An English man in scaling of the wall,
From the same place is by a stone struck dead;
Tumbling vpon them logs of wood, and all,
That any way for their defence might sted:
The hills at hand re-ecchoing with the din
Of shouts without, and fearefull shrickes within.
Crosbowe Arrowes.
When all at once the English men assaile,
The French within all valiantly defend,
And in a first assault, if any faile,