The Rowley Poems Part 31

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 sh.o.r.e, 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 G.o.ddes 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 pa.s.sage 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.