Stanza 202

Their men at Armes their Lances closely lock One in another, and come vp so round, That by the strength and horrour of the shock, They forc'd the English to forsake their ground, Shrinking no more then they had beene a Rock, Though by the Shafts receiuing many a wound, As they would showe, that they were none of those, That turn'd their backs so basely to their Foes.

[Stanza 203: The courage of Woodhouse remarkable.]

Panting for breath, his Murrian in his hand, Woodhouse comes in as back the English beare, My Lords (quoth he) what now inforc'd to stand, When smiling Fortune off'reth vs so faire, The French lye yonder like to wreakes of sand, And you by this our glory but impaire: Or now, or neuer, your first Fight maintaine, Chatillyon and the Constable are slaine.