Our fingers tickled still, which came from fight,
Wee had before our eyes our enmyes flight,[775]
[And nought was seemely then but warlike might.][776]
19.
So fares it when the meaner giue the spoyle,
And make the mighty all theyr force reuoke:
So fares it when great victours feele the foyle,
And meaner sorts of count doe giue the stroke,[777]
That pearceth euen the hardest harte of oke,
For where the weaker win the wage of fame,