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.