Move Reliques of Rowley, 
{Hengifi taketh Ah whérefor han mie eyne this wonder feene ! 
the beere mean- Dhie chaungefulle myndé hyneeforthe I fhul foryeve, 
while, and fill- O Wortigerne. Cotd fhe be myne, I weene acu 
eth the borne.) _ Mie dayes were fponne ov golde. Botte he wuld leve 
To jufilie rule a reaume wythe manie a wyfhhe mofte fireve. 
( They drynke.) Hengift, farewell. A hondfhake ere we twitine. 
Yond do we for a herfher meetynge louke, 
Botte fonder wrathe. Yif Brydatnes gare do winne 
. Mie belaccoyle fhul Hengift alfo brooke. 
Hengifobs Who art thou? for dhie wordis ftraungelie tooke 
Mie aungere prifonere, and do turre mie fowle, 
{ Herawde Lyche connynge rimes wythinne a charmed booke, 
tbroweth back Wherwythe a feer the unweeres dothe controvwlle. 
6s eventalie.)  Arthurre. 
I am content mie laborynge brefte unfwolle. 
Dhie proweffe T efeyme. Yif I am fleyne 
Before the welked f{unne from heven dothe ftie, 
And theie I leade do not theire thippes atteyne, 
Wilt thoti beholde this maiden pitouflie, 
Fro lawleffe lofte and honde ov ragerie 
Forfend her weepynge charmes ? 
Bhhaye. Yatte do I {ware, 
Hengift goeth forth Thou haft mie thonk ov herte : now thider hie. 
with drthurre, "The mightie wayne of happe dothe upwarde fare, 
ae cometh back Brthe grones, the folkes demvere, and goblynes fayle im ares 
anion, 
Rowene. Yif Brydaine winnes T fhul be wyrfe than woode.— 
Ile drowne miefylfe and quaile the are I drewe.— 
Mefeemes to fele the cetenefs ov the floode: 
‘The water-neekes in theire tyghte armes enmewe, 
Shroude myne yftrongled corfe ynne lentyldewe, 
And baye mie dethefong with a grieflie yelle. 
‘The mioone fhul fpredde his fheene ov paleft hewe 
Uponne the billowes ov mie watrie celle, ; 
And byttoures boomynge loude, and otterres blete mie knelle. 
One halfynge mo mie deareft father yeelde, 
Perchaunce the lafte yatte we fhul aie conftraine.— 
No neede was there to bydde yon knyghte to fheelde 
Dhie doughterres chaftenefs ; for I am not fayne 
To lyve a ftounde, yif dhyne be not the gayne 
Ov this dayes battayle. Ah! how coudft thou weene 
I hadde fo poore a fowghle affe to remayne 
A lyving flave, wher wyth the morrowe’s theene 
I fhuld have donde a crowne and wanderde forth a queene : 
Thou doft not wythe itte. 
Hengift. Maiden blin dhie teare. 
Anon tornes backe to dhyne yfaden cheeke 
The flyttynge rode ybannde and quent ov feare. 
Wyth newes of vyétorye I thul dhee feeke. 
{Horfa cometh For wele I trowe the Inglith thul conteeke 
inne.) This mightie daye ayenft their meinie foen, 
Wych pennes hem evermo inne fhappes low creeke, 
Or on the hylle ov powre doth hem entrone, 
And bootie, londes, and hame, beftowe on every chone, 
MontTHLty Mac. . 4P 
653 
Horfa 
