Fortune my sword with conquest did renowne,
Six times Canute ore-match’d in fight did yeeld
And fled away, by froward fate cast downe,
Leauing to me the hope of England’s crowne:
Whose hopes my sword had smothered in the dust,
If I to traytor’s words had giuen no trust.
33.
For, after that I had with foule affright
Dispers’d the bold Canutus mightie host,
That had begirt my loyall London hight,