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 bello apud Lyncolniam per Arthurum. |
 | The Story of England |  |
De bello apud Lyncolniam per Arthurum.
To Lyncolne wente ilka baroun,ffor Cheldryk hadde biseged þe toun.
Wyþoute noise, sp[e]che, or cry,
Þey come to Lyncolne al stillely;
No scaþe ȝit þe toun had taken,
ffor þey wyþynne held þem wel waken.
347
Bot horn ne trompe dide non blowe,
Ne oþer dene in none manere,
Til alle were splayed ilka banere,
Alle þey wroughte at on a-vys,
& priuely þe felle o þeyr enemys.
Neuere ȝyt byfore of no Saxon
Was er so gret destruccion,
In no stude þer men wyst whare;
ffor sex þousand wer slayn þare.
Þey caste þer armes, þer horses let,
Naked þey fledde on þer fet,
In to þe water faste þey ran,
Of þeym were drenkled many a man;
Þe Bretons on þem were euere prest,
Þey suffred þem nought to haue no rest.
A wode byside hight Calydoun,
Þat now men calleþ hit ffyskertoun;
By þe water side þe wode was set,
Þer-inne had þey gret recet.
Þe Bretons byhalued þe wode aboute,
Þat no Saxon dirst come wyþoute;
Arthur dide hit loke so streit;
ffor þe nyght he dredde deseit,
He dide hewe tres & pykke,
& palysed hit aboute ful þykke;
Tre ouer tre, stok ouer stok,
As þikke as men myghte hem schok.
His ost was logged to þat oþer party,
Þat non com in, ne ȝede forby.
Þo in þe wode hadde no mete,
348
Ne nought had purueyd þer byforn,
Neyþer bred, [ne] mele ne corn;
Þey were so hasted, faste þey fley,
Bot helpless weren fer or ney.
Þre dayes hit was þey nought ete,
Ne nought drank þat was wete;
Þey sey wel alle þat þey schuld deye,
Þorow force myghte þey make no weye.
Þey toke conseil oþer weys,
‘To leue armes & harneys,
‘In pes to þer schypes to go
‘Wyþouten any more wo,
‘& þey schold leue þem god hostage,
‘Þer best men of noblest lynage,
‘& gyue hym truwage ilka ȝer
‘In pes, wyþouten wo & wer.’
And Arþur gaf hem þe grauntyse
ffor to wende forþ on þat wyse:
Ostage he tok atte remenaunt,
Þat þey schold holde þe couenant;
He deliuered þem schipes wyþoute mo harmes,
& lefte þer robes, & harneys of armes;
Al senglely to schipe þey went,
No þyng was þem gyue ne lent;
& ȝit he dide gret curtesy
Þat wyþ þe lyf gaf hem merci.
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