The Rowley Poems Part 52

Thee? who dydst actes of glorie so bewryen, Now poorlie come to hyde thieselfe bie mee?

Awaie! thou dogge, and acte a warriors parte.

Or with mie swerde I'll perce thee to the harte. 650

Betweene Erie Alfwoulde and Duke Wyllyam's bronde Campynon thoughte that nete but deathe coulde bee, Seezed a huge swerde Morglaien yn his honde, Mottrynge a praier to the Vyrgyne: So hunted deere the dryvynge hounds will flee, 655 When theie dyscover they cannot escape; And feerful lambkyns, when theie hunted bee, Theyre ynfante hunters doe theie oft awhape; Thus stoode Campynon, greete but hertlesse knyghte, When feere of dethe made hym for deathe to fyghte. 660

Alfwoulde began to dyghte hymselfe for fyghte, Meanewhyle hys menne on everie syde dyd slee, Whan on hys lyfted sheelde withe alle hys myghte Campynon's swerde in burlie-brande dyd dree; Bewopen Alfwoulde fellen on his knee; 665 Hys Brystowe menne came in hym for to save; Eftsoons upgotten from the grounde was hee, And dyd agayne the touring Norman brave; Hee graspd hys bylle in syke a drear arraie, Hee seem'd a lyon catchynge at hys preie. 670

Upon the Normannes brazen adventayle The thondrynge bill of myghtie Alfwould came; It made a dentful bruse, and then dyd fayle; Fromme rattlynge weepons shotte a sparklynge flame; Eftsoons agayne the thondrynge bill ycame, 675 Peers'd thro hys adventayle and skyrts of lare; A tyde of purple gore came wyth the same, As out hys bowells on the feelde it tare; Campynon felle, as when some cittie-walle Inne dolefulle terrours on its mynours falle. 680

He felle, and dyd the Norman rankes dyvide; So when an oke, that shotte ynto the skie, Feeles the broad axes peersynge his broade syde, Slowlie hee falls and on the grounde doth lie, Pressynge all downe that is wyth hym anighe, 685 And stoppynge wearie travellers on the waie; So straught upon the playne the Norman hie

Bled, gron'd, and dyed; the Normanne knyghtes astound To see the bawsin champyon preste upon the grounde. 690

As when the hygra of the Severne roars, And thunders ugsom on the sandes below, The cleembe reboundes to Wedecesters sh.o.r.e, And sweeps the black sande rounde its horie prowe; So bremie Alfwoulde thro the warre dyd goe; 695 Hys Kenters and Brystowans slew ech syde, Betreinted all alonge with bloudless foe, And seemd to swymm alonge with bloudie tyde; Fromme place to place besmeard with bloud they went, And rounde aboute them swarthless corse besprente. 700

A famous Normanne who yclepd Aubene, Of skyll in bow, in tylte, and handesworde fyghte That daie yn feelde han manie Saxons sleene, Forre hee in sothen was a manne of myghte; Fyrste dyd his swerde on Adelgar alyghte, 705 As hee on horseback was, and peersd hys gryne, Then upwarde wente: in everlastynge nyghte Hee closd hys rollyng and dymsyghted eyne.

Next Eadlyn, Tatwyn, and fam'd Adelred, Bie various causes sunken to the dead. 710

But now to Alfwoulde he opposynge went, To whom compar'd hee was a man of stre, And wyth bothe hondes a myghtie blowe he sente At Alfwouldes head, as hard as hee could dree; But on hys payncted sheelde so bismarlie 715 Aslaunte his swerde did go ynto the grounde; Then Alfwould him attack'd most furyouslie, Athrowe hys gaberdyne hee dyd him wounde, Then soone agayne hys swerde hee dyd upryne, And clove his creste and split hym to the eyne. 720

[Footnote 1: In Turgott's tyme Holenwell braste of erthe so fierce that it threw a stone-mell carrying the same awaie. J. Lydgate ne knowynge this lefte out o line.]

[Editor's note: l. 578 _see Introduction_ p. xlij]

ONN OURE LADIES CHYRCHE.

As onn a hylle one eve sittynge, At oure Ladie's Chyrche mouche wonderynge, The counynge handieworke so fyne, Han well nighe dazeled mine eyne; Quod I; some counynge fairie hande 5 Yreer'd this chapelle in this lande; Full well I wote so fine a syghte Was ne yreer'd of mortall wighte.

Quod Trouthe; thou lackest knowlachynge; Thou forsoth ne wotteth of the thynge. 10 A Rev'rend Fadre, William Canynge hight, Yreered uppe this chapelle brighte; And eke another in the Towne, Where gla.s.sie bubblynge Trymme doth roun.

Quod I; ne doubte for all he's given 15 His sowle will certes goe to heaven.

Yea, quod Trouthe; than goe thou home, And see thou doe as hee hath donne.

Quod I; I doubte, that can ne bee; I have ne gotten markes three. 20 Quod Trouthe; as thou hast got, give almes-dedes soe; Canynges and Gaunts culde doe ne moe.

T.R.

ON THE SAME.

Stay, curyous traveller, and pa.s.s not bye, Until this fetive pile astounde thine eye.

Whole rocks on rocks with yron joynd surveie, And okes with okes entremed disponed lie.

This mightie pile, that keeps the wyndes at baie, 5 Fyre-levyn and the mokie storme defie, That shootes aloofe into the reaulmes of daie, Shall be the record of the Buylders fame for aie.

Thou seest this maystrie of a human hand, The pride of Brystowe and the Westerne lande, 10 Yet is the Buylders vertues much moe greete, Greeter than can bie Rowlies pen be scande.

Thou seest the saynctes and kynges in stonen state, That seemd with breath and human soule dispande, As payrde to us enseem these men of slate, 15 Such is greete Canynge's mynde when payrd to G.o.d elate.

Well maiest thou be astound, but view it well; Go not from hence before thou see thy fill, And learn the Builder's vertues and his name; Of this tall spyre in every countye telle, 20 And with thy tale the lazing rych men shame; Showe howe the glorious Canynge did excelle; How hee good man a friend for kynges became, And gloryous paved at once the way to heaven and fame.

EPITAPH ON ROBERT CANYNGE.

Thys mornynge starre of Radcleves rysynge raie, A true manne good of mynde and Canynge hyghte, Benethe thys stone lies moltrynge ynto claie, Untylle the darke tombe sheene an eterne lyghte.

Thyrde fromme hys loynes the present Canynge came; Houton are wordes for to telle hys doe; For aye shall lyve hys heaven-recorded name, Ne shall yt dye whanne tyme shalle bee no moe; Whanne Mychael's trumpe shall sounde to rise the solle, He'll wynge to heavn wyth kynne, and happie bee hys dolle.

THE STORIE OF WILLIAM CANYNGE.

Anent a brooklette as I laie reclynd, Listeynge to heare the water glyde alonge, Myndeynge how thorowe the grene mees yt twynd, Awhilst the cavys respons'd yts mottring songe, At dystaunt rysyng Avonne to be sped, 5 Amenged wyth rysyng hylles dyd shewe yts head;

Engarlanded wyth crownes of osyer weedes And wraytes of alders of a bercie scent, And stickeynge out wyth clowde agested reedes, The h.o.a.rie Avonne show'd dyre semblamente, 10 Whylest blataunt Severne, from Sabryna clepde, Rores flemie o'er the sandes that she hepde.

These eynegears swythyn bringethe to mie thowghte Of hardie champyons knowen to the floude, How onne the bankes thereof brave aelle foughte, 15 aelle descended from Merce kynglie bloude, Warden of Brystowe towne and castel stede, Who ever and anon made Danes to blede.

Methoughte such doughtie menn must have a sprighte Dote yn the armour brace that Mychael bore, 20 Whan he wyth Satan kynge of h.e.l.le dyd fyghte, And earthe was drented yn a mere of gore; Orr, soone as theie dyd see the worldis lyghte, Fate had wrott downe, thys mann ys borne to fyghte.

aelle, I sayd, or els my mynde dyd saie, 25 Whie ys thy actyons left so spare yn storie?

Were I toe dispone, there should lyvven aie In erthe and hevenis rolles thie tale of glorie; Thie actes soe doughtie should for aie abyde, And bie theyre teste all after actes be tryde. 30

Next holie Wareburghus fylld mie mynde, As fayre a sayncte as anie towne can boaste, Or bee the erthe wyth lyghte or merke ywrynde, I see hys ymage waulkeyng throwe the coaste: Fitz Hardynge, Bithrickus, and twentie moe 35 Ynn visyonn fore mie phantasie dyd goe.

Thus all mie wandrynge faytour thynkeynge strayde, And eche dygne buylder dequac'd onn mie mynde, Whan from the distaunt streeme arose a mayde, Whose gentle tresses mov'd not to the wynde; 40 Lyche to the sylver moone yn frostie neete, The damoiselle dyd come soe blythe and sweete.

Ne browded mantell of a scarlette hue, Ne shoone pykes plaited o'er wyth ribbande geere, Ne costlie paraments of woden blue, 45 Noughte of a dresse, but bewtie dyd shee weere; Naked shee was, and loked swete of youthe, All dyd bewryen that her name was Trouthe.

The ethie ringletts of her notte-browne hayre What ne a manne should see dyd swotelie hyde, 50 Whych on her milk-white bodykin so fayre Dyd showe lyke browne streemes fowlyng the white tyde, Or veynes of brown hue yn a marble cuarr, Whyche by the traveller ys kenn'd from farr.

Astounded mickle there I sylente laie, 55 Still scauncing wondrous at the walkynge syghte; Mie senses forgarde ne coulde reyn awaie; But was ne forstraughte whan shee dyd alyghte Anie to mee, dreste up yn naked viewe, Whych mote yn some ewbrycious thoughtes abrewe. 60

But I ne dyd once thynke of wanton thoughte; For well I mynded what bie vowe I hete, And yn mie pockate han a crouchee broughte, Whych yn the blosom woulde such sins anete; I lok'd wyth eyne as pure as angelles doe, 65 And dyd the everie thoughte of foule eschewe.

Wyth sweet semblate and an angel's grace Shee 'gan to lecture from her gentle breste; For Trouthis wordes ys her myndes face, False oratoryes she dyd aie deteste: 70 Sweetnesse was yn eche worde she dyd ywreene, Tho shee strove not to make that sweetnesse sheene.

Shee sayd; mie manner of appereynge here Mie name and sleyghted myndbruch maie thee telle; I'm Trouthe, that dyd descende fromm heavenwere, 75 Goulers and courtiers doe not kenne mee welle; Thie inmoste thoughtes, thie labrynge brayne I sawe, And from thie gentle dreeme will thee adawe.