Or whether twas report of his successe,
Or more then common feare of Cliffords rigor,
Who thunders to his captaines bloud and death,
95 I cannot tell. But to conclude with truth,
Their weapons like to lightnings went and came.
[♦] Our souldiers like the night Owles lasie flight,
Or like an idle thresher with a flaile,
Fel gentlie downe as if they smote their friends.
100 I cheerd them vp with iustice of the cause,
With promise of hie paie and great rewardes,