Continued

Where fruytlefs heathes and meadowes cladde in greie,Save where derne hawthornes reare theyr humble heade,The hungrie traveller upon his waieSees a huge desarte alle arounde hym spredde,The distaunte citie scantlie to be spedde,The curlynge force of smoke he sees in vayne,Tis too far distaunte, and hys onlie beddeIwimpled in hys cloke ys on the playne,Whylste rattlynge thonder forrey oer his hedde,And raines come down to wette hys harde uncouthlie bedde.

A wondrous pyle of rugged mountaynes standes,Placd on eche other in a dreare arraie,It ne could be the worke of human handes,It ne was reared up bie menne of claie.Here did the Brutons adoration payeTo the false god whom they did Tauran name,Dightynge hys altarre with greete fyres in Maie,Roastynge theyr vyctimes round aboute the flame,'Twas here that Hengyst did the Brytons slee,As they were mette in council for to bee.

Neere on a loftie hylle a citie standes,That lyftes yts scheafted heade ynto the skies,And kynglie lookes arounde on lower landes,And the longe browne playne that before itte lies.Herewarde, borne of parentes brave and wyse,Within this vylle fyrste adrewe the ayre,A blessynge to the erthe sente from the skies,In anie kyngdom nee coulde fynde his pheer;Now rybbd in steele he rages yn the fyghte,And sweeps whole armies to the reaulmes of nyghte.

So when derne Autumne wyth hys sallowe handeTares the green mantle from the lymed trees,The leaves besprenged on the yellow strandeFlie in whole armies from the blataunte breeze;Alle the whole fielde a carnage-howse he sees,And sowles unknelled hover'd oer the bloude;From place to place on either hand he slees,And sweepes alle neere hym lyke a bronded floude;Dethe honge upon his arme; he sleed so maynt,'Tis paste the pointel of a man to paynte.

Bryghte sonne in haste han drove hys fierie wayneA three howres course alonge the whited skyen,Vewynge the swarthless bodies on the playne,And longed greetlie to plonce in the bryne.For as hys beemes and far-stretchynge eyneDid view the pooles of gore yn purple sheene,The wolsomme vapours rounde hys lockes dyd twyne,And dyd disfygure all hys femmlikeen;Then to harde actyon he hys wayne dyd rowse,In hyssynge ocean to make glair hys browes.

Duke Wyllyam gave commaunde, eche Norman knyghte,That been war-token in a shielde so fyne,Shoulde onward goe, and dare to closer fyghteThe Saxonne warryor, that dyd so entwyne,Lyke the neshe bryon and the eglantine,Orre Cornysh wrastlers at a Hocktyde game.The Normannes, all emarchialld in a lyne,To the ourt arraie of the thight Saxonnes came;There 'twas the whaped Normannes on a parreDyd know that Saxonnes were the sonnes of warre.

Oh Turgotte, wheresoeer thie spryte dothe haunte,Whither wyth thie lovd Adhelme by thie syde,Where thou mayste heare the swotie nyghte larke chaunte,Orre wyth some mokynge brooklette swetelie glide,Or rowle in ferselie wythe ferse Severnes tyde,Whereer thou art, come and my mynde enlemeWyth such greete thoughtes as dyd with thee abyde,Thou sonne, of whom I ofte have caught a beeme,Send mee agayne a drybblette of thie lyghte,That I the deeds of Englyshmenne maie wryte.

Harold, who saw the Normannes to advaunce,Seizd a huge byll, and layd hym down hys spere;Soe dyd ech wite laie downe the broched launce,And groves of bylles did glitter in the ayre.Wyth showtes the Normannes did to battel steere;Campynon famous for his stature highe,Fyrey wythe brasse, benethe a shyrte of lere,In cloudie daie he reechd into the skie;Neere to Kyng Harolde dyd he come alonge,And drewe hys steele Morglaien sworde so stronge.

Thryce rounde hys heade hee swung hys anlace wyde,On whyche the sunne his visage did agleeme,Then straynynge, as hys membres would dyvyde,Hee stroke on Haroldes sheelde yn manner breme;Alonge the field it made an horrid cleembe,Coupeynge Kyng Harolds payncted sheeld in twayne,Then yn the bloude the fierie swerde dyd steeme,And then dyd drive ynto the bloudie playne;So when in ayre the vapours do abounde,Some thunderbolte tares trees and dryves ynto the grounde.

Harolde upreer'd hys bylle, and furious senteA stroke, lyke thondre, at the Normannes syde;Upon the playne the broken brasse besprenteDyd ne hys bodie from dethe-doeynge hyde;He tournyd backe, and dyd not there abyde;With straught oute sheelde hee ayenwarde did goe,Threwe downe the Normannes, did their rankes divide,To save himselfe lefte them unto the foe;So olyphauntes, in kingdomme of the sunne,When once provok'd doth throwe theyr owne troopes runne.

Harolde, who ken'd hee was his armies staie,Nedeynge the rede of generaul so wyse,Byd Alfwoulde to Campynon haste awaie,As thro the armie ayenwarde he hies,Swyfte as a feether'd takel Alfwoulde flies,The steele bylle blushynge oer wyth lukewarm bloude;Ten Kenters, ten Bristowans for th' emprizeHasted wyth Alfwoulde where Campynon stood,Who aynewarde went, whylste everie Normanne knyghteDyd blush to see their champyon put to flyghte.

As painctyd Bruton, when a wolfyn wylde,When yt is cale and blustrynge wyndes do blowe,Enters hys bordelle, taketh hys yonge chylde,And wyth his bloude bestreynts the lillie snowe,He thoroughe mountayne hie and dale doth goe,Throwe the quyck torrent of the bollen ave,Throwe Severne rollynge oer the sandes beloweHe skyms alofe, and blents the beatynge wave,Ne stynts, ne lagges the chace, tylle for hys eyneIn peecies hee the morthering theef doth chyne.

So Alfwoulde he dyd to Campynon haste;Hys bloudie bylle awhap'd the Normannes eyne;Hee fled, as wolfes when bie the talbots chac'd,To bloudie byker he dyd ne enclyne.Duke Wyllyam stroke hym on hys brigandyne,And sayd; Campynon, is it thee I see?Thee? who dydst actes of glorie so bewryen,Now poorlie come to hyde thieselfe bie mee?Awaie! thou dogge, and acte a warriors parte.Or with mie swerde I'll perce thee to the harte.

Betweene Erie Alfwoulde and Duke Wyllyam's brondeCampynon thoughte that nete but deathe coulde bee,Seezed a huge swerde Morglaien yn his honde,Mottrynge a praier to the Vyrgyne:So hunted deere the dryvynge hounds will flee,When theie dyscover they cannot escape;And feerful lambkyns, when theie hunted bee,Theyre ynfante hunters doe theie oft awhape;Thus stoode Campynon, greete but hertlesse knyghte,When feere of dethe made hym for deathe to fyghte.

Alfwoulde began to dyghte hymselfe for fyghte,Meanewhyle hys menne on everie syde dyd slee,Whan on hys lyfted sheelde withe alle hys myghteCampynon's swerde in burlie-brande dyd dree;Bewopen Alfwoulde fellen on his knee;Hys Brystowe menne came in hym for to save;Eftsoons upgotten from the grounde was hee,And dyd agayne the touring Norman brave;Hee graspd hys bylle in syke a drear arraie,Hee seem'd a lyon catchynge at hys preie.

Upon the Normannes brazen adventayleThe thondrynge bill of myghtie Alfwould came;It made a dentful bruse, and then dyd fayle;Fromme rattlynge weepons shotte a sparklynge flame;Eftsoons agayne the thondrynge bill ycame,Peers'd thro hys adventayle and skyrts of lare;A tyde of purple gore came wyth the same,As out hys bowells on the feelde it tare;Campynon felle, as when some cittie-walleInne dolefulle terrours on its mynours falle.

He felle, and dyd the Norman rankes dyvide;So when an oke, that shotte ynto the skie,Feeles the broad axes peersynge his broade syde,Slowlie hee falls and on the grounde doth lie,Pressynge all downe that is wyth hym anighe,And stoppynge wearie travellers on the waie;So straught upon the playne the Norman hie

Bled, gron'd, and dyed; the Normanne knyghtes astoundTo see the bawsin champyon preste upon the grounde.

As when the hygra of the Severne roars,And thunders ugsom on the sandes below,The cleembe reboundes to Wedecesters shore,And sweeps the black sande rounde its horie prowe;So bremie Alfwoulde thro the warre dyd goe;Hys Kenters and Brystowans slew ech syde,Betreinted all alonge with bloudless foe,And seemd to swymm alonge with bloudie tyde;Fromme place to place besmeard with bloud they went,And rounde aboute them swarthless corse besprente.

A famous Normanne who yclepd Aubene,Of skyll in bow, in tylte, and handesworde fyghteThat daie yn feelde han manie Saxons sleene,Forre hee in sothen was a manne of myghte;Fyrste dyd his swerde on Adelgar alyghte,As hee on horseback was, and peersd hys gryne,Then upwarde wente: in everlastynge nyghteHee closd hys rollyng and dymsyghted eyne.Next Eadlyn, Tatwyn, and fam'd Adelred,Bie various causes sunken to the dead.

But now to Alfwoulde he opposynge went,To whom compar'd hee was a man of stre,And wyth bothe hondes a myghtie blowe he senteAt Alfwouldes head, as hard as hee could dree;But on hys payncted sheelde so bismarlieAslaunte his swerde did go ynto the grounde;Then Alfwould him attack'd most furyouslie,Athrowe hys gaberdyne hee dyd him wounde,Then soone agayne hys swerde hee dyd upryne,And clove his creste and split hym to the eyne.