1550
The fate wolde his soule sholde unbodie,
And shapen hadde a mene it out to dryve;
Ayeins which fate him helpeth not to stryve;
But on a day to fighten gan he wende,
At which, allas! he caughte his lyves ende.
1555
223. For which me thinketh every maner wight
That haunteth armes oughte to biwayle
The deeth of him that was so noble a knight;