No More Learning

BIRTHA.

Celmonde! yee seynctes! I hope thou haste goode newes.

CELMONDE.

The hope ys loste: for heavie newes prepare.

BIRTHA.

Is AElla welle?

CELMONDE.

Hee lyves; & stylle maie use
The behylte[108] blessynges of a future yeare.

BIRTHA.

Whatte heavie tydynge thenne have I to feare? 940
Of whatte mischaunce dydste thou so latelie saie?

CELMONDE.

For heavie tydynges swythyn nowe prepare.
AElla sore wounded ys, yn bykerous fraie;
In Wedecester's wallid toune he lyes.

BIRTHA.

O mie agroted breast!

CELMONDE:

Wythoute your syghte, he dyes. 945

BIRTHA.

Wylle Birtha's presence ethe herr AElla's payne?
I flie; newe wynges doe from mie schoulderrs sprynge.

CELMONDE.

Mie stede wydhoute wylle deftelie beere us twayne.

BIRTHA.

Oh! I wyll flie as wynde, & no waie lynge;
Sweftlie caparisons for rydynge brynge; 950
I have a mynde wynged wythe the levyn ploome.
O AElla, AElla! dydste thou kenne the stynge,
The whyche doeth canker ynne mie hartys roome,
Thou wouldste see playne thieselfe the gare to bee;
Aryse, uponne thie love, & flie to meeten mee. 955

CELMONDE.

The stede, on whyche I came, ys swefte as ayre;
Mie servytoures doe wayte mee nere the wode;
Swythynne wythe mee unto the place repayre;
To AElla I wylle gev you conducte goode.