Go telle to Birtha strayte, a
straungerr
waytethe here.
Thomas Chatterton - Rowley Poems
Brynge mee a stede, wythe eagle-wynges for flyghte; 910
Swefte as mie wyshe, &, as mie love ys, stronge.
The Danes have wroughte mee myckle woe ynne syghte,
Inne kepeynge mee from Birtha's armes so longe.
O! whatte a dome was myne, sythe masterie
Canne yeve ne pleasaunce, nor mie londes goode leme myne eie! 915
Yee goddes, howe ys a loverres temper formed!
Sometymes the samme thynge wylle bothe bane, & blesse;
On tyme encalede[104], yanne bie the same thynge warmd,
Estroughted foorthe, and yanne ybrogten less.
'Tys Birtha's loss whyche doe mie thoughtes possesse; 920
I wylle, I muste awaie: whie staies mie stede?
Mie huscarles, hyther haste; prepare a dresse,
Whyche couracyers[105] yn hastie journies nede.
O heavens! I moste awaie to Byrtha eyne,
For yn her lookes I fynde mie beynge doe entwyne. 925
CELMONDE, _att_ BRYSTOWE.
The worlde ys darke wythe nyghte; the wyndes are stylle;
Fayntelie the mone her palyde lyghte makes gleme;
The upryste[106] sprytes the sylente letten[107] fylle,
Wythe ouphant faeryes joynyng ynne the dreme;
The forreste sheenethe wythe the sylver leme; 930
Nowe maie mie love be sated ynn yttes treate;
Uponne the lynche of somme swefte reynyng streme,
Att the swote banquette I wylle swotelie eate.
Thys ys the howse; yee hyndes, swythyn appere.
CELMONDE, SERVYTOURE.
CELMONDE.
Go telle to Birtha strayte, a straungerr waytethe here. 935
CELMONDE, BIRTHA.
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.
