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Hys gentle wordes dyd moove eche valourous The soldyerres followed wythe a mrohtie crie, knyghte;

Cryes, vatte welle myghite the stoute te haites Itte moovithe 'hem, as honterres lyoncelles;


[annes tie; In trebled armoure ys theyre courage dyghte; Swefte, as yer shyppes, the ranquysbed Dacy Eche warrynge harte for prayse and rennome

Suvefte, as the rayne uponne an Aprylle daie, sivelles;

Pressynge belynde, the Englysche soldyerres Lyche slowelie dynnynge of the croucheynge


(mayne; [armie seme.

Botte balfe the tythes of Danyshe menne reSyche dyd the mormrynge sóunde of the whol Alla commauudes 'heie shoulde the sleetre


[playne. Hee ledes 'bem onne to fyghte; oh! thenne to Botte bynde 'hem prysonners on the bloddie saie

The fuchtunge beynge done, I came awaie, llow #lla loked, and lokung dyd encheere, In odher teldes to fyghtc a moe unequalle fraic. Moovynge alyahe a mountayne yn affraie, Whanne a lowle whyrievynde doe yttes boe

Mie servant squyre! somme tare To telle howe everie loke wuld banyshe feere,

CELMONDE, SERVITOURE. Woulde aske an angelles poyntell or nys

tyngue. Lyche a talle rocke yatte rvseth heaven-were, Lyche a yonge wolfynne brondeous and strynge,

Prepare a fleing horse, Soe dydde he goe, and myghtie warriours hedde

Whose feete are wynges, whose pace ys lycke Wythe gore-depyeted wynges masterie arounde

the wynie,

(yn course,

Whoe wylle outestreppe the morneynge lyghtc hym fludde.

Leaveynge the gyttelles of the merke behynde. The battelle jyned; swerdes uponne swerdes

Soome byliren matters doe mie presence fynde.

Gyv oute to alle vaite l was sleene ynne fyghte. Alla was chafed as lyonns madded bee;

Gyff ynne thysgare thou doest mie order mynde, Lyche fallynge starres, he dydde the javlynn

Whanne I returne, thou shalte be made a Alynge;

knyghte; Hys mightie anlace mightie menne dyd slea;

Flie, flie, be gon; an howerre ys a daie; Where he dydde comme, the flemed foc dydde Quycke dyghte my beste of stedes, and brynge flee,

hymm heere

awaie ! Or felle benethe hys honde, as fallynge rayne, Wythe sytheafhuyrie hedydde onn'hemm dree,

CELMONDE. [Solus. ] Hlylles of yer bowkes dyd ryse opponne the playne;


Ælla ys woundedd sore, and y'nne the toune lla, thou arte-botte staie, my tynge; saie

He waytethe, tylle hys woundes be brochte to

ethe. Howe greate I hymme maye make, stylle greater


And shalle 1 from hys browes plocke off the hee wylle bee.

Makynge the vyctore yn hys vyctorie blethe? Nor dydde hys souldyerres see hys actes yn O no! fulle sooner schulde mie hartes blodde vayne.


smethe, Tleere a stoute Dane uponne hys compheere Fulle soonere woulde I tortured bee toe deathe; Heere lorde and hyndlette sonke uponne the Botte-Birtha ys the pryze; abe! ytte were playne;


(breathe, Heere sonne and fadre trembled ynto helle. To gayne so gayne a pryze wythe losse of Chief Magnus sought hys waie, and, shame to Botte thanne rennome æterne-ytte ys botte telle!


Hee soughte hys waie for flyghte; botte Ælla's Bredde ynne the phantasie, and alleyn lyvynge
Uponne the flyynge Dacyannes schoulder felle,
Quyte throwe hys boddie, and hys harte ytte

Albeytte everyche thynge yn lyfe conspyre tare,

To telle me of the faulte I now schulde doe, He groned, and sonke uponne the gorie greene,

Yette woulde I battentlie assuage wie fyre, And wythe hys corse encreased the pyles of Da- And the same menes, as I scall nowe, pursue. cyannes sleene.

The qualytyes I fro mie parentes drewe,

Were blocide, and morther, masterie, and warre; Spente wythe the fyghte, the Danyshe cham

Thie | wylle holde to nowe, and hede ne moe pyons stonde,

A wonnde yn rennome, yanne a boddie scarre. Lyche bulles, whose strengthe and wondrous

Nowe, Ælla, nowe Ime plantynge of a thorpe, myghte ys fledde; Ælla, a javelynne grypped yn eyther honde,

Bie whyche thie peace, thic love, and glorie shalle

be torne. Flyes to the thronge, and doomes two Dacy

annes deadde. After hys acte, the armie all yspedde; Fromm eve rich on unmyssynge javlynnes flewe;

BRYSTOWE. Theie straughte yer doughtie swerdes; the foemenn bleide;


BIRTHA, EGWINA. Fulle three of foure of myghtie Danes dheie

BIRTHA. The Danes, wythe terroure rulynge att their head,

(ravenne fledde. Gentle Egwina, do notte preche me joie; Three luwne theyr bannere talle, and lyche a I cannotte joie ynne anje thyoge botte weere,


Oh! yatte aughte schulde oure sellynesse de

Mie love ys dedde, stroie,

Gon to hys deathe-bedde,
Floddynge the face wythe woe, and brynie teare!

Al under the wyllowe tree.

Comme, wythe acorne-coppe and thome,
You muste, you muste endeavour for to cheere Drayne mie hartys blodde awaie;
Youre harte unto somme cherisaunied 5 reste. Lyfe and all yttes goode I scorne,
Youre loverde from the battle wylle appere,

Daunce bie nete, or feaste by daie. Yone honnoure, and a greater love, be dreste;

Mie love ys dedde, Botte I wylle call the mynstrelles roundelaie;

Gon to hys death-bedde, Perchaunce the swotie sounde maie chase your

Al under the wyllowe tree. wiere awaie.

Waterre wytches, crownede wythe reytes, BIRTHA, EGWINA, MYNSTRELLES.

Bere mee to yer leathalie tyde.

I die; I comme; mie true love waytes.

Thos the damselle spake and dyed. 0! synge untoe mie roundelaie,

O! droppe the brynie teare wythe mee,
Daunce ne moe atte hallie daie,

Thys syngeyng haveth whatte coulde make ytte Lycke a reynynge ryver bee;


[ease. Mie love ys dedde,

Butte mie uncourtlie shappe benymmes mee of all
Gon to hys deathe-bedde,

Al under the wyllowe tree.
Blacke hys cryne as the wyntere nyghte,
Whyte hys rode as the sommer snowe,

ÆLLA, alte Watchette.
Rodde hys face as the mornynge lyghte,
Cale he lyes ynne the grave belowe;

Curse onne mie tardie woundes! brynge mee a
Mie love ys dedde,

Gon to hys deathe-bedde,

I wylle awaie to Birtha bie thys nyghte;
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Albeytte fro mie woundes mie soul doe blede,

I wylle awaie, and die wythynne her syghte. Swote hys tyngue as the throstles note,

Brynge me a stede, wythe eagle-wynges for Quycke yon daunce as thoughte canne bee,


[stronge. Defte hys taboure, codgelle stote,

Swefte as mie wyshe, and, as mie love ys; O! hee lyes bie the wyllowe tree:

The Danes have wroughte mee myckle woe ynne Mie love ys dedde,

fyghte, Gonne to bys deathe-bedde,

Inne kepeynge mee from Birtha's armes so longe. Alle underre the wyllowe tree.

O! whatte a dorne was myne, sythe masterie Harke! the ravenne flappes hys wynge,

Canne yeve ne pleasaunce, nor mie londes goode

leme myne cie!
In the briered delle belowe;
Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge,
To the nyghte-mares as heie goe;

Yee goddes, howe ys a loverres temper formed!
Mie love ys dedde,

Sometymes the samme thynge wylle bothe bane,

and blesse; Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

(warmed, Al under the wyllowe-tree.

On tyme encalede, yanne bie the same thynge
Estroughted foorthe, and yanve ybrogten less

. See! the whyte moone sheenes onne hie;

Tys Birtha's loss whyche doe mnie thoughtes Whyterre ys mie true loves shroude;

possesse; Whyterre yanne the mornynge skie,

I wylle, I muste awaie: whie staies mie stede? Whyterre yanne the evenynge cloude;

Mie huscarles, hyther haste; prepare a dresse, Mie love ys dedde,

Whyche couracyers yn hastie journies pede. Gon to hys deathe-bedde,

O heavens! I moste awaie to Byrtha eyne, Al under the wyllowe tree.

For yn her lookes I fynde mie beynge doe er

Heere, uponne mie true loves grave,
Schalle the baren fleurs be layde,
Nee one hailie seyncte to save
Al the celness of a mayde.
Mie love ys deilde,

CELMONDE, alte Brystowe.
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

The worlde ys darke wythe nyghte; the wyndes
Alle under the wyllowe tree.

are stylle;

gleme; Wythe mie hondes I'lle dente the brieres

Fayntelie the mone her palyde lyghte ruakei Rounde his hallie corse to gre,

The upryste sprytes the sylente letten fylle, Ouphante fairie, lyghte youre fyres,

Wythe ouplant faeryes joynyng ynne the dreme; Heere mie boddie stylle schalle bee.

The forreste sheenethe wythe the sylver ieme;
Nowe maie mie love be sated yn yttes treate;

Uponde the lynche of somme swefte reyaya: By an error of the press, cherisaunci is print.

streme, ed in Kersey instead of cherisaunce. Chatterton At the swote banquette I wylle swotelie eate. has copied the blunder in three places.

Thys ys the howse; yce hypdes, swythyn appere.


ne moere.

Erthe wythe the ayre enchafed dyd contende, CELMONDE, SERVITOURE.

Everychone breathe of wynde wythe plagues dyd


Yette I to Ælla's eyne eftsoones woulde flee; Go telle to Birtha strayte, a straungerr waytethe Albeytte hawethornes dyd mie fleshe enseme, here.

Owlettes, wythe scrych ynge, shakeynge eve

ryche tree, CELMONDE, BIRTHA.

And water-neders wrygglynge yn eche streme, BIRTHA.

Yette woulde I flie, ne under coverte staie,

Botte seke mie Ælla owte; brave Celmonde, leade Celmonde! yee seynctes! I hope thou haste

the waie.
goode newes.

The hope ys loste; for heavie newes prepare.

Is Ælla welle?


Hee lyves; and stylle maie use

Heere ynn yis forreste lette us watche for pree, The behylte blessynges of a future yeare.

Bewreckeynge on oure focmenne oure ylle warre;

[slea, BIRTHA.

Whatteverre schalle be Englysch wee wylle Whatte heavie tydynge thenne have I to feare?

Spreddynge our ug somme rennome to afarre. Of whatte mischaunce dydste thou so latelie

Ye Dacyanne menne, gyff Dacyanne menne yee saje?


Lette nete botte blodde suffycyle for yee bee; For heavie tydynges swythyn nowe prepare.

On everch breaste yn gorie letteres scarre, Ælla sore wounded ys, yn bykerous fraje;

Whatt sprytes you have, and howe those sprytes In Wedecester's wallid toune he lyes.

maie dree.

And gyff yee gette awaie to Denmarkes shore, BIRTHA,

Eftesoones we will retourne, and wanquished bee O mie agroted breast! CELMONDE.

The battelle loste, a battelle was yndede; Wythoute your syghte, he dyes. Note queedes hemselfes culde stonde so harde a

fraie; BIRTHA.

Oure verie armoure, and oure heaulmes dyd Wylle Birtha's presence ethe herr Ælla's payne?


[fledde awaie, I flie; new wynges doe from mie schoulderrs

The Dacyannes sprytes, lyche dewe dropes, sprynge.

Ytte was an Ælla dyd commaunde the daie; CELMONDE.

Ynn spyte of foemanne, I moste saie hys Mie stede wydboute wylle deftelie beere us twayne.


(paie, Botte we ynn hynd-lettes blodde the loss will BIRTHA.

Brynnynge, thatte we knowe howe to wynne Oh! I wyll flie as wynde, and no waie lynge:

yn fyghte;

[destroie; Sweftlie caparisons for rydynge brynge;

Wee wylle, lyke wylfes enloosed from chaynes, I have a mynde wynged wythe the levyn ploome. Oure armoures-wynter nyghte shotte oute the O Ælla, Ælla! dydste thou kenne the stynge,

daje of joie. The whyche doeth canker ynne mie hartys roome,


Whene swefte-fote tyme doe rolle the daie Thou wouldste see playne thieselfe the gare to



Somme hamlette scalle onto oure fhuyrie Aryse, uponne thie love, and fie to meeten me.

Brastynge alyche a rocke, or mountay ne stronge, CELMONDE,

The talle chyrche-spyre upon the grene shalle The stede, on whyche I came, ys swefte as ayre;


(rende, Mie servytoures doe wayte mee nere the wode; Wee wylle the walles, and auntyante tourrettes Swythynne wythe mee unto the place repayre;

Pete everych tree whych goldyn fruyte doe beere, To Ælla I wylle gev you conducte goode.

Downe to the goddes the ownerrs dbereof sende, Youre eyne, alyche à baulme, wylle staunche Besprengynge alle abrode sadde warre and bloddie hvs bloode,

(alle cheere; Holpe oppe hys woundes, and yev hys harte Botte fyrste to yynder oke-tree wee wylle fie; Upopne your eyne he holdes hys lyvely hode; And thence wyll yssue owte onne all yatte comYou doe hys spryte, and alle hys pleasaunce

meth bie. bere. Comme, lette's awaie, albeytte ytte ys moke, Yette love wille be a tore to tourne to feere nyghtes



Albeytte unwears dyd the welkynn rende, Thys merkness doe affraie mie wommanns
Rryne alyche fallynge ryvers, dyd ferse bee,




Howe sable ys the spredd ynge skie arrayde 16! I wretched bee, beyonde the hele of fate,
Hailie the bordeleire, who lyves to reste,

Gyff Birtha stylle wylle make mie harte-seynes Ne ys att nyghtys flemynge hue dysmayde;

blethe. The starres doe scantillie the sable brayde; Softe as the sommer fowreets, Birtha, looke, Wyıle ys the sylver lemes of comforte wove; Fulle ylle I canne thie frownes and harde dysplaSpeke, Celinonde, does ytte make thee notte

saunce brooke.


Thie love ys foule;‘I woulde bee deafe for aie, Merker the nyghte, the fitter tyde for love. Radber thanne heere syche deslavatie sedde.

Swythynne Mie from mee, and ne further saie; BIRTHA.

Radher thanne heare thie love, I woulde bee Saiest thou for lore? ah! love is far awaie.


beride, Faygne would I see once mue the roddie lemes of

Yee seynctes; and shal I wronge mie Ælla's daie.

And wouldst thou, Celmonde, tempte me to CELMONDE.

the thynge? Love maje bee nie, woulde Birtha calle ytte Lette mee be gonealle curses onne thie hedde! here.

Was ytte for thys thou dydste a message brynge! BIRTHA.

Lette mee be gone, thou manne of sable harte!

Or welkyn and her starres wyll take a maydens How, Celmonde, dothe thou mene?

parte. CELMONDE.

Thys Celmonde menes, No leme, no eyne, no mortalle manne appere,

Sythence you wylle notte lette mie suyte arele, Nelyghte, an acte of love for to bewreene;

Mie love wylle have yttes joie, aliho uythe Nete in thys forreste, botte thys tore, dothe


(stele; sheene,


Youre lymbes shall bende, albeytte strynge as The whych, potte oute, do leave the whole yn

The merkye seesonne wylle your bloshes hylte. See! howe the brauneynge trees doe here en

BIRTHA, twyne,


Holpe, holpe, yeę geynctes! oh thatte mie Makeynge thys bower so pleasynge to the

blodde was spyite! Thys was for love fyrste made, and heere ytt stondes,

CELMONDE. (loves bondes. Thatte hereynne lovers maie enlyncke yo truc The seynctes att distaunce stonde yn tyme of BIRTHA.


(thou wylte.

Strev notte to goe; thou canste notte, gyff Celmonde, speake whatte thou menest, or alse

Unto mie wysche bee kinde, and nete alse bec. mie thoughtes Perchaance maie robbe thie honestie so fayre.

No, fonle bestoykerre, I wylle rende the ayre, CELMONDE. Then here, and knowe, hereto I have you

Tylle dethe do staie mie dynne, or some kynde

roder heare.

Holpe! holpe! oh Godde!
Mie longe hyude love unto you to make clere.

CELMONDE, BIRTHA, HURRA, DANES. Oh Heaven and Ea the! whatte ys ytt I doe beare?

Ah! thatts a wommanne cries. Am I betraste? Where ys mie Ælla, saie!

I kenn hem; sale who are you, yatte be there? CELMONDE.

O! do nete nowe to Ælla syke love bere,
Botte geven some onne Celmondes hedde. Yee hyndes, awaie! orre bie thys swerde yee


I wylle be gone, and groape mie passage oute, Thie wordes wylle ne mie hartis sete affere.
Albeytte neders stynges mie legs do twyne aboute.


Save mee, oh! save from me thys royner heere! Nowe bie the seynctes I wylle notte lette thee goe,

Ontylle thou doeste mie brendlynge love amate,
Those eyne have caused Celmonde myckle woe,

Stonde thou bie mee; nowe saie thie name and Yenne lette yer smyle fyrst take hym yn regrate.

londe; O! didst thou see mie breastis troblous state,

Or swythyne schall mie swerde thie boddie tare. Theere love doth barrie up mie joie, and ethe!


Bothe | wylle shewe thee bie mie brondeous 16 All is hush'd and still as death! 'tis dreadful,

How reverend is the face of this tall pile!
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice,

Mourning Bride. Resette hym rounde, yee Danes.




ynges bee!

and sea.



Robbe hym of whatte percase he holdith deere?

Or scalle we menne of mennys sprytes appere', Comme onne, and see Gyff mie strynge anlace maje bewryen whatte 1

Doeynge hym favoure for hys favoure donne, bee.

Swefte to hys pallace thys damoiselle bere,

Bewrynne oure case, and to oure waie be gonne? (Fyghte al anenste Celmonde, meimte Danes he sleath, and faleth to Hurra.

The last you do approve; so lette ytte bee; Damoyselle, comme awaie; you safe scalle bee

wythe mee. Oh! I forslagen be! ye Danes, now kenne,

Tamme vatte Celmonde, seconde yn the fyglite,
Who dydd, atte Watchette, so forslege youre

Al blessynges maie the seynctes unto yee gyve! menne;


Al pleasaunce male youre longe-straughte lyvI fele myne eyne to swymme yn æterne To her be kynde.

Ælla, whanne knowynge thatte bie you I lyve, [Dieth.

Wylle thyncke too smalle a guyfte the londe

O Celmonde! I maie deftlie rede by thee,
Thenne felle a wordhie kuyghte.

Whatte ille betydethe the enfouled kynde;
Saie, who bee you?

Maie ne thie cross-stone of thie cryme bewree!

Maie alle menne ken thie valoure, fewe thie BIRTHA.

mynde! I am greate Ælla's wyfe. Soldyer! for syke thou arte ynn noble fraie, BURRA.

I wylle thie goinges 'tende, and doe thou lede the Ah!


HURRA. Gyif anenste hym you harboure foule despyte,

The mornynge 'gyns alonge the easte to sheene;

Darklinge the lyshte doe onne the waters plaie; Nowe wythe the lethal anlace take mie lyfe,

The feynte rodde leme slowe creepeth oere the Mie thankes I ever onne you wylie bestowe,

greene, From ew bryce you mee pyghte, the worste of mor

Toe chase the merkynds of nyghte awaie; tal woe.

Swifte flies the howers thatte wylle brynge oute HURRA.

the daie; I wylle; ytte scalle bee soe: yee Dacyans,

The softe dewe falleth one the gre::ynge grasse; heere.

The shepster mayden, dyghtynge her arraie, Thrs Ælla havethe been onre foe for aie.

Scante sees her vysage yn the wavie glasse; Thorrowe the battelle he dyd brondeous teare,

Bie the fulle daylieyhte wee scalle Ælla see, Beyng the lyfe and head of everych fraie; Or Brystowes wallyd towne; damoyselle, followe From everych Dacyanne power he won the daie, Firslagen Magnus, all our schippes ybrente; Bie bys felle arme wee pow are made to straie; The speere of Dacya he ynne pieces shente; Whapne bantoned barckes unto our londe dyd


Ælia the gare dheie sed, and wysched bym bytter


Tys nowe fulle morne; I thoughten, bie laste Mercie!


[love; To have been heere; mie stede han notte mie HURRA.

Thys ys mie pallace; lette mie hyndes alyghte, Bee stylle.

Whylste 1 goe oppe, and wake mie slepeynge Bitte yette he ys a foemanne gnode anıl fayre;

dove. Whanne wee are spente, he soundethe the for

Staie here, mie hyndlettes; I shal goe above. loyne;

Nowe, Birtha, wyll thie loke enhele mie spryte, The captyves chayne he tosseth ynne the ayre,

Thie smyles unto mie woundes a baulme wylle Cheered the wounded bothe wythe bredde and

proove; wyne;

Mie ledanne boddie wylle bee sette aryghte. Has bee notte untoe somme of you bynn

Egwipa, baste, and ope the portalle doore, dygne?

[fielle, Yatte I on Birtha’s breste maie tbynke of warre You woulde have smethdonne Wedecestrian Boite hee behylte the slugborne for to cleyne, Throwynge onne hys wyde backe, hys wyder

ÆLLA, EGWINA. spreddynge shiride.

EGWUNA, Whanne you, as caytysned, yn fielde dyd bee,

Oh Ælla! He gathed you to be styile, and strayte didd sette


Ah! that seinmlykeene to mee. Stalle wee forslege hys wyfe, because he's

Specketh a legendary tale of woe.

Bicans hee fyghteth for hys countryes gare?
Wylle liee, wliv basith bynne yis Ailla's slave, Birtha is


ne more.

you free.

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