Therewith she spewd out of her filthy maw
A floud of poyson horrible and blacke,
Full of great lumpes of flesh and gobbets raw,
Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him to slacke
His grasping hold, and from her turne him backe:
Her vomit full of bookes and papers was,
With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did lacke,
And creeping sought way in the weedy gras:
Her filthy parbreake all the place defiled has.
Off to the hills did a small spark appear.
Did glisten and did glimmer but so far,
Then cast upon a tree it came too near
Strewn like a net, consuming all to mar.
“Run,” he cried out, for this he could not spar.
The Blaze did charge, swallowed all in its way
And ruthless all it touched it left a scar,
Outran to no avail he tripped and lay
O’er the ash he plead; yet, no mercy thus was slay.