Tapre as candles layde at Cuthberts shryne,
    Tapre as elmes that Goodrickes abbie shrove,
    Tapre as silver chalices for wine,
    So tapre was her armes and shape ygrove. 
    As skyllful mynemenne by the stones above 435
    Can ken what metalle is ylach’d belowe,
    So Kennewalcha’s face, ymade for love,
    The lovelie ymage of her soule did shewe;
    Thus was she outward form’d; the sun her mind
  Did guilde her mortal shape and all her charms refin’d. 440

    What blazours then, what glorie shall he clayme,
    What doughtie Homere shall hys praises synge,
    That lefte the bosome of so fayre a dame
    Uncall’d, unaskt, to serve his lorde the kynge? 
    To his fayre shrine goode subjects oughte to bringe 445
    The armes, the helmets, all the spoyles of warre,
    Throwe everie reaulm the poets blaze the thynge,
    And travelling merchants spredde hys name to farre;
    The stoute Norwegians had his anlace felte,
  And nowe amonge his foes dethe-doynge blowes he delte. 450

    As when a wolfyn gettynge in the meedes
    He rageth sore, and doth about hym slee,
    Nowe here a talbot, there a lambkin bleeds,
    And alle the grasse with clotted gore doth stree;
    As when a rivlette rolles impetuouslie, 455
    And breaks the bankes that would its force restrayne,
    Alonge the playne in fomynge rynges doth flee,
    Gaynste walles and hedges doth its course maintayne;
    As when a manne doth in a corn-fielde mowe,
  With ease at one felle stroke full manie is laide lowe. 460

    So manie, with such force, and with such ease,
    Did Adhelm slaughtre on the bloudie playne;
    Before hym manie dyd theyr hearts bloude lease,
    Ofttymes he foughte on towres of smokynge slayne. 
    Angillian felte his force, nor felte in vayne; 465
    He cutte hym with his swerde athur the breaste;
    Out ran the bloude, and did hys armoure stayne,
    He clos’d his eyen in aeternal reste;
    Lyke a tall oke by tempeste borne awaie,
  Stretchd in the armes of dethe upon the plaine he laie. 470

    Next thro the ayre he sent his javlyn feerce,
    That on De Clearmoundes buckler did alyghte,
    Throwe the vaste orbe the sharpe pheone did peerce,
    Rang on his coate of mayle and spente its mighte. 
    But soon another wingd its aiery flyghte, 475
    The keen broad pheon to his lungs did goe;
    He felle, and groand upon the place of fighte,
    Whilst lyfe and bloude came issuynge from the blowe. 
    Like a tall pyne upon his native playne,
  So fell the mightie sire and mingled with the slaine. 480