message bear;
    Who said; tell thou the duke, at his likand
    If he can gette the crown hee may itte wear. 
    He said, and drove the Monke out of his syghte,
  And with his brothers rouz’d each manne to bloudie fyghte. 180

    A standarde made of sylke and jewells rare,
    Wherein alle coloures wroughte aboute in bighes,
    An armyd knyghte was seen deth-doynge there,
    Under this motte, He conquers or he dies. 
    This standard rych, endazzlynge mortal eyes, 185
    Was borne neare Harolde at the Renters heade,
    Who chargd hys broders for the grete empryze
    That straite the hest for battle should be spredde. 
    To evry erle and knyghte the worde is gyven,
  And cries a guerre and slughornes shake the vaulted heaven. 190

    As when the erthe, torne by convulsyons dyre,
    In reaulmes of darkness hid from human syghte,
    The warring force of water, air, and fyre,
    Brast from the regions of eternal nyghte,
    Thro the darke caverns seeke the reaulmes of lyght; 195
    Some loftie mountaine, by its fury torne,
    Dreadfully moves, and causes grete affryght;
    Now here, now there, majestic nods the bourne,
    And awfulle shakes, mov’d by the almighty force,
  Whole woods and forests nod, and ryvers change theyr course. 200

    So did the men of war at once advaunce,
    Linkd man to man, enseemed one boddie light;
    Above a wood, yform’d of bill and launce,
    That noddyd in the ayre most straunge to syght. 
    Harde as the iron were the menne of mighte, 205
    Ne neede of slughornes to enrowse theyr minde;
    Eche shootynge spere yreaden for the fyghte,
    More feerce than fallynge rocks, more swefte than wynd;
    With solemne step, by ecchoe made more dyre,
  One single boddie all theie marchd, theyr eyen on fyre. 210

    And now the greie-eyd morne with vi’lets drest,
    Shakyng the dewdrops on the flourie meedes,
    Fled with her rosie radiance to the West: 
    Forth from the Easterne gatte the fyerie steedes
    Of the bright sunne awaytynge spirits leedes:  215
    The sunne, in fierie pompe enthrond on hie,
    Swyfter than thoughte alonge hys jernie gledes,
    And scatters nyghtes remaynes from oute the skie: 
    He sawe the armies make for bloudie fraie,
  And stopt his driving steeds, and hid his lyghtsome raye. 220

    Kynge Harolde hie in ayre majestic raysd
    His mightie arme, deckt with a manchyn rare;
    With even hande a mighty javlyn paizde,
    Then furyouse sent it whystlynge thro the ayre. 
    It struck the helmet of the Sieur de Beer; 225
    In vayne did brasse or yron