Pressing the bosome of large France so sore,
That her pale Genius, in affright doth flye
To all her Townes and warnes them to awake,
And for her safety vp their Armes to take.
At Paris, Roan, and Orleance, she calls,
And at their gates with gronings doth complaine:
Then cries she out, O get vp to your walls:
The English Armies are return’d againe,
Which in two Battailes gaue those fatall falls,
At Cressie, and at Poyteers, where lay slaine