AELLA.

    I lyche eke thys; goe ynn untoe the feaste;
    Wee wylle permytte you antecedente bee;
    There swotelie synge eche carolle, and yaped[48] jeaste;
    And there ys monnie, that you merrie bee; 235
    Comme, gentle love, wee wylle toe spouse-feaste goe,
  And there ynn ale and wyne bee dreyncted[49] everych woe.

  AELLA, BIRTHA, CELMONDE, MESSENGERE.

  MESSENGERE.

    AElla, the Danes ar thondrynge onn our coaste;
    Lyche scolles of locusts, caste oppe bie the sea,
    Magnus and Hurra, wythe a doughtie hoaste, 240
    Are ragyng, to be quansed[50] bie none botte thee;
    Haste, swyfte as Levynne to these royners flee: 
    Thie dogges alleyne can tame thys ragynge bulle. 
    Haste swythyn, fore anieghe the towne theie bee,
    And Wedecesterres rolle of dome bee fulle. 245
    Haste, haste, O AElla, to the byker flie,
  For yn a momentes space tenne thousand menne maie die.

  AELLA.

    Beshrew thee for thie newes!  I moste be gon. 
    Was ever lockless dome so hard as myne! 
    Thos from dysportysmente to warr to ron, 250
    To chaunge the selke veste for the gaberdyne!

  BIRTHA.

    O! lyche a nedere, lette me rounde thee twyne,
    And hylte thie boddie from the schaftes of warre. 
    Thou shalte nott, must not, from thie Birtha ryne,
    Botte kenn the dynne of slughornes from afarre. 255

  AELLA.

    O love, was thys thie joie, to shewe the treate,
  Than groffyshe to forbydde thie hongered guestes to eate?

    O mie upswalynge[51] harte, whatt wordes can saie
    The peynes, thatte passethe ynn mie soule ybrente? 
    Thos to bee torne uponne mie spousalle daie, 260
    O! ’tys a peyne beyond entendemente. 
    Yee mychtie Goddes, and is yor favoures sente
    As thous faste dented to a loade of peyne? 
    Moste wee aie holde yn chace the shade content. 
    And for a bodykyn[52] a swarthe obteyne? 265
    O! whie, yee seynctes, oppress yee thos mie fowle? 
  How shalle I speke mie woe, mie freme, mie dreerie dole?

  CELMONDE.

    Sometyme the wyseste lacketh pore mans rede. 
    Reasonne and counynge wytte efte flees awaie. 
    Thanne, loverde, lett me saie, wyth hommaged drede
    (Bieneth your fote ylayn) mie counselle saie; 271
    Gyff thos wee lett the matter lethlen[53] laie,
    The foemenn, everych honde-poyncte, getteth fote. 
    Mie loverde, lett the speere-menne, dyghte for fraie,
    And all the sabbataners goe aboute. 275
    I speke, mie loverde, alleyne to upryse
  Youre wytte from marvelle, and the warriour to alyse.