SERVYTOURE.

AElla ys sleene; the flower of Englonde’s marrde!

AELLA.

Be stylle:  swythe lette the chyrches rynge mie knelle. 
Call hyther brave Coernyke; he, as warde
Of thys mie Brystowe castle, wyll doe welle.

          
                                              [Knelle ryngeth.

  AELLA, EGWINA, SERVYTOURE, COERNYKE.

  AELLA.

    Thee I ordeyne the warde; so alle maie telle. 1200
    I have botte lyttel tym to dragge thys lyfe;
    Mie lethal tale, alyche a lethalle belle,
    Dynne yn the eares of her I wyschd mie wyfe! 
    Botte, ah! shee maie be fayre.

  EGWINA.

Yatte shee moste bee.

  AELLA.

  Ah! saie notte foe; yatte worde woulde AElla dobblie flee. 1205

  AELLA, EGWINA, SERVYTOURE, COERNYKE, BIRTHA, HURRA.

  AELLA.

    Ah!  Birtha here!

  BIRTHA.

    Whatte dynne ys thys? whatte menes yis leathalle knelle? 
    Where ys mie AElla? speeke; where? howe ys hee? 
    Oh AElla! art thou yanne alyve and welle!

AELLA.

I lyve yndeed; botte doe notte lyve for thee.

BIRTHA.

Whatte menes mie AElla?

AELLA.

Here mie meneynge see. 1210
Thie foulness urged mie honde to gyve thys wounde,
Ytte mee unsprytes[128].

BIRTHA.

Ytte hathe unspryted mee.

AELLA.

Ah heavens! mie Birtha fallethe to the grounde! 
Botte yette I am a manne, and so wylle bee.

HURRA.

AElla!  I amme a Dane; botte yette a friende to thee. 1215

    Thys damoyselle I founde wythynne a woode,
    Strevynge fulle harde anenste a burled swayne;
    I sente hym myrynge ynne mie compheeres blodde,
    Celmonde hys name, chief of thie warrynge trayne. 
    Yis damoiselle foughte to be here agayne; 1220
    The whyche, albeytte foemen, wee dydd wylle;
    So here wee broughte her wythe you to remayne.

  COERNIKE.

    Yee nobylle Danes! wythe goulde I wyll you fylle.

  AELLA.

    Birtha, mie lyfe! mie love! oh! she ys fayre. 
  Whatte faultes coulde Birtha have, whatte faultes could AElla feare?

  BIRTHA.

    Amm I yenne thyne?  I cannotte blame thie feere. 
    Botte doe reste mee uponne mie AElla’s breaste;
    I wylle to thee bewryen the woefulle gare. 
    Celmonde dyd comme to mee at tyme of reste,
    Wordeynge for mee to flie, att your requeste, 1230
    To Watchette towne, where you deceasynge laie;
    I wyth hym fledde; thro’ a murke wode we preste,
    Where hee foule love unto mie eares dyd saie;
    The Danes—­