Xviii

Curse on that Crosse (quoth then the Sarazin), That keepes thy body from the bitter fit;° Dead long ygoe I wote thou haddest bin, Had not that charme from thee forwarned it: But yet I warne thee now assured sitt,° And hide thy head. Therewith upon his crest With rigour so outrageous° he smitt, That a large share° it hewd out of the rest, And glauncing down his shield from blame him fairly blest.°