CELMONDE.
Mie stede wydhoute wylle deftelie beere us twayne.
BIRTHA.
Oh! I wyll flie as wynde, & no waie lynge;
Sweftlie caparisons for rydynge brynge; 950
I have a mynde wynged wythe the levyn ploome.
O Ælla, Ælla! dydste thou kenne the stynge,
The whyche doeth canker ynne mie hartys roome,
Thou wouldste see playne thieselfe the gare to bee;
Aryse, uponne thie love, & flie to meeten mee. 955