Hopefull of conquest, on the right side wing
Of all the host, nere to the slimie strand,
Where the sweet herbes by Medwaie’s streames do spring,
The cries of wounded souldiers high did ring,
For there Canute did charge with violent sway
Of his horse troopes, in hope to win the day.
38.
But to represse the fire and quench the flame
Of his hot courage, with a troope of horse
I rusht amongst his men with loud exclame,