Stanza 137

The brute of this intended Battaile spred, The coldnesse of each sleeping courage warmes, And in the French that daring boldnesse bred: Like casting Bees that they arise in swarmes, Thinking the English downe so farre to tred, As past that day ne'r more to rise in Armes, T'extirpe the name, if possible it were, At least not after to be heard of there.

[Stanza 138: A Simily of the rising of the French.]

As when you see the enuious Crowe espye, Something that shee doth naturally detest: With open throat how shee doth squall and crye; And from the next Groue calleth in the rest, And they for those beyond them bawling flye, Till their foule noyse doth all the ayre infest: Thus French, the French to this great Battaile call, Vpon their swords to see the English fall.

[Stanza 139: Dauid Gam, a great Captain in that Warr.]

And to the King when seriously one tolde, With what an Host he should encountred be, Gam noting well, the King did him behold, In the reporting; Merrily (quoth he) My Liege I'le tell you if I may be bold, We will diuide this Army into three: One part we'll kill, the second prisoners stay; And for the third, we'll leaue to runne away.