To hym wyl I go, and ȝeve hym suche an hete,
That alle the lechis of the londe his lyf xul nevyr restore:
Aȝens my dredful dentys it vaylyth nevyr to plete,
Or I hym part fro I xal hym make ful pore;
Alle the blood of his body I xal hym owt swete,
ffor now I go to sle hym with strokys sad and sore,
This tyde.
Bothe hym and his knyghtes alle,
I xal hem make to me but thralle,
With my spere sle him I xalle,