d the Defeat of the French Army bin,
With these that noble Souldier maketh hast,
Lest other from him should the honour win:
Who as before now stretch their well-wax'd strings,
At the French Horse then comming in the wings.

[Stanza 253]

The soyle with slaughter eu'ry where they load,
Whilst the French stoutly to the English stood,
The drops from eithers emptied veynes that flow'd,
Where it was lately firme had made a flood:
But heau'n that day to the braue English ow'd;
The Sunne that rose in water, set in blood:
Nothing but horrour to be look'd for there,
And the stout Marshall vainely doth but feare.

[Stanza 254: _The Marshall of France slaine._]

His Horse sore wounded whilst he went aside,
To take another still that doth attend,
A shaft which some too-lucky hand doth guide,
Peircing his Gorget brought him to his end;
Which when the proud Lord Falkonbridge espide,
Thinking from thence to beare away his friend,
Strucke from his Horse, with many a mortall wound,
Is by the English nayled to the ground.

[Stanza 255]

The Marshalls death so much doth them affright,
That downe their weapons instantly they lay,
And better yet to fit them for their flight,
Their weightier Armes, they wholly cast away,
Their hearts so heauy, makes their heeles so light,
That there was no intreating them to stay,
Ore hedge and ditch distractedly they take,
And happiest he, that greatest haste could make.

[Stanza 256: _Count Vadamount._]

[_The Duke of Brabant a most couragious Prince._]

When Vadamount now in the Conflict mett,
With valient Brabant, whose high valour showne
That day, did many a blunted Courage whett,
Else long before that from the Field had flowne,
Quoth Vadamount, see how we are besett,
To death like to be troden by our owne,
My Lord of Brabant, what is to be done?
See how the French before the English runne.

[Stanza 257: _A bitter exclamation of the Duke of Brabant against the
French._]

Why, let them runne and neuer turne the head,
Quoth the braue Duke, vntill their hatefull breath
Forsake their Bodies, and so farre haue fled,
That France be not disparadg'd by their death:
Who trusts to Cowards ne'r is better sped,
Be he accurst, with such that holdeth faith,
Slaughter consume the Recreants as they flye,
Branded with shame, so basely may they dye.

[Stanza 258]

Ignoble French,