Chatterton.

POEMS, &c.

ECLOGUE THE FIRST.

Whanne Englonde, smeethynge[1] from her lethal[2] wounde,
From her galled necke dyd twytte[3] the chayne awaie,
Kennynge her legeful sonnes falle all arounde,
(Myghtie theie fell, 'twas Honoure ledde the fraie,)
Thanne inne a dale, bie eve's dark surcote[4] graie, 5
Twayne lonelie shepsterres[5] dyd abrodden[6] flie,
(The rostlyng liff doth theyr whytte hartes affraie[7],)
And wythe the owlette trembled and dyd crie;
Firste Roberte Neatherde hys sore boesom stroke.
Then fellen on the grounde and thus yspoke. 10

ROBERTE.

Ah, Raufe! gif thos the howres do comme alonge,
Gif thos wee flie in chase of farther woe,
Oure fote wylle fayle, albeytte wee bee stronge,
Ne wylle oure pace swefte as oure danger goe.
To oure grete wronges we have enheped[8] moe, 15
The Baronnes warre! oh! woe and well-a-daie!
I haveth lyff, bott have escaped soe,
That lyff ytsel mie Senses doe affraie.
Oh Raufe, comme lyste, and hear mie dernie[9] tale,
Comme heare the balefull[10] dome of Robynne of the Dale. 20

RAUFE.

Saie to mee nete; I kenne thie woe in myne;
O! I've a tale that Sabalus[11] mote[12] telle.
Swote[13] flouretts, mantled meedows, forestes dygne[14];
Gravots[15] far-kend[16] arounde the Errmiets[17] cell;
The swote ribible[18] dynning[19] yn the dell; 25
The joyous daunceynge ynn the hoastrie[20] courte;
Eke[21] the highe songe and everych joie farewell,
Farewell the verie shade of fayre dysporte[22]:
Impestering[23] trobble onn mie heade doe comme,
Ne on kynde Seyncte to warde[24] the aye[25] encreasynge dome. 30

ROBERTE.

Oh! I coulde waile mie kynge-coppe-decked mees[26],
Mie spreedynge flockes of shepe of lillie white,
Mie tendre applynges[27], and embodyde[28] trees,
Mie Parker's Grange[29], far spreedynge to the syghte,
Mie cuyen[30] kyne [31], mie bullockes stringe[32] yn syghte, 35
Mie gorne[33] emblaunched[34] with the comfreie[35] plante,
Mie floure[36] Seyncte Marie shotteyng wythe the lyghte,
Mie store of all the blessynges Heaven can grant.
I amm duressed[37] unto sorrowes blowe,
Ihanten'd[38] to the peyne, will lette ne salte teare flowe. 40

RAUFE