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

 

    Straunge dome ytte ys, that, yn these daies of oures,

    Nete[35] butte a bare recytalle can hav place;

    Nowe shapelie poesie hast loste yttes powers,

    And pynant hystorie ys onlie grace;

    Heie[36] pycke up wolsome weedes, ynstedde of flowers,                  5

    And famylies, ynstedde of wytte, theie trace;

    Nowe poesie canne meete wythe ne regrate[37],

    Whylste prose, & herehaughtrie[38], ryse yn estate.

 

    Lette kynges, & rulers, whan heie gayne a throne,

    Shewe whatt theyre grandsieres, & great grandsieres bore,              10

    Emarschalled armes, yatte, ne before theyre owne,

    Now raung'd wythe whatt yeir fadres han before;

    Lette trades, & toune folck, lett syke[39] thynges alone,

    Ne fyghte for sable yn a fielde of aure;

    Seldomm, or never, are armes vyrtues mede,                             15

    Shee nillynge[40] to take myckle[41] aie dothe hede.

 

    A man ascaunse upponn a piece maye looke,

    And shake hys hedde to styrre hys rede[42] aboute;

    Quod he, gyf I askaunted oere thys booke,

    Schulde fynde thereyn that trouthe ys left wythoute;                   20

    Eke, gyf[43] ynto a vew percase[44] I tooke

    The long beade-rolle of al the wrytynge route,

    Asserius, Ingolphus, Torgotte, Bedde,

    Thorow hem[45] al nete lyche ytte I coulde rede.--

 

    Pardon, yee Graiebarbes[46], gyff I saie, onwise                       25

    Yee are, to stycke so close & bysmarelie[47]

    To hystorie; you doe ytte tooe moche pryze,

    Whyche amenused[48] thoughtes of poesie;

    Somme drybblette[49] share you shoulde to yatte[50] alyse[51],

    Nott makynge everyche thynge bee hystorie;                             30

    Instedde of mountynge onn a wynged horse,

    You onn a rouncy[52] dryve yn dolefull course.

 

    Cannynge & I from common course dyssente;

    Wee ryde the stede, botte yev to hym the reene;

    Ne wylle betweene crased molterynge bookes be pente,                   35

    Botte soare on hyghe, & yn the sonne-bemes sheene;

    And where wee kenn somme ishad[53] floures besprente,

    We take ytte, & from oulde rouste doe ytte clene;

    Wee wylle ne cheynedd to one pasture bee,

    Botte sometymes soare 'bove trouthe of hystorie.                       40

 

    Saie, Canynge, whatt was vearse yn daies of yore?

    Fyne thoughtes, and couplettes fetyvelie[54] bewryen[55],

    Notte syke as doe annoie thys age so sore,

    A keppened poyntelle[56] restynge at eche lyne.

    Vearse maie be goode, botte poesie wantes more,                        45

    An onlist[57] lecturn[58], and a songe adygne[59];

    Accordynge to the rule I have thys wroughte,

    Gyff ytt please Canynge, I care notte a groate.

 

    The thynge yttself moste bee ytts owne defense;

    Som metre maie notte please a womannes ear.                            50

    Canynge lookes notte for poesie, botte sense;

    And dygne, & wordie thoughtes, ys all hys care.

    Canynge, adieu! I do you greete from hence;

    Full soone I hope to taste of your good cheere;

    Goode Byshoppe Carpynter dyd byd mee saie,                             55

    Hee wysche you healthe & selinesse for aie.

 

ROWLEIE.

 

[Footnote 35: nought.]

 

[Footnote 36: they.]

 

[Footnote 37: esteem.]

 

[Footnote 38: heraldry.]

 

[Footnote 39: such.]

 

[Footnote 40: unwilling.]

 

[Footnote 41: much.]

 

[Footnote 42: wisdom, council.]

 

[Footnote 43: if.]

 

[Footnote 44: perchance.]

 

[Footnote 45: them.]

 

[Footnote 46: Greybeards.]

 

[Footnote 47: curiously.]

 

[Footnote 48: lessened.]

 

[Footnote 49: small.]

 

[Footnote 50: that.]

 

[Footnote 51: allow.]

 

[Footnote 52: cart-horse.]

 

[Editor's note: ll. 15-16 _See Introduction_ p. xli]

 

[Footnote 53: broken.]

 

[Footnote 54: elegantly.]

 

[Footnote 55: declared, expressed.]

 

[Footnote 56: a pen, used metaphorically, as a muse or genius.]

 

[Footnote 57: boundless.]

 

[Footnote 58: subject.]

 

[Footnote 59: nervous, worthy of praise.]

 

 

 

ENTRODUCTIONNE.

 

    Somme cherisounce[60] it ys to gentle mynde,

    Whan heie have chevyced[61] theyre londe from bayne[62],

    Whan theie ar dedd, theie leave yer name behynde,

    And theyre goode deedes doe on the earthe remayne;

    Downe yn the grave wee ynhyme[63] everych steyne,                       5

    Whylest al her gentlenesse ys made to sheene,

    Lyche fetyve baubels[64] geasonne[65] to be seene.

 

    ÆLLA, the wardenne of thys[66] castell[67] stede,

    Whylest Saxons dyd the Englysche sceptre swaie,

    Who made whole troopes of Dacyan men to blede,                         10

    Then seel'd[68] hys eyne, and seeled hys eyne for aie,

    Wee rowze hym uppe before the judgment daie,

    To saie what he, as clergyond[69], can kenne,

    And howe hee sojourned in the vale of men.

 

[Footnote 60: comfort.]

 

[Footnote 61: preserved.]

 

[Footnote 62: ruin.]

 

[Footnote 63: inter.]

 

[Footnote 64: jewels.]

 

[Footnote 65: rare.]

 

[Footnote 66: Bristol.]

 

[Footnote 67: castle.]

 

[Footnote 68: closed.]

 

[Footnote 69: taught.]

 

 

 

ÆLLA. CELMONDE, att BRYSTOWE.

 

    Before yonne roddie sonne has droove hys wayne

    Throwe halfe hys joornie, dyghte yn gites[1] of goulde,

    Mee, happeless mee, hee wylle a wretche behoulde,

  Mieselfe, and al that's myne, bounde ynne myschaunces chayne.

 

    Ah! Birtha, whie dydde Nature frame thee fayre?                         5

    Whie art thou all thatt poyntelle[2] canne bewreene[3]?

    Whie art thou nott as coarse as odhers are?--

    Botte thenn thie soughle woulde throwe thy vysage sheene,

    Yatt shemres onn thie comelie semlykeene[4],

    Lyche nottebrowne cloudes, whann bie the sonne made redde,             10

    Orr scarlette, wythe waylde lynnen clothe ywreene[5],

    Syke[6] woulde thie spryte upponn thie vysage spredde.

    Thys daie brave Ælla dothe thyne honde & harte

  Clayme as hys owne to be, whyche nee fromm hys moste parte.

 

    And cann I lyve to see herr wythe anere[7]!                            15

    Ytt cannotte, muste notte, naie, ytt shalle not bee.

    Thys nyghte I'll putte stronge poysonn ynn the beere,

    And hymm, herr, and myselfe, attenes[8] wyll slea.

    Assyst mee, Helle! lett Devylles rounde mee tende,

  To slea mieselfe, mie love, & eke mie doughtie[9] friende.               20

ÆLLA, BIRTHA. ÆLLA.

 

    Notte, whanne the hallie prieste dyd make me knyghte,

    Blessynge the weaponne, tellynge future dede,

    Howe bie mie honde the prevyd[10] Dane shoulde blede,

  Howe I schulde often bee, and often wynne, ynn fyghte;

 

    Notte, whann I fyrste behelde thie beauteous hue,                      25

    Whyche strooke mie mynde, & rouzed mie softer soule;

    Nott, whann from the barbed horse yn fyghte dyd viewe

    The flying Dacians oere the wyde playne roule,

    Whan all the troopes of Denmarque made grete dole,

    Dydd I fele joie wyth syke reddoure[11] as nowe,                       30

    Whann hallie preest, the lechemanne of the soule,

    Dydd knytte us both ynn a caytysnede[12] vowe:

    Now hallie Ælla's selynesse ys grate;

  Shap[13] haveth nowe ymade hys woes for to emmate[14].

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    Mie lorde, & husbande, syke a joie ys myne;                            35

    Botte mayden modestie moste ne soe saie,

    Albeytte thou mayest rede ytt ynn myne eyne,

    Or ynn myne harte, where thou shalte be for aie;

    Inne sothe, I have botte meeded oute thie faie[15];

    For twelve tymes twelve the mone hathe bin yblente[16],                40

    As manie tymes hathe vyed the Godde of daie,

    And on the grasse her lemes[17] of sylverr sente,

    Sythe thou dydst cheese mee for thie swote to bee,

  Enactynge ynn the same moste faiefullie to mee.

 

    Ofte have I seene thee atte the none-daie feaste,                      45

    Whanne deysde bie thieselfe, for wante of pheeres[18],

    Awhylst thie merryemen dydde laughe and jeaste,

    Onn mee thou semest all eyne, to mee all eares.

    Thou wardest mee as gyff ynn hondred feeres,

    Alest a daygnous[19] looke to thee be sente,                           50

    And offrendes[20] made mee, moe thann yie compheeres,

    Offe scarpes[21] of scarlette, & fyne paramente[22];

    All thie yntente to please was lyssed[23] to mee,

  I saie ytt, I moste streve thatt you ameded bee.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Mie lyttel kyndnesses whyche I dydd doe,                               55

    Thie gentleness doth corven them soe grete,

    Lyche bawsyn[24] olyphauntes[25] mie gnattes doe shewe;

    Thou doest mie thoughtes of paying love amate[26].

    Botte hann mie actyonns straughte[27] the rolle of fate,

    Pyghte thee fromm Hell, or broughte Heaven down to thee,               60

    Layde the whol worlde a falldstole atte thie feete,

    On smyle woulde be suffycyll mede for mee.

    I amm Loves borro'r, & canne never paie,

  Bott be hys borrower stylle, & thyne, mie swete, for aie.

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    Love, doe notte rate your achevmentes[28] soe smalle;                  65

    As I to you, syke love untoe mee beare;

    For nothynge paste wille Birtha ever call,

    Ne on a foode from Heaven thynke to cheere.

    As farr as thys frayle brutylle flesch wylle spere,

    Syke, & ne fardher I expecte of you;                                   70

    Be notte toe slacke yn love, ne overdeare;

    A smalle fyre, yan a loude flame, proves more true.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Thie gentle wordis doe thie volunde[29] kenne

    To bee moe clergionde thann ys ynn meyncte of menne.

 

 

 

 

  ÆLLA, BIRTHA, CELMONDE, MYNSTRELLES.

Part : 3 CELMONDE.

 

    Alle blessynges showre on gentle Ælla's hedde!                         75

    Oft maie the moone, yn sylverr sheenynge lyghte,

    Inne varied chaunges varyed blessynges shedde,

    Besprengeynge far abrode mischaunces nyghte;

    And thou, fayre Birtha! thou, fayre Dame, so bryghte,

    Long mayest thou wyth Ælla fynde muche peace,                          80

    Wythe selynesse, as wyth a roabe, be dyghte,

    Wyth everych chaungynge mone new joies encrease!

    I, as a token of mie love to speake,

  Have brought you jubbes of ale, at nyghte youre brayne to breake.

 

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Whan sopperes paste we'lle drenche youre ale soe stronge,              85

    Tyde lyfe, tyde death.

 

  CELMONDE.

 

                  Ye Mynstrelles, chaunt your songe.

 

  _Mynstrelles Songe, bie a Manne and Womanne._

 

  MANNE.

 

    Tourne thee to thie Shepsterr[30] swayne;

    Bryghte sonne has ne droncke the dewe

    From the floures of yellowe hue;

    Tourne thee, Alyce, backe agayne.                                      90

 

  WOMANNE.

 

    No, bestoikerre[31], I wylle goe,

    Softlie tryppynge o'ere the mees[32],

    Lyche the sylver-footed doe,

    Seekeynge shelterr yn grene trees.

 

  MANNE.

 

    See the moss-growne daisey'd banke,                                    95

    Pereynge ynne the streme belowe;

    Here we'lle sytte, yn dewie danke;

    Tourne