No, we muste streve to ayde
oureselves
wyth powre.
Thomas Chatterton - Rowley Poems
What tydynges from the kynge?
HAROLDE.
His Normans know.
I make noe compheeres of the shemrynge[38] trayne.
GODDWYN.
Ah Harolde! tis a syghte of myckle woe, 15
To kenne these Normannes everich rennome gayne.
What tydynge withe the foulke[39]?
HAROLDE.
Stylle mormorynge atte yer shap[40], stylle toe the kynge
Theie rolle theire trobbles, lyche a sorgie sea.
Hane Englonde thenne a tongue, butte notte a stynge? 20
Dothe alle compleyne, yette none wylle ryghted bee?
GODDWYN.
Awayte the tyme, whanne Godde wylle sende us ayde.
HAROLDE.
No, we muste streve to ayde oureselves wyth powre.
Whan Godde wylle sende us ayde! tis fetelie[41] prayde.
Moste we those calke[42] awaie the lyve-longe howre? 25
Thos croche[43] oure armes, and ne toe lyve dareygne[44].
Unburled[45] undelievre[46], unespryte[47]?
Far fro mie harte be fled thyk[48] thoughte of peyne,
Ile free mie countrie, or Ille die yn fyghte.
GODDWYN.
Botte lette us wayte untylle somme season fytte. 30
Mie Kentyshmen, thie Summertons shall ryse;
Adented[49] prowess[50] to the gite[51] of witte,
Agayne the argent[52] horse shall daunce yn skies.
Oh Harolde, heere forstraughteynge[53] wanhope[54] lies.
Englonde, oh Englonde, tys for thee I blethe[55]. 35
Whylste Edwarde to thie sonnes wylle nete alyse[56],
Shulde anie of thie sonnes fele aughte of ethe[57]?
Upponne the trone[58] I sette thee, helde thie crowne;
Botte oh! twere hommage nowe to pyghte[59] thee downe.
Thou arte all preeste, & notheynge of the kynge.
