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Of a Theatyre stondynge in þe princypale paleys of Troye, declarenge the falle of Pryncys & othere.

And whilom þus was halwed þe memorie
Of tragedies, as bokis make mynde,
Whan þei wer rad or songyn, as I fynde,
In þe theatre þer was a smal auter
Amyddes set, þat was half circuler,
Whiche in-to þe Est of custom was directe;
Vp-on þe whiche a pulpet was erecte,
And þer-in stod an aw[n]cien poete,
For to reherse by rethorikes swete
Þe noble dedis, þat wer historial,
Of kynges, princes for a memorial,
And of þes olde, worþi Emperours,
Þe grete emprises eke of conquerours,
And how þei gat in Martis hiȝe honour
Þe laurer grene for fyn of her labour,
Þe palme of knyȝthod disservid by [old] date,
Or Parchas made hem passyn in-to fate.
And after þat, with chere and face pale,
With stile enclyned gan to turne his tale,
And for to synge, after al her loos,
Ful mortally þe stroke of Antropos,
And telle also, for al her worþihede,

170

Þe sodeyn brekyng of her lives threde:
How pitously þei made her mortal ende
Þoruȝ fals Fortune, þat al þe world wil schende,
And howe þe fyn of al her worþines
Endid in sorwe and [in] hiȝe tristesse,
By compassyng of fraude or fals tresoun,
By sodeyn mordre or vengaunce of poysoun,
Or conspiringe of fretyng fals envye,
How vnwarly [þat] þei dide dye;
And how her renoun and her hiȝe fame
Was of hatrede sodeynly made lame;
And how her honour drowe vn-to decline;
And þe meschef of her vnhappy fyne;
And how Fortune was to hem vnswete—
Al þis was tolde and rad of þe poete.
And whil þat he in þe pulpit stood,
With dedly face al devoide of blood,
Singinge his dites, with muses al to-rent,
Amydde þe theatre schrowdid in a tent,
Þer cam out men gastful of her cheris,
Disfigurid her facis with viseris,
Pleying by signes in þe peples siȝt,
Þat þe poete songon hath on hiȝt;
So þat þer was no maner discordaunce
Atwen his dites and her contenaunce:
For lik as he aloft[e] dide expresse
Wordes of Ioye or of heuynes,
Meving & cher, byneþe of hem pleying,
From point to point was alwey answering—
Now trist, now glad, now hevy, & [now] liȝt,
And face chaunged with a sodeyn siȝt,
So craftily þei koude hem transfigure,
Conformyng hem to þe chaunt[e]plure,
Now to synge & sodeinly to wepe,
So wel þei koude her observaunces kepe;
And þis was doon in April & in May,

171

Whan blosmys new, boþe on busche & hay,
And flouris fresche gynne for to springe;
And þe briddis in þe wode synge
With lust supprised of þe somer sonne,
Whan þe[se] pleies in Troye wer begonne,
And in theatre halowed and y-holde.
And þus þe ryyt [of] tragedies olde,
Priamus þe worþi kyng began.
Of þis mater no more telle I can.