Yee mychtie Goddes, and is yor
favoures
sente
As thous faste dented to a loade of peyne?
As thous faste dented to a loade of peyne?
Thomas Chatterton - Rowley Poems
245
Haste, haste, O AElla, to the byker flie,
For yn a momentes space tenne thousand menne maie die.
AELLA.
Beshrew thee for thie newes! I moste be gon.
Was ever lockless dome so hard as myne!
Thos from dysportysmente to warr to ron, 250
To chaunge the selke veste for the gaberdyne!
BIRTHA.
O! lyche a nedere, lette me rounde thee twyne,
And hylte thie boddie from the schaftes of warre.
Thou shalte nott, must not, from thie Birtha ryne,
Botte kenn the dynne of slughornes from afarre. 255
AELLA.
O love, was thys thie joie, to shewe the treate,
Than groffyshe to forbydde thie hongered guestes to eate?
O mie upswalynge[51] harte, whatt wordes can saie
The peynes, thatte passethe ynn mie soule ybrente?
Thos to bee torne uponne mie spousalle daie, 260
O! 'tys a peyne beyond entendemente.
Yee mychtie Goddes, and is yor favoures sente
As thous faste dented to a loade of peyne?
Moste wee aie holde yn chace the shade content.
And for a bodykyn[52] a swarthe obteyne? 265
O! whie, yee seynctes, oppress yee thos mie fowle?
How shalle I speke mie woe, mie freme, mie dreerie dole?
CELMONDE.
Sometyme the wyseste lacketh pore mans rede.
Reasonne and counynge wytte efte flees awaie.
Thanne, loverde, lett me saie, wyth hommaged drede
(Bieneth your fote ylayn) mie counselle saie; 271
Gyff thos wee lett the matter lethlen[53] laie,
The foemenn, everych honde-poyncte, getteth fote.
Mie loverde, lett the speere-menne, dyghte for fraie,
And all the sabbataners goe aboute. 275
I speke, mie loverde, alleyne to upryse
Youre wytte from marvelle, and the warriour to alyse.
AELLA.
Ah! nowe thou pottest takells[54] yn mie harte;
Mie soulghe dothe nowe begynne to see herselle;
I wylle upryse mie myghte, and doe mie parte, 280
To flea the foemenne yn mie furie felle.
Botte howe canne tynge mie rampynge fourie telle.
Haste, haste, O AElla, to the byker flie,
For yn a momentes space tenne thousand menne maie die.
AELLA.
Beshrew thee for thie newes! I moste be gon.
Was ever lockless dome so hard as myne!
Thos from dysportysmente to warr to ron, 250
To chaunge the selke veste for the gaberdyne!
BIRTHA.
O! lyche a nedere, lette me rounde thee twyne,
And hylte thie boddie from the schaftes of warre.
Thou shalte nott, must not, from thie Birtha ryne,
Botte kenn the dynne of slughornes from afarre. 255
AELLA.
O love, was thys thie joie, to shewe the treate,
Than groffyshe to forbydde thie hongered guestes to eate?
O mie upswalynge[51] harte, whatt wordes can saie
The peynes, thatte passethe ynn mie soule ybrente?
Thos to bee torne uponne mie spousalle daie, 260
O! 'tys a peyne beyond entendemente.
Yee mychtie Goddes, and is yor favoures sente
As thous faste dented to a loade of peyne?
Moste wee aie holde yn chace the shade content.
And for a bodykyn[52] a swarthe obteyne? 265
O! whie, yee seynctes, oppress yee thos mie fowle?
How shalle I speke mie woe, mie freme, mie dreerie dole?
CELMONDE.
Sometyme the wyseste lacketh pore mans rede.
Reasonne and counynge wytte efte flees awaie.
Thanne, loverde, lett me saie, wyth hommaged drede
(Bieneth your fote ylayn) mie counselle saie; 271
Gyff thos wee lett the matter lethlen[53] laie,
The foemenn, everych honde-poyncte, getteth fote.
Mie loverde, lett the speere-menne, dyghte for fraie,
And all the sabbataners goe aboute. 275
I speke, mie loverde, alleyne to upryse
Youre wytte from marvelle, and the warriour to alyse.
AELLA.
Ah! nowe thou pottest takells[54] yn mie harte;
Mie soulghe dothe nowe begynne to see herselle;
I wylle upryse mie myghte, and doe mie parte, 280
To flea the foemenne yn mie furie felle.
Botte howe canne tynge mie rampynge fourie telle.
