Thus Leofwine; today will Englandes dome Be fyxt for aie, for gode or evill state; This sunnes aunture be felt for years to come; Then bravelie fyghte, and live till deathe of date. Thinke of brave Ælfridus, yclept the grete, 135 From porte to porte the red-haird Dane he chasd, The Danes, with whomme not lyoncels coud mate, Who made of peopled reaulms a barren waste; Thinke how at once by you Norwegia bled Whilste dethe and victorie for magystrie bested. 140 Meanwhile did Gyrthe unto Kynge Harolde ride, And tolde howe he dyd with Duke Willyam fare. Brave Harolde lookd askaunte, and thus replyd; And can thie say be bowght wyth drunken cheer? Gyrthe waxen hotte; fhuir in his eyne did glare; 145 And thus he saide; oh brother, friend, and kynge, Have I deserved this fremed speche to heare? Bie Goddes hie hallidome ne thoughte the thynge. When Tostus sent me golde and sylver store, I scornd hys present vile, and scorn'd hys treason more. 150 Forgive me, Gyrthe, the brave Kynge Harolde cryd; Who can I trust, if brothers are not true? I think of Tostus, once my joie and pryde. Girthe saide, with looke adigne; my lord, I doe. But what oure foemen are, quod Girth, I'll shewe; 155 By Gods hie hallidome they preestes are. Do not, quod Harolde, Girthe, mystell them so, For theie are everich one brave men at warre. Quod Girthe; why will ye then provoke theyr hate? Quod Harolde; great the foe, so is the glorie grete. 160 And nowe Duke Willyam mareschalled his band, And stretchd his armie owte a goodlie rowe. First did a ranke of arcublastries stande, Next those on horsebacke drewe the ascendyng flo, Brave champyones, eche well lerned in the bowe, 165 Theyr asenglave acrosse theyr horses ty'd, Or with the loverds squier behinde dyd goe, Or waited squier lyke at the horses syde. When thus Duke Willyam to a Monke dyd saie, Prepare thyselfe wyth spede, to Harolde haste awaie. 170 Telle hym from me one of these three to take; That hee to mee do homage for thys lande, Or mee hys heyre, when he deceasyth, make, Or to the judgment of Chrysts vicar stande. He saide; the Monke departyd out of hande, 175 And to Kyng Harolde dyd this message bear; Who said; tell thou the duke, at his likand If he can gette the crown hee may itte wear. He said, and drove the Monke out of his syghte, And with his brothers rouz'd each manne to bloudie fyghte. 180