The Rowley Poems Part 32

BIRTHA.

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

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 n.o.ble 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 gra.s.se; The shepster mayden, dyghtynge her arraie, Scante[121] sees her vysage yn the wavie gla.s.se; Bie the fulle daylieghte wee scalle aella see.

Or Brystowes wallyd towne; damoyselle, followe mee. 1135