The Rowley Poems Part 33

AT BRYSTOWE.

aeLLA AND SERVITOURES.

aeLLA.

'Tys nowe fulle morne; I thoughten, bie laste nyghte To 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. 1140 Nowe. 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

aeLLA, EGWINA.

EGWINA.

Oh aella!

aeLLA.

Ah! that semmlykeene to mee Speeketh a legendary tale of woe.

EGWINA.

Birtha is--

aeLLA.

Whatt? where? how? saie, whatte of shee?

EGWINA.

Gone--

aeLLA.

Gone! ye G.o.ddes!

EGWINA.

Alas! ytte ys toe true.

Yee seynctes, hee dies awaie wythe myckle woe! 1150 aella! what? aella! oh! hee lyves agen.

aeLLA.

Cal mee notte aella; I am hymme ne moe.

Where ys shee gon awaie? ah! speake! how? when?

EGWINA.

I will.

aeLLA.

Caparyson a score of stedes; flie, flie.

Where ys shee? swythynne speeke, or instante thou shalte die. 1155

EGWINA.

Stylle thie loud rage, & here thou whatte I knowe.

aeLLA.

Oh! speek.

EGWINA.

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--

aeLLA.

Her love! to whomme?

EGWINA.

To thee, her spouse alleyne[122]. 1160 As 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

aeLLA.

Thou lyest, foul hagge! thou lyest; thou art her ayde To chere her louste;--botte noe; ytte cannotte bee.

EGWINA.

Gyff trouthe appear notte inne whatte I have sayde, Drawe forthe thie anlace swythyn, thanne mee flea.

aeLLA.

Botte yette ytte muste, ytte muste bee foe; I see, 1170 Shee 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

aeLLA, EGWINA, SERVYTOURE.