Eclogue The First

WHANNE Englonde, smeethynge  from her lethal  wound;
From her galled necke dyd twytte  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  graie
Twayne lonelie shepsterres  dyd abrodden  flie,
(The rostlyng liff doth theyr whytte hartes affraie ,)
And wythe the owlette trembled and dyd crie;
Firtse Roberte Neatherde hys sore boesom stroke,
Then fellen on the grounde and thus yspoke. 
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  moe,
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  tale,
Comme heare the balefull  dome of Robynne of the Dale. 
RAUFE.
Saie to mee nete; I kenne this woe in myne;
O! I've a tale that Sabalus  mote  telle.
Swote  flouretts, mantled meedows, forestes dygne ;
Gravots  far-kend  arounde the Errmiets  cell;
The swote ribible  dynning  yn the dell;
The joyous daunceynge ynn the hoastrie  courte;
Eke  the highe songe and everych joie farewell,
Farewell the verie shade of fayre dysporte :
Impestering  trobble onn mie heade doe comme,
Ne on kynde Seyncte to warde  the aye  encreasynge dome.
ROBERTE.
Oh! I coulde waile mie kynge-coppe-decked mees
Mie spreedynge flockes of shepe of lillie white,
Mie tendre applynges , and embodyde  trees,
Mie Parker's Grange  far spreedynge to the syghte,
Mie cuyen  kyne , mie bullockes stringe  yn fighte,
Mie gorne  emblaunched  with the comfreie  plante,
Mie floure Seyncte Marie  shotteyng wythe the lyghte,
Mie store of all the blessynges Heaven can grant.
I amm duressed  unto sorrowes blowe,
Ihanten'd  to the peyne, will lette ne salte teare flowe. 
RAUFE.
Here I wille obaie  untylle Dethe doe 'pere,
Here lyche a foule empoysoned leathel  tree,
Whyche sleaeth  everichone that commeth nere,
Soe wille I fyxed unto thys place gre .
I to bement  haveth moe cause than thee;
Sleene in the warre mie boolie  fadre lies;
Oh! joieous I hys mortherer would slea,
And bie hys syde for aie enclose myne eies.
Calked  from everych joie, heere wylle I blede;
Fell ys the Cullys-yatte  of mie hartes castle stede. 
ROBERTE.
Oure woes alyche, alyche our dome  shal bee.
Mie sonne, mie sonne alleyn , ystorven  ys;
Here wylle I staie, and end mie lyff with thee;
A lyff lyche myn a borden ys ywis.
Now from een logges  fledden is selyness
Mynsterres  alleyn  can boaste the hallie  Seyncte,
Now doeth Englonde weare a bloudie dresse
And wyth her champyonnes gore her face depeyncte;
Peace fledde, disorder sheweth her dark rode ,
And thorow ayre doth flie, yn garments steyned with bloude.