A flying adder was in a hole,
For elde black as any coal;
Unto Bevis she gan fling
And in the forehead thought him sting.
Bevis was ready with is truncheon
And smote her, that she fell adown.
Up on again the adder rose
And braid away his right brow;
Then was Bevis sore aggrieved
And smote the adder on the head;
So hard dent he her gave,
The brain cleaved on his staff.
Down fell the adder, without fail,
And smote so Bevis with the tail,
That nigh a lose their countenance,
Almost his life was in balance.
When he awaked of that swoon,
The truncheon heft to him a drough
And beat her all to pieces small,
As it is found in French tale

Lines 1547-1566