Pedro of Castille
O noble, o worthy petro, glorie of spayne,
Whom fortune heeld so hye in magestee,
Wel oghten men thy pitous deeth complayne!
Out of thy land thy brother made thee flee,
And after, at a seege, by subtiltee,
Thou were bitraysed and lad unto his tente,
Where as he with his owene hand slow thee,
Succedynge in thy regne and in thy rente.
The feeld of snow, with th' egle of blak therinne,
Caught with the lymrod coloured as the gleede,
He brew this cursednesse and al this synne.
The wikked nest was werker of this nede.
Noght charles olyver, that took ay heede
Of trouthe and honoure, but of armorike
Genylon-olyver, corrupt for meede,
Broghte this worthy kyng in swich a brike.