Yet when warme blood through my crackt veines flow, And subtle aire gan pierce the liuely braine, The eager anguish did my valor show: For manie foemen in my furie slaine Did pay my wreake with death and deadlie baine: Still did I fight, although with fainting breath, Vntill in fight I heard of _Mordred’s_ death. 107. Whose tragick fall when true report did tell, His souldiers fled away, and in their flight Vp flew their heeles, in slaughter fast they fell, Darts thick as haile their backs behinde did smite, Farre more in chase did fall, then in the fight: Yea none had scap’t the furie of that day Had not my bleeding wounds stood in my way. 108. In manie a fight before in death’s despight Vpon my head ten wounds I did sustaine, With life vntoucht: but in this fatall fight Remorslesse fate to end my life and reigne With one deepe wound did wound my vitall braine: For in the chace with torment of that wound Deathe’s touch I felt and fell vpon the ground. 109. From whence conuei’d to Glastenburie by By my deare friends, who did in vaine pretend To saue my life, loe, as I there did lie In th’armes of death, perceiuing how each friend Did shew his ruth, in teares for my sad end, These words I spake, before my vading breath Did flie away vpon the wings of death. 110. “Grieue not,” said I, “to see your wounded king Wrapt in the ruine of his life now done: For Phœnix-like from death new life shall spring, Which in this life I by my death haue wonne, I dead, that left to liue, when I am gone, Yea, this in death shall liue my future grace, I di’d a conquerour in cold death’s embrace. 111. The kingly ruth which our sad soule attends Is our deare countrie’s sight, which setled deepe In depth of my deare loue (O noble friends) To you I tender ’gainst all spoile to keepe, When I in peace haue laid me down to sleepe, Death now triumphs, my mortall daies are done. My houre is spent, my glasse is quite outrun.” 112. This said, when I twice thirteene yeares had been The stout defendant of my countrie’s right, My soule did leaue th’abodes of mortall men, My liuelesse limbes in secret hid from sight, Interred were at Glastenburie hight: Thus hast thou heard the truth of all my storie, My life, my death, and my nere dying glorie. 113.