Marching more northward from the Cambrian coast,
While vengefull breath the fire of furie fans,
After such good successe to bring our host
To Pomfret, which gainst vs our barons mans:
At last we lite like flockes of snow-white swans
Fast by the weeping Eye, which runneth downe
Into the Trent by little Caldwel’s towne.
58.
There first did Needwood’s echoing forrest tell
The stubborne barons of our whole intent,