Syke ys the waie of lyffe; the loverds ente saie; Botte lette me heere thie waie of lyffe, and thenne Heare thou from me the lyffe of odher menne. MANNE. ryse wyth the sonne, Botte of the maydens, oh! SYR ROGERRE. Has thou ne seene a tree uponne a hylle, Whose unliste braunces rechen far toe syghte; Whan fuired unwers doe the Heaven fylle, ECLOGUE THE FOURTH. ELINOURE AND JUGA. ONNE Ruddebornet bank twa pynynge maydens sate, Theire teares faste dryppeyne to the waterre cleere ; Echone bementynge for her absente mate, Who atte Seyncte Albonns shouke the morthynge speare. The nottebrowne Elinoure to Juga fayre Dydde speke acroole,+ wythe languishment of eyne, Lyche droppes of pearlie dew, lemed the quyvryng brine. * Evidently from the French abaisser, but corruptly and in deed unintelligibly formed. It is used by no other writer. Tyr whitt. + Ruddeborne, rudborne (in Saxon, red-water ;) a river near Saint Albans, famous for the battles there fought between the houses of Lancaster and York. Unauthorized. The imitative verb crool, or something like it, is said to have denoted the sound made by the dove. ELINOURE. gentle Juga! heare mie dernie plainte, To fyghte for Yorke mie love ys dyghte in stele; Moke moe than ne deathe in phantasie I feele ; JUGA. Systers in sorrowe on thys daise-ey'd banke, ELINOURE. No moe the miskynette shall wake the morne,t The minstrelle daunce, good cheere, and morryce plaie ; No moe the amblynge palfrie and the horne Shall from the lessel rouze the foxe awaie; I'll seke the forreste alle the lyve-longe daie; * Mr. Bowles has introduced this line in his Monody, written at Matlock. Whilst hush'd, and by the mace of ruin rent, The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from her straw-built shed, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. Gray. Alle nete amenge the gravde chyrche glebe wyll goe, And to the passante spryghtes lecture mie tale of woe. JUGA. Whan mokie cloudis do hange upon the leme Syrr Rychardes forme ys lyped, I'll holde dystraughte Hys bledeynge claie-colde corse, and die eche daie ynn thoughte. ELINOURE. Ah woe bementynge wordes; what wordes can shewe! Thou limed ryver, on thie linche maie bleede Champyons, whose bloude wylle wythe thie waterres flowe, And Rudborne streeme be Rudborne streeme indeede! Haste, gentle Juga, tryppe ytte oere the meade, So sayinge, lyke twa levyn-blasted trees, Or twayne of cloudes that holdeth stormie rayne; |