Oh Turgotte, wheresoeer thie spryte dothe haunte,
    Whither wyth thie lovd Adhelme by thie syde,
    Where thou mayste heare the swotie nyghte larke chaunte,
    Orre wyth some mokynge brooklette swetelie glide,
    Or rowle in ferselie wythe ferse Severnes tyde, 585
    Whereer thou art, come and my mynde enleme
    Wyth such greete thoughtes as dyd with thee abyde,
    Thou sonne, of whom I ofte have caught a beeme,
    Send mee agayne a drybblette of thie lyghte,
  That I the deeds of Englyshmenne maie wryte. 590

    Harold, who saw the Normannes to advaunce,
    Seizd a huge byll, and layd hym down hys spere;
    Soe dyd ech wite laie downe the broched launce,
    And groves of bylles did glitter in the ayre. 
    Wyth showtes the Normannes did to battel steere; 595
    Campynon famous for his stature highe,
    Fyrey wythe brasse, benethe a shyrte of lere,
    In cloudie daie he reechd into the skie;
    Neere to Kyng Harolde dyd he come alonge,
  And drewe hys steele Morglaien sworde so stronge. 600

    Thryce rounde hys heade hee swung hys anlace wyde,
    On whyche the sunne his visage did agleeme,
    Then straynynge, as hys membres would dyvyde,
    Hee stroke on Haroldes sheelde yn manner breme;
    Alonge the field it made an horrid cleembe, 605
    Coupeynge Kyng Harolds payncted sheeld in twayne,
    Then yn the bloude the fierie swerde dyd steeme,
    And then dyd drive ynto the bloudie playne;
    So when in ayre the vapours do abounde,
  Some thunderbolte tares trees and dryves ynto the grounde. 610

    Harolde upreer’d hys bylle, and furious sente
    A stroke, lyke thondre, at the Normannes syde;
    Upon the playne the broken brasse besprente
    Dyd ne hys bodie from dethe-doeynge hyde;
    He tournyd backe, and dyd not there abyde; 615
    With straught oute sheelde hee ayenwarde did goe,
    Threwe downe the Normannes, did their rankes divide,
    To save himselfe lefte them unto the foe;
    So olyphauntes, in kingdomme of the sunne,
  When once provok’d doth throwe theyr owne troopes runne. 620

    Harolde, who ken’d hee was his armies staie,
    Nedeynge the rede of generaul so wyse,
    Byd Alfwoulde to Campynon haste awaie,
    As thro the armie ayenwarde he hies,
    Swyfte as a feether’d takel Alfwoulde flies, 625
    The steele bylle blushynge oer wyth lukewarm bloude;
    Ten Kenters, ten Bristowans for th’ emprize
    Hasted wyth Alfwoulde where Campynon stood,
    Who aynewarde went, whylste everie Normanne knyghte
  Dyd blush to see their champyon put to flyghte. 630