To thee I wylle swythynne[113] the menes unplayte[114], Bie whyche thou, Harolde, shalte be proved mie sonne. I have longe seen whatte peynes were undergon, Whatte agrames[115] braunce[116] out from the general tree; The tyme ys commynge, whan the mollock[117] gron[118] 90 Drented[119] of alle yts swolynge[120] owndes[121] shalle bee; Mie remedie is goode; our menne shall ryse: Eftsoons the Normans and owre agrame[122] flies. HAROLDE. I will to the West, and gemote[123] alle mie knyghtes, Wythe bylles that pancte for blodde, and sheeldes as brede[124] 95 As the ybroched[125] moon, when blaunch[126] shedyghtes[127] The wodeland grounde or water-mantled mede; Wythe hondes whose myghte canne make the doughtiest[128] blede, Who efte have knelte upon forslagen[129] foes, Whoe wythe yer fote orrests[130] a castle-stede[131], 100 Who dare on kynges for to bewrecke[123] yiere woes; Nowe wylle the menne of Englonde haile the daie, Whan Goddwyn leades them to the ryghtfulle fraie. GODDWYN. Botte firste we'll call the loverdes of the West, The erles of Mercia, Conventrie and all; 105 The moe wee gayne, the gare[133] wylle prosper beste, Wythe syke a nomber wee can never fall. HAROLDE. True, so wee sal doe best to lyncke the chayne, And alle attenes[134] the spreddynge kyngedomme bynde. No crouched[135] champyone wythe an harte moe feygne 100 Dyd yssue owte the hallie[136] swerde to fynde, Than I nowe strev to ryd mie londe of peyne. Goddwyn, what thanckes owre laboures wylle enhepe! I'lle ryse mie friendes unto the bloddie pleyne; I'lle wake the honnoure thatte ys now aslepe. 115 When wylle the chiefes mete atte thie feastive halle, That I wythe voice alowde maie there upon 'em calle? GODDWYN. Next eve, mie sonne. HAROLDE. Nowe, Englonde, ys the tyme, Whan thee or thie felle foemens cause moste die. Thie geason[137] wronges bee reyne[138] ynto theyre pryme; 120 Nowe wylle thie sonnes unto thie succoure flie. Alyche a storm egederinge[139] yn the skie, Tys fulle ande brasteth[140] on the chaper[141] grounde; Sycke shalle mie fhuirye on the Normans flie, And alle theyre mittee[142] menne be sleene[143] arounde. 125 Nowe, nowe, wylle Harolde or oppressionne falle, Ne moe the Englyshmenne yn vayne for hele[144] shal calle. KYNGE EDWARDE AND HYS QUEENE. QUEENE. Botte, loverde[145], whie so manie Normannes here? Mee thynckethe wee bee notte yn Englyshe londe. These browded[146] straungers alwaie doe appere, 130 Theie parte yor trone[147], and sete at your ryghte honde. KYNGE.