To see the Romaynes bloudy backes that bore
In field, flight, dead, and scattered[771] on the shore,
What thousand tongues (thinke you) could tell our ioy[772]
This made our hartes reuiue, this pleas’d our Roy,[773]
[And wee lesse fearde our enemies all annoy.]
17.
With trompets mourning tune, and wayling cries,
And drummes, and fluits, and shawmes, wee sound adieu,
And for our friends wee watred all our [weeping] eyes,
As loth to leese the liues of such a [noble] crew: