Prepare a fleing horse,Whose feete are wynges, whose pace ys lycke the wynde, 805Whoe wylle outestreppe the morneynge lyghte yn course,Leaveynge the gyttelles of the merke behynde.Somme hyltren matters doe mie presence fynde.Gyv oute to alle yatte I was sleene ynne fyghte.Gyff ynne thys gare thou doest mie order mynde, 810Whanne I returne, thou shalte be made a knyghte;Flie, flie, be gon; an howerre ys a daie;Quycke dyghte mie beste of stedes, & brynge hymm heere—awaie!
Ælla ys woundedd sore, & ynne the touneHe waytethe, tylle hys woundes bee broghte to ethe. 815And shalle I from hys browes plocke off the croune,Makynge the vyctore yn hys vyctorie blethe?O no! fulle sooner schulde mie hartes blodde smethe,Fulle soonere woulde I tortured bee toe deathe;Botte—Birtha ys the pryze; ahe! ytte were ethe 820To gayne so gayne a pryze wythe losse of breathe;Botte thanne rennome æterne[98]—ytte ys botte ayre;Bredde ynne the phantasie, & alleyn lyvynge there.
Albeytte everyche thynge yn lyfe conspyreTo telle me of the faulte I nowe schulde doe, 825Yette woulde I battentlie assuage mie fyre,And the same menes, as I scall nowe, pursue.The qualytyes I fro mie parentes drewe,Were blodde, & morther, masterie, and warre;Thie I wylle holde to now, & hede ne moe 830A wounde yn rennome, yanne a boddie scarre.Nowe, Ælla, nowe Ime plantynge of a thorne,Bie whyche thie peace, thie love, & glorie shalle be torne.
Gentle Egwina, do notte preche me joie;I cannotte joie ynne anie thynge botte weere[99]. 835Oh! yatte aughte schulde oure sellynesse destroie,Floddynge the face wythe woe, & brynie teare!
You muste, you muste endeavour for to cheereYoure harte unto somme cherisaunced reste.Youre loverde from the battelle wylle appere. 840Ynne honnoure, & a greater love, be dreste;Botte I wylle call the mynstrelles roundelaie;Perchaunce the swotie sounde maie chafe your wiere[99] awaie.
O! synge untoe mie roundelaie,O! droppe the brynie teare wythe mee, 845Daunce 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, 855Gon 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, 860O! 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, 865In 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, 870Al 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: 875Mie 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. 880Nee one hallie Seyncte to saveAl 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 brieresRounde his hallie corse to gre,Ouphante fairie, lyghte youre fyres,Heere mie boddie stylle schalle bee.Mie love ys dedde, 890Gon 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, 895Daunce 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], 900Bere mee to yer leathalle tyde.I die; I comme; mie true love waytes.Thos the damselle spake, and dyed.
Thys syngeyng haveth whatte coulde make ytte please;Butte mie uncourtlie shappe benymmes mee of all ease. 905
ÆLLA,atteWATCHETTE.
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; 910Swefte 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 masterieCanne 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; 920I 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,attBRYSTOWE.
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; 930Nowe 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.
Go telle to Birtha strayte, a straungerr waytethe here. 935
Celmonde! yee seynctes! I hope thou haste goode newes.
The hope ys loste: for heavie newes prepare.
Is Ælla welle?
Hee lyves; & stylle maie useThe behylte[108] blessynges of a future yeare.
Whatte heavie tydynge thenne have I to feare? 940Of whatte mischaunce dydste thou so latelie saie?
For heavie tydynges swythyn nowe prepare.Ælla sore wounded ys, yn bykerous fraie;In Wedecester's wallid toune he lyes.
O mie agroted breast!
Wythoute your syghte, he dyes. 945
Wylle Birtha's presence ethe herr Ælla's payne?I flie; newe wynges doe from mie schoulderrs sprynge.
Mie stede wydhoute wylle deftelie beere us twayne.
Oh! I wyll flie as wynde, & no waie lynge;Sweftlie caparisons for rydynge brynge; 950I have a mynde wynged wythe the levyn ploome.O Ælla, Ælla! 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
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 Ælla I wylle gev you conducte goode.Youre eyne, alyche a baulme, wylle staunche hys bloode, 960Holpe 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
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 Ælla's eyne eftsoones woulde flee; 970Albeytte 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 Ælla owte; brave Celmonde, leade the waie. 975
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, 980Lette 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 Ælla dyd commaunde the daie; 990Ynn 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, 1000Pete 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
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; 1010Wyde ys the sylver lemes of comforte wove;Speke, Celmonde, does ytte make thee notte afrayde?
Merker the nyghte, the fitter tyde for love.
Saiest thou for love? ah! love is far awaie.Faygne would I see once moe the roddie lemes of daie. 1015
Love maie bee nie, woulde Birtha calle ytte here.
How, Celmonde, dothe thou mene?
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, 1020The 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
Celmonde, speake whatte thou menest, or alse mie thoughtesPerchaunce maie robbe thie honestie so fayre.
Then here, & knowe, hereto I have you broughte,Mie longe hydde love unto you to make clere.
Oh heaven & earthe! whatte ys ytt I doe heare? 1030Am I betraste[112]? where ys mie Ælla, saie!
O! do nete nowe to Ælla syke love bere,Botte geven some onne Celmondes hedde.
Awaie!I wylle be gone, & groape mie passage oute,Albeytte neders stynges mie legs do twyne aboute. 1035
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, 1040Theere 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
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 Ælla's bedde, 1050And 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
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].
Holpe, holpe, yee seynctes! oh thatte mie blodde was spylte! 1060
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.
No, foule bestoykerre, I wylle rende the ayre,Tylle dethe do staie mie dynne, or somme kynde roder heare. 1065Holpe! holpe! oh godde!
Ah! thatts a wommanne cries.I kenn hem; saie, who are you, yatte bee theere?
Yee hyndes, awaie! orre bie thys swerde yee dies.
Thie wordes wylle ne mie hartis sete affere.
Save mee, oh! save mee from thys royner heere! 1070
Stonde thou bie mee; nowe saie thie name & londe;Or swythyne schall mie swerde thie boddie tare.
Bothe I wylle shewe thee bie mie brondeous[116] honde.
Besette hym rounde, yee Danes.
Comme onne, and seeGyff mie strynge anlace maie bewryen whatte I bee. 1075[Fyghte al anensteCelmonde,meynte Danes he fleath,and faleth toHurra.
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 æterne nyghte;—To her be kynde. [Dieth.
Thenne felle a wordhie knyghte. 1080Saie, who bee you?
I am greate Ælla's wyfe.
Ah
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
I wylle; ytte scalle bee foe: yee Dacyans, heere.Thys Ælla 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, 1090Forslagen 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,Ælla the gare dheie sed, & wysched hym bytter dome. 1095
Mercie!
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? 1100You 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 Ælla's slave,Robbe hym of whatte percase he holdith deere?Or scalle we menne of mennys sprytes appere, 1110Doeynge 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
Al blessynges maie the seynctes unto yee gyve!Al pleasaunce maie youre longe-straughte livynges bee!Ælla, whanne knowynge thatte bie you I lyve,Wylle thyncke too smalle a guyfte the londe & sea.O Celmonde! I maie deftlie rede bie thee, 1120Whatte 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
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; 1130The 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 Ælla see.Or Brystowes wallyd towne; damoyselle, followe mee. 1135
'Tys nowe fulle morne; I thoughten, bie laste nyghteTo 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. 1140Nowe. 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
Oh Ælla!
Ah! that semmlykeene to meeSpeeketh a legendary tale of woe.
Birtha is—
Whatt? where? how? saie, whatte of shee?
Gone—
Gone! ye goddes!
Alas! ytte ys toe true.Yee seynctes, hee dies awaie wythe myckle woe! 1150Ælla! what? Ælla! oh! hee lyves agen.
Cal mee notte Ælla; I am hymme ne moe.Where ys shee gon awaie? ah! speake! how? when?
I will.
Caparyson a score of stedes; flie, flie.Where ys shee? swythynne speeke, or instante thou shalte die. 1155
Stylle thie loud rage, & here thou whatte I knowe.
Oh! speek.
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—
Her love! to whomme?
To thee, her spouse alleyne[122]. 1160As 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
Thou lyest, foul hagge! thou lyest; thou art her aydeTo chere her louste;—botte noe; ytte cannotte bee.
Gyff trouthe appear notte inne whatte I have sayde,Drawe forthe thie anlace swythyn, thanne mee flea.
Botte yette ytte muste, ytte muste bee foe; I see, 1170Shee 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
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 1180I ken ne matter; so, mie hommage made—
O! speake ne moe; mie harte flames yn yttes heste;I once was Ælla; nowe bee notte yttes shade.Hanne alle the fuirie of mysfortunes wylleFallen onne mie benned[124] headde I hanne been Ælla 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, 1190To 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 Ælla lyved, as noblie Ælla felle. 1195[Stabbeth hys breste.
Ælla ys sleene; the flower of Englonde's marrde!
Be stylle: swythe lette the chyrches rynge mie knelle.Call hyther brave Coernyke; he, as wardeOf thys mie Brystowe castle, wyll doe welle.[Knelle ryngeth.
Thee I ordeyne the warde; so alle maie telle. 1200I 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.
Yatte shee moste bee.
Ah! saie notte foe; yatte worde woulde Ælla dobblie flee. 1205
Ah! Birtha here!
Whatte dynne ys thys? whatte menes yis leathalle knelle?Where ys mie Ælla? speeke; where? howe ys hee?Oh Ælla! art thou yanne alyve and welle!
I lyve yndeed; botte doe notte lyve for thee.
Whatte menes mie Ælla?
Here mie meneynge see. 1210Thie foulness urged mie honde to gyve thys wounde,Ytte mee unsprytes[128].
Ytte hathe unspryted mee.
Ah heavens! mie Birtha fallethe to the grounde!Botte yette I am a manne, and so wylle bee.
Ælla! 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; 1220The whyche, albeytte foemen, wee dydd wylle;So here wee broughte her wythe you to remayne.
Yee nobylle Danes! wythe goulde I wyll you fylle.
Birtha, mie lyfe! mie love! oh! she ys fayre.Whatte faultes coulde Birtha have, whatte faultes could Ælla feare?
Amm I yenne thyne? I cannotte blame thie feere.Botte doe reste mee uponne mie Ælla'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, 1230To 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—
Oh! I die contente.— [dieth.
Oh! ys mie Ælla dedde?O! I will make hys grave mie vyrgyn spousal bedde. 1235[Birthafeyncteth.
Whatt? Ælla 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?Ælla, thie rennome was thie onlie gayne; 1240For 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
[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.]
[Footnote 15: faith.]
[Footnote 16: blinded.]
[Footnote 17: lights, rays.]
[Footnote 18: fellows, equals.]
[Footnote 19: disdainful.]
[Footnote 20: presents, offerings.]
[Footnote 21: scarfs.]
[Footnote 22: robes of scarlet.]
[Footnote 23: bounded.]
[Footnote 24: large.]
[Footnote 25: elephants.]
[Footnote 26: destroy.]
[Footnote 27: stretched.]
[Footnote 28: services.]
[Footnote 29: memory, understanding.]
[Footnote 30: Shepherd.]
[Footnote 31: deceiver.]
[Footnote 32: meadows.]
[Footnote 33: The black bird.]
[Footnote 34: Gold-finch.]
[Footnote 35: loudly.]
[Footnote 36: lectures.]
[Footnote 37: Apparel.]
[Footnote 38: At once.]
[Footnote 39: a divine.]
[Footnote 40: A cottage.]
[Footnote 41: Lord.]
[Footnote 42: stretch.]
[Footnote 43: tender.]
[Footnote 44: Naked.]
[Footnote 45: Hot.]
[Footnote 46: health.]
[Footnote 47: Quickly.]
[Footnote 48: Laughable.]
[Footnote 49: Drouned.]
[Footnote 50: Stilled, quenched.]
[Footnote 51: Swelling.]
[Footnote 52: Body, substance.]
[Footnote 53: Still, dead.]
[Footnote 54: arrows, darts.]
[Footnote 55: Terrible.]
[Footnote 56: Offended.]
[Footnote 57: upbraiding.]
[Footnote 58: cease.]
[Footnote 59: swollen.]
[Footnote 60: Torture.]
[Footnote 61: asswage.]
[Footnote 62: difficult.]
[Footnote 63: Jewels.]
[Footnote 64: stay.]
[Footnote 65: Wrapped closely, covered.]
[Footnote 66: fastened.]
[Footnote 67: astonish'd.]
[Footnote 68: Naked.]
[Footnote 69: Scatterest.]
[Footnote 70: Strange.]
[Footnote 71: Quickly.]
[Footnote 72: offerings.]
[Footnote 73: mantels.]
[Footnote 74: Enlighten.]
[Footnote 75: Least.]
[Editor's note: l. 467see Introduction p.xli]
[Footnote 76: Against.]
[Footnote 77: Work.]
[Editor's note: l. 489 sphere:see note on p. xli]
[Footnote 78: Terror.]
[Footnote 79: cowards.]
[Footnote 80: Wave.]
[Footnote 81: Contentions.]
[Footnote 82: frighted.]
[Footnote 83: Lose.]
[Footnote 84: Child.]
[Footnote 85: Fate-scourged.]
[Footnote 86: flamed, fired.]
[Footnote 87: lighted.]
[Footnote 88: dead.]
[Footnote 89: blasting.]
[Footnote 90: swallows, sucks in.]
[Footnote 91: unaccustomed.]
[Footnote 92: Declaring.]
[Footnote 93: Shall.]
[Footnote 94: Coward.]
[Footnote 95: Retreat.]
[Footnote 96: Burnish.]
[Footnote 97: Frighted.]
[Footnote 98: Eternal.]
[Footnote 99: Grief.]
[Footnote 100: Running.]
[Footnote 101: hair.]
[Footnote 102: complexion.]
[Footnote 103: Water-flags.]
[Footnote 104: Frozen, cold.]
[Footnote 105: horse coursers, couriers.]
[Footnote 106: Risen.]
[Footnote 107: church-yard.]
[Footnote 108: Promised.]
[Footnote 109: Life.]
[Footnote 110: Scarcely, sparingly.]
[Footnote 111: Torch.]
[Footnote 112: Betrayed.]
[Footnote 113: Letchery.]
[Footnote 114: heaven.]
[Footnote 115: hide.]
[Footnote 116: Furious.]
[Footnote 117: slain.]
[Footnote 118: Adultery.]
[Footnote 119: Slay.]
[Footnote 120: Monument.]
[Footnote 121: Scarce.]
[Footnote 122: Only, alone.]
[Footnote 123: Search.]
[Footnote 124: Cursed, tormented.]
[Footnote 125: unarmed.]
[Footnote 126: soft, gentle.]
[Footnote 127: renown.]
[Footnote 128: Un-souls.]
HAROLDE, bieT. Rowleie, the Aucthoure.GODDWYN, bieJohan de Iscamme.ELWARDE, bie SyrrThybbot Gorges.ALSTAN, bie SyrrAlan de Vere.KYNGE EDWARDE, bie MastreWillyam Canynge.
Odhers bieKnyghtes Mynnstrells.
Made bie Maistre WILLIAM CANYNGE.
Whylomme[1]bie pensmenne[2] moke[3] ungentle[4] nameHave upon Goddwynne Erie of Kente bin layde:Dherebie benymmynge[5] hymme of faie[6] and fame;Unliart[7] divinistres[8] haveth faide,Thatte he was knowen toe noe hallie[9] wurche[10]; 5Botte thys was all hys faulte, he gyfted ne[11] the churche.
The aucthoure[12] of the piece whiche we enacte,Albeytte[13] a clergyon[14], trouthe wyll wrytte.Inne drawynge of hys menne no wytte ys lackte;Entyn[15] a kynge mote[16] bee full pleased to nyghte. 10Attende, and marcke the partes nowe to be done;Wee better for toe doe do champyon[17] anie onne.
Harolde!
Mie loverde[18]!
O! I weepe to thyncke,What foemen[19] riseth to ifrete[20] the londe.Theie batten[21] onne her fleshe, her hartes bloude dryncke,And all ys graunted from the roieal honde.
Lette notte thie agreme[22] blyn[23], ne aledge[24] stonde; 5Bee I toe wepe, I wepe in teres of gore:Am I betrassed[25], syke[26] shulde mie burlie[27] brondeDepeyncte[28] the wronges on hym from whom I bore.
I ken thie spryte[29] ful welle; gentle thou art,Stringe[30], ugsomme[31], rou[32], as smethynge[33] armyes seeme; 10Yett efte[34], I feare, thie chefes[35] toe grete a parte,And that thie rede[36] bee efte borne downe bie breme[37].What tydynges from the kynge?
His Normans know.I make noe compheeres of the shemrynge[38] trayne.
Ah Harolde! tis a syghte of myckle woe, 15To kenne these Normannes everich rennome gayne.What tydynge withe the foulke[39]?
Stylle mormorynge atte yer shap[40], stylle toe the kyngeTheie rolle theire trobbles, lyche a sorgie sea.Hane Englonde thenne a tongue, butte notte a stynge? 20Dothe alle compleyne, yette none wylle ryghted bee?
Awayte the tyme, whanne Godde wylle sende us ayde.
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? 25Thos 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.
Botte lette us wayte untylle somme season fytte. 30Mie 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]. 35Whylste 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. 40Thou arte all Norman, nothynge of mie blodde.Know, ytte beseies[60] thee notte a masse to synge;Servynge thie leegefolcke[61] thou arte servynge Godde.
Thenne Ille doe heaven a servyce. To the skyesThe dailie contekes[62] of the londe ascende. 45The wyddowe, fahdrelesse, & bondemennes criesAcheke[63] the mokie[64] aire & heaven astende[65]On us the rulers doe the folcke depende;Hancelled[66] from erthe these Normanne[67] hyndes shalle bee;Lyche a battently[68] low[69], mie swerde shalle brende[70]; 50Lyche fallynge softe rayne droppes, I wyll hem[71] slea[72];Wee wayte too longe; our purpose wylle defayte[73];Aboune[74] the hyghe empryze[75], & rouze the champyones strayte.
Thie suster—
Aye, I knowe, she is his queene.Albeytte[76], dyd shee speeke her foemen[77] fayre, 55I wulde dequace[78] her comlie semlykeene[79],And foulde mie bloddie anlace[80] yn her hayre.
Thye fhuir[81] blyn[82].
No, bydde the leathal[83] mere[84]Upriste[85] withe hiltrene[86] wyndes & cause unkend[87],Beheste[88] it to be lete[89]; so twylle appeare, 60Eere Harolde hyde hys name, his contries frende.The gule-steynct[90] brygandyne[91], the adventayle[92],The feerie anlace[92] brede[93] shal make mie gare[94] prevayle.
Harolde, what wuldest doe?
Bethyncke thee whatt.Here liethe Englonde, all her drites [95] unfree, 65Here liethe Normans coupynge[96] her bie lotte,Caltysnyng[97] everich native plante to gre[98],Whatte woulde I doe? I brondeous[99] wulde hem slee[100];Tare owte theyre sable harte bie ryghtefulle breme[101];Theyre deathe a meanes untoe mie lyfe shulde bee, 70Mie spryte shulde revelle yn theyr harte-blodde streme.Eftsoones I wylle bewryne[102] mie ragefulle ire,And Goddis anlace[103] wielde yn furie dyre.
Whatte wouldest thou wythe the kynge?
Take offe hys crowne;The ruler of somme mynster[104] hym ordeyne; 75Sette uppe fom dygner[105] than I han pyghte[106] downe;And peace in Englonde shulde be brayd[107] agayne.
No, lette the super-hallie[108] seyncte kynge reygne,Ande somme moe reded[109] rule the untentyff[110] reaulme;Kynge Edwarde, yn hys cortesie, wylle deygne 80To yielde the spoiles, and alleyne were the heaulme:Botte from mee harte bee everych thoughte of gayne,Not anie of mie kin I wysche him to ordeyne.
Tell me the meenes, and I wylle boute ytte strayte;Bete[111] mee to slea[112] mieself, ytte shalle be done. 85
To thee I wylle swythynne[113] the menes unplayte[114],Bie whyche thou, Harolde, shalte be proved mie sonne.I have longe seen whatte peynes were undergon,Whatte agrames[115] braunce[116] out from the general tree;The tyme ys commynge, whan the mollock[117] gron[118] 90Drented[119] of alle yts swolynge[120] owndes[121] shalle bee;Mie remedie is goode; our menne shall ryse:Eftsoons the Normans and owre agrame[122] flies.
I will to the West, and gemote[123] alle mie knyghtes,Wythe bylles that pancte for blodde, and sheeldes as brede[124] 95As the ybroched[125] moon, when blaunch[126] shedyghtes[127]The wodeland grounde or water-mantled mede;Wythe hondes whose myghte canne make the doughtiest[128] blede,Who efte have knelte upon forslagen[129] foes,Whoe wythe yer fote orrests[130] a castle-stede[131], 100Who dare on kynges for to bewrecke[123] yiere woes;Nowe wylle the menne of Englonde haile the daie,Whan Goddwyn leades them to the ryghtfulle fraie.
Botte firste we'll call the loverdes of the West,The erles of Mercia, Conventrie and all; 105The moe wee gayne, the gare[133] wylle prosper beste,Wythe syke a nomber wee can never fall.
True, so wee sal doe best to lyncke the chayne,And alle attenes[134] the spreddynge kyngedomme bynde.No crouched[135] champyone wythe an harte moe feygne 100Dyd yssue owte the hallie[136] swerde to fynde,Than I nowe strev to ryd mie londe of peyne.Goddwyn, what thanckes owre laboures wylle enhepe!I'lle ryse mie friendes unto the bloddie pleyne;I'lle wake the honnoure thatte ys now aslepe. 115When wylle the chiefes mete atte thie feastive halle,That I wythe voice alowde maie there upon 'em calle?
Next eve, mie sonne.
Nowe, Englonde, ys the tyme,Whan thee or thie felle foemens cause moste die.Thie geason[137] wronges bee reyne[138] ynto theyre pryme; 120Nowe wylle thie sonnes unto thie succoure flie.Alyche a storm egederinge[139] yn the skie,Tys fulle ande brasteth[140] on the chaper[141] grounde;Sycke shalle mie fhuirye on the Normans flie,And alle theyre mittee[142] menne be sleene[143] arounde. 125Nowe, nowe, wylle Harolde or oppressionne falle,Ne moe the Englyshmenne yn vayne for hele[144] shal calle.
Botte, loverde[145], whie so manie Normannes here?Mee thynckethe wee bee notte yn Englyshe londe.These browded[146] straungers alwaie doe appere, 130Theie parte yor trone[147], and sete at your ryghte honde.
Go to, goe to, you doe ne understonde:Theie yeave mee lyffe and dyd mie bowkie[148] kepe;Theie dyd mee feeste, and did embowre[149] me gronde;To trete hem ylle wulde lette mie kyndnesse slepe. 135
Mancas[150] you have yn store, and to them parte;Youre leege-folcke[151] make moke[152] dole[153], you have theyr worthe asterte[154].
I heste[155] no rede of you. I ken mie friendes.Hallie[156] dheie are, fulle ready mee to hele[157].Theyre volundes[158] are ystorven[159] to self endes; 140No denwere[160] yn mie breste I of them fele:I muste to prayers; goe yn, and you do wele;I muste ne lose the dutie of the daie;Go inne, go ynne, ande viewe the azure rele[161],Fulle welle I wote you have noe mynde toe praie. 145
I leeve youe to doe hommage heaven-were[162];To serve yor leege-folcke toe is doeynge hommage there.