No More Learning

Oh thou, orr what remaynes of thee,
AElla, the darlynge of futurity,
Lett thys mie songe bolde as thie courage be,
As everlastynge to posteritye.

Whanne Dacya's sonnes, whose hayres of bloude-redde hue 5
Lyche kynge-cuppes brastynge wythe the morning due,
Arraung'd ynne dreare arraie,
Upponne the lethale daie,
Spredde farre and wyde onne Watchets shore;
Than dyddst thou furiouse stande, 10
And bie thie valyante hande
Beesprengedd all the mees wythe gore.

Drawne bie thyne anlace felle,
Downe to the depthe of helle
Thousandes of Dacyanns went; 15
Brystowannes, menne of myghte,
Ydar'd the bloudie fyghte,
And actedd deeds full quent.

Oh thou, whereer (thie bones att reste)
Thye Spryte to haunte delyghteth beste, 20
Whetherr upponne the bloude-embrewedd pleyne,
Orr whare thou kennst fromm farre
The dysmall crye of warre,
Orr seest somme mountayne made of corse of sleyne;
Orr seest the hatchedd stede, 25
Ypraunceynge o'er the mede,
And neighe to be amenged the poynctedd speeres;
Orr ynne blacke armoure staulke arounde
Embattel'd Brystowe, once thie grounde,
And glowe ardurous onn the Castle steeres; 30

Orr fierye round the mynsterr glare;
Lette Brystowe stylle be made thie care;
Guarde ytt fromme foemenne & consumynge fyre;
Lyche Avones streme ensyrke ytte rounde,
Ne lette a flame enharme the grounde, 35
Tylle ynne one flame all the whole worlde expyre.




The underwritten Lines were composed by JOHN LADGATE, a Priest in
London, and sent to ROWLIE, as an Answer to the preceding _Songe of
AElla_.


Havynge wythe mouche attentyonn redde
Whatt you dydd to mee sende,
Admyre the varses mouche I dydd,
And thus an answerr lende.

Amongs the Greeces Homer was 5
A Poett mouche renownde,
Amongs the Latyns Vyrgilius
Was beste of Poets founde.

The Brytish Merlyn oftenne hanne
The gyfte of inspyration, 10
And Afled to the Sexonne menne
Dydd synge wythe elocation.

Ynne Norman tymes, Turgotus and
Goode Chaucer dydd excelle,
Thenn Stowe, the Bryghtstowe Carmelyte, 15
Dydd bare awaie the belle.

Nowe Rowlie ynne these mokie dayes
Lendes owte hys sheenynge lyghtes,
And Turgotus and Chaucer lyves
Ynne ev'ry lyne he wrytes. 20




THE TOURNAMENT.

AN INTERLUDE.


ENTER AN HERAWDE.

The Tournament begynnes; the hammerrs sounde;
The courserrs lysse[1] about the mensuredd[2] fielde;
The shemrynge armoure throws the sheene arounde;
Quayntyssed[3] fons[4] depictedd[5] onn eche sheelde.
The feerie[6] heaulmets, wythe the wreathes amielde[7], 5
Supportes the rampynge lyoncell[8] orr beare,
Wythe straunge depyctures[9], Nature maie nott yeelde,
Unseemelie to all orderr doe appere,
Yett yatte[10] to menne, who thyncke and have a spryte[11],
Makes knowen thatt the phantasies unryghte.
10

I, Sonne of Honnoure, spencer[11] of her joies,
Muste swythen[12] goe to yeve[13] the speeres arounde,
Wythe advantayle[14] & borne[15] I meynte[16] emploie,
Who withoute mee woulde fall untoe the grounde.
Soe the tall oake the ivie twysteth rounde; 15
Soe the neshe[17] flowerr grees[18] ynne the woodeland shade.
The worlde bie diffraunce ys ynne orderr founde;
Wydhoute unlikenesse nothynge could bee made.
As ynn the bowke[19] nete[20] alleyn[21] cann bee donne,
Syke[22] ynn the weal of kynde all thynges are partes of onne. 20

Enterr SYRR SYMONNE DE BOURTONNE.

Herawde[23], bie heavenne these tylterrs staie too long.
Mie phantasie ys dyinge forr the fyghte.
The mynstrelles have begonne the thyrde warr songe,
Yett notte a speere of hemm[24] hath grete mie syghte.
I feere there be ne manne wordhie mie myghte. 25
I lacke a Guid[25], a Wyllyamm[26] to entylte.
To reine[27] anente[28] a fele[29] embodiedd knyghte,
Ytt gettes ne rennome[30] gyff hys blodde bee spylte.
Bie heavenne & Marie ytt ys tyme they're here;
I lyche nott unthylle[31] thus to wielde the speare. 30

HERAWDE.

Methynckes I heare yer slugghornes[32] dynn[33] fromm farre.

BOURTONNE.

Ah!