For the bold brothers both the valiant _Veres_, Deepe wounds did purchase to regaine the day, The one breath’d comfort in the souldiers eares, While th’other through the foes with violent sway Of his horse troopes did force a dreadfull way, Through which the Belgians that before had fled, Might ’gainst the fainting foes againe make head. 453. The foemen fled, the ground was stro’d with harmes Of their mishap, their duke fled fast away, Leauing his horse of honour and his armes Vnto the victors to remaine for ay, As signes of conquest and that glorious day, Which by _Elizae’s_ auxilarie traine, Then agents there the Belgians did obtaine. 454. Thus to the life of our triumphant dame Time in her reigne no yeere did multiplie, Which fortune did not dignifie with fame, Or praise of some illustrate victorie; ’Gainst Rome, ’gainst Spaine, or th’Austrian enemie, ’Gainst whom that houre that she expir’d her breath, She di’d victorious in the armes of death. 455. [Sidenote: _Anno Reg. 43, 44._] For when the Austrian duke with his proud hoast, Atrides-like laid siege to little Troy, And by a solemne vow did vainely boast, Not to depart vntill he did destroy That English towne; yet to his owne annoy, He there did lie while th’horses of the sunne, Their yeare’s race thrice about the heauen had runne. 456. For England’s _Hector_ and his valiant brother, That time’s young _Troylus_ did the duke appall, And his best hopes in blood and dust did smother; Yea many a thousand at that siege did fall In death’s blacke graue before the towne’s strong wall, Which while the Belgian patronesse did liue, Vnto the foes in fight the foile did giue. 457. And as our queene in forraine-bred debate, From hence to heauen victorious tooke her flight, So here at home before her liue’s last date, Triumphant sounds of belles the starres did smite, And bright bon-fiers the darkesome euen did light With gladsome flames for worthy victorie, Atchieu’d against the Irish enemie. 458. [Sidenote: _An. eodem._] Yea, when the hand of vnremorsefull fate, Had euen spun out the thred of her liue’s clew, _Tyron_, that long disturber of her state, With shame of his offence remorsefull grew, And on his knees did then for mercie sue: That dying, she might say with vading breath, I left no foes vnuanquisht at my death. 459.