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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529309" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Excelente Balade of Charitie: As Wroten bie the Gode Pri</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Virgynë the sweltrie sun gan sheene, <br> And hotte upon the mees did caste his raie; <br> The apple rodded from its palie greene, <br> And the mole peare did bende the leafy spraie; <br> The peede chelandri sunge the livelong daie; <br> 'Twas nowe the pride, the manhode of the yeare, <br> And eke the grounde was dighte in its moste defte aumere. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The sun was glemeing in the midde of daie, <br> Deadde still the aire, and eke the welken blue, <br> When from the sea arist in drear arraie <br> A hepe of cloudes of sable sullen hue, <br> The which full fast unto the woodlande drewe, <br> Hiltring attenes the sunnis fetive face, <br> And the blacke tempeste swolne and gatherd up apace. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Beneathe an holme, faste by a pathwaie side, <br> Which dide unto Seyncte Godwine's covent lede, <br> A hapless pilgrim moneynge did abide. <br> Pore in his newe, ungentle in his weede, <br> Longe bretful of the miseries of neede, <br> Where from the hail-stone coulde the almer flie? <br> He had no housen theere, ne anie covent nie. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Look in his glommed face, his sprighte there scanne; <br> Howe woe-be-gone, how withered, forwynd, deade! <br> Haste to thie church-glebe-house, asshrewed manne! <br> Haste to thie kiste, thie onlie dortoure bedde. <br> Cale, as the claie whiche will gre on thie hedde, <br> Is Charitie and Love aminge highe elves; <br> Knightis and Barons live for pleasure and themselves. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The gatherd storme is rype; the bigge drops falle; <br> The forswat meadowes smethe, and drenche the raine; <br> The comyng ghastness do the cattle pall, <br> And the full flockes are drivynge ore the plaine; <br> Dashde from the cloudes the waters flott againe; <br> The welkin opes; the yellow levynne flies; <br> And the hot fierie smothe in the wide lowings dies. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Liste! now the thunder's rattling clymmynge sound <br> Cheves slowlie on, and then embollen clangs, <br> Shakes the hie spyre, and losst, dispended, drown'd, <br> Still on the gallard eare of terroure hanges; <br> The windes are up; the lofty elmen swanges; <br> Again the levynne and the thunder poures, <br> And the full cloudes are braste attenes in stonen showers. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Spurreynge his palfrie oere the watrie plaine, <br> The Abbote of Seyncte Godwynes convente came; <br> His chapournette was drented with the reine, <br> And his pencte gyrdle met with mickle shame; <br> He aynewarde tolde his bederoll at the same; <br> The storme encreasen, and he drew aside, <br> With the mist almes craver neere to the holme to bide. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> His cope was all of Lyncolne clothe so fyne, <br> With a gold button fasten'd neere his chynne; <br> His autremete was edged with golden twynne, <br> And his shoone pyke a loverds mighte have binne; <br> Full well it shewn he thoughten coste no sinne: <br> The trammels of the palfrye pleasde his sighte, <br> For the horse-millanare his head with roses dighte. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;An almes, sir prieste!&quot; the droppynge pilgrim saide, <br> &quot;O! let me waite within your covente dore, <br> Till the sunne sheneth hie above our heade, <br> And the loude tempeste of the aire is oer; <br> Helpless and ould am I alas! and poor; <br> No house, ne friend, ne moneie in my pouche; <br> All yatte I call my owne is this my silver crouche.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Varlet,&quot; replyd the Abbatte, &quot;cease your dinne; <br> This is no season almes and prayers to give; <br> Mie porter never lets a faitour in; <br> None touch mie rynge who not in honour live.&quot; <br> And now the sonne with the blacke cloudes did stryve, <br> And shettynge on the grounde his glairie raie, <br> The Abbatte spurrde his steede, and eftsoones roadde awaie. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Once moe the skie was blacke, the thunder rolde; <br> Faste reyneynge oer the plaine a prieste was seen; <br> Ne dighte full proude, ne buttoned up in golde; <br> His cope and jape were graie, and eke were clene; <br> A Limitoure he was of order seene; <br> And from the pathwaie side then turned hee, <br> Where the pore almer laie binethe the holmen tree. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;An almes, sir priest!&quot; the droppynge pilgrim sayde, <br> &quot;For sweete Seyncte Marie and your order sake.&quot; <br> The Limitoure then loosen'd his pouche threade, <br> And did thereoute a groate of silver take; <br> The mister pilgrim dyd for halline shake. <br> &quot;Here take this silver, it maie eathe thie care; <br> We are Goddes stewards all, nete of oure owne we bare. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;But ah! unhailie pilgrim, lerne of me, <br> Scathe anie give a rentrolle to their Lorde. <br> Here take my semecope, thou arte bare I see; <br> Tis thyne; the Seynctes will give me mie rewarde.&quot; <br> He left the pilgrim, and his waie aborde. <br> Virgynne and hallie Seyncte, who sitte yn gloure, <br> Or give the mittee will, or give the gode man power.</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=529309" data-title="An Excelente Balade of Charitie: As Wroten bie the Gode Pri de Thomas Chatterton" data-description="In Virgynë the sweltrie sun gan sheene, 
 And hotte upon the mees did caste his raie; 
 The apple rodded from its palie greene, 
 And the mole peare did bende the leafy spraie; 
 The peede chelandri sunge the livelong daie; 
 'Twas nowe the pride..."></div>
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