For þey beþ cursed þat welle hyt do, 452
Suche alle myght comeþ of god; Maledictus qui confidet in homine.
To tryst on hym, y hold hyt good.
Lucye haþ pyght his paueloun
And sprad wyþ pryde his gunfanoun; 456
His claryouns blastes fulle grete blywe,
Archeris schot(:) Men ouer-thrywe;
Bowes, arwes, & arblastere The battle begins.
Schot sore alle y-vere; 460
Quarels, arwes, þey fly smerte;