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

thee, Alyce, do notte goe.

 

  WOMANNE.

 

    I've hearde erste mie grandame saie,

    Yonge damoyselles schulde ne bee,                                     100

    Inne the swotie moonthe of Maie,

    Wythe yonge menne bie the grene wode tree.

 

  MANNE.

 

    Sytte thee, Alyce, sytte, and harke,

    Howe the ouzle[33] chauntes hys noate,

    The chelandree[34], greie morn larke,                                 105

    Chauntynge from theyre lyttel throate;

 

  WOMANNE.

 

    I heare them from eche grene wode tree,

    Chauntynge owte so blatauntlie[35],

    Tellynge lecturnyes[36] to mee,

    Myscheefe ys whanne you are nygh.                                     110

 

  MANNE.

 

    See alonge the mees so grene

    Pied daisies, kynge-coppes swote;

    Alle wee see, bie non bee scene,

    Nete botte shepe settes here a fote.

 

  WOMANNE.

 

    Shepster swayne, you tare mie gratche[37].                            115

    Oute uponne ye! lette me goe.

    Leave mee swythe, or I'lle alatche.

    Robynne, thys youre dame shall knowe.

 

  MANNE.

 

    See! the crokynge brionie

    Rounde the popler twyste hys spraie;                                  120

    Rounde the oake the greene ivie

    Florryschethe and lyveth aie.

 

    Lette us seate us bie thys tree,

    Laughe, and synge to lovynge ayres;

    Comme, and doe notte coyen bee;                                       125

    Nature made all thynges bie payres.

    Drooried cattes wylle after kynde;

    Gentle doves wylle kyss and coe.

 

  WOMANNE.

 

    Botte manne, hee moste bee ywrynde,

    Tylle syr preeste make on of two.                                     130

 

    Tempte mee ne to the foule thynge;

    I wylle no mannes lemanne be;

    Tyll syr preeste hys songe doethe synge,

    Thou shalt neere fynde aught of mee.

 

  MANNE.

 

    Bie oure ladie her yborne,                                            135

    To-morrowe, soone as ytte ys daie,

    I'lle make thee wyfe, ne bee forsworne,

    So tyde me lyfe or dethe for aie.

 

  WOMANNE.

 

    Whatt dothe lette, botte thatte nowe

    Wee attenes[38], thos honde yn honde,                                 140

    Unto divinistre[39] goe,

    And bee lyncked yn wedlocke bonde?

 

  MANNE.

 

    I agree, and thus I plyghte

    Honde, and harte, and all that's myne;

    Goode syr Rogerr, do us ryghte,                                       145

    Make us one, at Cothbertes shryne.

 

  BOTHE.

 

    We wylle ynn a bordelle[40] lyve,

    Hailie, thoughe of no estate;

    Everyche clocke moe love shall gyve;

    Wee ynne godenesse wylle bee greate.                                  150

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    I lyche thys songe, I lyche ytt myckle well;

    And there ys monie for yer syngeynge nowe;

    Butte have you noone thatt marriage-blessynges telle?

 

  CELMONDE.

 

    In marriage, blessynges are botte fewe, I trowe.

 

  MYNSTRELLES.

 

    Laverde[41], wee have; and, gyff you please, wille synge,             155

    As well as owre choughe-voyces wylle permytte.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Comme then, and see you swotelie tune the strynge,

    And stret[42], and engyne all the human wytte,

    Toe please mie dame.

 

  MYNSTRELLES.

 

                       We'lle strayne owre wytte and synge.

 

  _Mynstrelles Songe._

 

  FYRSTE MYNSTRYLLE.

 

    The boddynge flourettes bloshes atte the lyghte;                      160

    The mees be sprenged wyth the yellowe hue;

    Ynn daiseyd mantels ys the mountayne dyghte;

    The nesh[43] yonge coweslepe bendethe wyth the dewe;

    The trees enlefed, yntoe Heavenne straughte.

  Whenn gentle wyndes doe blowe, to whestlyng dynne ys broughte.          165

 

    The evenynge commes, and brynges the dewe alonge;

    The roddie welkynne sheeneth to the eyne;

    Arounde the alestake Mynstrells synge the songe;

    Yonge ivie rounde the doore poste do entwyne;

    I laie mee onn the grasse; yette, to mie wylle,                       170

  Albeytte alle ys fayre, there lackethe somethynge stylle.

 

  SECONDE MYNSTRELLE.

 

    So Adam thoughtenne, whann, ynn Paradyse,

    All Heavenn and Erthe dyd hommage to hys mynde;

    Ynn Womman alleyne mannes pleasaunce lyes;

    As Instrumentes of joie were made the kynde.                          175

    Go, take a wyfe untoe thie armes, and see

  Wynter, and brownie hylles, wyll have a charme for thee.

 

  THYRDE MYNSTRELLE.

 

    Whanne Autumpne blake[44] and sonne-brente doe appere,

    With hys goulde honde guylteynge the falleynge lefe,

    Bryngeynge oppe Wynterr to folfylle the yere,                         180

    Beerynge uponne hys backe the riped shefe;

    Whan al the hyls wythe woddie sede ys whyte;

  Whanne levynne-fyres and lemes do mete from far the syghte;

 

    Whann the fayre apple, rudde as even skie,

    Do bende the tree unto the fructyle grounde;                          185

    When joicie peres, and berries of blacke die,

    Doe daunce yn ayre, and call the eyne arounde;

    Thann, bee the even foule, or even fayre,

  Meethynckes mie hartys joie ys steynced wyth somme care.

 

  SECONDE MYNSTRELLE.

 

    Angelles bee wrogte to bee of neidher kynde;                          190

    Angelles alleyne fromme chafe[45] desyre bee free;

    Dheere ys a somwhatte evere yn the mynde,

    Yatte, wythout wommanne, cannot stylled bee;

    Ne seyncte yn celles, botte, havynge blodde and tere[46],

  Do fynde the spryte to joie on syghte of womanne fayre:                 195

 

    Wommen bee made, notte for hemselves, botte manne,

    Bone of hys bone, and chyld of hys desire;

    Fromme an ynutyle membere fyrste beganne,

    Ywroghte with moche of water, lyttele fyre;

    Therefore theie seke the fyre of love, to hete                        200

  The milkyness of kynde, and make hemselfes complete.

 

    Albeytte, wythout wommen, menne were pheeres

    To salvage kynde, and wulde botte lyve to flea,

    Botte wommenne efte the spryghte of peace so cheres,

    Tochelod yn Angel joie heie Angeles bee;                              205

    Go, take thee swythyn[47] to thie bedde a wyfe,

  Bee bante or blessed hie, yn proovynge marryage lyfe.

 

  _Anodher Mynstrelles Songe_, bie Syr _Thybbot Gorges_.

 

  As Elynour bie the green lesselle was syttynge,

    As from the sones hete she harried,

  She sayde, as herr whytte hondes whyte hosen was knyttynge,             210

    Whatte pleasure ytt ys to be married!

 

  Mie husbande, Lorde Thomas, a forrester boulde,

    As ever clove pynne, or the baskette,

  Does no cherysauncys from Elynour houlde,

    I have ytte as soone as I aske ytte.                                  215

 

  Whann I lyved wyth mie fadre yn merrie Clowd-dell.

    Tho' twas at my liefe to mynde spynnynge,

  I stylle wanted somethynge, botte whatte ne coulde telle,

    Mie lorde fadres barbde haulle han ne wynnynge.

  Eche mornynge I ryse, doe I sette mie maydennes,                        220

    Somme to spynn, somme to curdell, somme bleachynge,

  Gyff any new entered doe aske for mie aidens,

    Thann swythynne you fynde mee a teachynge.

 

  Lorde Walterre, mie fadre, he loved me welle,

    And nothynge unto mee was nedeynge,                                   225

  Botte schulde I agen goe to merrie Cloud-dell,

    In sothen twoulde bee wythoute redeynge.

 

  Shee sayde, and lorde Thomas came over the lea,

    As hee the fatte derkynnes was chacynge,

  Shee putte uppe her knyttynge, and to hym wente shee;                   230

    So wee leave hem bothe kyndelie embracynge.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    I lyche eke thys; goe ynn untoe the feaste;

    Wee wylle permytte you antecedente bee;

    There swotelie synge eche carolle, and yaped[48] jeaste;

    And there ys monnie, that you merrie bee;                             235

    Comme, gentle love, wee wylle toe spouse-feaste goe,

  And there ynn ale and wyne bee dreyncted[49] everych woe.

 

 

 

 

  ÆLLA, BIRTHA, CELMONDE, MESSENGERE.

 

 

  MESSENGERE.

 

    Ælla, the Danes ar thondrynge onn our coaste;

    Lyche scolles of locusts, caste oppe bie the sea,

    Magnus and Hurra, wythe a doughtie hoaste,                            240

    Are ragyng, to be quansed[50] bie none botte thee;

    Haste, swyfte as Levynne to these royners flee:

    Thie dogges alleyne can tame thys ragynge bulle.

    Haste swythyn, fore anieghe the towne theie bee,

    And Wedecesterres rolle of dome bee fulle.                            245

    Haste, haste, O Ælla, to the byker flie,

  For yn a momentes space tenne thousand menne maie die.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Beshrew thee for thie newes! I moste be gon.

    Was ever lockless dome so hard as myne!

    Thos from dysportysmente to warr to ron,                              250

    To chaunge the selke veste for the gaberdyne!

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    O! lyche a nedere, lette me rounde thee twyne,

    And hylte thie boddie from the schaftes of warre.

    Thou shalte nott, must not, from thie Birtha ryne,

    Botte kenn the dynne of slughornes from afarre.                       255

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    O love, was thys thie joie, to shewe the treate,

  Than groffyshe to forbydde thie hongered guestes to eate?

 

    O mie upswalynge[51] harte, whatt wordes can saie

    The peynes, thatte passethe ynn mie soule ybrente?

    Thos to bee torne uponne mie spousalle daie,                          260

    O! 'tys a peyne beyond entendemente.

    Yee mychtie Goddes, and is yor favoures sente

    As thous faste dented to a loade of peyne?

    Moste wee aie holde yn chace the shade content.

    And for a bodykyn[52] a swarthe obteyne?                              265

    O! whie, yee seynctes, oppress yee thos mie fowle?

  How shalle I speke mie woe, mie freme, mie dreerie dole?

 

  CELMONDE.

 

    Sometyme the wyseste lacketh pore mans rede.

    Reasonne and counynge wytte efte flees awaie.

    Thanne, loverde, lett me saie, wyth hommaged drede

    (Bieneth your fote ylayn) mie counselle saie;                         271

    Gyff thos wee lett the matter lethlen[53] laie,

    The foemenn, everych honde-poyncte, getteth fote.

    Mie loverde, lett the speere-menne, dyghte for fraie,

    And all the sabbataners goe aboute.                                   275

    I speke, mie loverde, alleyne to upryse

  Youre wytte from marvelle, and the warriour to alyse.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Ah! nowe thou pottest takells[54] yn mie harte;

    Mie soulghe dothe nowe begynne to see herselle;

    I wylle upryse mie myghte, and doe mie parte,                         280

    To flea the foemenne yn mie furie felle.

    Botte howe canne tynge mie rampynge fourie telle.

    Whyche ryseth from mie love to Birtha fayre?

    Ne coulde the queede, and alle the myghte of Helle,

    Founde out impleasaunce of syke blacke a geare.                       285

    Yette I wylle bee mieselfe, and rouze mie spryte

  To acte wythe rennome, and goe meet the bloddie fyghte.

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    No, thou schalte never leave thie Birtha's syde;

    Ne schall the wynde uponne us blowe alleyne;

    I, lyche a nedre, wylle untoe thee byde;                              290

    Tyde lyfe, tyde deathe, ytte shall behoulde us twayne.

    I have mie parte of drierie dole and peyne;

    Itte brasteth from mee atte the holtred eyne;

    Ynne tydes of teares mie swarthynge spryte wyll drayne,

    Gyff drerie dole ys thyne, tys twa tymes myne.                        295

    Goe notte, Ælla; wythe thie Birtha staie;

  For wyth thie femmlykeed mie spryte wyll goe awaie.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    O! tys for thee, for thee alleyne I fele;

    Yett I muste bee mieselfe; with valoures gear

    I'lle dyghte mie hearte, and notte mie lymbes yn stele,               300

    And shake the bloddie swerde and steyned spere.

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    Can Ælla from hys breaste hys Birtha teare?

    Is shee so rou and ugsomme[55] to hys fyghte?

    Entrykeynge wyght! ys leathall warre so deare?

    Thou pryzest mee belowe the joies of fyghte.                          305

    Thou scalte notte leave mee, albeytte the erthe

  Hong pendaunte bie thie swerde, and craved for thy morthe.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Dyddest thou kenne howe mie woes, as starres ybrente,

    Headed bie these thie wordes doe onn mee falle,

    Thou woulde stryve to gyve mie harte contente,                        310

    Wakyng mie slepynge mynde to honnoures calle.

    Of selynesse I pryze thee moe yan all

    Heaven can mee sende, or counynge wytt acquyre,

    Yette I wylle leave thee, onne the foe to falle,

    Retournynge to thie eyne with double fyre.                            315

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    Moste Birtha boon requeste and bee denyd?

  Receyve attenes a darte yn selynesse and pryde?

    Doe staie, att leaste tylle morrowes sonne apperes.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Thou kenneste welle the Dacyannes myttee powere;

    Wythe them a mynnute wurchethe bane for yeares;                       320

    Theie undoe reaulmes wythyn a syngle hower.

    Rouze all thie honnoure, Birtha; look attoure

    Thie bledeynge countrie, whych for hastie dede

    Calls, for the rodeynge of some doughtie power,

    To royn yttes royners, make yttes foemenne blede.                     325

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    Rouze all thie love; false and entrykyng wyghte!

  Ne leave thie Birtha thos uponne pretence of fyghte.

 

    Thou nedest notte goe, untyll thou haste command

    Under the sygnette of oure lorde the kynge.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    And wouldest thou make me then a recreande?                           330

    Hollie Seyncte Marie, keepe mee from the thynge!

    Heere, Birtha, thou hast potte a double stynge,

    One for thie love, anodher for thie mynde.

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    Agylted[56] Ælla, thie abredynge[57] blynge[58].

    Twas love of thee thatte foule intente ywrynde.                       335

    Yette heare mie supplycate, to mee attende,

  Hear from mie groted[59] harte the lover and the friende.

    Lett Celmonde yn thie armour-brace be dyghte;

    And yn thie stead unto the battle goe;

    Thie name alleyne wylle putte the Danes to flyghte,                   340

    The ayre thatt beares ytt woulde presse downe the foe.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Birtha, yn vayne thou wouldste mee recreand doe;

    I moste, I wylle, fyghte for mie countries wele,

    And leave thee for ytt. Celmonde, sweftlie goe,

    Telle mie Brystowans to bedyghte yn stele;                            345

    Tell hem I scorne to