The Rowley Poems - GODDWYN; A TRAGEDIE.<BR>

GODDWYN; A TRAGEDIE.

By THOMAS ROWLEIE.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

HAROLDE, bie T. Rowleie, the Aucthoure. GODDWYN, bie Johan de Iscamme. ELWARDE, bie Syrr Thybbot Gorges. ALSTAN, bie Syrr Alan de Vere. KYNGE EDWARD; bie Mastre Wilyam Canynge. Odhers bie Knyghtes Mynnstrells.

 

PROLOGUE Made bie Maistre WILLIAM CANYNGE.

WHYLOMME <1> bie pensmenne <2> moke <3> ungentle <4> name Have upon Goddwynne Erle of Kente bin layde, Dherebie benymmynge <5> hymme of faie <6> and fame; Unliart <7> divinistres <8> haveth saide, Thatte he was knowen toe noe hallie <9> wurche <10>; Botte thys was all hys faulte, he gyfted <11> ne the churche.

The aucthoure <12> of the piece whiche we enacte, Albeytte <13> a clergyon <14> trouthe wyll wrytte. Inne drawynge of hys menne no wytte ys lackte; Entyn <15> a kynge mote <16> bee full pleased to nyghte. 10 Attende, and marcke the partes nowe to be done; Wee better for toe doe do champyon <17> anie onne.

 

GODDWYN; A TRAGEDIE.

ACT I. GODDWYN AND HAROLDE.

GODDWYN.

HAROLDE!

HAROLDE.

Mie loverde! <18>

GODDWYN.

O! I weepe to thyncke, What foemen <19> riseth to isrete <20> the londe. Theie batten <21> onne her fleshe, her hartes bloude dryncke, And all ys graunted from the roieal honde.

HAROLDE.

Lette notte this agreme <22> blyn <24> ne aledge <24> stonde; Bee I toe wepe, I wepe in teres of gore. Am I betrassed <25>, syke <26> shulde mie burlie <27> bronde Depeyncte <28> the wronges on hym from whom I bore.

GODDWYN.

I ken thie spryte <29> ful welle; gentle thou art, Stringe <30>, ugsomme <31> rou <32> as smethynge <33> armyes seeme; 10 Yett efte <34>, I feare, thie chefes <35> toe grete a parte, And that thie rede <36> bee efte borne downe bie breme <37>. What tydynges from the kynge?

HAROLDE.

His Normans know. I make noe compheeres of the shemrynge <38> trayne.

GODDWYN.

Ah Harolde! tis a syghte of myckle woe, To kenne these Normannes everich rennome gayne. What tydynge withe the foulke <39>?

HAROLDE.

Stylle mormorynge atte yer shap <40>, stylle toe the kynge Theie rolle theire trobbles, lyche a sorgie sea. Hane Englonde thenne a tongue, butte notte a stynge? 20 Dothe alle compleyne, yette none wylle ryghted bee?

GODDWYN.

Awayte the tyme, whanne Godde wylle sende us ayde.

HAROLDE.

No, we muste streve to ayde oureselves wyth powre. Whan Godde wylle sende us ayde! tis fetelie <41> prayde. Moste we those calke <42> awaie the lyve-longe howre? Thos croche <43> oure armes, and ne toe lyve dareygne <44>, Unburled <45>, undelievre <46>, unespryte <47>? Far fro mie harte be fled thyk <48> thoughte of peyne, Ile free mie countrie, or Ille die yn fyghte.

GODDWYN.

Botte lette us wayte untylle somme season fytte. 30 Mie Kentyshmen, thie Summertons shall ryse; Adented <49> prowess <50> to the gite <51> of witte, Agayne the argent <52> horse shall daunce yn skies. Oh Harolde, heere forstraughteynge <53> wanhope <54> lies. Englonde, oh Englonde, tys for thee I blethe <55>. Whylste Edwarde to thie sonnes wylle nete alyse <56>, Shulde anie of thie sonnes sele aughte of ethe <57>? Upponne the trone <58> I sette thee, helde thie crowne; Botte oh! twere hommage nowe to pyghte <59> thee downe.

Thou arte all preeste, & notheynge of the kynge. 40 Thou arte all Norman, nothynge of mie blodde. Know, ytte beseies <60> thee notte a masse to synge; Servynge thie leegefolcke <61> thou arte servynge Godde.

HAROLDE.

Thenne Ille doe heaven a servyce. To the skyes The dailie contekes <62> of the londe ascende, The wyddowe, fahdrelesse, & bondemennes cries Acheke <63> the mokie <64> aire & heaven astende <65> On us the rulers doe the folcke depende Hancelled <66> from erthe these Normanne hyndes <67> shalle bee; Lyche a battently <68> low <69>, mie swerde shalle brende <70>; 50 Lyche fallynge softe rayne droppes, I wyll hem <71> slea <72>. Wee wayte too longe; our purpose wylle defayte <73> Aboune <74> the hyghe empryze <75>, & rouze the champyones strayte.

GODDWYN.

Thie suster --

HAROLDE.

Aye, I knowe, she is his queene. Albeytte <76>, dyd shee speeke her foemen <77> fayre, I wulde dequace <78> her comlie semlykeene <79>, And foulde mie bloddie anlace <80> yn her hayre.

GODDWYN.

Thye fhuir <81> blyn <82>.

HAROLDE.

No, bydde the leathal <83> mere <84>, Upriste <85> withe hiltrene <86> wyndes & cause unkend <87>, Beheste <88> it to be lete <89>; so twylle appeare, 60 Eere Harolde hyde hys name, his contries frende. The gule-steyncte <90> brygandyne <91>, the adventayle <92> The feerie anlace brede <93> shal make mie gare <94> prevayle.

GODDWYN.

Harolde, what wuldest doe?

HAROLDE.

Bethyncke thee whatt, Here liethe Englonde, all her drites <95> unfree, Here liethe Normans coupynge <96> her bie lotte, Caltysnyng <97> everich native plante to gre <98> Whatte woulde I doe? I brondeous <99> wulde hem slee <100>; Tare owte theyre sable harte bie ryghtefulle breme <101>; Theyre deathe a meanes untoe mie lyfe shulde bee, 70 Mie spryte shulde revelle yn theyr harte-blodde streme. Eftsoones I wylle bewryne <102> mie ragefulle ire, And Goddis anlace <103> wielde yn furie dyre.

GODDWYN.

Whatte wouldest thou wythe the kynge?

HAROLDE.

Take offe hys crowne; The ruler of somme mynster <104> hym ordeyne; Sette uppe som dygner <105> than I han pyghte <106> downe; And peace in Englonde shulde be brayd <107> agayne.

GODDWYN.

No, lette the super-hallie <108> seyncte kynge reygne, Ande somme moe reded <109> rule the untentyff <110> reaulme; Kynge Edwarde, yn hys cortesie, wylle deygne 80 So to yielde the spoiles, and alleyne were the heaulme Botte from mee harte bee everych thoughte of gayne, Nor anie of mie kin I wysche him to ordeyne.

HAROLDE.

Tell me the meenes, and I wylle boute ytte strayte; Bete <111> mee to slea <112> mieself, ytte shalle be done.

GODDWYN.

To thee I wylle swythynne <113> the menes unplayte <114>, Bie whyche thou, Harolde, shalte be proved mie sonne. I have longe seen whatte peynes were undergon, Whatte agrames <115> braunce <116> out from the general tree; The tyme ys commynge, whan the mollock <117> gron <118> 90 Drented <119> of alle yts swolynge <120> owndes <121> shalle bee; Mie remedie is goode; our menne shall ryse. Eftsoons the Normans and owre agrame <122> flies.

HAROLDE.

I will to the West, and gemote <123> alle the knyghtes, Wythe bylles that pancte for blodde, and sheeldes as brede <124> As the ybroched <125> moon, when blaunch <126> she dyghtes <127> The wodeland grounde or water-mantled mede; Wythe hondes whose myghte canne make the doughtiest <128> blede, Who efte have knelte upon forslagen <129> foes, Whoe wythe yer fote orrests <130> a castle-stede <131> 100 Who dare on kynges for to bewrecke <132> yiere woes; Nowe wylle the menne of Englonde haile the daie, Whan Goddwyn leades them to the ryghtfulle fraie.

GODDWYN.

Botte firste we'll call the loverdes of the West, The erles of Mercia, Conventrie and all; The moe wee gayne, the gare <133> wylle prosper beste, Wythe syke a nomber wee can never fall.

HAROLDE.

True, so wee sal doe best to lyncke the chayne, And alle attenes <134> the spreddynge kyngedomme bynde. No crouched champyone <135> wythe an harte moe feygne 110 Dyd yssue owte the hallie <136> swerde to fynde, Than I nowe strev to ryd mie londe of peyne. Goddwyn, what thanckes owre laboures wylle enhepe! I'lle ryse mie friendes unto the bloddie pleyne; I'lle wake the honnoure thatte ys now aslepe. When wylle the chiefes mete atte thie feastive halle, That I wythe voice alowde maie there upon 'em calle?

GODDWYN.

Next eve, mie sonne.

HAROLDE.

Nowe, Englonde, ys the tyme, Whan thee or thie felle foemens cause moste die. Thie geason <137> wronges bee reyne <138> ynto theyre pryme; 120 Nowe wylle thie sonnes unto thie succoure flie. Alyche a storm egederinge <139> yn the skie, Tys fulle ande brasteth <140> on the chaper <141> grounde; Sycke shalle mie fhuirye on the Normans flie, And alle theyre mittee <142> Nowe, nowe, wylle Harolde or oppressionne falle, Ne moe the Englyshmenne yn vayne for hele <144> shal calle.

 

ACT II. SCENE I. KYNGE EDWARDE AND HIS QUEENE.

QUEENE.

BOTTE, loverde <145>, whie so manie Normannes here? Mee thynckethe wee bee notte yn Englyshe londe. These browded <146> straungers alwaie doe appere, 130 Theie parte yor trone <147>, and sete at your ryghte honde.

KYNGE.

Go to, goe to, you doe ne understonde. Theie yeave mee lyffe, and dyd mie bowkie <148> kepe; Theie dyd mee feeste, and did embowre <149> me gronde; To trete hem ylle wulde lette mie kyndnesse slepe.

QUEENE.

Mancas <150> you have yn store, and to them parte; Youre leege-folcke <151> make moke <152> dole <153>, you have theyr worthe asterte <155>.

KYNGE.

I heste <155> no rede of you. I ken mie friendes. Hallie <156> dheie are, fulle ready mee to hele <157>, Theyre volundes <158> are ystorven <159> to self endes; 140 No denwere <160> yn mie breste I of them fele. I muste to prayers; goe yn, and you do wele; I muste ne lose the dutie of the daie; Go inne, go ynne, ande viewe the azure rele <161> Fulle welle I wote you have noe mynde toe praie.

QUEENE.

I leeve youe to doe hommage heaven-were <162> To serve yor leege-folcke toe is doeynge hommage there.

 

SCENE II. KYNGE AND SIR HUGHE.

KYNGE.

Mie friende, Syr Hughe, whatte tydynges brynges thee here?

HUGHE.

There is no mancas yn mie loverdes ente <163>. The hus dyspense <164> unpaied doe appere; 150 The laste receivure <165> ys eftesoones <166> dispente <167>

KYNGE.

Thenne guylde the Weste.

HUGHE.

Mie loverde, I dyd speke Untoe the mitte <168> Erle Harolde of the thynge; He raysed hys honde, and smote me onne the cheke, Saieynge, go beare thatte message to the kynge.

KYNGE.

Arace <169> hym of hys powere; bie Goddis worde, Ne moe thatte Harolde shall ywield the erlies swerde.

HUGHE.

Atte seeson sytte, mie loverde, lette itt bee; Botte nowe the folcke doe soe enalse <170> hys name, Inne strevvynge to slea hymme, ourselves wee slea; 160 Syke ys the doughtyness <171> of hys grete fame.

KYNGE.

Hughe, I beethyncke, thie rede ys notte to blame. Botte thou maiest fynde fulle store of marckes yn Kente.

HUGHE.

Mie noble loverde, Godwynn ys the same He sweeres he wylle notte swelle the Normans ent.

KYNG

Ah traytoure! botte mie rage I wylle commaunde. Thou arte a Normanne, Hugh; a straunger to the launde.

Thou kenneste howe these Englysche erle doe bere Such stedness <173> in the yll and evylle thynge, Botte atte the goode theie hover yn denwere <174>, 170 Onknowlachynge <175> gif thereunto to clynge.

HUGHE.

Onwordie syke a marvelle <176> of a kynge! O Edward; thou deservest purer leege <177>; To thee heie <178> shulden all theire mancas brynge; Thie nodde should save menne, and thie glomb <179> forslege <180>. I amme no curriedowe <181> I lacke no wite <182> I speke whatte bee the trouthe, and whatte all see is ryghte.

KYNGE.

Thou arte a hallie <183> mann; I doe thee pryze. Comme, comme, and here and hele <184> mee ynn mie praires. Fulle twentie mancas I wylle thee alise <185>, 180 And twayne of hamlettes <186> to thee and thie heyres. So shalle all Normannes from mie londe be fed, Theie alleyn <88> have syke love as to acquyre yer bredde.

 

ACT III.

CHORUS.

WHAN Freedom, dreste yn blodde-steyned veste, To everie knyghte her warre-songe sunge, Uponne her hedde wylde wedes were spredde; A gorie anlace bye her honge. She daunced onne the heathe; She hearde the voice of deathe; Pale-eyned assryghte, hys harte of sylver hue, 190 In vayne assayled <188> her bosomme to acale <189> She hearde onflemed <190> the shriekynge voice of woe, And sadnesse ynne the owlette shake the dale. She shooke the burled <191> speere, On hie she jeste <192> her sheelde, Her foemen <193> all appere, And flizze <194> alonge the feelde. Power, wythe his heafod <195> straught <196> ynto the skyes, Hys speere a sonne-beame, and his sheelde a starre, Alyche <197> twaie <198> brendeynge <199> gronfyres <200> rolls hys eyes, Chastes <201> with hys yronne feete and soundes to war. 201 She syttes upon a rock; She bendes before his speere, She ryses from the shocke, Wieldynge her owne yn ayre. Harde as the thonder dothe she drive ytte on, Wytte scillye <202> wympled <203> gies <204> ytte to hys crowne, Hys longe sharpe speere, hys spreddynge sheelde ys gon, He falles, and fallynge rolleth thousandes down. War, goare-faced war, bie envie burld <205>, arist <206> 210 Hys feerie heaulme <207> noddynge to the ayre, Tenne bloddie arrowes ynne hys streynynge fyste -- * * * * * * * *

 

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