Ore the sea’s narrow brest from England’s coast To Normandie my furious brother came, Gainst whom, my cause being good with my small host, Before the fort of Tenerchbray by name: Though fewer farre, in battel’s bloodie frame We did aduance, where though _Mortaigne_ and I So stoutly fought, our folke the field did flie. 83. Vpon that day, when fortie yeares before, My sire to conquer England gaue th’assay, In which he first set foot on England’s shore, The king and I did meet in battell ray, In which, alas, we Normans lost the day: For on that day the Normans England won, Was Normandie by English men orerun. 84. Where, though false fortune turn’d her treacherous face, And then began to worke our future woe, Though dreadfull Pallas did denie vs grace, And ’gainst our side her selfe in field did show, Yet did we scorne, as scar’d, to flie the foe, _Mortaigne_ and I ’gainst them alone did fight, Till multitudes did ouermatch our might. 85. Let Pallas cease to sing of armes oppos’d, Sorrow must be the subiect of her song, In stead of greaues with golden buttons clos’d, In which she marcht amidst our martiall throng, Now in sad straine, while we relate our wrong, She in the sock the tragicke dance must lead, Whose dolefull measures, we captiu’d do tread. 86. Thy muse, that in warre’s bloodie hew was sent To Palestine, must now in blacke be found, Each word with heauie fall she must accent, Each symphonie must yeeld a dolefull sound, Each measure with a captiue band be bound, And euery couple’s sad catastrophe, Double the woes of our captiuitie. 87. Now Normandie’s great duke in _Henrie’s_ hand Vpon the rouling billowes running high, Is carried captiue from his natiue land, To which oft turning backe his heauie eie, It seemes a farre to follow him and crie, “Adew, deare lord, adew, who neuer more With one step’s touch shall grace my sandie shore.” 88. With griefe arriu’d on Cardiffe’s rockie coast, Where Seuerne first meets Nereus wauie brood, Through whose blacke waues faire Sabrine’s guiltlesse ghost, T’Elizium bankes did passe the fatall flood, In whose defence king Locrine lost his blood, The tyrant king, in dread what might befall, Did confine me within the castle wall. 89.