But sooth to say though my triumphant Muse
Seemeth to vant as in got victorie,
And with puissant stroke the head to bruize
Of her stiff so, and daze his phantasie,
Captive his reason, dead each facultie:
Yet in her self so strong a force withstands
That of her self afraid, she’ll not aby,
Nor keep the field. She’ll fall by her own hand
As Ajax once laid Ajax dead upon the strand.