Which with such furious force he did pursue, That ouer thrusting downe he fell to ground, At which aduantage in the foe-men flew, And in the head the valiant knight did wound, Whom in extremitie begirted round By eager foes, his brother with strong hands Rescu’d from danger, death, or captiue bands. 301. Then noble _Sidnie_, _Wingfield_, _Middleton_, Each with his band made in vpon the foes, Then _Hinder_, _Fulford_, and stout _Erington_, Stood firme in fight, and in the violent close Amongst th’Iberians dealt such martiall blowes, That their chiefe leaders in the field were slaine, Or wounded, could no more the fight maintaine. 302. The other fled, and th’English did pursue With speedie haste, a number fell in chace, Three miles the dust, with blood they did imbrue, Some downewards groueling did the ground embrace, Some vpwards spread, did shew death’s gastly face, Three miles in compasse on that haplesse soile, Did flow with fruits of blood, of death, and spoile. 303. The valiant victors, that did backe returne, Loaded with golden bootie from the chace, The fruitfull countrie round about did burne With wastfull fire, which did in euery place Townes, towers, woods, groues with hungrie flames embrace, Whose people did from farre behold the flame With teare-torne eyes; yet could not helpe the same. 304. Thus fam’d-grac’d _Norrice_ crown’d with victorie, Vnto the Groyne returned backe againe, And with more worth his deed to amplifie, King _Philip’s_ standard with the armes of Spaine, Which from his foes in fight he did constraine, Before him in his march aduanced was, As with his troopes he towards the Groyne did passe. 305. Where he not long the voyage did delay For Portugale in _Don Antonioe’s_ right; But left the Groyne and lanched off to sea, Where with that noble earle great _Essex_ hight, His brother, and stout _Williams_ that bold knight, He happily did meet, who with full gale To Portugale together forth did saile. 306. And in a storme, as people sent from heau’n, That nation vnto freedome to restore, They by the tempest gainst Peniche driuen, Vp to the waste in waters raging sore, Through death and danger waded to the shore; Where when they came vpon the marine sands, In spight of foes they martiall’d vp their bands. 307.