Mortaigne and I ’gainst them alone did fight,
Till multitudes did ouermatch our might.
85.
Let Pallas cease to sing of armes oppos’d,
Sorrow must be the subiect of her song,
In stead of greaues with golden buttons clos’d,
In which she marcht amidst our martiall throng,
Now in sad straine, while we relate our wrong,
She in the sock the tragicke dance must lead,
Whose dolefull measures, we captiu’d do tread.