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]

From eu'ry Quarter they their course must plye,
As't pleas'd the King them to th'assault to call:
Now on the Duke of Yorke the charge doth lye:
To Kent and Cornwall then the turne doth fall:
Then Huntingdon vp to the walls they crye:
Then Suffolke, and then Excester; which all
In their meane Souldiers habits vs'd to goe,
Taking such part as those that own'd them doe.

[Stanza 104]

The men of Harflew rough excursions make,
Vpon the English watchfull in their Tent,
Whose courages they to their cost awake,
With many a wound that often back them sent,
So proud a Sally that durst vndertake,
And in the Chase pell mell amongst them went,
For on the way such ground of them they win,
That some French are shut out, some English in.

[Stanza 105]

Nor idely sit our Men at Armes the while,
Foure thousand Horse that eu'ry day goe out;
And of the Field are Masters many a mile,
By putting the Rebellious French to rout;