Now doe they mount their Ordnance for the day

Now doe they mount their Ordnance for the day, Their scaling Ladders rearing to the walls, Their battering Rammes against the gates they lay, Their brazen slings send in the wilde-fire balls, Baskets of twigs now carie stones and clay, And to th'assault who furiously not falls; The Spade and Pickax working are belowe, Which then vnfelt, yet gaue the greatest blowe.