The Original Chronicle of Andrew of Wyntoun printed on parallel pages from the Cottonian and Wemyss mss., with the variants of the other texts: Edited with introduction, notes, and glossary by F. J. Amours |
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| CXCIV. |
| CXCV. |
| CXCVI. |
| CXCVII. |
 | CHAPTER CXLIV. The Original Chronicle of Andrew of Wyntoun |  |
A thousand and twa hunder ȝere
And sex and nynty þarto cleire,
Fra þe tyme þat þis wes done,
Iohne þe Balliole alsa sone
Gert summond all, baith pure and rike,
And þe estatis of þe kinrik.
For in Fife þat tyme wes nane
Erll, baroune, na ȝit chiftane,
The frehaldaris of þat land,
Quhare mast perellis were apperand,
For þar wit and þare prowes
Off þe estatis chosin wes;
And of þare biddyng als fast
Thire gentillis of Fife to Berwik past.
And sex and nynty þarto cleire,
Fra þe tyme þat þis wes done,
Iohne þe Balliole alsa sone
Gert summond all, baith pure and rike,
And þe estatis of þe kinrik.
For in Fife þat tyme wes nane
Erll, baroune, na ȝit chiftane,
The frehaldaris of þat land,
Quhare mast perellis were apperand,
For þar wit and þare prowes
Off þe estatis chosin wes;
And of þare biddyng als fast
Thire gentillis of Fife to Berwik past.
Thare a gret navyne þan thai fand
Off five havinnis of Ingland,
Stuffit weill wiþ meit and men,
That fast þe toune assalȝeit then.
Thre hundreth speris of Fife, or ma,
Thare fais in fecht þai cunraid sa
That mony þai gert drovnyt be,
And þe laif þai gert tak þe se,
Off forss hame agane fleand
To þare avne havinnis of Ingland,
And xviii. gret schippis þai wan.
Off þame þai savit neuer a man;
For quhy þai trowit sone of weire
To be assegeit with gret powere,
And presoneris in þe meyne quhile
To keip þaim thocht wes gret perile.
Forthy þaim thocht mare honeste
Vnȝoldin to sla þame in melle
Than sic ane hirsell for till hald,
And bargane byde, or batall bald.
Forthy of counsall and vertew
Sic dout and perill till eschew,
All þai soldiouris þai slew doune,
And stuffit with þar gudis þe toune;
And all þare schippis in a fyre
Thai brint rycht þan in colis schyre.
Off five havinnis of Ingland,
Stuffit weill wiþ meit and men,
That fast þe toune assalȝeit then.
Thre hundreth speris of Fife, or ma,
Thare fais in fecht þai cunraid sa
That mony þai gert drovnyt be,
And þe laif þai gert tak þe se,
Off forss hame agane fleand
To þare avne havinnis of Ingland,
280
Off þame þai savit neuer a man;
For quhy þai trowit sone of weire
To be assegeit with gret powere,
And presoneris in þe meyne quhile
To keip þaim thocht wes gret perile.
Forthy þaim thocht mare honeste
Vnȝoldin to sla þame in melle
Than sic ane hirsell for till hald,
And bargane byde, or batall bald.
Forthy of counsall and vertew
Sic dout and perill till eschew,
All þai soldiouris þai slew doune,
And stuffit with þar gudis þe toune;
And all þare schippis in a fyre
Thai brint rycht þan in colis schyre.
And quhen King Edward of Ingland
Herd of þis deid sicker tythand,
All bryme he bolnyt in till breth,
Wrythand all in wedand wreth,
In hy assemblit all his oste,
And come till Berwik with gret bost,
And set a segis sone to þe tovne,
And maid gret sawtis and felloune;
And þai within maid resistens
Aganis him, and gret defens.
Herd of þis deid sicker tythand,
All bryme he bolnyt in till breth,
Wrythand all in wedand wreth,
In hy assemblit all his oste,
And come till Berwik with gret bost,
And set a segis sone to þe tovne,
And maid gret sawtis and felloune;
And þai within maid resistens
Aganis him, and gret defens.
282
And quhen he saw at he mycht nocht
Wyn þe tovne lichtly, as he thocht,
He thocht in his ententioun
With fals dissymylatioun
As he wald cess of all þat weire;
And gert remufe all his powere,
And laid þaim in buschementis neire by,
In woddis and hiddillis prevely,
Oure dryvand sa thre dais or ma.
And till at he wes bydand sa,
He gert fenȝe armes of Scotland,
Off lordis as þai were berand,
And gert paynt baneris and pennonys
Off Scottis lordis of renovnis;
And þai, within þe toune þat wes,
Reiosyt of þis sycht, but less;
For quhy þai wist nor herd rycht nocht
Off þis desait aganis þaim wrocht.
All þe ȝettis þai vpkest,
To lat þaim entir as þai lest.
And it wes airely in þe mornyng,
Or þe sone raiss, befor þe dayspring;
And at þai opin ȝettis þen
Rycht fast thrang in þe Inglismen,
And vmbeset þe Scottismen þare,
Or euer þai wist weill quhat þai were.
And þare þe Inglismen slew doune
All þe Scottis folkis in þe tovne,
Off all conditioun, nane sparand,
That þai within þe tovne þan fand,
Als wele lerit as seculare;
Thare wes na persone þai wald spaire
Off nane estait na of nane age;
Thai sparit noþer man nor page,
Noþer auld na ȝoung, madinis na wiffis,
Bot all þai gert þare loss þar liffis.
Wyn þe tovne lichtly, as he thocht,
He thocht in his ententioun
With fals dissymylatioun
As he wald cess of all þat weire;
And gert remufe all his powere,
And laid þaim in buschementis neire by,
In woddis and hiddillis prevely,
Oure dryvand sa thre dais or ma.
And till at he wes bydand sa,
He gert fenȝe armes of Scotland,
Off lordis as þai were berand,
And gert paynt baneris and pennonys
Off Scottis lordis of renovnis;
And þai, within þe toune þat wes,
Reiosyt of þis sycht, but less;
For quhy þai wist nor herd rycht nocht
Off þis desait aganis þaim wrocht.
All þe ȝettis þai vpkest,
To lat þaim entir as þai lest.
And it wes airely in þe mornyng,
Or þe sone raiss, befor þe dayspring;
And at þai opin ȝettis þen
Rycht fast thrang in þe Inglismen,
And vmbeset þe Scottismen þare,
Or euer þai wist weill quhat þai were.
And þare þe Inglismen slew doune
All þe Scottis folkis in þe tovne,
284
That þai within þe tovne þan fand,
Als wele lerit as seculare;
Thare wes na persone þai wald spaire
Off nane estait na of nane age;
Thai sparit noþer man nor page,
Noþer auld na ȝoung, madinis na wiffis,
Bot all þai gert þare loss þar liffis.
Thus were þai slaand þare sa fast
All þe day oure, quhill at þe last
The King Eduard saw at þat tyde
A woman slane, and of hir syde
A barne he saw fall out sprewland,
Beside þe moder slane lyand.
“Lacess! lacess!” þan cryit he;
“Leif of! leif of!” þat word suld be.
All þe day oure, quhill at þe last
The King Eduard saw at þat tyde
A woman slane, and of hir syde
A barne he saw fall out sprewland,
Beside þe moder slane lyand.
“Lacess! lacess!” þan cryit he;
“Leif of! leif of!” þat word suld be.
And of þis slauchter mare to speke,
As I herd say, Antone þe Beke,
That þan wes bischop of Durhame,
A cruell man and of felloune fame,
Enterit in þare with þe formast;
And sa furth throu þe toune he past,
With his hand saynand for dispite,
And biddand þaim fast sla and smyte
The Scottis doune, and nane to spaire.
He mycht be callit a clerk and maire;
He wes a bischop of þe deuill,
That wes sa reddy to gere do euill.
Forthy with him he has his [meid],
For all þai bodyis þat he gert bleid
Deit for þe defens of þare kinrik,
And are in bliss, as weill is like.
As I herd say, Antone þe Beke,
That þan wes bischop of Durhame,
A cruell man and of felloune fame,
Enterit in þare with þe formast;
And sa furth throu þe toune he past,
With his hand saynand for dispite,
And biddand þaim fast sla and smyte
The Scottis doune, and nane to spaire.
He mycht be callit a clerk and maire;
He wes a bischop of þe deuill,
That wes sa reddy to gere do euill.
Forthy with him he has his [meid],
For all þai bodyis þat he gert bleid
Deit for þe defens of þare kinrik,
And are in bliss, as weill is like.
Sevin thousand and five hunder þare
Bodyis reknyt, at slane ware;
This wes done on þe Gud Friday.
For God, na prayere, nane sparit þai.
Twa dais eftir þat a deip flude
Throu all þe tovne ran of þar blude;
And þus þat king of Ingland,
Nocht king, bot a cursit tyrand,
Did þat day his deuotioun.
He gert þare thole þe passioun
Off dede mony gud creature,
In till full graciouss and pure,
Clene schrevin, in gud entent,
Redy to tak þare sacrament.
His office wes þat Gud Friday
To heire þai innocentis de, and say
“Allace! allace! now, Lord, we cry
For him, þat deit þis day, mercy.”
Nane oþer seruice þat day herd he,
Bot gert sla on without pete.
The saullis of þaim he gert sla þare
[He] send quhare his saull neuermare
Wes like to cum, þat is to bliss,
As be his ending wes sene, I wiss.
Quhasa likis he may it luke,
How he endit, in King Robertis buke.
Bodyis reknyt, at slane ware;
286
For God, na prayere, nane sparit þai.
Twa dais eftir þat a deip flude
Throu all þe tovne ran of þar blude;
And þus þat king of Ingland,
Nocht king, bot a cursit tyrand,
Did þat day his deuotioun.
He gert þare thole þe passioun
Off dede mony gud creature,
In till full graciouss and pure,
Clene schrevin, in gud entent,
Redy to tak þare sacrament.
His office wes þat Gud Friday
To heire þai innocentis de, and say
“Allace! allace! now, Lord, we cry
For him, þat deit þis day, mercy.”
Nane oþer seruice þat day herd he,
Bot gert sla on without pete.
The saullis of þaim he gert sla þare
[He] send quhare his saull neuermare
Wes like to cum, þat is to bliss,
As be his ending wes sene, I wiss.
Quhasa likis he may it luke,
How he endit, in King Robertis buke.
That samyn ȝere all Inglismen
That in Scotland were wonnand then,
Quheþer he ware vicare or persoune,
Be sentens of depriuatioun
Out throu all þe haill kinrik
Ilk bischop in his bischoprike
All þare rentis tuke þaim fra,
And Scottismen avansit wiþ þai.
Off all conditioun and of age,
Baith auld and ȝoung, man and page,
Be deliuerance of counsall
Than out of Scotland wes put haill.
That in Scotland were wonnand then,
Quheþer he ware vicare or persoune,
Be sentens of depriuatioun
Out throu all þe haill kinrik
Ilk bischop in his bischoprike
288
And Scottismen avansit wiþ þai.
Off all conditioun and of age,
Baith auld and ȝoung, man and page,
Be deliuerance of counsall
Than out of Scotland wes put haill.
That ilk ȝere als in Dunbare
Mony slane in batall ware:
Schire Patrik þe Grahame, a noble knycht,
Stout and manly, bald and wycht;
With mony vthire gentilmen
Thare were slane, and woundit þen.
The Erll of Ross þare Schir William,
A lord commendit of gret fame,
Sexty knychtis to þai and ten,
And squyaris mony, manly men,
And mony oþer faire personis,
Famouss lordis and baronis,
Fled to þe castell out of þat stoure,
Lypnand þare till haue had succour.
Bot Richard of Sward, at wes þan
Off þat castell capitane,
Resauit þame rycht glaidsumly,
And syne gert bynd þame sickerly;
And, bunding as scheip, in Ingland
He send þaim sa in to presand
Till King Eduard with þe langschankis,
That ȝald him þarfor mony thankis.
Mony slane in batall ware:
Schire Patrik þe Grahame, a noble knycht,
Stout and manly, bald and wycht;
With mony vthire gentilmen
Thare were slane, and woundit þen.
The Erll of Ross þare Schir William,
A lord commendit of gret fame,
Sexty knychtis to þai and ten,
And squyaris mony, manly men,
And mony oþer faire personis,
Famouss lordis and baronis,
Fled to þe castell out of þat stoure,
Lypnand þare till haue had succour.
Bot Richard of Sward, at wes þan
Off þat castell capitane,
Resauit þame rycht glaidsumly,
And syne gert bynd þame sickerly;
And, bunding as scheip, in Ingland
He send þaim sa in to presand
Till King Eduard with þe langschankis,
That ȝald him þarfor mony thankis.
| CHAPTER CXLIV. The Original Chronicle of Andrew of Wyntoun | |