Where I, well wearied with the heate of fight,
Had layd me downe, for warre had ceast his chace;
And with reproachful words, as layzie swaine
He did salute me, ere I long had layne.
I, knowing that he was mine enemie,
A bragging French-man (for we tearm’d them so)
Ill brookt the proud disgrace he gave to me
And therefore, lent the Dolphyne such a blowe,
As warm’d his courage well to lay about,
Till he was breathlesse, though he were so stout.