DANES flyinge, neare WATCHETTE.
FYRSTE DANE.
Fly, fly, ye Danes; Magnus, the chiefe, ys sleene;
The Saxonnes comme wythe Ælla atte theyre heade; 695
Lette's strev to gette awaie to yinder greene;
Flie, flie; thys ys the kyngdomme of the deadde.
SECONDE DANE.
O goddes! have thousandes bie mie anlace bledde,
And muste I nowe for safetie flie awaie?
See! farre besprenged alle oure troopes are spreade, 700
Yette I wylle synglie dare the bloddie fraie.
Botte ne; I'lle flie, & morther yn retrete;
Deathe, blodde, & fyre, scalle[93] marke the goeynge of my feete.
THYRDE DANE.
Enthoghteynge forr to scape the brondeynge foe,
As nere unto the byllowd beche I came, 705
Farr offe I spied a fyghte of myckle woe,
Oure spyrynge battayles wrapte ynn sayles of flame.
The burled Dacyannes, who were ynne the same,
Fro syde to syde fledde the pursuyte of deathe;
The swelleynge fyre yer corrage doe enflame, 710
Theie lepe ynto the sea, & bobblynge yield yer breathe;
Whylest those thatt bee uponne the bloddie playne,
Bee deathe-doomed captyves taene, or yn the battle slayne.
HURRA.
Nowe bie the goddes, Magnus, dyscourteous knyghte,
Bie cravente[94] havyoure havethe don oure woe, 715
Dyspendynge all the talle menne yn the fyghte,
And placeyng valourous menne where draffs mote goe.
Sythence oure fourtunie havethe tourned foe,
Gader the souldyers lefte to future shappe,
To somme newe place for safetie wee wylle goe, 720
Inne future daie wee wylle have better happe.
Sounde the loude flughorne for a quicke forloyne[95];
Lette alle the Dacyannes swythe untoe oure banner joyne.
Throw hamlettes wee wylle sprenge sadde dethe & dole,
Bathe yn hotte gore, & wasch oureselves thereynne; 725
Goddes! here the Saxonnes lyche a byllowe rolle.
I heere the anlacis detested dynne.
Awaie, awaie, ye Danes, to yonder penne;
Wee now wylle make forloyne yn tyme to fyghte agenne.