The brand of malice thus kindling in my brest
Of deadly hate which I to him did beare,
Pricked mee forward, and bad mee not desist,
But boldly fight, and take at all no feare,
To wyn the field, and the earle to conquere:
Thus hoping glory greate to gayne and get,
Myne army then in order did I set.
40.
Betyde mee lyfe or death I desperatly ran,
And ioyned mee in battayle with this earle so stoute,