That after haruest of a world of men
Made in a hundred battailes, fights, assaults,
My bodie thorow pearst with push of pike
Had vomited my bloud, in bloud my life,
In midd’st of millions felowes in my fall:
The lesse hir wrong, the lesse should my woe:
Nor she should paine, nor I complain me so.
No, no, wheras I should haue died in armes,
And vanquisht oft new armies should haue arm’d,
New battailes giuen, and rather lost with me