THOROWE the halle the belle han sounde;
Byelecoyle doe the Grave beseeme;
The ealdermenne doe sytte arounde,
Ande snoffelle oppe the cheorte steeme.
Lyche asses wylde ynne desarte waste
Swotelye the morneynge ayre doe taste.
Syke keene theie ate; the minitrels plaie,
The dynne of angelles doe theie keepe;
Heie stylle the guestes ha ne to saie,
Butte nodde yer thankes ande falle aslape.
Thus echone daie bee I to deene,
Gyf Rowley, Iscamm, or Tyb. Gorges be ne seene.
More verses by Thomas Chatterton
- The Churchwarden And The Apparition: A Fable
- On The Same (Oure Ladies Chyrche)
- Songe To Aella, Lorde Of The Castel Of Brystowe Ynne Daies Of Yore
- On The Last Epiphany (Or Christ Coming To Judgment)
- Onn Oure Ladies Chyrche