ÆLLA, BIRTHA.
Reading edition
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.