[Footnote 61: preserved.] [Footnote 62: ruin.] [Footnote 63: inter.] [Footnote 64: jewels.] [Footnote 65: rare.] [Footnote 66: Bristol.] [Footnote 67: castle.] [Footnote 68: closed.] [Footnote 69: taught.] ÆLLA. CELMONDE, att BRYSTOWE. Before yonne roddie sonne has droove hys wayne Throwe halfe hys joornie, dyghte yn gites[1] of goulde, Mee, happeless mee, hee wylle a wretche behoulde, Mieselfe, and al that's myne, bounde ynne myschaunces chayne. Ah! Birtha, whie dydde Nature frame thee fayre? 5 Whie art thou all thatt poyntelle[2] canne bewreene[3]? Whie art thou nott as coarse as odhers are?-- Botte thenn thie soughle woulde throwe thy vysage sheene, Yatt shemres onn thie comelie semlykeene[4], Lyche nottebrowne cloudes, whann bie the sonne made redde, 10 Orr scarlette, wythe waylde lynnen clothe ywreene[5], Syke[6] woulde thie spryte upponn thie vysage spredde. Thys daie brave Ælla dothe thyne honde & harte Clayme as hys owne to be, whyche nee fromm hys moste parte. And cann I lyve to see herr wythe anere[7]! 15 Ytt cannotte, muste notte, naie, ytt shalle not bee. Thys nyghte I'll putte stronge poysonn ynn the beere, And hymm, herr, and myselfe, attenes[8] wyll slea. Assyst mee, Helle! lett Devylles rounde mee tende, To slea mieselfe, mie love, & eke mie doughtie[9] friende. 20 ÆLLA, BIRTHA. 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.