SONGE TO ÆLLA, Lorde of the Castel of Brystowe ynne Daies of Yore. H thou, orr what remaynes of thee, OH Ella, 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 [due, Lyche kynge-cuppes brastynge wythe the morning Arraung'd ynne dreare arraie, Upponne the lethale daie, Spredde farre and wyde onne Watchets shore; Drawne bie thyne anlace felle, Oh thou whereer (thie bones att reste) Orr seest somme mountayne made of corse of sleyne; Orr seest the hatchedd stede, And neighe to be amenged the poynctedd speeres; THE BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE: Or the Dethe of Syr Charles Bawdin. HE feathered songster chaunticleer And tolde the earlie villager The commynge of the morne: Kynge Edwarde sawe the ruddie streakes And herde the raven's crokynge throte "Thou'rt ryghte," quod hee, "for, by the Godde Thenne wythe a jugge of nappy ale Hys Knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite; Syr Canterlone thenne bendedd lowe, But whenne hee came, hys children twaine, Wythe brinie teares dydd wett the floore, For goode Syr Charleses lyfe. "O goode Syr Charles!" sayd Canterlone, "Badde tydyngs I doe brynge." "Speke boldlie, manne," sayd brave Syr Charles, "Whatte says thie traytor kynge?" "I greeve to telle, before yonne sonne "Does fromme the welkinn flye, "Hee hathe uponne bys honnour sworne, "Thatt thou shalt surelie die." "Wee all must die," quod brave Syrr Charles; "Of thatte I'm not affearde; "Whatte bootes to lyve a little space? "Thanke Jesu, I'm prepar'd: "But telle thye kynge, for myne hee's not, "I'de sooner die to-daie "Thanne lyve hys slave, as manie are, "Tho' I shoulde lyve for aie." Thenne Canterlone hee dydd goe out, To tell the maior straite To gett all thynges yun reddyness Thenne Maisterr Canynge saughte the kynge, Thenne quod the kynge," Youre tale speke out, "You have been much oure friende ; "Whatever youre request may bee, "Wee wylle to ytte attende." "My nobile leige! alle my request "Ys for a nobile' knyghte, "Who, tho' may hap hee has donne wronge, "Hee thoughte ytte stylle was ryghte: "He has a spouse and children twaine, "Alle rewyn'd are for aie; "Yff that you are resolv'd to lett "Charles Bawdin die to-daie." "Speke nott of such a traytour vile," "Justice does loudlie for hym calle, "And hee shalle have hys meede: "Speke, Maister Canynge! Whatte thynge else "Att present doe you neede ?" 66 My nobile leige!" goode Canynge sayde, "Leave justice to our Godde, "And laye the yronne rule asyde; "Be thyne the olyve rodde. "Was Godde to serche our hertes and reines ; "The best were synners grete; "Christ's vycarr only knowes ne synne, "Ynne alle thys mortall state. "Lette mercie rule thyne infante reigne, "Twylle faste thye crowne fulle sure; "From race to race thy familie "Alle sov'reigns shall endure: "But yff wythe bloode and slaughter thou "Beginne thy infante reigne,, "Thy crowne uponne thy childrennes brows "Wylle never long remayne." "Canynge, awaie! thys traytour vile "Has scorn'd my power and mee; "Howe canst thou thenne for such a manne "Intreate my clemencye?" "Mie nobile leige! the trulie brave "Wylle val'rous actions prize, "Respect a brave and noble mynde, "Altho' ynne enemies." "Canynge, awaie! By Godde ynne Heav'n "That dydd mee beinge gyve, "I wylle nott taste a bitt of breade "Bie Marie, and alle Seinctes in Heav'n, Thys sunne shall be hys laste." Thenne Canynge dropt a brinie teare, And from the presence paste. Wyth herte brymm-fulle of gnawynge grief And satt hymm downe uponne a stoole, And teares beganne to flowe. "We all must die," quod brave Syr Charles; "Whatte bootes ytte howe or whenne; "Dethe ys the sure, the certaine fate "Of all we mortall menne. "Saye, why, my friend, thie honest soul "Runns overr att thyne eye; "Is ytte for my most welcome doome "That thou doste child-lyke crye?" Quod godlie Canynge, "I doe weepe, "Thatt thou soe soone must dye, "And leave thy sonnes and helpless wyfe; "Tys thys thatt wettes myne eye." "Thenne drie the tears thatt out thyne eye "From godlie fountaines sprynge; "Dethe I despise, and alle the power "Of Edwarde, traytor kynge. "Whan throgh the tyrant's welcom means "I shall resigne my lyfe, "The Godde I serve wylle soon provyde "For bothe mye sonnes and wyfe. "Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne, "Thys was appointed mee; "Shall mortal manne repyne or grudge "Whatt Godde ordeynes to bee? "Howe oft ynne battaile have I stoode, "Whan thousands dy'd arounde; "Whan smokynge streemes of crimson bloode "Imbrew'd the fatten'd grounde: "Howe dydd I knowe thatt ev'ry darte, "That cutte the airie waie, "Myghte nott fynde passage toe my harte, "And close myne eyes for aie? "And shall I nowe, forr feere of dethe, "Looke wanne and bee dysmayde? "Ne! fromm my herte flie childyshe feere, "Bee alle the manne display'd. |