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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529303" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ælla, A Tragical Interlude - Act I</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">SCENE I.<br>CELMONDE, att BRYSTOWE.<br>Before yonne roddie sonne has droove hys wayne<br>Throwe halfe hys joornie, dyghte yn gites of goulde,<br>Mee, happeless mee, hee wylle a wretche behoulde,<br>Mieselfe, and al that's myne, bounde ynn myschaunces chayne.<br>Ah! Birtha, whie dydde Nature frame thee fayre?<br>Whie art thou all thatt poyntelle canne bewreene ?<br>Whie art thou nott as coarse as odhers are?--<br>Butte thenn thie soughle woulde throwe thy vysage sheene,<br>Yatt shemres onn thie comelie semlykeene, <br>Lyche nottebrowne cloudes, whann bie the sonne made redde, <br>Orr scarlette, wythe waylde lynnen clothe ywreene ,<br>Syke would thie spryte uponn thie vysage spredde.<br>Thys daie brave Ælla dothe thyne honde and harte<br>Clayme as hys owne to be, whyche nee from hys moste parte.<br>And cann I lyve to see herr wythe anere? <br>Ytt cannotte, muste nott, naie, ytt shalle not bee.<br>Thys nyghte I'll putte stronge poysonn ynn the beere,<br>And hymm, herr, and myselfe, attenes wyll slea.<br>Assyst mee, Helle! lett Devylles rounde mee tende,<br>To slea mieself, mie love, & eke mie doughtie friende. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">SCENE II.<br>ÆLLA, BIRTHA.<br>ÆLLA.<br>Notte, whanne the hallie prieste dyd make me knyghte,<br>Blessynge the weaponne, tellynge future dede,<br>Howe bie mie honde the prevyd Dane should blede,<br>Howe I schulde often bee, and often wynne, ynn fyghte;<br>Notte, whann I fyrste behelde thie beauteous hue,<br>Whyche strooke mie mynde, and rouzed mie softer soule;<br>Nott, whann from the barbed horse yn fyghte dyd viewe<br>The flying Dacians oere the wyde playne roule,<br>Whan all the troopes of Denmarque made grete dole,<br>Dydd I fele joie wyth syke reddoure as nowe, <br>Whan hallie preest, the lechemanne of the soule,<br>Dydd knytte us both ynn a caytysnede vowe:<br>Now hallie Ælla's selynesse ys grate;<br>Shap haveth nowe ymade hys woes for to emmate .<br>BIRTHA.<br>Mie lorde, and husbande, syke a joie ys myne;<br>Botte mayden modestie moste ne soe saie,<br>Albeytte thou mayest rede ytt ynn myne eyne,<br>Or ynn myne harte, where thou shalte be for aie;<br>Inne sothe, I have butte meeded oute thie faie; <br>For twelve tymes twelve the mone hathe bin yblente, <br>As manie tymes hathe vyed the Godde of daie,<br>And on the grasse her lemes of sylverr sente,<br>Sythe thou dydst cheese mee for thie swote to bee,<br>Enactynge ynn the same moste faiefullie to mee.<br>Ofte have I scene thee atte the none-daie feaste,<br>Whanne deysde bie thieselfe, for want of pheeres, <br>Awhylst thie merryemen dydde laughe and jeaste,<br>Onn mee thou semest all eyne, to mee all eares,<br>Thou wardest mee as gyff ynn hondred feeres,<br>Alest a daygnous looke to thee be sente, <br>And offrendes made mee, moe thann yie compheeres,<br>Offe scarpes of scarlette, and fyne paramente ;<br>All thie yntente to please was lyssed to mee,<br>I saie ytt, I moste streve thatt you ameded bee.<br>ÆLLA.<br>Mie lyttel kyndnesses whyche I dydd doe,<br>Thie gentleness doth corven them so grete,<br>Lyche bawsyn olyphauntes mie gnattes doe shewe;<br>Thou doest mie thoughtes of paying love amate ;<br>Butte hann mie actyonns straughte the rolle of fate,<br>Pyghte thee fromm Hell, or broughte Heaven down to thee, <br>Layde the whol worlde a falldstole atte thie feete,<br>On smyle would be suffycyll mede for mee.<br>I amm Loves borro'r, and canne never paie,<br>Botte be hys borrower stylle, and thyne, mie swete, for aie.<br>BIRTHA.<br>Love, doe notte rate your achevmentes soe small;<br>As I to you, syke love untoe mee beare;<br>For nothynge paste wille Birtha ever call,<br>Ne on a foode from Heaven thynke to cheere.<br>As farr as thys frayle brutylle flesch wyll spere,<br>Syke, and ne fardher I expecte of you; <br>Be notte toe slacke yn love, ne overdeare;<br>A smalle fyre, yan a loude flame, proves more true.<br>AELLA.<br>Thie gentle wordis doe thie volunde kenne<br>To bee moe clergionde thann ys ynn meyncte of menne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">SCENE III.<br>ÆLLA, BIRTHA, CELMONDE, MYNSTRELLES.<br>CELMONDE.<br>Alle blessynges showre on gentle Ælla's hedde!<br>Oft maie the moon, yn sylverr sheenynge lyghte,<br>Inn varied chaunges varyed blessynges shedde,<br>Besprengeynge far abrode mischaunces nyghte;<br>And thou, fayre Birtha! thou, fayre Dame, so bryghte,<br>Long mayest thou wyth Ælla fynde much peace, <br>Wythe selynesse, as wyth a roabe, be dyghte,<br>Wyth everych chaungynge mone new joies encrease!<br>I, as a token of mie love to speak,<br>Have brought you jubbes of ale, at nyghte youre brayne to breake.<br>ÆLLA.<br>Whan sopperes paste we'll drenche youre ale soe stronge,<br>Tyde lyfe, tyde death.<br>CELMONDE.<br>Ye Mynstrelles, chaunt your songe.<br>Mynstrelles Songe, bie a Manne and Womanne.<br>MANNE.<br>Tourne thee to thie Shepsterr swayne;<br>Bryghte sonne has ne droncke the dewe<br>From the floures of yellowe hue;<br>Tourne thee, Alyce, back again. <br>WOMANNE.<br>No, bestoikerre, I wylle goe<br>Softlie tryppynge o'ere the mees, <br>Lyche the sylver-footed doe,<br>Seekeynge shelterr yn grene trees.<br>MANNE.<br>See the moss growne daisey'd banke,<br>Pereynge ynne the streme belowe;<br>Here we'lle sytte, yn dewie danke;<br>Tourne thee, Alyce, do notte goe.<br>WOMANNE.<br>I've hearde erste mie grandame saie,<br>Yonge damoyselles schulde ne bee, <br>Inne the swotie monthe of Maie,<br>Wythe yonge menne bie the grene wode tree.<br>MANNE<br>Sytte thee, Alyce, sytte, and harke,<br>Howe the ouzle chauntes hys noate,<br>The chelandree, greie morn larke,<br>Chauntynge from theyre lyttel throate;<br>WOMANNE<br>I heare them from eche grene wode tree,<br>Chauntynge owte so blatauntlie, <br>Tellynge lecturnyes to mee,<br>Myscheefe ys whanne you are nygh. <br>MANNE.<br>See alonge the mees so grene<br>Pied daisies, kynge-coppes swote;<br>Alle we see, bie non bee seene,<br>Nete botte shepe settes here a fote.<br>WOMANNE.<br>Shepster swayne,you tare mie gratche. <br>Oute uponne ye! lette me goe.<br>Leave me swythe, or I'lle alatche.<br>Robynne, thys youre dame shall knowe.<br>MANNE.<br>See! the crokynge brionie<br>Rounde the popler twyste hys spraie; <br>Rounde the oake the greene ivie<br>Florryshcethe and lyveth aie.<br>Lette us seate us bie thys tree,<br>Laughe, and synge to lovynge ayres;<br>Comme, and doe notte coyen bee;<br>Nature made all thynges bie payres.<br>Drooried cattes wylle after kynde;<br>Gentle doves wylle kyss and coe:<br>WOMANNE.<br>Botte manne, hee moste be ywrynde,<br>Tylle syr preeste make on of two. <br>Tempte me ne to the foule thynge;<br>I wylle no mannes lemanne be;<br>Tyll syr preeste hys songe doethe synge,<br>Thou shalt neere fynde aught of mee.<br>MANNE.<br>Bie our ladie her yborne,<br>To-morrowe, soone as ytte ys daie,<br>I'lle make thee wyfe, ne bee forsworne,<br>So tyde me lyfe or dethe for aie.<br>WOMANNE.<br>Whatt dothe lette, botte thatte nowe<br>Wee attenes , thos honde yn honde, <br>Unto divinstre goe,<br>And bee lyncked yn wedlocke bonde?<br>MANNE.<br>I agree, and thus I plyghte<br>Honde, and harte, and all that's myne;<br>Goode syr Rogerr, do us ryghte,<br>Make us one, at Cothbertes shryne.<br>BOTHE.<br>We wylle ynn a bordelle lyve,<br>Hailie, thoughe of no estate;<br>Everyche clocke moe love shall gyve;<br>Wee ynn godenesse wylle be greate. <br>ÆLLA.<br>I lyche thys songe, I lyche ytt myckle well;<br>And there ys monie for yer syngeynge nowe;<br>Butte have you noone thatt marriage-blessynges telle?<br>CELMONDE.<br>In marriage, blessynges are botte fewe, I trowe.<br>MYNSTRELLES.<br>Laverde , wee have; and, gyff you please, wille synge, <br>As well as owre choughe-voices wylle permytte.<br>ÆLLA.<br>Comme then, and see you swotelie tune the strynge,<br>And stret, and engyne all the human wytte,<br>Toe please mie dame.<br>MYNSTRELLES.<br>We'lle strayne owre wytte and synge. <br>Mynstrelles Songe.<br>FIRST MYNSTRELLE.<br>The boddynge flourettes bloshes atte the lyghte; <br>The mees be sprenged wyth the yellowe hue;<br>Ynn daiseyd mantels ys the mountayne dyghte;<br>The nesh yonge coweslepe bendethe wyth the dewe;<br>The trees enlefed, yntoe Heavenne straughte,<br>Whenn gentle wyndes doe blowe, to whestlyng dynne ys brought.<br>The evenynge commes, and brynges the dewe alonge,<br>The roddie welkynne sheeneth to the eyne;<br>Arounde the alestake Mynstrells synge the songe;<br>Yonge ivie rounde the doore poste do entwyne;<br>I laie mee onn the grasse; yette, to mie wylle, <br>Albeytte alle ys fayre, there lackethe somethynge stylle.<br>SECOND MYNSTRELLE.<br>So Adam thoughtenne, whann, ynn Paradyse,<br>All Heavenn and Erthe dyd hommage to hys mynde;<br>Ynn Womman alleyne mannes pleasaunce lyes;<br>As Instrumentes of joie were made the kynde.<br>Go, take a wyfe unto thie armes, and see<br>Wynter, and brownie hylles, wyll have a charme for thee.<br>THIRD MYNSTRELLE.<br>Whanne Autumpne blake and sonne-brente doe appere,<br>With hys goulde honde guylteynge the falleynge lefe,<br>Bryngeynge oppe Wynterr to folfylle the yere, <br>Beerynge uponne hys backe the riped shefe;<br>Whan al the hyls wythe woddie sede ys whyte;<br>Whanne levynne-fyres and lemes do mete from far the syghte;<br>Whann the fayre apple, rudde as even skie,<br>Do bende the tree unto the fructyle grounde,<br>When joicie peres, and berries of blacke die,<br>Doe daunce yn ayre, and call the eyne arounde;<br>Thann, bee the even foule, or even fayre,<br>Meethynckes mie hartys joie ys steynced wyth some care.<br>SECOND MYNSTRELLE<br>Angelles bee wrogte to bee of neidher kynde; <br>Angelles alleyne fromme chafe desyre bee free;<br>Dherre ys a somewhatte evere yn the mynde, <br>Yatte, wythout wommanne, cannot stylled bee;<br>Ne seyncte yn celles, botte, havynge blodde and tere, <br>Do fynde the spryte to joie on fyghte of womanne fayre.<br>Wommen bee made, notte for hemselves, botte manne,<br>Bone of hys bone, and chyld of hys desire;<br>Fromme an ynutyle membere fyrste beganne,<br>Yrwoghte with moche of water, lyttele fyre;<br>Therefore theie seke the fyre of love, to hete <br>The milkyness of kynde, and make hemselfes complete.<br>Albeytte, wythout wommen, menne were pheeres<br>To salvage kynde, and wulde botte lyve to slea,<br>Botte wommenne efte the spryghte of peace so cheres,<br>Tochelod yn Angel joie heie Angeles bee;<br>Go, take thee swythyn to thie bedde a wyfe,<br>Bee bante or blessed hie, yn proovynge marryage lyfe.<br>Anodher Mynstrelles Songe, bie Syr Thybbot Gorges.<br>As Elynour bie the green lesselle was syttynge,<br>As from the sones hete she harried, <br>She sayde, as herr whytte hondes whyte hosen was knyttynge,<br>Whatte pleasure ytt ys to be married!<br>Mie husbande, Lorde Thomas, a forrester boulde,<br>As ever clove pynne, or the baskette,<br>Does no cherysauncys from Elynour houlde,<br>I have ytte as soone as I aske ytte.<br>Whann I lyved wyth mie fadre yn merrie Clowd-dell,<br>Tho' twas at my liefe to mynde spynnynge,<br>I stylle wanted somethynge, botte whatte ne coulde telle, <br>Mie lorde fadres barbde haulle han ne wynnynge. <br>Eche mornynge I ryse, doe I sette mie maydennes,<br>Somme to spynn, somme to curdell, somme bleachynge,<br>Gyff any new entered doe aske for mie aidens,<br>Thann swythynne you fynde mee a teachynge.<br>Lorde Walterre, mie fadre, he loved me welle,<br>And nothynge unto mee was nedeynge,<br>Botte schulde I agen goe to merrie Cloud-dell,<br>In sothen twoulde bee wythoute redeynge.<br>Shee sayde, and lorde Thomas came over the lea,<br>As hee the fatte derkynnes was chacynge, <br>Shee putte uppe her knyttynge, and to hym wente shee;<br>So wee leave hem bothe kyndelie embracynge.<br>ÆLLA.<br>I lyche eke thys; goe ynnn untoe the feaste;<br>Wee wylle permytte you antecedente bee;<br>There swotelie synge eche carolle, and yaped jeaste;<br>And there ys monnie, that you merrie bee;<br>Comme, gentle love, wee wylle toe spouse-feaste goe,<br>And there ynn ale and wyne bee dreyncted everych woe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ælla, the Danes ar thondrynge onn our coaste;<br>Lyche scolles of locusts, caste oppe bie the sea, <br>Magnus and Hurra, wythe a doughtie hoaste,<br>Are ragyng, to be quansed bie none botte thee;<br>Haste, swyfte as Levynne to these royners flee:<br>Thie dogges alleyne can tame thys ragynge bulle.<br>Haste swythyn, fore anieghe the towne theie bee,<br>And Wedecesterres rolle of dome bee fulle.<br>Haste, haste, O Ælla, to the byker flie,<br>For yn a momentes space tenne thousand menne maie die.<br>ÆLLA.<br>Beshrew thee for thie newes! I moste be gon.<br>Was ever lockless dome so hard as myne! <br>Thos from dysportysmente to warr to ron,<br>To chaunge the selke veste for the gaberdyne!<br>BIRTHA.<br>O! lyche a nedere, lette me rounde thee twyne,<br>And hylte thie boddie from the schaftes of warre.<br>Thou shalte nott, must not, from thie Birtha ryne,<br>Botte kenn the dynne of slughornes from afarre.<br>ÆLLA.<br>O love, was thys thie joie, to shewe the treate,<br>Than groffyshe to forbydde thie hungred guestes to eate?<br>O mie upswalynge harte, whatt wordes can saie<br>The peynes, thatte passethe ynn mie soule ybrente? <br>Thos to bee torne uponne mie spousalle daie,<br>O! 'tys a peyne beyond entendemente.<br>Yee mychtie Goddes, and is yor favoures sente<br>As thous faste dented to a load of peyne?<br>Moste we ale holde yn chace the shade content,<br>And for a bodykin a swarthe obteyne?<br>O whie, yee seynctes, oppress yee thos mie sowle?<br>How shalle I speke mie woe, mie freme, mie dreerie dole?<br>CELMONDE.<br>Sometyme the wyseste lacketh pore mans rede.<br>Reasonne and counynge wytte efte flees awaie. <br>Thann, loverde, lett me saie, wyth hommaged drede<br>(Bieneth your fote ylayn) mie counselle saie;<br>Gyff thos we lett the matter lethlen laie,<br>The foemenn, everych honde-poyncte, getteth fote.<br>Mie loverde, lett the speere-menne, dyghte for fraie,<br>And all the sabbataners goe aboute.<br>I speke, mie loverde, alleyne to upryse<br>Youre wytte from marvelle, and the warriour to alyse.<br>ÆELLA.<br>Ah! nowe thou pottest takells yn mie harte;<br>Mie soulghe dothe nowe begynne to see herselle; <br>I wylle upryse mie myghte, and doe mie parte,<br>To slea the foemenne yn mie furie felle.<br>Botte howe canne tynge mie rampynge fourie telle,<br>Whyche ryseth from mie love to Birtha fayre?<br>Ne could the queede, and ale the myghte of Helle,<br>Founde out impleasaunce of syke blacke a geare.<br>Yet I wylle bee mieselfe, and rouze mie spryte<br>To act wythe rennome, and goe meet the bloddie fyghte.<br>BIRTHA.<br>No, thou schalte never leave thie Birtha's syde;<br>Ne schall the wynde uponne us blowe alleyne; <br>I, lyche a nedre, wylle untoe thee byde;<br>Tyde lyfe, tyde deathe, ytte shall behoulde us twayne.<br>I have mie parte of drierie dole and peyne;<br>Itte brasteth from mee atte the holtred eyne;<br>Ynne tydes of teares mie swarthynge spryte wylle drayne,<br>Gyff drerie dole ys thyne, tys twa tymes myne.<br>Goe notte, O Ælla; wythe thie Birtha staie;<br>For wyth thie semmlykeed mie spryte wyll goe awaie.<br>ÆLLA.<br>O! tys for thee, for thee alleyne I fele;<br>Yett I muste bee mieselfe; with valoures gear <br>I'lle dyghte mie hearte, and notte mie lymbes yn stele,<br>And thake the bloddie swerde and steyned spere.<br>BIRTHA.<br>Can Ælla from hys breaste hys Birtha teare?<br>Is shee so rou and ugsomme to hys syghte?<br>Entrykeynge wyght! ys leathall warre so deare?<br>Thou pryzest mee belowe the joies of fyghte.<br>Thou scalte notte leave mee, albeytte the erthe<br>Hang pendaunte bie thie swerde, and craved for thy morthe.<br>ÆLLA.<br>Dyddest thou kenne howe mie woes, as starres ybrente,<br>Headed bie these thie wordes doe onn mee falle, <br>Thou woulde stryve to gyve mie harte contente,<br>Wakyng mie slepynge mynde to honnoures calle.<br>Of selynesse I pryze thee moe yan all<br>Heaven can mee sende, or counynge wytt acquyre,<br>Yette I wylle leave thee, onne the foe to falle,<br>Retournynge to thie eyne with double fyre.<br>BIRTHA.<br>Moste Birtha boon requeste and bee denyd?<br>Receyve attenes a darte yn selynesse and pryde?<br>Doe staie, att leaste tylle morrowes sonne apperes.<br>ÆLLLA.<br>Thou kenneste welle the Dacyannes myttee powere; <br>Wythe them a mynnute wurchethe bane for yeares;<br>Theie undoe reaulmes wythyn a syngle hower,<br>Rouze all thie honnoure, Birtha; look attoure<br>Thie bledeynge countrie, whych for hastie dede<br>Calls, for the rodeynge of some doughtie power,<br>To royn yttes royners, make yttes foemenne blede.<br>BIRTHA.<br>Rouze all thie love; false and entrykyng wyghte!<br>Ne leave thie Birtha thos uponne pretence of fyghte.<br>Thou nedest notte goe, untyll thou haste command<br>Under the sygnette of oure lorde the kynge. <br>ÆLLA.<br>And wouldest thou make me then a recreande?<br>Hollie Seyncte Marie, keepe mee from the thynge!<br>Heere, Birtha, thou hast potte a double stynge,<br>One for thie love, anodher for thie mynde.<br>BIRTHA.<br>Agylted Ælla, thie abredynge blynge .<br>Twas love of thee thatte foule intente ywrynde.<br>Yette heare mie supplycate, to mee attende,<br>Hear from mie groted harte the lover and the friende.<br>Lett Celmonde yn thie armour-brace be dyghte;<br>And yn thie stead unto the battle goe; <br>Thie name alleyne wylle putte the Danes to flyghte,<br>The ayre thatt beares ytt woulde presse downe the foe.<br>ÆLLLA.<br>Birtha, yn vayne thou wouldste mee recreand doe;<br>I moste, I wylle, fyghte for mie countries wele,<br>And leave thee for ytt. Celmonde, sweftlie goe,<br>Telle mie Brystowans to bedyghte yn stele;<br>Tell hem I scorne to kenne hem from afar,<br>Botte leave the vyrgyn brydall bedde for bedde of warre.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">BIRTHA.<br>And thou wylt goe; O mie agroted harte!<br>ÆLLA.<br>Mie countrie waites mie marche; I muste awaie; <br>Albeytte I schulde goe to mete the darte<br>Of certen Dethe, yette here I woulde notte staie.<br>Botte thos to leave thee, Birtha, dothe asswaie<br>Moe torturynge peynes yanne canne be sedde bie tyngue,<br>Yette rouze thie honoure uppe, and, wayte the daie,<br>Whan rounde aboute mee songe of warre heie synge.<br>O Birtha, strev mie agreeme to accaie <br>And joyous see mie armes, dyghte oute ynn warre arraie.<br>BIRTHA.<br>Difficile ys the pennaunce, yette I'lle strev<br>To keepe mie woe behyltren yn mie breaste. <br>Albeytte nete maye to mee pleasaunce yev,<br>Lyche thee, I'lle strev to sette mie mynde atte reste.<br>Yett oh! forgeve, yff I have thee dystreste;<br>Love, doughtie love, wylle beare no odher swaie.<br>Juste as I was wythe Ælla to be bleste,<br>Shappe foullie thos hathe snatched hym awaie. <br>It was a tene too doughtie to bee borne,<br>Wydhoute an ounde of teares and breaste wyth syghes ytorne.<br>ÆLLLA.<br>Thie mynde ys now thie selfe; why wylte thou bee<br>All blanch; al kyngelie, all soe wyse yn mynde, <br>Alleyne to lett pore wretched Ælla see,<br>Whatte wondrous bighes he nowe muste leave behynde?<br>O Birtha fayre, warde everyche commynge wynde,<br>On everych wynde I wylle a token sende;<br>Onn mie longe shielde ycorne thie name thoul't fynde.<br>Butte here commes Celmonde, wordhie knyghte and friende.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">CELMONDE.<br>The Brystowe knyghtes for thie forth-comynge lynge <br>Echone athwarte hys backe hys longe warre-shield dothe flynge.<br>ÆLLA.<br>Birtha, adieu; but yette I cannotte goe.<br>BIRTHA.<br>Lyfe of mie spryte, mie gentle Ælla staie, <br>Engyne mee notte wyth syke a drierie woe.<br>ÆLLA.<br>I muste, I wylle; tys honnoure cals awaie.<br>BIRTHA.<br>O mie agroted harte, braste, braste ynn twaie.<br>Ælla, for honnoure, flyes awaie from mee.<br>ÆLLA.<br>Birtha, adieu; I maie notte here obaie.<br>I'm flyynge from mieselfe yn flying thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">BIRTHA.<br>O Ælla, housband, friend, and loverde, staie.<br>He's gon, he's gone, alass! percase he's gone for aie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">CELMONDE.<br>Hope, hallie suster, sweepeynge thro' the skie,<br>In crowne of goulde, and robe of lillie whyte, <br>Whych farre abrode ynne gentle ayre do flie,<br>Meetynge from distaunce the enjoyous fyghte,<br>Albeytte efte thou taken thie hie flyghte<br>Hecket ynne a myste, and wyth thyne eyne yblente,<br>Nowe commest thou to mee wythe starrie lyghte;<br>Ontoe thie veste the rodde sonne ys adente ;<br>The Sommer tyde, the month of Maie appere,<br>Depycte wythe skyledd honde uponn thie wyde aumere.<br>I from a nete of hopelen am adawed,<br>Awhaped atte the fetyveness of daie; <br>Ælla, bie nete moe thann hys myndbruche awed,<br>Is gone, and I moste followe, toe the fraie.<br>Celmonde canne ne'er from anie byker staie.<br>Dothe warre begynne? theres Celmonde yn the place.<br>Bone whanne the warre ys donne, I'll haste awaie.<br>The reste from nethe tymes masque must shew yttes face.<br>I see onnombered joies around mee ryse;<br>Blake stondethe future doome, and joie dothe mee alyse.<br>O honnoure, honnoure, whatt ys bie thee hanne?<br>Hallie the robber and the bordelyer, <br>Who kens ne thee, or ys to thee bestanne,<br>And nothynge does thie myckle gastness fere.<br>Faygne would I from mie bosomme alle thee tare.<br>Thou there dysperpellest thie levynne-bronde;<br>Whyllest mie soulgh's forwyned, thou art the gare;<br>Sleene ys mie comforte bie thie ferie honde;<br>As somme talle hylle, whann wynds doe shake the ground,<br>Itte kerveth all abroade, bie brasteynge hyltren wounde.<br>Honnoure, whatt bee ytte? tys a shadowes shade,<br>A thynge of wychencref, an idle dreme; <br>On of the fonnis whych the clerche have made<br>Menne wydhoute sprytes, and wommen for to fleme;<br>Knyghtes, who efte kenne the loude dynne of the beme,<br>Schulde be forgarde to syke enfeeblynge waies,<br>Make everych acte, alyche theyr soules, be breme,<br>And for theyre chyvalrie alleyne have prayse.<br>O thou, whatteer thie name,<br>Or Zabalus or Queed,<br>Comme, steel mie sable spryte,<br>For fremde and dolefulle dede.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Chatterton">Thomas Chatterton</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529303" data-title="Ælla, A Tragical Interlude - Act I de Thomas Chatterton" data-description="SCENE I.
CELMONDE, att BRYSTOWE.
Before yonne roddie sonne has droove hys wayne
Throwe halfe hys joornie, dyghte yn gites of goulde,
Mee, happeless mee, hee wylle a wretche behoulde,
Mieselfe, and al that's myne, bounde ynn myschaunces chayne.
Ah!..."></div>
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