A wondrous pyle of rugged mountaynes standes,
    Placd on eche other in a dreare arraie,
    It ne could be the worke of human handes,
    It ne was reared up bie menne of claie. 
    Here did the Brutons adoration paye 535
    To the false god whom they did Tauran name,
    Dightynge hys altarre with greete fyres in Maie,
    Roastynge theyr vyctimes round aboute the flame,
    ’Twas here that Hengyst did the Brytons slee,
  As they were mette in council for to bee. 540

    Neere on a loftie hylle a citie standes,
    That lyftes yts scheafted heade ynto the skies,
    And kynglie lookes arounde on lower landes,
    And the longe browne playne that before itte lies. 
    Herewarde, borne of parentes brave and wyse, 545
    Within this vylle fyrste adrewe the ayre,
    A blessynge to the erthe sente from the skies,
    In anie kyngdom nee coulde fynde his pheer;
    Now rybbd in steele he rages yn the fyghte,
  And sweeps whole armies to the reaulmes of nyghte. 550

    So when derne Autumne wyth hys sallowe hande
    Tares the green mantle from the lymed trees,
    The leaves besprenged on the yellow strande
    Flie in whole armies from the blataunte breeze;
    Alle the whole fielde a carnage-howse he sees, 555
    And sowles unknelled hover’d oer the bloude;
    From place to place on either hand he slees,
    And sweepes alle neere hym lyke a bronded floude;
    Dethe honge upon his arme; he sleed so maynt,
  ’Tis paste the pointel of a man to paynte. 560

    Bryghte sonne in haste han drove hys fierie wayne
    A three howres course alonge the whited skyen,
    Vewynge the swarthless bodies on the playne,
    And longed greetlie to plonce in the bryne. 
    For as hys beemes and far-stretchynge eyne 565
    Did view the pooles of gore yn purple sheene,
    The wolsomme vapours rounde hys lockes dyd twyne,
    And dyd disfygure all hys femmlikeen;
    Then to harde actyon he hys wayne dyd rowse,
  In hyssynge ocean to make glair hys browes. 570

    Duke Wyllyam gave commaunde, eche Norman knyghte,
    That been war-token in a shielde so fyne,
    Shoulde onward goe, and dare to closer fyghte
    The Saxonne warryor, that dyd so entwyne,
    Lyke the neshe bryon and the eglantine, 575
    Orre Cornysh wrastlers at a Hocktyde game. 
    The Normannes, all emarchialld in a lyne,
    To the ourt arraie of the thight Saxonnes came;
    There ’twas the whaped Normannes on a parre
  Dyd know that Saxonnes were the sonnes of warre. 580