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The Rowley Poems

ÆLLA, BIRTHA.

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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

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