Ah woe bementynge wordes; what wordes can shewe! Thou limed[22] ryver, on thie linche[23] maie bleede Champyons, whose bloude wylle wythe thie waterres flowe, And Rudborne streeme be Rudborne streeme indeede! Haste, gentle Juga, tryppe ytte oere the meade, 40 To knowe, or wheder we muste waile agayne, Or wythe oure fallen knyghtes be menged onne the plain. Soe sayinge, lyke twa levyn-blasted trees, Or twayne of cloudes that holdeth stormie rayne; Theie moved gentle oere the dewie mees[24], 45 To where Seyncte Albons holie shrynes remayne. There dyd theye fynde that bothe their knyghtes were slayne, Distraughte[25] theie wandered to swollen Rudbornes syde, Yelled theyre leathalle knelle, sonke ynn the waves, and dyde. [Footnote 1: Rudborne (in Saxon, red-water), a River near Saint Albans, famous for the battles there fought between the Houses of Lancaster and York.] [Footnote 2: lamenting.] [Footnote 3: murdering.] [Footnote 4: faintly.] [Footnote 5: glistened.] [Footnote 6: sad complaint.] [Footnote 7: arrayed, or cased.] [Footnote 8: infuse.] [Footnote 9: juice.] [Footnote 10: blasted.] [Footnote 11: forsaken.] [Footnote 12: ruins.] [Footnote 13: fear.] [Footnote 14: deadly or deathboding.] [Footnote 15: a small bagpipe.] [Footnote 16: in a confined sense, a bush or hedge, though sometimes used as a forest.] [Footnote 17: church-yard.] [Footnote 18: relate.] [Footnote 19: black.] [Footnote 20: decreasing.] [Footnote 21: happiness.] [Footnote 22: glassy.] [Footnote 23: bank.] [Footnote 24: meeds.] [Footnote 25: distracted.] TO JOHNE LADGATE. [Sent with the following _Songe to Ælla._] Well thanne, goode Johne, sythe ytt must needes be soe, Thatt thou & I a bowtynge matche must have, Lette ytt ne breakynge of oulde friendshyppe bee, Thys ys the onelie all-a-boone I crave. Rememberr Stowe, the Bryghtstowe Carmalyte, 5 Who whanne Johne Clarkynge, one of myckle lore, Dydd throwe hys gauntlette-penne, wyth hym to fyghte, Hee showd smalle wytte, and showd hys weaknesse more. Thys ys mie formance, whyche I nowe have wrytte, The best performance of mie lyttel wytte. 10 SONGE TO ÆLLA, LORDE OF THE CASTEL OF BRYSTOWE YNNE DAIES OF YORE. Oh thou, orr what remaynes of thee, Ælla, the darlynge of futurity, Lett thys mie songe bolde as thie courage be, As everlastynge to posteritye. Whanne Dacya's sonnes, whose hayres of bloude-redde hue 5 Lyche kynge-cuppes brastynge wythe the morning due, Arraung'd ynne dreare arraie, Upponne the lethale daie, Spredde farre and wyde onne Watchets shore; Than dyddst thou furiouse stande, 10 And bie thie valyante hande Beesprengedd all the mees wythe gore.