From the third brunt of this my fatall brond:
Loe where the dreadfull Death behind thy backe doth stond.
With that he strooke, and th’other strooke withall, xxxviii
That nothing seem’d mote beare so monstrous might:
The one vpon his couered shield did fall,
And glauncing downe would not his owner byte:
But th’other did vpon his troncheon smyte,
Which hewing quite a sunder, further way
It made, and on his hacqueton did lyte,
The which diuiding with importune sway,