BIRTHA.

    Celmonde, speake whatte thou menest, or alse mie thoughtes
    Perchaunce maie robbe thie honestie so fayre.

  CELMONDE.

    Then here, & knowe, hereto I have you broughte,
    Mie longe hydde love unto you to make clere.

  BIRTHA.

Oh heaven & earthe! whatte ys ytt I doe heare? 1030
Am I betraste[112]? where ys mie AElla, saie!

CELMONDE.

O! do nete nowe to AElla syke love bere,
Botte geven some onne Celmondes hedde.

BIRTHA.

                                         Awaie! 
    I wylle be gone, & groape mie passage oute,
  Albeytte neders stynges mie legs do twyne aboute. 1035

CELMONDE.

Nowe bie the seynctes I wylle notte lette thee goe,
Ontylle thou doeste mie brendynge love amate. 
Those eyne have caused Celmonde myckle woe,
Yenne lette yer smyle fyrst take hymm yn regrate. 
O! didst thou see mie breastis troblous state, 1040
Theere love doth harrie up mie joie, and ethe! 
I wretched bee, beyonde the hele of fate,
Gyss Birtha stylle wylle make mie harte-veynes blethe. 
Softe as the sommer flowreets, Birtha, looke,
Fulle ylle I canne thie frownes & harde dyspleasaunce brooke. 1045

  BIRTHA.

    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 AElla’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?