No More Learning

BIRTHA, EGWINA.

BIRTHA.

Gentle Egwina, do notte preche me joie;
I cannotte joie ynne anie thynge botte weere[99]. 835
Oh! yatte aughte schulde oure sellynesse destroie,
Floddynge the face wythe woe, & brynie teare!

EGWINA.

You muste, you muste endeavour for to cheere
Youre harte unto somme cherisaunced reste.
Youre loverde from the battelle wylle appere. 840
Ynne honnoure, & a greater love, be dreste;
Botte I wylle call the mynstrelles roundelaie;
Perchaunce the swotie sounde maie chafe your wiere[99] awaie.




BIRTHA, EGWINA, MYNSTRELLES.


MYNSTRELLES SONGE.

O! synge untoe mie roundelaie,
O! droppe the brynie teare wythe mee, 845
Daunce ne moe atte hallie daie,
Lycke a reynynge[100] ryver bee;
Mie love ys dedde,
Gon to hys death-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree. 850

Blacke hys cryne[101] as the wyntere nyghte,
Whyte hys rode[102] as the sommer snowe,
Rodde hys face as the mornynge lyghte,
Cale he lyes ynne the grave belowe;
Mie love ys dedde, 855
Gon to hys deathe-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Swote hys tyngue as the throstles note,
Quycke ynn daunce as thoughte canne bee,
Defte hys taboure, codgelle stote, 860
O! hee lyes bie the wyllowe tree:
Mie love ys dedde,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,
Alle underre the wyllowe tree.

Harke! the ravenne flappes hys wynge, 865
In the briered delle belowe;
Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge,
To the nyghte-mares as heie goe;
Mie love ys dedde,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde, 870
Al under the wyllowe tree.

See! the whyte moone sheenes onne hie;
Whyterre ys mie true loves shroude;
Whyterre yanne the mornynge skie,
Whyterre yanne the evenynge cloude: 875
Mie love ys dedde,
Gon to hys deathe-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Heere, uponne mie true loves grave,
Schalle the baren fleurs be layde. 880
Nee one hallie Seyncte to save
Al the celness of a mayde.
Mie love ys dedde,
Gonne to hys death-bedde,
Alle under the wyllowe tree. 885

Wythe mie hondes I'lle dente the brieres
Rounde his hallie corse to gre,
Ouphante fairie, lyghte youre fyres,
Heere mie boddie stylle schalle bee.
Mie love ys dedde, 890
Gon to hys death-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Comme, wythe acorne-coppe & thorne,
Drayne mie hartys blodde awaie;
Lyfe & all yttes goode I scorne, 895
Daunce bie nete, or feaste by daie.
Mie love ys dedde,
Gon to hys death-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Waterre wytches, crownede wythe reytes[103], 900
Bere mee to yer leathalle tyde.
I die; I comme; mie true love waytes.
Thos the damselle spake, and dyed.

BIRTHA.

Thys syngeyng haveth whatte coulde make ytte please;
Butte mie uncourtlie shappe benymmes mee of all ease. 905




AELLA, _atte_ WATCHETTE.


Curse onne mie tardie woundes! brynge mee a stede!
I wylle awaie to Birtha bie thys nyghte:
Albeytte fro mie woundes mie soul doe blede,
I wylle awaie, & die wythynne her syghte.
Brynge mee a stede, wythe eagle-wynges for flyghte; 910
Swefte as mie wyshe, &, as mie love ys, stronge.
The Danes have wroughte mee myckle woe ynne syghte,
Inne kepeynge mee from Birtha's armes so longe.
O! whatte a dome was myne, sythe masterie
Canne yeve ne pleasaunce, nor mie londes goode leme myne eie! 915

Yee goddes, howe ys a loverres temper formed!
Sometymes the samme thynge wylle bothe bane, & blesse;
On tyme encalede[104], yanne bie the same thynge warmd,
Estroughted foorthe, and yanne ybrogten less.
'Tys Birtha's loss whyche doe mie thoughtes possesse; 920
I wylle, I muste awaie: whie staies mie stede?
Mie huscarles, hyther haste; prepare a dresse,
Whyche couracyers[105] yn hastie journies nede.
O heavens! I moste awaie to Byrtha eyne,
For yn her lookes I fynde mie beynge doe entwyne. 925




CELMONDE, _att_ BRYSTOWE.


The worlde ys darke wythe nyghte; the wyndes are stylle;
Fayntelie the mone her palyde lyghte makes gleme;
The upryste[106] sprytes the sylente letten[107] fylle,
Wythe ouphant faeryes joynyng ynne the dreme;
The forreste sheenethe wythe the sylver leme; 930
Nowe maie mie love be sated ynn yttes treate;
Uponne the lynche of somme swefte reynyng streme,
Att the swote banquette I wylle swotelie eate.
Thys ys the howse; yee hyndes, swythyn appere.





CELMONDE, SERVYTOURE.


CELMONDE.

Go telle to Birtha strayte, a straungerr waytethe here. 935




CELMONDE, BIRTHA.


BIRTHA.

Celmonde! yee seynctes! I hope thou haste goode newes.

CELMONDE.

The hope ys loste: for heavie newes prepare.

BIRTHA.

Is AElla welle?

CELMONDE.

Hee lyves; & stylle maie use
The behylte[108] blessynges of a future yeare.

BIRTHA.

Whatte heavie tydynge thenne have I to feare? 940
Of whatte mischaunce dydste thou so latelie saie?

CELMONDE.

For heavie tydynges swythyn nowe prepare.
AElla sore wounded ys, yn bykerous fraie;
In Wedecester's wallid toune he lyes.

BIRTHA.

O mie agroted breast!

CELMONDE:

Wythoute your syghte, he dyes. 945

BIRTHA.

Wylle Birtha's presence ethe herr AElla's payne?
I flie; newe wynges doe from mie schoulderrs sprynge.

CELMONDE.

Mie stede wydhoute wylle deftelie beere us twayne.

BIRTHA.

Oh! I wyll flie as wynde, & no waie lynge;
Sweftlie caparisons for rydynge brynge; 950
I have a mynde wynged wythe the levyn ploome.
O AElla, AElla! dydste thou kenne the stynge,
The whyche doeth canker ynne mie hartys roome,
Thou wouldste see playne thieselfe the gare to bee;
Aryse, uponne thie love, & flie to meeten mee. 955

CELMONDE.

The stede, on whyche I came, ys swefte as ayre;
Mie servytoures doe wayte mee nere the wode;
Swythynne wythe mee unto the place repayre;
To AElla I wylle gev you conducte goode.
Youre eyne, alyche a baulme, wylle staunche hys bloode, 960
Holpe oppe hys woundes, & yev hys harte alle cheere;
Uponne your eyne he holdes hys lyvelyhode[109];
You doe hys spryte, & alle hys pleasaunce bere.
Comme, lette's awaie, albeytte ytte ys moke,
Yette love wille bee a tore to tourne to feere nyghtes smoke. 965

BIRTHA.

Albeytte unwears dyd the welkynn rende,
Reyne, alyche fallynge ryvers, dyd ferse bee,
Erthe wythe the ayre enchased dyd contende,
Everychone breathe of wynde wythe plagues dyd flee,
Yette I to AElla's eyne eftsoones woulde flee; 970
Albeytte hawethornes dyd mie fleshe enseme,
Owlettes, wythe scrychynge, shakeynge everyche tree,
And water-neders wrygglynge yn eche streme,
Yette woulde I flie, ne under coverte staie,
Botte seke mie AElla owte; brave Celmonde, leade the waie. 975




A WODE.


HURRA, DANES.

HURRA.

Heere ynn yis forreste lette us watche for pree,
Bewreckeynge on oure foemenne oure ylle warre;
Whatteverre schalle be Englysch wee wylle slea,
Spreddynge our ugsomme rennome to afarre.
Ye Dacyanne menne, gyff Dacyanne menne yee are, 980
Lette nete botte blodde suffycyle for yee bee;
On everich breaste yn gorie letteres scarre,
Whatt sprytes you have, & howe those sprytes maie dree.
And gyf yee gette awaie to Denmarkes shore,
Eftesoones we will retourne, & vanquished bee ne moere. 985

The battelle loste, a battelle was yndede;
Note queedes hemselfes culde stonde so harde a fraie;
Oure verie armoure, & oure heaulmes dyd blede,
The Dacyannes, sprytes, lyche dewe drops, fledde awaie.
Ytte was an AElla dyd commaunde the daie; 990
Ynn spyte of foemanne, I moste saie hys myghte;
Botte wee ynn hynd-lettes blodde the loss wylle paie,
Brynnynge, thatte we knowe howe to wynne yn fyghte;
Wee wylle, lyke wylfes enloosed from chaynes, destroie;--
Oure armoures--wynter nyghte shotte oute the daie of joie. 995

Whene swefte-fote tyme doe rolle the daie alonge,
Somme hamlette scalle onto oure fhuyrie brende;
Brastynge alyche a rocke, or mountayne stronge,
The talle chyrche-spyre upon the grene shalle bende;
Wee wylle the walles, & auntyante tourrettes rende, 1000
Pete everych tree whych goldyn fruyte doe beere,
Downe to the goddes the ownerrs dhereof sende,
Besprengynge alle abrode sadde warre & bloddie weere.
Botte fyrste to yynder oke-tree wee wylle flie;
And thence wylle yssue owte onne all yatte commeth bie. 1005




ANODHER PARTE OF THE WOODE.


CELMONDE, BIRTHA.

BIRTHA.

Thys merkness doe affraie mie wommanns breaste.
Howe sable ys the spreddynge skie arrayde!
Hailie the bordeleire, who lyves to reste,
Ne ys att nyghtys flemynge hue dysmayde;
The starres doe scantillie[110] the sable brayde; 1010
Wyde ys the sylver lemes of comforte wove;
Speke, Celmonde, does ytte make thee notte afrayde?

CELMONDE.

Merker the nyghte, the fitter tyde for love.

BIRTHA.

Saiest thou for love? ah! love is far awaie.
Faygne would I see once moe the roddie lemes of daie. 1015

CELMONDE.

Love maie bee nie, woulde Birtha calle ytte here.

BIRTHA.

How, Celmonde, dothe thou mene?

CELMONDE.

Thys Celmonde menes.
No leme, no eyne, ne mortalle manne appere,
Ne lyghte, an acte of love for to bewreene;
Nete in thys forreste, botte thys tore[111], dothe sheene, 1020
The whych, potte oute, do leave the whole yn nyghte;
See! howe the brauncynge trees doe here entwyne,
Makeynge thys bower so pleasynge to the syghte;
Thys was for love fyrste made, & heere ytt stondes,
Thatte hereynne lovers maie enlyncke yn true loves bondes. 1025

BIRTHA.

Celmonde, speake whatte thou menest, or alse mie thoughtes
Perchaunce maie robbe thie honestie so fayre.

CELMONDE.

Then here, & knowe, hereto I have you broughte,
Mie longe hydde love unto you to make clere.

BIRTHA.

Oh heaven & earthe! whatte ys ytt I doe heare? 1030
Am I betraste[112]? where ys mie AElla, saie!

CELMONDE.

O! do nete nowe to AElla syke love bere,
Botte geven some onne Celmondes hedde.

BIRTHA.

Awaie!
I wylle be gone, & groape mie passage oute,
Albeytte neders stynges mie legs do twyne aboute. 1035

CELMONDE.

Nowe bie the seynctes I wylle notte lette thee goe,
Ontylle thou doeste mie brendynge love amate.
Those eyne have caused Celmonde myckle woe,
Yenne lette yer smyle fyrst take hymm yn regrate.
O! didst thou see mie breastis troblous state, 1040
Theere love doth harrie up mie joie, and ethe!
I wretched bee, beyonde the hele of fate,
Gyss Birtha stylle wylle make mie harte-veynes blethe.
Softe as the sommer flowreets, Birtha, looke,
Fulle ylle I canne thie frownes & harde dyspleasaunce brooke. 1045

BIRTHA.

Thie love ys foule; I woulde bee deafe for aie,
Radher thanne heere syche deslavatie[113] sedde.
Swythynne flie from mee, and ne further saie;
Radher thanne heare thie love, I woulde bee dead.
Yee seynctes! & shal I wronge mie AElla's bedde, 1050
And wouldst thou, Celmonde, tempte me to the thynge?
Lett mee be gone--alle curses onne thie hedde!
Was ytte for thys thou dydste a message brynge!
Lette mee be gone, thou manne of sable harte!
Or welkyn[114] & her starres wyll take a maydens parte. 1055

CELMONDE.

Sythence you wylle notte lette mie suyte avele,
Mie love wylle have yttes joie, altho wythe guylte;
Youre lymbes shall bende, albeytte strynge as stele;
The merkye seesonne wylle your bloshes hylte[115].

BIRTHA.

Holpe, holpe, yee seynctes! oh thatte mie blodde was spylte! 1060

CELMONDE.

The seynctes att distaunce stonde ynn tyme of nede.
Strev notte to goe; thou canste notte, gyff thou wylte.
Unto mie wysche bee kinde, & nete alse hede.

BIRTHA.

No, foule bestoykerre, I wylle rende the ayre,
Tylle dethe do staie mie dynne, or somme kynde roder heare. 1065
Holpe! holpe! oh godde!




CELMONDE, BIRTHA, HURRA, DANES.


HURRA.

Ah! thatts a wommanne cries.
I kenn hem; saie, who are you, yatte bee theere?

CELMONDE.

Yee hyndes, awaie! orre bie thys swerde yee dies.

HURRA.

Thie wordes wylle ne mie hartis sete affere.

BIRTHA.

Save mee, oh! save mee from thys royner heere! 1070

HURRA.

Stonde thou bie mee; nowe saie thie name & londe;
Or swythyne schall mie swerde thie boddie tare.

CELMONDE.

Bothe I wylle shewe thee bie mie brondeous[116] honde.

HURRA.

Besette hym rounde, yee Danes.

CELMONDE.

Comme onne, and see
Gyff mie strynge anlace maie bewryen whatte I bee. 1075
[_Fyghte al anenste_ Celmonde, _meynte Danes he fleath,
and faleth to_ Hurra.

CELMONDE.

Oh! I forslagen[117] be! ye Danes, now kenne,
I amme yatte Celmonde, seconde yn the fyghte,
Who dydd, atte Watchette, so forslege youre menne;
I fele myne eyne to swymme yn aeterne nyghte;--
To her be kynde. [_Dieth_.

HURRA.

Thenne felle a wordhie knyghte. 1080
Saie, who bee you?

BIRTHA.

I am greate AElla's wyfe.

HURRA.

Ah

BIRTHA.
Gyff anenste hym you harboure soule despyte,
Nowe wythe the lethal anlace take mie lyfe,
Mie thankes I ever onne you wylle bestowe,
From ewbryce[118] you mee pyghte, the worste of mortal woe. 1085

HURRA.

I wylle; ytte scalle bee foe: yee Dacyans, heere.
Thys AElla havethe been oure foe for aie.
Thorrowe the battelle he dyd brondeous teare,
Beyng the lyfe and head of everych fraie;
From everych Dacyanne power he won the daie, 1090
Forslagen Magnus, all oure schippes ybrente;
Bie hys felle arme wee now are made to straie;
The speere of Dacya he ynne pieces shente;
Whanne hantoned barckes unto our londe dyd comme,
AElla the gare dheie sed, & wysched hym bytter dome. 1095

BIRTHA.

Mercie!

HURRA.

Bee stylle.
Botte yette he ys a foemanne goode and fayre;
Whanne wee are spente, he foundethe the forloyne;
The captyves chayne he tosseth ynne the ayre,
Cheered the wounded bothe wythe bredde & wyne;
Has hee notte untoe somme of you bynn dygne? 1100
You would have smethd onne Wedecestrian fielde,
Botte hee behylte the flughorne for to cleyne,
Throwynge onne hys wyde backe, hys wyder spreddynge shielde.
Whanne you, as caytysned, yn fielde dyd bee,
Hee oathed you to bee stylle, & strayte dydd sette you free. 1105

Scalle wee forslege[119] hys wyfe, because he's brave?
Bicaus hee fyghteth for hys countryes gare?
Wylle hee, who havith bynne yis AElla's slave,
Robbe hym of whatte percase he holdith deere?
Or scalle we menne of mennys sprytes appere, 1110
Doeynge hym favoure for hys favoure donne,
Swefte to hys pallace thys damoiselle bere,
Bewrynne oure case, and to oure waie be gonne?
The last you do approve; so lette ytte bee;
Damoyselle, comme awaie; you safe scalle bee wythe mee. 1115

BIRTHA.

Al blessynges maie the seynctes unto yee gyve!
Al pleasaunce maie youre longe-straughte livynges bee!
AElla, whanne knowynge thatte bie you I lyve,
Wylle thyncke too smalle a guyfte the londe & sea.
O Celmonde! I maie deftlie rede bie thee, 1120
Whatte ille betydethe the enfouled kynde;
Maie ne thie cross-stone[120] of thie cryme bewree!
Maie alle menne ken thie valoure, fewe thie mynde!
Soldyer! for syke thou arte ynn noble fraie,
I wylle thie goinges 'tende, & doe thou lede the waie. 1125

HURRA.

The mornynge 'gyns alonge the Easte to sheene;
Darklinge the lyghte doe onne the waters plaie;
The feynte rodde leme slowe creepeth oere the greene,
Toe chase the merkyness of nyghte awaie;
Swifte flies the howers thatte wylle brynge oute the daie; 1130
The softe dewe falleth onne the greeynge grasse;
The shepster mayden, dyghtynge her arraie,
Scante[121] sees her vysage yn the wavie glasse;
Bie the fulle daylieghte wee scalle AElla see.
Or Brystowes wallyd towne; damoyselle, followe mee. 1135




AT BRYSTOWE.


AELLA AND SERVITOURES.

AELLA.

'Tys nowe fulle morne; I thoughten, bie laste nyghte
To have been heere; mie stede han notte mie love;
Thys ys mie pallace; lette mie hyndes alyghte,
Whylste I goe oppe, & wake mie slepeynge dove.
Staie here, mie hyndlettes; I shal goe above. 1140
Nowe. Birtha, wyll thie loke enhele mie spryte,
Thie smyles unto mie woundes a baulme wylle prove;
Mie ledanne boddie wylle bee sette aryghte.
Egwina, haste, & ope the portalle doore,
Yatte I on Birtha's breste maie thynke of warre ne more. 1145




AELLA, EGWINA.


EGWINA.

Oh AElla!

AELLA.

Ah! that semmlykeene to mee
Speeketh a legendary tale of woe.

EGWINA.

Birtha is--

AELLA.

Whatt? where? how? saie, whatte of shee?

EGWINA.

Gone--

AELLA.

Gone! ye goddes!

EGWINA.

Alas! ytte ys toe true.
Yee seynctes, hee dies awaie wythe myckle woe! 1150
AElla! what? AElla! oh! hee lyves agen.

AELLA.

Cal mee notte AElla; I am hymme ne moe.
Where ys shee gon awaie? ah! speake! how? when?

EGWINA.

I will.

AELLA.

Caparyson a score of stedes; flie, flie.
Where ys shee? swythynne speeke, or instante thou shalte die. 1155

EGWINA.

Stylle thie loud rage, & here thou whatte I knowe.

AELLA.

Oh! speek.

EGWINA.

Lyche prymrose, droopynge wythe the heavie rayne,
Laste nyghte I lefte her, droopynge wythe her wiere,
Her love the gare, thatte gave her harte syke peyne--

AELLA.

Her love! to whomme?

EGWINA.

To thee, her spouse alleyne[122]. 1160
As ys mie hentylle everyche morne to goe,
I wente, and oped her chamber doore ynn twayne,
Botte found her notte, as I was wont to doe;
Thanne alle arounde the pallace I dyd seere[123],
Botte culde (to mie hartes woe) ne fynde her anie wheere. 1165

AELLA.

Thou lyest, foul hagge! thou lyest; thou art her ayde
To chere her louste;--botte noe; ytte cannotte bee.

EGWINA.

Gyff trouthe appear notte inne whatte I have sayde,
Drawe forthe thie anlace swythyn, thanne mee flea.

AELLA.

Botte yette ytte muste, ytte muste bee foe; I see, 1170
Shee wythe somme loustie paramoure ys gone;
Itte moste bee foe--oh! how ytte wracketh mee!
Mie race of love, mie race of lyfe ys ronne;
Nowe rage, & brondeous storm, & tempeste comme;
Nete lyvynge upon erthe can now enswote mie domme. 1175




AELLA, EGWINA, SERVYTOURE.


SERVYTOURE.

Loverde! I am aboute the trouthe to saie.
Laste nyghte, fulle late I dydde retourne to reste.
As to mie chamber I dydde bende mie waie,
To Birtha onne hys name & place addreste;
Downe to hym camme shee; butte thereof the reste 1180
I ken ne matter; so, mie hommage made--

AELLA.

O! speake ne moe; mie harte flames yn yttes heste;
I once was AElla; nowe bee notte yttes shade.
Hanne alle the fuirie of mysfortunes wylle
Fallen onne mie benned[124] headde I hanne been AElla stylle. 1185

Thys alleyn was unburled[125] of alle mie spryte;
Mie honnoure, honnoure, frownd on the dolce[126] wynde,
Thatte steeked on ytte; nowe wyth rage Im pyghte;
A brondeous unweere ys mie engyned mynde.
Mie hommeur yette somme drybblet joie maie fynde, 1190
To the Danes woundes I wylle another yeve;
Whanne thos mie rennome[127] & mie peace ys rynde,
Itte were a recrandize to thyncke toe lyve;
Mie huscarles, untoe everie asker telle,
Gyffe noblie AElla lyved, as noblie AElla felle. 1195
[_Stabbeth hys breste_.

SERVYTOURE.

AElla ys sleene; the flower of Englonde's marrde!

AELLA.

Be stylle: swythe lette the chyrches rynge mie knelle.
Call hyther brave Coernyke; he, as warde
Of thys mie Brystowe castle, wyll doe welle.
[_Knelle ryngeth_.




AELLA, EGWINA, SERVYTOURE, COERNYKE.


AELLA.

Thee I ordeyne the warde; so alle maie telle. 1200
I have botte lyttel tym to dragge thys lyfe;
Mie lethal tale, alyche a lethalle belle,
Dynne yn the eares of her I wyschd mie wyfe!
Botte, ah! shee maie be fayre.

EGWINA.

Yatte shee moste bee.

AELLA.

Ah! saie notte foe; yatte worde woulde AElla dobblie flee. 1205





AELLA, EGWINA, SERVYTOURE, COERNYKE, BIRTHA, HURRA.


AELLA.

Ah! Birtha here!

BIRTHA.

Whatte dynne ys thys? whatte menes yis leathalle knelle?
Where ys mie AElla? speeke; where? howe ys hee?
Oh AElla! art thou yanne alyve and welle!

AELLA.

I lyve yndeed; botte doe notte lyve for thee.

BIRTHA.

Whatte menes mie AElla?

AELLA.

Here mie meneynge see. 1210
Thie foulness urged mie honde to gyve thys wounde,
Ytte mee unsprytes[128].

BIRTHA.

Ytte hathe unspryted mee.

AELLA.

Ah heavens! mie Birtha fallethe to the grounde!
Botte yette I am a manne, and so wylle bee.

HURRA.

AElla! I amme a Dane; botte yette a friende to thee. 1215

Thys damoyselle I founde wythynne a woode,
Strevynge fulle harde anenste a burled swayne;
I sente hym myrynge ynne mie compheeres blodde,
Celmonde hys name, chief of thie warrynge trayne.
Yis damoiselle foughte to be here agayne; 1220
The whyche, albeytte foemen, wee dydd wylle;
So here wee broughte her wythe you to remayne.

COERNIKE.

Yee nobylle Danes! wythe goulde I wyll you fylle.

AELLA.

Birtha, mie lyfe! mie love! oh! she ys fayre.
Whatte faultes coulde Birtha have, whatte faultes could AElla feare?

BIRTHA.

Amm I yenne thyne? I cannotte blame thie feere.
Botte doe reste mee uponne mie AElla's breaste;
I wylle to thee bewryen the woefulle gare.
Celmonde dyd comme to mee at tyme of reste,
Wordeynge for mee to flie, att your requeste, 1230
To Watchette towne, where you deceasynge laie;
I wyth hym fledde; thro' a murke wode we preste,
Where hee foule love unto mie eares dyd saie;
The Danes--

AELLA.

Oh! I die contente. -- [_dieth_.

BIRTHA.

Oh! ys mie AElla dedde?
O! I will make hys grave mie vyrgyn spousal bedde. 1235
[Birtha _feyncteth_.

COERNYKE.

Whatt? AElla deadde! & Birtha dyynge toe!
Soe falles the fayrest flourettes of the playne.
Who canne unplyte the wurchys heaven can doe,
Or who untweste the role of shappe yn twayne?
AElla, thie rennome was thie onlie gayne; 1240
For yatte, thie pleasaunce, & thie joie was loste.
Thie countrymen shall rere thee, on the playne,
A pyle of carnes, as anie grave can boaste;
Further, a just amede to thee to bee,
Inne heaven thou synge of Godde, on erthe we'lle synge of thee. 1245

THE ENDE.

[Footnote 1: robes, mantels. ]

[Footnote 2: a pen. ]

[Footnote 3: express. ]

[Footnote 4: countenance. ]

[Footnote 5: covered. ]

[Footnote 6: such. ]

[Footnote 7: another. ]

[Footnote 8: at once. ]

[Footnote 9: mighty. ]

[Footnote 10: hardy, valourous. ]

[Footnote 11: violence. ]

[Footnote 12: binding, enforcing. ]

[Footnote 13: fate. ]

[Footnote 14: lessen, decrease.