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.
Now Willoughby vpon his well-Arm’d Horse,