GODDWYN; A TRAGEDIE.
GODDWYN AND HAROLDE.
GODDWYN.
Harolde!
HAROLDE.
Mie loverde[18]!
GODDWYN.
O! I weepe to thyncke,
What foemen[19] riseth to ifrete[20] the londe.
Theie batten[21] onne her fleshe, her hartes bloude dryncke,
And all ys graunted from the roieal honde.
HAROLDE.
Lette notte thie agreme[22] blyn[23], ne aledge[24] stonde; 5
Bee I toe wepe, I wepe in teres of gore:
Am I betrassed[25], syke[26] shulde mie burlie[27] bronde
Depeyncte[28] the wronges on hym from whom I bore.
GODDWYN.
I ken thie spryte[29] ful welle; gentle thou art,
Stringe[30], ugsomme[31], rou[32], as smethynge[33] armyes seeme; 10
Yett efte[34], I feare, thie chefes[35] toe grete a parte,
And that thie rede[36] bee efte borne downe bie breme[37].
What tydynges from the kynge?
HAROLDE.
His Normans know.
I make noe compheeres of the shemrynge[38] trayne.
GODDWYN.
Ah Harolde! tis a syghte of myckle woe, 15
To kenne these Normannes everich rennome gayne.
What tydynge withe the foulke[39]?
HAROLDE.
Stylle mormorynge atte yer shap[40], stylle toe the kynge
Theie rolle theire trobbles, lyche a sorgie sea.
Hane Englonde thenne a tongue, butte notte a stynge? 20
Dothe alle compleyne, yette none wylle ryghted bee?
GODDWYN.
Awayte the tyme, whanne Godde wylle sende us ayde.
HAROLDE.
No, we muste streve to ayde oureselves wyth powre.
Whan Godde wylle sende us ayde! tis fetelie[41] prayde.
Moste we those calke[42] awaie the lyve-longe howre? 25
Thos croche[43] oure armes, and ne toe lyve dareygne[44].
Unburled[45] undelievre[46], unespryte[47]?
Far fro mie harte be fled thyk[48] thoughte of peyne,
Ile free mie countrie, or Ille die yn fyghte.
GODDWYN.
Botte lette us wayte untylle somme season fytte. 30
Mie Kentyshmen, thie Summertons shall ryse;
Adented[49] prowess[50] to the gite[51] of witte,
Agayne the argent[52] horse shall daunce yn skies.
Oh Harolde, heere forstraughteynge[53] wanhope[54] lies.
Englonde, oh Englonde, tys for thee I blethe[55]. 35
Whylste Edwarde to thie sonnes wylle nete alyse[56],
Shulde anie of thie sonnes fele aughte of ethe[57]?
Upponne the trone[58] I sette thee, helde thie crowne;
Botte oh! twere hommage nowe to pyghte[59] thee downe.
Thou arte all preeste, & notheynge of the kynge. 40
Thou arte all Norman, nothynge of mie blodde.
Know, ytte beseies[60] thee notte a masse to synge;
Servynge thie leegefolcke[61] thou arte servynge Godde.
HAROLDE.
Thenne Ille doe heaven a servyce. To the skyes
The dailie contekes[62] of the londe ascende. 45
The wyddowe, fahdrelesse, & bondemennes cries
Acheke[63] the mokie[64] aire & heaven astende[65]
On us the rulers doe the folcke depende;
Hancelled[66] from erthe these Normanne[67] hyndes shalle bee;
Lyche a battently[68] low[69], mie swerde shalle brende[70]; 50
Lyche fallynge softe rayne droppes, I wyll hem[71] slea[72];
Wee wayte too longe; our purpose wylle defayte[73];
Aboune[74] the hyghe empryze[75], & rouze the champyones strayte.
GODDWYN.
Thie suster—
HAROLDE.
Aye, I knowe, she is his queene.
Albeytte[76], dyd shee speeke her foemen[77] fayre, 55
I wulde dequace[78] her comlie semlykeene[79],
And foulde mie bloddie anlace[80] yn her hayre.
GODDWYN.
Thye fhuir[81] blyn[82].
HAROLDE.
No, bydde the leathal[83] mere[84]
Upriste[85] withe hiltrene[86] wyndes & cause unkend[87],
Beheste[88] it to be lete[89]; so twylle appeare, 60
Eere Harolde hyde hys name, his contries frende.
The gule-steynct[90] brygandyne[91], the adventayle[92],
The feerie anlace[92] brede[93] shal make mie gare[94] prevayle.
GODDWYN.
Harolde, what wuldest doe?
HAROLDE.
Bethyncke thee whatt.
Here liethe Englonde, all her drites [95] unfree, 65
Here liethe Normans coupynge[96] her bie lotte,
Caltysnyng[97] everich native plante to gre[98],
Whatte woulde I doe? I brondeous[99] wulde hem slee[100];
Tare owte theyre sable harte bie ryghtefulle breme[101];
Theyre deathe a meanes untoe mie lyfe shulde bee, 70
Mie spryte shulde revelle yn theyr harte-blodde streme.
Eftsoones I wylle bewryne[102] mie ragefulle ire,
And Goddis anlace[103] wielde yn furie dyre.
GODDWYN.
Whatte wouldest thou wythe the kynge?
HAROLDE.
Take offe hys crowne;
The ruler of somme mynster[104] hym ordeyne; 75
Sette uppe fom dygner[105] than I han pyghte[106] downe;
And peace in Englonde shulde be brayd[107] agayne.
GODDWYN.
No, lette the super-hallie[108] seyncte kynge reygne,
Ande somme moe reded[109] rule the untentyff[110] reaulme;
Kynge Edwarde, yn hys cortesie, wylle deygne 80
To yielde the spoiles, and alleyne were the heaulme:
Botte from mee harte bee everych thoughte of gayne,
Not anie of mie kin I wysche him to ordeyne.
HAROLDE.
Tell me the meenes, and I wylle boute ytte strayte;
Bete[111] mee to slea[112] mieself, ytte shalle be done. 85
GODDWYN.
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.