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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529325" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Goddwyn; A Tragedie</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">PERSONS REPRESENTED.<br>HAROLDE, bie T. Rowleie, the Aucthoure.<br>GODDWYN, bie Johan de Iscamme.<br>ELWARDE, bie Syrr Thybbot Gorges.<br>ALSTAN, bie Syrr Alan de Vere.<br>KYNGE EDWARD; bie Mastre Wilyam Canynge.<br>Odhers bie Knyghtes Mynnstrells.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">PROLOGUE<br>WHYLOMME bie pensmenne moke ungentle name<br>Have upon Goddwynne Erle of Kente bin layde,<br>Dherebie benymmynge hymme of faie and fame;<br>Unliart divinistres haveth saide,<br>Thatte he was knowen toe noe hallie wurche ;<br>Botte thys was all hys faulte, he gyfted ne the churche.<br>The aucthoure of the piece whiche we enacte,<br>Albeytte a clergyon trouthe wyll wrytte.<br>Inne drawynge of hys menne no wytte ys lackte;<br>Entyn a kynge mote bee full pleased to nyghte. <br>Attende, and marcke the partes nowe to be done;<br>Wee better for toe doe do champyon anie onne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">GODDWYN; A TRAGEDIE.<br>ACT I.<br>GODDWYN AND HAROLDE.<br>GODDWYN.<br>HAROLDE!<br>HAROLDE.<br>M ie loverde! <br>GODDWYN.<br>O! I weepe to thyncke,<br>What foemen riseth to isrete the londe.<br>Theie batten onne her fleshe, her hartes bloude dryncke,<br>And all ys graunted from the roieal honde.<br>HAROLDE.<br>Lette notte this agreme blyn ne aledge stonde;<br>Bee I toe wepe, I wepe in teres of gore.<br>Am I betrassed , syke shulde mie burlie bronde<br>Depeyncte the wronges on hym from whom I bore.<br>GODDWYN.<br>I ken thie spryte ful welle; gentle thou art,<br>Stringe , ugsomme rou as smethynge armyes seeme; <br>Yett efte , I feare, thie chefes toe grete a parte,<br>And that thie rede bee efte borne downe bie breme . <br>What tydynges from the kynge?<br>HAROLDE.<br>His Normans know.<br>I make noe compheeres of the shemrynge trayne.<br>GODDWYN.<br>Ah Harolde! tis a syghte of myckle woe,<br>To kenne these Normannes everich rennome gayne.<br>What tydynge withe the foulke ?<br>HAROLDE.<br>Stylle mormorynge atte yer shap , stylle toe the kynge<br>Theie rolle theire trobbles, lyche a sorgie sea.<br>Hane Englonde thenne a tongue, butte notte a stynge? <br>Dothe alle compleyne, yette none wylle ryghted bee?<br>GODDWYN.<br>Awayte the tyme, whanne Godde wylle sende us ayde.<br>HAROLDE.<br>No, we muste streve to ayde oureselves wyth powre.<br>Whan Godde wylle sende us ayde! tis fetelie prayde.<br>Moste we those calke awaie the lyve-longe howre?<br>Thos croche oure armes, and ne toe lyve dareygne ,<br>Unburled , undelievre , unespryte ?<br>Far fro mie harte be fled thyk thoughte of peyne,<br>Ile free mie countrie, or Ille die yn fyghte.<br>GODDWYN.<br>Botte lette us wayte untylle somme season fytte. <br>Mie Kentyshmen, thie Summertons shall ryse;<br>Adented prowess to the gite of witte,<br>Agayne the argent horse shall daunce yn skies.<br>Oh Harolde, heere forstraughteynge wanhope lies.<br>Englonde, oh Englonde, tys for thee I blethe .<br>Whylste Edwarde to thie sonnes wylle nete alyse ,<br>Shulde anie of thie sonnes sele aughte of ethe ?<br>Upponne the trone I sette thee, helde thie crowne;<br>Botte oh! twere hommage nowe to pyghte thee downe.<br>Thou arte all preeste, & notheynge of the kynge. <br>Thou arte all Norman, nothynge of mie blodde.<br>Know, ytte beseies thee notte a masse to synge;<br>Servynge thie leegefolcke thou arte servynge Godde.<br>HAROLDE.<br>Thenne Ille doe heaven a servyce. To the skyes<br>The dailie contekes of the londe ascende,<br>The wyddowe, fahdrelesse, & bondemennes cries<br>Acheke the mokie aire & heaven astende <br>On us the rulers doe the folcke depende<br>Hancelled from erthe these Normanne hyndes shalle bee;<br>Lyche a battently low , mie swerde shalle brende ; <br>Lyche fallynge softe rayne droppes, I wyll hem slea .<br>Wee wayte too longe; our purpose wylle defayte <br>Aboune the hyghe empryze , & rouze the champyones strayte.<br>GODDWYN.<br>Thie suster -- <br>HAROLDE.<br>Aye, I knowe, she is his queene.<br>Albeytte , dyd shee speeke her foemen fayre,<br>I wulde dequace her comlie semlykeene ,<br>And foulde mie bloddie anlace yn her hayre.<br>GODDWYN.<br>Thye fhuir blyn .<br>HAROLDE.<br>No, bydde the leathal mere ,<br>Upriste withe hiltrene wyndes & cause unkend ,<br>Beheste it to be lete ; so twylle appeare, <br>Eere Harolde hyde hys name, his contries frende.<br>The gule-steyncte brygandyne , the adventayle <br>The feerie anlace brede shal make mie gare prevayle.<br>GODDWYN.<br>Harolde, what wuldest doe?<br>HAROLDE.<br>Bethyncke thee whatt,<br>Here liethe Englonde, all her drites unfree,<br>Here liethe Normans coupynge her bie lotte,<br>Caltysnyng everich native plante to gre <br>Whatte woulde I doe? I brondeous wulde hem slee ;<br>Tare owte theyre sable harte bie ryghtefulle breme ;<br>Theyre deathe a meanes untoe mie lyfe shulde bee, <br>Mie spryte shulde revelle yn theyr harte-blodde streme.<br>Eftsoones I wylle bewryne mie ragefulle ire,<br>And Goddis anlace wielde yn furie dyre.<br>GODDWYN.<br>Whatte wouldest thou wythe the kynge?<br>HAROLDE.<br>Take offe hys crowne;<br>The ruler of somme mynster hym ordeyne;<br>Sette uppe som dygner than I han pyghte downe;<br>And peace in Englonde shulde be brayd agayne.<br>GODDWYN.<br>No, lette the super-hallie seyncte kynge reygne,<br>Ande somme moe reded rule the untentyff reaulme;<br>Kynge Edwarde, yn hys cortesie, wylle deygne <br>So to yielde the spoiles, and alleyne were the heaulme<br>Botte from mee harte bee everych thoughte of gayne,<br>Nor anie of mie kin I wysche him to ordeyne.<br>HAROLDE.<br>Tell me the meenes, and I wylle boute ytte strayte;<br>Bete mee to slea mieself, ytte shalle be done.<br>GODDWYN.<br>To thee I wylle swythynne the menes unplayte ,<br>Bie whyche thou, Harolde, shalte be proved mie sonne.<br>I have longe seen whatte peynes were undergon,<br>Whatte agrames braunce out from the general tree;<br>The tyme ys commynge, whan the mollock gron <br>Drented of alle yts swolynge owndes shalle bee;<br>Mie remedie is goode; our menne shall ryse.<br>Eftsoons the Normans and owre agrame flies.<br>HAROLDE.<br>I will to the West, and gemote alle the knyghtes,<br>Wythe bylles that pancte for blodde, and sheeldes as brede <br>As the ybroched moon, when blaunch she dyghtes <br>The wodeland grounde or water-mantled mede;<br>Wythe hondes whose myghte canne make the doughtiest blede,<br>Who efte have knelte upon forslagen foes,<br>Whoe wythe yer fote orrests a castle-stede <br>Who dare on kynges for to bewrecke yiere woes;<br>Nowe wylle the menne of Englonde haile the daie,<br>Whan Goddwyn leades them to the ryghtfulle fraie.<br>GODDWYN.<br>Botte firste we'll call the loverdes of the West,<br>The erles of Mercia, Conventrie and all;<br>The moe wee gayne, the gare wylle prosper beste,<br>Wythe syke a nomber wee can never fall.<br>HAROLDE.<br>True, so wee sal doe best to lyncke the chayne,<br>And alle attenes the spreddynge kyngedomme bynde.<br>No crouched champyone wythe an harte moe feygne <br>Dyd yssue owte the hallie swerde to fynde,<br>Than I nowe strev to ryd mie londe of peyne.<br>Goddwyn, what thanckes owre laboures wylle enhepe!<br>I'lle ryse mie friendes unto the bloddie pleyne;<br>I'lle wake the honnoure thatte ys now aslepe.<br>When wylle the chiefes mete atte thie feastive halle,<br>That I wythe voice alowde maie there upon 'em calle?<br>GODDWYN.<br>Next eve, mie sonne.<br>HAROLDE.<br>Nowe, Englonde, ys the tyme,<br>Whan thee or thie felle foemens cause moste die.<br>Thie geason wronges bee reyne ynto theyre pryme; <br>Nowe wylle thie sonnes unto thie succoure flie.<br>Alyche a storm egederinge yn the skie,<br>Tys fulle ande brasteth on the chaper grounde;<br>Sycke shalle mie fhuirye on the Normans flie,<br>And alle theyre mittee <br>Nowe, nowe, wylle Harolde or oppressionne falle,<br>Ne moe the Englyshmenne yn vayne for hele shal calle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">ACT II.<br>SCENE I.<br>KYNGE EDWARDE AND HIS QUEENE.<br>QUEENE.<br>BOTTE, loverde , whie so manie Normannes here?<br>Mee thynckethe wee bee notte yn Englyshe londe.<br>These browded straungers alwaie doe appere, <br>Theie parte yor trone , and sete at your ryghte honde.<br>KYNGE.<br>Go to, goe to, you doe ne understonde.<br>Theie yeave mee lyffe, and dyd mie bowkie kepe;<br>Theie dyd mee feeste, and did embowre me gronde;<br>To trete hem ylle wulde lette mie kyndnesse slepe.<br>QUEENE.<br>Mancas you have yn store, and to them parte;<br>Youre leege-folcke make moke dole , you have theyr worthe asterte .<br>KYNGE.<br>I heste no rede of you. I ken mie friendes.<br>Hallie dheie are, fulle ready mee to hele ,<br>Theyre volundes are ystorven to self endes; <br>No denwere yn mie breste I of them fele.<br>I muste to prayers; goe yn, and you do wele;<br>I muste ne lose the dutie of the daie;<br>Go inne, go ynne, ande viewe the azure rele <br>Fulle welle I wote you have noe mynde toe praie.<br>QUEENE.<br>I leeve youe to doe hommage heaven-were <br>To serve yor leege-folcke toe is doeynge hommage there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">SCENE II.<br>KYNGE AND SIR HUGHE.<br>KYNGE.<br>Mie friende, Syr Hughe, whatte tydynges brynges thee here?<br>HUGHE.<br>There is no mancas yn mie loverdes ente .<br>The hus dyspense unpaied doe appere; <br>The laste receivure ys eftesoones dispente <br>KYNGE.<br>Thenne guylde the Weste.<br>HUGHE.<br>Mie loverde, I dyd speke<br>Untoe the mitte Erle Harolde of the thynge;<br>He raysed hys honde, and smote me onne the cheke,<br>Saieynge, go beare thatte message to the kynge.<br>KYNGE.<br>Arace hym of hys powere; bie Goddis worde,<br>Ne moe thatte Harolde shall ywield the erlies swerde.<br>HUGHE.<br>Atte seeson sytte, mie loverde, lette itt bee;<br>Botte nowe the folcke doe soe enalse hys name,<br>Inne strevvynge to slea hymme, ourselves wee slea; <br>Syke ys the doughtyness of hys grete fame.<br>KYNGE.<br>Hughe, I beethyncke, thie rede ys notte to blame.<br>Botte thou maiest fynde fulle store of marckes yn Kente.<br>HUGHE.<br>Mie noble loverde, Godwynn ys the same<br>He sweeres he wylle notte swelle the Normans ent.<br>KYNG<br>Ah traytoure! botte mie rage I wylle commaunde.<br>Thou arte a Normanne, Hugh; a straunger to the launde.<br>Thou kenneste howe these Englysche erle doe bere<br>Such stedness in the yll and evylle thynge,<br>Botte atte the goode theie hover yn denwere , <br>Onknowlachynge gif thereunto to clynge.<br>HUGHE.<br>Onwordie syke a marvelle of a kynge!<br>O Edward; thou deservest purer leege ;<br>To thee heie shulden all theire mancas brynge;<br>Thie nodde should save menne, and thie glomb forslege .<br>I amme no curriedowe I lacke no wite <br>I speke whatte bee the trouthe, and whatte all see is ryghte.<br>KYNGE.<br>Thou arte a hallie mann; I doe thee pryze.<br>Comme, comme, and here and hele mee ynn mie praires.<br>Fulle twentie mancas I wylle thee alise , <br>And twayne of hamlettes to thee and thie heyres.<br>So shalle all Normannes from mie londe be fed,<br>Theie alleyn have syke love as to acquyre yer bredde.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">ACT III.<br>CHORUS.<br>WHAN Freedom, dreste yn blodde-steyned veste,<br>To everie knyghte her warre-songe sunge,<br>Uponne her hedde wylde wedes were spredde;<br>A gorie anlace bye her honge.<br>She daunced onne the heathe;<br>She hearde the voice of deathe;<br>Pale-eyned assryghte, hys harte of sylver hue, <br>In vayne assayled her bosomme to acale <br>She hearde onflemed the shriekynge voice of woe,<br>And sadnesse ynne the owlette shake the dale.<br>She shooke the burled speere,<br>On hie she jeste her sheelde,<br>Her foemen all appere,<br>And flizze alonge the feelde.<br>Power, wythe his heafod straught ynto the skyes, <br>Hys speere a sonne-beame, and his sheelde a starre,<br>Alyche twaie brendeynge gronfyres rolls hys eyes, <br>Chastes with hys yronne feete and soundes to war. <br>She syttes upon a rock;<br>She bendes before his speere,<br>She ryses from the shocke,<br>Wieldynge her owne yn ayre.<br>Harde as the thonder dothe she drive ytte on,<br>Wytte scillye wympled gies ytte to hys crowne,<br>Hys longe sharpe speere, hys spreddynge sheelde ys gon,<br>He falles, and fallynge rolleth thousandes down.<br>War, goare-faced war, bie envie burld , arist <br>Hys feerie heaulme noddynge to the ayre,<br>Tenne bloddie arrowes ynne hys streynynge fyste --</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=529325" data-title="Goddwyn; A Tragedie de Thomas Chatterton" data-description="PERSONS REPRESENTED.
HAROLDE, bie T. Rowleie, the Aucthoure.
GODDWYN, bie Johan de Iscamme.
ELWARDE, bie Syrr Thybbot Gorges.
ALSTAN, bie Syrr Alan de Vere.
KYNGE EDWARD; bie Mastre Wilyam Canynge.
Odhers bie Knyghtes Mynnstrells.

PROLOGUE
WHYLOM..."></div>
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