Their multitude could not amaze my minde,
Their bloudie weapons did not make me shrink;
True valour hath his constancie assignde,
The eagle at the sunne will never winke;
Amongst their troupes, incenst with mortall hate,
I did arest Wat Tiler on the pate.
The stroke was given with so good a will,
I made the rebell coutch unto the earth;
His fellows that beheld (’tis strange) were still;
It mar’d the manner of their former mirth;