But when Egelred tumbled to the grounde,
  He from Kynge Harolde quicklie dyd advaunce,
  And strooke de Tracie thilk a crewel wounde,
  Hys harte and lever came out on the launce. 
  And then retreted for to guarde his kynge, 195
  On dented launce he bore the harte awaie;
  An arrowe came from Auffroie Griel’s strynge,
  Into hys heele betwyxt hys yron staie;
    The grey-goose pynion, that thereon was sett,
    Eftsoons wyth smokyng crymson bloud was wett. 200

  His bloude at this was waxen flaminge hotte,
  Without adoe he turned once agayne,
  And hytt de Griel thilk a blowe, God wote,
  Maugre hys helme, he splete his hede in twayne. 
  This Auffroie was a manne of mickle pryde, 205
  Whose featliest bewty ladden in his face;
  His chaunce in warr he ne before han tryde,
  But lyv’d in love and Rosaline’s embrace;
    And like a useless weede amonge the haie
    Amonge the sleine warriours Griel laie. 210

  Kynge Harolde then he putt his yeomen bie,
  And ferslie ryd into the bloudie fyghte;
  Erle Ethelwolf, and Goodrick, and Alsie,
  Cuthbert, and Goddard, mical menne of myghte,
  Ethelwin, Ethelbert, and Edwyn too, 215
  Effred the famous, and Erle Ethelwarde,
  Kynge Harolde’s leegemenn, erlies hie and true,
  Rode after hym, his bodie for to guarde;
    The reste of erlies, fyghtynge other wheres,
    Stained with Norman bloude theire fyghtynge speres. 220

  As when some ryver with the season raynes
  White fomynge hie doth breke the bridges oft,
  Oerturns the hamelet and all conteins. 
  And layeth oer the hylls a muddie soft;
  So Harold ranne upon his Normanne foes. 225
  And layde the greate and small upon the grounde,
  And delte among them thilke a store of blowes,
  Full manie a Normanne fell by him dede wounde;
    So who he be that ouphant faieries strike,
    Their soules will wander to Kynge Offa’s dyke. 230

  Fitz Salnarville, Duke William’s favourite knyghte,
  To noble Edelwarde his life dyd yielde;
  Withe hys tylte launce hee stroke with thilk a myghte,
  The Norman’s bowels steemde upon the feeld. 
  Old Salnarville beheld hys son lie ded, 235
  Against Erie Edelward his bowe-strynge drewe;
  But Harold at one blowe made tweine his head;
  He dy’d before the poignant arrowe flew. 
    So was the hope of all the issue gone,
    And in one battle fell the sire and son. 240