A French man back into the Towne doth fall, With a sheafe Arrow shot into the head; An English man in scaling of the wall, From the same place is by a stone struck dead; Tumbling vpon them logs of wood, and all, That any way for their defence might sted: The hills at hand re-ecchoing with the din Of shouts without, and fearefull shrickes within. [Stanza 97: _Crosbowe Arrowes._] When all at once the English men assaile, The French within all valiantly defend, And in a first assault, if any faile, They by a second striue it to amend: Out of the Towne come quarries thick as haile; As thick againe their Shafts the English send: The bellowing Canon from both sides doth rore, With such a noyse as makes the Thunder pore. [Stanza 98] Now vpon one side you should heare a cry, And all that Quarter clowded with a smother; The like from that against it by and by; As though the one were eccho to the other, The King and Clarence so their turnes can ply: And valiant Gloster showes himselfe their brother; Whose Mynes to the besieg’d more mischiefe doe, Then with th’assaults aboue, the other two. [Stanza 99] An olde man sitting by the fier side, Decrepit with extreamity of Age, Stilling his little Grand-childe when it cride, Almost distracted with the Batteries rage: Sometimes doth speake it faire, sometimes doth chide, As thus he seekes its mourning to asswage, By chance a Bullet doth the chimney hit, Which falling in, doth kill both him and it. [Stanza 100] Whilst the sad weeping Mother sits her downe, To giue her little new-borne Babe the Pap: A lucklesse quarry leueld at the Towne, Kills the sweet Baby sleeping in her lap, That with the fright shee falls into a swoone, From which awak’d, and mad with the mishap; As vp a Rampire shreeking she doth clim, Comes a great Shot, and strikes her lim from lim. [Stanza 101] Whilst a sort runne confusedly to quench, Some Pallace burning, or some fired Street, Call’d from where they were fighting in the Trench; They in their way with Balls of Wilde-fire meet, So plagued are the miserable French, Not aboue head, but also vnder feet: For the fierce English vowe the Towne to take, Or of it soone a heape of stones to make. [Stanza 102] Hot is the Siege the English comming on, As men so long to be kept out that scorne, Carelesse of wounds as they were made of stone; As with their teeth the walls they would haue torne: Into a Breach who quickly is not gone; Is by the next behind him ouer-borne: So that they found a place that gaue them way, They neuer car’d what danger therein lay. [Stanza 103]