98.
Yet could not this disswade me from the field,
But in the morne when as the daie’s bright king
The mountaine tops with golden shine did gild,
No sooner did the warlike trumpet sing
Warre’s fearfull song, the sound of which did ring
About my eares, but rous’d from rest I rose,
And arm’d me for the field to meet my foes.
99.
With trumpet’s blast Bellona summon’d out