O thinke vpon the matchlesse valiancie Of our forefathers deeds in former daies, And let vs counterchecke the memorie Of their stout acts by that immortall praise, To which our deeds our names this day may raise: Yea, let vs thinke gainst whom we come to fight, The thought of which might cowards harts excite. 80. First with our foe-men’s captaine to begin, A weake Welch milke-sop, one that I do know Was nere before for fight in battle seene, Not able of himselfe as guide to goe In marshall discipline against his foe: But backt by his consorts, a sort of slaues, Against his will vs now in field he braues. 81. And for his company, a sort they bee Of rascall French and British runawaies, People far more couragious for to flee, Then stand in fight, whose faint hearts former daies Could witnesse to our land and their dispraise: Who doubtlesse now shall by your valours die, Or else at least from battell wounded flie. 82. That bearing wounds vnto their natiue home, Their fellowes may be strucke with heartlesse dread, Fearing in future times againe to come Into our kingdome with bold banners spred, Gainst souldiers that in England’s bounds are bred: Then courage, friends, think on renowne and fame For which we fight, let cowards flie with shame. 83. And as for me, assure your selues this day I will triumph by glorious victorie, Or win a lasting name for liue’s decay: Take then example by my valiancie, And boldly fight against your enemie: You for your wiues and goods, I for my crowne, Both for our countrie’s good, all for renowne. 84. Aduance them captaines, forward to the fight, Draw forth your swords, each man addresse his sheeld, Hence faint conceites, die thoughts of coward flight, To heauen your hearts, to fight your valours yeeld: Behold our foes do braue vs in the field, Vpon them friends, the cause is yours and mine, Saint _George_ and conquest on our helmes doth shine.” 85. This said, the dreadfull trumpet loudlie blowes, To bring them forward to the furious fight, Then did the bowmen bend their stift string’d bowes; The souldiers buckled on their helmets bright; The bilmen shooke their bils, and euerie wight Did proue his fatall weapon on the ground, Ready prepar’d his foemen to confound. 86.