With trumpet’s blast Bellona summon’d out My Britons to the field, and then began Each seuerall band t’enranke themselues about My royall standard, while each captaine ran From troope to troope enabling euerie man To charge the rebels with their vtmost might, Who in the field stood brauing vs for fight. 100. With trumpets, drums and dreadfull shouts of men The battailes ioyn’d, earth’s batter’d pauements vnder Did seeme to shake, heauen sounded lowd, as when Bold Boreas clad in darknesse, stormes and thunder, Doth cuffe the cloudes and rends their ribs in sunder: Both parts being eager bent the day to winne, The fight at first with furie did begin. 101. And as the hunter his shrill horne doth winde, Breaths forth lowd shoutes and vseth all his art To make his dogs to pinch the game behinde: So euerie where I chear’d vp euerie hart, And vrg’d my men against the aduerse part, Exciting them by mine owne valiancie To charge through death for fame and victorie. 102. So long as faire Aurorae’s light did shine, All valiantlie themselues in fight did beare: But when the king of flames began decline From steepe Olympus top, th’whole host with feare Affrighted was, all troopes disordered were, Who giuing back from field had fled awaie, If I through death, had not regain’d the day. 103. For loe, a Pictish souldier 'mongst the foes Spake in the British tongue: “Yeeld (O friends) yield, No more your selues to death in vaine oppose, _Arthur_ is dead, and with him dead in field His knights are laid, on whom our hopes did build:” This spake he with lowd voice in th’heate of fight, Thereby to turne our battaile into flight: 104. But I that heard and knew his close intent, In front of all the field my selfe did show Whereby my Britons, that before were bent To turne their backes, turn’d head vpon the foe, ’Twixt whom the fight againe did feruent grow, With whom I brake into the dangerous fight In hope to meet with _Mordred_, that false knight. 105. My launce and sword did many a bosome sacke Of life’s rich spoiles, which were all men of name, The common sort my hand in troopes did wrack, For through deepe wounds and death in martiall game I did enforce my way to win me fame, Till wounded in the head with fatall steele My death’s approch in fight I gan to feele. 106.