All men voyded[679], that them stode nye,
When the Justice fell to the grounde,
And the Sheryfe fell nye hym by;
Eyther had his deathes wounde.
LXXX
All the citezeyns fast gan flye,
They durst no longer abyde:
There lyghtly they losèd Cloudesley,
Where he with ropes lay tyde.
LXXXI
Wyllyam start to an officer of the towne,
Hys axe out hys hand he wronge,
On echè syde he smote them downe,
Hym thought he taryed to long.
LXXXII
Wyllyam sayde to hys brethren two,
‘Thys daye let us lyve and die,
If e’er you have nede, as I have now,
The same you shall finde by me.’
LXXXIII
They shot so well in that tyde
(Theyr stringes were of silke ful sure)
That they kept the stretes on every side;
That batayle did long endure.