Enter Hengist and Officer.
Heng. All, all is lost! Fly, fly, to the king’s tent!
Bid him to London speedily repair.
Away, away! tarry not, on your life.
A curse upon his sons for quitting us!
Should they but follow up this victory,
My hope, my every wish, for ever’s blighted.
Enter Wortimerus.
Heng. Vile traitor to your liege King and your Sire!
What blasted fiend, blacker than hell itself,