Makes in to lend him all the ayde he might;
Whose comming seem’d the stout Lord Scales to call,
Betwixt whom then began a mortall fight,
When instantly fell in Sir Phillip Hall,
Gainst him goes Roussy, in then Louell ran,
Whom next Count Moruyle chuseth as his man.
Their Curates are vnriuetted with blowes,
With horrid wounds their breasts and faces slasht;
There drops a cheeke, and there falls off a nose:
And in ones face his fellowes braines are dasht;