More Reliques of Rowley. 651 
We brond to lyghte dheir waie fave townes ybrent. 
Eche fhape ov harowe fhul alldailie gree ; 
Morther, his fmeethyng hondes in gore bedrent, 
Upon the brefte it foukes the babe fhul flee, 
ind with ittes modherres milk her blocdde fhul ftayne the lee. 
Where is the herawde? Let the wretch be hente: 
On his blake heavid fone mie forgie breme 
Shul vente its wroth. With bytynge {corges rente 
Hys harowde flefhe; his countenausce mayheme ; 
‘The manne yatte dares mine aunger to upleme 
Mofte inne the fwoughynge of its lowe forbrenne. 
Long fhul he ov his gybynges not have queme. 
Vengeaunce I lacke—for mie poore dear Rowenne - 
Yicornée, betraffde, forfa’en. This enes be brave mie menne, 
This enes, ye Inglith goddes, locke down with roath. 
Horfa. On alle, but ne on one we’lle wreke our wrong. 
Hengift. This ov dhie warie confeil comes. In footh 
Nowe I am a cruelle fadherre 5 now her tong 
Maie juftlie playne. Her blataunt flyghtes do trong, 
: Lyche ravens on the lychename, round mie hedde. 
ivheare, 1 joigne dheire lethale outhees ftrong. 
Who thoffe doth ufe her, I will do him dedde. 
When falles the bloodie fhowre the cloude ov ftaine is fedde; 
Horfa. J hatte to telle the herawde yatte thie fpryghte 
- We aunfwere fave dhie naked aulace daynes. 
Hengifi. No. Call him nider. Didde he hope to fryghte 
The fowle of Hengift with his thretefull ftraynes ? 
This bofteful cherle the braggard Arthur traynes, 
I weene. 
Eiorfa. Ov Arthurs Knyghtes he weares the liverie< 
One eve tis fayde theie mingled ov their vaynes 
The fmeethyng rode, and fwarynge amitie 
And brodherhoode eterne, the grizelie bowle didde drie. 
Save hem, ther wone in Brydaines vaftie londe 
Ne men ov prowefle. 
Hengift. Calle the boldarde here - 
Te marke his femlikeene I fhul be fonde, 
Hora goeth, Yatre dares to brawle defiance inne mine eare. 
and the He- Renewe the meffage thou art hyghte to beare. 
yvawde cometh Watte fayes the king ? 
in and faith No londe fhul be dhie ryghte, 
Name watte ov golde thou wylite he fhul not feare 
To drayne his folk dhie fuccoure to requyghte : 
And this yif thou forflegge, he calles dhee to the fyghte. 
Hengiff. Unbathefull trecher, not a ftound ygone 
Wythe cdher mynde he parted fro mie tente. 
Herawde. ¥’en then maichaunce withyn his fpryghte did wone 
Phe tylfefame thoughte wych cantouilie he pente, 
Fearyng his royale perfone fhuld be hente 
And pyght in duraunce bie his foemen heere. 
Hengif?. Weenes he mie fowghle, lyke hiffe, in falfhede drente 
So deepe yatte I more feeze a guefte and feere? 
Herawde. Whilome to rae dhie wrathe coud threte the lyke unweere ; 
Yerte 
