That turn’d their backs so basely to their Foes.
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.