Thou arte a hallie[183] manne, I doe thee pryze.
Comme, comme, and here and hele[184] mee ynn mie praires.
Fulle twentie mancas I wylle thee alise [185], 180
And twayne of hamlettes[186] to thee and thie heyres.
So shalle all Normannes from mie londe be fed,
Theie alleyn[187] have syke love as to acquyre yer bredde.
CHORUS.
Whan Freedom, dreste yn blodde-steyned veste,
To everie knyghte her warre-songe sunge, 185
Uponne her hedde wylde wedes were spredde;
A gorie anlace bye her honge.
She daunced onne the heathe;
She hearde the voice of deathe;
Pale-eyned affryghte, hys harte of sylver hue, 190
In vayne assayled[188] her bosomme to acale[189];
She hearde onflemed[190] the shriekynge voice of woe,
And sadnesse ynne the owlette shake the dale.
She shooke the burled[191] speere,
On hie she jeste[192] her sheelde, 195
Her foemen[193] all appere,
And flizze[194] alonge the feelde.
Power, wythe his heasod[195] straught[196] ynto the skyes,
Hys speere a sonne-beame, and his sheelde a starre,
Alyche[197] twaie[198] brendeynge[199] gronfyres[200] rolls hys eyes, 200
Chastes[201] with hys yronne feete and soundes to war.
She syttes upon a rocke,
She bendes before his speere,
She ryses from the shocke,
Wieldynge her owne yn ayre. 205
Harde as the thonder dothe she drive ytte on,
Wytte scillye[202] wympled[203] gies[204] ytte to hys crowne,
Hys longe sharpe speere, hys spreddynge sheelde ys gon,
He falles, and fallynge rolleth thousandes down.
War, goare-faced war, bie envie burld[205], arist[206], 210
Hys feerie heaulme[207] noddynge to the ayre,
Tenne bloddie arrowes ynne hys streynynge fyste—
* * * * *
[Footnote 1: Of old, formerly.]
[Footnote 2: writers, historians.]
[Footnote 3: much.]
[Footnote 4: inglorious.]
[Footnote 5: bereaving.]
[Footnote 6: faith.]