Was ever
lockless
dome so hard as myne!
Thomas Chatterton - Rowley Poems
215
Whann I lyved wyth mie fadre yn merrie Clowd-dell.
Tho' twas at my liefe to mynde spynnynge,
I stylle wanted somethynge, botte whatte ne coulde telle,
Mie lorde fadres barbde haulle han ne wynnynge.
Eche mornynge I ryse, doe I sette mie maydennes, 220
Somme to spynn, somme to curdell, somme bleachynge,
Gyff any new entered doe aske for mie aidens,
Thann swythynne you fynde mee a teachynge.
Lorde Walterre, mie fadre, he loved me welle,
And nothynge unto mee was nedeynge, 225
Botte schulde I agen goe to merrie Cloud-dell,
In sothen twoulde bee wythoute redeynge.
Shee sayde, and lorde Thomas came over the lea,
As hee the fatte derkynnes was chacynge,
Shee putte uppe her knyttynge, and to hym wente shee; 230
So wee leave hem bothe kyndelie embracynge.
AELLA.
I lyche eke thys; goe ynn untoe the feaste;
Wee wylle permytte you antecedente bee;
There swotelie synge eche carolle, and yaped[48] jeaste;
And there ys monnie, that you merrie bee; 235
Comme, gentle love, wee wylle toe spouse-feaste goe,
And there ynn ale and wyne bee dreyncted[49] everych woe.
AELLA, BIRTHA, CELMONDE, MESSENGERE.
MESSENGERE.
AElla, the Danes ar thondrynge onn our coaste;
Lyche scolles of locusts, caste oppe bie the sea,
Magnus and Hurra, wythe a doughtie hoaste, 240
Are ragyng, to be quansed[50] bie none botte thee;
Haste, swyfte as Levynne to these royners flee:
Thie dogges alleyne can tame thys ragynge bulle.
Haste swythyn, fore anieghe the towne theie bee,
And Wedecesterres rolle of dome bee fulle. 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?
Whann I lyved wyth mie fadre yn merrie Clowd-dell.
Tho' twas at my liefe to mynde spynnynge,
I stylle wanted somethynge, botte whatte ne coulde telle,
Mie lorde fadres barbde haulle han ne wynnynge.
Eche mornynge I ryse, doe I sette mie maydennes, 220
Somme to spynn, somme to curdell, somme bleachynge,
Gyff any new entered doe aske for mie aidens,
Thann swythynne you fynde mee a teachynge.
Lorde Walterre, mie fadre, he loved me welle,
And nothynge unto mee was nedeynge, 225
Botte schulde I agen goe to merrie Cloud-dell,
In sothen twoulde bee wythoute redeynge.
Shee sayde, and lorde Thomas came over the lea,
As hee the fatte derkynnes was chacynge,
Shee putte uppe her knyttynge, and to hym wente shee; 230
So wee leave hem bothe kyndelie embracynge.
AELLA.
I lyche eke thys; goe ynn untoe the feaste;
Wee wylle permytte you antecedente bee;
There swotelie synge eche carolle, and yaped[48] jeaste;
And there ys monnie, that you merrie bee; 235
Comme, gentle love, wee wylle toe spouse-feaste goe,
And there ynn ale and wyne bee dreyncted[49] everych woe.
AELLA, BIRTHA, CELMONDE, MESSENGERE.
MESSENGERE.
AElla, the Danes ar thondrynge onn our coaste;
Lyche scolles of locusts, caste oppe bie the sea,
Magnus and Hurra, wythe a doughtie hoaste, 240
Are ragyng, to be quansed[50] bie none botte thee;
Haste, swyfte as Levynne to these royners flee:
Thie dogges alleyne can tame thys ragynge bulle.
Haste swythyn, fore anieghe the towne theie bee,
And Wedecesterres rolle of dome bee fulle. 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?
