at led,
Sawe the day turn'd by this disastrous chance,
And how the French before the English fled;
O stay (quoth he) your Ensignes yet aduance,
Once more vpon the Enemy make head:
Neuer let France say, we were vanquisht so,
With our backs basely turn'd vpon our Foe.

[Stanza 195: _The Admirall._]

Whom the Chattillyon hapned to accost,
And seeing thus the Constable dismayde:
Shift noble Lord (quoth he) the day is lost,
If the whole world vpon the match were layde,
I cannot thinke but that Black Edwards Ghost
Assists the English, and our Horse hath frayde;
If not, some Diuels they haue with them then,
That fight against vs in the shapes of men.

[Stanza 196]

Not I my Lord, the Constable replies:
By my blest soule, the Field I will not quit:
Whilst two braue Battailes are to bring supplies:
Neither of which one stroke haue strucken yet:
Nay (quoth Dampeir) I doe not this aduise
More then your selfe, that I doe feare a whit:
Spurre vp my Lord, then side to side with mee,
And that I feare not, you shall quickly see.

[Stanza 197: _The Admirall slaine._]

They struck their Rowells to the bleeding sides
Of their fierce Steeds into the ayre that sprong:
And as their fury at that instant guides:
They thrust themselues into the murth'ring throng,
Where such bad fortune those braue Lords betides:
The Admirall from off his Horse was flong,
For the sterne English downe before them beere
All that withstand, the Pesant and the Peere.

[Stanza 198: _The Constable slaine._]

Which when the noble Constable with griefe,
Doth this great Lord vpon the ground behold;
In his account so absolute a Chiefe,
Whose death through France he knew would be condol'd,
Like a braue Knight to yeeld his friend reliefe,
Doing as much as possibly he could,
Both horse and man is borne into the mayne,
And from his friend not halfe a furlong slayne.

[Stanza 199]

Now Willoughby vpon his well-Arm'd Horse,
Into the midst of this Battalion brought,
And valiant Fanhope no whit lesse in force,
Himselfe hath thither through the squadrons raught,
Whereas the English without all remorce,
(Looking like men that deepely were distraught)
Smoking with sweat, besmear'd with dust and blood,
Cut into Cantels all that them withstood.

[Stanza 200]

Yet whilst thus hotely they hold vp the Chase
Vpon the French, and had so high a