And smart of wounds receiu’d from foes of late
Did with swift furie feather my desire,
Which of itself by nature’s gifts did hate
To linger time, deferring vtmost fate
In doubtfull chance of battaile to be tride,
For which I was surnam’d, hight Ironside.
23.
This fire of expedition in affaires
And height of resolution t’vndergoe,
Compar’d to strength of limbes and restlesse cares,