More Reliques of Rowley. 645 
Butte erft the cloude of forecafte be out{predde 
Yif winfomenefs the raven-bannyer grace 
Shuln we obreyne the londe we covetedde 
Or itte obteyning halde ? 
Hengift. Theroffe I have ne dredde: 
Horfa. Yif Wortigerne hiffylfe eoure prifonerre ware, 
Or bie the barbed honde of warre yfleyne, 
To the gemote nilleveryche Brydyan fare, 
And nimblie chefe a Pendragon ageyne 
The flackynge happe of Brydayne to folteyne ? 
Will ne the connynge nygromaunterre knowe 
For his lief nevew the voide trone obteyne 
And will ne Arthur’s boldneffe, yatte lyche lowe 
Ov brennynge cornfeelde towres, ayen enfpryte the foe? 
Hengif, Ne with theire kynge a craven folke maie doffe 
The bafe bemeanure and the grovelynge thoughte. 
Borfa. No neede theire feare of herte be fhaken offe 
“ -Yatte myckle fcathe to uffe fhuld be ywroughte. 
Onne the farre fhore oure fhyppes do lien dyftroughte ; 
_ Them do theie brenne forfendynge hylfe or flyghte ¢ 
Ne foode to quell oure honger is ybroughte, 
And whyle we ftragglen forthe to robbe anyghte, 
One two and alle fhul finke, yfleyne in unmatchte fyghte. 
Hengift. Wim yatte iffe mightiemofte withynne the reaume 
The Brydyans for pendragon wone to chefe : 
\ And preeftes doen daube his hayre with hale baume, 
And a redde croffe with {warynge he doth fefe. 
Axte the gemote mefeemeth not unefe 5 
Thefe quakynge comyns with oure {werdes adawe 
Miefylfe thie brodherre for theire cheefe to chefe. 
Horfa. Never onleffe thou don the Cryftyan lawe. 
Hengiff. Wele wele be mine the goddes yatte gin us lond to bawe. 
Horfa. ¥ro thilka thougte Woden forfende me aie. 
1 halde mie fatherre’s goddes whyle lyfe remaine. 
Botte yif thou recke not ov thie natale faie, 
Wherefor not wedden to the kynge Rowaine, | 
Whome with defte fpeeche he woneth entretatne * 
Odhers nor he han willde the londe dente : _ 
Suddeyne it fhul be ours, yif he be faine 
To putaweye the queene, and fikerlie 
Whan by Rowene he fittes, his eyne blink ragerie. 
Ungladlie he beholdes the greeynge mighte 
Ov princelie Arthurre, whoime he gins to fere 
Tnto his proper ftede to feen ypighte. 
Our hylfe maie fheelde his hedde fro fyke unwere : 
His hylfe touffe wyn fyker footynge here. 
And whan he dies, do thou conteke the trone 
With Arthurre’s fylfe, he iffe thie fole compere : 
By chen more Inglifh in this londe fhul wone. 
Hengift. Hor¥a thie rede is gode ¢ thie confeil ful be done. 
Hie thie to bidde the kynge forfake his tente, 
And come to me; botte calle mie daughterre nowe : 
I muft make plaine to her mie newe intente. [ orf goes. 
Botre what yif Wortigerne awaie fhuld gowe 
Sdeigning mie profferde chy!de—then fhul he knowe 
Yatte Hengifis wrathe the doughtieft mought appalle— 
_ Lyke woodes on fyre yatte feethe with {mouldrynge glowe, 
Monrary Mac. 40 Lyke 
