The Story of England by Robert Manning of Brunne, A.D. 1338. Edited from mss. at Lambeth Palace and the Inner Temple, by Frederick J. Furnivall |
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De tradicione Hengisti, & occisione Britonum cum Sexis.
To þat playne þey come þat day,Of Salesbury, þe firste of May,
Many a man (wyþoute somons)
Of þe Saxons & of þe Bretons:
Hereþ now how Hengist þought,
What treson he schop to be wrought.
“ffelawes,” he seyde, “what so bytydes,
“Get ȝow knyues egged on boþe sydes,
“& ber þem priuely, þat non ne se,
“In ȝoure hoses harde by ȝour kne.
“When we haue þem, & þey vs gret,
“& ilkon of vs by a Breton set,—
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“Ay on of hem, anoþer of ȝow,—
“Nymeþ out ȝour sexes when y so say,
“& handes on ȝour felawes lay,
“On ilka Breton þat sittes ȝou nest,
“& strykeþ hem ded þorow bak & brest.”
When Hengist to þem þus had yseyd,
Ilka Saxon a sex purueyd,
& com to þe Playne of Salesbury,
ffair felawschip, & ful mury.
When þey were alle set in fere,
Als he had seid hem þe manere,
“Nymeþ out ȝour sexes,” seide Hengist;
Bot what hit mente þe Bretons nyst.
Þe Saxons anon þer sexes drowe;
His felawe next, þe Saxons slowe.
Þe kyng sey þat, anon vp stirt,
Bot Hengist laughtym by þe skirt,
& he held hym as stille as ston,
Þat he mighte helpe to saue non.
Þe Bretons seye þey were by-traischt,
fful deolfuly were þey þenne abayscht.
Þat so sodeynly had þer lyues reft,
& so fewe lordes as þer were left;
ffor þer wer slayn of knyghtes bolde
Þre hundred & sexti Bretons tolde;
Alle were þey lordes euerilkone,
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& þo þat ascaped out of þe place,
Wyþ stones foughte as þey had space;
ffyghtyng þey fledde, þey hadde al nede.
Þe Erl of Gloucestre was in þat drede;
A tre he laughte, & þer-wyþ smot,
& his dint on þe Saxons bot;
Sire Eldok, þe noble Erl so hight,
His dint wyþ-stonde, no Saxon myght,
ffor he slow þer of Hengistes men,
Als hit telles, twenty & ten.
He bar hym so in þat pres
Þat of wounde he was wem-les,
Þey seye he scaped so wyþ þe lyf,
& kesten after hym many a knyf;
Þer his hors was, þider he gan spede,
& to Gloucestre on þat hors he ȝede;
And so he warnyscht al þat toun
Þat þey ne dredde no Saxoun.
Þen Saxoyns wolde han slayn þe kyng,
Bot Hengist wold nought for no þyng;
He bad hem “leue, do him bot god,
“ffor he haþ auaunced mykel my blod:
“Als in lawe he ys my sone,
“Elles he scholde oþer weys mone.”
Þey ledde hym þenne to London,
& þer þey dide hym in prison.
London was þeirs, to Lincolne þey hasted,
Wynchestre & ȝork þey toke & wasted.
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What þey hym asked, he þem swor.
ffor to ben out of þer prisoun,
& quit of alle manere raunsoun,
He graunted þem þanne to haue Southsex,
Oxenfordschire, & Middelsex,
ffor þey marchen vpon Kent
Þat he gaf Ronewenne to rent.
& forto mene ȝyt of þe tresons
Of þe sexes & of þe Saxons,
Þo countres haue þer-of þe name,
Sexes, fo[r] þe Saxons schame.
Sire ffortiger þe kyng þankede God þo,
Þat so quit & sker had lat hym go.
Toward Walys þen fledde he ȝerne,
ffer awey byȝonde Seuerne;
Þere he dwelled & made soiour:
Now hereþ how he þer made his tour,
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