Bent once againe, vnto my sire vnknowne,
To claime the Norman dukedome, as mine owne.
25.
But ere my wicked sword I could vnsheath,
Vpon the bed of fraile mortalitie
Lies conquering William, in the armes of death,
T’whom enuious fame in his extremitie,
Brings tidings of his sonne’s impietie,
Debatefull enuie, finding once the thing
That breeds our shame, sets euill newes on wing.