Tis true, my hand our Edwards cann't enrowle
In honours brazen leaves; nor draw a line
In their fam'd table, unlesse Homers soule
Were made by wondrous transmigration mine.
I car'd not though Pythagoras did misse
In all Philosophy, if true in this.

Yet when I shall have drawne some Genius forth,
Whose high-borne streines are priviledg'd from time,
Who in the handling of a theme of worth,
May drowne fames trumpet with a mighty rime,
Twill be some comfort, when my light is done,
It was the Phosphorus unto the Sunne.

Sure Edward's old enough: why then will France
Still under-rate him as one under age?
His yeeres lay claime to his inheritance;
He hath tooke forth out of his pupilage.
Perhaps De Valois in a courteous hate,
Is loth to trouble him with his owne estate.

The Norwey Oke, when 'twas a tender twig,
Homag'd to every blast; but when 'tis growne,
It dares the windes: and this Heroick Sprig,
When yong, was dislocated from his owne:
But now confirm'd in growth, and breathing man,
France shall be taught, he needs no Guardian.

For otherwise it might be well conceiv'd,
Edward was unfit heire, if that a Realme,
Which from his Grandsire Philip was deriv'd,
Must not have him, but others at the helme.
A birthright's deere, and if the French will try it,
And Edward sell it, it is blood must buy it.

Philip of Valois doth alledge succession,
And Edward makes succession his plea;
Both urge same titles for the same possession:
But Edward neerer stands by a degree.
In a right line the right on Edward fals.
But Philip stands with the collaterals.

Indeed the Salicque law thinkes no Crowne fit
For Edwards mothers head: yet Edwards owne
By just descent doth well consort with it;
Not for her sonne, but selfe, she's barr'd the Crowne,
That life which to his right his Grandsire gives,
Dies in his mother, in himselfe relives.

Here Edward thinkes it time to draw his sword,
For that undrawne cuts his successive line;
And natures law this Canon doth afford,
Thou may'st with justice vindicate what's thine.
Tis nat'rall equity: great Edward then
Had fought with nature, if not fought with men.

And though succession stood not for the cause,
There's something else in natures pandects writ,
Proclaimes this war, a just one by her lawes;
For natures dimmer light doth favour it.
For she our selves unto our selves commends,
Nor bids us suffer what our foe intends.

Nature hath taught even beasts some skill in armes,
Some pretty art of war, some trick in fight,
Some cunning posture to avert their harmes,
And make their owne revenge in their owne right.
He's in mans lowest forme that cannot learne,
And con a lesson which even beasts discerne.

Shall Edward num'd with a cold lethargy,
See France exasperate the rebellious Scot?
The Scot which earst had vow'd him fealty;
Shall Edward winke, and say he saw it not?
Who must not onely be spectator here,
But actor upon honours theater?

In Aquitane France violates his rites,
Infests his country, takes his cities there,
And in a well-prepared fleet affrights
With royall piracies our Ilands here
Not to encounter wrongs that would undoe us,
Makes them our guests, & bids them welcom to us.

But Edwards feares are marching neerer home;
France to his root the axe is now applying,
(As he had certified the See of Rome)
And swords are now in distance of discrying.
Then meet them Edward, and in time contest;
Preventing Physick ever was the best.

Seven mouthed Nilus in his unknowne head
Might well be nipt: but when he shall enlarge
His growing selfe in a more spacious bed,
Twill pose Alcides to attempt the charge.
Let not thy foe still passe without controwling,
Like fame & snowbals he'le get strength by rowling

But where will Edward meet to try this prize?
Himselfe said England should not be the stage;
The Theory of war did this advise,
In France to lay his selfe and state at gage.
I had rather see a scarfire quench'd in thine,
Or in Vcalegons lodgings than in mine.

Edward's in Flanders now, in Flanders lets
His rights be publish'd, and his letters sent
To the adjoyning townes; some letters sets
On their Church doores, bearing the same intent
The cause and patron he will not dissever,
God and his right are married for ever.

Flanders is his, provided he will beare
The French kings title; for she thinketh so
To guild her fact, because she once did sweare,
Never against the King of France to goe.
By this ambiguous trick she doth dispence
Both with her oath, and with her conscience.

Edward before did beare two flowers de Lis,
Now the whole armes the law of armes will yeeld;
He quartereth their armory with his,
The Lions and the Lilies in one field.
You'll say, the Lilies spin not; there's no need,
Tis blood is to be drawne, and not a thred.

France with an equall forwardnesse prepares
His willing troopes, conducted by the choice
Of high-borne Leaders sideing in these wars,
And fronteth Edward neere to Vermandois.
There was the preface of this work, but looke
To Crescey, and to Poictiers for the booke.

The armies are in sight, the world's in feare,
And meditates some fatall alteration;
Whilst it sees Fate with two great agents there,
Ready to grapple with such preparation,
That let one quit the field, you cannot tell
To mate the other with a paralell.

Much by the Pope was wrought, no lesse was wrought
By the Sicilian King, whose skill in starres,
And leaves of heaven, did take this lesson out,
That France should lose much life blood in these wars;
But like to truant boyes, though he entreat,
They will not learne their lesson, but be beat.

In countenances all the day is spent,
And in each others mutuall survey,
To take a measure of themselves, but meant
To use some other rule, some stricter way,
When hands shold censure, if their eyes judg'd true,
For this was nothing but an enterview.

Romes mediation, and Sicilia's prayer
Was cost ill spent; for they themselves will stay
Themselves from fight: as you have seene a paire,
Who held and sought to, needs will make a fray.
If you but lose your hold, and lose no words,
They very fairely will put up their swords.

Pardon high soules; I know 'twas policy,
Not cowardise that made this seeming fault:
For France in France will not her fortunes try,
The English fewer, thought not fit to assault.
The actions like the causes different are,
You stay'd in wisdome, and they stay'd in feare.

The Kings dislodge: Philip to Paris goes,
Edward to Brabant, to confirme his friends:
Suffolk is left to counterchek his foes,
And Edwards voyage now for England bends,
Where he expecteth, till the laurell boughes
Shall reach their growth, which must enshade his browes.

But Suffolk too adventrous, neere Lile
Is taken, while he made himselfe beleeve
Fortune was not a she, nor would beguile
The trust he had put in her. To conceive
That Fortune alway will our suits commence,
Is a presumption, not a confidence.

The Lord of Rambois doth the Duke surprise
In a blinde ambush: a Commander must
Vse pretty cheats, darke stratagems devise;
If not perfidious, they are not unjust.
No matter in thy enemies defeit,
If it be open force, or fine deceit.

After the high exploits which he had done,
After the smooth proceedure of successe,
Chance like the Moone eclipsed his honours Sunne,
And hid it in a veile of gloominesse.
All men have some black bils to pay, and yet
He never liv'd, that dyed in fortunes debt.

This check did much import Edwards designes;
Tis ominous stumbling in our setting forth:
It workes upon the wavering Flemmings mindes.
Tis hard to trust a mercenary worth.
He's moulded new at every alteration;
Who dares sell life, dares sell his reputation.

Edward is studious to repaire this errour,
And with a speedy care prepares a fleet;
France hoping our mischance had beene our terrour,
At Sluce in Flanders will our navy meet.
But that unfortunate disgrace, which wee
Received on land, is wash'd away at sea.

While all these woodden castles stand together,
They seem'd like forrests planted in the seas;
And if you wonder how this wood came hither,
Thinke, as Amphions musick brought the trees
To build his city up, these trees did come
Woo'd by the musick of the Fife and Drum.

The other fleet, that from the North was led
Vnder the fate of Morleys happy hand,
Ioyn'd with the King, the French encountered
With such a shock, that both fleets staggering stand.
So meet the clouds, and the Symplegades
Thus joust, and tourney in the Thracian seas.

We had the faire advantage of the day,
The Sun and winde were seconds in this fight:
The Sun did face to face himselfe display,
And make them stand like night-birds in the light:
The winds of heaven being mixed with our breath,
Playd on their faces, and did whisper death.

The French with horrour and with wounds pursu'd,
Make flight their study, yet they cannot fly.
They strike the water like a fowle eneav'd:
At once they fear'd, and did not feare to dy.
They drowne themselves, so to escape the foe,
Th' English were cowards, and durst not doe so.

Most of the men are either slaine, or drown'd,
Most of the ships in the curl'd waves are whirl'd:
You would have thought those vessels had been bound
By some new passage to the other world;
And that they had discover'd in those seas,
A neerer way to the Antipodes.

There one upon a mast doth pearching stand,
And thinkes to run from death by sitting still:
As when some flood comes sweeping on the land,
The Peasant turn'd ambitious, climes a hill.
But the aspiring of the waves at last,
Doth top that hill, and overpearch that mast.

There one (poore trust) unto some rope doth trust,
Or anchour holds, and will not let it goe.
And questions with himselfe, if that he must
Or hope for mercy from the sea, or foe.
Weary at length, and desperate of either,
Lets goe the anchour, and his hope together.

Another makes a broken plank his boat,
And hath no ores, but those which nature gave him,
On mixed blood and water he doth float,
But neither blood, nor water now can save him:
Yet there was some of his owne naturall blood,
Which striv'd to waft him in this crimson flood.

Iustly the French on Buchet lay the blame,
Who basely loth fit moneys to defray,
Refus'd to take soldiers of marke and name,
Who conscious of their worth, ask'd greater pay.
When covetous Cheifes are sparing of their crowns,
Few soldiers will be prodigall of wounds.

But he ignoble Generall had mann'd
His ships with halfe-made, and inferiour men
Who (conscionable things) could not demand
More then they knew their meanes could pay agen.
How cheaply doe we see some service bought?
True: but it is of fooles, whose ware is nought.

Rich in the greatest conquest that our seas
Could boast before, he leades his men (whom fates
Destine for higher actions than these)
With a victorious march to Tourney gates.
And as the men at armes the town environ,
They stood about it like a wall of iron.

Let Tourney quake, great Edward's at her gate,
And like a meteor menaceth her wals:
Tourney may glorie in her better fate,
If by the hands of Edward, Tourney fals.
For 'tis a comfort by great hands to dy,
And thus to fall is next to victory.

His Cartill then he did dispatch from Chin
To Philip: addes no complement, but this,
Plaine Philip: for he thought it was a sinne
To call him King of that was none of his.
Whatso'er of King, Edward had Philip sent,
So much of King, Edward had Philip lent.

He shewes that he the fairest wayes had us'd,
And softest termes to have his right restor'd;
But since those lenitives had been refus'd,
The case must be disputed by the sword.
It is the method Physick thinks most sure,
A desperate griefe must have a desperate cure.

And that the French might know his personall worth,
He dar'd de Valois to a single fight,
And if not that, to draw a hundred forth,
That fewer slaughters might decide the right.
A good King knowes (cause all depend on him)
To lose a subject, is to lose a limb.

I dare not question, if a Leader should
Be personally seene in such an action;
It is enough for me, that Edward would,
His precedent is reall satisfaction:
A King's a god on earth, and this Ile call
Edwards divinity; one die for all.

But such defiances are vaine to those,
Who rather trust their numbers, than their right:
Now army army, all must all oppose:
Some coward joyn'd with company, dares fight:
This is the ground which he relies upon,
Some may have valour there, though he hath none.

Here valiant Philip thinkes the lay unjust,
As for the chalenge, 'twas beneath his feare:
What reason is alledg'd why Philip must
Lay downe the stakes for both the gamesters there?
At France alone must both their dice be throwne?
Philip thinks 'tis unjust: that stake's his owne.

Our Edwards propositions thus denyed,
Tis Edwards resolution, that the fate
And fortunes of both Kingdomes should be tried,
Within ten dayes after his letters date:
The French know this resolve: 'tis bravely done,
To tell thy foman when thou wilt come on.

Twas genuine valour in our Grandsires, who
Proclaimed when, and what they meant to doe,
And scorn'd like theeves to steale upon a foe,
A foe unwarned, is unarmed too.
By sculking out to beat an enemy,
Doth pilfer honour, and steale victory.

Good Theodosius did himselfe allot
This ten dayes space, to try his enemy,
If he would venture on his power, or not
Rather embrace and hug his clemency.
Pitie doth kisse true valour, it did ne'r
Rebate a Cimeter, or blunt a speare.

Yet 'twas an act of pure humanity,
For in a rigorous strictnesse Edward might
In the first ranke marshall extremity,
For he already had declar'd his right.
And when our rights and wrongs apparant are,
Nature's the Herald to denounce the war.

And now the enemy is on his way,
The French, Navar, the Scotch, and Boheme King,
To take this hungry Lion from his prey:
Fower Kings but named, might some terrour bring.
But titles never were by judgment fear'd:
Had all the host been Kings, he had not car'd.

The flowers of France were gathered, and set
In this one field, to scare, not deck the day:
Where his choice flow'rs, the valiant nobles met;
And Chevalliers in sight as brave as they
Who were perhaps, but as our Tulips are,
Vselesse in Physick, though for colours rare.

Our English soldiers were as few, as plaine:
They're halfe so many, a fourth part so fine:
Yet hearts as brave as theirs, twice dyde in graine.
With them the Flemming and high Dutch combine.
And in our front th' Imperiall Eagle flew,
Shaking the plumes that victory did mue.

The English long to argue with their foes
And make full demonstration of their powers.
Heavens doe dispose and shape the hearts of those,
Whom it hath markt, and prickt for Conquerours.
What though they fewer were? if heaven intends
The agents are proportion'd to their ends.

High-sp'rited Philip with an equall heat
Pants for the combat: reason doth deny:
His Councellours advise, his friends entreat,
Not to lay all his fortunes on one die.
He's an ill husband, and will beg at last,
Will venture all's revenues at a cast.

Vpon this board they play at little game,
Some petty skirmishes; and we are beat:
But when rich stakes, and greater wagers came,
Philips ill throwing lost what ere was set.
As one that hath good luck to play for pins,
But let him play for money, never wins.

While th' eye of Europe on this action bends,
Either with griefe, or with too strong intention,
It seemes to water at the sight, and spends
Her summe of teares: for if they want prevention,
Who'er is dim'd, Europe will want some light,
And will prove porblind, if not lose her sight.

Europe may feare, these cannot be dismaid,
For they have other worke: as when two
Champions, who ne'r were taught to be affraid,
Are listed in, deaths businesse to doe,
The pale ring of spectatours, which are there,
Are farre more frighted than the fighters are.

The cloud of war was ready to dissolve
To showers of blood: the aire affrighted fear'd
The blowes it should receive: they all resolve
To goe, or send to death: but all is cleard:
What was presaged black, proves a faire day,
A Ladies breath dispeld the storme away.

Sister to Philip, mother to Edwards wife,
The Lady Iane de Valois interceeds,
A cloystered Nun sets period to the strife,
Or else whole troopes had died, but now none bleeds:
Troopes of that force, that had they joynd in one,
Had throwne a palenesse on the Turkish moone.

While they are fixt on their intentions, she
Fights with their passions, runs from side to side,
And with firme patience, ripe dexterity,
Cuts her owne way, and will not be denied.
The captive windes thus labour in the ground,
To rend that passage that could not be found.

Goe blessed Nun, whose tunefull eloquence,
And sinewie rhet'rick did winde the state
Of the great question then was in suspence:
Thou didst in this so supererogate;
That if one may anothers merit have,
Thy surplusage a world of scolds shall save.

Coriolanus armd with fury, dar'd
Bid a defiance to ingratefull Rome;
And would have humbled her proud hils, nor feard
Had the grim father of Romes founder come.
His mothers loving prayer make him yeeld,
Her armes, not Romes, must make him quit the field.

Edward for England hasts, puts out of pay
His forreine aids: he findes his treasuries
Starv'd by his Officers, since he went away:
The Dutch shall not share in his victories:
The English only shall partake in glory,
None else be quoted in their honourd story.

Nor is it wisdome where no treasures are,
To hope for succour from a strange supply:
Mony's the nerve and ligament of war,
It makes them fight, and keepes from mutiny.
Leaders are soules, armies the bodies, coine
The vitall spirits that doe both combine.

This truce was midwife to that high dislike
Louys of Bavier tooke, who now pretends
Edward had wrongd him, who a truce did strike,
And not let him be privy to his ends.
The man that from thy friendship would be gone,
Can an occasion finde where thou leftst none.

But fare him well: Louys is far from France,
Edward a new confederate hath found,
Who can more powerfully his case advance,
Monfort in France can France more deeply wound.
Louys at every instant cannot come,
Monfort's in distance, and he can strike home.

Now war doth quit her prison, and rejoice
To try in Britaine her uncertaine chance.
Edward for Monfort stands, Philip for Blois,
Who both plead right in that inheritance:
Weapons are drawne on both sides to cut out
Their rights, but are put up before they fought.

For now two Cardinals (a Nun before)
Make a faire truce, and are the shields of France,
As Fabius of Rome: their words fence more
Than armes; but when the English next advance,
And march to Crescey, then the French shall know
Their Church hath not a guard for such a blow.

Impatient Mars once more to prison must,
And fast from blood; nor dare once dreame of fight,
Their tooles of death for want of use shall rust,
Whilst plowmen stewd in sweat make theirs looke bright
Tis irons proper use, for which twas found,
Not to carve up a Christian, but the ground.

This pause doth not determine, but defer,
And make more worke for wounds, when next they fought:
This rest doth to another day refer.
This fire is but smothered, not put out.
Truce is the cour-few bell, whose humming chime
Rakes up wars embers for some other time.

Now though their helmets gather rust, and are
The shops where spiders weave their bowels forth;
Yet let not those brave heads, which did them weare,
In rusty idlenesse entomb their worth.
The spirits are extinct, and valour dies,
Without their soveraigne diet, exercise.

Which mov'd our second Arthur to erect
A table, lest their magnanimity
Should languish in dull coldnesse, and neglect
Of practising their armes, and Chevalry.
For exercise and emulation are
The parents that beget children for war.

Fam'd Arthur worthy of best pens, but that
Truth is so far before 'tis out of sight.
Thy acts are made discourse for those that chat
Of Hamptons cut-throat, or the Red-rose Knight:
Yet there is truth enough in thy faire story,
Without false Legends to enshrine thy glory.

Some Monkish pen hath given thy fame more blowes,
Than all the Saxons could thy body lend:
The hand a sacrifice to Vulcan owes,
That kild the truth by forgeries it pend.
When truth and falshood enterlaced ly,
All are thought falshoods by posterity.

And to invite great men from forreine parts
(Guests worthy of this table) he did ad
Rich salaries to sublimate their hearts
For high designes: some guerdon must be had
To raise a great, and a dejected soule:
Virtue steeres bravely where there's such a pole.

Antiquity the Arts so flourishing saw,
Cheerd by their Patrons sweet and temperate aire:
Twas hope of meed that made Apelles draw
Such an unvalued peece of Philips heire:
And well he might: rewards not only can
Draw such a picture, but make such a man.

Philip well knowing this association
Was of high consequence, and great import,
A table did erect in imitation,
Where Almaines and Italians should resort.
He writ by Edwards copy: in all Schooles
Examples may instruct as well as rules.

Yet in the reigne of this first sonne of Mars,
All is not sternely ruggged; some delights,
Sweet amorous sports to sweeten tarter wars,
And then a dance began the Garter Knights.
They swell with love, that are with valour fild,
And Venus doves may in a headpeece build.

As Sarums beauteous Countesse in a dance
Her loosned garter unawares let fall,
Renowned Edward tooke it up by chance,
Which gave that order first originall.
Thus saying to the wondring standers by,
There shall be honour to this silken tie.

From that light act this Order to begin,
May seeme derogatory from its worth:
And yet small things have directories been
Actions of veneration to bring forth.
That accident might the originall prove:
Nobility lies couching under love.

At least the mott retorted on the Queene,
And smiling Courtiers might from hence proceed.
Something like that of Philips, having seene
The regiment of lovers that lay dead
At Cheronea. May destruction fall
On them, who these thinke any ill at all.
Some the beginning from first Richard bring,
(Counting too meanly of this pedegree)
When he at Acon tied a leather string
About his soldiers legs, whose memory
Might stir their valour up. But choose you whether
You'll Edwards silke prefer, or Richards leather.

But they take not a scruple of delight,
More than's by nature given to relish paine
At once, you're welcome pleasure, and good night,
Before tis setled, tis expeld againe.
As dogs of Nilus drinke, a snatch, and gone;
Sweets must be tasted, and not glutted on.

By this time France is rank, her veines are full
And ripe to be let blood; deaths instruments
Are now keene edged, which before were dull,
And fit to execute the minds intents.
The furies rowsed from their loathed shelves,
For former fastings, now may feast themselves.

This truce was not to famish them, but get
Them better stomachs when they next shall feed;
The fight, and not the war was ended yet,
War by peace only is determined.
Truce but suspends a war, makes it not cease:
For there's no medium between war and peace.

Th' act of hostility, and the exercise
Of war hath stoppage, but the war is still:
As when victorious sleep doth win my eyes,
And captivate my senses; yet none will
Say I have lost my sense: thus truces are
But the mere sleepes, and holydayes of war.

The sword, the shield, the battaile axe, the speare,
Are taken from the well stor'd armory,
And that which justly shall beget most feare,
The well experienc'd English archery,
Who knew to conquer. Parthia cann't shew
Such high rais'd Trophies as our English bow.

Tall ships are rigg'd, and with provision stord,
Stay but a while, till a faire winde shall rise:
Yong Iason had nor such with him aboard,
When bound to Colchos for the golden prize.
The merry ships as they were launching forth,
Did seeme to dance to have in them such worth

The sailes as if with child, grew big with wind,
And long to have flowne ore the briny ford:
The rising waves for feare, themselves declind,
Supposing they were Neptunes were aboard:
Or else for feare Neptune kept down the maine,
Lest seeing them, it would have chang'd the reigne.

The vessels are unlading of their fraight,
Richer than ever crost the seas before;
The earth with longing did appeare to wait,
As proud to have their footsteps on the shore.
But the dipleased sea growne angry now,
Vext for this losse, fretted her wrinckled brow.

But if wise nature had informd the earth,
That all her Vert should into Gules be turnd,
Or of that blood she should teeme such a birth
As she had of the Giants, she had mournd,
Or else sunck downe under the trembling flood,
Then had they fought in a red sea of blood.

None knew to what his purposes did lead,
Nor how he aimed: his councels he did close
Vnder the seale of silence, all were freed
From possibility to tell his foes.
Counsels should ly so deep, none might them sound,
This god the Romans buried in the ground.

Some thirty thousand foot great Edward led,
With these were joynd twenty five hundred horse.
The French the fields with five such numbers spred;
Yet heated by their wrongs, he beards their force.
Not Clements mediation can asswage
The just incensed flame of Edwards rage.

Their hosts before twice did their weapons shake,
Twice did their hosts returne without a stroke,
They truce at Tourney, and at Malstroict make,
A truce twice made, the French as often broke.
The unmanly forfeit of fidelity
Is worst eclipse in sphere of majesty.

The truce thus broke, they for themselves pretend
The other guilty of this fraction,
They can no longer hold; their hands did bend
Vnto this businesse of destruction,
And worke of ruine: and conclude it fit
To prove the will which destiny had writ.

Questionlesse Philip brake it, for he spils
Bacons and Clissons blood in Normandy:
Nor can one place confine his rage, he kils
Edwards approved friends in Picardy.
Our friends are parts make us entirely one,
What's left of us is lame, when they are gone.

Man, as he's man, to sheild from injury,
Man by that bare relation's bound to doe:
But if they be our friends, that double ty
Makes valour justice, and one virtue two.
Woods protect beasts, and altars slaves defend,
A friend for sanctuary flyes to his friend.

But what's the fault that Philip here pretends?
A sinne drawne from the womb; they English were.
But more: these worthies all were Edwards friends.
O that's a mortall sinne France cannot spare.
Yet since they crowned with these titles dy,
It is their honour, not their miscry.

But that which most agreeved Edward strooke,
And to his honour seem'd the greatest staine,
Philip too hautily that homage tooke,
Which Edward did to him for Aquitaine.
When you depresse great spirits that aspire,
You throw down bals to make them rise the higher

Must active Edward homage to him sweare,
Whom Edward thinkes of him should hold in fee?
Philip might well that ceremonie spare,
Nor brave him with that lower qualitie,
Who was his equall, and should shake his throne,
And him out of it, for this act alone.

It is a trespasse against martiall right,
To take up wrongs on trust, and not repay:
When bearing old ones new ones do invite,
There Clement cannot Edwards fervour stay,
Since he is justly fir'd, lesse shall be done
Now by a Pope, than had been by a Nun.

His fleet sets down his men in Normandy,
And then is left to th' faith of Huntingdon.
In this faire heaven of magnanimity,
The Prince the rising starre of honour shon,
Fixt here so soone by's fathers hand, who meant
He there should fall, or guild that firmament.

In Ianuary, and about this time
The forward trees did buds and blossomes bring,
The winter did anticipate the prime,
May I not think, that this prodigious spring
Presag'd this sprig of fame so soone should sprout,
And shoot the buds of hopefull actions out?

When higher acts must presently be done,
And works of wonder; those whom heaven doth cast
For actors, with great forwardnesse come on,
And are made fit with a miraculous haste.
They're perfected by instants, not degrees:
At once they blossome like the Mulbery trees.

March on; and now at Caranton they are,
Great Clissons hands are naild upon her gates:
This act shall make her feele th' extreme of war,
And wronged Clissons hands shall spin her fates.
Like a Petar they make her gates to fly,
And ope a passage to their misery.

For Caranton can now no longer hold,
(For guilt is fearfull) and the English are
Like heards of wolves amidst a fleecy fold,
Wrong'd favours turn'd to fury none will spare.
From for drams of Clissons blood whole pounds are shed.
And hundreds are attonement for his head.

The wals that would have guarded them, shall burne,
And cause they shar'd in guilt, be razed downe:
Edward the buildings doth to atomes turne,
As if he would annihilate the towne.
For that his corps they of its rites beguile:
The towne in flames is Clissons funerall pile.

After some warmer bickerings they win
The populous towne of Caen in Normandy:
Then Falaise, Lyseaux, Houfleur they take in,
Who yeeld their fortunes which they durst not try.
If Caen be cast, whose pleas more urging are,
These dare not bring their cases to the bar.

Swords sweating drops of blood, do sacrifice
To Edwards slaughterd friends: where ere they came,
Vindictive fires whole villages surprize,
And in a lightning round make such a flame,
That if the fire under the Moone were spent,
There were supplies for that fourth element.

With these two ushers having cut his way,
(Which could have cut one through the Alpes) hee spred
His force i'th' Ile of France; for yet no stay
Had shewd it selfe, no foe had made a head.
Edward's neere Paris now; and in the eye
Of France will wrastle for the mastery.

Philip awaked had purveied together
A goodly power, which he to Meulan led;
Edward retires upon his comming thither,
And France imagines that our Edward fled.
But twas not Meulan where they should debate,
Twas printed Crescey in the map of fate.

And twas high time to bid the English stand,
But yet they had not clos'd with them in fight.
They tumble downe the bridges, and command
Th' impetuous streames to countercheck their might.
Edward must combat, if he will passe ore,
Now against water, as with fire before.

But while the English are in search to finde
Where it is fordable, and how they might
Gaine to the other side, the French divin'd
By weake conjectures, that this stay was flight.
Thus doe we build assurance on a wave,
And easily beleeve what we would have.

Weake man (the well stor'd shop of vanities)
(Dreame of a shade, and shadow of a dreame)
Erects presumptions on uncertainties,
And is in feares, and hopes fondly extreme.
Thoughts aiery castles in a breath doe fall,
And hopes which highest fly, flag first of all.

Edward in them will nourish this conceit,
That he is still afraid, to make them dare
Come neerer danger, nor will he deny't
They should interpret that this stay was feare:
But spight of comments, when he meets them next,
They'll finde their glosse was nothing to his text.

The streame no longer can their journey bound,
Nor with his winding armes the passage keepe
On Blanchtaque upon Some the English found
A ford which nature had not made so deepe:
For nature durst not be rebellious
To stay, whom heaven would have victorious.

Where was this ford before? never before
This maiden ford had an impression in it:
Never till now was there a passage ore:
Till now no traveller could ever win it
To let him passe: as if this loving shelfe
For this great favour had reser'vd it selfe.

A simple peasant did the way direct,
Who to the English then a prisoner was:
A jumping hind did once the ford detect,
Where Clovis might Viennas river passe.
Nature hath made nothing so base, but can
Read some instruction to the wisest man.

Then Edward bravely enterd on the ford,
(Like to great Philips greater sonne, when he
Fought against Porus) with this moving word,
He that doth love me, let him follow me:
It was a word so forcive, that it might
Make valour wonders doe, and basenesse fight.

Philip six thousand foot, a thousand horse,
Sends to the ford whom Godmar led a long:
To lay a rub before the English course:
But opposition maketh strength more strong.
For virtue gathers heat by having foes;
Valour is chil'd and numb'd when none oppose.

As when the sea hath artificiall bounds,
And dammes have laid command upon the waves,
Not rebell-like to overrun the grounds;
More madded with these stops, it wildly raves.
For valour's of that one-ey'd Captaines minde,
Twill make a passage where it cannot finde.

Fury is not by full resistance tamde,
Voiding must ward it: he is mad will stay,
A Beare or Bull broke loose: fury enflamd
Is violent in all that's in its way.
What stands before is offered to the eye
In the true nature of an enemy.

And now St. George. The French are mowed down
Like men ripe for the sword: the English won
The quitted bank; Godmar is overthrown,
And when no hands to fight, hath feet to run:
And lest their army should too great be thought,
Leads back two thousand fewer then he brought.

The losse was not so great as the disgrace,
For Godmar startled with our resolution,
His soldiers saw cold feare writ in his face,
And in those letters read their owne confusion.
Apish of what they saw their Captaine doe,
He was affraid, and so will they be too.

They bring their King nothing but feare, and shame,
They seeme like sp'rits which haunt a charnell house,
They were so pale: so red, as if they came
From Tyrian dyfat, or a Greeke carouse.
Who is't can blazon both the colours there?
Purpled at once with shame, candied with feare.

Philip tooke fire, strooke with this hard event,
(And yet his heat sufficient to give fire)
His violent intentions are bent
Almost to breaking; and his wilde desire
Cals for his danger, as one meant to fight
To whip himselfe for his owne oversight.

Anger's the mother of a furious haste,
Haste the stepmother of the best designes:
Things that are longest ripening, longest last,
A sudden elevation soone declines.
Precipitate resolves abortive come,
Like a rude embryon from miscarying womb.

Counsell advis'd, that his distouted men
Should have some pause to breath, and rectifie
Their startled spirits, then fall on agen.
But he blowne up with hope of victory,
Flyes to the English army, whence he thought
Conquest to fetch, but he it thither brought.

Calme Edward is encamp'd at Crescey now,
Which in his mothers right was Edwards owne:
Crescey is famed for that overthrow,
Where horrour in the deepest die was showne.
To be in view of that which is ones right,
Would make a heart far lesse than Edwards fight.

Well temper'd Edward having sent by prayer
His hope to heaven, begins to draw the fashion
His army now should go in, with such faire
Assurednesse, and freedome from all passion,
That he had pos'd a Stoick to see there
So great a danger with so small a feare.

In three battalias the King drew out
His men, by valiant Commanders led:
Wales her yong Lion in the vangard fought,
Which like a herse in forme was ordered.
It were enough to make a coward fly,
To see this emblem of mortality.

With him was Harcourt, Warwick, and La Ware,
Beaucham, and Bourchier, worthies who knew well
The use of hand and head: the next troopes are
Led by Northampton, Suffolk, Arundel,
Chiefes who like soules could the dull spirits stir,
In the chill heart of coldest follower.

The third batalia King Edward led,
His soldiers might under his conduct be
Proud, and secure: so Mars stood in the head
Of his robustious Thracian company.
The three battalias seem'd as they did stand,
The three-fork'd thunder in Ioves flaming hand.

The van the Prince of hope and honour led.
To give first welcome to the enemy.
The body of the strength is managed
By Suffolk active soule of Chevalry.
Edward to moderate brings up the reere,
And like a Pilot stands behinde to steere.

The English army is clos'd up behinde,
And barricado'd that they cannot flie.
Their horses tooke away, put them in minde,
That they were there to conquer, or to die.
Tis policy to bar the meanes of flight,
Necessity will make a coward fight.

Couragious Edward spurs their valour on,
And cheeres his sprightfull soldiers: where he came,
His breath did kindle valour where was none,
And where it found a spark, it made a flame.
Armies of fearfull Harts will scorne to yeeld,
If Lions be their Captaines in the field.

Through all the army this tenth worthy rid,
With a white rod in his victorious hand;
As if to chastise fortune if she did
But dare his uncontrol'd designes withstand.
Though fooles and cowards at the name doe quake,
The wise and valiant their fortune make.

The King (as strength joyned with wisdome should)
Set targets in the front, to save his men
From Genoan crosbowes; so wise Rome of old
Gave crownes to them that sav'd a citisen.
Offensive rashnesse she did not commend:
Tis the first act valour to defend.

Which made the old King of Bohemia say,
The English marshalling speakes this intent,
Either to lose their lives, or win the day:
To get a Trophy, or a monument.
A soldier hath two aimes; to win, or dy:
A coward two, quickly to win, or fly.

Old age had thrown a darknesse on his eyes,
He saw not objects in a distance were:
He sees not how our English army lies,
Yet he did farther see, though not so far.
He could not reach the army with his sight,
And yet he saw the issue of the fight.

Our army by the French was mastered
In number, in advantage, and in show.
Yet all with Edwards right were ballanced.
Furious D' Alanson in the front must goe
To keepe with's fire: had he been in the rere,
That had beene in the van, though he not there.

Then Savois Earle to make the conquest full,
Brings in a thousand to the enemy,
To share in his hop'd fortunes, and to pull
A pinion from the wing of victory:
But Savoy here his debt to nature payes,
And plucketh Cypresse for triumphant Bayes.

Philip his bloody banner did erect,
On which they lay much faith, as faln from hev'n:
And that the French like rigour might expect
From a just fury, Edward to be even,
Advanc'd his Dragon Gules, to let them know,
They must have none that will no mercy show.

Black was the day: the Chaos was thus black
Before twas said, let there be light; the clouds
Opend their watry treasures, which did crack
They were so full, all is in sable shrouds:
The symptomes of true griefe were in the sphere,
As if it meant to be chiefe mourner here.

The Sun at first halfe scared with the sight,
Behind the Moone with halfe his body lies:
So soone as he was quitted of this fright,
He shot his beames full on the Frenchmens eyes,
And 'gainst them let his rayes like arrowes fly,
As if he sided with our archery.

Then on a cloud an arch triumphall drew,
And lookt upon that watry looking-glasse,
That he himselfe might by reflexion view,
Whether his late eclipse had chang'd his face:
Or else it was to let the English know
How much they were indebted to the bow.

The lightning cuts the aire with flaming wing,
Willing to aid the Sun in that dark day:
And heavens great shot did in the welkin ring,
And with loud bellowings usher the fray,
As if for those great Lords which there should fall,
Heaven ow'd a volly to the funerall.

Shoales of ill-boding ravens (as if the sky
Had not beene dark enough) a shadow made
Dark as the clouds; that though the glorious eye
Of heaven had shin'd they had beene in the shade.
Fowles joyntly met to feast upon the dead,
The guests were tombes where men were buried.

Death in this gloominesse thus shadow'd out,
Presag'd an army should be overthrowne,
Twas Bohems augury before they fought:
He saw the death of others, not his owne.
He stood too neere himselfe: some eyes command
The objects distance, see not what's at hand.

The pikes are order'd, ensignes are displayd,
And menace brave extremity; the light
Of glittring helmes, and waving streames made
A day seem cleere which before seemed night:
Pale feare had amorous lookes, and all the while
Terrour lookt lovely, and death seem'd to smile.

The shafts headed with death, and wing'd with speed,
Now to the arched engine they apply,
Which as if hungry on mans flesh to feed,
With greedy certainty appear'd to fly.
Their bowes with such a certainty they drew,
As Phoebus did when he the Python slew.

We to the greygoose wing more conquests ow,
Than to the Monks invention; for then
We cull'd out mighty armes to draw the bow,
Striplings oft serve us now, then only men.
For these hot engines equall mischiefe can,
Discharged by a boy, or by a man.

Bullets, because they undiscerned fly,
Worke lesse effects of feare: but dangers seen,
If they cannot be fenc'd, more terrifie;
At startled sense, reason hath startled been;
Amaz'd to have so many shafts in sight,
In hope to ward them they forget to fight.

A well selected archer can let fly
Thrice, for one shot of the best musketeere:
And barbed arrowes gall more eagerly,
Where they once light, they second fresh wounds there;
And mad the horse, who will not forward stur,
More sensible of them, than of the spur.

Who madded as they backward fly, doe fall
Foule on their owne, and doe their service there,
Whilst their owne horses their owne quarters maull,
They both themselves and enemy must feare.
Thus broke, with an unwilling courtesie,
They ope a passage to the enemy.

The musketeers discharge but in one rank
At once, but whole squadrons of archers may:
These wound at randome, they but at point blank;
And when both sides are now engag'd in fray
At push of pike; behinde the armed foot,
Though muskets cannot, yet the bows may shoot.

At the fam'd battaile of Lepanto, when
Valiant yong Austria was Admirall.
The Turkish archery did slay more men,
Than by our peeces of all sorts did fall.
And the white faith of history cann't show
That ere the musket yet could beat the bow.

The Genoan bowes to make the French horse way
In the first point are ranged: but the showres
Auxiliary heav'n distill'd that day,
Dissolve the Genoan strings, but hurt not ours.
Small things work much where victory is due,
And only hurt your foe, though might hurt you.

Now since their bowes unserviceable be,
The King commanded Alanson to rent
And beat them from the point: thus oft we see
Actions condemn'd for some ill accident
Which may miscarry, when tis not the crime
Of those that did attempt them, but the time.

Meane men are often in small faults impeacht,
Greatnesse above the clouds so high is shrin'd,
It cannot by Ioves greatest shot be reacht,
And laughs at the low vollies of the wind:
Wolfebane 'mongst roses leaves its deadly sent,
Faults among great men finde no punishment,

Good discipline had set them in the front,
As first to taste the danger, and to beare
The weighty pressure of the ensuing brunt:
Wise policy would still have kept them there,
I'th' face of horrour, for no cause but that,
To be the buts which we might levell at.

But Alanson pretending that their course,
Was hindred by them, cryes, on, on, my friends,
Beare downe this baser Genowaies with your horse,
And on their bellies raise your higher ends.
Thy rashnesse, Alanson, will blast thy name,
And on their ruines thou shalt build thy shame,

Our English of their strings more care did take,
Whose winged pursuivants deaths message beare,
Some through loves seat, the liver, passage make,
As if our Archers had beene Cupids there:
Some strike lifes seat, the heart, so that you can
Scarce tell, if death did shoot them or a man.

As when the colder region of the aire
Moulds raine to haile-shot, the relenting tree
Of the plump God, lusty before, and faire,
Loseth her rubies with heavens battery.
Thus fell the foe; for shoot though in the dark,
Tis hard to misse, when the whole field's a mark.

The Genovaes thus broken, and disgrac'd,
Divert their anger, and their choler bend
Against the French; thus vext, they're soone displac'd:
Dishonour had untaught them to defend.
They cann't prevaile, who are at once to fight
With th' English arrowes, and the French despight.

And lest this rupture should be clos'd agen,
And cemented with order, and with care:
The English wedg'd together, dashing in,
Did rive these breaches greater then they were.
Small cracks are previous to the greatest rents:
Meane things dispose to highest consequents.

The Genoan tempest thus dispell'd, their force
Divided wins no feare; a mighty flood
Cut in small rils, is weakned in his course,
And parted strength is easily withstood.
Divide, and then you conquer: for though none
Can breake a sheafe of darts, he may breake one.

Disorder's next to ruine, and destroyes
The essence of creatures, order did create.
Then by the rule of contrarieties,
Tis a disorder doth annihilate,
By this ill shaped enemy do fall,
Both bodies politick and naturall.

Continued or collected bodyes are
Weakned by their disunion; but doe
Get strength by un'ty; beames reflex'd are far
More hot, because they are united: so
We see in bodies livened by a soule,
The union of the parts conserves the whole.

Divisions ruine Realmes: the Monarchies
Of Mars his Rome, and Macedon thus fall:
Christendomes whip that now doth tyrannize,
Shall thus returne to her originall.
Factions those commas are, that bring the state
Of Kingdomes to their period, and to fate.

The hot Count Alanson with fiery horse
Scoures ore the plaines with an impetuousnesse,
Which eas'ly made it a short winded course:
As it was said of great Themistocles:
His flame was soone extinguish'd, and did draw
To a too sudden end, like fire in straw.

The Generous mettal'd courser (as if we
Had beene too slow on foot) is taught to fight:
We borrow speed to meet our enemy,
And fly to our revenge: and to doe right
Vnto the active French; old Thessaly
Won not more Garlands than her Chevalry.

Armies (if we Iphicrates will heare)
Are of themselves dull bodies, nor can weeld
Their Sullen weights, unlesse the horse be there,
Which are the feet: indeed the horse at field
Are best in actions of celerity,
In expeditions, and discovery.

But horse 'gainst resolute foot but little win:
The mounting is more firme, the aime's more sure:
For footmen haue their moving from within,
They from their horse: yet horse are more secure
In flight, and have (as Xenophon did say)
But the advantage when they run away.

Alanson now the causey hath transpast,
Paved with Genoan bodies: with him post
Sauoy and Lorraine, not with speed, but haste;
As if all had beene lost, if they not lost.
But 'twas ill weather they did journey in:
A showre of steele did wet them through the skin.

At the first charge they with such furie went,
As if they were their owne artillery:
Their second charge wants fire, as if they meant
To prove the censure of antiquity;
That at the first they could out-act a man,
But at the next doe lesse than women can.

Though the first troopes that came did cut, and draw
Danger so like it selfe, with shape so fit,
With looke so grim, that he who never saw
Danger before, would guesse that that were it:
Yet they want Edwards hand; for they did but
Cut out their danger, he their ruine cut.

He led a regiment of well-pickt forces,
Who tilting through their quarters, rend their way:
With crosbowes he securely flank'd his horses,
That shafts and lances might together play.
Shafts, as if carri'd, lend a certaine blow,
Speares, as if shot, did suddenly do so.

They're now at rugg'd embraces with the foe,
And bring death sooner by their being there:
Tis the best act of love that hate can doe,
By hastning death to give lesse time to feare.
He that tooke feare to halves, was there a saver,
Death at once had, and lookt for is a favour.

The sprightly Count is quickly out of breath,
Like to heavens lightning, as soone out, as seene,
A gallant flash before the night of death;
Those edges soonest turne, that are most keene.
A sober moderation stands sure,
No violent extremities endure.

Those motions continue, that doe goe
Natures soft pace: she doth her progresse hold
With a firm'd softnesse: like those dames that doe
Walk lively, when the Church book stiles them old:
Yet natures selfe redoubling her haste,
Sayes her owne motions have not long to last.

As soone as banks were set to bound the course
Of this fierce eddy, Alanson's engaged
Within the lists of death; the galled horse
(Impatient patients of their wounds) enraged,
Dismount their riders, vext, that they did beare
Men, that did spur them to those dangers there.

Valour on either side was so sincere,
That it refus'd no test, and fear'd no touch:
Nor in the weight was any difference there,
Both to a scruple equally as much.
The dayes and nights were never poiz'd more even,
By the impartiall ballances of heaven.

Danger growne proud, did like an Eagle scorne
To stoope at flyes, or on small quarries light:
The weight of France ambitiously was borne
On Edward: English against Philip fight.
The Tamarisk's secur'd by growing under,
They're Pine's & Cedars that are cuft with thunder.

It is wars cruell policy to play
High at the head: armies are pulled downe
Best by the poule: when Kings lives waft away
In a Red Sea; the soldiers vent their owne
Through their wide wounds. In these great engines Kings
Doe stand at once, both for the wheeles and springs.

Now carefull Philip his battalia brings
To disengage his cosen: and foresight
And providence in Kings doe make them Kings:
Kingdomes are Chaoses without their light.
And in Niles mystick characters, the eye
More than the scepter noted majesty.

Suffolk as wary on his battaile drew,
To aid his Prince, and check the King of France:
While rusty horrour through the armies flew,
And dealt his dole of death: indiff'rent chance
Durst not yet choose the side on which to be,
And no lesse wavering was victory.

Reason it selfe did think it fit to leave them
To their wilde passions, and let fury guide:
Now choler of their reason doth bereave them:
If fury be at home, reason's deni'd.
Madnesse and anger differ but in this,
This is short madnesse, that long anger is.

The swords forgat to glister any more,
As loth to lend their light to that dark shade:
They're double dyde in a deep graine of gore,
You'ld think they had so many Comets made:
So many by their fatall seisures di'd,
That Atropos might lay her knife aside.

The pondrous mace wheeling about, did fall
Like ruine on their heads: there a scull flyes
New rob'd of braines: they did so strongly maull,
As if a single stroke should pulverize.
If any death did aske more blowes then one,
The act were sullied, and the lustre gone.

Of old the Tyrian Dyers thus did slay
The Purple fishes: if more strokes than one
Were us'd in killing them, by very stay
The blood converted to corruption.
So dropt the French; as if 'twere meant thereby,
They should a purple death like Purples die.

The artificiall wood of speares was wet
With yet warme blood; and trembling in the winde,
Did rattle like the thornes which nature set
On the rough hyde of an arm'd Porcupine:
Or looked like the trees which dropped gore,
Pluckt from the tomb of slaughter'd Polydore.

Here a hand sever'd, there an eare was cropt;
Here a chap falne, and there an eye put out;
Here was an arme lopt off, there a nose dropt;
Here halfe a man, and there a lesse peece fought.
Like to dismembred statues they did stand,
Which had been mangled by times iron hand.

There one (as if unwilling should be spent
Cost to make Marble seeme to live) doth meane
To be himselfe a cheaper monument,
Whilst slaine, he still upon his sword doth leane.
And for the service he did there that day,
Himselfe stood there as his owne statua.

Here one, all of whose selfe was as one wound,
(Oftner transfixt than mighty Scaevas shield)
Sometimes himselfe, sometimes he beats the ground,
Or clings so fast, as if he'de win the field.
So many wayes to death, yet doth not die,
The soule uncertaine which way it should flie.

There two united gores doe make one flood,
Wherein the duellers do saile to death:
Thus Elephants and Dragons mix their blood
When both do conquer, and both lose their breath.
Their angry bloods did in two chanels run,
But friendly now in death flow but in one.

King Edward like a cloud hung on a hill,
(As Africks Captaine said of Fabius)
Marking those gamesters, ready to distill
When need should bid him be propitious:
And whilst he wisely watched for their sakes,
Not only view'd the sport, but kept the stakes.

Hence with a setled spirit he survai'd
His troopes of lively combatants, (for he
Was spirit in this sphere, and if it stayd,
Could give it motion, and activity:
Nay, if he pleas'd to take that resolution,
Give it the period, and last revolution.)

As an old Eagle pearched on a tree,
(After the Sunne hath ratified her brood
By their unwavering eyes) is proud to see
Her royall birds embrue themselves in blood.
So stood the King, whose heart within him glowes
To see his Eaglet flesht upon his foes.

But as Ioves trees, that crowne proud Idas brow,
Stoope at stiffe Eols oft repeated rore,
And many drops can eat a Marble through:
So numbers iterated beare valour ore.
What? can a faintnesse fall on such? it can:
Edward may faint, though he be more than man.

Nor the intelligence that moves the sphere,
Nor sphere it selfe doth any faintnesse prove;
Because there is no contranitence there:
Nat'rals moved nat'rally may ever move.
If to the center were an immense space,
A stone for ever could maintaine the race.

But whilst our soules have union with clay,
Our limbes in upper motions are prest
By their owne struggling weight another way.
Exhausted spirits bid our motions rest.
No mortall's indefatigable: then
Had they not fainted, who had thought them men?

Now as the English hover on the brink,
Of ruine, ready now to make a fraight
For gristly Charons leaking boat, and sink
Vnder the pressure of their numerous weight.
Vnto the King regardfull Suffolk sent:
He knows to win, that knows how to prevent.

The messenger returnes; his answer this:
While the Prince lives, his highnesse will not care,
Nor think of aid: he saith the day is his,
As lawfull as his birthright: nor will share
In his unrivall'd fame; the field must be
Either his grave, or stage of victorie.

And though he were dismist without a man,
Yet with a nobler present; for he brought
Accesse of courage, which all numbers can
Out poise; for they are uneffectuall thought.
And some new spirit did upon them fall,
Breath'd from the check of such a Generall.

He was not cruell in this act; his sonne
Now for his honour fought: and in this strife
Aid had tooke from't: therefore the King sends none,
To shew he valu'd honour above life.
To be indulgent to his life, had beene
To kill his honour, and the greater sin.

What distance is in man? some are so much
Beneath a man, that they are scarse above
The worst of beasts: this message cannot touch
This man of men, nor his fixt spirit move.
But should you it unto a coward tell,
It had been deaths stroke, and the passing bell.

But 'twas to Edward, and this Edward could
As well put off himselfe, as put on feare:
It were a sinne to worth, if any should
Not think him dreadlesse, and undanted there:
For he was heire apparant to the state,
And feare had prov'd him illegitimate.

Looke, as the earth foundation of all
Our staring buildings, yet it selfe hath none;
But its owne selfe secures it selfe from fall;
And hath no buttresses to leane upon.
For whilst grave bodies to the center run,
They hug that point, and poise themselves thereon.

Thus an Heroick soule lodg'd in a brest,
In which are center'd all the lines of worth,
Closely compacted on it selfe doth rest,
And for its selfe its owne supplies brings forth.
Edwards owne worth, if no supports come on,
Is its owne base to stay it selfe upon.

As when the fire winks with a sulphrie blew,
When nipping winter doth astringe the mould
In her strait bands; degrees of heat accrew
From the circumstant and beleagring cold:
The heat contracted burnes more fervently,
Hugg'd in th'embraces of its enemy.

And as the middle region of the aire,
(The seat of chilnesse) hath the cold made great,
Being besieged by the other paire,
Which keepe the cold penn'd inward with their heat,
Which would be weakned by diffusion: so
Valour hath its intension from the foe.

Hope in great actions is too weak a hold,
And yeelds her enterteiner to his foe:
When churlish winds with testy Neptune scold,
We cut the cables, and let anchours goe.
Then hope to win when hope of aid is gone,
The way to safety is to looke for none.

Now to themselves left, for themselves to try,
They wrought out the advantage with the sword:
They studied to be knowne to victory,
And fought as fresh, as if they ne'r had stird:
You might have thought that in this field, the ground
For the perpetuall motion had been found.

If we had any cowards in the field,
They purge their aguish passion, at the sight
To see their Prince menace his flaming sheild
Like to the Sun; and speare, like Comet light.
Where shadowes terminate, light issues in:
Tis first to dare to fight, tis next to win.

But if there were among our English host,
Within the colder region of whose blood
There dwelt perpetuall ice, and shiv'ring frost,
Which could not be dissolv'd: they did this good;
For every English that did basely die,
Bequeath'd his foe his feare for legacy.

The game of death was but a jest before,
Turn'd earnest now: before they did but try
To use their weapons; there they did no more
But meditate, here practise how to die.
And if sterne Mars had left his sanguine throne,
Here he had met more Diomeds than one.

Mortality till now had but defraid
Some trifling reck'nings on deaths bloody score,
Some items not worth counting; now death's payd
Whole summes: and Charons boat which leakt before,
Had sunk right downe, had not his Stygian flood
Been made more saileable, thickned with blood.

Armour, as if 'twere sensible of smart,
Fals to the ground: his flesh who did it beare,
Is the best coat of proofe to guard his heart,
And their owne armes are the best targets there:
Weapons are dull'd but stomachs keener are,
And hearts are better pointed then they were.

In Africk, neere heavens porter Atlas side,
A Lionesse beseig'd by men and hounds,
There makes a breach where it is most denide,
As free from hope of life, as feare of wounds,
Led by despaire, she scoures about the plaine,
Thirsty of blood as Africa of raine.

So march'd the Prince with his black regiment,
(Assisted by the armes of valiant Lords)
And topt the gawdy Poppies as they went,
And struck such terrour, that before the swords
Did seize, the French stood trembling: thus an oke
Shakes with the winde ushers the thunderstroke.

For they like thunder shot their fury through
Where solidnesse did most resistance make;
And brake in peeces what they could not bow;
Whereon they stand, and thence advanced take
Their stately flight: on humbled backs we rise,
And on the wings of ruine, conquest flies.

Thus Rome in a sedition was tooke
When Arnulph came their mutinies to quell;
His soldiers shoutings such amazement strooke,
That from the wall the startled Romans fell:
Their heapes were scaling ladders, and their fall
Made him the staires on which he clim'd the wall.

And still the French are hard at work about
The dreames their weening phantasies did make;
But finde the metall that they should beat out
So tough, it would not an impression take.
For conquests have too much realitie
To be the works of the mere phantasie.

The Boheme King in head of all his men,
Encounters with destruction, and dares
Death to a duell, which did meet him then,
And with deepe cuts cancell his date of yeeres:
Disarm'd him not, he still his weapon held,
As if his ghost should fight when he was kild.

Twas thy desire, brave Prince, thou shouldst be set
To combat one might parallell a King:
Edward's the match by whom thou shalt be met:
Bohemias Winter fought with Englands Spring:
And there thou stoop'st under his high command:
Death durst not kill thee but with Edwards hand.

There lay the trophie of our Chevalry
Plum'd of his Ostridge feathers; which the Prince
Tooke as the ensigne of his victory,
Which he did after weare; and ever since
The Prince of Wales doth that atcheivement beare,
Which Edward first did win by conquest there.

But did no bearded meteors appeare,
Which Fate sets up at Princes funerals,
To light them to the other world? for there
Another King, Majorcas Soveraigne fals.
One King's too much: but there two Kings must dy,
And leave two crownes to crowne one victory.

And here Alanson had his glorious light
Put out, being hurri'd with too furious haste;
Which longer would have flam'd, if carried right
With moderation; thus a light will last,
If it be gently carried about,
Run with it hastily, it will go out.

Kings, upon whom many depend, have us'd
T'have danger at a distance, nor at all
Tread within reach: the Theban Chiefe accus'd
Himselfe for being neere an arrowes fall.
For Kings are those cheife stones which arches knit,
If one be dislocated, all will flit.

A loyall subject hath nor life nor breath
But what's infus'd, and breathed from the Prince.
Who if he rashly shall encounter death,
Stifles too cruelly his influence.
And tis a Problem whether thus to dy,
Or greater rashnesse be, or cruelty.

Leaders without disgrace have sometime fled:
He that did fly this day, may next day fight:
Great Amurath had not beene vanquished,
Had not Huniades been sav'd by flight.
Where life more than our death availes the State,
Valour by flight may looke for better fate.

Thus Bohemes sonne, since hope had not the face,
To promise life, or conquest by his stay:
Conceiv'd it rather wisdome, than disgrace,
To live by flight; when 'twas the only way:
And 'twas enacted he should be preserv'd,
For heav'n the Empire had for him reserv'd.

But otherwise a Leader must not move,
But cope with danger: here a Captaines flight
Reads basenesse to his men, and coward love
Of an ignoble life; in such a fight
A valiant Diomed will rather dy,
And scorne to stir though Nestor bids him fly.

Twice was the King of France beat off his horse,
By Henault mounted up as oft did rise:
And acted to the height of single force,
He did so nobly fight, so well advise,
He seem'd his armies hand, and armies head:
He fought like Scaeva, and like Caesar led.

The King this act to Henault ow'd alone,
Who was his prisoner; and late did fly
From Edwards service; as if he had gone
To act this scene of strength and piety.
For Fate in Adamant did this engrave,
That he should leave a King, a King to save.

The valiant King still wrastles with his fate,
As if he would untwist what that had weav'd;
Deeming the web of fate had beene like that,
With which the Grecian Dame her loves deceiv'd:
Flesh cannot breake the threds the fates have spun,
Like Narses web, theirs cannot be undone.

The blood which streamed from his neck and thigh,
(Imprinted rudely by th' impartiall blade)
Were it the subject of old Poetry,
It had ere this an herb or flowre been made:
Philip by Herbalists had beene enrould,
Narcissus like, or Hyacynth of old.

To leave his station he was hardly brought,
Though he heard love and pity bid him fly
To seeke his preservation, for he thought,
He left behind the braver company:
But mov'd by danger, and their love, he fled:
Nature first shewes the ward to fence the head.

Having outliv'd this massacre, he flies
To Bray: and being question'd who was there,
The Fortune of his France, the King replies.
True: for the King and State like fortune share.
Proteus hath many faces, so hath she,
But Kings and subjects the same face doe see.

Nor Frances strength nor fortune can prevaile:
Fortune hath left no refuge but to fly.
Soone as the King turn'd head, his men turn'd taile,
And leave at once the field and victory.
Soone turn'd the King, the army turn'd as soone,
Thus a small rudder turnes a Galeone.

Feare doth descend: for when inferiours do
See wise men fearfull, and their betters fly,
They think themselves are privileged so,
That precedent this act doth justifie.
If with this epilepse the head be tooke,
Th'inferiour parts are in an instant strooke.

But let them fly: it is enough, if we
Can hold our owne, by standing on our guard,
And provident defence; for policy
Did teach the ranks might breake by following hard.
Nor was it charity to chase them now;
They had pursuers in them, feares enough.

Nor could we tell what dangerous mischiefe lay
To be hatch'd up under the wings of night,
Which had even now discountenanc'd the day,
And rob'd the noble office of the sight.
Ruine might there be stumbled on, and we
Had blinfold fought like the Andabatae.

The King congratulates his sonne for this
Faire earnest of his future victories;
And sealeth up his language with a kisse.
With mute expressions the Prince replies:
Silence hath Rhetorick, and veiles are best
To portraict that which cannot be exprest.

Wars greater tempest had forgat to blow,
And horrours thicker clouds were driven away;
But lighter mists, and weaker blasts did now
Appeare to dim the honour of the day:
Thus when a roring storme hath ceas'd to rave,
A trembling noise still murmurs on the wave.

When the next morn had blusht to see the field
Looke redder than it selfe, in purple dight:
Some scatter'd reliques willing to be kild,
Meet rather with a slaughter than a fight.
If the sound bodies of whole armies faile,
Tis madnesse for sore members to assaile.

Some troopes commanded by the Prior of France,
And Roans Archbishop, run to meet the sword;
And led by staring rashnesse, or blind chance,
Fly to their death: as I have seene a bird
Leaving the gentle hand, that kept it tame,
Quit the soft pearch, and fly into the flame.

These by the English breathing death are blown
Out of the field: and day drawne out of night:
So many Lords of France were overthrown,
That yet I ne'r could judge, if that I might
Or a misfortune, or an honour call
That losse should alwayes on their Nobles fall.

So many Nobles to account this day!
And death finde not one English in her list!
No English Nobles were that day to pay
Mortality her dues: no Noble mist.
Well may you think some Deitie did them shrowd,
As Venus did her Troian in a cloud.