As to o'erwhelme it.
And many a deep wound lent,
His armes with bloud besprent,
And many a cruel dent
Bruised his helmet.

Glo'ster, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood,
With his braue brother,
Clarence, in steele so bright,
Though but a maiden knight.
Yet in that furious light
Scarce such another.

Warwick, in bloud did wade,
Oxford, the foe inuade,
And cruel slaughter made;
Still as they ran up,
Suffolk, his axe did ply,
Beavmont and Willovghby,
Ferres and Tanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin's day,
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay,
To England to carry.
O when shall English men,
With such acts fill a pen,
Or England breed againe