The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton :: :: University of Virginia Library

Whanne Kynge Kynghill ynn hys honde
Helde the sceptre of thys londe,
Sheenynge starre of Chrystes lyghte,
The merkie mysts of pagann nyghte
Gan to scatter farr and wyde:
Thanne Seyncte Warburghe hee arose,
Doffed hys honnores and fyne clothes;
Preechynge hys Lorde Jesus' name,
Toe the lande of West Sexx came,
Whare blaeke Severn rolls hys tyde.

II

Stronge ynn faithfullnesse, he trodde
Overr the waterrs lyke a Godde,
Till he gaynde the distaunt hecke,
Ynn whose bankes hys staffe dydd steck,
Wytnesse to the myrracle;
Thenne he preechedd nyghte and daie,
And set manee ynn ryghte waie.
Thys goode staffe great wonders wroughte,
Moe thann gueste bie mortalle thoughte,
Orr thann mortall tonge can tell.

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III

Thenn the foulke a brydge dydd make
Overr the streme untoe the hecke,
All of wode eke longe and wyde,
Pryde and glorie of the tyde;
Whych ynn tyme dydd falle awaie:
Then Erle Leof he bespedde
Thys grete ryverr fromme hys bedde,
Round hys castle for to rynne;
T'was in trothe ann ancyante onne,
But warre and tyme wyll all decaie.

IV

Now agayne, wythe bremie force,
Severn ynn hys aynciant course
Rolls hys rappyd streeme alonge,
With a sable swifte and stronge,
Movynge manie ann okie wood:
Wee, the menne of Bristowe towne,
Have yreerd thys brydge of stone,
Wyshynge echone that ytt maie laste
Till the date of daies be past,
Standynge where the other stoode.