But the sterne English with such luck and might, (As though the Fates had sworne to take their parts) Vpon the French preuailing in the Fight, With doubled hands, and with re-doubled harts, The more in perill still the more in plight, Gainst them whom Fortune miserably thwarts: Disabled quite before the Foe to stand, But fall like grasse before the Mowers hand. [Stanza 250: _The Earle of Vandome slaine._] That this French Earle is beaten on the Field, His fighting Souldiers round about him slaine; And when himselfe a Prisoner he would yeeld, And beg’d for life, it was but all in vaine; Their Bills the English doe so easely weeld To kill the French, as though it were no paine; For this to them was their auspicious day, The more the English fight, the more they may. [Stanza 251] When now the Marshall Boucequalt, which long Had through the Battaile waded eu’ry way, Oft hazarded the murther’d Troupes among, Encouraging them to abide the day: Finding the Army that he thought so strong, Before the English faintly to dismay, Brings on the wings which of the rest remain’d, With which the Battaile stoutly he maintain’d. [Stanza 252: _Sir Thomas Erpingham getteth in with his three hundred Archers._] Till olde Sir Thomas Erpingham at last, With those three hundred Archers commeth in, Which layd in ambush not three houres yet past; Had the Defeat of the French Army bin, With these that noble Souldier maketh hast, Lest other from him should the honour win: Who as before now stretch their well-wax’d strings, At the French Horse then comming in the wings. [Stanza 253] The soyle with slaughter eu’ry where they load, Whilst the French stoutly to the English stood, The drops from eithers emptied veynes that flow’d, Where it was lately firme had made a flood: But heau’n that day to the braue English ow’d; The Sunne that rose in water, set in blood: Nothing but horrour to be look’d for there, And the stout Marshall vainely doth but feare. [Stanza 254: _The Marshall of France slaine._] His Horse sore wounded whilst he went aside, To take another still that doth attend, A shaft which some too-lucky hand doth guide, Peircing his Gorget brought him to his end; Which when the proud Lord Falkonbridge espide, Thinking from thence to beare away his friend, Strucke from his Horse, with many a mortall wound, Is by the English nayled to the ground. [Stanza 255] The Marshalls death so much doth them affright, That downe their weapons instantly they lay, And better yet to fit them for their flight, Their weightier Armes, they wholly cast away, Their hearts so heauy, makes their heeles so light, That there was no intreating them to stay, Ore hedge and ditch distractedly they take, And happiest he, that greatest haste could make. [Stanza 256: _Count Vadamount._] [_The Duke of Brabant a most couragious Prince._]