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?