st mie thoughtes of paying love amate[26].
Botte hann mie actyonns straughte[27] the rolle of fate,
Pyghte thee fromm Hell, or broughte Heaven down to thee, 60
Layde the whol worlde a falldstole atte thie feete,
On smyle woulde be suffycyll mede for mee.
I amm Loves borro'r, & canne never paie,
Bott be hys borrower stylle, & thyne, mie swete, for aie.

BIRTHA.

Love, doe notte rate your achevmentes[28] soe smalle; 65
As I to you, syke love untoe mee beare;
For nothynge paste wille Birtha ever call,
Ne on a foode from Heaven thynke to cheere.
As farr as thys frayle brutylle flesch wylle spere,
Syke, & ne fardher I expecte of you; 70
Be notte toe slacke yn love, ne overdeare;
A smalle fyre, yan a loude flame, proves more true.

AELLA.

Thie gentle wordis doe thie volunde[29] kenne
To bee moe clergionde thann ys ynn meyncte of menne.

AELLA, BIRTHA, CELMONDE, MYNSTRELLES.

CELMONDE.

Alle blessynges showre on gentle AElla's hedde! 75
Oft maie the moone, yn sylverr sheenynge lyghte,
Inne varied chaunges varyed blessynges shedde,
Besprengeynge far abrode mischaunces nyghte;
And thou, fayre Birtha! thou, fayre Dame, so bryghte,
Long mayest thou wyth AElla fynde muche peace, 80
Wythe selynesse, as wyth a roabe, be dyghte,
Wyth everych chaungynge mone new joies encrease!
I, as a token of mie love to speake,
Have brought you jubbes of ale, at nyghte youre brayne to breake.

AELLA.

Whan sopperes paste we'lle drenche youre ale soe stronge, 85
Tyde lyfe, tyde death.

CELMONDE.

Ye Mynstrelles, chaunt your songe.

_Mynstrelles Songe, bie a Manne and Womanne._

MANNE.

Tourne thee to thie Shepsterr[30] swayne;
Bryghte sonne has ne droncke the dewe
From the floures of yellowe hue;
Tourne thee, Alyce, backe agayne. 90

WOMANNE.

No, bestoikerre[31], I wylle goe,
Softlie tryppynge o'ere the mees[32],
Lyche the sylver-footed doe,
Seekeynge shelterr yn grene trees.

MANNE.

See the moss-growne daisey'd banke, 95
Pereynge ynne the streme belowe;
Here we'lle sytte, yn dewie danke;
Tourne thee, Alyce, do notte goe