Vi

A shrilling trompet sownded from on hye, And unto battaill bad them selves addresse: Their shining shieldes about their wrestes they tye, And burning blades about their heads do blesse, The instruments of wrath and heavinesse: With greedy force each other doth assayle, And strike so fiercely, that they do impresse Deepe dinted furrowes in the battred mayle; The yron walles to ward their blowes are weak and fraile.