One traynes his Horse, another trayles his Pyke,
He with his Pole-Axe, practiseth the fight,
The Bowe-man (which no Country hath the like)
With his sheafe Arrow, proueth by his might,
How many score off, he his Foe can strike,
Yet not to draw aboue his bosomes hight:
The Trumpets sound the Charge and the Retreat,
The bellowing Drumme, the Martch againe doth beat.
Great Ordnance then but newly in vse.
Cannons vpon their Caridge mounted are,