No More Learning

Straungerr, bee boune[127]; I champyonn[128] you to warre.
Sounde, sounde the flughornes, to bee hearde fromm farre. 150
[Bourtonne & _the_ Straungerr _tylt_. Straunger _falleth_.

KYNGE.

The Mornynge Tyltes now cease.

HERAWDE.

Bourtonne ys kynge.
Dysplaie the Englyshe bannorre onn the tente;
Rounde hymm, yee mynstrelles, songs of achments[129] synge;
Yee Herawdes, getherr upp the speeres besprente[130];
To Kynge of Tourney-tylte bee all knees bente. 155
Dames faire and gentle, forr youre loves hee foughte;
Forr you the longe tylte-launce, the swerde hee shente[131];
Hee joustedd, alleine[132] havynge you ynn thoughte.
Comme, mynstrelles, sound the strynge, goe onn eche syde,
Whylest hee untoe the Kynge ynn state doe ryde. 160

MYNSTRELLES.

Whann Battayle, smethynge[133] wythe new quickenn'd gore,
Bendynge wythe spoiles, and bloddie droppynge hedde,
Dydd the merke[134] woode of ethe[135] and rest explore,
Seekeynge to lie onn Pleasures downie bedde,
Pleasure, dauncyng fromm her wode, 165
Wreathedd wythe floures of aiglintine,
Fromm hys vysage washedd the bloude,
Hylte[136] hys swerde and gaberdyne.

Wythe syke an eyne shee swotelie[137] hymm dydd view,
Dydd foe ycorvenn[138] everrie shape to joie, 170
Hys spryte dydd chaunge untoe anodherr hue,
Hys armes, ne spoyles, mote anie thoughts emploie.
All delyghtsomme and contente,
Fyre enshotynge[139] fromm hys eyne,
Ynn hys arms hee dydd herr hente[140], 175
Lyche the merk[141]-plante doe entwyne.
Soe, gyff thou lovest Pleasure and herr trayne,
Onknowlachynge[142] ynn whatt place herr to fynde,
Thys rule yspende[143], and ynn thie mynde retayne;
Seeke Honnoure fyrste, and Pleasaunce lies behynde. 180

[Footnote 1: sport, or play. ]

[Footnote 2: bounded, or measured. ]

[Footnote 3: curiously devised. ]

[Footnote 4: fancys or devices. ]

[Footnote 5: painted, or displayed. ]

[Footnote 6: fiery. ]

[Footnote 7: ornamented, enameled. ]

[Footnote 8: a young lion. ]

[Footnote 9: drawings, paintings. ]

[Footnote 10: that. ]

[Footnote 11: soul. ]

[Footnote 11: dispenser. ]

[Footnote 12: quickly. ]

[Footnote 13: give. ]

[Footnote 14: armer. ]

[Footnote 15: burnish. ]

[Footnote 16: many. ]

[Footnote 17: young, weak, tender. ]

[Footnote 18: grows. ]

[Footnote 19: body. ]

[Footnote 20: nothing. ]

[Footnote 21: alone. ]

[Footnote 22: so. ]

[Footnote 23: herald. ]

[Footnote 24: a contraction of _them_. ]

[Footnote 25: _Guie de Sancto Egidio_, the most famous tilter of his
age. ]

[Footnote 26: William Rufus. ]

[Footnote 27: run. ]

[Footnote 28: against. ]

[Footnote 29: feeble. ]

[Footnote 30: honour, glory. ]

[Footnote 31: useless. ]

[Footnote 32: a kind of claryon. ]

[Footnote 33: sound. ]

[Footnote 34: quickly. ]

[Footnote 35: ready. ]

[Footnote 36: soon. ]

[Footnote 37: command. ]

[Footnote 38: most. ]

[Footnote 39: fate, or doom. ]

[Footnote 40: against. ]

[Footnote 41: pitched, or bent down. ]

[Footnote 42: drink. ]

[Footnote 43: servants, attendants. ]

[Footnote 44: song, or ballad. ]

[Footnote 45: activity. ]

[Footnote 46: joined (_1842; left blank in 1777 and 1778_)]

[Footnote 46: bent. ]

[Footnote 47: burnished. ]

[Footnote 48: commanding. ]

[Footnote 49: servants. ]

[Footnote 50: hidden. ]

[Footnote 51: arrows. ]

[Footnote 52: worked with iron. ]

[Footnote 53: bends. ]

[Footnote 54: sounds. ]

[Footnote 55: loudly. ]

[Footnote 56: dark, or gloome. ]

[Footnote 57 & 58: frighted owl. ]

[Footnote 59: marked with evening dew. ]

[Footnote 60: standing on their hind legs. ]

[Footnote 61: venemous. ]

[Footnote 62: adders. ]

[Footnote 63: hot, sultry. ]

[Footnote 64: sound, noise. ]

[Footnote 65: distracted. ]

[Footnote 66: arrows. ]

[Footnote 67: walking leisurely. ]

[Footnote 68: rolling. ]

[Footnote 69: arrow. ]

[Footnote 70: horse coursers. ]

[Footnote 71: full soon. ]

[Footnote 72: across his shoulders. ]

[Footnote 73: garlands of flowers being put round the neck of the
game, it was said to be _ouch'd_, from _ouch_, a chain, worn by earls
round their necks. ]

[Footnote 74: Turnament. ]

[Footnote 75: fight, or encounter. ]

[Footnote 76: that. ]

[Footnote 77: dispute. ]

[Footnote 78: glove. ]

[Footnote 79: a piece of armour. ]

[Footnote 80: lawful. ]

[Footnote 81: worthy. ]

[Footnote 82: furiously. ]

[Footnote 83: vanquished. ]

[Footnote 84: oppose. ]

[Footnote 85: against. ]

[Footnote 86: much. ]

[Footnote 87: damage, mischief. ]

[Footnote 88: bounded. ]

[Footnote 89: bleed. ]

[Footnote 90: easy. ]

[Footnote 91: smoke. ]

[Footnote 92: hurt, or damage. ]

[Footnote 93: reward. ]

[Footnote 94: fight or engage. ]

[Footnote 95: attend or wait. ]

[Footnote 96: defy. ]

[Footnote 97 & 98: destroying lightening. ]

[Footnote 99: turn. ]

[Footnote 100: beaver'd. ]

[Footnote 101: again. ]

[Footnote 102: quickly. ]

[Footnote 103: declare. ]

[Footnote 104: fate. ]

[Footnote 105: worthy. ]

[Footnote 106: they. ]

[Footnote 107: becomes. ]

[Footnote 108: give. ]

[Footnote 109: fyght. ]

[Footnote 110: honour. ]

[Footnote 111: Tournament. ]

[Footnote 112: cowards. ]

[Footnote 113: declaring. ]

[Footnote 114: every one. ]

[Footnote 115: broken, split. ]

[Footnote 116: scatter'd. ]

[Footnote 117: broken, or pierced through with darts. ]

[Footnote 118: stained. ]

[Footnote 119: flames. ]

[Footnote 120: burnt. ]

[Footnote 121: healm. ]

[Footnote 122: beneath. ]

[Footnote 123: against. ]

[Footnote 124: stretched out. ]

[Footnote 125: holy. ]

[Footnote 126: faithfully. ]

[Footnote 127: ready. ]

[Footnote 128: challenge. ]

[Footnote 129: atchievements, glorious actions. ]

[Footnote 130: broken spears. ]

[Footnote 131: broke, destroyed. ]

[Footnote 132: only, alone. ]

[Footnote 133: smoaking, steaming. ]

[Footnote 134: dark, gloomy. ]

[Footnote 135: ease. ]

[Footnote 136: hid, secreted. ]

[Footnote 137: sweetly. ]

[Footnote 138: moulded. ]

[Footnote 139: shooting, darting. ]

[Footnote 140: grasp, hold. ]

[Footnote 141: night-shade. ]

[Footnote 142: ignorant, unknowing. ]

[Footnote 143: consider. ]




BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE:

OR THE DETHE OF

SYR CHARLES BAWDIN.


The featherd songster chaunticleer
Han wounde hys bugle horne,
And tolde the earlie villager
The commynge of the morne:

Kynge EDWARDE sawe the ruddie streakes 5
Of lyghte eclypse the greie;
And herde the raven's crokynge throte
Proclayme the fated daie.

"Thou'rt ryght," quod hee, "for, by the Godde
That syttes enthron'd on hyghe! 10
CHARLES BAWDIN, and hys fellowes twaine,
To-daie shall surelie die. "

Thenne wythe a jugge of nappy ale
Hys Knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite;
"Goe tell the traytour, thatt to-daie 15
Hee leaves thys mortall state. "

Syr CANTERLOUE thenne bendedd lowe,
Wythe harte brymm-fulle of woe;
Hee journey'd to the castle-gate,
And to Syr CHARLES dydd goe. 20

Butt whenne hee came, hys children twaine,
And eke hys lovynge wyfe,
Wythe brinie tears dydd wett the floore,
For goode Syr CHARLESES lyfe.

"O goode Syr CHARLES! " sayd CANTERLOUE, 25
"Badde tydyngs I doe brynge. "
"Speke boldlie, manne," sayd brave Syr CHARLES,
"Whatte says thie traytor kynge? "

"I greeve to telle, before yonne sonne
Does fromme the welkinn flye, 30
Hee hath uponne hys honour sworne,
Thatt thou shalt surelie die. "

"Wee all must die," quod brave Syr CHARLES;
"Of thatte I'm not affearde;
Whatte bootes to lyve a little space? 35
Thanke JESU, I'm prepar'd. "

"Butt telle thye kynge, for myne hee's not,
I'de sooner die to-daie
Thanne lyve hys slave, as manie are,
Tho' I shoulde lyve for aie. " 40

Thenne CANTERLOUE hee dydd goe out,
To telle the maior straite
To gett all thynges ynne reddyness
For goode Syr CHARLESES fate.

Thenne Maisterr CANYNGE saughte the kynge, 45
And felle down onne hys knee;
"I'm come," quod hee, "unto your grace
To move your clemencye. "

Thenne quod the kynge, "Youre tale speke out,
You have been much oure friende; 50
Whatever youre request may bee,
Wee wylle to ytte attende. "

"My nobile leige! alle my request
Ys for a nobile knyghte,
Who, tho' may hap hee has donne wronge, 55
He thoghte ytte stylle was ryghte. "

"Hee has a spouse and children twaine,
Alle rewyn'd are for aie;
Yff thatt you are resolv'd to lett
CHARLES BAWDIN die to-daie. " 60

"Speke nott of such a traytour vile,"
The kynge ynne furie sayde;
"Before the evening starre doth sheene,
BAWDIN shall loose hys hedde. "

"Justice does loudlie for hym calle, 65
And hee shalle have hys meede:
Speke, Maister CANYNGE! Whatte thynge else
Att present doe you neede? "

"My nobile leige! " goode CANYNGE sayde,
"Leave justice to our Godde, 70
And laye the yronne rule asyde;
Be thyne the olyve rodde. "

"Was Godde to serche our hertes and reines,
The best were synners grete;
CHRIST'S vycarr only knowes ne synne, 75
Ynne alle thys mortall state. "

"Lett mercie rule thyne infante reigne,
'Twylle faste thye crowne fulle sure;
From race to race thy familie
Alle sov'reigns shall endure. " 80

"But yff wythe bloode and slaughter thou
Beginne thy infante reigne,
Thy crowne uponne thy childrennes brows
Wylle never long remayne. "

"CANYNGE, awaie! thys traytour vile 85
Has scorn'd my power and mee;
Howe canst thou thenne for such a manne
Intreate my clemencye? "

"My nobile leige! the trulie brave
Wylle val'rous actions prize, 90
Respect a brave and nobile mynde,
Altho' ynne enemies. "

"CANYNGE, awaie! By Godde ynne Heav'n
Thatt dydd mee beinge gyve,
I wylle nott taste a bitt of breade 95
Whilst thys Syr CHARLES dothe lyve. "

"By MARIE, and alle Seinctes ynne Heav'n,
Thys sunne shall be hys laste. "
Thenne CANYNGE dropt a brinie teare,
And from the presence paste. 100

Wyth herte brymm-fulle of gnawynge grief,
Hee to Syr CHARLES dydd goe,
And satt hymm downe uponne a stoole,
And teares beganne to flowe.

"Wee all must die," quod brave Syr CHARLES; 105
"Whatte bootes ytte howe or whenne;
Dethe ys the sure, the certaine fate
Of all wee mortall menne.

"Saye why, my friend, thie honest soul
Runns overr att thyne eye; 110
Is ytte for my most welcome doome
Thatt thou dost child-lyke crye? "

Quod godlie CANYNGE, "I doe weepe,
Thatt thou so soone must dye,
And leave thy sonnes and helpless wyfe; 115
'Tys thys thatt wettes myne eye. "

"Thenne drie the tears thatt out thyne eye
From godlie fountaines sprynge;
Dethe I despise, and alle the power
Of EDWARDE, traytor kynge. 120

"Whan throgh the tyrant's welcom means
I shall resigne my lyfe,
The Godde I serve wylle soone provyde
For bothe mye sonnes and wyfe.
"Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne, 125
Thys was appointed mee;
Shall mortal manne repyne or grudge
Whatt Godde ordeynes to bee?

"Howe oft ynne battaile have I stoode,
Whan thousands dy'd arounde; 130
Whan smokynge streemes of crimson bloode
Imbrew'd the fatten'd grounde:

"How dydd I knowe thatt ev'ry darte,
Thatt cutte the airie waie,
Myghte nott fynde passage toe my harte, 135
And close myne eyes for aie?

"And shall I nowe, forr feere of dethe,
Looke wanne and bee dysmayde?
Ne! fromm my herte flie childyshe feere,
Bee alle the manne display'd. 140

"Ah, goddelyke HENRIE! Godde forefende,
And guarde thee and thye sonne,
Yff 'tis hys wylle; but yff 'tis nott,
Why thenne hys wylle bee donne.

"My honest friende, my faulte has beene 145
To serve Godde and mye prynce;
And thatt I no tyme-server am,
My dethe wylle soone convynce.

"Ynne Londonne citye was I borne,
Of parents of grete note; 150
My fadre dydd a nobile armes
Emblazon onne hys cote:

"I make ne doubte butt hee ys gone
Where soone I hope to goe;
Where wee for ever shall bee blest, 155
From oute the reech of woe:

"Hee taughte mee justice and the laws
Wyth pitie to unite;
And eke hee taughte mee howe to knowe
The wronge cause fromm the ryghte: 160

"Hee taughte mee wythe a prudent hande
To feede the hungrie poore,
Ne lett mye sarvants dryve awaie
The hungrie fromme my doore:

"And none can saye, butt alle mye lyfe 165
I have hys wordyes kept;
And summ'd the actyonns of the daie
Eche nyghte before I slept.

"I have a spouse, goe aske of her,
Yff I defyl'd her bedde? 170
I have a kynge, and none can laie
Blacke treason onne my hedde.

"Ynne Lent, and onne the holie eve,
Fromm fleshe I dydd refrayne;
Whie should I thenne appeare dismay'd 175
To leave thys worlde of payne?

"Ne! hapless HENRIE! I rejoyce,
I shalle ne see thye dethe;
Moste willynglie ynne thye just cause
Doe I resign my brethe. 180

"Oh, fickle people! rewyn'd londe!
Thou wylt kenne peace ne moe;
Whyle RICHARD'S sonnes exalt themselves,
Thye brookes wythe bloude wylle flowe.

"Saie, were ye tyr'd of godlie peace, 185
And godlie HENRIE'S reigne,
Thatt you dydd choppe youre easie daies
For those of bloude and peyne?

"Whatte tho' I onne a sledde bee drawne,
And mangled by a hynde, 190
I doe defye the traytor's pow'r,
Hee can ne harm my mynde;

"Whatte tho', uphoisted onne a pole,
Mye lymbes shall rotte ynne ayre,
And ne ryche monument of brasse 195
CHARLES BAWDIN'S name shall bear;

"Yett ynne the holie booke above,
Whyche tyme can't eate awaie,
There wythe the sarvants of the Lorde
Mye name shall lyve for aie. 200

"Thenne welcome dethe! for lyfe eterne
I leave thys mortall lyfe:
Farewell, vayne worlde, and alle that's deare,
Mye sonnes and lovynge wyfe!

"Nowe dethe as welcome to mee comes, 205
As e'er the moneth of Maie;
Nor woulde I even wyshe to lyve,
Wyth my dere wyfe to staie. "

Quod CANYNGE, "'Tys a goodlie thynge
To bee prepar'd to die; 210
And from thys world of peyne and grefe
To Godde ynne Heav'n to flie. "

And nowe the bell beganne to tolle,
And claryonnes to sounde;
Syr CHARLES hee herde the horses feete 215
A prauncyng onne the grounde:

And just before the officers,
His lovynge wyfe came ynne,
Weepynge unfeigned teeres of woe,
Wythe loude and dysmalle dynne. 220

"Sweet FLORENCE! nowe I praie forbere,
Ynne quiet lett mee die;
Praie Godde, thatt ev'ry Christian soule
Maye looke onne dethe as I.

"Sweet FLORENCE! why these brinie teeres? 225
Theye washe my soule awaie,
And almost make mee wyshe for lyfe,
Wyth thee, sweete dame, to staie.

"'Tys butt a journie I shalle goe
Untoe the lande of blysse; 230
Nowe, as a proofe of husbande's love,
Receive thys holie kysse. "

Thenne FLORENCE, fault'ring ynne her saie,
Tremblynge these wordyes spoke,
"Ah, cruele EDWARDE! bloudie kynge! 235
My herte ys welle nyghe broke:

"Ah, sweete Syr CHARLES! why wylt thou goe,
Wythoute thye lovynge wyfe?
The cruelle axe thatt cuttes thye necke,
Ytte eke shall ende mye lyfe. " 240

And nowe the officers came ynne
To brynge Syr CHARLES awaie,
Whoe turnedd toe his lovynge wyfe,
And thus toe her dydd saie:

"I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe; 245
Truste thou ynne Godde above,
And teache thye sonnes to feare the Lorde,
And ynne theyre hertes hym love:

"Teache them to runne the nobile race
Thatt I theyre fader runne: 250
FLORENCE! shou'd dethe thee take--adieu!
Yee officers, leade onne. "

Thenne FLORENCE rav'd as anie madde,
And dydd her tresses tere;
"Oh! staie, mye husbande! lorde! and lyfe! "-- 255
Syr CHARLES thenne dropt a teare.

'Tyll tyredd oute wythe ravynge loud,
Shee fellen onne the flore;
Syr CHARLES exerted alle hys myghte,
And march'd fromm oute the dore. 260

Uponne a sledde hee mounted thenne,
Wythe lookes fulle brave and swete;
Lookes, thatt enshone ne moe concern
Thanne anie ynne the strete.

Before hym went the council-menne, 265
Ynne scarlett robes and golde,
And tassils spanglynge ynne the sunne,
Muche glorious to beholde:

The Freers of Seincte AUGUSTYNE next
Appeared to the syghte, 270
Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes,
Of godlie monkysh plyghte:

Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume
Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt;
Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles came, 275
Who tun'd the strunge bataunt.

Thenne fyve-and-twentye archers came;
Echone the bowe dydd bende,
From rescue of kynge HENRIES friends
Syr CHARLES forr to defend. 280

Bolde as a lyon came Syr CHARLES,
Drawne onne a clothe-layde sledde,
Bye two blacke stedes ynne trappynges white,
Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde:

Behynde hym fyve-and-twentye moe 285
Of archers stronge and stoute,
Wyth bended bowe echone ynne hande,
Marched ynne goodlie route:

Seincte JAMESES Freers marched next,
Echone hys parte dydd chaunt; 290
Behynde theyre backs syx mynstrelles came,
Who tun'd the strunge bataunt:

Thenne came the maior and eldermenne,
Ynne clothe of scarlett deck't;
And theyre attendyng menne echone, 295
Lyke Easterne princes trickt:

And after them, a multitude
Of citizenns dydd thronge;
The wyndowes were alle fulle of heddes,
As hee dydd passe alonge. 300

And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse,
Syr CHARLES dydd turne and saie,
"O Thou, thatt savest manne fromme synne,
Washe mye soule clean thys daie! "

Att the grete mynsterr wyndowe sat 305
The kynge ynne myckle state,
To see CHARLES BAWDIN goe alonge
To hys most welcom fate.

Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe,
Thatt EDWARDE hee myghte heare, 310
The brave Syr CHARLES hee dydd stande uppe,
And thus hys wordes declare:

"Thou seest mee, EDWARDE! traytour vile!
Expos'd to infamie;
Butt bee assur'd, disloyall manne! 315
I'm greaterr nowe thanne thee.

"Bye foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude,
Thou wearest nowe a crowne;
And hast appoynted mee to dye,
By power nott thyne owne. 320

"Thou thynkest I shall dye to-daie;
I have beene dede 'till nowe,
And soone shall lyve to weare a crowne
For aie uponne my browe:

"Whylst thou, perhapps, for som few yeares, 325
Shalt rule thys fickle lande,
To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule
'Twixt kynge and tyrant hande:

"Thye pow'r unjust, thou traytour slave!
Shall falle onne thye owne hedde"-- 330
Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge
Departed thenne the sledde.

Kynge EDWARDE'S soule rush'd to hys face,
Hee turn'd hys hedde awaie,
And to hys broder GLOUCESTER 335
Hee thus dydd speke and saie:

"To hym that soe-much-dreaded dethe
Ne ghastlie terrors brynge,
Beholde the manne! hee spake the truthe,
Hee's greater thanne a kynge! " 340

"Soe lett hym die! " Duke RICHARD sayde;
"And maye echone oure foes
Bende downe theyre neckes to bloudie axe,
And feede the carryon crowes. "

And nowe the horses gentlie drewe 345
Syr CHARLES uppe the hyghe hylle;
The axe dydd glysterr ynne the sunne,
Hys pretious bloude to spylle.

Syrr CHARLES dydd uppe the scaffold goe,
As uppe a gilded carre 350
Of victorye, bye val'rous chiefs
Gayn'd ynne the bloudie warre:

And to the people hee dydd saie,
"Beholde you see mee dye,
For servynge loyally mye kynge, 355
Mye kynge most rightfullie.

"As longe as EDWARDE rules thys lande,
Ne quiet you wylle knowe;
Youre sonnes and husbandes shalle bee slayne.
And brookes wythe bloude shalle flowe. 360

"You leave youre goode and lawfulle kynge.
Whenne ynne adversitye;
Lyke mee, untoe the true cause stycke,
And for the true cause dye. "

Thenne hee, wyth preestes, uponne hys knees, 365
A pray'r to Godde dydd make,
Beseechynge hym unto hymselfe
Hys partynge soule to take.

Thenne, kneelynge downe, hee layd hys hedde
Most seemlie onne the blocke; 370
Whyche fromme hys bodie fayre at once
The able heddes-manne stroke:

And oute the bloude beganne to flowe,
And rounde the scaffolde twyne;
And teares, enow to washe't awaie, 375
Dydd flowe fromme each mann's eyne.

The bloudie axe hys bodie fayre
Ynnto foure parties cutte;
And ev'rye parte, and eke hys hedde,
Uponne a pole was putte. 380

One parte dydd rotte onne Kynwulph-hylle,
One onne the mynster-tower,
And one from off the castle-gate
The crowen dydd devoure:

The other onne Seyncte Powle's goode gate, 385
A dreery spectacle;
Hys hedde was plac'd onne the hyghe crosse,
Ynne hyghe-streete most nobile.

Thus was the ende of BAWDIN'S fate:
Godde prosper longe oure kynge, 390
And grante hee maye, wyth BAWDIN'S soule,
Ynne heav'n Godd's mercie synge!




AELLA:

A

TRAGYCAL ENTERLUDE,

OR

DISCOORSEYNGE TRAGEDIE,

WROTENN BIE

THOMAS ROWLEIE;

PLAIEDD BEFORE

MASTRE CANYNGE, ATTE HYS HOWSE NEMPTE THE RODDE LODGE;


[ALSOE BEFORE THE DUKE OF NORFOLCK, JOHAN HOWARD. ]




PERSONNES REPRESENTEDD.


AELLA, bie _Thomas Rowleie_, Preeste, the Aucthoure.

CELMONDE, _Johan Iscamm_, Preeste.

HURRA, Syrr _Thybbotte Gorges_, Knyghte.

BIRTHA, Mastre _Edwarde Canynge_.

Odherr Partes bie _Knyghtes Mynstrelles_.




EPISTLE TO MASTRE CANYNGE ON AELLA.


'Tys songe bie mynstrelles, thatte yn auntyent tym,
Whan Reasonn hylt[1] herselfe in cloudes of nyghte,
The preeste delyvered alle the lege[2] yn rhym;
Lyche peyncted[3] tyltynge speares to please the syghte,
The whyche yn yttes felle use doe make moke[4] dere[5], 5
Syke dyd theire auncyante lee deftlie[6] delyghte the eare.

Perchaunce yn Vyrtues gare[7] rhym mote bee thenne,
Butt eefte[8] nowe flyeth to the odher syde;
In hallie[9] preeste apperes the ribaudes[10] penne,
Inne lithie[11] moncke apperes the barronnes pryde: 10
But rhym wythe somme, as nedere[12] widhout teethe,
Make pleasaunce to the sense, botte maie do lyttel scathe[13].

Syr Johne, a knyghte, who hath a barne of lore[14],
Kenns[15] Latyn att fyrst syghte from Frenche or Greke,
Pyghtethe[16] hys knowlachynge[17] ten yeres or more, 15
To rynge upon the Latynne worde to speke.
Whoever spekethe Englysch ys despysed,
The Englysch hym to please moste fyrste be latynized.

Vevyan, a moncke, a good requiem[18] synges;
Can preache so wele, eche hynde[19] hys meneynge knowes 20
Albeytte these gode guyfts awaie he flynges,
Beeynge as badde yn vearse as goode yn prose.
Hee synges of seynctes who dyed for yer Godde,
Everych wynter nyghte afresche he sheddes theyr blodde.

To maydens, huswyfes, and unlored[20] dames, 25
Hee redes hys tales of merryment & woe.
Loughe[21] loudlie dynneth[22] from the dolte[23] adrames[24];
He swelles on laudes of fooles, tho' kennes[25] hem soe.
Sommetyme at tragedie theie laughe and synge,
At merrie yaped[26] fage[27] somme hard-drayned water brynge. 30

Yette Vevyan ys ne foole, beyinde[28] hys lynes.
Geofroie makes vearse, as handycraftes theyr ware;
Wordes wythoute sense fulle grossyngelye[29] he twynes,
Cotteynge hys storie off as wythe a sheere;
Waytes monthes on nothynge, & hys storie donne, 35
Ne moe you from ytte kenn, than gyf[30] you neere begonne.

Enowe of odhers; of mieselfe to write,
Requyrynge whatt I doe notte nowe possess,
To you I leave the taske; I kenne your myghte
Wyll make mie faultes, mie meynte[31] of faultes, be less. 40
AELLA wythe thys I sende, and hope that you
Wylle from ytte caste awaie, whatte lynes maie be untrue.

Playes made from hallie[32] tales I holde unmeete;
Lette somme greate storie of a manne be songe;
Whanne, as a manne, we Godde and Jesus treate, 45
In mie pore mynde, we doe the Godhedde wronge.
Botte lette ne wordes, whyche droorie[33] mote ne heare,
Bee placed yn the same. Adieu untylle anere[34].

THOMAS ROWLEIE.

[Footnote 1: hid, concealed. ]

[Footnote 2: law. ]

[Footnote 3: painted. ]

[Footnote 4: much. ]

[Footnote 5: hurt, damage. ]

[Footnote 6: sweetly. ]

[Footnote 7: cause. ]

[Footnote 8: oft. ]

[Footnote 9: holy. ]

[Footnote 10: rake, lewd person. ]

[Footnote 11: humble. ]

[Footnote 12: adder. ]

[Footnote 13: hurt, damage. ]

[Footnote 14: learning. ]

[Footnote 15: knows. ]

[Footnote 16: plucks or tortures. ]

[Footnote 17: knowledge. ]

[Footnote 18: a service used over the dead. ]

[Footnote 19: peasant. ]

[Footnote 20: unlearned. ]

[Footnote 21: laugh. ]

[Footnote 22: sounds. ]

[Footnote 23: foolish. ]

[Footnote 24: churls. ]

[Footnote 25: knows. ]

[Footnote 26: laughable. ]

[Footnote 27: tale, jest. ]

[Footnote 28: beyond. ]

[Footnote 29: foolishly. ]

[Footnote 30: if. ]

[Footnote 31: many. ]

[Footnote 32: holy. ]

[Footnote 33: strange perversion of words. _Droorie_ in its antient
signification stood for _modesty_. ]

[Footnote 34: another. ]




LETTER TO THE DYGNE MASTRE CANYNGE.


Straunge dome ytte ys, that, yn these daies of oures,
Nete[35] butte a bare recytalle can hav place;
Nowe shapelie poesie hast loste yttes powers,
And pynant hystorie ys onlie grace;
Heie[36] pycke up wolsome weedes, ynstedde of flowers, 5
And famylies, ynstedde of wytte, theie trace;
Nowe poesie canne meete wythe ne regrate[37],
Whylste prose, & herehaughtrie[38], ryse yn estate.

Lette kynges, & rulers, whan heie gayne a throne,
Shewe whatt theyre grandsieres, & great grandsieres bore, 10
Emarschalled armes, yatte, ne before theyre owne,
Now raung'd wythe whatt yeir fadres han before;
Lette trades, & toune folck, lett syke[39] thynges alone,
Ne fyghte for sable yn a fielde of aure;
Seldomm, or never, are armes vyrtues mede, 15
Shee nillynge[40] to take myckle[41] aie dothe hede.

A man ascaunse upponn a piece maye looke,
And shake hys hedde to styrre hys rede[42] aboute;
Quod he, gyf I askaunted oere thys booke,
Schulde fynde thereyn that trouthe ys left wythoute; 20
Eke, gyf[43] ynto a vew percase[44] I tooke
The long beade-rolle of al the wrytynge route,
Asserius, Ingolphus, Torgotte, Bedde,
Thorow hem[45] al nete lyche ytte I coulde rede. --

Pardon, yee Graiebarbes[46], gyff I saie, onwise 25
Yee are, to stycke so close & bysmarelie[47]
To hystorie; you doe ytte tooe moche pryze,
Whyche amenused[48] thoughtes of poesie;
Somme drybblette[49] share you shoulde to yatte[50] alyse[51],
Nott makynge everyche thynge bee hystorie; 30
Instedde of mountynge onn a wynged horse,
You onn a rouncy[52] dryve yn dolefull course.

Cannynge & I from common course dyssente;
Wee ryde the stede, botte yev to hym the reene;
Ne wylle betweene crased molterynge bookes be pente, 35
Botte soare on hyghe, & yn the sonne-bemes sheene;
And where wee kenn somme ishad[53] floures besprente,
We take ytte, & from oulde rouste doe ytte clene;
Wee wylle ne cheynedd to one pasture bee,
Botte sometymes soare 'bove trouthe of hystorie. 40

Saie, Canynge, whatt was vearse yn daies of yore?
Fyne thoughtes, and couplettes fetyvelie[54] bewryen[55],
Notte syke as doe annoie thys age so sore,
A keppened poyntelle[56] restynge at eche lyne.
Vearse maie be goode, botte poesie wantes more, 45
An onlist[57] lecturn[58], and a songe adygne[59];
Accordynge to the rule I have thys wroughte,
Gyff ytt please Canynge, I care notte a groate.

The thynge yttself moste bee ytts owne defense;
Som metre maie notte please a womannes ear. 50
Canynge lookes notte for poesie, botte sense;
And dygne, & wordie thoughtes, ys all hys care.
Canynge, adieu! I do you greete from hence;
Full soone I hope to taste of your good cheere;
Goode Byshoppe Carpynter dyd byd mee saie, 55
Hee wysche you healthe & selinesse for aie.

T. ROWLEIE.

[Footnote 35: nought. ]

[Footnote 36: they. ]

[Footnote 37: esteem. ]

[Footnote 38: heraldry. ]

[Footnote 39: such. ]

[Footnote 40: unwilling. ]

[Footnote 41: much. ]

[Footnote 42: wisdom, council. ]

[Footnote 43: if. ]

[Footnote 44: perchance. ]

[Footnote 45: them. ]

[Footnote 46: Greybeards. ]

[Footnote 47: curiously. ]

[Footnote 48: lessened. ]

[Footnote 49: small. ]

[Footnote 50: that. ]

[Footnote 51: allow. ]

[Footnote 52: cart-horse. ]

[Editor's note: ll. 15-16 _See Introduction_ p. xli]

[Footnote 53: broken. ]

[Footnote 54: elegantly. ]

[Footnote 55: declared, expressed. ]

[Footnote 56: a pen, used metaphorically, as a muse or genius. ]

[Footnote 57: boundless. ]

[Footnote 58: subject. ]

[Footnote 59: nervous, worthy of praise. ]




ENTRODUCTIONNE.


Somme cherisounce[60] it ys to gentle mynde,
Whan heie have chevyced[61] theyre londe from bayne[62],
Whan theie ar dedd, theie leave yer name behynde,
And theyre goode deedes doe on the earthe remayne;
Downe yn the grave wee ynhyme[63] everych steyne, 5
Whylest al her gentlenesse ys made to sheene,
Lyche fetyve baubels[64] geasonne[65] to be seene.

AELLA, the wardenne of thys[66] castell[67] stede,
Whylest Saxons dyd the Englysche sceptre swaie,
Who made whole troopes of Dacyan men to blede, 10
Then seel'd[68] hys eyne, and seeled hys eyne for aie,
Wee rowze hym uppe before the judgment daie,
To saie what he, as clergyond[69], can kenne,
And howe hee sojourned in the vale of men.

[Footnote 60: comfort. ]

[Footnote 61: preserved. ]

[Footnote 62: ruin. ]

[Footnote 63: inter. ]

[Footnote 64: jewels. ]

[Footnote 65: rare. ]

[Footnote 66: Bristol. ]

[Footnote 67: castle. ]

[Footnote 68: closed. ]

[Footnote 69: taught. ]




AELLA.


CELMONDE, att BRYSTOWE.

Before yonne roddie sonne has droove hys wayne
Throwe halfe hys joornie, dyghte yn gites[1] of goulde,
Mee, happeless mee, hee wylle a wretche behoulde,
Mieselfe, and al that's myne, bounde ynne myschaunces chayne.

Ah! Birtha, whie dydde Nature frame thee fayre? 5
Whie art thou all thatt poyntelle[2] canne bewreene[3]?
Whie art thou nott as coarse as odhers are? --
Botte thenn thie soughle woulde throwe thy vysage sheene,
Yatt shemres onn thie comelie semlykeene[4],
Lyche nottebrowne cloudes, whann bie the sonne made redde, 10
Orr scarlette, wythe waylde lynnen clothe ywreene[5],
Syke[6] woulde thie spryte upponn thie vysage spredde.
Thys daie brave AElla dothe thyne honde & harte
Clayme as hys owne to be, whyche nee fromm hys moste parte.

And cann I lyve to see herr wythe anere[7]! 15
Ytt cannotte, muste notte, naie, ytt shalle not bee.
Thys nyghte I'll putte stronge poysonn ynn the beere,
And hymm, herr, and myselfe, attenes[8] wyll slea.
Assyst mee, Helle!