And at his haughtie helmet making mark,
So hugely stroke[90], that it the steele did riue,
And cleft his head. He tumbling downe aliue,
With bloudy mouth his mother earth did kis,
Greeting his graue: his grudging ghost did striue
With the fraile flesh; at last it flitted is,
Whither[91] the soules do fly of men, that liue amis.
The Lady when she saw her champion fall, xx
Like the old ruines of a broken towre,
Staid not to waile his woefull funerall,