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

kenne hem from afar,

  Botte leave the vyrgyn brydall bedde for bedde of warre.

 

 

 

 

  ÆLLA, BIRTHA.

 

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    And thou wylt goe; O mie agroted harte!

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Mie countrie waites mie marche; I muste awaie;

    Albeytte I schulde goe to mete the darte                              350

    Of certen Dethe, yette here I woulde notte staie.

    Botte thos to leave thee, Birtha, dothe asswaie

    Moe torturynge peynes yanne canne be sedde bie tyngue,

    Yette rouze thie honoure uppe, and wayte the daie,

    Whan rounde aboute mee songe of warre heie synge.                     355

    O Birtha, strev mie agreeme[60] to accaie[61],

  And joyous see mie armes, dyghte oute ynn warre arraie.

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    Difficile[62] ys the pennaunce, yette I'lle strev

    To keepe mie woe behyltren yn mie breaste.

    Albeytte nete maye to mee pleasaunce yev,                             360

    Lyche thee, I'lle strev to sette mie mynde atte reste.

    Yett oh! forgeve, yff I have thee dystreste;

    Love, doughtie love, wylle beare no odher swaie.

    Juste as I was wythe Ælla to be bleste,

    Shappe foullie thos hathe snatched hym awaie.                         365

    It was a tene too doughtie to bee borne,

  Wydhoute an ounde of teares and breaste wyth syghes ytorne.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Thie mynde ys now thieselfe; why wylte thou bee

    All blanche, al kyngelie, all soe wyse yn mynde,

    Alleyne to lett pore wretched Ælla see,                               370

    Whatte wondrous bighes[63] he nowe muste leave behynde?

    O Birtha fayre, warde everyche commynge wynde,

    On everych wynde I wylle a token sende;

    Onn mie longe shielde ycorne thie name thoul't fynde.

    Butte here commes Celmonde, wordhie knyghte and friende.              375

 

 

 

 

  ÆLLA, BIRTHA, CELMONDE

 

 

  _speaking._

 

    Thie Brystowe knyghtes for thie forth-comynge lynge[64];

  Echone athwarte hys backe hys longe warre-shield dothe slynge.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Birtha, adieu; but yette I cannotte goe.

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    Lyfe of mie spryte, mie gentle Ælla staie.                            380

    Engyne mee notte wyth syke a drierie woe.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    I muste, I wylle; tys honnoure cals awaie.

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    O mie agroted harte, braste, braste ynn twaie.

    Ælla, for honnoure, flyes awaie from mee.

 

  ÆLLA.

 

    Birtha, adieu; I maie notte here obaie.                               385

    I'm flyynge from mieselfe yn flying thee.

 

  BIRTHA.

 

    O Ælla, housband, friend, and loverde, staie.

  He's gon, he's gone, alass! percase he's gone for aie.

 

  CELMONDE.

 

    Hope, hallie suster, sweepeynge thro' the skie,

    In crowne of goulde, and robe of lillie whyte,                        390

    Whyche farre abrode ynne gentle ayre doe flie,

    Meetynge from dystaunce the enjoyous fyghte,

    Albeytte efte thou takest thie hie flyghte

    Hecket[65] ynne a myste, and wyth thyne eyne yblente,

    Nowe commest thou to mee wythe starrie lyghte;                        395

    Ontoe thie veste the rodde sonne ys adente[66];

    The Sommer tyde, the month of Maie appere,

  Depycte wythe skylledd honde upponn thie wyde aumere.

 

    I from a nete of hopelen am adawed,

    Awhaped[67] atte the fetyveness of daie;                              400

    Ælla, bie nete moe thann hys myndbruche awed,

    Is gone, and I moste followe, toe the fraie.

    Celmonde canne ne'er from anie byker staie.

    Dothe warre begynne? there's Celmonde yn the place.

    Botte whanne the warre ys donne, I'll haste awaie.

    The reste from nethe tymes masque must shew yttes face.               405

    I see onnombered joies arounde mee ryse;

  Blake[68] stondethe future doome, and joie dothe mee alyse.

 

    O honnoure, honnoure, whatt ys bie thee hanne?

    Hailie the robber and the bordelyer,                                  410

    Who kens ne thee, or ys to thee bestanne,

    And nothynge does thie myckle gastness fere.

    Faygne woulde I from mie bosomme alle thee tare.

    Thou there dysperpellest[69] thie levynne-bronde;

    Whylest mie soulgh's forwyned, thou art the gare;                     415

    Sleene ys mie comforte bie thie ferie honde;

    As somme talle hylle, whann wynds doe shake the ground,

  Itte kerveth all abroade, bie brasteynge hyltren wounde.

 

    Honnoure, whatt bee ytte? tys a shadowes shade,

    A thynge of wychencref, an idle dreme;                                420

    On of the fonnis whych the clerche have made

    Menne wydhoute sprytes, and wommen for to fleme;

    Knyghtes, who efte kenne the loude dynne of the beme,

    Schulde be forgarde to syke enfeeblynge waies,

    Make everych acte, alyche theyr soules, be breme,                     425

    And for theyre chyvalrie alleyne have prayse.

      O thou, whatteer thie name,

        Or Zabalus or Queed,

      Comme, steel mie sable spryte,

        For fremde[70] and dolefulle dede.                                430

 

 

 

 

  MAGNUS, HURRA, _and_ HIE PREESTE, _wyth the_ ARMIE, _neare_ Watchette.

 

 

  MAGNUS.

 

    Swythe[71] lette the offrendes[72] to the Goddes begynne.

    To knowe of hem the issue of the fyghte.

    Potte the blodde-steyned sword and pavyes ynne;

    Spreade swythyn all arounde the hallie lyghte.

 

  HIE PREESTE _syngeth_.

 

      Yee, who hie yn mokie ayre                                          435

      Delethe seasonnes foule or fayre,

      Yee, who, whanne yee weere agguylte,

      The mone yn bloddie gyttelles[73] hylte,

      Mooved the starres, and dyd unbynde

      Everyche barriere to the wynde;                                     440

      Whanne the oundynge waves dystreste,

      Stroven to be overest,

      Sockeynge yn the spyre-gyrte towne,

      Swolterynge wole natyones downe,

      Sendynge dethe, on plagues astrodde,                                445

      Moovynge lyke the erthys Godde;

      To mee send your heste dyvyne,

      Lyghte eletten[74] all myne eyne,

      Thatt I maie now undevyse

      All the actyonnes of th'empprize.                                   450

                         [_falleth downe and efte rysethe._

    Thus sayethe the Goddes; goe, yssue to the playne;

    Forr there shall meynte of mytte menne bee slayne.

 

  MAGNUS.

 

    Whie, foe there evere was, whanne Magnus foughte.

    Efte have I treynted noyance throughe the hoaste,

    Athorowe swerdes, alyche the Queed dystraughte,                       455

    Have Magnus pressynge wroghte hys foemen loaste.

    As whanne a tempeste vexethe soare the coaste,

    The dyngeynge ounde the sandeie stronde doe tare,

    So dyd I inne the warre the javlynne toste,

    Full meynte a champyonnes breaste received mie spear.                 460

    Mie sheelde, lyche sommere morie gronfer droke,

  Mie lethalle speere, alyche a levyn-mylted oke.

 

  HURRA.

 

    Thie wordes are greate, full hyghe of sound, and eeke

    Lyche thonderre, to the whych dothe comme no rayne.

    Itte lacketh notte a doughtie honde to speke;                         465

    The cocke saiethe drefte[75], yett armed ys he alleyne.

    Certis thie wordes maie, thou motest have sayne

    Of mee, and meynte of moe, who eke canne fyghte,

    Who haveth trodden downe the adventayle,

    And tore the heaulmes from heades of myckle myghte.                   470

    Sythence syke myghte ys placed yn thie honde,

  Lette blowes thie actyons speeke, and bie thie corrage stonde.

 

  MAGNUS.

 

    Thou are a warrioure, Hurra, thatte I kenne,

    And myckle famed for thie handie dede.

    Thou fyghtest anente[76] maydens and ne menne,                        475

    Nor aie thou makest armed hartes to blede.

    Efte I, caparyson'd on bloddie stede,

    Havethe thee seene binethe mee ynn the fyghte,

    Wythe corses I investynge everich mede,

    And thou aston, and wondrynge at mie myghte.                          480

    Thanne wouldest thou comme yn for mie renome,

  Albeytte thou wouldst reyne awaie from bloddie dome?

 

  HURRA.

 

    How! butte bee bourne mie rage. I kenne aryghte

    Bothe thee and thyne maie ne bee wordhye peene.

    Eftsoones I hope wee scalle engage yn fyghte;                         485

    Thanne to the souldyers all thou wylte bewreene.

    I'll prove mie courage onne the burled greene;

    Tys there alleyne I'll telle thee whatte I bee.

    Gyf I weelde notte the deadlie sphere adeene,

    Thanne lett mie name be fulle as lowe as thee.                        490

    Thys mie adented shielde, thys mie warre-speare,

  Schalle telle the falleynge foe gyf Hurra's harte can feare.

 

  MAGNUS.

 

    Magnus woulde speke, butte thatte hys noble spryte

    Dothe soe enrage, he knowes notte whatte to saie.

    He'dde speke yn blowes, yn gottes of blodde he'd wryte,               495

    And on thie heafod peyncte hys myghte for aie.

    Gyf thou anent an wolfynnes rage wouldest staie,

    'Tys here to meet ytt; botte gyff nott, bee goe;

    Lest I in furrie shulde mie armes dysplaie,

    Whyche to thie boddie wylle wurche[77] myckle woe.                    500

    Oh! I bee madde, dystraughte wyth brendyng rage;

  Ne seas of smethynge gore wylle mie chafed harte asswage.

 

  HURRA.

 

    I kenne thee, Magnus, welle; a wyghte thou art

    That doest aslee alonge ynn doled dystresse,

    Strynge bulle yn boddie, lyoncelle yn harte,                          505

    I almost wysche thie prowes were made lesse.

    Whan Ælla (name drest uppe yn ugsomness[78]

    To thee and recreandes[79]) thondered on the playne,

    Howe dydste thou thorowe fyrste of fleers presse!

    Swefter thanne federed takelle dydste thou reyne.                     510

    A ronnynge pryze onn seyncte daie to ordayne,

  Magnus, and none botte hee, the ronnynge pryze wylle gayne.

 

  MAGNUS.

 

    Eternalle plagues devour thie baned tyngue!

    Myrriades of neders pre upponne thie spryte!

    Maiest thou fele al the peynes of age whylst yynge,                   515

    Unmanned, uneyned, exclooded aie the lyghte,

    Thie senses, lyche thieselfe, enwrapped yn nyghte,

    A scoff to foemen & to beastes a pheere;

    Maie furched levynne onne thie head alyghte,

    Maie on thee falle the fhuyr of the unweere;                          520

    Fen vaipoures blaste thie everiche manlie powere,

  Maie thie bante boddie quycke the wolfome peenes devoure.

 

    Faygne woulde I curse thee further, botte mie tyngue

    Denies mie harte the favoure soe toe doe.

 

  HURRA.

 

    Nowe bie the Dacyanne goddes, & Welkyns kynge,                        525

    Wythe fhurie, as thou dydste begynne, persue;

    Calle on mie heade all tortures that bee rou,

    Bane onne, tylle thie owne tongue thie curses fele.

    Sende onne mie heade the blyghteynge levynne blewe,

    The thonder loude, the swellynge azure rele[80].                      530

    Thie wordes be hie of dynne, botte nete besyde;

  Bane on, good chieftayn, fyghte wythe wordes of myckle pryde.

 

    Botte doe notte waste thie breath, lest Ælla come.

 

  MAGNUS.

 

    Ælla & thee togyder synke toe helle!

    Bee youre names blasted from the rolle of dome!                       535

    I feere noe Ælla, thatte thou kennest welle.

    Unlydgefulle traytoure, wylt thou nowe rebelle?

    'Tys knowen, thatte yie menn bee lyncked to myne,

    Bothe sente, as troopes of wolves, to sletre felle;

    Botte nowe thou lackest hem to be all yyne.                           540

    Nowe, bie the goddes yatte reule the Dacyanne state,

  Speacke thou yn rage once moe, I wyll thee dysregate.

 

  HURRA.

 

    I pryze thie threattes joste as I doe thie banes,

    The sede of malyce and recendize al.

    Thou arte a steyne unto the name of Danes;                            545

    Thou alleyne to thie tyngue for proofe canst calle.

    Thou beest a worme so groffile and so smal,

    I wythe thie bloude woulde scorne to foul mie sworde,

    Botte wythe thie weaponnes woulde upon thee falle,

    Alyche thie owne feare, slea thee wythe a worde.                      550

    I Hurra amme miesel, & aie wylle bee,

  As greate yn valourous actes, & yn commande as thee.

 

 

 

 

  MAGNUS, HURRA, ARMYE & MESSENGER.

 

 

  MESSENGERE.

 

    Blynne your contekions[81], chiefs; for, as I stode

    Uponne mie watche, I spiede an armie commynge,

    Notte lyche ann handfulle of a fremded[82] foe,                       555

    Botte blacke wythe armoure, movynge ugsomlie,

    Lyche a blacke fulle cloude, thatte dothe goe alonge

    To droppe yn hayle, & hele the thonder storme.

 

  MAGNUS.

 

     Ar there meynte of them?

 

  MESSENGERR.

 

    Thycke as the ante-flyes ynne a sommer's none,                        560

    Seemynge as tho' theie stynge as persante too.

 

  HURRA.

 

    Whatte matters thatte? lettes sette oure warr-arraie.

    Goe, sounde the beme, lette champyons prepare;

    Ne doubtynge, we wylle stynghe as faste as heie.

    Whatte? doest forgard[83] thie blodde? ys ytte for feare?             565

    Wouldest thou gayne the towne, & castle-stere,

    And yette ne byker wythe the soldyer guarde?

    Go, hyde thee ynn mie tente annethe the lere;

    I of thie boddie wylle keepe watche & warde.

 

  MAGNUS.

 

    Oure goddes of Denmarke know mie harte ys goode.                      570

 

  HURRA.

 

    For nete uppon the erthe, botte to be choughens foode.

 

 

 

 

  MAGNUS, HURRA, ARMIE, SECONDE  MESSENGERRE.

 

 

  SECONDE MESSENGERRE.

 

    As from mie towre I kende the commynge foe,

    I spied the crossed shielde, & bloddie swerde,

    The furyous Ælla's banner; wythynne kenne

    The armie ys. Dysorder throughe oure hoaste                           575

    Is fleynge, borne onne wynges of Ælla's name;

    Styr, styr, mie lordes!

 

  MAGNUS.

 

                          What? Ælla? & soe neare?

    Thenne Denmarques roiend; oh mie rysynge feare!

 

  HURRA.

 

    What doeste thou mene? thys Ælla's botte a manne.

    Nowe bie mie sworde, thou arte a verie berne[84].                     580

    Of late I dyd thie creand valoure scanne,

    Whanne thou dydst boaste soe moche of actyon derne.

    Botte I toe warr mie doeynges moste atturne,

    To cheere the Sabbataneres to deere dede.

 

  MAGNUS.

 

    I to the knyghtes onne everyche syde wylle burne,                     585

    Telleynge 'hem