, the Confines of the earth,

Whose painfull toyle, all Nations admireth:

By whom enriched is your Countries store,

And some made rich, which earst was held but poore:

To you brave minds, whose thoughts doth reach the s[kie]

And scorne at home, like sluggards for to lie:

To you that fetch more woorth, then Iasons fleece,

To you I do my rustike Pen addresse,

For Countries honor, that spareth not your blood,

But ventures all, for Commons publike good…

[B]e not omit, our Merchant of renown:

[F]or Londons honor, where he of worship is,

[A]n Alderman of credit great I wis,

[F]amous Wats, whose forward readinesse,

[I]n all attempts was never knowne to misse:

[W]ho in this fleete to quaile the enemies pride,

[F]oure gallant ships for warre he doth provide…