When on thy crest with mighty stroke I strake.
25.
The strokes thou strookste mee hurt mee nought at all,
For why, thy strength was nothing in respect:
But thou hadst bath’d thy sword in poyson all,
Which did my wound, not deadly els, infect:
Yet was I or I parted thence bewreckte,
I gate thy sworde from thee for all thy fame,
And made thee flye for feare to eate the same.
26.