Thie love ys foule; I woulde bee deafe for aie, Radher thanne heere syche deslavatie[113] sedde. Swythynne flie from mee, and ne further saie; Radher thanne heare thie love, I woulde bee dead. Yee seynctes! & shal I wronge mie Ælla's bedde, 1050 And wouldst thou, Celmonde, tempte me to the thynge? Lett mee be gone--alle curses onne thie hedde! Was ytte for thys thou dydste a message brynge! Lette mee be gone, thou manne of sable harte! Or welkyn[114] & her starres wyll take a maydens parte. 1055 CELMONDE. Sythence you wylle notte lette mie suyte avele, Mie love wylle have yttes joie, altho wythe guylte; Youre lymbes shall bende, albeytte strynge as stele; The merkye seesonne wylle your bloshes hylte[115]. BIRTHA. Holpe, holpe, yee seynctes! oh thatte mie blodde was spylte! 1060 CELMONDE. The seynctes att distaunce stonde ynn tyme of nede. Strev notte to goe; thou canste notte, gyff thou wylte. Unto mie wysche bee kinde, & nete alse hede. BIRTHA. No, foule bestoykerre, I wylle rende the ayre, Tylle dethe do staie mie dynne, or somme kynde roder heare. 1065 Holpe! holpe! oh godde! CELMONDE, BIRTHA, HURRA, DANES. HURRA. Ah! thatts a wommanne cries. I kenn hem; saie, who are you, yatte bee theere? CELMONDE. Yee hyndes, awaie! orre bie thys swerde yee dies. HURRA. Thie wordes wylle ne mie hartis sete affere. BIRTHA. Save mee, oh! save mee from thys royner heere! 1070 HURRA. Stonde thou bie mee; nowe saie thie name & londe; Or swythyne schall mie swerde thie boddie tare. CELMONDE. Bothe I wylle shewe thee bie mie brondeous[116] honde. HURRA. Besette hym rounde, yee Danes. CELMONDE. Comme onne, and see Gyff mie strynge anlace maie bewryen whatte I bee. 1075 [_Fyghte al anenste_ Celmonde, _meynte Danes he fleath, and faleth to_ Hurra. CELMONDE. Oh! I forslagen[117] be! ye Danes, now kenne, I amme yatte Celmonde, seconde yn the fyghte, Who dydd, atte Watchette, so forslege youre menne; I fele myne eyne to swymme yn æterne nyghte;-- To her be kynde. [_Dieth_. HURRA. Thenne felle a wordhie knyghte. 1080 Saie, who bee you? BIRTHA. I am greate Ælla's wyfe. HURRA. Ah BIRTHA. Gyff anenste hym you harboure soule despyte, Nowe wythe the lethal anlace take mie lyfe, Mie thankes I ever onne you wylle bestowe, From ewbryce[118] you mee pyghte, the worste of mortal woe. 1085 HURRA.