The Rowley Poems by Thomas Chatterton (inspirational books to read .txt) 📖

Yff I defyl'd her bedde?                                              170

  I have a kynge, and none can laie

    Blacke treason onne my hedde.

 

  "Ynne Lent, and onne the holie eve,

    Fromm fleshe I dydd refrayne;

  Whie should I thenne appeare dismay'd                                   175

    To leave thys worlde of payne?

 

  "Ne! hapless HENRIE! I rejoyce,

    I shalle ne see thye dethe;

  Moste willynglie ynne thye just cause

    Doe I resign my brethe.                                               180

 

  "Oh, fickle people! rewyn'd londe!

    Thou wylt kenne peace ne moe;

  Whyle RICHARD'S sonnes exalt themselves,

    Thye brookes wythe bloude wylle flowe.

 

  "Saie, were ye tyr'd of godlie peace,                                   185

    And godlie HENRIE'S reigne,

  Thatt you dydd choppe youre easie daies

    For those of bloude and peyne?

 

  "Whatte tho' I onne a sledde bee drawne,

    And mangled by a hynde,                                               190

  I doe defye the traytor's pow'r,

    Hee can ne harm my mynde;

 

  "Whatte tho', uphoisted onne a pole,

    Mye lymbes shall rotte ynne ayre,

  And ne ryche monument of brasse                                         195

    CHARLES BAWDIN'S name shall bear;

 

  "Yett ynne the holie booke above,

    Whyche tyme can't eate awaie,

  There wythe the sarvants of the Lorde

    Mye name shall lyve for aie.                                          200

 

  "Thenne welcome dethe! for lyfe eterne

    I leave thys mortall lyfe:

  Farewell, vayne worlde, and alle that's deare,

    Mye sonnes and lovynge wyfe!

 

  "Nowe dethe as welcome to mee comes,                                    205

    As e'er the moneth of Maie;

  Nor woulde I even wyshe to lyve,

    Wyth my dere wyfe to staie."

 

  Quod CANYNGE, "'Tys a goodlie thynge

    To bee prepar'd to die;                                               210

  And from thys world of peyne and grefe

    To Godde ynne Heav'n to flie."

 

  And nowe the bell beganne to tolle,

    And claryonnes to sounde;

  Syr CHARLES hee herde the horses feete                                  215

    A prauncyng onne the grounde:

 

  And just before the officers,

    His lovynge wyfe came ynne,

  Weepynge unfeigned teeres of woe,

    Wythe loude and dysmalle dynne.                                       220

 

  "Sweet FLORENCE! nowe I praie forbere,

    Ynne quiet lett mee die;

  Praie Godde, thatt ev'ry Christian soule

    Maye looke onne dethe as I.

 

  "Sweet FLORENCE! why these brinie teeres?                               225

    Theye washe my soule awaie,

  And almost make mee wyshe for lyfe,

    Wyth thee, sweete dame, to staie.

 

  "'Tys butt a journie I shalle goe

    Untoe the lande of blysse;                                            230

  Nowe, as a proofe of husbande's love,

    Receive thys holie kysse."

 

  Thenne FLORENCE, fault'ring ynne her saie,

    Tremblynge these wordyes spoke,

  "Ah, cruele EDWARDE! bloudie kynge!                                     235

    My herte ys welle nyghe broke:

 

  "Ah, sweete Syr CHARLES! why wylt thou goe,

    Wythoute thye lovynge wyfe?

  The cruelle axe thatt cuttes thye necke,

    Ytte eke shall ende mye lyfe."                                        240

 

  And nowe the officers came ynne

    To brynge Syr CHARLES awaie,

  Whoe turnedd toe his lovynge wyfe,

    And thus toe her dydd saie:

 

  "I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe;                                      245

    Truste thou ynne Godde above,

  And teache thye sonnes to feare the Lorde,

    And ynne theyre hertes hym love:

 

  "Teache them to runne the nobile race

    Thatt I theyre fader runne:                                           250

  FLORENCE! shou'd dethe thee take--adieu!

    Yee officers, leade onne."

 

  Thenne FLORENCE rav'd as anie madde,

    And dydd her tresses tere;

  "Oh! staie, mye husbande! lorde! and lyfe!"--                           255

    Syr CHARLES thenne dropt a teare.

 

  'Tyll tyredd oute wythe ravynge loud,

    Shee fellen onne the flore;

  Syr CHARLES exerted alle hys myghte,

    And march'd fromm oute the dore.                                      260

 

  Uponne a sledde hee mounted thenne,

    Wythe lookes fulle brave and swete;

  Lookes, thatt enshone ne moe concern

    Thanne anie ynne the strete.

 

  Before hym went the council-menne,                                      265

    Ynne scarlett robes and golde,

  And tassils spanglynge ynne the sunne,

    Muche glorious to beholde:

 

  The Freers of Seincte AUGUSTYNE next

    Appeared to the syghte,                                               270

  Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes,

    Of godlie monkysh plyghte:

 

  Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume

    Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt;

  Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles came,                             275

    Who tun'd the strunge bataunt.

 

  Thenne fyve-and-twentye archers came;

    Echone the bowe dydd bende,

  From rescue of kynge HENRIES friends

    Syr CHARLES forr to defend.                                           280

 

  Bolde as a lyon came Syr CHARLES,

    Drawne onne a clothe-layde sledde,

  Bye two blacke stedes ynne trappynges white,

    Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde:

 

  Behynde hym fyve-and-twentye moe                                        285

    Of archers stronge and stoute,

  Wyth bended bowe echone ynne hande,

    Marched ynne goodlie route:

 

  Seincte JAMESES Freers marched next,

    Echone hys parte dydd chaunt;                                         290

  Behynde theyre backs syx mynstrelles came,

    Who tun'd the strunge bataunt:

 

  Thenne came the maior and eldermenne,

    Ynne clothe of scarlett deck't;

  And theyre attendyng menne echone,                                      295

    Lyke Easterne princes trickt:

 

  And after them, a multitude

    Of citizenns dydd thronge;

  The wyndowes were alle fulle of heddes,

    As hee dydd passe alonge.                                             300

 

  And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse,

    Syr CHARLES dydd turne and saie,

  "O Thou, thatt savest manne fromme synne,

    Washe mye soule clean thys daie!"

 

  Att the grete mynsterr wyndowe sat                                      305

    The kynge ynne myckle state,

  To see CHARLES BAWDIN goe alonge

    To hys most welcom fate.

 

  Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe,

    Thatt EDWARDE hee myghte heare,                                       310

  The brave Syr CHARLES hee dydd stande uppe,

    And thus hys wordes declare:

 

  "Thou seest mee, EDWARDE! traytour vile!

    Expos'd to infamie;

  Butt bee assur'd, disloyall manne!                                      315

    I'm greaterr nowe thanne thee.

 

  "Bye foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude,

    Thou wearest nowe a crowne;

  And hast appoynted mee to dye,

    By power nott thyne owne.                                             320

 

  "Thou thynkest I shall dye to-daie;

    I have beene dede 'till nowe,

  And soone shall lyve to weare a crowne

    For aie uponne my browe:

 

  "Whylst thou, perhapps, for som few yeares,                             325

    Shalt rule thys fickle lande,

  To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule

    'Twixt kynge and tyrant hande:

 

  "Thye pow'r unjust, thou traytour slave!

    Shall falle onne thye owne hedde"--                                   330

  Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge

    Departed thenne the sledde.

 

  Kynge EDWARDE'S soule rush'd to hys face,

    Hee turn'd hys hedde awaie,

  And to hys broder GLOUCESTER                                            335

    Hee thus dydd speke and saie:

 

  "To hym that soe-much-dreaded dethe

    Ne ghastlie terrors brynge,

  Beholde the manne! hee spake the truthe,

    Hee's greater thanne a kynge!"                                        340

 

  "Soe lett hym die!" Duke RICHARD sayde;

    "And maye echone oure foes

  Bende downe theyre neckes to bloudie axe,

    And feede the carryon crowes."

 

  And nowe the horses gentlie drewe                                       345

    Syr CHARLES uppe the hyghe hylle;

  The axe dydd glysterr ynne the sunne,

    Hys pretious bloude to spylle.

 

  Syrr CHARLES dydd uppe the scaffold goe,

    As uppe a gilded carre                                                350

  Of victorye, bye val'rous chiefs

    Gayn'd ynne the bloudie warre:

 

  And to the people hee dydd saie,

    "Beholde you see mee dye,

  For servynge loyally mye kynge,                                         355

    Mye kynge most rightfullie.

 

  "As longe as EDWARDE rules thys lande,

    Ne quiet you wylle knowe;

  Youre sonnes and husbandes shalle bee slayne.

    And brookes wythe bloude shalle flowe.                                360

 

  "You leave youre goode and lawfulle kynge.

    Whenne ynne adversitye;

  Lyke mee, untoe the true cause stycke,

    And for the true cause dye."

 

  Thenne hee, wyth preestes, uponne hys knees,                            365

    A pray'r to Godde dydd make,

  Beseechynge hym unto hymselfe

    Hys partynge soule to take.

 

  Thenne, kneelynge downe, hee layd hys hedde

    Most seemlie onne the blocke;                                         370

  Whyche fromme hys bodie fayre at once

    The able heddes-manne stroke:

 

  And oute the bloude beganne to flowe,

    And rounde the scaffolde twyne;

  And teares, enow to washe't awaie,                                      375

    Dydd flowe fromme each mann's eyne.

 

  The bloudie axe hys bodie fayre

    Ynnto foure parties cutte;

  And ev'rye parte, and eke hys hedde,

    Uponne a pole was putte.                                              380

 

  One parte dydd rotte onne Kynwulph-hylle,

    One onne the mynster-tower,

  And one from off the castle-gate

    The crowen dydd devoure:

 

  The other onne Seyncte Powle's goode gate,                              385

    A dreery spectacle;

  Hys hedde was plac'd onne the hyghe crosse,

    Ynne hyghe-streete most nobile.

 

  Thus was the ende of BAWDIN'S fate:

    Godde prosper longe oure kynge,                                       390

  And grante hee maye, wyth BAWDIN'S soule,

    Ynne heav'n Godd's mercie synge!

 

 

 

 

  ÆLLA:

 

  A

 

  TRAGYCAL ENTERLUDE,

 

  OR

 

  DISCOORSEYNGE TRAGEDIE,

 

  WROTENN BIE

 

  THOMAS ROWLEIE;

 

  PLAIEDD BEFORE

 

  MASTRE CANYNGE, ATTE HYS HOWSE NEMPTE THE RODDE LODGE;

 

 

  [ALSOE BEFORE THE DUKE OF NORFOLCK, JOHAN HOWARD.]

 

 

 

 

PERSONNES REPRESENTEDD.

 

 

  ÆLLA,  bie _Thomas Rowleie_, Preeste, the Aucthoure.

 

  CELMONDE,  _Johan Iscamm_, Preeste.

 

  HURRA,     Syrr _Thybbotte Gorges_, Knyghte.

 

  BIRTHA,    Mastre _Edwarde Canynge_.

 

      Odherr Partes bie _Knyghtes Mynstrelles_.

 

 

 

 

EPISTLE TO MASTRE CANYNGE ON ÆLLA.

 

 

  'Tys songe bie mynstrelles, thatte yn auntyent tym,

  Whan Reasonn hylt[1] herselfe in cloudes of nyghte,

    The preeste delyvered alle the lege[2] yn rhym;

    Lyche peyncted[3] tyltynge speares to please the syghte,

    The whyche yn yttes felle use doe make moke[4] dere[5],                 5

  Syke dyd theire auncyante lee deftlie[6] delyghte the eare.

 

    Perchaunce yn Vyrtues gare[7] rhym mote bee thenne,

    Butt eefte[8] nowe flyeth to the odher syde;

    In hallie[9] preeste apperes the ribaudes[10] penne,

    Inne lithie[11] moncke apperes the barronnes pryde:                    10

    But rhym wythe somme, as nedere[12] widhout teethe,

  Make pleasaunce to the sense, botte maie do lyttel scathe[13].

 

    Syr Johne, a knyghte, who hath a barne of lore[14],

    Kenns[15] Latyn att fyrst syghte from Frenche or Greke,

    Pyghtethe[16] hys knowlachynge[17] ten yeres or more,                  15

    To rynge upon the Latynne worde to speke.

    Whoever spekethe Englysch ys despysed,

  The Englysch hym to please moste fyrste be latynized.

 

    Vevyan, a moncke, a good requiem[18] synges;

    Can preache so wele, eche hynde[19] hys meneynge knowes                20

    Albeytte these gode guyfts awaie he flynges,

    Beeynge as badde yn vearse as goode yn prose.

    Hee synges of seynctes who dyed for yer Godde,

  Everych wynter nyghte afresche he sheddes theyr blodde.

 

    To maydens, huswyfes, and unlored[20] dames,                           25

    Hee redes hys tales of merryment & woe.

    Loughe[21] loudlie dynneth[22] from the dolte[23] adrames[24];

    He swelles on laudes of fooles, tho' kennes[25] hem soe.

    Sommetyme at tragedie theie laughe and synge,

  At merrie yaped[26] fage[27] somme hard-drayned water brynge.            30

 

    Yette Vevyan ys ne foole, beyinde[28] hys lynes.

    Geofroie makes vearse, as handycraftes theyr ware;

    Wordes wythoute sense fulle grossyngelye[29] he twynes,

    Cotteynge hys storie off as wythe a sheere;

    Waytes monthes on nothynge, & hys storie donne,                        35

  Ne moe you from ytte kenn, than gyf[30] you neere begonne.

 

    Enowe of odhers; of mieselfe to write,

    Requyrynge whatt I doe notte nowe possess,

    To you I leave the taske; I kenne your myghte

    Wyll make mie faultes, mie meynte[31] of faultes, be less.             40

    ÆLLA wythe thys I sende, and hope that you

  Wylle from ytte caste awaie, whatte lynes maie be untrue.

 

    Playes made from hallie[32] tales I holde unmeete;

    Lette somme greate storie of a manne be songe;

    Whanne, as a manne, we Godde and Jesus treate,                         45

    In mie pore mynde, we doe the Godhedde wronge.

    Botte lette ne wordes, whyche droorie[33] mote ne heare,

  Bee placed yn the same. Adieu untylle anere[34].

 

THOMAS ROWLEIE.

 

[Footnote 1: hid, concealed.]

 

[Footnote 2: law.]

 

[Footnote 3: painted.]

 

[Footnote 4: much.]

 

[Footnote 5: hurt, damage.]

 

[Footnote 6: sweetly.]

 

[Footnote 7: cause.]

 

[Footnote 8: oft.]

 

[Footnote 9: holy.]

 

[Footnote 10: rake, lewd person.]

 

[Footnote 11: humble.]

 

[Footnote 12: adder.]

 

[Footnote 13: hurt, damage.]

 

[Footnote 14: learning.]

 

[Footnote 15: knows.]

 

[Footnote 16: plucks or tortures.]

 

[Footnote 17: knowledge.]

 

[Footnote 18: a service used over the dead.]

 

[Footnote 19: peasant.]

 

[Footnote 20: unlearned.]

 

[Footnote 21: laugh.]

 

[Footnote 22: sounds.]

 

[Footnote 23: foolish.]

 

[Footnote 24: churls.]

 

[Footnote 25: knows.]

 

[Footnote 26: laughable.]

 

[Footnote 27: tale, jest.]

 

[Footnote 28: beyond.]

 

[Footnote 29: foolishly.]

 

[Footnote 30: if.]

 

[Footnote 31: many.]

 

[Footnote 32: holy.]

 

[Footnote 33: strange perversion of words. _Droorie_ in its antient

signification stood for _modesty_.]

 

[Footnote 34: another.]

 

 

LETTER TO THE DYGNE MASTRE CANYNGE.