His kind Companions in this glorious prize,
Hoping againe the Duke to haue restor’d,
If to his feet his Armes would let him rise:
On the Kings Helme their height of fury scor’d;
Who like a Dragon fiercely on them flies,
And on his body slew them both, whilst he
Recouering was their ayde againe to be.
The King thus made the Master of the Fight:
The Duke calls to him as he there doth lye:
Henry I’le pay my Ransome, doe me right: