Wee English men, in triomphe fight and honour dye.’

81.

With bloody broiles of war, the haplesse towne did smoke,

The children sawe theire fathers deare, to bleede their last:

The wyues bewayled muche the fatall stroke,

Which forste their husbands bleede, fall, dye so fast:

“Helas,” the weemen cryde, the woefull streets that past:

(When soe they sawe the channels bloody streame)

“What plague is this, that pesters so our reame?

82.