Lydgate's Troy Book A.D. 1412-1420. Edited from the best manuscripts with introduction, notes, and glossary by Henry Bergen |
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Howe tydengys kame to kynge Priamus howe his Cite was distroyede, and his Fadire sclayn.
And whiles Priam at þe sege layeTo-fore þe castel, to gete it ȝif he may,
And þer aboute haþ many way[e] souȝt,
Þe woful tydyngys ben vn-to hym brouȝt,
How þe Grekis han take Troye toun,
And slawe his fader, worþi Lamedoun;
And how þe cite, of olde fundacioun,
Ful pitously was turned vp so doun;
Þe worþi lordys and gentil-men echon
Take and slawe, and I-left nat on
Of hem alyve, þoruȝe Grekis cruelte,
After þe ruyne, allas, of her cyte;
And Exyoun, his owne suster dere,
Lad in-to exile with hir eyne clere.
Wher-of þe kyng in hert is stonyed so,
For verray sorwe he nyste what to do,
His sodeyn wo gan hym so constreyne.
156
He þouȝt his hert wolde a-sondre breste,
Of hiȝe distres, for he myȝt haue no reste.
And in[-to] teris he gan hym silf distille,
Þat for to dye was fynally his wille;
And Fortune, þat can so falsly varie,
With dreri hert he be-gan to warie,
Þat sche to hym was so deseyuable,
So inly cruel and vnmerciable,
So dispitous, and so sterne of face,
So vengable and deuoyde of grace:
For of envye, with a rage thouȝt,
Sche haþ hir werst of malis on hym wrouȝt,
And felly schewed what sche myȝt[e] do;
Þat in þis world was neuer wiȝt so wo,
As I suppose, of no maner age,
To rekne al his harmes and damage.
For whiche anon, in al þat euer he may,
First he chaungeþ all his riche array,
Trist and hevy, with dedly face pale,
So astoned with þis mortal tale,
Þat his desyre was to haue ben ded;
With countenaunce enclyned and his hed,
Þis lyf he ladde, & clad hym al in blak.
And sodeynly he þe sege brak,
And wolde as þo no lenger þer abyde;
But with his folke anon he gan to ride,
Þat pytously gan with hym to morne,
And toward Troye attonys þei returne.
And whan þat he haþ þe cite founde,
Pleyn with þe soil & evene with þe grounde,
Þe hiȝe wallys, whilom þik and longe,
I-bete doun, þat wer made so strong,
And his towres and paleys principal,
Þat was in byldyng so excellent royal,
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He fynt al turned in-to wildernesse:
His peple slayn, his suster lad a-way—
For verray wo he nyst[e] what to say,
For þe constreynt of his aduersite,
And for his harmys þat nyl recured be.
For in þat tyme he was fully sure,
Vp-on no syde þer was no recure;
Wherfore he can not but sobbe & wepe,
And from his brest, with siȝes souȝt ful depe,
Breken oute, with a ded visage.
And þus, allas, in þis furious rage,
Ful pitously al his hoste and he
With-oute respite contwne dayes thre.
Til at þe last þe myrke skyes blake
Gan of her wo in party for to slake,
And þe tempest somdel gan with-drawe,
And of her wepyng blaundische gan þe waw;
As whan þe flood of wo is ouerpassed,
Þe ebbe of Ioye folwen most in haste.
To sorwen euer, it wolde her hertis schende;
And at a terme euery wo mote ende:
For þouȝ for frendis men ay wepe & weyle,
After her deth þer may no recure vaile.
Wherfore þe kyng, after al [t]his care,
Hath souȝt a weye þe cite to repare;
And cast hym fully, ȝif it wolde be,
To make vertu of necessite;
And manfully, after al his tene,
Whan þat þe eyr gan to wexe clene
Of þe mystis of his cloudy sorwe,
And þat somdel adawe gan þe morwe,
Of heuynes after þe dirke nyȝt,
Chased aweye with a sonne bryȝt
Of new[e] Ioye: for ay þe fyn of wo
Mote be gladnes whan þat sorwe is go—
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Whan his sorwe gan lite & lite pace,
And of wysdam in al his pitous smerte
Gan prudently to plukkyn vp his herte,
And of his eyne þe wawes gon[ne] clere,
A-noon he wrouȝt, riȝt as ȝe schal here.
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