Vntill our Teene vpon the French we wreake:
Or in this our last enterprise expire:
This spoke, their Gauntlets each doth other giue,
And to the Charge as fast as they could driue.
That slaughter seem’d to haue but stay’d for breath,
To make the horrour to ensue the more:
With hands besmear’d with blood, when meager Death
Looketh more grisly then he did before:
So that each body seem’d but as a sheath
To put their swords in, to the Hilts in gore: