Part 28 (1/2)
MAGNUS.
I to the knyghtes onne everyche syde wylle burne, 585 Telleynge 'hem alle to make her foemen blede; Sythe shame or deathe onne eidher syde wylle bee, Mie harte I wylle upryse, & inne the battelle slea.
aeLLA, CELMONDE, & ARMIE _near_ WATCHETTE.
aeLLA.
Now havynge done oure mattynes & oure vowes, Lette us for the intended fyghte be boune, 590 And everyche champyone potte the joyous crowne Of certane mastershhyppe upon hys glestreynge browes.
As for mie harte, I owne ytt ys, as ere Itte has beene ynne the sommer-sheene of fate, Unknowen to the ugsomme gratche of fere; 595 Mie blodde embollen, wythe masterie elate, Boyles ynne mie veynes, & rolles ynn rapyd state, Impatyente forr to mete the persante stele, And telle the worlde, thatte aella dyed as greate As anie knyghte who foughte for Englondes weale. 600 Friends, kynne, & soldyerres, ynne blacke armore drere, Mie actyons ymytate, mie presente redynge here.
There ys ne house, athrow thys shap-scurged[85] isle, Thatte has ne loste a kynne yn these fell fyghtes, Fatte blodde has sorfeeted the hongerde soyle, 605 And townes enlowed[86] lemed[87] oppe the nyghtes.
Inne gyte of fyre oure hallie churche dheie dyghtes; Oure sonnes lie storven[88] ynne theyre smethynge gore; Oppe bie the rootes oure tree of lyfe dheie pyghtes, Vexynge oure coaste, as byllowes doe the sh.o.r.e. 610 Yee menne, gyf ye are menne, displaie yor name, Ybrende yer tropes, alyche the roarynge tempest flame.
Ye Chrystyans, doe as wordhie of the name; These roynerres of oure hallie houses slea; Braste, lyke a cloude, from whence doth come the flame, 615 Lyche torrentes, gushynge downe the mountaines, bee.
And whanne alonge the grene yer champyons flee, Swefte as the rodde for-weltrynge[89] levyn-bronde, Yatte hauntes the flyinge mortherer oere the lea, Soe flie oponne these royners of the londe. 620 Lette those yatte are unto yer battayles fledde, Take slepe eterne uponne a feerie lowynge bedde.
Let cowarde Londonne see herre towne onn fyre, And strev wythe goulde to staie the royners honde, aella & Brystowe havethe thoughtes thattes hygher, 625 Wee fyghte notte forr ourselves, botte all the londe.
As Severnes hyger lyghethe banckes of sonde, Pressynge ytte downe binethe the reynynge streme, Wythe dreerie dynn enswolters[90] the hyghe stronde, Beerynge the rockes alonge ynn fhurye breme, 630 Soe wylle wee beere the Dacyanne armie downe, And throughe a storme of blodde wyll reache the champyon crowne.
Gyff ynn thys battelle locke ne wayte oure gare, To Brystowe dheie wylle tourne yeyre fhuyrie dyre; Brystowe, & alle her joies, wylle synke toe ayre, 635 Brendeynge perforce wythe unenhantende[91] fyre: Thenne lette oure safetie doublie moove oure ire, Lyche wolfyns, rovynge for the evnynge pre, See[ing] the lambe & shepsterr nere the brire, Doth th'one forr safetie, th'one for hongre slea; 640 Thanne, whanne the ravenne crokes uponne the playne, Oh! lette ytte bee the knelle to myghtie Dacyanns slayne.
Lyche a rodde gronfer, shalle mie anlace sheene, Lyche a strynge lyoncelle I'lle bee ynne fyghte, Lyche fallynge leaves the Dacyannes shalle bee sleene, 645 Lyche [a] loud dynnynge streeme scalle be mie myghte.
Ye menne, who woulde deserve the name of knyghte, Lette bloddie teares bie all your paves be wepte; To commynge tymes no poyntelle shalle ywrite, Whanne Englonde han her foemenn, Brystow slepte. 650 Yourselfes, youre chyldren, & youre fellowes crie, Go, fyghte ynne rennomes gare, be brave, & wynne or die.
I saie ne moe; youre spryte the reste wylle saie; Youre spryte wylle wrynne, thatte Brystow ys yer place; To honoures house I nede notte marcke the waie; 655 Inne youre owne hartes you maie the foote-pathe trace.
'Twexte shappe & us there ys botte lyttelle s.p.a.ce; The tyme ys nowe to proove yourselves bee menne; Drawe forthe the bornyshed bylle wythe fetyve grace, Rouze, lyche a wolfynne rouzing from hys denne. 660 Thus I enrone mie anlace; goe thou shethe; I'lle potte ytt ne ynn place, tyll ytte ys sycke wythe deathe.
SOLDYERS.
Onn, aella, onn; we longe for bloddie fraie; Wee longe to here the raven synge yn vayne; Onn, aella, onn; we certys gayne the daie, 665 Whanne thou doste leade us to the leathal playne.
CELMONDE.
Thie speche, O Loverde, fyrethe the whole trayne; Theie pancte for war, as honted wolves for breathe; Go, & sytte crowned on corses of the slayne; Go, & ywielde the ma.s.sie swerde of deathe. 670
SOLDYERRES.
From thee, O aella, alle oure courage reygnes; Echone yn phantasie do lede the Danes ynne chaynes.
aeLLA.
Mie countrymenne, mie friendes, your n.o.ble sprytes Speke yn youre eyne, & doe yer master telle.
Swefte as the rayne-storme toe the erthe alyghtes, 675 Soe wylle we fall upon these royners felle.
Oure mowynge swerdes shalle plonge hem downe to h.e.l.le; Theyre throngynge corses shall onlyghte the starres; The barrowes brastynge wythe the sleene schall swelle, Brynnynge[92] to commynge tymes our famous warres; 680 Inne everie eyne I kenne the lowe of myghte, Sheenynge abrode, alyche a hylle-fyre ynne the nyghte.