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At last the Paynim chaunst to cast his eye, His suddein eye, flaming with wrathful fyre, Upon his brothers shield, which hong thereby: Therewith redoubled was his raging yre, And said, Ah wretched sonne of wofull syre, Doest thou sit wayling by blacke Stygian lake, Whilest here thy shield is hangd for victors hyre, And sluggish german° doest thy forces slake To after-send his foe, that him may overtake?