No More Learning

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! lett Devylles rounde mee tende,
To slea mieselfe, mie love, & eke mie doughtie[9] friende. 20




AELLA, BIRTHA.


AELLA.

Notte, whanne the hallie prieste dyd make me knyghte,
Blessynge the weaponne, tellynge future dede,
Howe bie mie honde the prevyd[10] Dane shoulde blede,
Howe I schulde often bee, and often wynne, ynn fyghte;

Notte, whann I fyrste behelde thie beauteous hue, 25
Whyche strooke mie mynde, & rouzed mie softer soule;
Nott, whann from the barbed horse yn fyghte dyd viewe
The flying Dacians oere the wyde playne roule,
Whan all the troopes of Denmarque made grete dole,
Dydd I fele joie wyth syke reddoure[11] as nowe, 30
Whann hallie preest, the lechemanne of the soule,
Dydd knytte us both ynn a caytysnede[12] vowe:
Now hallie AElla's selynesse ys grate;
Shap[13] haveth nowe ymade hys woes for to emmate[14].

BIRTHA.

Mie lorde, & husbande, syke a joie ys myne; 35
Botte mayden modestie moste ne soe saie,
Albeytte thou mayest rede ytt ynn myne eyne,
Or ynn myne harte, where thou shalte be for aie;
Inne sothe, I have botte meeded oute thie faie[15];
For twelve tymes twelve the mone hathe bin yblente[16], 40
As manie tymes hathe vyed the Godde of daie,
And on the grasse her lemes[17] of sylverr sente,
Sythe thou dydst cheese mee for thie swote to bee,
Enactynge ynn the same moste faiefullie to mee.

Ofte have I seene thee atte the none-daie feaste, 45
Whanne deysde bie thieselfe, for wante of pheeres[18],
Awhylst thie merryemen dydde laughe and jeaste,
Onn mee thou semest all eyne, to mee all eares.
Thou wardest mee as gyff ynn hondred feeres,
Alest a daygnous[19] looke to thee be sente, 50
And offrendes[20] made mee, moe thann yie compheeres,
Offe scarpes[21] of scarlette, & fyne paramente[22];
All thie yntente to please was lyssed[23] to mee,
I saie ytt, I moste streve thatt you ameded bee.

AELLA.

Mie lyttel kyndnesses whyche I dydd doe, 55
Thie gentleness doth corven them soe grete,
Lyche bawsyn[24] olyphauntes[25] mie gnattes doe shewe;
Thou doest mie thoughtes of paying love amate[26].
Botte hann mie actyonns straughte[27] the rolle of fate,
Pyghte thee fromm Hell, or broughte Heaven down to thee, 60
Layde the whol worlde a falldstole atte thie feete,
On smyle woulde be suffycyll mede for mee.
I amm Loves borro'r, & canne never paie,
Bott be hys borrower stylle, & thyne, mie swete, for aie.

BIRTHA.

Love, doe notte rate your achevmentes[28] soe smalle; 65
As I to you, syke love untoe mee beare;
For nothynge paste wille Birtha ever call,
Ne on a foode from Heaven thynke to cheere.
As farr as thys frayle brutylle flesch wylle spere,
Syke, & ne fardher I expecte of you; 70
Be notte toe slacke yn love, ne overdeare;
A smalle fyre, yan a loude flame, proves more true.

AELLA.

Thie gentle wordis doe thie volunde[29] kenne
To bee moe clergionde thann ys ynn meyncte of menne.




AELLA, BIRTHA, CELMONDE, MYNSTRELLES.


CELMONDE.

Alle blessynges showre on gentle AElla's hedde! 75
Oft maie the moone, yn sylverr sheenynge lyghte,
Inne varied chaunges varyed blessynges shedde,
Besprengeynge far abrode mischaunces nyghte;
And thou, fayre Birtha! thou, fayre Dame, so bryghte,
Long mayest thou wyth AElla fynde muche peace, 80
Wythe selynesse, as wyth a roabe, be dyghte,
Wyth everych chaungynge mone new joies encrease!
I, as a token of mie love to speake,
Have brought you jubbes of ale, at nyghte youre brayne to breake.


AELLA.

Whan sopperes paste we'lle drenche youre ale soe stronge, 85
Tyde lyfe, tyde death.

CELMONDE.

Ye Mynstrelles, chaunt your songe.

_Mynstrelles Songe, bie a Manne and Womanne. _

MANNE.

Tourne thee to thie Shepsterr[30] swayne;
Bryghte sonne has ne droncke the dewe
From the floures of yellowe hue;
Tourne thee, Alyce, backe agayne. 90

WOMANNE.

No, bestoikerre[31], I wylle goe,
Softlie tryppynge o'ere the mees[32],
Lyche the sylver-footed doe,
Seekeynge shelterr yn grene trees.

MANNE.

See the moss-growne daisey'd banke, 95
Pereynge ynne the streme belowe;
Here we'lle sytte, yn dewie danke;
Tourne thee, Alyce, do notte goe.

WOMANNE.

I've hearde erste mie grandame saie,
Yonge damoyselles schulde ne bee, 100
Inne the swotie moonthe of Maie,
Wythe yonge menne bie the grene wode tree.

MANNE.

Sytte thee, Alyce, sytte, and harke,
Howe the ouzle[33] chauntes hys noate,
The chelandree[34], greie morn larke, 105
Chauntynge from theyre lyttel throate;

WOMANNE.

I heare them from eche grene wode tree,
Chauntynge owte so blatauntlie[35],
Tellynge lecturnyes[36] to mee,
Myscheefe ys whanne you are nygh. 110

MANNE.

See alonge the mees so grene
Pied daisies, kynge-coppes swote;
Alle wee see, bie non bee scene,
Nete botte shepe settes here a fote.

WOMANNE.

Shepster swayne, you tare mie gratche[37]. 115
Oute uponne ye! lette me goe.
Leave mee swythe, or I'lle alatche.
Robynne, thys youre dame shall knowe.

MANNE.

See! the crokynge brionie
Rounde the popler twyste hys spraie; 120
Rounde the oake the greene ivie
Florryschethe and lyveth aie.

Lette us seate us bie thys tree,
Laughe, and synge to lovynge ayres;
Comme, and doe notte coyen bee; 125
Nature made all thynges bie payres.
Drooried cattes wylle after kynde;
Gentle doves wylle kyss and coe.

WOMANNE.

Botte manne, hee moste bee ywrynde,
Tylle syr preeste make on of two. 130

Tempte mee ne to the foule thynge;
I wylle no mannes lemanne be;
Tyll syr preeste hys songe doethe synge,
Thou shalt neere fynde aught of mee.

MANNE.

Bie oure ladie her yborne, 135
To-morrowe, soone as ytte ys daie,
I'lle make thee wyfe, ne bee forsworne,
So tyde me lyfe or dethe for aie.

WOMANNE.

Whatt dothe lette, botte thatte nowe
Wee attenes[38], thos honde yn honde, 140
Unto divinistre[39] goe,
And bee lyncked yn wedlocke bonde?

MANNE.

I agree, and thus I plyghte
Honde, and harte, and all that's myne;
Goode syr Rogerr, do us ryghte, 145
Make us one, at Cothbertes shryne.

BOTHE.

We wylle ynn a bordelle[40] lyve,
Hailie, thoughe of no estate;
Everyche clocke moe love shall gyve;
Wee ynne godenesse wylle bee greate. 150

AELLA.

I lyche thys songe, I lyche ytt myckle well;
And there ys monie for yer syngeynge nowe;
Butte have you noone thatt marriage-blessynges telle?

CELMONDE.

In marriage, blessynges are botte fewe, I trowe.

MYNSTRELLES.

Laverde[41], wee have; and, gyff you please, wille synge, 155
As well as owre choughe-voyces wylle permytte.

AELLA.

Comme then, and see you swotelie tune the strynge,
And stret[42], and engyne all the human wytte,
Toe please mie dame.

MYNSTRELLES.

We'lle strayne owre wytte and synge.

_Mynstrelles Songe. _

FYRSTE MYNSTRYLLE.
The boddynge flourettes bloshes atte the lyghte; 160
The mees be sprenged wyth the yellowe hue;
Ynn daiseyd mantels ys the mountayne dyghte;
The nesh[43] yonge coweslepe bendethe wyth the dewe;
The trees enlefed, yntoe Heavenne straughte.
Whenn gentle wyndes doe blowe, to whestlyng dynne ys broughte. 165

The evenynge commes, and brynges the dewe alonge;
The roddie welkynne sheeneth to the eyne;
Arounde the alestake Mynstrells synge the songe;
Yonge ivie rounde the doore poste do entwyne;
I laie mee onn the grasse; yette, to mie wylle, 170
Albeytte alle ys fayre, there lackethe somethynge stylle.

SECONDE MYNSTRELLE.

So Adam thoughtenne, whann, ynn Paradyse,
All Heavenn and Erthe dyd hommage to hys mynde;
Ynn Womman alleyne mannes pleasaunce lyes;
As Instrumentes of joie were made the kynde. 175
Go, take a wyfe untoe thie armes, and see
Wynter, and brownie hylles, wyll have a charme for thee.

THYRDE MYNSTRELLE.

Whanne Autumpne blake[44] and sonne-brente doe appere,
With hys goulde honde guylteynge the falleynge lefe,
Bryngeynge oppe Wynterr to folfylle the yere, 180
Beerynge uponne hys backe the riped shefe;
Whan al the hyls wythe woddie sede ys whyte;
Whanne levynne-fyres and lemes do mete from far the syghte;

Whann the fayre apple, rudde as even skie,
Do bende the tree unto the fructyle grounde; 185
When joicie peres, and berries of blacke die,
Doe daunce yn ayre, and call the eyne arounde;
Thann, bee the even foule, or even fayre,
Meethynckes mie hartys joie ys steynced wyth somme care.

SECONDE MYNSTRELLE.

Angelles bee wrogte to bee of neidher kynde; 190
Angelles alleyne fromme chafe[45] desyre bee free;
Dheere ys a somwhatte evere yn the mynde,
Yatte, wythout wommanne, cannot stylled bee;
Ne seyncte yn celles, botte, havynge blodde and tere[46],
Do fynde the spryte to joie on syghte of womanne fayre: 195

Wommen bee made, notte for hemselves, botte manne,
Bone of hys bone, and chyld of hys desire;
Fromme an ynutyle membere fyrste beganne,
Ywroghte with moche of water, lyttele fyre;
Therefore theie seke the fyre of love, to hete 200
The milkyness of kynde, and make hemselfes complete.

Albeytte, wythout wommen, menne were pheeres
To salvage kynde, and wulde botte lyve to flea,
Botte wommenne efte the spryghte of peace so cheres,
Tochelod yn Angel joie heie Angeles bee; 205
Go, take thee swythyn[47] to thie bedde a wyfe,
Bee bante or blessed hie, yn proovynge marryage lyfe.

_Anodher Mynstrelles Songe_, bie Syr _Thybbot Gorges_.

As Elynour bie the green lesselle was syttynge,
As from the sones hete she harried,
She sayde, as herr whytte hondes whyte hosen was knyttynge, 210
Whatte pleasure ytt ys to be married!

Mie husbande, Lorde Thomas, a forrester boulde,
As ever clove pynne, or the baskette,
Does no cherysauncys from Elynour houlde,
I have ytte as soone as I aske ytte. 215

Whann I lyved wyth mie fadre yn merrie Clowd-dell.
Tho' twas at my liefe to mynde spynnynge,
I stylle wanted somethynge, botte whatte ne coulde telle,
Mie lorde fadres barbde haulle han ne wynnynge.
Eche mornynge I ryse, doe I sette mie maydennes, 220
Somme to spynn, somme to curdell, somme bleachynge,
Gyff any new entered doe aske for mie aidens,
Thann swythynne you fynde mee a teachynge.

Lorde Walterre, mie fadre, he loved me welle,
And nothynge unto mee was nedeynge, 225
Botte schulde I agen goe to merrie Cloud-dell,
In sothen twoulde bee wythoute redeynge.

Shee sayde, and lorde Thomas came over the lea,
As hee the fatte derkynnes was chacynge,
Shee putte uppe her knyttynge, and to hym wente shee; 230
So wee leave hem bothe kyndelie embracynge.

AELLA.

I lyche eke thys; goe ynn untoe the feaste;
Wee wylle permytte you antecedente bee;
There swotelie synge eche carolle, and yaped[48] jeaste;
And there ys monnie, that you merrie bee; 235
Comme, gentle love, wee wylle toe spouse-feaste goe,
And there ynn ale and wyne bee dreyncted[49] everych woe.




AELLA, BIRTHA, CELMONDE, MESSENGERE.


MESSENGERE.

AElla, the Danes ar thondrynge onn our coaste;
Lyche scolles of locusts, caste oppe bie the sea,
Magnus and Hurra, wythe a doughtie hoaste, 240
Are ragyng, to be quansed[50] bie none botte thee;
Haste, swyfte as Levynne to these royners flee:
Thie dogges alleyne can tame thys ragynge bulle.
Haste swythyn, fore anieghe the towne theie bee,
And Wedecesterres rolle of dome bee fulle. 245
Haste, haste, O AElla, to the byker flie,
For yn a momentes space tenne thousand menne maie die.

AELLA.

Beshrew thee for thie newes! I moste be gon.
Was ever lockless dome so hard as myne!
Thos from dysportysmente to warr to ron, 250
To chaunge the selke veste for the gaberdyne!

BIRTHA.

O! lyche a nedere, lette me rounde thee twyne,
And hylte thie boddie from the schaftes of warre.
Thou shalte nott, must not, from thie Birtha ryne,
Botte kenn the dynne of slughornes from afarre. 255

AELLA.

O love, was thys thie joie, to shewe the treate,
Than groffyshe to forbydde thie hongered guestes to eate?

O mie upswalynge[51] harte, whatt wordes can saie
The peynes, thatte passethe ynn mie soule ybrente?
Thos to bee torne uponne mie spousalle daie, 260
O! 'tys a peyne beyond entendemente.
Yee mychtie Goddes, and is yor favoures sente
As thous faste dented to a loade of peyne?
Moste wee aie holde yn chace the shade content.
And for a bodykyn[52] a swarthe obteyne? 265
O! whie, yee seynctes, oppress yee thos mie fowle?
How shalle I speke mie woe, mie freme, mie dreerie dole?

CELMONDE.

Sometyme the wyseste lacketh pore mans rede.
Reasonne and counynge wytte efte flees awaie.
Thanne, loverde, lett me saie, wyth hommaged drede
(Bieneth your fote ylayn) mie counselle saie; 271
Gyff thos wee lett the matter lethlen[53] laie,
The foemenn, everych honde-poyncte, getteth fote.
Mie loverde, lett the speere-menne, dyghte for fraie,
And all the sabbataners goe aboute. 275
I speke, mie loverde, alleyne to upryse
Youre wytte from marvelle, and the warriour to alyse.

AELLA.

Ah! nowe thou pottest takells[54] yn mie harte;
Mie soulghe dothe nowe begynne to see herselle;
I wylle upryse mie myghte, and doe mie parte, 280
To flea the foemenne yn mie furie felle.
Botte howe canne tynge mie rampynge fourie telle.
Whyche ryseth from mie love to Birtha fayre?
Ne coulde the queede, and alle the myghte of Helle,
Founde out impleasaunce of syke blacke a geare. 285
Yette I wylle bee mieselfe, and rouze mie spryte
To acte wythe rennome, and goe meet the bloddie fyghte.

BIRTHA.

No, thou schalte never leave thie Birtha's syde;
Ne schall the wynde uponne us blowe alleyne;
I, lyche a nedre, wylle untoe thee byde; 290
Tyde lyfe, tyde deathe, ytte shall behoulde us twayne.
I have mie parte of drierie dole and peyne;
Itte brasteth from mee atte the holtred eyne;
Ynne tydes of teares mie swarthynge spryte wyll drayne,
Gyff drerie dole ys thyne, tys twa tymes myne. 295
Goe notte, AElla; wythe thie Birtha staie;
For wyth thie femmlykeed mie spryte wyll goe awaie.

AELLA.

O! tys for thee, for thee alleyne I fele;
Yett I muste bee mieselfe; with valoures gear
I'lle dyghte mie hearte, and notte mie lymbes yn stele, 300
And shake the bloddie swerde and steyned spere.

BIRTHA.

Can AElla from hys breaste hys Birtha teare?
Is shee so rou and ugsomme[55] to hys fyghte?
Entrykeynge wyght! ys leathall warre so deare?
Thou pryzest mee belowe the joies of fyghte. 305
Thou scalte notte leave mee, albeytte the erthe
Hong pendaunte bie thie swerde, and craved for thy morthe.

AELLA.

Dyddest thou kenne howe mie woes, as starres ybrente,
Headed bie these thie wordes doe onn mee falle,
Thou woulde stryve to gyve mie harte contente, 310
Wakyng mie slepynge mynde to honnoures calle.
Of selynesse I pryze thee moe yan all
Heaven can mee sende, or counynge wytt acquyre,
Yette I wylle leave thee, onne the foe to falle,
Retournynge to thie eyne with double fyre. 315

BIRTHA.

Moste Birtha boon requeste and bee denyd?
Receyve attenes a darte yn selynesse and pryde?
Doe staie, att leaste tylle morrowes sonne apperes.

AELLA.

Thou kenneste welle the Dacyannes myttee powere;
Wythe them a mynnute wurchethe bane for yeares; 320
Theie undoe reaulmes wythyn a syngle hower.
Rouze all thie honnoure, Birtha; look attoure
Thie bledeynge countrie, whych for hastie dede
Calls, for the rodeynge of some doughtie power,
To royn yttes royners, make yttes foemenne blede. 325

BIRTHA.

Rouze all thie love; false and entrykyng wyghte!
Ne leave thie Birtha thos uponne pretence of fyghte.

Thou nedest notte goe, untyll thou haste command
Under the sygnette of oure lorde the kynge.

AELLA.

And wouldest thou make me then a recreande? 330
Hollie Seyncte Marie, keepe mee from the thynge!
Heere, Birtha, thou hast potte a double stynge,
One for thie love, anodher for thie mynde.

BIRTHA.

Agylted[56] AElla, thie abredynge[57] blynge[58].
Twas love of thee thatte foule intente ywrynde. 335
Yette heare mie supplycate, to mee attende,
Hear from mie groted[59] harte the lover and the friende.
Lett Celmonde yn thie armour-brace be dyghte;
And yn thie stead unto the battle goe;
Thie name alleyne wylle putte the Danes to flyghte, 340
The ayre thatt beares ytt woulde presse downe the foe.

AELLA.

Birtha, yn vayne thou wouldste mee recreand doe;
I moste, I wylle, fyghte for mie countries wele,
And leave thee for ytt. Celmonde, sweftlie goe,
Telle mie Brystowans to bedyghte yn stele; 345
Tell hem I scorne to kenne hem from afar,
Botte leave the vyrgyn brydall bedde for bedde of warre.




AELLA, BIRTHA.


BIRTHA.

And thou wylt goe; O mie agroted harte!

AELLA.

Mie countrie waites mie marche; I muste awaie;
Albeytte I schulde goe to mete the darte 350
Of certen Dethe, yette here I woulde notte staie.
Botte thos to leave thee, Birtha, dothe asswaie
Moe torturynge peynes yanne canne be sedde bie tyngue,
Yette rouze thie honoure uppe, and wayte the daie,
Whan rounde aboute mee songe of warre heie synge. 355
O Birtha, strev mie agreeme[60] to accaie[61],
And joyous see mie armes, dyghte oute ynn warre arraie.

BIRTHA.

Difficile[62] ys the pennaunce, yette I'lle strev
To keepe mie woe behyltren yn mie breaste.
Albeytte nete maye to mee pleasaunce yev, 360
Lyche thee, I'lle strev to sette mie mynde atte reste.
Yett oh! forgeve, yff I have thee dystreste;
Love, doughtie love, wylle beare no odher swaie.
Juste as I was wythe AElla to be bleste,
Shappe foullie thos hathe snatched hym awaie. 365
It was a tene too doughtie to bee borne,
Wydhoute an ounde of teares and breaste wyth syghes ytorne.

AELLA.

Thie mynde ys now thieselfe; why wylte thou bee
All blanche, al kyngelie, all soe wyse yn mynde,
Alleyne to lett pore wretched AElla see, 370
Whatte wondrous bighes[63] he nowe muste leave behynde?
O Birtha fayre, warde everyche commynge wynde,
On everych wynde I wylle a token sende;
Onn mie longe shielde ycorne thie name thoul't fynde.
Butte here commes Celmonde, wordhie knyghte and friende. 375




AELLA, BIRTHA, CELMONDE


_speaking. _

Thie Brystowe knyghtes for thie forth-comynge lynge[64];
Echone athwarte hys backe hys longe warre-shield dothe slynge.

AELLA.

Birtha, adieu; but yette I cannotte goe.

BIRTHA.

Lyfe of mie spryte, mie gentle AElla staie. 380
Engyne mee notte wyth syke a drierie woe.

AELLA.

I muste, I wylle; tys honnoure cals awaie.

BIRTHA.

O mie agroted harte, braste, braste ynn twaie.
AElla, for honnoure, flyes awaie from mee.

AELLA.

Birtha, adieu; I maie notte here obaie. 385
I'm flyynge from mieselfe yn flying thee.

BIRTHA.

O AElla, housband, friend, and loverde, staie.
He's gon, he's gone, alass! percase he's gone for aie.

CELMONDE.

Hope, hallie suster, sweepeynge thro' the skie,
In crowne of goulde, and robe of lillie whyte, 390
Whyche farre abrode ynne gentle ayre doe flie,
Meetynge from dystaunce the enjoyous fyghte,
Albeytte efte thou takest thie hie flyghte
Hecket[65] ynne a myste, and wyth thyne eyne yblente,
Nowe commest thou to mee wythe starrie lyghte; 395
Ontoe thie veste the rodde sonne ys adente[66];
The Sommer tyde, the month of Maie appere,
Depycte wythe skylledd honde upponn thie wyde aumere.

I from a nete of hopelen am adawed,
Awhaped[67] atte the fetyveness of daie; 400
AElla, bie nete moe thann hys myndbruche awed,
Is gone, and I moste followe, toe the fraie.
Celmonde canne ne'er from anie byker staie.
Dothe warre begynne? there's Celmonde yn the place.
Botte whanne the warre ys donne, I'll haste awaie.
The reste from nethe tymes masque must shew yttes face. 405
I see onnombered joies arounde mee ryse;
Blake[68] stondethe future doome, and joie dothe mee alyse.

O honnoure, honnoure, whatt ys bie thee hanne?
Hailie the robber and the bordelyer, 410
Who kens ne thee, or ys to thee bestanne,
And nothynge does thie myckle gastness fere.
Faygne woulde I from mie bosomme alle thee tare.
Thou there dysperpellest[69] thie levynne-bronde;
Whylest mie soulgh's forwyned, thou art the gare; 415
Sleene ys mie comforte bie thie ferie honde;
As somme talle hylle, whann wynds doe shake the ground,
Itte kerveth all abroade, bie brasteynge hyltren wounde.

Honnoure, whatt bee ytte? tys a shadowes shade,
A thynge of wychencref, an idle dreme; 420
On of the fonnis whych the clerche have made
Menne wydhoute sprytes, and wommen for to fleme;
Knyghtes, who efte kenne the loude dynne of the beme,
Schulde be forgarde to syke enfeeblynge waies,
Make everych acte, alyche theyr soules, be breme, 425
And for theyre chyvalrie alleyne have prayse.
O thou, whatteer thie name,
Or Zabalus or Queed,
Comme, steel mie sable spryte,
For fremde[70] and dolefulle dede. 430




MAGNUS, HURRA, _and_ HIE PREESTE, _wyth the_ ARMIE, _neare_ Watchette.


MAGNUS.

Swythe[71] lette the offrendes[72] to the Goddes begynne.
To knowe of hem the issue of the fyghte.
Potte the blodde-steyned sword and pavyes ynne;
Spreade swythyn all arounde the hallie lyghte.

HIE PREESTE _syngeth_.

Yee, who hie yn mokie ayre 435
Delethe seasonnes foule or fayre,
Yee, who, whanne yee weere agguylte,
The mone yn bloddie gyttelles[73] hylte,
Mooved the starres, and dyd unbynde
Everyche barriere to the wynde; 440
Whanne the oundynge waves dystreste,
Stroven to be overest,
Sockeynge yn the spyre-gyrte towne,
Swolterynge wole natyones downe,
Sendynge dethe, on plagues astrodde, 445
Moovynge lyke the erthys Godde;
To mee send your heste dyvyne,
Lyghte eletten[74] all myne eyne,
Thatt I maie now undevyse
All the actyonnes of th'empprize. 450
[_falleth downe and efte rysethe. _
Thus sayethe the Goddes; goe, yssue to the playne;
Forr there shall meynte of mytte menne bee slayne.

MAGNUS.

Whie, foe there evere was, whanne Magnus foughte.
Efte have I treynted noyance throughe the hoaste,
Athorowe swerdes, alyche the Queed dystraughte, 455
Have Magnus pressynge wroghte hys foemen loaste.
As whanne a tempeste vexethe soare the coaste,
The dyngeynge ounde the sandeie stronde doe tare,
So dyd I inne the warre the javlynne toste,
Full meynte a champyonnes breaste received mie spear. 460
Mie sheelde, lyche sommere morie gronfer droke,
Mie lethalle speere, alyche a levyn-mylted oke.

HURRA.

Thie wordes are greate, full hyghe of sound, and eeke
Lyche thonderre, to the whych dothe comme no rayne.
Itte lacketh notte a doughtie honde to speke; 465
The cocke saiethe drefte[75], yett armed ys he alleyne.
Certis thie wordes maie, thou motest have sayne
Of mee, and meynte of moe, who eke canne fyghte,
Who haveth trodden downe the adventayle,
And tore the heaulmes from heades of myckle myghte. 470
Sythence syke myghte ys placed yn thie honde,
Lette blowes thie actyons speeke, and bie thie corrage stonde.

MAGNUS.

Thou are a warrioure, Hurra, thatte I kenne,
And myckle famed for thie handie dede.
Thou fyghtest anente[76] maydens and ne menne, 475
Nor aie thou makest armed hartes to blede.
Efte I, caparyson'd on bloddie stede,
Havethe thee seene binethe mee ynn the fyghte,
Wythe corses I investynge everich mede,
And thou aston, and wondrynge at mie myghte. 480
Thanne wouldest thou comme yn for mie renome,
Albeytte thou wouldst reyne awaie from bloddie dome?

HURRA.

How! butte bee bourne mie rage. I kenne aryghte
Bothe thee and thyne maie ne bee wordhye peene.
Eftsoones I hope wee scalle engage yn fyghte; 485
Thanne to the souldyers all thou wylte bewreene.
I'll prove mie courage onne the burled greene;
Tys there alleyne I'll telle thee whatte I bee.
Gyf I weelde notte the deadlie sphere adeene,
Thanne lett mie name be fulle as lowe as thee. 490
Thys mie adented shielde, thys mie warre-speare,
Schalle telle the falleynge foe gyf Hurra's harte can feare.

MAGNUS.

Magnus woulde speke, butte thatte hys noble spryte
Dothe soe enrage, he knowes notte whatte to saie.
He'dde speke yn blowes, yn gottes of blodde he'd wryte, 495
And on thie heafod peyncte hys myghte for aie.
Gyf thou anent an wolfynnes rage wouldest staie,
'Tys here to meet ytt; botte gyff nott, bee goe;
Lest I in furrie shulde mie armes dysplaie,
Whyche to thie boddie wylle wurche[77] myckle woe. 500
Oh! I bee madde, dystraughte wyth brendyng rage;
Ne seas of smethynge gore wylle mie chafed harte asswage.

HURRA.

I kenne thee, Magnus, welle; a wyghte thou art
That doest aslee alonge ynn doled dystresse,
Strynge bulle yn boddie, lyoncelle yn harte, 505
I almost wysche thie prowes were made lesse.
Whan AElla (name drest uppe yn ugsomness[78]
To thee and recreandes[79]) thondered on the playne,
Howe dydste thou thorowe fyrste of fleers presse!
Swefter thanne federed takelle dydste thou reyne. 510
A ronnynge pryze onn seyncte daie to ordayne,
Magnus, and none botte hee, the ronnynge pryze wylle gayne.

MAGNUS.

Eternalle plagues devour thie baned tyngue!
Myrriades of neders pre upponne thie spryte!
Maiest thou fele al the peynes of age whylst yynge, 515
Unmanned, uneyned, exclooded aie the lyghte,
Thie senses, lyche thieselfe, enwrapped yn nyghte,
A scoff to foemen & to beastes a pheere;
Maie furched levynne onne thie head alyghte,
Maie on thee falle the fhuyr of the unweere; 520
Fen vaipoures blaste thie everiche manlie powere,
Maie thie bante boddie quycke the wolfome peenes devoure.

Faygne woulde I curse thee further, botte mie tyngue
Denies mie harte the favoure soe toe doe.

HURRA.