Next Fescampe felle; O Chrieste, howe harde his fate
    To die the leckedst knyghte of all the thronge! 
    His sprite was made of malice deslavate,
    Ne shoulden find a place in anie songe. 
    The broch’d keene javlyn hurld from honde so stronge 335
    As thine came thundrynge on his crysted beave;
    Ah! neete avayld the brass or iron thonge,
    With mightie force his skulle in twoe dyd cleave;
    Fallyng he shooken out his smokyng braine,
  As witherd oakes or elmes are hewne from off the playne. 340

    For, Norcie, could thie myghte and skilfulle lore
    Preserve thee from the doom of Alfwold’s speere;
    Couldste thou not kenne, most skyll’d Astrelagoure. 
    How in the battle it would wythe thee fare? 
    When Alfwolds javelyn, rattlynge in the ayre, 345
    From hande dyvine on thie habergeon came,
    Oute at thy backe it dyd thie hartes bloude bear,
    It gave thee death and everlastynge fame;
    Thy deathe could onlie come from Alfwolde arme,
  As diamondes onlie can its fellow diamonds harme. 350

    Next Sire du Mouline fell upon the grounde,
    Quite throughe his throte the lethal javlyn preste,
    His soule and bloude came roushynge from the wounde;
    He closd his eyen, and opd them with the blest. 
    It can ne be I should behight the rest, 355
    That by the myghtie arme of Alfwolde felle,
    Paste bie a penne to be counte or expreste,
    How manie Alfwolde sent to heaven or helle;
    As leaves from trees shook by derne Autumns hand,
  So laie the Normannes slain by Alfwold on the strand. 360

    As when a drove of wolves withe dreary yelles
    Assayle some flocke, ne care if shepster ken’t,
    Besprenge destructione oer the woodes and delles;
    The shepster swaynes in vayne theyr lees lement;
    So foughte the Brystowe menne; ne one crevent, 365
    Ne onne abashd enthoughten for to flee;
    With fallen Normans all the playne besprent,
    And like theyr leaders every man did flee;
    In vayne on every syde the arrowes fled;
  The Brystowe menne styll ragd, for Alfwold was not dead. 370

    Manie meanwhile by Haroldes arm did falle,
    And Leofwyne and Gyrthe encreasd the slayne;
    ’Twould take a Nestor’s age to synge them all,
    Or telle how manie Normannes preste the playne;
    But of the erles, whom recorde nete hath slayne, 375
    O Truthe! for good of after-tymes relate,
    That, thowe they’re deade, theyr names may lyve agayne,
    And be in deathe, as they in life were, greate;
    So after-ages maie theyr actions see,
  And like to them aeternal alwaie stryve to be. 380