The Irish king whirl’d out a poisoned dart,
That lighting pierced deep in Howell’s brains,
A peerless prince and near of Arthur’s blood.
Hereat the air with uproar loud resounds,
Which efts on mountains rough rebounding rears.
The trumpets hoarse their trembling tunes do tear,
And thund’ring drums their dreadful larums ring.
The standards broad are blown and ensigns spread,
And every nation bends his wonted wars.
Some near their foes, some further off do wound,