Adhelm, a knyghte, whose holie deathless fire For ever bended to St. Cuthbert's shryne, Whose breast for ever burnd with sacred fyre. And een on erthe he myghte be calld dyvine; To Cuthbert's church he dyd his goodes resygne, 385 And lefte hys son his God's and fortunes knyghte; His son the Saincte behelde with looke adigne, Made him in gemot wyse, and greate in fyghte; Saincte Cuthberte dyd him ayde in all hys deedes, His friends he lets to live, and all his fomen bleedes. 390
He married was to Kenewalchae faire, The fynest dame the sun or moone adave; She was the myghtie Aderedus heyre, Who was alreadie hastynge to the grave; As the blue Bruton, rysinge from the wave, 395 Like sea-gods seeme in most majestic guise. And rounde aboute the risynge waters lave, And their longe hayre arounde their bodie flies, Such majestic was in her porte displaid, To be excelld bie none but Homer's martial maid. 400
White as the chaulkie clyffes of Brittaines isle, Red as the highest colour'd Gallic wine, Gaie as all nature at the mornynge smile, Those hues with pleasaunce on her lippes combine, Her lippes more redde than summer evenynge skyne, 405 Or Phoebus rysinge in a frostie morne, Her breste more white than snow in feeldes that lyene, Or lillie lambes that never have been shorne, Swellynge like bubbles in a boillynge welle, Or new-braste brooklettes gently whyspringe in the delle. 410
Browne as the fylberte droppyng from the shelle, Browne as the nappy ale at Hocktyde game, So browne the crokyde rynges, that featlie fell Over the neck of the all-beauteous dame. Greie as the morne before the ruddie flame 415 Of Phoebus charyotte rollynge thro the skie, Greie as the steel-horn'd goats Conyan made tame, So greie appeard her featly sparklyng eye; Those eyne, that did oft mickle pleased look On Adhelm valyaunt man, the virtues doomsday book. 420
Majestic as the grove of okes that stoode Before the abbie buylt by Oswald kynge; Majestic as Hybernies holie woode, Where sainctes and soules departed masses synge; Such awe from her sweete looke forth issuynge 425 At once for reveraunce and love did calle; Sweet as the voice of thraslarkes in the Spring, So sweet the wordes that from her lippes did falle; None fell in vayne; all shewed some entent; Her wordies did displaie her great entendement. 430