Ælla, Birtha
Birtha
And thou wylt goe; O mie agroted harte!
Ælla
Mie countrie waites mie marche; I muste awaie;
Albeytte I schulde goe to mete the darte
Of certen Dethe, yette here I woulde notte staie.
Botte thos to leave thee, Birtha, dothe asswaie
Moe torturynge peynes yanne canne be sedde bie tyngue,
Yette rouze thie honoure uppe, and wayte the daie,
Whan rounde aboute mee songe of warre heie synge.
O Birtha, strev mie agreeme[60] to accaie[61],
And joyous see mie armes, dyghte oute ynn warre arraie.
Birtha
Difficile[62] ys the pennaunce, yette I’lle strev
To keepe mie woe behyltren yn mie breaste.
Albeytte nete maye to mee pleasaunce yev,
Lyche thee, I’lle strev to sette mie mynde atte reste.
Yett oh! forgeve, yff I have thee dystreste;
Love, doughtie love, wylle beare no odher swaie.
Juste as I was wythe Ælla to be bleste,
Shappe foullie thos hathe snatched hym awaie.
It was a tene too doughtie to bee borne,
Wydhoute an ounde of teares and breaste wyth syghes ytorne.
Ælla
Thie mynde ys now thieselfe; why wylte thou bee
All blanche, al kyngelie, all soe wyse yn mynde,
Alleyne to lett pore wretched Ælla see,
Whatte wondrous bighes[63] he nowe muste leave behynde?
O Birtha fayre, warde everyche commynge wynde,
On everych wynde I wylle a token sende;
Onn mie longe shielde ycorne thie name thoul’t fynde.
Butte here commes Celmonde, wordhie knyghte and friende.