gride

Where feeling one cloſe couched by her ſide / She lightly lept out of her filed bedd, / And to her weapon ran, in minde to gride / The loathed leachour.

So ſtoutly he withſtood their ſtrong aſſay, / Till that at laſt, when he aduantage ſpyde, / His poynant ſpeare he thruſt with puiſſant ſway / At proud Cymochles, whiles his ſhield was wyde, / That through his thigh the mortall ſteele did gryde[…]

Fiercely flies

The blast of North and East, and ice

Makes daggers at the sharpen’d eaves,

And bristles all the brakes and thorns

To yon hard crescent, as she hangs

Above the wood which grides and clangs

Its leafless ribs and iron horns

Together, in the drifts that pass

To darken on the rolling brine

That breaks the coast.