1588 British monarchs, with the noble exception of Alfred and James I, do not figure high in the literary annals of their country. Highest is Elizabeth I, who wrote very creditable poetry (notably ‘On Monsieur’s Departure’) and – assuming it is all her own work – a patriotic speech unmatched in its oratorical eloquence by any except those of Winston Churchill in the Second World War.
The occasion for her great speech was the imminent invasion by the Spanish empire. One hundred and fifty ships and 26,000 men of the Spanish Armada had set sail from Lisbon on 28 May 1588, with the aim of making England a Spanish colony and returning it to the Catholic faith. It was planned that 30,000 extra troops would join the invasion force from the Spanish Netherlands.
The Spanish were sighted off the coast of England in late July and the news communicated by beacons to London. The logistic task of mustering the combined Spanish army from the Low Countries gave the English time to organise their own forces, to harass and successfully engage the Spanish fleet – taking full advantage of the British navy’s superior seamanship and more manoeuvrable vessels.
On 8 August, with the final encounter in the Channel imminent, Elizabeth came to Tilbury, as near the front line as a monarch could come, and delivered her speech to her sailors, and to her people:
My loving people, we have been persuaded by some that we are careful of our safety, to take heed how we commit ourselves to armed multitudes for fear of treachery; but, I do assure you, I do not desire to live to distrust my faithful and loving people. Let tyrants fear, I have always so behaved myself, that under God I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and goodwill of my subjects; and, therefore, I am come amongst you as you see at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of battle, to live or die amongst you all – to lay down for my God, and for my kingdoms, and for my people, my honour and my blood even in the dust. I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king – and of a King of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm; to which, rather than any dishonour should grow by me, I myself will take up arms – I myself will be your general, judge, and rewarder of every one of your virtues in the field. I know already, for your forwardness, you have deserved rewards and crowns, and, we do assure you, on the word of a prince, they shall be duly paid you.
Famously, the Armada was defeated principally by a series of late summer storms that scattered their fleet and made them easy prey for the English privateers (commanded by such heroes as Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Hawkins). As the medal cast for the event recorded, Afflavit Deus et dissipantur – ‘God sent forth His breath and they were scattered’. The speech, doubtless, helped.