The Story of England :: :: University of Virginia Library

Lordynges that be now here,
if ȝe wille listene & lere
All the story of Inglande
als Robert Mannyng wryten it fand,
& on Inglysch has it schewed,
not for þe lerid bot for þe lewed,
ffor þo þat in þis land[e] wone
þat þe Latyn no Frankys cone,
ffor to haf solace & gamen̄
In felawschip when̄ þai sitt samen.
And it is wisdom for to wytten
þe state of þe land, & haf it wryten,
what manere of folk first it wan,
& of what kynde it first began;
And gude it is for many thynges
for to here þe dedis of kynges,
whilk were foles, & whilk were wyse,
& whilk of þam couthe most quantyse,
and whilk did wrong, & whilk ryght,
& whilk maynten[e]d pes & fyght.

Of þare dedes sall be my sawe;
& what tyme, & of what lawe
I sall yow schewe fro gre to gre
sen þe tyme of sir Noe,
ffro Noe vnto Eneas,
& what betwix þam was;
And fro Eneas till Brutus tyme,
[OMITTED]
ffro Brutus till Cadwaladres,
þe last Bryton þat þis lande lees.
All þat kynde & all þe frute
þat come of Brutus, þat is þe Brute;
And þe ryght Brute is told nomore
þan þe Brytons tyme wore.
After þe Bretons þe Inglis camen,
þe lordschip of þis lande þai namen,
Southe & northe; west & est,
þat calle men̄ now þe Inglis gest.
when þai first [came] amang þe Bretons,
þat now ere Inglis, þan were Saxons;
Saxons Inglis hight alle oliche;
þai aryued vp at Sandwyche
In þe kynges tyme Vortogerne,
þat þe lande walde þam not werne.
þat were Maysters of alle þe toþire,
Hengist he hight, & Hors his broþire;
þes were hede, als we fynde,
where-of is comen oure Inglis kynde.
A hundrethe & fifty ȝere þai com
or þai receyued cristendom̄;
So lang woned þai þis lande in,
or þai herde out of Saynt Austyn,
Amang þe Bretons with mykelle wo,
In sclaundire & threte, & in thro.
þes Inglis dedes ȝe may here,
as Pers telles alle þe manere.
One Mayster Wace þe ffrankes telles,

þe Brute, all þat þe Latyn spelles,
ffro Eneas till Cadwaladre;
þis Mayster Wace þer leues he.
And ryght as Mayster Wace says,
I telle myn Inglis þe same ways;
ffor Mayster Wace þe Latyn alle rymes
þat Pers ouerhippis many tymes.
Mayster Wace þe Brute alle redes,
& Pers tellis alle þe Inglis dedes;
þer Mayster Wace of þe Brute left,
ryght begynnes Pers [þer] eft,
And tellis forth þe Inglis story,
& as he says, þan say I.

Als þai haf wryten̄ & sayd,
haf I alle in myn Inglis layd,
In symple speche as I couthe,
þat is lightest in mannes mouthe.
I mad noght for no disours,
ne for no seggers, no harpours,
Bot for þe luf of symple men̄
þat strange Inglis can̄ not ken̄;
ffor many it ere þat strange Inglis
In ryme wate neuer what it is;
And bot þai wist what it mente,
ellis me thoght it were alle schente.
I made it not forto be praysed,
bot at þe lewed men̄ were aysed.
If it were made in ryme couwee,
or in strangere or enterlace,
þat rede Inglis it ere inowe,
þat couthe not haf coppled a kowe,
þat outhere in couwee or in baston
som suld haf ben fordon,
so þat fele men þat it herde
suld not witte howe þat it ferde:
I see in song, in sedgeyng tale
of Erceldoun & of Kendale,

Non þam says as þai þam wroght,
& in þer sayng it semes noght;
þat may þou here in sir Tristrem;
ouer gestes it has þe steem,
Ouer alle that is or was,
if men̄ it sayd as made Thomas;
But I here it no man̄ so say,
þat of som copple som is away;
So þare fayre sayng here beforn̄
is þare trauayle nere forlorn̄;
þai sayd it for pride & nobleye,
þat non were suylk as þei;
And all þat þai wild ouerwhere,
all þat ilk will now forfare.
þai sayd in so quante Inglis
þat many one wate not what it is.
þerfore [I] henyed wele þe more
In strange ryme to trauayle sore;
And my witte was oure thynne
So strange speche to trauayle in;
And forsoth I couth[e] noght
so strange Inglis as þai wroght;
And men̄ besoght me many a tyme
to turne it bot in light[e] ryme;
þai sayd, if I in strange it turne,
to here it manyon suld skurne;
ffor it ere names full selcouthe
þat ere not vsed now in mouthe;
And þerfore for þe comonalte
þat blythely wild listen to me,
On light[e] lange I it began̄,
for luf of þe lewed man̄,
to telle þam þe chaunces bolde
þat here before was don & tolde.
ffor þis makyng I will no mede
bot gude prayere when ȝe it rede;
þerfore, [alle] ȝe lordes lewed,

ffor wham I haf þis Inglis schewed,
Prayes to God he gyf me grace,—
I trauayled for ȝour solace;—
Of Brunne I am, if any me blame,
Robert Mannyng is my name;
Blissed be he of God of heuene
þat me, Robert, with gude wille neuene;
In þe third Edwardes tyme was I
when̄ I wrote alle þis story,
In þe hous of Sixille I was a throwe;
Danz Robert of Malton̄ þat ȝe know,
did it wryte for felawes sake,
when̄ þai wild solace make.

Dares Frigius, qui historiam Troianorum scripsit, ait se militasse vsque dum Troia capta est, hosque duces se vidisse cum indutie essent & partim prelio interfuisse.

Dares the Freson of Troie first wrote,
& putt it in buke þat we now wote;
he was a clerk and a gude knyght,
when Troie was lorn he sawe þat fight;
Alle þe barons wele he knewe,
he tellis þer stature & þer hewe,
long or schorte, whyte or blak,
alle he telles, gude or lak.
Alle þer lymmes, how þai besemed,
In his buke has Dares demed,
Both of Troie & of Grece,
whatkyns schappe was ilka pece;
Of manyon he reknes & sayes,
both of Troiens & of Gregeis,
þat it were oure long to telle,
& many wald not þer-in duelle
þare names alle forto here,
bot þe Latyn is fayre to lere.

Ego Galfridus Arthurus Monemutensis, qui hanc historiam Britonum de eorum lingua in nostram transferre curaui, dimitto fortunas successoribus meis scribendas.

Geffrey Arthure of Minumue,
fro Breton speche he did remue,
& made it alle in Latyn
þat clerkes haf now knawyng in.
In Gloucestre was fonden a buke
þat þe Inglis couthe not rede no luke,
On þat langage þai knew no herde;
bot an erle þat hyght Roberde,
he prayed þat ilk clerk Geffrey
to turne it fro þat speche away
In-to Latyn, as it mente,
þat þe Inglis mot know þe entente;
ffor Geffrey knew þe langage wele,
In Latyn he broght it ilka dele.
Siþen com a clerk, Mayster Wace,
to make romance had he grace,
& turned it ro Latyne,
& rymed it in Frankis fyne
vnto þe Cadwaladres;
no forer, þer makes he ses.
Als Geffrey in Latyn sayd,
so Mayster Wace in Frankis layd;
þe date of Criste was þan þis lyue,
A thousand ȝere fifty & fyue.
Than com out of Brydlyngton
Pers of Langtoft, a chanon;
Als Mayster Wace þe same he says,
bot he rymed it oþer ways;
he begynnes at Eneas,
of alle þe Brute he tellis þe pas,
& s[i]þen alle þe Inglis dedis;
feyrere langage non ne redis.

After þe Inglis kynges he says þer pris
þat all in metir fulle wele lys;
And I, Robert, fulle fayn wald bringe
In Inglis tonge þer faire saiynge.
God gyve me grace wel to spede,
þys rym on Englische for to rede.

Genealogia primi regis Troge & Enee a Noe et Saphet vsque ad Loquerinum deducta.

Now of þe story wyl we gynne:
Whan God took wreche of Kaymes synne,
Þe erthe was waryed in his werk—
Als y þe bible seys þe Clerk,—
& þerfore God sente a flood
Þat fordide al flesche & blood,
Man & best þat beren lyues,
Bot foure men & foure wyues.
So mykel was þenne mannes trespas,
Þat alle þat euer of Adam was
Wyþynne a þousand ȝer & mo,
In þat flod were lorn alle þo.
Bot Noe & his þre sones
And þeir wyues—þe bible hit mones—
Wer none worthi in Godes sight,
Ne non bot þese þat liueden ryght.

þyse were þo þat skaped þe deþ,
Noe, Seem, Cam, & Sapheþ,
And þer wyues þat wiþ þem nam;
þo þat now ar, of þys folk þey cam.

Þyse Noe sones, ȝe han wel herd
How þey departed al þys werd:
þey departed [it] in þre parties,
And names gaf at þeir deuis,
Assye, Aufryk, & Europe;
þys ar þe parties, wel y hope.
Sem was þe eldest: he ches Assye;
Cam took Aufryk til his partie;
Saphet, Europè he took;
& þus þey parted, als seyþ þe book.

Tot terre sunt in vniuerso mundo.

How many landes in ilk of þyse,
Ilk a partie haþ þeyr assise:
In Assye fiftene landes are,
Bot þer names we seye no mare:
India, Assery, and Partye,
Sire, Perce, Mede, Mesapotanie,
Capadoce, Palestine, & Armenye,
Cylyce, Cades, & Arrabye,
Al Egipte, & Lybye;
þyse ar þe landes in Assye.

Tyl Aufryk twelf landes longe,
Þat Cam til his partie gan fonge:
Cireneus, Pentapolys, & Lyddya,
Ethiope, Tripolitan, & Pysancia,
Gentulye, Natabrie, Numidye,
Maurytan & Tynguytanie;
Sirtes þe more & þe lasse,
ffor þe twelfte teld hit es.

ffiftene landes ar in Europe,
Saphethes partie, þer dwelleþ þe Pope:
Romanie, Calabre, Poille, & Spayne,
Massedoigne & Alemaygne,
Tracye, Dalmank, & Pamonie
Lange-dok, ffraunce, Acquitonie,
Brytaigne, Irland,—þyse arn þe best,—
And al þe Northe toward þe west.
Now schal we telle as we fynde
How Eneas com of Saphethes kynde;
ffol merk hit ys for to here,
Bot algate a man may lere.

Genealogia, siue generacio.

Noe þat God saued fro deþ.
His sone was cald sire Saphet.
Iauan, his sone þat cam of hym,
He hadde a sone þat hight Setym;

Setymes sone, Ciprius hight,
A man of ffame & of myght;
So mikel þat tyme was his fame,
þe lande of Cipre of hym had name.
Of þys noble sire Cyprius,
Was a sone þat hight Cretus;
þis Cretus an ilde he augte,
þe name of hym Cret hit laughte.
Cretus sone hyghte Cellius,
And Cellius sone was Saturnus;
Saturnus sone highte Iubiter,
In astronomie he lerede fer.
Þis ilk Iubiter had twey wyues,
Kynges doughtres, faire lyues;
Þat on hight Maye, þat oþer Electra,
Þe ffader hight Aclas of þem twa;
ffor Aclas alle hise men calde,
Mons Aclatis ȝif hit now halde;
Þe hil was so hey, as men hit leet,
Þat heuen (men seye) hit vnder-feet.
Þys noble kynge sire Aclas,
In his orchard a tre þer was,
þat gilden apples hit bar ere-more
Al þe tyme þat apples wore;
& alwey on dragon hem kepte;
Syn were þey stolen þe while he slepte.

þys Iubiter lay dame Maye by,
& gat on hure sire Mercury;
Of Electra he gat an oþer,
Dardanum, Mercurius brother.
Iubiter loued wel more Maye
And Mercury þan þe oþer twaye,
Wel more Maye & Mercurium
Þan Electra or Dardanum.
ffor loue of Maye he dide calle
Þe monthe of May þat we knowe alle;
ffor in that month made þey feste,
Þat time þey helden most honeste.
Þys Darda[n]um gaf hym to chiualrie;
Mercury gaf him al to clergie.

þys Dardanus was a noble kynge,
Hys Godes schewed hym mykel þynge,
& bed him gon til Ytalye,
Toward Samo, þorough Tracye;
(Tracie for-sothe ys a lond,
Samo a contre, y vnderstond;)
Þe whilk Dardan þorow maistrie
Mad hem boþ on, Samo-Tracye;
Samo-Tracie haþ his deuise.
Syþen he wente in-til ffrise,
& gaf hit name when he þer cam,
After him self Dardaniam;
Þe name of ffryse calde Dardanye,
Als he calde Tracye Samotracye.
Of þys Dardan com a sone
Erectorius, þat þer gan wone.

þys Erectorius a sone he gat,
Troius; a noble man was þat
Of rightfulnesse & pitee;
Ouer alle oþer praised was he
ffor a rightful man & hende,
Of hym ys mynsyng wiþ-outen ende,
ffor he made a cite of ioye
After his name, & calde hit Troye;
Of þys Troye, þys stori mones,
Com of hym to noble sones,
Þat on hight Ile, þat oþer Asserak,
Þys wer þer names, þe stori spak;
Ile was after his ffader kynge,
He made a cite of fair byggynge,
And after him selue made hit ryght,
Ilye after Ile hit hight.
Of þis Ile a sone was on,
& his name was Laomedon;
Þys Laomedon a bataille chees;
He was slayn wyþ Ercules.
Of Troye was mad destructione
Þorow Iason, kynge Pelles sone.
Of þys nys nought to tellen her,
ffor hit ys nought of oure mater.
Of Laomedon com Priamus,
Volcontus, and Ysypilus;
& a doughter of him cam,
Hure name was Esionam.

Of Pryamus, eldest & mor,
He had a sone men cald Ector,
& oþer syxe, & doughtres two,
Þe names may ȝe here of þo;

Alysaundre, Parys, Deyphebum,
Elenim, Troyl, Amphimacum;
& two doughtres þat of him cam,
Cassandram & Pollixenam.
Of Troies bifore an oþer sone,
Asserak, ȝe herde me mone.
of þys Asserak now geten es
A sone men callede Kapes;
& of Kapes Enches was,
An[d] of Enches cam Eneas:
Þys ys þe kynde, fro gre til gre,
Bytwyxten Eneas & Noe.

Bot now donward hit ys þus,
ffro Eneas vntil sire Brutus:
Sire Eneas hadde sones twa,
Askaneus was by dame Creusa;
I þe bataille of Troye y-monge þe pres,
Hys wyf Creusa þere he les.

Whan þe Duk sire Eneas
ffro þe bataille a-scaped was,
He cam in-to þe lond of Latyne,
& þer wedded dame Lauyne.
Latin highte þenne þe landes
þat men sayn þat Rome in standes.
By dame Lauyne þat leuedy
He gat a sone þat highte Syluy;
Hys eldeste sone Ascaneus,
He gat a child Cycillius;
Þylke Cycylli gat þat man

Brutus, þat al þys land first wan.
Of Brutus cam sire Lokeryn,
Kamber, Albanak, Euen, Iulyn:
How þey departed þys land in þrynne,
Þat may ȝe heren wel wyþynne.
Now haue y s[eyd] al þe kynde
Vntil Lokerynes, as we ffynde;
Now ageynward vntil Noe,
Schortly to seye, wilt þou se
Þe kynde of alle þat y er of spak,
And of Troies sones, Ile & Asserak.

Lokeryn com of Brutus,
Brutus was geten of Cicillius;
Cicilli, Askaneus sone was,
& Askaneus com of Eneas,
Eneas com of Enchise;
Enches, Kapes sone was he;
Capes com of Asserak;
Asserak, of Troies blod he brak,
Troies cam of Eryctonius,
Erycton com of Dardanus,
Dardan com of Iubiter,
Iubiter was Saturnus heyr,
Saturnus cam of Cellius,
& Selius cam of sire Cretus,
And Cretus cam of Cyprim,
& Ciprius cam of Setym,
Setym com of Iauan,
& Iauan of Saphet gan,
And Saphet cam of sire Noe:
Of Asserak þys ys þe degre.

Now schul we seye of ylke parti:
Ector cam of Pryamy,
Priamus com of Laomedon,
Laomedon of Ile gan;
Ile cam of Troyus,
& Troyus of Erectonius;
Erector cam of kynge Dardan,
Dardanus of Iubiter ran,
And Iubiter cam of Saturnus,
And Saturnus of Celius,
Celius com of Cretus,
And Cretus com of Cyprius,
Ciprius of Cetym gan,
& Cetyn com of Iauan;
Iauan, Iaphethes sone was he,
And Saphet com of sire Noe:
Of Troius sones þyse ar þe kyndes,
Þat bothe in-to Noe byndes.
Now, lordynges, hit were to witen
Whi þe bataille of Troye was smiten:
Þe laste meschaunce & þe peyne
Was for þe Quene of Grece, Eleyne;
Þe kynges wyf of Grece scheo was,
Þat Parys rauisched þorow a cas.
Þat werre was in tyme ser,
& lasted two & twenty ȝer.
ffor þat werre þe barons fledde
Þat weren in Troye born & fedde;
How hit bigan, þe laste bale,
Listneþ, & [I] schal telle þe tale,
Of Troye þe firste destructione,
Þat cam þorow Iasan, Pelles sone,

Þat wan the Ram wiþ the fles of golde,
Þat neuere man of erthe molde
Mighte hit wynne byfore wiþ fyght,
Bot sire Iasan þe gode knyght
Whan þe Ram wyþ gilden flees,
& stryed Troye wiþ alle þe cites;
Bot þe kyng sire Pryami
Bigged hit a-geyn fol noblely,
& vitailled hit of ston & corn;
Was hit neuer so fair biforn;
Bot siþen þe laste sorewe & peyne
Was hit neuere bygged ageyne.
How hit bygan, þe laste bale,
List a partie of þe tale.

Exe de Troia de qua-causa bellum fuit ammotum.

In Troye was a Duc of prys,
Pryamy sone þat highte Parys.
Custume was bi þo dawes,
In tyme of þe elde lawes,
Knygtes scholden kepe bestes,
Als y haue herd rede[n] in gestes.
þe Bible wytnesseþ wel þys þynge
Of Moyses & Dauid þe kynge;
Schold non bot of gentil blod,
Erl or duc, or also god,
Bestes kepe, bot he were knyght,
& stalworthe in armes for to fyght,

And hardy, & of honur,
He kepte bestes y þe pastour,
Swylk on was þys ilke Parys,
A duk hardi, & a knyght wys;
He kepte bestes in þe feld
As a knyght armed wiþ scheld.
Als Parys sat at his hole,
Out fro Grece þer cam a bole;
To Paris bestes was his draught,
And wiþ Parys bole he faught.

Exe pugnum inter Taurum Troie & Taurum Grecie.

Ilkon oþer gan faste assaille,
& Parys biheld þeir bataille;
Þey foughte so longe, hit was a wonder,
Bot at þe laste þey ȝede a sonder.
An oþer day he com ageyn,
& foughte to-gydere, þys boles tweyn;
So foughte þei mani daies longe,
ffelenous batailles & fol stronge.
Paris seide, “Now schal y se
“Whilk is worthi to haue þe gre,
“& whilk of hem maistri schal haue,
“To coroune hym y vouche hit saue.”

A day þei foughte fol felonlike,
& stalworly to-gyder gon stryke;
So longe þey foughte, þat atte laste
Þe bole of Troye doun was caste.

When Parys saugh his bole doun,
þe bole of Grece he gaf þe croun;
& þat was gret curtesye,
To gyue þe bole þe maistrie,
& late hym gon corouned quit
Þat hadde ydon his bole despit.
Þere biside þre wicches ware,
Ladies were cald, & in þe eyr dide fare;
þyse þre stoden & byheld
þe boles bataille in þe feld,
& praised mikel sire Paris
Þat he gaf þat bole þe pris;
Þey seide he was a man of skyl
Þat gaf þe dom as fel þer til;
ffor he þat was þe pris worþy,
He corouned hym, and gaf þe maistri.
Þyse þre leuedies were of might;
Þe principale, Iuno scheo hight;
Þat oþer Pallas, þe þrydde Venus,
Alle þre leuedies highten þus.
Iuno, scheo was gyuere of myght,
Pallas gaf wysdam & right,
Dame Venus, sche gaf loue til man.
Bytwyxte þise þre a strif bigan,
Whilk of hem were fayrest:
At Paris dom þei wolde hit kest.
Dame Iuno seide, “hit am y;”
Þat oþer seid, “nay truely!
“To Paris dom we graunten alle,
“Þe whilk of vs fairest schal falle.”

De consilio Iuno et adulacione sua.

Dame Iuno seide hure auys,
“We schal don hit vpon Parys,
“& he schal ben oure domes man.”
þe oþere seide, “We graunte þan.”
“Now,” sche seide “we graunten al;
“Go we now & make a bal,
“& gyue we hit Parys alle þre,
“And preye we hym for specialte
“To gyue hit hure þat semes best,
“Of vs þre whilk ys fairest.”
Þys ilke conseil þey toke til pay;
Whan hit schold be þey sette a day.

Lege per totum vlterius.

Hereþ now of a quynte wyle,
How eche of þo þoughte oþer gyle.
Ar þat day com þat þey set,
Iuno wiþ sire Parys met:
“Paris,” scheo seyþ, “y schal ȝow seye
“A priuete by-twixte vs beye:
“We þre ladies han ordeyned so
“Þat alle þre schulle come þe to,
“& take þe a bal, & preye þe
“To gyue hit þe fairest of vs þre;
“& wham þou gyue hit, ys oure deuis,
“Scheo schal for euere bere þe prys.

“& ȝif y myghte biseke þe so,
“Þou woldest gyue hit me, Iuno;
“I schal þe graunte þorow my power,
“In Troye schold neuere be þy per.”
Parys seide, “dame, graunt mercy!
Right as þou wilt, al so wil y.”
Whan scheo was gon, cam Pallas
ffor þat same þat Iuno was;
Scheo preied Parys, als scheo had seyd,
Þat þe bal were til hure y-leyd:
“Of wysdam y schal gyue þe grace
“Ouer alle oþer in ilk a place.”
Parys seide, þat was curteys,
“Hit may be, lady, ȝyt as þou seys.”

Whan scheo was gon, cam dame Venus,
& to Parys scheo seide al þus:
“Parys,” scheo seide, “we ladies are
“Þre in gret þought & in care;
“& þou may bate al þat gilt
“Of vs alle ȝif þat þou wylt.
“Y am,” scheo seide, “on of þo
“Þat ys in þought to þe to go.
“A day we set to þe to come,
“ffor to stonde al at þy dome;
“A bal,” scheo seide, “we schul þe brynge,
“& preie þe vpon alle þynge
“Þou gyue hit hure þat fairest semes,
“ffor þy dom vs alle quemes.
“& ȝif þou gyue hit me, Parys,
“I schal þe gyue a loue of pris,
“Þe fairest lady þat now lyues,
“ffor þe bal, ȝif þou hit me gyues.”

Parys þoughte, & stod þen stille;
To þat loue turnd al his wille;
He seide, “Iuno hyghte me poer;
“Þerof,” he seid, “ys no mester;
“Kynges sone y am, & lord schal be;
“Poer ynow schal come to me.
“& Pallas highte me gret wysdam;
“In Troye nis wyser þan y am;
“Of þyse gyftes ys no ned;
“To loue þat lady ys al my sped.”
To þat gift his herte gaf al:
“Venus,” he saide, “þou getes þe bal
“ȝyf þou me hold þat þou hast het,
“Þou getest þe bal at ȝoure day set.”
Þey graunted boþe atter pay,
& com alle þre at þer day,
& bytok Parys þe bal;
At his dom þey stoden al.
Parys tok þe bal in his hand:
“So faire ladies ar none lyuand;
“Bot me þynkes of ȝow þre
“Dame Venus semes fairest to be.
“Haue here þe bal, dame Venus;
“ffairest to be, me þynkeþ ryght þus.”
Þys lady Venus was al glad,
Þe oþere were for wrayth al mad;
Venus held wiþ hym certeyn,
Þe oþere boþe were hym ageyn;
Poer & wysdam he forsok;
& womman loue, þer-til he tok.

Dame Venus seide to sire Parys,
“Þou schalt don at myn auys:
“Puruey þe,” scheo seide, “veir & grys,
“ffaire iueles, & pourpre & bys;
“Do dight a schip wiþ sail & ore
“Ryght as þou a marchaund wore;
“Of alle queyntise þat þou may se,
“Haue vn-to þy schip wyþ þe;
“Do make þerinne a fol fair bed,
“Wiþ cloþes of gold hit be al spred;
“Þy schip wiþoute be fol fair dight,
“Lykynge to þat lauedy sight.
“Þerinne to Grece schalt þou wende;
“In an hauene schalt þou lende
“Þer þe kynge ys, & þe Quene;
“& whan scheo haþ þe schip al sene,
“Scheo schal ȝerne on alle wyse
“ffor to se þy marchaundise;
“Bot loke þou schewe non of þo,
“Bot scheo wile in to þy schip go;
“& whan scheo heres þat tydynge,
“Scheo schal praie ful faste þe kynge
“To gyue hire leue to se þy ware,
“To bye þerof þat so riche are.
“Loke þou schewe noman nought
“Til þat sche first be hider brought,
“ffor out of wyt wommen ȝernes
“Þat men forbedes hure, & wernes.

“& whan scheo his brought vnto þy schip,
“By þe hand redy þou hure kyp,
“& curteysly þat scheo be led,
“& set hure faire opon þy bed;
“Do cortine hit al aboute
“Þat scheo se nought wyþynne ne wyþoute,
“& whan scheo ys on þy bed set,
“Loke wel þat þy schip be get;
“Lat non come vnder þy telde
“Mo þan þou may lightly welde;
“Loke þy schip be vnfest,
“& þy folk be al prest;
“And what þynge þat sche wil craue,
“Do hit hure redy for to haue,
“Þat scheo tende to no þynge elles
“Bot til þat ware þat þou hure selles.
“Whan redy ys þyn apparail,
“Lat þy men haue vp þe sayl,
“& loke þou be to myle or þre
“Ar scheo wite wyþynne þe se;
“& do þenne þat lady to wyte
“How þy iueles wyl hure syte.”
Parys dide as Venus kende,
& dighte þe schip,—wel he wende,—
Wyþ alle queintyse þat was gay,
& aryued vp þer þe kinge lay.
Menlaus highte þe kynge;
He sente to wyte what maner þynge
Was in þe schip for to selle.
“Riche iueles,” þey gan him telle,

“Bot non ne mighte for gold ne fe
“Out of þe schip gete ought to se.”
Þat herde telle þe quene Heleyne.
Nyght & day sche dide hire peyne,
Of þe kynge to haue grauntyse
To se þat ylke marchaundyse.
What wyþ wel oþer wyþ wo,
Leue scheo gat þyder to go.

Exe de Raptu Helene Regine Grecie.

Vnto þe schip was scheo brought:
Parys þe [duk] forgat he nought
þat he ne dide as Venus bad.
ffor þe quene comynge he was fol glad;
ffaire iueles forth þey drowe,
& schewed þe lady right ynowe;
& whyles þei richesse bifore hure caste,
Þer sayl þey drow vp by þe maste.
Þys lady Heleyne gaf no tent,
Me non of hures, how þe schip out went;
Wyþynne a þrowe, to mile or þre
Was þe schip wyþynne þe se.

Whan þey weren fro þe lond,
Parys tok þe quene by þe hond:
“Welcome,” he saide, “art þou to me!
“ffor þe cam y to þys contre;
“Now y haue þe, mykel is my ioye,
“Þy fairehede schal mende al Troye;

“Þou were me gyuen; þat gyft y haue;
“Al my trauaille, y vouche hit saue.”
Y kan nought sey of þat leuedy
Wheþer scheo was glad or sory;
Bot whan hure lord þe kyng hit wist,
Ioye to make him ne lyst;
After his barons alle he sent
& schewede hem how þat he was schent;
‘Þat a schip of Troye was comen,
Þe quene þorow treson þey nomen.’
Whan þei alle wiste þys grete despit,
Wiþ o wille þey seyde fol tyt,
Þei scholde neuere reste ne lende
To struye Troye wyþouten ende.
Here-fore bigan þe sorewe and peyne,
Þe slaughtre of Troye, for þys Heleyne;
Þys slaughter was yn bataille seer,
& lasted two & twenty ȝer
Bytwyxte þe Troiens & þe Gregeys,
Als þe stories wytnesses & seys.
At a batalle þat þey set,
Troye & Grece at ones met,
At which bataille þe Troiens lees,
& fledde fro þat mykel prees.
Þat mighte fle, fledde ay-whore,
& Troye destruyed for euere more.
Al þe werd makes ȝyt menynge
How Troye was struyed for þys þynge;
Clerkes wyse yn boke hit wrot,
Þorow whiche wrytynge wel alle hit wot;

Þey write þe names of þe kynges
& of alle þe oþer lordynges,
Whilke were men of most honur,
Þat fledde fro þe grete stour.

A gret lord of Troye þer was,
Men calde duk Eneas;
ffor þat grete slaughter he fled,
Hys sone Askaneus wiþ hym led;
Sone ne doughter had he namo
Whan he fledde þe cite fro;
In þe slaughtre a-monge þe pres,
Hys wyf Creusa, he hure les.
þys Eneas fledde him self to saue,
Hys sones lif & his to haue;
Wyþ mikel vitaille & tresor good
He charged twenty schipes on flood.
He dwelte longe in þe se,
& many perille ascapede he.
Wyþ alle þe wo þat he gan dreye,
He cam to þe lond of Ytalye.
(Italye was kalled þenne
Þe land þat Rome now standes ynne:
Of Rome þat ilke tyme was nought,
Ne longe after was hit wrought.)
Eneas þat had al þat trauaille,
What in se & in bataille,
Atte laste he gan aryue
In Ytalye, a lond plentyue.
By þe water of Tyber land þey nome,
By whilk water now standeþ Rome.

De Rege Italye siue Latinorum.

Þe kynge of þe land, Latyn he hight,
A riche man, & mykel of myght,
& hadde ynow his lond to welde,
Bot þat he was smyten in-to elde.
He worschiped muche sire Eneas,
& fayn of hys comynge was,
& seide, ‘ȝyf he wolde leue stille,
He wolde gyue hym land at wylle.’
Latynes þe kynge, he had non eyr
Bote a maide swythe fayr;
Þys damysele highte Lauyne.
Þe kyng seyde, “Scheo schal be þyne;
“I wyle þat [þou] after myn endynge
“My doughter wedde, & be þou kynge.”
Bot þer-til graunted nought þe quen;
Scheo wold þat an oþer had[de] ben.
ffor he dide nought as wold his wyfe,
Þerfore ros a newe strife:

Þer biside a riche man,
Turnus he highte, lord of Tuskan;
Þys Turnus hadde yloued Lauyne,
& herde seye þat þe kyng Latyne
Had gyuen his doughter sire Eneas,
And hadde enuye þat hit so was,
ffor Turnus had loued hure longe ar hee,
& hadde grauntise his wif to be;

He bed his body, his ouer myght,
Wyþ Eneas al-one to fyght.
Sire Eneas was þer-of fayn,
Þey faught togyder, Turnus was slayn,
Eneas wedded þe mayden ȝynge;
Þen was scheo quen, & he was kynge.
Þanne fond he non þat hym noyed,
Ne nought of his lond destruyed;
Siþen he wedded Lauyne his wyfe,
He held þe lond wyþouten strife.
In pes foure ȝer he regned wel;
Wyþynne þe ȝeres he made a castel,
& gaf hit name þorow euery toun
After dame Lauyne, Lauyoun.
In þe ferþe ȝer, last of his lyf,
Of hym conceiued Lauyne his wyf;
& er þe child fel to be born,
Sire Eneas was ded byforn.
When Lauynes tyme was fulfyld,
Of hure was born (as grace hit wild,)
A knaue child, men kald him Syluius;
Hys to-name was Pollynius.
Askaneus, Eneas oþer sone
Þat com wyþ him, (as ȝe wel mone,)
After his fader þe lond he tooke,
His brother Syluius he dide hit looke,
Syluius his half brother was,
Gete of his ffader kynge Eneas.
Askaneus dide make a citee,
Þe name Albe þan gaf hit he;

Askaneus let dame Lauyne take
[þe castell þat Eneas did make;]
& al þat lond þat fel þer-til,
Dame Lauyne held hit at hire wyl.
Þe mawmet þat Eneas brought fro Troye,
In Lauyon he sette hem wyþ ioy;
Sythen com Askaneus his sone,
Brought þem tyl Albe þer he gan wone;
& þer-inne hadde þey neuere rest,
ffor o þe morn þe[y] were ageyn al prest
At þe castel of Lauyon,
& wold nought dwelle in Albe toun:
He ne wiste, ne was certeyn,
On what nanere þey come ageyn.
He regned foure & þrytty ȝer
In pes wyþouten wo & wer.

Whan Askaneus made his endynge,
Syluy his broþer regned kyng,
Þat was born of dame Lauyne,
Þe heritage he hadde in lyne.

A sone þen had Askaneus
His brother, highte Sysillius.
Þys ylke childe Sysilly
Loued Lauynes nece, & lay hure by—
& sche sone wax wiþ childe—
Als yonge men do þat ben wylde.

Hic natus est Brutus

Þe kynge dide his clerke calle,
& bad hem loke þer bokes alle,

‘What schold of þat child bycome,
Good or wykke, what maner dome.’
Þey seide, ‘þey founde (als þeym was wo,)
ffader & moder scholde he sloo,
& out of londe go for þat chaunce,
And siþen come to god cheuysance;
Passe he scholde mani a stour,
& syþen come to gret honur.’
Þey founde syþen, als þey seyde,
Þat of his burþe his moder deide;
His moder deide al so swiþe;
Þe child lyuede; þey were al bliþe.
Brutus, þus his name þey teld,
Whan he was of fiftene ȝer eld,
His ffader & he to wode þey went,
To venerye he gaf his tent;
An herde of hertes sone þey met,
At a triste to schete, Brutus was set;
He auysed hym opon an hert,—
Hys ffader passed bytwixt ouerthwert,—
& wyþ þat schote his ffader he slow;
Al vnwylland þat draught he drow.
Whan Brutus sey hys ffader ded,
He nyste what was best to red;
ffor deol & drede awey he nam
Tyl Grece fro when his fader cam;
Þe folk of Troye þer he fond,
Þat lyuede in seruage y þe lond.
Elenum, Pryamyes sone,

Wyþ sext þowsand þer gan wone,
& ȝyt mo lordynges ynowe,
Þat [þe] Gregeys to seruage drowe,
Þat Pyrrus held in his truage.
Achilles sone was þenne of age.

Brutus was þer bot a þrowe,
þat many his name gon wel knowe.
ffor his grete hardynesse,
ffor curtesye & for largesse,
Mykel louede hym his owen kynde,
& oþer til hym were ful mynde.
Grete gyftes þey gon hym gyue,
& seyde, “ȝyf we myght frely lyue,
“Ouer vs alle we wolde þe make
“Kynge, ȝyf þou wost vndertake.
“Oure folk ys waxen for þe maystri,
“& stalworthe are, & right hardy:
“ȝyf we had on þat we dredde,
“Þat vs in-til bataille ledde,
“& mayntened vs, & lered al so
“What in bataille we scholden do,
“Syker scholde he haue al oure seruage
“To ffredom brynge, or a-suwage.
“Seuen þousand now we are
“Of knyghtes to bataille ȝare,
“Wyþoute seriauntz & oþer pytaille
“Þat ar nought for to sette in taille.
“ȝyf þou wilt vnder-take þys þynge,
“We wyl þe make our alder kyng,

“& at þy biddynge we wyl bowe:
“Doute þe nought, we are ynowe;”

Als þey til hym spek often þus,
A bacheler men calde Assarakus
Was born y þe lond of Grece;
Of þat blod he hadde a spece,
ffor his ffader was Gregeys,
Hys moder of Troye, þe stori seys;
Hys ffader was a lordynge,
Þe most of þe lond saue þe kynge,
And gat hym opon bastardie
By on of Troye in rybaudie;
& for he gat hym on his rage,
He gaf hym in heritage
Þre casteles þat weren gode,
Tyl his cloþynge & his fode.
Hys brethren wold han reft hit hym,
Bot he bar hym so stout & grym;
ffor þe Trogens wiþ hym helde,
þe boldeloker bar vp his schelde,
ffor he was on þat wolde þem saue,
& at his castles recet to haue.
Wyþ his conseil & hys socour
Made þey Brutus þeyr gouernour.

Brutus sey & vnderstod
Hys folk was alle strong & god,
And hym self wel of myght
Þeym for to fende & to fight.
He dide enforce þe casteles wel;
Hys folk he warned ilk a del,

& bad hem to þe casteles drawe,
Þo þat were of Troyes lawe,—
Men & wymen & children ylkone
Þat to hym hadde mad þer mone—
& þider scholde þer godes lede,
Vntil þo casteles for doute & drede.
Whan þey hadde þer godes lad,
Byside þe casteles busked & spred,
& Brutus saugh his men wel dyght
All redy vnto þe fyght,
Brutus dide write a bref,
Vnto sire Pandras, kyng & chef;
Þys ys þe lettre þat he sent,
Þe latyn, y vnderstonde, þus ment:

Epistola Bruti ad Regem Grecorum.

“For þe schame & þe outrage
“þat ys don þe noble lynage
“Of kynge Dardan, our auncessour,
“At meschef ys in deshonur,
“In cheytifte longe haue þey leyn,
“Bot now þey hope to come ageyn;
“Wiþ o wille alle haue þey spoken,
“In o conseil alle ar þey loken—
“& wyþ þeym alle y am leued—
“Me to haue to þer heued;
“I sende to þe þer alder sawe,
“Þat to þe wode þey wil hem drawe;
“Þer ys hem leuere lyue yn wo,
“In wyldernesse wyþ bestes go,

“ffor to haue þer wille fre,
“Þan in þraldam haue plente;
“No maugre þou þeym cone
“Þaw þey wolde in fredom wone;
“Hit ys þer kynde fredom to haue;
“ffor þat whylom was lord, now ys he knaue.
“Merueille þe nought ȝyf þey haue grace,
“ffraunchise & fredom to purchace,
“ffor ilk man wolde—ȝyf he myght—
“In fredom lyue, als hit ys ryght.
“Þerfore þey pray þe wiþ gode wille—
“And y comaunde for drede of ylle—
“Þat heþen forward þou graunte hem fre,
“& namore in þy seruage be.
“Sire kyng, we aske þe bot skyle;
“Graunt vs to go wher þat we wyle.”

Whan þe kyng had herd þys writ,
Hym merueillede out of wyt
Þat þe Trogens were risen on heighte,
Þat þey wolde ben fre oþer feyghte.
He dide swythe make somons
ffor alle his erles and barons,
& ffor his broþer sire Antygon,
Sire Anacleton, & oþer on;
He telde hem þey of Troye were rysen,
& þoughte to make hem alle agrisen.

Whan Brutus wiste al þer bost,
Þat þe kyng purueyed an host,
Byforn y þe kynges weye
Brutus did hym enbusche & leye
Wiþ þre þousand armed & mo,

Þer kyng Pandras wende sauely go.
Bot Brutus ros of his enbuschement,
& slow al þat he myghte hent;
Þe Gregeys schadden sone asonder;
Þey were vnarmed, hit was no wonder;
Intil a water highte Akalon,
Þyder in flowe many on,
And drenkled þere a wel gret frape;
Þe oþere he closed, [t]hey myghte nought skape;
Many were drenkled, and mo were slayn,
Þe kynge þer fledde wiþ gret payn.

De bello inter Brutum & Regem Grecorum.

Þe kynges broþer Antygonus,
He sey þe chaunce fel on þem þus;
His folk he relyed hym to,
ffor to assay eft what þey might do;
“Schamely,” he sais, “ar we desconfit!
“Lat hem nought passe fro vs so quit.”
Whan þey were to-gyder y-comen,
Ageyn þe Trogens boldely þey nomen;
Þanne bigan a scharp bataille;
Egrely þe parties gonne assaille
Wiþ bowe & spere, & swerdes dynt;
Bot atte þe laste þe Gregeys tynt.
At þat metyng (among ylkon)
Taken was sire Antygon,

& an oþer, sire Anacletoun.
& best of hem were born doun:
Þyse two prisons, Brutus þem led;
Of þeym of Grece, fewe þer fledde.

Pandras þe kyng had sorw in sight
Þat he was so al desconfit,
& þat his brother taken was;
He com ageyn into þat pas,
& wende haue founde Brutus þore,—
Help he hadde, & purueyed more,—
Bot Brutus was til his castles gon
Wiþ Antygo & Anacleton;
He warnysched hem wiþ men of armes,
ffor he dredde deseite & harmes.
Whon þe kyng fond hym þer nought,
To bisege þe castel he þought;
Vnto þe sege he hym hastede
His purueaunce he wold were wastede;
Berfreys dide make to gyue assaut
Þat Brutus mought falle y þe faut;
To mangeneles he dide make stones,
Wiþ þer assaut to casten alle at ones.
Þey wyþynne stode in karneles,
Wyþ arblastes schotten ageyn quarels,
& grete tres ful vnryde

Þey caste agein on ylk a side;
Enginours þey hadde wyþynne ynowe,
At þeym wyþouten ageyn to þrowe,
Þat non dyrste comen þe wal ney,
Bot for drede hel[d] þeym a drey;
Þey casten wyldfyr wiþ engynes.
Brent þer bretaxkes, ropes, & lynes,
Cables, cordes, tymber þer was.
Who was þen wo bot kyng Pandras?
Bot he saw hit myghte nought vaille,
Þeyr assaut ne þeyr trauaylle;
He drow hym þeþen, & gaf hym place,
& bygan faste to manace;
He dyde make for fens a dyk
Aboute þe castel a gret stryk,
& closed yn al Brutes host,
Þat non myght skape by no cost.
Þe kyng dide ȝyt pale hit efte;
Bot þre entres, non was left.
Þe kyng dide so wel loke þo,
Þat non of hem myghte passe hem fro
To do Brutus no suwaute,
So wel was loked ylkan entre.

De obsidione Bruti per Regem Grecorum.

Þe sege was hard to þeym wyþynne,
& þey wyþoute myghte nought wynne,
Ne nought ne schold, of ful fer longe,

Ȝyf hit ne were for honger stronge;
Þe faute þey dredde comynge byforn,
Þe host was mykel, & lite had corn;
Þey asked Brutes of conseill,
What þey schold do for more vitail:
“Conseile vs er hit be goon,
“Hit ys to late whan we haue non,
“Whan we haue nough[t] vs to fede,
“Þe castel most we ȝelde nede.”
Þus þey seide, þe men were wyse,
& Brutus byþoughte hym of queintise:
Queyntise bihouede hym nedly þenke,
Þat his enemy schold waite a blenk;
& mykel peril byhoues hym haue,
Þat auntres hym his frend to saue.
Brutus had yn his prison
Antygon & Anacleton;
Brutes tok hym by þe top,
& seide, “Hedles schal þou hop!
“Bot þou do als y þe seye,
“Of myn hand[e] schalt þou deye,
“Boþe þe kynges broþer and þou;
“& boþe myght þou saue now.”
“Sire,” he seide, “do ȝour wille!
“How mygh[t] y vs saue fro ylle,
“Sey me, sire, on what manere;
“& ȝyf y may, y wol ȝow here.”
Brutus seyde, “þou schalt go
“Alone to nyght, wyþouten mo,

“To þeym þat loke þat on entre,
“& sey til hem als y sey þe:
“Sey þou hast stolen þe kynges brother
“Out of prison, & non oþer;
“In to þe wode þou hast hym led,
“Bot ferrer may þou nought, for dred,
“ffor þo men þat þe wode loke,
“Þat hym ne þe þey ouertoke;
“Bot ilkon, bid hem come wiþ þe,
“Þat noman byhinde be;
“& we schul be busched þer biside,
“& ȝyf y may, þey schol abyde
“Þat þey ne go nought vs to wrye,
“Ne [nought] desturble me my weye.”
Anacletus graunted wel,
ȝyf Brutus wold be tryst as stel
Þat his lyf he wolde hym saue.
Brutus dide hym sykernesse haue.
Anacletus, forþ he went,
& dide als Brutus had hym sent.

At bed-tyme, when men were in rest,
Brutus wiþ his folk was prest,
& wel armed wente þer weye
Þer he knew by o valeye.
In þe wode bisides þat entre
He busched hem in parties þre.
When al were busched, man & stede,
Anacletus bygan hym spede,
& com to þem þat kepte þe pas,
& seide, fro Brutus stolen he was.

Alle þey kende hym þat þer were,
& asked hym how he com þere;
Sire Antigon, þe kynges broþer,
Þey askede ȝif he lyuede als oþer.
He seide, “þe kynges brother & y
“Ar skaped out fol queyntely;
“In þe wode y haue hym hid
“ffor sight of men, ȝyf so bityd,
“ȝyf ony had perseyued vs
“& lad vs a-geyn til Brutus;
“Bot alone dar he nought go,
“Þerfore come y after mo;
“Þe gyues aboute his fet þey rynge,
“& alone dar y hym nought brynge;
“Comes wyþ me, y schal ȝow lede
“Þer he ys, & has gret drede.”
Þey trowed hym, þat he soþ seyde,
& schet forthe al in a breyd,
In to þe wode alle on a route,
Þey þoughte of no treson ne doute.
Anacletus forþ þem led
Tyl Brutus folk, þer þey wer spred;
& Brutus perseyued al þer pryde,
& bylapped hem on ylk a side
So þat non ne myghte skape,
Bot al wor flayd at o frape;
Com neuere non of þo a-geyn
Þat myghte þem warne, knyght ne swayn.

De capcione Regis Grecorum per Anacletum.

Þen parted Brutus his host in þre,
& sette þem alle in certeynte,
How priuely þey schold[e] go
Wyþoute noise, wyþoute wo,
Neyþer byhynde ne byforn,
“Ne smite nought noman born,
“Tyl y come þer þe kyng lys,
“& men wyþ me of god auys.
“& whan y am at his pauyloun,
“Þen schal y blowe a gret soun,
“Myn horn þat ȝe wel knowe,
“A blast to ȝow y schal blowe.
“þen spares non, bot sles on fast
“(When þat y haue blowe þat blaste,)
“Slepyng, wakyng, þat ȝe may fynde,
“Þat ys of þe Gregeys kynde.”
When þat Brutus his horn blew,
Hys men hit herde þat hit wel knew;
Þen spared þey non, bot slow al doun;
On & oþer, erl & baroun,
Þey slowe þem alle right at þer wille,
On slepe þey founden hem fol stille;
Hadde þey no grace ne pouste
To armen þem, neyþer to fle.
Byhinde, bifore, on þeym þei cam,
Vneþes any a-wey þer nam;
ȝyf ani a-scaped þorow a chaunce,
ȝit bifel þem as foule a chaunce;

Of grete roches þey fulle al doun,
& al fur-frusched bak & croun,
Oþer þey were drowned in watres depe,
Vneþes myghte ony þem kepe.
Brutes tok þe kyng Pandras
& al þat in his pauylon was.
Wyþoute ani kynes ylle
Vnto þe morn he held hem stille.
At morn y þe sonne rysynge,
Brutus led Pandras þe kynge
Vntil his castel, his owen hold,
& dide hym kepe wiþ knyghtes bold.
Syþen tok Brutus al þe tresour
Þat he had wonnen yn þat stour,
& gaf his knyghte largely,
& als til oþer fol corteysly.

Þat oþer day, conseil he tok
Amanges þe commune, & bad hem lok
What were to done of kyng Pandras,
Þat in his prison holden was,
Wheþer þey redden hym for to slo,
Oþer quytly let hym go:
“Conseilles wel now alle of þys,
“Þat non ne seye þat y do mys.”
Many on seyde þeir auys,
Of on & oþer þat weren wys:
Þys conseyl was ofte an honde,
To take partie of þe londe,
& euere haue hit in heritage
ffrely wyþouten seruage,

& to haue acquitaunce
Of þe barons for alle chaunce.
Oþer seye, þat þer ware,
“Þem were bettere elle whare;
“Aske we leue at þe kynge,
“& go we seke vs oþer wonynge
“Wyþ oure children & oure wyues;
“ffor þo þat hates, alday striues.”
Þyse to skyles forþ þey kest,
Whylk to take were þe best.

A knyght vp styrte als þey spek þus—
His name was sire Membricius—
“Alle þe reson ȝe haue forþ brought,
“þe beste of alle ne se ȝe nought;
“Sertes, þys were our most profit:
“Wiþ loue & leue he queþe vs quyt,
“& gyue vs shipes in to wende,
“& of his vitaille, als he ys hende,
“& oþer þyng þat we haue nede,
“To chargen hem wiþ vs to lede,
“& til oure lord Brutus, our kynge,
“Ignogyn his doughter ȝynge.
“Lete vs þenne go do our beste,
“& seke vs land opon to rest;
“ffor ȝif we dwelle on þeym here,
“We be þeym neuere lef ne dere;
“What we dide ones, þey schold wel þenk,
“& wait vs wyþ a wykked blenk;
“Schal we neuere rightly haue pees,

“Bot wait vs wyþ som wykked res.
“Gret ferly ne were hit nought,
“ffor mykel we we haue þem wrought,
“ffor we han slayn of þer kynde
“þat we myghte eyþer take or fynde;
“þerfore syker mot ȝe be,
“Whan þey se tyme, or haue pouste,
“þys bale wil þey eft vs brewe,
“Oure olde skaþes þey wille make newe;
“& þus men seys, & ofte ys founde,
“Of old sor comeþ greuous wounde.
“Non of vs alle—wel y wene—
“þat we naue don hem treye & tene;
“þer frendes þorow vs han þey lorn,
“Or þer godes a-wey han born,
“& þo þat lyuen, þat now ar left,
“Vengaunce on vs þey wyl seke eft;
“ffor þey wil waxe & we schal wanye;
“When we ben fewe, þey schol be manye;
“ȝyf we ought falle, & þey ought ryse,
“þey schul til vs do swylk iustise
“þat alle our Troiens ilkon schold deye.
“þerfore y rede ȝow, chese þe w[e]ye,
“ȝyf þat oure kyng þerto wyl rede;
“& elles gos our kynde to dede.”
þen cried þey alle, & speke at ones,
“Sire Membryce says wel ffor þe nones!
“At þys conseill consente we alle;
“No bettere for ne mai byfalle.”

Þe kyng þey broughte forþ anon,
And his broþer sire Antygon,

& askede hym leue fo[r] to go
Wiþouten any more wo;
þey asked hym what þey wold haue,
& ȝif he vouched on þem saue,
& his doughter to be þer quen,
Als hit was ordeyned hem bytwen.
Þen sey þe kyng þer myght was more
Þan his was; þat dred he sore.
He graunted hem ylk a del
To gon at þer wylle wel:
“At ȝoure wille ȝe me haue,
“& my doughter ȝe me craue;
“Y se y may non oþer do,
“Myn enemy most y gyue hure to;
“My moste fo & my feloun
“Schal haue my doughter to warisoun.
“Bot of o þyng ys my ioye,
“He ys þe doughtiest man of Troye,
“& comen of þe nobleste blod:
“Þat now gladeþ most my mod.
“I graunte ȝow schipes ȝour folk to lede,
“& vitailles þat ȝe haue nede,
“Wel more þan ys ȝoure deuise,
“ȝyf þat þys lond may hit suffise.”

Þen sente þe kyng his messegers
Vntil þe hauenes & costes sers,
Þat alle þe schipes on water myght saille
Schuld ben brought tyl o ryuaille,
Þere þey schold chese þe beste,
Þat weren most oþer strengeste.

When þey had chosen at þer pay,
Þey charged þey[m] fro day to day,
& of þe beste in ylk a contre
Þey ledde to schip[pe] gret plente.

Þe kyng dide his doughter brynge,
& gaf hure Brutus in weddynge,
And dide hym bettere in alle wyse
Þan Brutus asked, or any of hyse;
ffor alle þat þer were, baroun & knyght,
Þey geuen hym after þer myght.

Recessus Troianorum de terra Grecorum.

When þe Troianes were al dight
Wyþ seyl vpon þe mast vpright,
Wiþ anker & ore, & oþer ware,
& were al redy for to fare,
When þe wynd was wel þem lent,
Þey toke þer leue, & forþ þey went.
When þey were redy to saille;
Þre hundred schipes þer was in taille,
& foure mo, þe story seys,
When þey departed fro þe Gregeys.
Two dayes þey sailled, & two nyght,
Þat lond ne hauene reche þey ne myght;
Þe þrydde day in þe euen tyde,
In Leogise þey gon to ride.
Leogyse, þat ys an ilde;
Þat tyme was hit wast & wylde;

Man ne woman, non þey fond,
ffor outlandes hadden wasted þat lond,
& þe godes a-wey had born.
Bot bukke & do, & hert wyþ horn,
In þat ilde þey founde ynowe
þat þey slowe, & to þe schip drowe,
& stored þem wel of venyson
Þat lasted hem a long seson.
Als þey wente þorough þat contre,
þey come vntil a wast cite,
& founde þer-inne a temple stande,
þat whilom þe folk mys-lyuande
Worschiped þer-inne Maumetry,—
Dyane in lyknesse of o lefdy;—
Wyþ man lyknesse þe fend dide take,
In þat liknesse þe folk dide make
An ymage, & worschiped þat same.
Dyane was þe ffendes name,
In þys temple stod yn a gage
Swich an Erlyk man ymage;
þe folk þat hadde þer recet,
Leued on þat ylke Maumet;
þat fend telde þem mykel þynge
To holden hem yn mys-leuynge.
On fele maners scho scheweid hem syngne,
Þerfore whilom þey held hure dygne.
To Brutus þenne was hit told,
How yn a temple þat was old
ffond þey an ymage
þat whilom hadde gret seruage

Of þe folk þat þer was wone,
& þe tokene ȝit wil we mone.

Brutes tok twelue of his peres,
Eldest, and of faire maneres,
& a prest of þer lawe,
Sire Gerion, als seiþ þe sawe.
Brutes alone to þe ymage gan loute,
& alle þe oþere leften wyþoute;
In his right hand, whan he com yn,
He broughte a coppe wyþ milk & wyn
þat milked was of a whit hynde;
Bysoughte Diane wyþ hertly mynde
Scheo wolde hym schewe som certein þynge
In word, oþer elles oþer toknynge,
What good land he myghte wone ynne,
In pes, he, & al his kynne:
Ouyde witnesseþ hit, & seys
Þat hit is non oþer weys:

Diua potens nemorum, terror siluestribus apris, Cui licet[?].

Nyne tymes he made hys preyere
Wyþ softe wordes & symple chere,
Wiþ nyne knelynges byfore þe auter,
Als scheo was a god of power;
Nyne syþe he ȝede aboute,
& kiste þe auter, & gan hit loute.
þe milk þat he abouten bar,
In a fyr he caste hit þar;

Afterward,—þus we fynde,—
He tok þe skyn of þat hynde,
& spredde hit þer on þe grounde,
& slepte þeron a wel god stounde.

De Visione Bruty.

Brutus hym þoughte, when he was leyd,
Diane com to hym & seyd:
“Ouer ffrance, toward þe west,
“Is an Ilde, on of þe best;
“ffol lykynge ys þer wonyng,
“& plentiuous of ylka þyng;
“ffruit to bere, god ys þat lond;
“Þe Geauntz haue hit now in hond;
“Albion ys now þe name,
“þorow þe schal hit haue oþer fame,
“þer schal þou gynne a newe Troye,
“Til al þy kynde newe ioye,
“& þe kynde þat comes of þe,
“þorow al þe werld worschipd schul be;
“& þat Ilde þou hast of herd,
“Wiþ se on alle halue ys sperd.”

Brutus ros, & vp hym set,
He þoughte on hys drem þat he met,
& þanked Dyane hure gode wille;
And ȝyf scheo myghte his drem fu[l]fulle,
þat he myghte þat Ilde take,
In hure name he scholde do make
A temple god, an ymage hende,
& worschipe hit til his lyues ende.

He telde his drem sire Gerion,
& til þise oþer twelue ylkon.
So glad þey were, forth þey ȝode
Til þer schipes þat were on flode;
þeir seilles drowe þey right on hey,
Byfore þe wynd faste þey fley;
Vmwhile west, vmwhile est,
þer schipes driuen in many tempest;
What wyþ wele, what wiþ wo,
þe þrittyþe day, lesse ne mo,
In-to þe se of Aufryke
þey comen, & passed a gret stryke,
A low water of Salynes,
& oþer Loughes of Phylestynes,
þe grete Lough of Rusticiadan,
Bitwyxte þe hilles of Dazaran,
Þey mette robbours of outlandes;
þorow þem þey passed wyþ dint of handes,
ffor þey gon hem faste for to assaille;
þe Trogens passede al þeir bataille,
And tok þer vitaille ylk a del
þat þey were stored of so wel.
Þey passede þe water of Maluan,
& aryuede y þe lond of Maurytan,
Þer þey come vnto þe lond,
& tok þe vitaille þat þey fond.

ffro þat o se vntil þat oþer
þey robbede alle on & oþer;
þey charget al þat þey myght lede,
Set vp þer sayl, & forþ þey ȝede.

Transfretauerunt versus Hyspanniam & ibi inuenerunt Coryneum.

Wyþ alle þer schipes & al þer pres
Þey comen to þe Merkes of Erkules;
Ercules was so doughti man,
Out of Troye þider he cam
By se: als he wan by londe,
A piler of bras þer þey fonde,
Þat he dide sette for honour,
Þat he was þider conquerrour.
Þer fond þey Nykeres þat myry song,
Out of þe weye to turne hem wrong,
Or to forgete þer schip to stere,
Þorow þer song þat þey schold here.
So ar þo Nykeres faste aboute
To brynge schipmen þer hit ys doute,
To som swelw to turne or steke,
Oþer a-geyn roches to breke;
þerfore hit ys a gret peril,
Schipmen for to liste þer tyl.

Þe Trogens knewe þer song wel,
Þey lystned to þem neuere a del;
Þey had herd tellen þer byforen
How schipes had ben wyþ hem forloren.
Wyþ peyne þey passede at þat tyde,
Vpon Spayne þer fflete gan ryde,
Þer þey fond at o ryuage
Gret folk of þe Troiens lynage,
þat on of þer auncessour
ffled fro Troye out of þe stour,
Als þey dide ilk a man
Whan þey of Grece to Troye cam.

Coryneus highte þeir ledere,
& meintened hym in pes & were.
He was a man als a Geaunt,
Tyl hym þey drowe alle to waraunt.
Þys Coryneus, he hadde gret ioye
When þey wyste þey were of Troye;
To Brutes men þey were ful meke,
& asked ȝyf þey ȝede lond to seke,
þat þey myghte fynde til þeil prow;
þey seyde, “We wole wenden wiþ ȝow.”
So Coryneus & his partie
Wente forth in Brutes compaignie.

Whan þeyr fflote wyþ al þer wayne
Turnede fro þe lond of Spaigne,

On þeyr right hand toward Peyto,
Þe wynd to þat half bar hem to;
Þore þe se receiues Leyre,
Alle þe fflote com wyþ gret eyre.—
Leyre rennes þorow many contre,
And euere he metes wiþ þe se.—
Boþe þer fflute gon þer dwelle
Seuen daye, fullyke to telle.
Out of þe schipes þey wente grete route,
& spredde þe contre alle aboute.
Goffar was kyng of Peyters;
He sente knyghtes & squiers
To waite who made on hym pres,
& wheþer þey soughte werre oþer pees:
Numbert he highte, þat bar message,
ffor he knew diuerse langage.

Corineus was go for to chace,
Venison to take of grace;
Wyþ hym were two hundred men
To serche aboute in feld & fen.
Wyþ Numbert mette Coryneus,
& Numbert spak til hym right þus:
“By whas leue & whas warant
“Are ȝe here alle chasand?
“& by whas conseil are ȝe here
“ffor to destruye þe kynges dere?
“He[re] ne scholde ȝe make chace
“Bot þorow me or þe kyinges grace;
“& þe kyng forbed ilkon
“þat noman scholde take her non.

“How dar ȝe do sylk a þyng
“Wyþouten leue of þe kyng?”

Corineus spak al so hym þought:
“Of ȝour kyng ne wite we nought;
“ffor hym ne wol we leue to do,
“Ne for his bode come hym to;
“We knowe þe for no messeger,
“Ne hym self, þey he were her.”
Numberte sone his bowe bent,
& schet; bot Corineus bleynt.
Corineus was wroþ, y trowe;
He sesede Numbertes bowe,
& brak his bowe on his heued:
His felawes fledde, & lefte hym ded,
And wenten to telle kyng Goffar
How men a-wey his venison bar;
& ilkaday þey telde hym how
þat Coryneus Numbert slow.

Bellum inter Goffar & Troianos.

Goffar swor he schold hym venge:
Of mikel folk he made a renge
ffor to falle on Brutes ost;
& Brutus aspied on what cost,
& sente vntil his fflute on flod,
þat raskayl to þe schip al ȝod,

And þer vitaille wyþ hem lede
Tyl þey wyste how þey schold spede:
“Ne comes nought out, y ȝow forbede,
“Tyl þat y come, for doute & drede.”
Hys men of armes þat wiþ hym war,
Þey went a-geyn þe kyng Goffar.
Þer hostes sone to-gydere mette,
Wyþ spere & swerd to-gedere sette;
Þe Peyteuynes wel on þeym sought,
Þe Trogens stode, þey failled nought,
Þey stoden wel a gret party,
Non wyste ho schold haue þe maystri.

Coryneus for tene wax al wod
þat þe Peyteuyns so wel stod.
Out of þe renge he ȝede biside,
& ches him folk þat dirste abyde,
& trauersed þe Peyteuynes bataille.
Þenne bygan þey mykel to faille;
Þorow þe host he made hem weye,
On ilk a side he dide þem deye.
Corineus þer his swerd he lees;
An ax he wan sone yn þat pres,
(As auenture fel, hit cam til hande,)
Agaynes þat mought þer noman stande,
Neyþer byhynde ne byforn;
þat he ouer-rought, þe lif was lorn.
þe Peyteuines stode & byhelde
How Coryneus faught in þe felde;

þey saye his grete hardinesse,
& his strokes þat were ay fresche;
Byfore hym, euerylkon þey fleyghe,
ffor drede of his hand to deye.
Whan he sey þat þey turned bak,
He folewed fast, & to þem spak:
“ffalse folk! why fle ȝe?
“ffle ȝe alle for drede of me?
“I am al one, Coryneus,
“& for me one ȝe fle þus!
“Turn a-geyn! what haue ȝe þought?
“ffende ȝour lond, & fles nought!
“Turn a-gayn, & comes blyue,
“By two, by þre, by foure or fyue,
“& fend ȝour land as men hardy;
“þer folewes non bot onelyk y!”

Swerd, a knyght of þe kynges host,
Herde his pride & his bost;
Wiþ two hundred knyghtes & swayn
On Coryneus turned ageyn;
On alle halue abouten hym þey ȝede,
Bot he ne fled hem for no drede;
Wyþ þat ax he hym bywent,
Sire Swerd a strok he lent,
Wiþ þat strok his body clef,
In-to þe erthe his ax dref.
Þe oþer alle had no foysoun
Þan had þe lomb ageyn þe lyoun.

Þenne cam Brutes y þat stounde,
Many on he slow & leide to grounde;
Wiþ þe Trogens was no feyntise,
Bot Swerd was slayn, & alle hyse;
Vneþes ascaped þe kyng wiþ chaunce,
He ȝed to seke hym help in ffraunce;—
Hit highte nought Fraunce, þe name was Galle,
Galle hit was cald þat tyme of alle;—
þe twelue dosze-peres of pris
departed þe lond in twelf partys;
Ilkon of þes, Goffare þey hight,
‘Wyþ þe Troiens for hym to fight,
& do þem alle to fle þe lond,
Or do þem deye wiþ dint of hond.’
Goffar þanked þem alle twelue,
& ilkon gadered an ost hym selue.

Brutus & hys men of Troye,
ffor þeyr wynnynge þey mad gret ioye,
& desconfyted þeyr enemys;
A castel þey dide make of pris
In þe contre als þey nam;
On a fair hil þey rested þam,
A castel þey maden to haue rescet,
Byfor hand was þer non set,
Toun ne castel þat non may wyten;
Bot als yn olde story ys wryten,
Þorow þat makyng þat þey dide same,
Tours hadde þey gyuen hit þe name;

Tours was cald, þat wyde ys kyd,
Þorow a knyght a ded bytyd.
When þe castel was mad & set,
& þer godes þerto yfet,
Bot two dayes sithen hit was dight,
Com Goffar wiþ alle his myghte,
On þe Troiens to gyue bataille,
& þer castel þey gonne assaille,
Bot whan þe kyng saw þat hil,
Tyl his men he seide his skyl:
“Lo! þey haue y-mad a Tour
“ffor to abesen our honour.
“Sorewe in herte wil me slo
“Bot y be venget or þey go!
“Þerfore, lordes, y preye ȝow alle,
“Helpes now þat hit may falle.
“Arme vs swyþe al redy,
“Assaille we þem doughtyly!”
Þey armed þeym alle, baron & knyght,
In twelue batailles redy to fyght;
To gyue assaut, al wer þey bone.
Þey of þe castel com on ful sone,
& smyten to-gyder al so smert
Wyþ ful egre wyl of hert.
Þat bataille was nought a lyte,
So felonly þey gon to smyte;
At þassemble, in þe fi[r]ste tyde
Þe Troiens had þe bettere side;

ffor vnto twey þousand or mo
Þe Troiiens slowen sone of þo.
Þo twelue batailles þe Troiens brak,
& dide þe ffrensche arere hem bak.
Þe ffrankysch þenne cast a cry,
Þerfore men drowe to þeym ney,
& stode ageyn, & smyten sore,
& þeir folk wax ay more,
Þey come ay fresche, & stoden wel,
& drof þe Troiens to þer castel.
Þen had þe ffrankysche þe fairer ende,
Þat ded hem wyþ force a-geyn to wende;
Alle a day þey held hem fight
Tyl hem failled dayes lyght;
Þey wyþ-drowen, to logges þey ȝede,
Þe nyght was come, þey moste nede.
Þe Troiens þat had ben yn turpel,
At midnight tok þey conseil,
Þat Coryneus out scholde go
Wiþ his owen ost, & no mo,
& busche hym in a wode byside:
“Þe frankisch ost ȝe schul here bide,
“& whan þer ost ys al comen,
“& ȝe haue a-geyn þem nomen,
“Þan schol þey se þat ȝe ar fo,
“Þey schol nought drede on ȝow to go.

“& take non auisement,
“ffor ȝe ar fewe, þey schol nought tent,
“& ȝe schal abate ȝow hardely,
“ffor atte here bak y come redy;
“Þe maistrie schal oures be,
“ffor coward elles hald þou me.”
Coryneus he dighte hem ȝerne,
& went out at þe day[e] sterne,
& busched þem on a rowe
þat þe Frensche moughte þem nought knowe.
þe Peyteuyns comen atte morwen tyde,
þe Troiens a-geyn þem gon ride
Turynus a knyght, Brutus cosyn,
He parted þe host of [þe] Peyteuyn,
& rod þer host al þorow out,
Might noman bere his strokes stout;
Merueyloslike was he hardy,
His hardinesse was foly;
In al þe host ne hadde he pere,
Of no strengthe þat men myght here,
(Bot þe geaunt, sire Coryne,
Ȝit was he al so strong as he:)
He triste to mykel on his myght;
Ouer fer he ȝede on hem to fight:
He had slayn, þe story seys,
Six hundred Peyteuyns & Fraunceys;
Siþen com alle þe frankische route,
& closed hym yn al aboute.

De occisisione Turnij, & edificacione castri de Toures in Turonia.

Er þan ouer cam Coryneus,
Er was he slayn, þis knyght Turnus.
Right to ded as he was kast,
Brutus hasted hym ferly fast,
And tok þe body fro þeym alle
Er he of his hors gan falle,
And bar hit vp vntil his tour,
þer was he beryed wyþ honur.
ffor loue of Turnus, þat gode knyght,
Toures in Tureyne now hit hight;
& after Toures þat ilke cite;
Tureyne hat al þat contre.
Brutus retorned to þat fyght,
And Coryneus halp wiþ al his myght;
Þe ffrankische host was al by-twene,
Bytwyxt þeym to þey made al clene
Of ffrankische & of Peyteuyns;
Þey leye in dykes & in kynes,
Þey soughten how þey mought hem hyde,
In bataille woltey no lenger byde.

Whan al was fled, & [þe] feld was playn,
Brutus turned his folk a-geyn;
Ilkon to þer castel went,
& þen þey helde a parlement.

Þer parlement, þys was þe ende,
“Euerylkon to schip schold wende,
“& drawe þer vitaille to þe se,
“& weyue al þat ilk contre.”
When þey had don as y ȝow seye,
Þey set vp seyl, & went þer weye;
Þey seyled boþe day & nyght,
Þat neuere striken, bot ay vpright,
Til þey aryved—as our book seys—
In Dertemuithe at Toteneys.

Hic primo Brutus intrauit Albion cum suo nauigio apud Toteneys.

Al holyke com þer flote
In Dertemuthe, at o schote;
þat ys þe Ilde þat dame Dyane
Hyght Brutus & his kynde alane.
Out of þe schip þey com tyl land
Wiþ mykel ioye, y vnderstand,
When þey wyste þat þey were set
To wone þer Diane had þem het,
In þat Ilde of Albyon,
& þenked þer godes euerilkon.
þat ylke tyme was nought late,—
fful longe hit ys, as seyþ þe date,—
þat tyme þat Brutes aryued her,
A þousand & two hunded ȝer,

So mykel was hit byforn
Er Iesu was of Marye born.
In þat tyme wer here non hauntes
Of no men bot of geauntes.
(Geaunt ys more þan man;
So seys þe bok, for y ne can;
Lyke men þey ar in flesche & bon;
In my tyme saw y neuere non.
Of membres haue þey liknes
þe lymes alle þat in man ys.)
Twenty geauntz were in þys lond;
Of on þe name wryten y fond,
Gogmagog, þus was told;
ffor he was strong, gret, & bold,
Gogmagog þus men hym calle;
Þey seyden he was most of alle.
Þe Troiens, when þey þe geauntz sawe,
Wyþ þer bowes at þeym gon drawe,
& also wyþ dart & spere.
þe geauntz couþe hem nought were;
Vp to þe hilles fro þem þey wend,
& left þe Troiens þe pleyn lond.

A day þe Troiens made þer feste
After þe manere of þer geste,
Wyþ caroles, trompes, & pypyng,
ffor ioie of þer newe wonyng.
Whan þey had karoled alder best,
& ilkon schold han go to rest,
So come þe geauntz þat ylke nyght,
& on þe Troiens smyte doun ryght.

fformest was sire Gogmagog,
He was most, þat foule froge;
Þey faught wyþ trees þat þey vp drowe,—
Y can nought seye whilk þey slow,—
Oþer wepen had þey non,
Bot smyten wiþ tres or casten ston.
When þey had fought, & went to fle,
In to þe hilles a-gayn to be,
Þan were þe Troiens þeym bifore,
& gaf þem woundes depe & sore,
& slowe þem þe moste part
Wiþ spere & bowe, swerd & dart.
Gogmagog, þe Troiens tok;
þan saide Brutus ‘þat þey schold lok
‘Wheþer he wer strenger, or Cornyus.’
A place to pleye, ordeyned Brutus,—
Corineus was wel of þat graunt—
ffor to wrastle wyþ þat geaunt;
On a clyf faste by þe se
Þe wrastlyng was ordeyned to be;
Alle þey ȝede, ȝonge & elde,
Þat wrastlyng to byhelde.

De ludo inter Coryneum & Gogmagogum.

Coryneus first vp he stirt,
& wyþ a cloþ his body gyrt;
Strait in þe flank dide hym lace,
& com & stod forth y þe place.

Þen Gogmagog ros vp sone;
He hadde hym dight, & was al bone.
Þe firste pul so harde was set
Þat þeyr brestes to-gyder met;
Þeir handes ouer bakkes þey caste,
Syde to syde was set ful faste;
Þer was turn ageynes turn;
Þat waykest was, byhoued spurn.
ffor-setten byfore, & eke byhynde,
Wyþ crokes ilkon oþer gan bynde;
Oft aboute ilk oþer þrew,
þe stem stod vp, so þey blew.
þey handled boþe sore þer nekkes;
Chynnes, chekes, gef harde chekkes;
Þeyr teþ gnaisted wiþ nose snore,
Hurtlede hedes set ful sore;
Ilk oþer pulled, ilk oþer schok,
Wiþ fet in fourche ilk oþer tok.
Wyþ trip forsetten, ilk oþer to gyle,
In lyft in wryþyng þey sayed vmwhile;
Ilkon fro erthe dide oþer ryse
Wyþ strengþe more þan wyþ queintise.
Gogmagog proued his strengþe,—
Twelue cubyte he was in lengþe,—
In armes Coryneus he laught,
& on hym drow so strong a draught
þat þre rybbes brosten in his side,
& had ner cast him [at] þat tyde.

Þen was Coryneus a-schamed
Þat he was for þe geaunt lamed;
He recouered his strengþe for tene,
Of skaþe wold he hym no more mene;
Wyþ þat þe geaunt [anon] he hente,
& in his armes so hym wente
Þat Gogmagog gan to swowene,
& bar hym wyþ þe bank [a]doune;
Doun of þe roche he let hym falle—
þerfore ffaleys men gon hit calle;—
Er he cam doun, was flesche & bon
Al to-ryuen fro ston to ston.
A gret þrowe þer he lay ded,
Þe water of his blod was red.

Brutus ordinauit & fecit manciones per loca.

When þe geauntz were o dawe,
þe Troiens hadden na more awe;
Tounes, houses, dide þey make,
& mesured lond, & dide hit stake
þat ilkon dide his owen knowe;
þen tyled þey lond, & dide hit sowe.
þat tyme þys lond hight Albyon;
When Brutus cam, þat name was gon;
ffor Albion was Brutes wayne,
þerfore he dide hit calle Brutayne.
When he & hise fro Troye nam,
Troiens were called til þey þer cam;

After þe Troiens þys name was set,
ffor name of Brutes first highte Bret;
Afterward hit turned eftsones,
ffor Brutus folk was cald Brutones.
þat name held hit of Bretoun
Long syþen þe Incarnacion,
Til Gormound cam & he[re] gan aryue,
Þe Brutons awey he dide hem dryue.
Vneþe siþen any on ros
Þat longe bar any los.
Þat of his spoken mykel in dede;
Ney atte þe ende ȝe may hit rede.

Coryneus hadde a god party
Of þe lond, for he was worþy.
Þer Corineus dide bataille,
Þat contre he tok þat highte Waille;
Of Corni & Waille, þat was wynnyng,
Hadde Cornewaille þe name gynny[n]g;
Cornewaille com of Coryneus,
& Brutayne com of sire Brutus.
Ilkon to þeym þer frendes drow,
& bygged lond[e] for þeir prow:
ffro stede to stede gon þey wende;
Þer best was, þer wolde þey lende,
& multeplyed, & wel þrof,
& woxen riche, kant & cof.
In fewe ȝeres al þe kynde
Of folk, þey woxen mykel mynde.

Constructio Noue Troie, qui iam dicitur Londonia.

Brutus byhe[d] þe mountaynes
& auised hym o þe playnes,
biheld þe wodes, watres, & ffen,
Where esyest wony[n]g were for men;
Als watres ronnen wel, he byheld,
& mede wiþ þe eryed feld,
What fruyt he hoped hit wolde bere.
His folk wax faste his lond to were,
He þoughte in herte he wolde do make
A newe biggyng for Troyes sake;
A stede to seche he ȝede to se,
Wher he best þoughte, & most ayse.
A water he fond, & cald hit Tamyse,
After his langage, þer on his wyse:
“Y schal sette her, oure kynde to ioye,
“A cite for þe loue of Troye;
“ffor Troye was so noble a cite,
“Newe Troye þe name schal be.”
Newe Troye longe hit hight,
Tyl som men come wiþ langage lyght,—
Schort speche hadde þey in haunt,—
& cald Newe Troye, Trenouant.
Al ys on, ho so hit knewe,
Trenouant & Troye newe;
Troye newe ys Trenouant,
Two wordes in on, & non ys want.
þen cam a kyng, Lud was his name,

& made a gate in þat same;
Kaer Lud þe name laught,
ffor loue of Lud þat hit aught;
ffor to haue of hym renoun,
Kaer Lud þey calde þe toun.
When Saxons com, þat name ne couthe,—
Þer owen speche was best yn mouþe—
þey cald hit Ludden & London:
þus þe name cam eft don,
London, on Saxons langage.
Now Englysche holden þate heritage,
Als men of oþer nations
þat han be here syþ þe Bretons;
As þe names of contres
Ben chaunged, & lawes & fees,
ffro þe firste þat þey were named,
Als straunge folk han hider y-samed.

Whan Brutus had set his cite
& burgeys mad, & gaf þeym fee,
In lawe wysly to welde,
& pes to haue in ȝonkþe & elde,
He regned ffoure & twenty ȝer
In al Bretaigne fer & ner.
Al was Brutaigne, by elde tales,
Engelond, Scotlond, & Walys,
þyse þre were þenne al on,
þat erest was cald Albyon;
Albion highte þyse londes þre,
ffor þey ar closed al wiþ þe se.

Post decessum Bruty, regnauit Lokerynus filius eius.

Brutus had wyþ Ignogyn
þre childre: þe eldest hight Lokeryn,
Þat oþer, Kamber & Albanak;
þise lyuede byhynde Brutus bak,
& buryed hym, his sones þre.
When he was ded in his cite,
Þyse þre brethere in loue & pes
Parted þe lond, & ilkon ches,
& held þem payed on þer partys,
Als þe þre royames lys.
Lokeryn ches first, he was eldest;
þys lond of Logres hit fel hym best.
Logeres hit ys after his name;
ffor Lokeryn, Logers had hit þe name.
Kamber til his part gan ȝerne
North west þe water of Seuerne,
In length, in brede, als hit [gan] lye,
& for his name kald hit Kambrie:
Kambrie hit highte, by þo tales,
Þat lond þat now ys cleped Wales;
& for þe quen dame Galaes,
ffor loue of hure, þat name þey ches.
Somme now seye for oþer reson
Galeys was cald, for duk Galon:
Whylom þys duk was of power,
& gret renoun hadde fer & ner.
Albanak was ȝongest of alle,
þe moste wodeland gan hym falle.
Albanak kalde his partie
After his name, Albanie:

Albanie highte þat now ys Scotland,
As y schal ȝow telle how y fand:
þe name of Scotlon, þe firste rote
Hit was gyuen a mayden Scote;
Scote was ffaraones doughter þe kynge,
Tyl Scotland was scho wedded ȝynge,
And was til hire gyuen, & scheo hit aughte;
Of hire þe name Scotland laughte.

Numbert, a kyng o Huneys,
A robbour he was al, hit seys;
He robbed þe ildes alle a-boute;
Of lyþer men he hadde gret route.
Of Albanye men til hym spak,
Þat was a childes Albanak:
Wiþ Albanak fayn wold he fyght,
& Albanak faste ageyn hym dight;
Bot Albanak sone þer he slow;
His folk fledde, & southeward drow,
& pleyned þem to sire Lokeryn
How þey ascaped wiþ mykel pyn.
Lokeryn vntil Kamber sent;
Þey gadered host, & þyder went.
A-gayn þeim com sire Numbert;
Of þeym boþe was he nought ferd.
In an arme of þe se
Met þey to-gidere alle þre.
þe Bretons were wel mo þan he;
In-to þat water þey dide hem fle;
þey ne ascaped for no thyng
& so þer drenkled Humbert þe kyng.

ffor Humbert gan þer mys-falle,
Sire Lokeryn dide þe water calle
Humber, after sire Humbert,
ffor he dreynte þerin in apert.
ffro Alemaigne sire Humbert cam,
Þe ildes he robbed al so he nam.
Sire Lokeryn tok þat he had reft,
Þre faire maydenes in his schip were left:
þe kynges doughter of Germyne
Was þe fairest of alle þre.
Sire Lokery[n] byheld faste þat may,
Scheo was þe fairest til his pay;
Tendrely he dide hure ȝeme,
Of alle scheo was most til his queme;
Estrilde þat maiden hight,
Was non so fair in Lokerynes sight.

Corineus, ȝit lyued he þo,
He hadde a doughter, & no mo;
He had spoken wiþ Lokeryn
To wedde his doughter Gwyndolyn;
Lokeryn & he were in couenaunt,
& þey boþe had mad þe graunt,
Þat, for þe loue of fair Estrilde,
Lokeryn haf brokene hit, fayn he wylde.
Corineus herde hit sone seye:
þer Lokeryn was, he tok þe weye;
An ax in his hand he tok,
On Lokeryn loþliche gan he lok,
& angrily til hym he spak,—
Nought bot wrathe his mouþ brak,—

He seide, “Lokeryn, þou art a fol!
“þy selue dightest þe to dol:
“þy ded of me þen schalt þou haue;
“Þer-fro noman schal þe saue.
“Why hast þou my doughter forsaken
“þat in trouþe þow haddest taken?
“Þat ys þe þank þat þou me cones!
“I hope to wynne þat þou inne wones.
“Y serued þy fader in many nede,
“& yuel ȝeldest þou me my mede.
“I auntred me in many chaunce
“þy fader Brutus forto auaunce;
“Many strok gaf in many stour
“To brynge þy fader til his honur;
“& ȝit þy self auaunce y wylde.
“Bot for on þey calle Estrylde,
“fforsake[st] my doughter Gwyndolene,
“& dost me despit & tene!
“Whil (þou wost) y am on lyue,
“Schalt þou haue non oþer wyue!
“þou bryngest þe in foul fame,
“& dost me gret onoy & schame,
“& my doughter Gwendolyn!”
& leyde hand on Lokeryn,
& wolde han venged þer his tene,
Nadde lordes schoten hem bytwene
& departed hem o twynne,
And preied Cornyus forto blynne.

Lokerinus desponsauit hic Gwendolenam.

Þey conseilled sire Lokeryn:
He ȝede & wedded Gwyndolyn.
Bot he forgat in none manere
ffaire Estrilde þat was hym dere:
In Londone he dide hure kepe
Vnder erthe in a seler depe;
Estrylde was longe þare,
Seuen ȝer & somwhat mare.
When Lokeryn schold til hire go,
To dwelle wiþ hure a day or to,
Vntil his wyf þen tolde he
“þat he schold go in priuete,
“& stille make his sacrifise
“Til his Godes þer wyþ his seruise;
“ffor openly ne fel hit nought
“To do þat seruise þat he had wrought.”
So longe he pleyed wiþ Estrilde
Þat scheo hadde a mayden childe:
Sabren hit highte, as whit as glas,
& fairere þan þe moder was.
Gwyndolene a child had þan,
A sone þat highte Madan:
Coryneus hadde hit to loke;
When tyme was, set hit to boke.

Whan þat Corineus was ded,
Dame Gwyndolene he misbed;

ffor hure fader dide him tene,
He drof awey dame Gwyndolene,
& tok Estrild[e] til his quene
As dame Gwyndolene had bene.
Scheo sey no bettere myghte auaille,
Scho gadered an ost in Cornewaylle;
Tyl hure frendes scheo pleyned hyre;
Ageyn Lokeryn þey gon hem atyre
Wyþ gret host out of mesure.
Vpon a water men calde Esture,
In Dorsete-schire, þey mette,
& to bataille swyþe þey sette.
þe kyng was slayn þer wiþ a schote,
þe host destruyed ilk a crote;
þe quen had þer þe heyer hand,
Scheo dide seise al þe land,
Scheo did þen take faire Estrilde,
& Sabrin þat was hure child,
& dide þem yn a water cast;
ffor þeym þe name ys roted fast;
Seuerne hit hight, for þe child Sabren,
ffor þat child þat name we ken:
Þat tyme þat þis chaunce fel,
Lyuede þe prophete Samuel.

Gwyndolene was þen stout,
Scheo dide þe folk vntil hire lout:
Ten ȝer wiþ Lokeryn had scheo ben,
& siþen fiftene wynter, quen.
When Madan couthe kepe his þyng,
In hure lyue was he mad kyng.
To Cornewaille sche turnede eft,
To kepe þat hure fader left.
Madan gat vpon his wyf

Two sones þat ay lyued in strif;
Malyn highte þe eldest broþer,
Membrice men calde þat oþer.
Madan regned fourty ȝer,
& left his sones þat lond in wer.
Þyse brethere were euere wrothe,
ffor þe lond þey striuen boþe.
Membrice for trewes to Malyn sent,
In pes to holde a Parlement;
Bot Membrice to treson drow,
His broþer Malyn priuely he slow;
Þorow slaughter & þorow treson
Membrice hadde þe region.
Þys Membrice wax vnkynde,
ffordede god men þat he myght fynde,
Reften oþer land or lyf,
Or forsok his wedded wyf,
& haunted synne of Sodome:
Vnkyndely to bestes he com.
Twenty ȝer þen had he space,
& als he went in wode to chace,
Many wolues alone he mette;
Also þeues abouten hym þey set,
Lym fro lym hym al to-rent;
& so Membrice to deþe went.
Þen Saul regned in Iudea,
And Eristeus in Lacudemonia.

Ebrauk his sone was of age,
Had þis lond in heritage.

He was a ful noble knyght,
A gret nauye he dide hym dight;
He was þe first man of þys lond
þat robbed by se oþer by sond.
Wiþ Cornewaleys he stod to chaunce,
Þey & he robbed al ffraunce;
Þey robbed tresor & vitaille;
Hom in to Bretaigne þen gan þey saille.
When he hadde y-now tresour & fe,
In þe North he made a cite;
Kaer Ebrak he calde þat toun;
Anoþer, Aclud, vpon Brutoun.
Kaer Ebrak first men spak,
Syþen men caldyt Eborak;
ffor frankysche speche ys nought so lyk,
ffor Eborak þey caldit Euerwyk.
Aclud he calde Maidenes toun,
Carlauerok es now þe renoun;
Maydeneskastel by þat day,
Wiþ maydenes had he þer his play.
Sexti wynter he regned lyues,
& twenty sones had by twenti wyues,
& þrytty doughtres by þe same.
Of þyse children, lystneþ þer name:

Nomina filiorum & filiarum Regis Eboracy.

Brutes Grenescheld, Margadu,
Cisillus, Regien, Bladu,
Moryod, Lagon, Ebolan,
Kynbar, Spadan, Gaul, Pardan,
Eldade, Chagus, Cherin, Luwor,
Lud, Assarak, Buwel, Ector.
Þise aren þe sones name ryght;
Now lystneþ how þe maidones hight:

Þe firste highte Gloyglyn,
Otyda, Anrar, Nynogyn,
Gardid, Rodan, Gwedian,
Angart, Gwenlode, Medlan,
Mayleure, Echab, Tangustel,
Stadirt, Lambrada, Methael,
Gaat, Etheyn, Neest, Egorgon,
Gladus, Abren, Langon, Egron,
Edra, Abalak, & Agnes,
Anor, Stahad, Angalaes.
Galaes was þe gentilest lady
þan any of al þe oþere nyne & twenty;
Anor, scheo was ful curteyse,
& well couþe demeyne richeyse;

Gloyglyn, sche was eldest,
& scheo was of maneres best.
Alle were þey dight, þyse madenes gent,
& in-to Lombardye war sent
To þe Kyng Syluy, Latynes sone,
To brynge þem to warisone.
Al were þey gyuen, als þey ȝode,
To þe Troiens men of gode.
Þe twenty bretheren, als hit seys,
To purchasen hem þey wente þer weys;
þey dide þem intil Alemaygne,
& alle þe lande was þer wayne.

Brutus Grenescheld Rex.

Brutus Grenescheld, his eldeste sone,
In þys lond he lefte to wone;
Twelue wynter he regnede here
Al in þes & gode manere.

Rex Ley Lus

He hadde a sone þat hyghte Leyl,
He made a toun wiþ his conseil:
Caerlel hit hatte, as men hit seye.
Bot Leyl ageyn þat he schold deye,
Preyed faste in his elde,
ffor his lond he mought nought welde.
Ilkon on oþer werre sought;
ffor doute of hym left þey ryght nought,
Ne he couþe be no iustyser:
He regned fyue & twenty ȝer.

Nomina prophetarum tempore isto.

In his tyme was þe prophete Amos;
And Hyen and Aggos,
And þe prophete Sakarye,
In þat tyme preched prophecie.
He lys at Karlel, as þe stori spak,
& Brutes at ȝork biside Eborak

Rehudybras Rex fecit Wyntonium & Canterburium & Schefton̄.

After Lleyl regned Rehudybras;
To iustice þe folk, fol wys he was;
He acorded al his barons
Pees to holde, & made hem somons;
He made Wyncestre & Canterbyre,
& þe castel of Chestebury;
A whileon spak þanne, & prophesied,
Bot som men seide þat he lyed.

Aquila Septonie.

Rehudybras, in his power,
He regned nyne & fourty ȝer.

Bladutus Rex fecit Balneum.

After þe Kyng Rehudybras,
Bladut his sone corowned was.

Bladut dide many maystri,
He gaf hym al to nygromaunci;
Hote bathe he dide make,
ffor mikel god to mannes sake;
He dide leye þerin springes,
Tonnes of bras wiþ queynte þynges
Þat make þe water euere hot;
What ys þerynne, noman wel wot;
Bathe, for baþyng, þe name hight;
Byside þe baþe a temple he dight,—
Þe temple name was Mynerue,—
Þe folk to receyue & to serue;
A fire he dide make þer-inne,
Euere to brenne & neuere to blynne.
Bladut wrought many meruaille,
Many god þyng þat ȝit wyl vaylle;
Atte laste he wolde fleye,
ffeþer-hames he made hym sleye;
At London̄ he tok his flyght,
& fley as fer as he myght
Vpon a temple sire Appolyn,
Þeron he fel, & m[a]de his fyn;
Sire Appolyn so doun hym cast,
Þat body & bon hit al to-barst:
Twenty wynter was he kyng,
At London̄ he mad his endyng.

Leyr Rex fecit Leycestre.

After hym þen regned Leyr,
Þat was his sone & his eyr;
ffourty wynter þen regned he;

Vpon Sore he made a cite,
Kaer Leyr he dide hit calle,
Leycestre þe name ys now wiþ alle.
Þre doughtres hadde sire Leyr,
Mighte he haue non oþer eir,
Þe eldeste highte Gonorille,
Þat oþer Ragaw, þe þrydde Gordylle,
Bot Gordille, was ȝengest,
& hure louede þe fader best.
Leyr, when he was in elde,
His lond fol wel myght he nought welde;
He þoughte his doughtres gyue hosebandes,
& twyxten hem parten his landes;
Bot of hem first he þoughte here
Which of hem had hym most dere;
He assaied ilk by þeym self one,
Þe eldest first of ylkone.

He com & spak to Gonorylle,
“Doughter, sey me new þy wylle,
“How mykel woldest þou me loue
“Ȝyf þou were lady me aboue?”
Whan swylk a word scheo herde neuene,
Scheo swor by þe Godhed of heuene,
Wheþer scheo were mayden or wyf,
Scheo wolde loue hym as hure lyf.
“Doughter,” he seyde, “graunt mercy!
“Of me þou getes gret curtesy.”

He com & spak vnto Ragawe:
“Doughter, sey me þe soþe sawe:
“How mykel louestou me wyþ wylle?”
& Ragaw þoughte on Gonorylle,
Scheo seide: “ffader, y loue þe more

“Þan al þat in þys werld euere wore!”
“Doughter, þat ys loue ynow;
“Þat louyng schal be for þy prow.”

He com to Gordylle þat was ȝongest;
Of boþe þe oþer he loued hure best.
Scheo wyste how þat hure systres seyde,
Of a gyle hit was a-breyde.
“Doughter, how mikel louest þou me?”
“ffader,” scheo seyde, “y schal sey þe:
“Als my fader y haue þe loued,
“And euere more schal to be proued.”
“Ne louest þou me namore, mi dere?”
“Ȝys, fader, þou lyst & here:
“Ryght als þou has, so artow worþy,
“So mykel loue to þe owe y.”
Þat word tok he yuel til herte,
He vnderstod hit al ouerþwerte;
Scheo seyd nought glosyng til his wille,
Als Ragaw dide, & Gonorille;
Þerfore he answerd þus a-geyn:
“Of me þe þynkes gret desdeyn,
“& hast myn elde in despit;
“Of myn for euere þou art quyt;
“Þou seist nought as þy sistren seis,
“Þyn answere his nought so curteys;
“Þerfore y schal myn heritage
“Gyue þy sistres in mariage;
“Þey schol depart hit þeym by-twene,
“& þou þer-fro [go] quit & clene:
“Of þem alle y loued þe mest,
“& now y se þou loues me lest!”

Gordille wolde namore seye,
Ne striue ageyn, bot ȝede hure weye;
Ne he ne saide namore til hire,
Bot wente fro hure al in ire.
In þys tyme þat þey were wrothe,
He mariede þe oþere doughtres boþe;
Þe kyng of Scotland þat on dide wedde;
Hennieis of Cornewaille, Ragaw hom ledde;
Þey acorded alle at her pay
To parte þe lond al by his day.

Dame Gordylle wiþ wraþthe sche went,
Of many men mikel was by-ment,
Þat sche hadde no warisoun
Neyþer of rente, lond, ne toun;
& he forbed hire lord to take
In his lond, for warison sake;
Þerfore he schamede hure sore;
& hure ouer-þoughte mykel more
Þe wraþthe of hure fader þe kyng
Wel more þan any oþer þyng.

Aganyppus, þe kyng of ffraunce,
Herde speken of Gordylles chaunce,—
Alle men leyde on hure gret pris
Þat sche was fair, curteys, & wys,—
& þoughte ȝyf he myght hure haue,
Al his honur schold sche saue.
He sente messegers to Leyr,
To wedde his doughter he was in speyr;
Bot Leyr had nought ȝit forgeten

How lyghtly sche had of hym leten:
Leyr sent hym ageyn to seye,
“His land was gyuen to his doughtres tweye;
“Hure body on hym he vouched saue;
“Wiþ hure nought elles myghte he haue.”
To Leyr he sente ȝut eft ageyn,
& seyde Leyr for certeyn
“Þat he ne askede non oþer þyng,
“Bot onlike his doughter ȝyng.”
Leyr þen graunted þem also sone;
Wiþ hure to wende þey made hem bone;
To schip þey wente, & vp þe sayl,
Þey askede namore apparayl.
Now ys hure falle þe fairest chaunce,
Gordylle ys mad her quene of ffraunce.

Þenne þe men þat kyng Leyr
Had ordeyned to ben his eyr,
þey nolde soffre hym nought to take,
Hys owen propre for to make.
When þe Duk of Cornewaille,
Al þe souþ tyl hym gan taylle;
Manglanus, þe kyng of Scotlond,
Þe north he tok hit til his hond;
Leyr was al at þer baundoun,
& þey sette hym to lyuersoun;
Þey sette hym honurable to be,
Wiþ fourty knyghtes of meygne.
Leyr held hym payed of þat coueinaunt;
To holde hym þat, þey swore þe graunt.

Wyþ Menglanus was Leyr þe kyng

fful wel serued atte þe comyng;
Sone afterward þey fillede of Leyre,
& dide his liuere for to apeire.
After þe peirement of his liuere,
Were abated of his meyne;
Þe quene, his doughter Gonorille,
Hure þoughte most scorn & ille
Of þe meyne hure fader held;
Gret outrage scheo hit held.
Sche seyde vntil Manglanus,
“ffolyly hold we þis meyne þus,
“Þat mykel þyng al day notes;
“& my fader in elde dotes
“To halde swylk a squierye,
“& gret costage in ryotrye.
“Þerfore y rede, doþ als y seye,
“Lat somme of hem go þer weye.”
Þen was ordeyned to lesse þer men;
Of fourty knyghtes abated ten.
Þen was sire Leyres rente abated;
He auaunsed first hure þat hym hated;
Scheo was first maried of alle,
And first dide scheo his honur falle.
Alas! to fewe childre men fynde,
Þat ben to fader & moder kynde!

De ingratitudine filiarum, & planctu patris eorum, Leyr.

Now gynnes Leyr to myslyke;
“Sone,” he seyde, “þey gynne me swyke
“ffro myn aboue y am put lowe,
“& ȝit scha[l] more wyþynne a þrowe.

“Myn oþer doughter wyl y proue,
“Þey scheo be wroþ to my byhoue;”
& dight hym wyþ his apparaille
To wende in to Corne-waille.
He dwelt nought þer fullyk a ȝer,
Þat þey ne made hym gret daunger,
& lessede his knyghtes & oþer men:
Of þritty þey abated ten,
And ȝit of twenty abated fyue;
Þen wold Leyr han ben of lyue;
“Alas!” he seyde, “y hider cam!
“ffro wycke vntil wors y nam.”
To Gonorille a-gayn he ȝede,
He wend sche wold heue mended his nede,
Haue gyuen hym als scheo hadde byforn,
Sche swor by god þat hure leet be born,
Þat scheo ne wolde, day ne nyght,
Halde bot hym & a knyght.

Lamentacio Regis Leyr.

Þenne bygan Leyr to sorewe,
& ment his mone euen & morwe;
Þe grete richesse he hadde byforn,
Al was a-weye & y-lorn:
“To longe a lyue haue y be,
“Þat euere scholdy þys day se!
“Ensample of me men may take,
“& warnyng of sibbe, for my sake!

“Y hadde richesse; now haue y non!
“My wyt & al myn help ys gon!
“Lady ffortune, þou art chaungable;
“O day art þou neuere stable;
“No man may of þe affye,
“Þou turnes hym doun þat er was heye;
“Þat now ys doun, vpward þou turnes;
“Wyþ þe, nys non þat he ne mournes;
“Bot þere þou gyuest þy loue lokyng,
“He ys worschiped als a kyng;
“& whom þou turnest þy lokyng fro,
“Sone ys he doune yn sorewe & wo;
“Þe vnkynde þou wilt vp reyse,
“Þe kynde þou puttest to meseysey;
“Wyþ kyng & erl, when þe myslikes,
“Þer welþe a-wey to wo þou strykes.
“When y had god & welþe ynow,
“Þen fondy frende þat to me drow;
“Now pouerte ys put me byforn,
“Þat al þer sight fro me ys lorn;
“Þer loue schold lange to me þorow ryght,
“Þat schewe me of loue semblaunt ne syght.
“Dame fortune, þy louely lok
“& þy gode wille fro me þou tok,
“When y blamed my doughter ȝyng,
“& gaf no kepe til hure kennyng,
“Þat seyde me soþ apertely:
“‘Als y had, so was y worthy,
“‘And also mykel scheo loued me:’
“Scheo seide bettere þan y couþ se;
“Hure word noþyng y ne vndestod,
“But mad me wroþ: y couþe no god,

“Y parceyued nought what was hure tent,
“Bot now fele y wel what scheo ment;
“Y fele hit we[l] þe soþe hit endes;
“Whyder may y now to seke my frendes?
“Ȝyf y seke hure for any frame,
“Þey sche me weyue, scheo nys to blame,
“ffor y defended hure my lond,
“Ne nought hure gaf, ne hure ne fond:
“Naþeles, hure wol y seke,
“Y fond hure euere god and meke;
“Wisdam sche has me ytaught,
“Wysdam schal make hure wiþ me saught;
“Ȝyf y may nought bryng hure þerto,
“Wors þan þe oþere may sche nought do;
“Scheo seyde a þyng y scha[l] now proue,
“‘Als hure ffader scheo wolde me loue;’
“& als scheo seyde, proue schal y
“Hire kyndenesse & hure curtesy.”

When Leyr had longe sore syked,
Hys mone ment, & myslyked;
He dighte hym, als of chaunce,
Right ouer þe se forþ into ffraunce.
Vp at Calays he hauene hent,
To þe quene priuely he sent;
At a cite he abod,
Whyle a man his message rod,
& telde þe quene al hys cas,
And how he vp aryued was;
How hys doughtres had wyþ hym wrought,
Al his meschef, furgat [he] nought.

De gratitudine Gordylle.

Gordille, when sche wyste þe pleynt,
Hure faire colour gan wex al feynt
Al þat scheo had yn hure power,
Scheo bitaught hit þe messeger,
& bad hym go hym forte atyre
Wyþ honur, to come & speke wiþ hire;
“Bot byforn sendes my lord þe kyng,
“& warne hym of his comyng.”
Þe messager spedde hym swyþe,
& broughte Leyr tydyng blyue;
Vntyl anoþer cyte he ȝede,
& dight hym al þat hym was nede.
When he was dight at hys wylle,
To þe kyng he sent, & to Gordylle,
Þat he was ryued y þat contre,
To speken þe kyng, & his doughter se.

When he wyst þat Leyr schold come,
Agaynes hym ful faire þey nome,
& fair receyues hym aforn þe quen
Als a man he hadde nought seen:
He comaunded yn hys kynedam
To worschipe hym where þat he cam.
When he had dwelled longe space,
& telde how his doughtres dide him chace,
Sire Aganyppus was curteys;
He samned an ost of his ffraunceys,
& comen wyþ Leyr ouer þe se
To helpe to wynne a-gayn his fe.
Cordille wiþ hure fader went,
Wyþ leue of hure lord his host had sent.
Þe dukes sone byforn hem þey fond,
Þey slowe þem boþe, & wonne þe lond.
Þre ȝer after was he kyng,

In ful seysyne made hys endyng;
Dame Gordylle he made his heyr;
In Leycestre sche leyde hure fader Leyr,
In a temple solempnely;
Þe temple highte temple Iany.
Sone after fel þe chaunce þus,
Deide hure lord Aganyppus.
In hure wydewehod sche had þe honur
ffyue ȝer als conquerrour.
Hire two sistres had two sones;
How þey dide, þe story mones:
Gonorilles sone highte Mongan,
Þat oþer Condage, a noble man.
When þys Morgan and þys Condage
Waxen were, & of age,
To Gordylle þey gaf bataille.
& scheo ageyn dyde hem trauaille.
ffirst were þey boþe ouercomen,
& at þe laste Gordille was nomen,
And held hire longe in þer prison,
ffor hure myght go no raunson.
When no raunson myght for hure go,
Hure self for sorewe dide sche slo.

Exe fratres diuiderunt regnum.

Wha[n] þat Condage & Morgan
Of Gordylle þus þe land wan,
Condage tok (als hym þoughte best)
Ouer Humber þe Northwest.

Þenne Morgan þe South ches,
& two ȝer þey helde þe lond yn pes;
Bot Couetyse þat neuere restes,
Venym amonges men hit kestes.
Morgan hadde enuiouse felawes,
Þat wyckedly seyde til hym sawes;
Þem were leuere werre þan pes.
He lystned hem, & þat he ches.
Þus þey seyde vntil Morgan,
“Þat þow art eldest, & baldest man,
“& hast bot half, & ȝit þe leste;
“& he ys ȝongest, & haþ þe meste,
“And þat ys al þyn owen gylt.
“Þou may haue hit al ȝyf þat þou wilt;
“To ride, ȝyf þat þou wile bygynne,
“& al þe lond[e] myght þou wynne;
“Þou getest folk wyþoute noumbre
“To sese þe londe by-ȝonde Humbre.
“Ȝyf þou bygynne forto ryde,
“Condage schal nought þe abyde.”
Morgan dide atte her conseille
& wroughte hym self to wroþer haylle;
He passed Humber, destruyed þe lond,
Brente & robbed al þat he fond.

Condage herde hit sone seye;
He dighte his host to stoppe hys weye
Morgan herd telle þat Condage
Com wiþ gret host & outrage;
He turned bak, & gan to fle
South, fro contre to contre.
ffer yn to Walys fled Morgan;
& Condage folewed, & hym ouer-ran.

De morte Morgan per contumeliam.

And þer yn Walys Morgan slow.
Þorow hit haþ þat þe name now,
“Clow Morgan” ys now þe name,
ffor Morgan deide in þat same.

Condageus Rex.

Þen had al, sire Condage,
Þe lond holyk in heritage;
Þrytty wynter was he kyng,
In pes he made his endyng.

De prophetis & Romulo.

Ysayas.

In his tyme was Isaye,
& preched þenne þe prophecie;
& þe prophete Osee,
Y þat tyme þan lyuede he;
And þe Emperour Romulus
& his broþer sire Remus,
Þyse two brethere made Rome,
Þer holy chirche gyueþ þe dome;
Þre hundred ȝer & foure score
& seuentene, þus fer byfore
Regned kynges y þis landes
Ar Rome wer set þer hit now standes.

Ryual Rex.

After þe kynges tyme Condage,
Ryual his sone tok þe heritage.
Þre dayes in his [tyme] reyned blod—
Y ne wot why, ne vndestod,—
& wox so mykel mynde of flyes,
Men deide by gates & by styes:
Alle men hadde þerof gret drede
Tyl hit sesede & ouer ȝede.

Gargustius Rex.

After þe kynges tyme Ryual,
Gargustius his sone had al;
After þis Cargustius,
Regned his sone Cycyllius;

Rex

& after þe kyng Cycilly,
Was Lago kyng, his cosyn ney;

Rex

After Lago was Kynmar kyng,

Rex

Cysillies sone, & had þe þynge.
After Kynmare regned þan
Hys sone, þat highte Garbodian.

Rex

Garbodyan had two sones,
fful enemys, þat ȝit men mones;
Þe eldest he hight sire fferreus,
Þat oþer men calde Porreus;
Might þer neuere pes be þeym bytwene
In non acord, bot euere tene.

Þe while þer fader was on lyue,
ffor þe royalme gon þey to stryue;
Al þus þey ferde wiþ gret enuye,
Whilk scholde haue þe seignurie.
Porrex was ȝongest, & most felon,
His þought was ay vpon treson
Where-þorow he moughte his broþer slo.
Þat oþer herd þat, dide hym to go
fforþ in to ffraunce, for doute of gyle.
Þe king Syward he serued a while,
& gadered þer god party;
Wiþ schipes com ouer baldely,
& til his broþer gaf bataille,
And deyde sone, hit myght nought vaille,
Bot at þe firste was he slayn,
& al his folk, knyght & swayn.
Iudon, þer moder, herde wel how
Þat þe ton þat oþe[r] slow;
Scheo louede mykel þe slayn broþer,
& dedlyk hated sche þat oþer;
ffor als vnkyndely as þey wrought,
Þerfore vnkyndenesse sche þought.
A nyght hure sone to bedde was gon,
On hym com his moder Iudon;
Ilk of hure maydones, a knyf she bar,
Porrex þrote a two sche schar,
And on peces hym al to-hewe;
Swylk a vengaunce noman knewe:
Longe was spoken of þis chaunce,

Of Iudon & of hure vengaunce.

When þyse breþer þus werre bygon,
Eyr of blod was þer non
Þat oughte haue þe heritage,
Was þer non left of ryght lynage;
Bot to ffyue kynges þey lefte þe lond,
Þat fourty wynter þe werre fond;
Ilk of þem þat most was of myght,
Bynam þat oþer of his right;
Mesure ne lawe, ne held no man,
Bot whoso myghte, of oþer wan;
Þat rycchest were, most bar þem stout,
In loue ne in lawe wold non of hem lout.

Diuisio regni.

Þat tyme in Scotlond regned Stater;
In Logers was þe kyng Pyncer;
Rudak was kyng of Walsche men;
& Cornewaille had þe duk Cloten.
Cloten of kynde was next of alle
To wham þe heritage sholde falle;
Bot for þe oþer were most of myght,
Þey gaf nought of al his ryght,
Þys duk Cloten hadde a child,
A doughti bacheler & a wyld;
Þat tyme was he man most worþy,
& ffayr waxen, & wel an hey;
“Donwal doughti” was his name,
Of curtesey had he þe fame,

Ouer þeym alle passed his power;
ffor first he slow þe kyng Pyncer,
& seysed þe lond til his byhoue.
Vpon Stater ȝit wolde he proue;
Wyþ force of armes he gan to ride,
Stater & Rudak he þought to byde.
Rudak & Stater herde so seye,
Þey swore to-gydere on hym to deye.

Respice Donwalem Conquestorem.

Ageyn Donwal þey broughte þer host,
In to halues, by diuerse cost;
Rudak of Walys had þat o syde;
Toward þe northe Stater gan ride;
Þey brente & slowe, nought wolde þey spare,
Of castel & toun þey made bare.
Donwal herde his lond þey wasted,
He dighte his host, & to þem hasted;
He mette wiþ hem, and dide hem stande,—
Þey were in feld þritty þousande;
Gret noise at her samny[n]g was,
Wiþ trompe & taber, & horn of bras,—
& grete strokes, & sore sette,
Wer gyuen when þey to-gedere mette,
Helm þorow smyten, & many a scheld,
Many a knyght was feld in feld,
Of many hauberks was hewen þe maille.
Longe þey stode, & gaf bataille;
Non wyste ho scholde haue þe maystri,
Þe parties were boþe so doughti.
Donewal was werreour god,
Hym ouerþoughte þey so wel stod;

Sex hundred of hyse he colede out
Þat proued were, hardy & stout;
He dide þer armes al doun leye
Pryuely biside þe weye,
& armed þem on alle manere
Als here enemis armes were,
Þer scheldes toke, helm & gleyue,
Þeyr enemyes forto deseyue.
Þey diden alle at his auys,
& toke þe armes of þere enemis
Þat leyen dede, wyþ here queyntise,
& dight hem on her enemys wyse.
Donewal saide, “comes alle wyþ me,
“& þider as y go, so schol ȝe.”
Þey ȝede spiande her & þer
In what bataille þe kynges wer;
When þay wyste alle at ones,
Trauersed þem for þe nones
Als þey had ben of þeyr party,
& syde by side ryden hym by;
Þe kynges to þem gaue no tent,
Bot forþ in here bataille went.
“Haue at!” seyd Donwal, “now ys leyser!”
& seysede Rudak & Stater,
& boþe at ones þeym lyghtly slow,
& of þat pres þem smartly drow,
& caste þer armes of, þe vnknowen,
And armede hem eft wyþ here owen.
When þey hadde þer armes nomen,
And to þer host ageyn were comen,

ffaste þey fullen opo þem alle,
Þat sone þer force gan doun falle;
Þat oþer side stod nought in stour,
ffor þey had lost þer gouernour;
Þey fledde to wode & to mountaynes,
ffor slayn were þeyr cheuentaynes.
Whan Donewal hadde þe maistrie,
Hys pes he dide hit sette & crye,
Þat so god pes was neuere or,
Ne þerafter schal namor.
A coroune of gold he dyde hym make,
Swylk on neuere for kynges sake
Was in Bretaigne wrought byforn,
Ne on kynges heued set ne born.
He stabled swylk pes & gryth,
& wyþ his sel confermed wyþ,
Þat ylka temple & ilk cite
Schold haue & holde þys dignite,
Þat ȝif a man had don trespas,
Robbed, or slayn, or oþer cas,
Ȝyf he tyl a temple cam
Er men hym wiþ handes nam,
Or to a cite go þan his weye,
Non yuel scholde men til hym eft seye;
& also to hem þat at plowes ȝede,
Ȝyf any man dede hem yuel dede,—
Oþer til market ȝyf on schold go,
Ȝyf men dide hem any wo,
Hit was teld for felonye,
& worþy was þer-fore to deye.

100

ffourty wynter was he kyng;
At London̄ he made his endyng;
A temple þere dide he make
ffor þe pes & concordes sake;
In þat temple mad for þat pes
Was he leyd, & þere he ches.
Of hym were two noble sones,
Als þe story of þem mones:
Belyn þe eldest, þat oþer Brenne;
Donewal þer fader, God y bykenne.

Diuisio Regni inter Belynum & Brennum.

Belyn and Brenne parted þe lond
On þys manere, als y hit fond:
Brenne schold of Belyn holde
His lond, fro Humber northward he tolde;
Ilk del in-tyl Katenesse
Held Brenne of Belyn, more ne lesse;
Seruise schold he do þer fore,
He & hyse for euere more.
Belyn held til his partie,
Logers, Wales, & Cornubye.
So þey helden hit fyue ȝer
In pes & in faire maner;
Bot contek & couetyse
Out of þe north wyl alwey ryse,
ffor þus men seide by elde dawe,
& ȝit hit ys a comun sawe:
“Souþerne der gos Northward,
“& Norþerne werre to þe south ys hard;

101

“Bot norþern der & souþern werre,
“Non dredeþ, oþer þey come nought nerre;
“Bot norþerne [werre] þat ys þe doute,
“& southern der þe norþ dos loute.”
In Brennes tyme, als ȝe may here,
Hit ferde in þys ilke manere;
Abouten Brenne were lozengeours,
Bakbiteres & werreours:
On was þer þat ful euele spak
To whette Brenne to reyse contak;
Þus he spak al wiþ tresoun:—
Y gyue swyche Crystes malisoun!—

Respice verba detractorys.

“We haue merueille in oure þought—
“Bot non to þe dar sey ryght nought—
“Þat of so gret an heritage,
“Þat long & brod ys in passage,
“Þat þy fader hadde in his baillye,
“& hast þerof so litel partie!
“And ȝit, als litel as þow has,
“Þou schalt hym serue at alle cas!
“Wiltow holde longe þat wyse,
“To serue þy broþer in alle seruise?
“Artow þral or bastard,
“Or more vyl or more coward,
“Þat þou schalt do hym þer-fore homage,
“& art of þe same parage?
“Þe ffader hym gat, he gat þe,
“& of o moder born ar ȝe.

102

“Sythen ȝe boþe breþere are,
“& of o ffader & moder ware,
“Wherfore has Belyn, & why,
“Of þe & þyne swych seygnury?
“Brest a two þat ilke bond,
“Do hym no seruise for þy lond!
“ffor no lord holdeþ þe, Belyn,
“Namore schaltow holde hym for þyn.
“Trowe til vs & oure consayl!
“To þy worschipe hit wole auayl!
“To non of þy vasselage
“Ne seye we neuere do suche outrage!
“Þorow whas queyntyse, & þorow whas art,
“Ches Belyn hym þe beste part?
“Þer falles non oþer chesyng to;
“Bot most schal haue, þat most may do.
“More artow worth, & more hardy!
“Þat haue we sen fol certeynly
“When þou slowe þe Duk Cenflo
“Þat al Morine langede to,
“Þat al Scotland wolde haue wasted;
“Þy doughtinesse to deþe hym hasted.
“I trowe of þys þou þoughte byforn,
“Bot priuely þou hast hit boren,
“Þat we ne scholde mynge for drede.
“Now [we] rede, þow do hit in dede,
“And forto wynne hit ilkadel.
“Doute þe nought, þou may ful wel,
“ffor we ne schulle þe neuere faille,
“Þe while we lyue & mowe trauaylle,

103

“Ȝyf þou ne trowest þat we þe seye,
“Do þe ouer vntil Norweye,
“And þe kynges doughter þou take;
“Þy party may þou þe bettere make.
“Haue þou Norweye & Scotland,
“& vs alle vnto þyn hand;
“Agaynes no land schuldestow wende,
“Þat þou ne gete þe fairere ende;
“Ne Belyn durste þe nought abide
“Ȝyf þou ageyn hym woldest ride.
“Ȝyf þou haue y-þought make þy bone,
“Go by tyme, & come right sone,
“Al by þe syde of Myrreyue,
“Þat Belyn no þyng aparseyue.
“Perauenture he wolde hym greue
“Ȝyf þou wyf toke wyþoute leue,
“Or oþer wyse men wold hym seye
“Þat þou haddest of hym non eye.”
On þis wyse conseilled þey hym so,
& Brenne tristed þer conceille to:
He passed in Norweye, he gan aryue,
& asked þe kynges doughter to wyue.
Þe kynges name was Alfynges,
He graunted Brenne al his askynges,
Holyk Bretaygne for to wynne,
When he wolde his werre bygynne.

Often tydyng to Belyn was brought,
Whider Brenne ȝede, & what he sought;
Belyn had þanne suspecion
Þat for felonye was hit don,

104

& þoughte he scholde wyþynne a whyle
His owen deseite hym self bygile:
He seyde, “on stelþe he sekes hym pray;
“Hit schal nought helpe, ȝyf þat y may;
“Ne schal nought Brenne bede me trypet
“Þat y ne schal turne hym wiþ a forset.”
Belyn seysede Northhumberland,
Boþe castel & toun tok in-to his hand;
Alle þat were Brennes byforn,
ffor werre he storede þem wyþ corn,
& folk ynow to þeym dide sende,
Agaynes Brenne þem forto defende.
Hym seluen ȝede wiþ an ost,
& rengede by þe se cost;
Hauen to aryue þey hym wyþsette,
Bot þorow bataille oþer barette.

Tyl Brenne men broughte brod tydyng
Þat Belyn had sesed his þyng.
He hadde his wyf, & was al ȝare
Wyþ fair folk in flod to fare.
Lyþerly lyked þat lady gent;
Sche wepede weddyng, & mykel hit ment,
ffor scheo had loued longe byfore
Þe kyng of Denmark, er Bren com þore;
& þe kyng had loued hyre,
Longe scheo was of his desire.
Þe kyng of Denmark highte Goodlak,
Scheo sent hym a lettre þat þus spak:
“Longe haue y loued þe kyng of Denmark;
“Þat loue is loken & leyd in ark;
“An vncouþ on of fer schal fonge
“Þy loue þat þou hast loued so longe;

105

“& bot þou come, rescours to make,
“Neuere in armes schalt þou me take.”
Whan Goodlak wyste, his herte gan drede
Þat Brenne a-wey his lef schold lede.
He dide samne al his flet,
& Brenne & he in se þey met.
When boþe fflutes come at a frosche,
Þe fyrste hortlyng gaf a gret crusche;
Ende til ende, syde by side;
Þe heyest of bord, best fel his tyde.
ffaste þey foughte boþe fflutes,
Persed schipes wiþ arblast schutes;
Wyþ ax & swerd ilk oþer on hew,
In to þe water ouer bord þey þrew;
On boþe parties were þey goode,
Bote þe Daneys best þey stode,
Speres & darts þykke þay schote,
& persed þorow-out Brennes fflote.
Brenne fledde, als desconfit,
& Goodlak seysede a schip fol tyt.
As auenture fel, þat schip he wan
Þat scheo was inne, Brennes lemman.
Whan he hadde wonnen þat he sought,
Of al þat oþer gaf he nought;
& Brenne fledde wiþ sayl & ore;
His wyf he les, þat playned he sore.

When Goodlak hadde þat may in hande,
He ȝerned faste to þe lande.
Als he seyled his lond toward,
List of a chaunce þat hym fel hard:

106

In þe se a storm hym grew,
Þe water rored, þe wynd vp blew,
Þundred, reyned, lemed lyght,
Þe sky wax blak as hit were nyght;
Þe se gan fighte, þe wawes ros,
Þe streme woxe, & þem agros;
Þeir schipes alle in peril were,
Ropes, borde, broste ay where;
Mast & sayl, doun hit lusched,
Cordes, kables, casteles, tofrusched:—
To knowe þer names y am al wyl,
Al þat þer was was in peryl.—
Þer fflute sone was al to-spred,
& into diuerse londes fled;
ffyue daye atte þe leste
Lasted thenne þat tempeste.
Gutlak had þre schipes, & mo,
Wiþ hem he skaped in peyne & wo,
& aryued vp in þys londe,
& fayn he was þat hap he fonde,
Bot for þe loue of his lemman
Þat in þe tempest wax al wan;
He ne wyste what lond ne port
He was aryued, for mys-confort;
Bot þo þat kepte þe se side,
& seye þe schipes til haue[n] glyde,
Godlak þey toke, wyþ þat may gent;
Tyl Belyn of hem þey made present;
& alle hyse men wyþ hym þey tok,
& Belyn dede þem alle to lok,
Ȝyf he wayted, what tyme or whenne,
Þat he myght here tydyng of Brenne.

107

Þo þat were take wyþ þe mayden,
Vnto Belyn þe soþe sayden,
Ilka del how Brenne had wrought,
& þe kyng of Norwey sought,
& how þat Godlak had hym met
Vpon þe se wyþ strong baret.

De applicacione Brenne, & de bello inter fratres.

Brenne wolde nought longe abide,
His fflute he gadered on ilka side,
Aryued vp in Albanye
Wyþ gret force of god nauye;
He sente to Belyn messegers,
Of worthy knyghtes & squiers,
Preynge forto deliuere his wyf
& his casteles, & bate alle st[r]yf;
And bot he wolde ȝelde þeym on haste,
More of his he wolde waste.
Belyn gaf nought of his manace,
Bot þoughte he scholde ȝit don him chace,
& sent hym bode by his men bolde,
“Þat he had taken, þat wolde he holde;
“ffor his praieres noþyng wolde do,
“Ne for his loue namore þan so.”
Hys folk were al redy & dight
Agaynes Brenne for to fyght:
Bysyde a wode at Kalenters
Mette þe breþere wyþ here baners;
Eyþer oþer mykel þey hated,
Þe felonloker þey hem abated;

108

Dartes til oþer þey schotte ful faste,
Grete stones wyþ slynges caste,
Scharpe launces þorow scheldes smot,
& brighte swerdes þorow helmes bot;
Sone by nekkes þey sesede sore
Wyþ knyues smyten to deþ ay-whore,
Þorow heued & þrote, breste & bak,
ffruschte to-gidere, þat nekkes brak.
Þe Bretons bolded styfly to stande,
& nought þe norþerne, bot were fleande;
To flyght þey fledde, ilk bataille seer,
& Belyn folewede, & neyghed hem ner;
Two þousand fleyng he þer slow,
Als þey vntil þer schipes drow.
Brenne, þat made most þat wo,
Wyþ peyne he skaped þe slaughtre fro;
Vneþes he skaped, þe hauene he hent;
His twelfte & he, to se þey went;
Alle he les bote þo twelue,
To ffraunce he wente wyþ hem hym selue.
ffyftene þousand slayn were told,
Wyþoute prisoners þat were in hold.

Whan al þis wo was brought til ende,
& Brenne in-til ffraunce gan wende,
Belyn vntil ȝork he went,
& þere he held his parlement.
He askede his barons, and spak,
“What scholde be don of sire Guthlak?”
Gutlak byforn sent to Belyn,
Out of prison þer he lay yn,

109

“Þat of Belyn he wolde holde
“Al his honur, ȝif þat he wolde,
“Denmark his lond, quyt & cler,
“And gyuen hym truwage ilka ȝer;
“Syker þerof he wolde hym make,
“Wyþ bond, & god ostage to take;
“Wyþy he myghte lede safly
“His lemman, wyþouten vyleny.”
Belyn had fol gret desyr
To haue truwage of his enpir.
Þorough leue of þe parlement,
Gutlak & his lemman went,
When he had sworn & don omage,
& bondes mad, & gyuen hostage,
To Belyn to halde þer couenaunt,
fforto wende he hadde þe graunt.
Gutlak, to go, sone he was ȝare,
Wyþ schip vntil his lond to fare.

Belyn held wel þenne his honour,
& wysly was god governour;
He louede pes wyþ al hys myght,
& pesyble men held he to ryght.
Hys lond Bretayne he went þorow-out,
& ilka countre biheld about;
Byheld þe wodes, watres, & fen,
& no passage fond he mad for men,
Ne heye strete þorow no contre,
Neyþer to burgh ne to cyte.

110

Þorow myres, hylles, & vales,
He made brugges & causes,
Heye stretes for comun passage,
Brugges ouer watres dide he stage:
Þe firste he made, he cald hyt “ffosse;”
Þorow-out þys londe hit goþ til Scosse;
Hit bygynnes atte Toteneys,
& endeþ þenne at Cateneys.
An oþer strete þan ordeyned he:
ffro Souþ-haumpton̄ opon þe se,
To Mene yn Walys, (Seint Dauies now hight,)
Ikenyldestrete reches ful ryght:
Two causes ouer þe lond in lengþe & brede,
Þat men ouerthwert in passage ȝede.
When þey were maked als he ches,
He comaunded till alle haue pees;
Alle schold haue pees & fredam
Þat in his stretes ȝede or cam;
& ȝyf hit were any of hyse
Þat for-dyde his ffraunchise,
fforfeted schold ben al his þyng,
& hym self taken til þe kyng.

Brenne þat was gon in to ffraunce,
Hym schamed sore of his chaunce
Þat hit was so wyde yspred
Þat his lemman was a-wey led.
Hym self & his twelf felawes
Serued þe kyng ȝeres & dawes;
Knyght he was, curteys & wys,
Oueral he hadde los & pris;

111

What ony knyght hadde to þer lyuere,
His was largest, for he was fre;
Mykel was he preysed of prowesse,
& ful wel loued for his largesse;
He couþe mykel of curtesy,
& faire hym bar, as man worþy.
When his los was þorow ronnen,
& in þe lond his pris hadde wonnen,
Wiþ wham he made any soiour,
He preyed for help & for socour
ffor to conquere his heritage,
Þat Belyn reftym wiþ outrage;
& ȝede to Burgoyne, to Duk Segwyn,
Bysought hym of help ageyns Belyn.
Þe Duk louede his compaignie,
& gaf hym of his tresorie.
Brenne was yn speche curteys,
& konnynge knyght by many weys;
He couþe of chas & of ryuere,
Inow of game of here manere;
Gentil of body, wyþ fair visage,
He semed a man of hey parage,
& was plesaunt & seruisable.
Þe Duk was riche wyþoute fable,
& of his body had non heyr
Bot a mayde ferly feyr.
Inough sche hadde þat tyme of elde,
Þat scheo myght take a lord to welde;
He spak louely, wysly, & stille.
& serued þe Duk at al his wylle,

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& wel hym payed alle his dedes,
& oueral wel he spedde his nedes.
Þe Duk his doughter gaf hym to wyue,
To haue þe Duche after his lyue.
Þen þoughte þe Duk, þat hym fel feir
Þat God had sent hym suche on til heyr.
Brenne obeysed hym curteysly,
& seide “Sire Duk, graunt mercy!”
Al men hym louede, & held hym dere,
Ech man hym payed wel his manere.
ffel þanne wyþynne þe twelf-monþ ende,
Swyche a grace God gan hym sende,
Þat he deyde, þe Duk Segwyn.
Of al þe Duche, Brenne tok seysyn;
Hys barons þat louede hym wel byfore,
After louede hym mykel more;
Wel louede hym ilka Burgyloun,
& knyghtes of þeyr nacioun;
He hadde þe lond wyþ al þe rente,
And a ȝong lady fair & gente.
In al his welþe forgat he nought
How Belyn hadde wyþ hym wrought,
& held þe londes þat his schold be;
Bot whan he sey his tyme eyse,
He sent for knyghtes & squiers,
ffrendes he soughte, & waged souders;
Wyþ gret ost cam til Normandie,
& purueyde þer a gret nauye.
Whan hit was tyme, had wynd at wille
He passed þe se wyþouten ylle.

113

Belyn herde wel þat he cam;
Wyþ folk ynogh ageyns hym nam;
Þer bataylles assembled wyþynne a lite,
& redy were almost to fyghte.

De Humilitate Tonewenne, matris Belyni & Brenni.

So com þeyr moder, dame Tonewenne,
Þat bar boþe Belyn & Brenne,
Bytwyxt þer hostes, tremblyng for drede;
ffol old scheo was, haltyng scheo ȝede;
Ouer al scheo asked where was Brenne.
Atte þe laste, men gan hure kenne;
& Brenne herd seye þat hit was sche;
He saide “Moder, welcome be ȝe!”
Hure armes aboute his nekke sche cast,—
Boþe ostes wondred þer-ate fast,—
Vntil hure girdel hure cloþes sche rent;
Naked byfore þe host sche went;
Vntil Brenne gretynge sche spak,
Hur fyngres sche wrast, þe blod out brak,
Sche tremblede & sykede inderly,
Handes & face brest al blody:
“Dere child!” scheo seid, “wher hastow ben?
“Now þanky God y haue þe sen!
“Sone,” sche seide, “list now to me,
“& do als y schal conceille þe.
“Lo, here þe pappes þat þou on sok!
“Þyse armes hit arn þat þe bylok!

114

“Here ys þe wombe ȝe boþe ynne ware!
“Þys body ȝow bar wiþ wo & kare!
“Y am sche þat for ȝow kneled!
“Now þenk o þat sorwe þat y þenne feled!
“Ley now no sorewe me more byforn,
“ffor hym þat let ȝow of me be born!
“Ley doun þyn armes, me forto saue!
“Wylle nought þat y for þe deþ haue!
“Þou mysdost, þat þou now fandes
“To brynge straungers of outlandes
“Vs forto robben & to slo!
“Rest þe! let þy mod ouer go!
“Þou hast namo breþere in wold;
“Þy fader ys ded, þy moder ys old;
“Suffre, for no þyng in lyue,
“Þy pore frendes a-way to dryue!
“Þou scholdest vs presente & gyue,
“& helpe vs alle in pes to lyue;
“Bot now þou comest to reue vs our [socour],
“Þat scholdest ben oure mayntenour.
“Lef folye! & y vndertake,
“ȝyf þou on hym wilt pleynte make,
“And y fynde he haue þe gylt,
“He schal amenden right als þou wilt;
“Bot ȝyf þou seist he dide þe fle,
“I seye nay; witnesse on þe!
“ffyrst þou bygonne al yn wrong;
“So al þe folye ys on þe longe,
“Þe firste folye & yuele dedes.
“When þou intil Norwey ȝedes,

115

“Wyf to take, wyþouten leue,
“Þat schewede þou mentest hym to greue,
“& broughtest Norn men hym tasaille:
“Þerfore þou lostest þy bataille;
“Þy blame ys now ȝyt fol grym,
“Þat swiche an host bryngest on hym
“& schapest oure desherytysoun,
“& þys londes destruccioun!
“So mykel yuel wold he nought þe,
“Al-þey his power so mykel myght be.
“Brenne, sone! what þenkest þou?
“Com til acord now for þy prow!
“Ley doun þy swerd, do wey þy scheld,
“Wyþdraw þy folk out of þe feld;
“& sek þe pes, for charite!
“Þe same schal he do to þe.”

Brenne hure preyere vnderstod;
ffor loue of hure changed his mod;
His helm, his hauberk, he dide vnlace;
Al bar-heued, wyþ open face,
Cam he wiþ his moder Tonewenne,
& also dide Belyn to Brenne:
Þeyr moder dide hem to-gedere kysse.
ffor þat saughtlyng was mykel blisse;
More of wrath was þer nought spoken;
ffor loue in armes ilk oþer þey loken.
Al þus þen ended þe breþere wrathe,
Þer tene turned to game & glathe.
ffro þeþen to Londone þey went,

116

& þer þey helde a parlement;
Of þeyr parlement was þe ende,
To wynne ffraunce wolde þey wende.

Belyn dide somone his Bretons,
& Brenne haþ alle his Burgylons.
By tyme & terme þat þey had set,
Boþe ostes atte hauene met,
& schiped ouer into ffraunce;
To wynne hit, þey hoped was her chaunce.
By-twyxt hem was þen a batille don:
Þe force of ffraunce fel ful son,
Þey durede nought to fighte in feld;
Þe breþere dide hem to þeym ȝeld;
Casteles þey sesede fer & ner,
& wonne alle ffraunce wyþynne a ȝer.

When al þe folk were atter dome,
Þey seide þey wolde wende to Rome,
And leue non þat þey fond,
Bot ȝyf þey helde of þeym þer lond.
Þey sente aboute to diuerse costes,
Of doughti folk þey gadered hostes
ffor to wynne pris & prow;
Þey passed þe Mountaynes of Moungow;
Taurynus þey toke, & Iuerye,
& alle þe Cytes of Lombardye,
Vrceles, Pauye, & Tremoygne,
Melan, Plesence, & grete Boloyne;
Þey passed þe water of Tauron,
& þe hul of Mount Bardon;

117

þey robbed þorow al Tuskane,
& al ouer rod, & þorow ran.
Als þey ryfled landes ay whore,
Rome þey neighed ay þe more.
Romayns dredden hem for to deye,
ffor þo tydynges þat þey herd seye;
Al day of passande men þey herd,
Þe two breþere wonnen al þe werd.
Þey of Rome had chosen þat ȝer
Two noble men of gret power,
Þat þey scholde, when þey had nede,
Þer folk vntil bataille lede,
& saue þer landes, holde þem to ryght,
ffor doughtiest þey were in fyght:
Sire Procenna, þat on hight so,
Þat oþer men calde sire Galbao;
Þyse to were þeyr conseillours,
& speke vnto þe senatours
“What þey wolde, how hadde þey tight,
“Þeyr cite ȝelde, or stande to fyght.”
Þe Sene seide þey were affrayed,
Non hem wyþstod, bot þorow alle strayed:
“Wiþ swilk to fighte, we haue non host,
“ffor þey han folk wyþ þe most;
“& ȝyf we myghte oure pes haue,
“Þorough mekenesse oure gode saue,
“& oure seluen at here pes lyue,
“Gold & seluer we wolde þem gyue.
“Ouer þat, þey schul haue truage,
“To passe & do vs non vtrage;
“ffor strong hit were for oure cite
“To be destruyed, & al þe contre.”
In al þer drede, & al þer dome,

118

Þe breþere come & byseget Rome.
Þorow comun assent of þe senatours,
Þey presented þe breþere gret tresours;
& to be in here auowery,
Truage þey graunted hem for þy.
Þe breþere tok of þem hostage;
Twenty childre of þe beste lynage
& of þe richest of al þe toun,
Þey presented hem as for raunson:
Þus was þe pes bytwixt hem graunted,
Bot lytel þrowe þey hit haunted.

Belyn & Brenne remued þer host,
By Lombardye þey wente þe cost,
To werren opon þe Alemauntz,
& take truage of þe remenauntz.
Þey were letted by þe Romayns,
Þat couenaunt breke; rise þeym a-geyns;
& proue þey wolde þeir hardinesse,
And seide þey wolde do more pruesse.
Þey send for knyghtes oueral aboute,
& gaderet ost gret & stoute,
Wel armed in ilke a conreye;
After þe breþere þey tok þeir weye;
On þem þey þowte to smyte al fresse,
Ithe Mountaingnes to holdem at destresse,
Þat non of hem scholde namore come
Of þo breþere eft to Rome.
Þey sente messages on þer partye,
In to Alemayne, þe breþere to spie,

119

Þat ilka pas þey scholde so wayte,
Ithe Mountz holden hem so straite,
ȝyf þey schold passe on eyþer syde,
Wyþ force þey schold hem ouer ryde.
Al þus on ilk a side þey ros,
To haue þe breþere host in clos;
& atter passyng in to þe mount,
Þe Alemauntz schold ben in þer frount;
Þorow force of þer god ordynaunce,
Þey schold nought passe þorow no chaunce.

When Belyn perseyued þe ffelonye,
Þey conseilled on þer partie
Þat Brenne scholde turne a-gayn
To wyþstande þe host Romayn,
And Belyn scholde on his side
Agayns þe host of Alemauntz ryde;
& whilk of þem best myghte spede,
Schold turne & helpe þe toþer at nede.
When Romayns wyste Bren schold come,
Þey toke þe wey agayn to Rome,
Þat Brenne schold neighe Rome no ner,
& þe breþere a sondre fer.
Þorow a spye Belyn herde seye,
& taughte Brenne a geyner weye;
To trauersen hem al ouer þere score,
& passe þe Romayns wel byfore.
Þey chose gyours þe contre knew,
To lede þem wye trist & trew,
& brynge þem wel to þat strete
Þer þeym byhoued Romayns mete.
Þey iourneyed boþe dayes & nyght
Al so stille as þey myght,

120

Wyþoute noise, cry, or how,
Vntil þe entre of Moungow.
& when þey were in þe valeye,
Þer ledere seide, “þys ys þeir weye!
“By þys þey come, hit is certeyn;
“Oþer wey haue þey non ageyn.”

To þat passage þey come at nyght;
Þe mone schon ful faire & bright;
Brenne bad þem ber ham [al] pryue,
Wiþ-oute noyse, til tyme schold be.
Sone after cam þe Romaynes route;
Of non þey hadde drede ne doute.
By þe mone þat so lyght schon,
Þey spedde hem faste swythe to gon.
Atte passage glyfte þey þer eyene;
Agayns þe mone sawe þey schyne
Helmes, hauberkes, scheldes vp-lyfte.
Þenne were þe Romayns al a-glyfte:
Þe Bretons hadde þe Romay[n]s byden;
Al so swyþe þey to þem ryden;
Brenne þem boldede, bad þem wel smyte,
“ffelleþ ȝour fos þat wolde ȝou byte!”
Oueral þe Bretons þeym assailled;
Þe Romayns route fel & failled;
Þey nadde no tome for to fle,
Ne place to huyden hem priue.
Þe Bretons bowaylled þeym, & hew;
In buskes, bankes, doun þeym þrew;
Þe slaughtre lasted al þat nyght,
Til hit sprang þe dayes lyght;

121

& al þat day afterward,
Vntil þe nyght, was bataille hard.
Þe nyght departed þem o sunder:
Þat any askaped, hit was a wonder.
Þat oþer day in þe morwen tyde,
Toward Brenne, Belyn gan ryde;—
ffer from his broþer wold he nought go,
What chaunce so bytidde of mo;—
& Brenne þat byfore nam,
Abod [þer] vntil Belyn cam.
When þey were to-gyder comen,
Boþe vntil Rome nomen,
& byseged hit aboute,—
& þey of Rome were ful stoute,—
On alle sides þey sette engyns,
Als Brenne ordeyned, & belyns.
Mynours þey hadde ynowe, & sleye,
Þe wal to perce & vndermye.
Þo wyþynne deffended hem wel,
At þat tyme lostey nought a del;
Wyþ arblastes schoten quarels vnryde,
Inow men broughte, & leide by syde;
Wyþ grete stones þey hem affrayed.
Þe Romayns were nought desmayed,
Þey launced darte, bowes drowe,
ffele þey felde, & manye slowe.
Þe breþere leften þer assaut al,
& persed no þyng of þe wal.
Longe lastede þat ilk distaunce,
To þe breþere gret noyaunce;
Galewes dide þe breþere renge;
Of þer blod þey wol þeym venge;
Þe galewes þey reysed vp ful heye,—

122

Þe Romayns wel myght hem se wyþ eye,—
& hongeden alle þer hostagers,
Burgeyses sones, lordes peres.
Þat kynde, y trowe, had sorewe & wo,
To schames deþ þat saw hem go.

De Subuersione fratrum.

Alle olyke þer fore were wroþ,
& alle seide, & swore þer oþ,
In pes ne schold þey passe quyt,
Bot þey wer wroken on þat despit.
On þyse men tristed þe Romayns þo,
On Prosenna & on sire Gabao,
ffor þyse wer gon to Lumbardye
To procure Rome more partye.
After þeyn abyden þe Romayns;
A day to come þey sette certayns;
Þat day was ner of þer comyng,
Þe Romayns þat day mad þer samnyng,
& ber hem ful egrely & stout;
Þey armede hem, & isseden out,
& oþe breþere faste þey sought,
& þey ageyn ne spared hem nought.
Als þey foughten best in stour,
Com her chefteyns wyþ more socour;
Oþe breþere þey fullen alle on a res:
Þan were þey boþe in hard destres;
Þe Romayns vpon þe oþer partz,
Þat oþer side, Poyles & Lombartz,
& felde fele of þe Burgoylons,

123

& calde þem “cowardz! hore sons!
“We schol ȝow do drynke ȝour owen blod,
“& spare oure water of Tyber flod!
“On þys half Moungow, what do ȝe,
“Vs to chalange of vur fe?
“& þat ȝe henge our children heye,
“Þat vilenye ȝe schulle abye!
“To ȝow was hit an yuel conseil;
“Þat schul ȝe fele to wroþer hayl.”
Wiþ suche vmbreides þey hem missayde,
& grete strokes vpon þeym leyde;
Obak a-geyn [þey] dide þem go,
& dide þem braye & crye for wo.

Belyn & Brenne were al dysmayed
Þat þe Romayns so þem affrayed;
Þe Bretons sawe þer syde ȝede lowe,
Þey rempede þem to reste a þrowe;
In þer restyng þey gan hem mene,
A parlement made þem bitwene,
& gadered þer folk a-geyn to fyght,
Armed hem newe, & renged hem right,
In sere batailles set þeym a sondres,
Boþe by þousands & by hundreds.
Of þe hardiest & defensables,
Made þey Mayster Conestables,
& bad hem in þer bataille holde,
Þat non fro oþer schold flitte ne folde.
[beside were set to þer socoure,
archers to maynten þam in stoure;
þe alblasters on þe toþer side,

124

ilkon for oþer better to bide.
doun on fote þe moste gan light
on̄ fote þei renged þam to fight.]
Þo þat were strong, hardy, & wyght,
fformest þey were set to fyght;
Þey bere þe launces vp and doun,
On þe manere of a scheltroun;
& non for wele ne for wo
Ne scholde byforen oþer go,
Ne go swyþer þan softe paas,
At ones to smyte, as comeþ þe cas;
& non schold baldere þan oþer be,
Ne noman [schold] fro oþer fle.
When þey had set ilk a bataille,
On what manere þey schold assaille,
Trompe blewe, & greyles ronge,
On boþe parties þer batailles sprong.
On ilka side were strokes ynowe,
Speres dide þem breste & bowe;
After þe speres þat þey set,
Syþen wiþ swerd & knyf þey met;
Ilk oþer on ran ilk oþer to styke;
Vpon þe dede ȝede þe quyke.
Al to telle hit, nought y ne can,
Bot loren was þer many a man;
Þe Bretons seye non oþer weye,
Þey most wel fyghte, oþer elles deye;
Oþer al to wynne, or al to lese,
Þat on of þo byhoued hem chese.
Þe best fyghters ber forth þe brest,

125

Archers & arblasters þem next;
Þe Myle[ne]rs & þe Centaynes
ffolewed faste on þo Romaynes;
Sire Galbao, þer gouernour,
He bated hym o þe Bretons stour;
Bot slayn was sire Galbao,
Þat al þer trist was vnto;
& Prosenna was brought right doun,
On hem þe Bretons wonne þe toun;
Prosenna þey tok a[l] quyk;
Þey persed þe Romayns bataille þyk,
& al þer force doun þey slow,
& to þe cite faste þey drow.
Þe toun might þey defende namore,
Þe cheftayns were slayn þat þer wore;
Þe breþere come vntil þe cite,
& founde þer-inne richesse plente.
Belyn gaf Brenne al þe empyre,
And he was Enperour & sire;
Þe folk of hym þey had gret doute,
His fomen þorow force dide þem aloute,
[Long he regned Emperoure]
Þat neuere dirst Romayn stire in his stour.

Belyn to Bretayne þen gan turne,
He wold no lengere þer soiourne;
& when he com vntil þis lond,
Þe olde cites þat he fond,
He closed þem, & mad hem newe,
Þe walles he reisede trist & trewe.
In Walys he dide make a toun;
Kaerusik he caldit on bretoun,

126

ffor hit stande vpon Vsk,
A water þat rennes by bank & busk;
Siþen men caldit Kaer-legion:
List now what was þe enchesoun.
Whylon Romayns had þis lond
In þer demeynes, in þer hond;
Whan Romayns com for þer truage,
At Kaerusyk þey helde hostage,
& þere þey made most dwellynge,
ffor þer was gret ese of mikel þyng;
At Kaerusyk in Clamorkan,
In wynter þey dwelt þer, ilkaman;
& for þey had so longe þer hold,
Kaer-legion þe name was told.
Com after, men of diuerse language,
Þat schortly to speken haue in vsage,
And schorted hit wyþ name & soun,
And afterward kaldyt Carlyon;
Bot legion ys noumbre of folk þat wex,
Sex þousand, sex hundred, sexti & sex;
Þus many alwey fro Rome com,
Þat ay for truwage to Carlyon nom.

Whan Belyn Carlion had set,
Þe walles he reysed, & folk to fet;
To Londone þenne tok he þe way,
And þer he dwelled many a day.
Þer dide he a gate by-gynne,
Ouer þe water, þer schipes come ynne;
& ouer þat gate he made a tour,
Þer-inne he held [ful] long soiour.

127

He reysed alle his fader lawes,
& dide þem holde by his dawes;
Dom he gaf wysly & right,
Trowþ held he wel wiþ al his myght.
Mykel pleynte was in his tyme,
On no mannes more may men ryme;
Longe he lyuede, longe to welde,
& faire he ended in his elde;
ffor of þat gate þat Belyn aught,
Of Belyn [þen] þe name hit laught;
Longe men caldit til now late,
After Belyn, Belynes gate;
Þorow schort langage, y tolde er how
Byllyngesgate men calle hit now.

Hic moriebatur nobilus Belynus.

Whan he was ded, sire Belyn,
Þe people for hym hadde sorwe & pyn;
ffor manye a man fol sore gret
Þat day þat he ys lyf for-let.
Þey dide make for his honur
A barel of gold of his tresour,
& brente his body, flesche & bon,
Iþe barel of gold þey leid ilkon;
More worschip þem þought hit so,
Þan his body in erthe to do.
When þe barel was al dight,
& wel y-burnuscht fair & bryght,
Vp yþe Tour þey made a stage,
& heye it henge bifore þe passage,
Þat alle þat passed, more & lasse,
Schold preyse Belyn for his prowesse.

128

Gurgoynt Rex.

After Belyn, Gurgoint his sone
Hadde þe heritage þorow resone.
Gurgoynt Beretruk, þus was his name;
Of gret godnesse he bar þe fame;
Pes to loke, & ryght to holde,
He lyknede his ffader, Belyn þe bolde.
Þat Belyn left, he heldit wel;
Noiaunce had he neuere a del,
Bot þe Daneys, þey forsok
To gyue truage þat Belyn tok.
Gurgoynt þoughte he hadde ryght þer-ynne,
His truwage he wolde al gate wynne;
His host he gadered, & schipes did come;
Þey set vp sail, & forþ þey nome.
To bataille þey samnde, boþe partys,
Bot Gurgoynt wan þer sone þe pris;
Hym self yn bataille slow þe kynge,
& tok homage of ilka lordynge;
& his truwage dide restore,
Als his fader had hit byfore.
When he had take of hem ostage,
Gurgoynt forþ went on his viage:
He passed forþ by Orkeneye;
Þritty schipes he mette in weye,
Charged wyþ folk & wyþ vitaille,
Bot þey ne wyste whider to saille;
Pantalius, þer maister hight,
Þat mayntende hem, & held to ryght.
Gurgoynt asked what men þey were,
& what þey soughte, & why come þere.

129

Pantalius spak ful curteysly.
“We ar men of pes, sekyng auowery,
“Wey-farende men þat wolde haue gryþ;
“We aske þe leue to speke þe wyþ.”
Þe kyng ne wolde no pes breke,
Wyþ loue he gaf hem leue to speke.
He saide, “We ar men of diuerse lynage,
“Exiled of Spayne, comen by þys ryuage,
“Ȝyf þat we any stede fond,
“On to reste, a certeyn lond.
“ffor oþer half ȝer þus haue we went;
“Hunger, þurst, cold, haþ vs schent;
“Many a cost haue we þorow sought;
“Lond on to lende, ne fond we nought;
“& we ar alle onoyed þer fore,
“ffor oure trauaille & grete lore.
“Bot, lord, ȝyf hit were ȝour wylle,
“Suffre vs to reste on þy londe stille!
“Seruise þer fore we wole þe do;
“Þy men bycome, ȝyf þou wilt so.”
Bot Gorgoynt wolde þem nought graunt
Of his to haue a remenaunt;
Nought for þy he gaf hem conseil
Toward Irlond to sette þer sayl;
& of his schipes he lente þem tweye,
To techen hem þe ryghte weye.—

Irlond þat tyme was bygged no þynge
Wyþ hous ne toun, ne man wonynge.—
So longe þey sailled, þe se þorow ronne,
Þat algate to Irlond þey wonne;
Þey stryken sayl, & anker cast,
Vp to lande þey ȝede ryght fast;
Al þey founde wast & wylde.

130

Þey spredde hem aboute in ilkan ylde;
Sone þey maden eryed feld,
Þey logged hem, & tymber teld;
Þer folk wax faste, & fostred more,
& tyled þe lond aboute ay whore.

Pantalyus primus Rex Hibernie.

Pantalius, þey maden hym kyng;
In Irlond þen made he first wonyng.
When Gurgoynt had þem þider ysent,
Hom vntil his lond he went;
Þritty ȝer in þys lyf gan lende;
At Kerlyoun he made hys ende.

Gwyntelyn Rex, cuius vxor Marciena Sapiens fuit.

Whan Gurgoynt hadde don his fyn,
Regned his sone Gwyntelyn;
A god man was for þe maystrie,
& his wyf highte dame Marcye.
Dame Marcye was mikel of pris;
Of landes lawe scheo was ful wys;
Scheo studyed faste to make þe lawe.
ffor hure þey caldyt by þat dawe,
In Bretons tyme, als y wene,
Þey calde þat lawe Marcyene.
ffro kyng to kyng þat lawe men wrot,
& Englysche kynges ȝit hit wot;
Marchenlage, þe Englisch hit calde;
In eyghte schires þat lawe ȝit men halde,

131

Gloucestre, Chestre, Warewyk, Oxenford,
Hereforde, Wynchestre, Schropschire, Stafford.
And Gwyntelyn & Marcyen,
A knaue child hadden þem bytwen.

Syluyus Rex.

Syluius his name þey told,
& er he were seuen ȝer old,
Deyde his fader: þat tyme here
He regned namore bot ten ȝere.
After Gwyntelyns deces,
Kepte Marcyen þe lond yn pes;
& when þat he was wel of elde,
Þat he couþe þe londes welde,
Scheo hym dide coroune kynge;—
Y telde ȝow his regne in alle þynge;—
Stalworth he was, yn armes bone;
Bot after his fader he deyde sone.

Kynmar Rex.

Þenne com his heir, Kynmar, her,
& regned on & twenty ȝer.
Daneus his broþer þen hadde þe lond;

Rex.

Ten ȝer he regned, wyþ werre he fond.

132

De Morpydeo Rege Bastardo.

Þys Daneus hadde on bastardie
A sone þat wan hit wyþ maistrie;
Morpydus, hit seys he hight;
He was a merueillous mody knyght.
Þorow hardynesse wan hit of chaunce;
Egreliche he tok vengeaunce,
Hys ire, when hit on hym ran,
ffor nought wold he slo no man;
ffor loue wold he noman spare,
Þe whyles þat his wrathe ware.
In al þe regne ne was þer non
So fair of vertues als he on.
Hys body was gent, & fair of vis;
Til alle he gaf gyftes of pris;
Out of mesure þen was he large,
Tresour to holde ne made he charge.
Þe while his ire was a-weye,
Al wold he do þat men wold seye,
& also meke was as a child,
Tyl þat his wraþ wax on hym wyld.

In Morpidus tyme þat was so stout,
Þe duk of Morreue robbed a-bout;
Northumberland gan he waste;
& Morpydus til hym gan haste,
And angerly gan hym assaille,
& þer hym slow in pleyn bataille.
Þus seide men, & ȝit mes seys,
Þat hit was proued (y not what weys)

133

Þat Morpidus slow mo men, alone,
Þan alle his host[e] dide ilkone.
When he had slayn al þat he myght,
& was al wery more to fyght,
Þe bodies he dide brenne of þo,
Er his grete ire myght ouer go.
Þe tyme þat he was best in elde,
& stalwordest hym self to welde,
A best com out of þe Irysche se
& destruyed al þe contre;
An hydous best was hit by sight,
‘Monstre Maryne’ men seide hit hight;
& som men caldit ‘Marebellew,’
So wonderful best no man þer knew.
(Swylk calle men ‘Monstre,’ als y fynde,
Þat lymes hauen out of kynde;
Þat hauen lymes more or lesse,
‘Monstre’ men seis þat swilkon ysse.)
‘Marebellow’ ys þe se hound:
I not wheþer hit suiymmes or is atte ground.
Was non þat wonede by þe se syde,
Þat durste for þat best abyde;
Man & best he swelwed & et;
Þat he ouertok, on lyue ne let.

Morpidus herde þerof gret cry;
Hys herte was bold & euere hardy,
On himself he affyed so,
Allone, þe best he ȝede hym to,
& faught wyþ hym,—hit was folye
On hym self so mykel forto affie;—

134

Hym self alone þe best assailled,
Gret hardynesse hym non ne failled;
Wyþ spere first he til hym schet;
& wounded hym þat was so gret.
Whan he had schoten, & til hym cast,
Þenne wyþ swerd hew on hym fast.
Ouer neygh he cam in þat fyghtyng:
He gaped wyde, & swelwed þe kyng.
[þus gate deid sir Morpidus;
So did þe best þat swalud him thus.]
ffor þe kyng men made gret mone,
Þe bestes deþ conforted ilkone.

Gorbodyan rex.

Morpydus hadde sones fyue,
& alle þey leftym byhinde alyue.
Gorbodyan, fairest of flour,
& Argayl, & sire Elydour,
Iugenes, & sire Perodour,
Alle fyue were kynges of honur.
Gorbodian was flour & pris,
He was trewe, feyghtful, & wys;
Neuere kyng wyþ so mykel loue
Ouer no lond regned aboue,
Neuere louede he no lye,
No dide men wrong, lowe ne heye.
He was kyng ful mesurable,
To don alle right he was ful stable;
Loue & pes his tyme was ryf;

135

Ten ȝer he lyuede þer inne his lyf.
In Trenouante þer he lys,
His broþer hym leyde at his deuis.

Argayl Rex.

Argayl, þat next hym was born,
Was kyng as he had be byforn.
Wykkedly þen gan hym falle,
ffor he discorded wyþ hem alle;
Þe godmen he abesed mykel,
& auaunsed þo þat were swykel;
Þe tresor þey hadden, he it hem reft;
He loued wel lyes; þe soþes he left;
Trowe men ne louede he nought;
Glad was he whan wo was wrought.
þe barons conseilled þeym bytwene;
Þe lond þey refte hym quyt & clene.

Elydourus Rex.

Þenne corouned þey sire Elydour,
Man of pite & of socour.
Argail, þat was dryuen out,
He ȝede to prynces ouer al about
ffor help to haue his regne ageyn;
Bot his trauaille was al in veyn,
Non wolde helpe restore his perd;
Þen lyued he ffyue þer in pouert.
Sone afte[r] þe ffyue ȝeres ende,
Elydour þorow a wode schold wende,
ffor to pleye by o ryuer;
Þat wode, men caldit Calduter.

136

Argail þer sire Elydour mette;
On knes sire Elydour he grette,
& asked hym grace & mercy;
& he hym graunted al redy;
On hym he hadde gret pyte,
Þat in pouerte schold hym se.
His armes abute his nekke he kast,
His grete pouerte he pleyned fast;
Whan he had longe ment his mone,
Tyl Aclud þey wente ilkone;
In his chaumbre he dide hym be,
Þat non hym wiste bot in pryuete.
Hereþ now of sire Elydour,
How he dide his broþer gret honur.

De pietate Elydory.

Elydour feyned hym sik to lye,
& seide he hopede forto deye.
After his barons þenne he sent,
And þey alle til hym went;
A day was ordeyned for to be,
Þat þey schold visiten hym, & se;
Wyþoute noyse til hym schold go,
On alone, wyþouten mo,
& speke softe & priuely,
ffor he ne moughte suffre no cri.
Ilkon dide þe kynges wille,
As þey come yn, þey held hem stille;
& als þey comen, þe kyng hem tok,
& dide þem sweren on þe bok
ffor to don Argail homage;
Were he neuere of so hey parage,
Wold he, ne wolde, þat scholde he do,

137

Oþer þe deþ schold he go to.
Þus sonderlypes he dide þem swere,
Tyl Argayl schulde þey faiþ bere.

Deposito Elidoro, Argayl iterum factus est Rex.

When þey had alle sworen an oþ
Tyl Argail, wer hem lef or loþ,
Elydour & þey alle went
To ȝork, & helde a Parlement.
Elydour þer þe coroune leued,
And set hit vpon Argailes heued,
& seide, “here gyue y þe Argayl
“Þe coroune of Bretayne holyke al.”
Þan seide men of sire Elydour,
Þat he of pite was fruyt & flour,
Þat forsok þe regalte,
& gaf hit his broþer for pite;
þerfore in ilka lordes hous
Was he cald Elydour Pytous.

Argail amended his maners,
& louede his barons, & m[a]de þem pers;
Was non of hem so mesurable,
Ne of his word so wys & stable;
Alle his wykked tecches he left
When [he] had take þe corown eft;
Alle hym louede þat hym er hated,
ffor alle his vices were abated.
Ten ȝer he regned in honour,
& syþen fel in a langour,
& ended his lif fair & wel:
Þey byried hym at Karlel.

138

Iterum elegerunt Elyodorum.

Sire Eliadour eft þey ches,
Þat loued so mikel pite & pes.
Bot Iugens & Perodours
Agayn hym gonne be werreours;
Pryuely gadered þey partye,
& tok hym al wyþ tricherie;
At Londone þey dide hym in hold,
In a prison hard & cold.

De falsitate fratrum.

Perodour & Iugenes,
Þey parted al þis lond, & ches:
Iugenes tok, as hym þought best,
By northen Humber, Est & West.
Perodour hadde þat oþer partie,
& in a þrowe al þe seignurye;
ffor Iugenes lyued bot seuen ȝer,
Wythouten heyr, quyt & cler.

Perodour gan hit þenne vnderfonge;

Rex.

Bot he reioysed hit nought longe,
ffor þe ffeuerynges deþ hym tok;
Wyþ synne hit wan, wiþ sorewe hit fursok.

Þen brought þey forthe sire Elydour,

Rex.

& corouned hym wyþ honur.
When he had take þe coroun,
He dide þat tyme þe folk somoun
To se þe skaþes his breþere had don,
& amended hem al so son.
Of folyes was he god iustice,
He refte nere man his fraunchise;

139

He gaf ensample of alle wysdam,
Þat helden þe lond, or after hym cam;
Large of herte, of wylle fre,
He hight Elydour of pyte;
In al his tyme hit was hende,
In alle godnesse his lyf gan ende;
In Aldeburghe castel was he leyd,
‘Klud’ þat tyme þe name was seyd.

After Elydour of pite,
His cosyn hadde þe regalte,
Þe eldest sone of Gorbodian,

Rex.

Syþen Argailes sone, þat hight Morgan.

Rex.

Þys Morgan was god & meke,
His gode wyl was nought to seke;
He was god lord wyþouten ylle,
And alle hym louede wyþ gode wylle.
After Morgan, Argailles sone,

Ermaneus hadde þe regyone.

Rex.

Eumaneus was Morganes broþer,
Bot his maners were alle oþer,
He couþe hym neuere ffrendes gete;
Tyl al he hadde ire & hate,
& alle hated hym right sore,
ffor he dide ylle to alle þat wore;
Ilkon þey found hym vengaunce ful,
Wyþ schrewes he dide hem many yl pul.
Six wynter he regned in his lyf,
In felonye & in stryf:
Alle þe comune seide right þus,
“We haten hym, so doþ he vs.”

140

Þer-opon conseillede þey,
& dryue hym out of þe lond awey;
Þus þey reftym þe kynedam,
& noman wyste whe[re] he bycam.

Þenne made þey a parlement,
& chosen a kyng þorow alle assent,
[þe comon of þe region]
Iugeneus sone, sire Yualon.

Rex.

Yualon gaf hym to trauaille,
Al to gode þat myghte auaille;
He dide make many estres,
And lykned muche his gode auncestres;
Bot his lyf lasted no stounde,
Ouer sone had deþ cast hym to grounde.
When Yualo had mad his endyng,
Perodours his sone þey chose kyng.

Rex.

After Perodours sone deces,
Was Elydours sone Gerunces;

Rex.

After Gerunces was Catillus;

Rex.

After Catillus was Coyllus;

Rex.

Þenne was Porrex; & þenne Cheryn,

Reges.

He þat was a drynkere of wyn;
Ouer mykel drynke he ches;
Hys ȝoughte al þer-inne he les,
In drynke & in dronkenesse,
Dide he neuere oþer prowesse.
By his wyf had he þre sones,
& alle were kynges (þe story mones)
Ilkon were after oþer:
ffulgenius was þe eldest broþer;

Rex.

Eldadus, & Androcheus,

Reges.

Þis oþer breþere men caldem þus;

141

Lytel while was ilkon kyng,
Alle made þey sone þer endyng.
Androcheus sone highte Vryan,

Rex.

He regned a ȝer, & deide þan,
After Vrian, Elyud men ches;

Rex.

He hadde his tyme þe lond yn pes.
After Elyud, Endacius;

Rex.

After þan, Doten; syþen Gurguttus;

Reges.

Syþen was Merian, fayr in chere,

Rex.

He couþe of wode & of ryuere;
In alle manere venurye,
Hym lyked best swylke maystrie.
Ladies bed hym of loue ynow,
Bot to non of hem wolde his loue bow,
Bot onlyke til his owen wyf;
So ended Merian his lyf.
After Meryan was Bleludo

Rex.

His sone, & couthe of wode also;
Large he was, & gaf bleþely,
He spared to non þat was worþy;
Alle men hym loued, for he was fre,
Erl, baron, & knyght, & oþer meyne.
After þys noble Bleludo
Cam Capes,—hys name was so;—

Rex.

After Capes, Oeneus;

Rex.

After Oeneus cam Sysillius;

Rex.

After Sysilly com Glegabret,

Rex.

A syngere of þe beste get;
Of song & of mynstrecye
Alle men gaf hym þe maystrie;
Þe note he couþe of alle layes,
Of mynstrecye al þer assayes;

142

He couþe so mykel musyk & thume
Þat þe people [saide] in his tyme
He was þe best of ffythelers,
Of iogelours & of sangesters,
ffor he was euere glad & gamen,
ffele in seruise held he samen.
Of ioye & song was his spel;
Was he neyþer irous ne fel,
Bot led his lyf in melodye
Ynto þe tyme þat he schold deye.
After hym was Archyuaul,

Rex.

Pesable he was,—God haue ys saul!—
After hym was his sone Eldol;

Rex.

Hit seys he hadde a folted pol,
ffor he was euere lecherous,
Of women ouer coueytous.
A gentil womman, where he myght fynde,
Were scheo neuere so noble of kynde,
Wheþer scheo were wedded or nought,
His lecherie he wolde haue y-wrought;
& for þencheson of his folye,
Men hated hym, as was worthie.
After Eldolf, þys folted fon,
Cam his sone hight Redyon.

Rex.

Redyon hadde þe kynedam,
& after Redyon, Redryk cam;

Rex.

Syþen was ffamour, & kyng Myssel;

Reges.

And after hym com kyng Pyrchel:

Rex.

Pyrchel had fair heued wiþ her,
Þorow gift of kynde þat was er;
Som what was hit fair out of kynde,
Þat ȝut of his her write men fynde.

143

After hym cam Caporus;

Rex.

Syþen, his sone Elignellus.

Rex.

Þys Elygnellus, fol wys was he,
Man of mesure wel auyse;
After hym regned his sone Ely

Rex.

ffully to-gidere ȝeres fourty;
A noble man was he, & a wys;
ffaire he deyd, & at Castre lys.

Lud Rex.

Helye had þre sones wyghte:
Þe eldest sone, Lud he highte;
Þat oþer was Cassibalan;
Þe þrydde, Nemny, a doughti man.
Lud was eldest, most of age,
Hym fel to haue þe heritage;
Knyght was he fol god in stour,
& lyberal man, & vyaundour;
Cites & casteles newe dide set;
Of þe olde mad he god recet;
He louede London̄ best of alle,
Þerfore vmb-closedit wyþ a walle;
Manye ar þe clos me se ȝit stande,
Þat Lud dude make, hym lyuande.
ffor barons & for burgeys sake,
Grete stedes til hem dide he make;
Þerfore men seye, & ȝit men may,
Þat neuere bifore vnto þat day
Made kyng byforn so fele cites,
Ne castels, ne clos, þat ȝut men ses.

144

Tyl Luddes tyme men held þat haunt,
To calle London Trenouant;
ffor þe loue of Lud ylk del,
Þat woned þer longe, & closed hit wel,
& was of hym so gret renoun;
Kaer Lud þer fore men calde þe toun.
Þenne come oþere men were straunge;
ffor þe Lud, London dide hit chaunge,
Þenne come Saxoyns, men of Angle,
Als þey couþe on þer speche iangle,
ffor Kaer-lud caldyt Ludden,
Þat couþe þey best com on & ken;
Þenne come þe Normaunz & þe Frankisch,
Couþe nought com on to calle hit þis;
ffor London, Londres þey hit calde;
Ȝit Frensche men þat name halde.
ffor regnynge of kynges straunge,
ffor diuerse speche, langage men chaunge,
Þat han þis lond often ywonnen,
& þorow riden & þorow ronnen,
& þe names chaunget þer fore;
Som names ar lasse, & som ar more;
I hope fo tounes þat now are
Hold þer names þat first ware.

When sire Lud, þe gode kyng,
Was ded, & don was his endynge,
Byside his gate þey hym leyd,
Þat, for his name, Ludgate ys seyd:
He yt made, & he yt aughte,
Lodgate for hym þe name laughte.
Of Lud were left two childre ȝyng;
Lond to kepe couþe þey no þyng:

145

Þe eldest hight Androcheus,
Þat oþer men calde Tenuacius.
Cassibolon was þer em,
Þe nexte sibbe of þat tem,
He kepte þe childre & þat lond;
Men held hym kyng, faire he þem fond;
He mayntende þe lond to ryght,
He was curteys & doughty knyght;
Þe folke he couþe wel iustise,
Of hem he hadde fair seruise.
When þe childre were of elde
Þat þey couþe lordschip welde,
In to erldomes he dide þem seyse,
Worschipfoly, al atter ayse.
Androcheus hadde, þorow assent,
Londoñ, & þe erldom of Kent;
Þat oþer broþer had þe baylle
Of þe erldom of Cornewaille.
When ilk was sesed in his erldam,
Þey were cald Erles, whare þey cam.
To whyle þe kyng & his cosyns
In loue loken ar þer lynes,
Richesse þey hadde ynow to wylle,
& of no lond dredde þey non ylle,
Ne neuere þurt hem haue drad no tyde.
Bot ouerwenyng of herte pride
Ros a discord hem bytwene,
Þat longe in þys londe was sene;
ffour hundred ȝer hit lasted, & nyne,
In þis lond þat firste pyne;
Hit bigan, as ȝe may se,
Of Cassibolon & Androche,
Þorow whilk sorewe þe Romayns wan

146

Truage of Cassibolan,
Þat myghte nere be wonne byforn,
Tyl þer loue þorow pride was lorn;
Whyle þer loue to-gedere held,
Might neuere no Romayn bide þem in feld,
Þat þey ne chased, þorow force of fight,
Cesar of Rome, & al his myght.
How hit bygan bytwyxt þem bale,
Listeþ, & y schal rede þe tale.

Exe de Iulio Cesare, Romanorum Inperatore.

In þe tyme of Gassybolan,
Iulius Cesar, a myghty man,
Þat tyme was Emperour of Rome.
Of alle knyghtes he bar þe blome,
Of alle þo þat men of herd,
ffor he conquered al þe werd;
Als he was doughti knygt, & god,
In clergie wel he hym vnderstod,
Of conseil he was man ful wys,
& of manhod he bar þe pris;
Hys gyftes he gaf largely,
He wyste to wham hit was worthi;
ffals & felon he couþe wel knowe;
Þe ouer proude, he held þem lowe.
Þe Romayns were þan of pride,
ffor þey hadde wonne on ilka side;
Þe londes oueral þem aboute,
& gauen þeym truage for doute.
When Iulyus had wonne þus þere,
ffurþer he þoughte to conquere;
Long nold he soiourne ne rest,

147

Tyl he had wonnen toward þe west.
Hardy Iulius, knyght war & wys,
Preysed of prowesse, of poer had pris;
He gadered hym of knyghte ȝonge,
Of alle nacions þat speke wyþ tonge,
& tok his leue at [þe] Romayns,
To wende fro þem for longe teymes;
West, he seide he wolde wende,
To wynnen to þe wordles ende.

Whan Iulyus was wel dight ynow,
He passed Burgoyne & Moungow.
ffyrst he wan al Burgoyne,
ffraunce, Nawuarre, & Gascoigne,
Peytowe, Normandye, þe lesse Bretayne;
Syþen went agayn til Alemayne;
Alle he wan hit ar he þeþen nam,
Siþen to Boloyne & to fflaundres he cam,
& al conquered vnto þe se,
Al gaf truage to Rome in fe.
Whan al was wonne, wel heldyn payd,
By þe se a day he ȝede & playd;
Toward þe se his eye gan kest,
& faste byheld toward þe west:
“What ys ȝone lond y ȝonder se,
“& what [folk] euere þer may be?”
Men hym tolde hit was a lond
þat folk of Troye first[e] fond;
Brutus highte þer firste cheftayn,
& after hym hit hatte Bretayn;
þe heires þat of hym ar comen,
In heritage þey haue hit nomen.

148

Dicta Iulii Inperatoris.

Iulyus answered & seide right þus:
“Wel han y herd of sire Brutus;
“He saide he com of Eneas kynde,
“Bot ryghtly born nought we fynde;
“He com of Eneas, þat held þo landes
“Þer Rome our cite now yn standes;
“ȝyf he were born of Eneas kyn,
“Þorow kynde y sette chalange þer yn;
“Chalange y wole þat lond þorow ryght,
“Þat Eneas kynde gete þorow myght.
“Ys þat lond — loke ȝe me kenne—
“Þat bolde Belym was of, & Brenne,
“Þat oure cite of Rome wan,
“Oure se[n]e, & destruyed ilkaman?
“Wel schal þey wite, whyle y am her,
“Þat Rome ys now of more power!
“& right hit were, & reson hit welde,
“Þat þey til vs truage schold ȝelde:
“ȝone ilde was Belynes, & Rome was his;
“Gret skil haue y þenne þorow þys,
“ffor to sette chalange þer-inne,
“Þat his lond was, þorow right to wynne.
“By letteres woly hem first somoune,
“To here þer wyl, what þey respoune;
“Nought ne woly passe þe se
“Til y wyte how þey answere me.
“ȝyf þey to my pes wille hem chese,
“& ȝeld hit me, þey schol nought lese;
“ȝyf þey ne wol nought bot wyþ stour,
“y dereyne þe lond for our.”
Þay dide Iulyus write a bref,
& schewed hem how he was chef,

149

& how his kynde fyrst hit wan:
Of Eneas com Brutus, þat man,
& syþen was Belynes heritage;
He wold hit wynnen, or take truage.
Þe lettere com to Cassibolan,
Þat he schold bycome sire Iulyus man.
Cassibolan brak þe seal o sunder;
Of truage askyng he had wonder;
Anoþer lettere dede he wryte þare,
& sent hit ageyn vntil Cesar
Al in ire & in tene,
& þe lettere þus mykel wol mene:

Rescripcio Cassibolany ad Inperatorem.

“Cesar,” he saide, “we haue meruaille
“& gret desdeyn, wyþouten faille,
“Þat of ȝow Romayns rennes silk los,—
“& to longe hit lastes after hit gos,—
“Þat ar of so gret couetyse
“Þat non bot ȝe may haue fraunchise;
“And al þe syluer & al þe gold,
“& alle lynage þat lyuen on mold,
“Til ȝoure dom wil ȝe þem drawe;
“Wy[þ]oute reson, wyþoute lawe,
“Al þe tresor ȝe drawe ȝow to:
“What wil ȝe þer-wyþ al do?
“& we þat are atte wor[l]des ende,
“& in an ylde lyue & lende,
“Ȝyt ȝe ne wil passe vs forby
“Wyþoute truage askyng greuously!
“& we þat schal & ben ȝour peres,
“Ȝit wolde ȝe make vs truagers!

150

“Þerfore, Iulius, ȝyf þou wilt assay,
“& of þy comynge sette vs a day,
“Y trowe þou schalt fol euele spede.
“Com on, & proue hit in dede!
“ffor euere ȝit haue we lyued fre
“Y þis lond, bot now for þe,
“& schul we lyue als frely
“As ȝe Romayns; & reson whi:
“Syn we ar comen alle of o kynde,
“& of o rote & of o rynde,
“Þat ys to seyn, of Eneas,
“As frely born as euere þou was.
“Þerfore, ȝyf þou þe byþoughtest
“In skil & reson as þou oughtest,
“Þou scholde nought put vs to seruage,
“Syn we ben of þyn owen lynage;
“We schul be peres to ȝow of Rome,
“In alle fredam haue euenly dome.
“Vs wondreþ at ȝowre nurture of pris,
“Þat swylke vilenie in þe now lys,
“In seruage to put vs to!
“& we wot nought how we scholde do,
“We neuere lered, ne nought wil lere,
“ȝyf þat we may, in none manere.
“Of alle oure kynde, y ne wyste no man
“Þat couþe of seruage, ne ȝut ne can;
“Ne we knowe nought on what wyse
“We scholde serue seruage seruise.
“ffre we ar, so schol we be;
“& ȝyf God wyl, we schul for þe!

151

“Wite þou wel by oure answe[re],
“While we may oure seluen were,
“& fende oure lond & oure fraunchise,
“Of vs getestow neuere seruise!
“Ne neuere truage schol we þe gyue;
“Þat ys to seye, whiles þat we lyue,
“We wol be fre, & holde honurs,
“As dide byforn our auncessours.”
To Iulius swylk a lettere þey sent;
& when Iulius wiste þat entent,
Þat ȝif he wold haue any truage,
Nede byhoued hym make passage,
Þenne dide he make schipes & barges,
ffoure score wyþ grete charges,—
So grete byfore were neuere for were,
Ne non þat so gret charge myght bere,—
Wyþouten oþer schipes smale,
Þat we nought telde byforn in tale.

De nauigio Cesaris.

When Iulius Cesar was al redy,
To go to schipe þey made a cry;
His folk com in-to schipe right fast,
& drowe þer saylles vp heye on mast;
Þen blew þe wynd, and gan hem dryue,
At an heuen þey gon vp aryue,
Þer Temese & þe se to-gydere comen.
Bot er Cesar hadde vp lond ynomen,
Þer was sprad by þe se side
ffair folk to fighte, Cesar tabyde:

152

Cassibola[n] was redy at Douere,
& renged his men by þe ouere;
Hys styward highte sire Belyn,
Of conseil was he god & fyn;
He hadde do comen þorow somons
On alle half, erles & barons.
Þe kynges neuews com wyþ gret partie,—
To hem he myghte hym well affye,—
Þe eldest highte Androcheus,
Þat oþer broþer Temuacius;
Androcheus & his Loundreneys,
Tenuacius wiþ his Cornwaleys,
Sire Nemnius, sire of Kanterbire,
Þe noblest of al þe empire:
Þe kynges broþer was Sire Nemny,
Androcheus was in his compaigny,
& oþer folk [ful] gret plente.
Wyþ ostes were þer kynges þre:
Erudyonus, þere Scottes kynge,
Britalles wyþ al þe Walsche garderynge;
Of South Walys com kyng Ignarcet;
Þyse þre were in [o] bataille set,
Wyþ here frewille þyse þre cam
ffor to defende þe[r] fredam.
Ilkon gaf conseil to go
Er þe Romayns were logged mo;

153

Bellum inter Romanos & Cassibolanum.

Er þey hadde ony recet taken,
Þey þoughte þey wolde hem a-wake[n].
When alle were set in ylka bataille,
& schept ho scholde formest assaille,
Toward þe Romayns faste þey nomen.
Whan Cesar sey þat þey scholde comen,
He cried to hys men “armes ȝow!
“Þe Bretons ar redy, & come right now.”
Sone were þer bataille to-gedere met,
& to bataille renget & set:
[Þe parties smert smyten togidre,
With scharp suerdes on̄ helmes gan glidre.
þer schaftes þorgh schoten body & schelde;
Many on fell, & many vphelde;
Many tome sadill & hors ostray,
Many douhti knyght doun þer lay;]
Many on wounded lay þer to blede,
& manyon stode, som fledde for drede;
Knyghte iustede, archers drowe,
On þoþe parties fol manie þey slowe,
Þei come so þikke & so smert,
& perced brunyes, brest & hert;
Wyþ wyfles strike, wyþ axes hewe,
Schuldres, schankes, & hedes, doun hewe;
Alle was strewed þe grene gras
Wyþ blod & bowaille & heuedes fresch.
fful hard was þer, & moste nede;
Þe quiyke vpon þe dede ȝede;

154

Vpon þe dede þey stode to fight,
& eueryche slow þat he slo myght.
Cesar hadde in his bataille
Knyghte þat couþe boþe fende & saille;
He peyned hym to do þeym wo,
& faste he folewede hem for to slo;
Was þer no man þat he smot,
Þat ful sore on hym ne bot;
Mighte þer noman lyue no stounde,
Þat of his swerd[e] laughte wounde.
Androcheus com wyþ þo of Kent,
& Nemnyus, to-gedere þey went,
Þey set o þe Romayns a gret partie,
& beot hem doun as men hardie,
& seide “Turne we vpon Sezar!”
& als þey rod, þey were hym war.
Nemmyus fyrst ferde in þe stour,
& bated hym opon þe emperour,
And ful glad was þat he myght
Wiþ so noble a lordyng fyght.
Cesar perseyued þat he cam,
A-geyn his scheld a strok vp nam;
Cesars swerd was out ful sone;
Nemny to smyte he was al bone,
& Nemny on þe heued he smot;
Hit was trenchaunt, ouer fer hit bot,
Bot Nemny bar vp his scheld,
His heued a party lowe hit held;
Ȝit þe strok sank so doun,
Þorow þe helm he brak his croun;

155

Lite failled þat he ne had
Clouen þe hed, þe dynt was sad;
Bot Nemny bar þe scheld o sker,
& Iulius smot his swerd ouer fer,
Þat he ne myghte drawe hyt ageyn;
Naþeles he dide þerto his peyn,
He drow þe swerd, Nempny þe scheld,
Ilkon wel his owen held;
Nemny wilde haue turnd & went,
Bot Iulius wiþ þe draught hym hent;
I hope Iulyus had drawen hit out,
Bot Nemnyus fol[k] were egre & stout.
Androcheus, Nemnyus neuew,
Wyþ hem of Kent dide gret prow;
On ilka side þey slowe aboute,
& Cesar saw hym self in doute,
& fro þem fledde in to þe feld,
& lefte his swerd in Nemnyus scheld.
Nemny saw of help ynow,
He turned þe scheld, þe swerd out drow,
& wiþ þat swerd forþ he faught;
Bot þo þat þer-wyþ woundes laught,
Myghte þey neuere haue medecyne,
Bot to þe deþ by-houed hem pyne.
Als he þus faught, þys Nemmyus,
He ouer-tok sire Labemnius,—
A lord he was of gret baillye,
In Rome he hadde a constablerye,—
Nemnius swilk a strok hym lent,
Þat by þe schuldres þe hed of went.
How manye þer deide, y may nought ame;
Of alle þe fighters y knowe no name;

156

Bot þer was manyon doun leyd,
Wel mo þan any man wrot or seyd,
& wel mo scholde ȝit þat nyght,
Had þey nought sondred for faute of lyght.

De fuga Romanorum.

Þen com þe nyght, gon was þe day,
& ilka party ȝede þer way.
Þe Romayns syde was nought payd,
Logges non hadde, þey were dismayed;
Wery þey were, & yuel lykande,
ffor wiþ þe Brutons þey myght nout stande.
Þey toke conseil a-wey to wende,
No lenger in þys lond to lende;
ffor þe contre knew þey nought,
Logge ne recet had þey non wrought;
To schipe þey wente þat ilke nyght,
Vntil fflaundres þey fley þer flyght.
Þe Bretons made blisse, ilkon,
Þat þe Romayns were so gon;
Bot þe kyng made sorewe ynow
ffor Nemnyus, þat to deþe drow;
Medicyne myghte non be founde
Þat myghte hele Nemnyus wounde.
Of sire Nemny nought elles to seye,
Bot þe fiftenþe day Nemny gan deye.
Þey buryed hym in a temple gate,
In London̄, atte Northe gate,
Honurabloker þan an oþer,
ffor he was þe kynges broþer.

157

De gladio Cesaris.

Þat swerd he wan of sire Cesar,
By hym in graue þey leide hit þar,
ffor he was of gret honur,
& he haddyt wonnen y þat stour.
Þe swerd was of swylk metal,
Þat who þat wounded were wyþ-al,
He ne scholde nought longe lyue
ffor medicine men myghte hym gyue.
Why of deþ hit hadde þe gylt,
Hit was writen on þe hilt
Wyþ lettres of gold, burnusched bryght,
Þat “Crucia mors” þat swerd hight:
Hit myghte wel hote “Crucia mors;”
Wham hit wounded, hit was ded cors;
& ȝit hit ys seyd y þe Romaunce,
Þe enperours swerd was al vengaunce.
Til þeym of ffraunce cam tidyng tyt,
How þe Romayns were desconfit
Þorow þe Bretons in pleyn bataille.
Þanne mysliked þeym saunz faille,
And for cowardes þem selue ches,
ffor þey were at [þe] Romayns pes.
Þey conseilled þem a day certeyn,
Vpon Cesar to turne a-geyn;
In þer conseil þei seide þus:
“Als þe Bretons chased Iulyus,
“Ȝut schul we fonde so to spede,
“To do sire Iulius fle for drede.
“Þe Bretons be nought ȝit so bolde
“As we haue ben, [ne] men of tolde,
“& so lyghtly dide þem lout!
“Ȝit schul we fonde to chace hem out.
“Hit are ynowe þat first han grace

158

“ffor to wynne, & robbe, & chace,
“& siþen turnes þer praye til pyne;
“Lyghtli þey wynne, lightly þey tyne:
“Þer lordschip ȝit schul we abate,
“ffor alle þe world þey wynne wyþ hate.”
Þus þey seyde þat þey wold do;
& ȝit alday men telle þem so,
Þat þe Bretons wolde fonde a flyght
ffor to felle þe Romayns myght.
Þat sawe made þeym wylde & wod,
& reysed þem more vp in þer mod:
Bot sone þer bost was al in griþ,
Whan sire Iulius had spoken hem wyþ.
Sire Iulius Cesar was ful queynte,
Wisdam he couþe, & wordes feynte;
A folet couþe he wel adaunte,
To proude men þer wylle graunte.

De blandiscione Cesarys.

Wel couþe he paye þe couetous,
& wynne þe wille of þe enuyous;
& ful wel couþe bere hym meke
When his strength was for to seke.
He wiste þat þe frenche men were fykel,
& how þey forcedem agayn hym mykel;
& his men were yuel dight,
Wery & wounded al in fight;

159

Leuer hym were in loue þem loute,
Þan in bataille to ben in doute;
Þe Bretons hadden hasted hem so,
Þat tyme in dede myghte þey nought do.
Wyþ faire wordes hem to hym drow;
& gaf hem giftes & richesse ynow,—
ffor of his giftes he was ful large,
ffor schame þey moughte hym namore charge;—
& more he byhet, þan gyue he myght,
Þe Bretons to wynne wiþ force & fight.
To pore men he gaf fraunchise,
& cleymed þeym quit of þer seruise;
Þo men he hadde flemed þe contre,
To comen ageyn he gaf hem fre,
& to haue þer heritage,
& restored þeym of here damage.
Þerfore when þis grete lordynges
Seyen Cesar ofre þem swylke þynges—
Gold & syluer atter wille—
In pes þey held hem alle stille.
Mikel ys richesse of power!
ffor sone had he bated wo & wer,
Sone had he turned wrong to right,
Sone had he blent þe coueytous sight,
Sone made he frend þat er were wroþe,
Of Cesar & þe ffrankysche boþe;
ffor þo þat hym byforen hated,
Wiþ hys gyftes were alle abated;

160

Þat schopen hym yuel & outrage,
Þey diden hym fewte & homage,
At his conseil for to lende,
Ageyn þe Bretons ȝyf he wold wende.
Whan sire Cesar, lord & sire,
Had pesed & swaged al þer ire,
He conseilled hym wyþ an engynour,
& dide hym make a merueyllous tour
In Boloygne: “Ordre” ys þe name.
So wrought ys non bot þat same;
By-neþen hit is in strange compas;
Brod & þykke þe gynnynge was,
& euere hit nareweþ rysande on heyght,
& semeþ griller & more streight.
Selcouþe stages ar þer-ynne,
Wyndowes cast, coruen wiþ gynne.
His tresor he leyde þer inne to lok,
Onlyke þer al þat he toke;
& hym self lay in þe tour,
When he dred hym of his tresour.
Two ȝer he dwelled þer in ffraunce,
& dight hit for werre in alle chaunce;
He sente to baillifs to gadere hym fees,
& reisede his truwage of his citees.
Whan al was gadered on ylk party,
In Ordre þey leide hit in tresory.
In two ȝer he dide hym dight,
& made hym to Brutayne right,
& dide hym dighte a fflute on flode,
Sex hundred gret schipes & gode,
& seide, “ȝit wyly make assay

161

“Vpon þe Bretons, spede how y may;
“Bot ȝif y may conquere Cassibolan,
“Y preise nought elles al þat y er wan;
“Al my conqueste preise y nought,
“Bot þe Bretons to trewe be brought.”

De subuersione nauigii Cesaris in Tamysia.

Whan hit was dight, al his flet,
Wyþ god folk & vitailles set,
Þe schipes seyled day & nyght
Til þey come in to Temese right.
Þus þey wend, þat atte firste tyde
Þer nauye to Londone holy schold ryde;
Alle at ones þe scholde vp saille,
& to þe Bretons gyue bataille.
Þe Bretons wist hit wel ynow,
Bot of þer sleigþe lystneþ now;
Longe pyles & grete dide þey make;
ffaste yn Temese dide þey hem stake,
Euerylkon wyþ iren schod;
Ageyn þe schipes stod ilkon od,
fful wel set, & sykerly;
Þer myght non wel ascape forby.

De bello inter Cesarem & Brutones in Tamysia.

Right atte fulle se of flod
Com alle six hundred schipes god;
Sykerly þey wend haue nomen,
& into Londone at ones comen.

162

Þey ne were wyþynne bot a lite,
Or on þe pyles gon þey smyte.
Þer myght men se þat stod on brynke,
Schipes in-to þe water synke;
Þat on vn-to þe toþer hurte,
Þe mastes faste to-gidere burte,
& somme ouer-terned, & lay on syde;
Bordes ryuen out holes wyde,
Ropes ryuereled, & swerued in lyne,
Ilkon dered oþer, & dide pyne;
Lond ne hauene myght þey non taken,
So faste on pyles gan þey staken:
In yuel tyme out þey nomen,
Yuel þey ryued þat þider comen!
Cesar saw þat grete vnhap,
Þat in þe water was swylk a trap;
Iren-schod was ilka peel,
& þoughte þat so was ilka del;
Many of þem turned a-geyn,
& seyde þat wendyng was in veyn.
He dide þem alle gon vp to londe,
Man & hors, þer þey best fonde;
By bankes vp aboute þey wente,
& pyght þeym pauylons & tente.
Right als þey picched þer pauylons,
Cam Cassibolan wyþ þe Bretons,
Erles, barons, knyghte, squiers,
Asperly folle on þe Romayners:—
His neuew & oþere of his kynde,
Wyþ alle þe oþere þat he myghte fynde,

163

Þe kynge asemblede in noble wyse,
ffor wiþ þe Bretons was no feyntise:—
& at þer logges þer þey hem set,
Þe Bretons wyþ hem þer þey met.
Þeyr egre comyng þe Romayns a-boden,
A-geyn þe Brutons stifly þey stoden;
Als a wal þe scheltrom held,
& ruysed þe Brutons abak in feld.
ffirst þe Romayns ful wel stoden,
Agayn þe Bretons in bataille ȝoden,
& fer bakward dide hem go,
& manyon slowe, & wroughte wo.
Þenne was wroþ Cassibolan;
ffor tene byfore þem alle he nam,
& bar þe breste on þem by-fore,
& after hym þe Bretons gaf bore,
& euere was fresche folk comande,
And dide þe Romayns ageyn stande.
So wyþynne a litel þrowe
Men amed þem, & wel hit sowe,
Two so many Bretons þare
As hadde þer Iulius Cesare,
& dide þe Romayns a-geyn to fle,
& slowe þem, schame was hit to se!

164

De probitate Brutonum.

Hardy Cesar, noble kyng,
Þat neuere so bayscht was for no þyng,
He sey þe force of þe Brutons,
& hyse to þem hadde no fuysons.
Þe Bretons, as wode, rengede route;
Of dynt ne deþ had þey no doute;
Þey slowe, & felde, & made þem weye;
Þey made no force to lyue ne deye.
Cesar perceyued þat ful wel,
He dide turne hys folk ylk del
A-geyn, & to þer schipes wende;
Bot hym self lefte til þe last ende,
A-gayn þe Bretons for to fyght,
Þe whyles his folk to schipe þem dight.
By þe lond þe schypes did ryde,
To kepe his folk at ilka tyde;
When alle were ynne, & sayl on mast,
Cesar com yn alder last;
& alle þat were of his conrey,
Hyed þem faste, & wente þer wey.
Euene as lyne þe wynd gan dryue;
At Ordre, his tour, gon þey aryue.
Cesar soiourned þer ful longe,
To hele þem þat were wounded stronge,
& man & hors for to rest,
And ordeyned for hym what was best.

165

Þe kyng of þys lond, Cassibalan,
& þe Bretons ilka man,
Made ioye for þe mykel pris
Þat þey had wonnen of Cesar twys.
Þe Romayns, mykel sorewe þey made
Þat þe Bretons were so glade;
Cesar & hyse were dismayed,
Bot þe Bretons were wol payed.

Pro Victoria eorum optulerunt solempnem sacrificium Diane diis suis.

ffor ioie þey hadden þo batalle wonnen,
& Cesar twyes had ouer-ronnen,
To God þey highte to make a feste
Wyþ alle þe comme[n]s lest & meste.
Þe day he set of þe sacrifise,
Hys vow to holde wyþ fair seruise.
Cassibalon sende his messegers
ffor þe barons, knyghtes, & squiers,
Of his demeynes alle þe pytaille
Þat hadde hym serued in bataille,
Þat þey scholde alle to London come,
Vp peyne of forfeture of dome,
Wyf & child wiþ hem schold lede,
Þo þat halp hym in his nede,
& alle come wiþ herte glad,
In riche atyr, ryght as he bad.
Man & wyf, & children ȝonge
Þat couþe go, & speke wyþ tonge,

166

Alle þey comen to þe cyte:
ffairer folk myght no man se;
& ilkaman after his auenaunt
Made offrynge, as was his haunt.

Exe Sacrificium.

Þys feste day þat was so hey,
Were offred ffifty þousand ky,
&, þer-to, þre þousand hyndes,
Wylde walkande by wode lyndes;
& an hundred þousand schep;
Þe noumbre of foules gaf noman kep,
So fele þer were, myght non þem ame,
What of wilde, what of tame.
When don was þat sacrefyse,
& feste holde in þer beste wyse,
Mynstrals bygon to blowe & ryme,
Als þer custume was þat tyme;
Knyghtes, squiers, made bourdys,
& hem desgysede in pourpre & bys;
& oþer bachelers skirmede faste,
Wrastlede, lepen, stones caste;
In feld, in toun, in ilka weye,
Ilkon pleide þat he couþe pleye.
When þey hadde alle pleyd at wille,
& schold haue ended, & ben al stille,
Two wolde skyrmen, as fel þe cas,
Sire Huwelyn & Irelgas.

167

De Infortunio inter Huwelynum & Irelgas.

Irelgas was þe kynges cosyn;
Androcheus neuew was Huwelyn.
Þyse to-gedere wolde skyrme al gate;
Þorow pride of herte son com þer hate,
Þorow hate þen gan þer wordes ryse
Of boþe parties of yuel assise.
When ilk had seyd til oþer wough,
Wyþ wraþe to smyte, þe egge drough:
Þorow a meschaunce, y wot hit was,
Huwelyn slow þer Irelgas.
When þe kyng þys chaunce herd seye,
Þe feste was sturbled & aweye.
ffor þe kyng was ful feloun,
& hastyf, vntil vengaunce boun,
Þe kyng seid vntil Androche,
& bad hym vp peyne of alle his fe,
Huwelyn, his cosyn, hym for to sende,
Þat felonie for to amende,
& in his court haue iugement
Þorow þe comunes, er þat þey went.
Androcheus þoughte wyþ herte ful wo:
“Ȝif y hym sende, he schal hym slo.”
Androcheus sende ageyn ful tyt,
& of his court asked respit:
“A lord y am, & court y haue;
“Þorow þat wyl y hym dampne or saue.
“Ȝyf þer be eyþer baron or knyght,
“Pleyneþ hym þer, he schal haue right;

168

“& þe souereynte þou takest þe to,
“Hit schold be myn, & schal be so;
“Þou wost hit ys myn heritage;
“Þou bedes me mys & outrage!”

Rex irascatur versus Androcheum nepotem suum.

When þe kyng herde his answere,
He swor he scholde on hym were;
& þat he had, he scholde hym reue,
Heritage ne nought, hym byleue;
& Huwelyn schold he slo,
ffor þat outrage þat [he] had do.
On þis manere parted þer feste;
Wiþ loue bygan, endede wiþ cheste.
Cassibolan was Androcheus eem,
Luddes broþer of þat teem.
Androcheus was Luddesone, & Temnace,
As y forn telde in oþer place.
Whan Lud deyde, þey ne couþe
Kepe þe lond for þer ȝouþe;
Cassibolan þerfore vndertok
Þe lond, & hem to kepe & lok;
& þorow þe wroþe of þis þynge
Made Androche a chalangyng.
Now ilka day Cassibolan fandes
To brenne & struye Androcheus landes.

169

Hic peciit concordiam.

Androcheus saw his felon wille,
Þat þe kyng þoughte hym to spille;
He sente til hym his messeger,
& preyed þe kyng in fair maner,
Namore destruye his landes so,
Bot make acord bytwyxt hem to;
& preied hym “þat he wolde mone
“Þat he was his broþer sone,
“& heir of al þat heritage
“Þat þou me reuest wyþ outrage.”
Þe kyng was of so felon rees,
He ne wolde here of preyere ne pes,
Bot vengaunce take for any þyng;
Þat falles ful yuel for a kyng.
Androcheus saw no bettere bot:
“Suffren,” he saide, “nede y mot.”
Hys pleyn londes he let hym haue,
Bot his forteletes he dide saue:
Wiþ hym to holde he fond noman,
So cruel was Cassybalan.
ffle ne wold he neuer a del,
Ne lese þat he myghte holde wel.
Androcheus asked: “What ys to rede?
“Syn no man dar me helpe for drede,
“& help me byhoues haue algate,
“Nede me dryueþ vntil þe ȝate;
“ffor þe kyng assent wil nought
“Þat y haue þes, als y haue sought.

170

“Siþen y ne may haue no rest,
“On oþer halue y schal do my best;
“fful mykel anguisse woldy byde,
“ffor to felle þe kynges pryde.
“A folye to do, & fle a wel more,
“Men haldes þat wysdam & lore;
“To do a folye, ȝut were hit skyl,
“ffort[o] lyuere a man fro more peryl;
“& god hit were to suffre a wo,
“ffor to venge hym of hys fo.
“Wel y wot, & haue in hert,
“Þat hit schal vs boþe smert;
“Bot ȝit me lykes þat greuaunce,
“ȝif y may take on hym vengaunce.
“What so schal me bytide algate,
“Þe kynges pride y wyl abate;
“Y may nought elles wyþ hym dele.”
A lettere he wrot, & dide hit sele,
& sent hit priuely to Cesar,
Tyl Ordre his tour, for he was þar.
What he wrot, & þyder sent,
Y vnderstonde þus þentent:

Epistola Androchii ad Cesarem.

“To Cesar, hardy, war, & wys,
“Whas pruwesse men preise in pris!
“Of Bretaigne, Androche þe Bretoun,
“Sire of Kent, lord of London,
“Sendeþ þe gretynge, wyþ his god red,
“Þat whilom wylned to þe ded.
“Cesar! often haue men seen,

171

“Þer to han hated, & fomen ben,
“Þat syþen han loued to-gedre wel,
“Tristiloker þan ony stel;
“After hate, loue wyl be,
“& after schame, worschip men se:
“Þus hit bytides many gate,
“Of somme þer longe has ben hate.
“Ilk soughte oþer deþ, al þat we myght,
“When we met vs in feld to fight;
“Bot so hit fel, to boþe oure prow,
“Þat neyþer am y slayn, ne þow.
“A-geynes vs bataille hastow nomen,
“& twyes we haue þe ouercomen;
“Bot lef þou wel þis for certeyn,
“Þat ȝif þou wilt come eft ageyn,
“Of Kent ne þertestow fle þat cost,
“Þaw y were þere wyþ al myn host;
“& þey þe kyng þat tyme com þare,
“Ne þart þe fle for al his fare;
“ffor þorow myn help, & þorow me,
“Has þe kyng do þe twyes fle;
“ffor by me þe land þou lees,
“& for me fledde þy mykel pres.
“Þerof now y repente me sore,
“Þat y so dide ageyn þe þore;
“Þerfore by me þou schalt be brought
“To wynne þe lond, als þou had þought;
“Now me forþynkes þat y þe noyed,

172

“& þat þe kyng þe so destruyed;
“ffor syn he haþ boren hym in to proud wyse
“Til his barons, & to alle hyse,
“And syþen hadde he neuere wille
“In pes me suffre a day be stille;
“My lond to waste he goþ aboute,
“My frendes to slo, & dryue þem oute;
“My self he wolde exile & chace,
“& slo, als hit ys his manace;
“My God y take witnesse vnto,
“Y serued neuere he scholde so do!
“My neuew to deþ he wolde haue demed;
“ffor y wyþstodit, he haþ me flemed,
“& for y wolde nought do his wylle,
“To suffre hym myn neuew spille.
“Y schal þe telle how hit bygan
“Bytwixt me & Cassibolan:
“ffor [þe] honur & for þe pris
“Þat we hadde ouer-come þe twys,
“Þe kyng dide þe folk somoun
“Þorow-out þe lond of ilka toun,
“Þat alle of valow, moste & leste,
“Suld com to London to his feste,
“Grace till our God [to] ȝelde
“With sacrifise, as lawe wilde.
“Graces ȝolden with sacrifise,
“Whan we had don our seruise,

173

“Diuerse folk in stedes did samen,
“& diuersly plaied þei gamen.]

De infortunio inter Huwelinum & Irelgas.

“Irelgas was þe kynges cosyn;
“Huwelyn, he was neuew myn:
“Þyse to-gydere wolde skirme algate;
“Þorow proude hertes þer wax hate;
“Þorow hate þer gon wordes ryse
“On boþe partys, on yuel assise.
“Whan ilk had seid oþer wow,
“Wiþ wraþe to smyte, þe egge drow;
“Þorow a meschaunce, y wot hit was,
“Huwelyn slow þer Irelgas.
“When þe kyng herde þys seye,
“Þe feste was trobled, & myrþe a-weye.
“ffor þe kyng was ful felon,
“& hastif, vntil vengaunce boun,
“Þen seid þe kyng vntil me,
“Comaundynge, vp peyne of al my fe,
“Huwelyn hym for to sende,
“Þat ffelonye for to amende,

174

“And in his court have iugement
“Þorow þe comunes, ar þat þey went.
“Þan þought y wyþ herte ful wo,
“ȝif y hym sende, he scholde hym slo.
“y sende hym ageyn ful tyt,
“& of his court asked respit:
“‘A lord y am, a court y haue,
“‘Þorow þat wold y hym dampne or saue;
“‘ȝif hit be eyþer baron or knyght
“‘Þat pleyneþ hym þere, he shal haue right.
“‘Þe court þat þou bedes me to,
“‘Hit schold be myn, & schal be so;
“‘Þou wost hit is myn heritage;
“‘Þou beodes me mys & outrage.’
“& for y þus agayn-seide hym,
“He ys to me þus wroþ & brym,
“& me manaceþ day by day
“To brenne & slo, ȝyf þat he may.
“Wher-fore, Cesar, y schewe hit þe,
“Þat þou my socour ageyn hym be,
“& help me in my wo so harde,
“And com hyder in god forewarde,
“And þorow me schaltow haue Brutayne,
“& y þorow þe brought out of payne.
“Ne haue þou non suspecioun
“Þat y hit seye for any tresoun:
“Y wolde nought swylk a þyng bygynne,
“Al þys reame for to wynne;
“Bot com, & make no dwellynge,
“& rescowe me a-geyn þe kynge.
“ffor þou myshappedest y þe first ende,
“Now schaltow spede er þat þou wende.”

175

Cesar herde what he bysought,
& streitly turnde hit in his þought,
& schewed hit his barons aboute,
Wheþer þey heldit certeyn or doute.
Þer-on þey conseild, þat þer war,
Þat atte laste seyde Cesar,
“Þat he ne wolde, for sonde ne sawe,
“Put hym in peril ne in awe;
“Ne for no byheste of bost
“Wold he so sone sampne his host;
“ffor y haue herd seye fele syþe,
“Þat faire byhestes makeþ foles blithe.”
Cesar sent hym bode ageyn,
ȝyf he wold hald his word certayn,
Sende he scholde hym hostagers,
Men of gode, barons, pers,
Oþer elles wolde he nought com þere
Vntil his tyme bettere were.

Androcheus dred hym of treson,
Þat þe kyng wolde bysege þe toun.
His sone Senna til Cesar sent,
& þritty oþer wyþ hym þey went,
Of þe beste þat he might fynde,
Next born of his owen kynde.
Cesar receiued þem wyþ honur,
& dide þem alle in Ordre, his tour.
Syn, als sone as he myghte hye,
He dighte his host, & god nauye,
& priuely aryued vp at Douer,
& logged hem by þe cost al ouer.
Androcheus com til Cesar þyder,
& conseiled þem boþe to-gyder,

176

How þey schuld wyrke, & on what wyse,
Ageyn þe kyng in bataille to rise.
Tydynges ronne, þat ouer al reches;
Ilk man til oþer made þer speches,
Til men tolde þe kyng tydant,
Þat Romayns were aryue on land.
Þe kyng þeron conseilled sone;
On hem to renne, mad hym bone;
& in herte had gret meruaille
Þat þey so so sone broughte hym bataille.—
He wende of þeym haue hed no warde,
Bot hym fel þer a chek ful harde;—
& al so sone as he myght,
Toward Douere his host he dight.
To Cesar was hit told in hast
Þat þe kyng was comande fast:
Cesar conseilled wiþ Androche,
Þat he wolde come out of þe cite,
And turne a sidenhand o valeye,
&, armed, biden hem in þe weye;
& arraied þem in renges ryght,
& assigned whiche bataille first schold fight.
Whan Cesar had arrayed al his host,
O þyng he comaunded most:
“Þat non scholde, for wele ne wo,
“On fro oþer, of renge go;
“Ne non prese to styrte byfore,
“Ne holde byhynde in coward score;
“Bot passe forþ sadlyk, syde by syde,

177

‘Til þey com þer þey schold abide,
‘& stoutly hem þanne o þe bretons auaunce,
‘& felle þem doun wiþ swerd & launce.’
Androcheus enbusched hym pryuely
Wyþ fif hundred men armed, redy
On þe kyng assaut to make,
By-twyxt hem ȝyf he myghte hym take.
Cassibolan on his wey gan spede;
Of non enbuschement tok he hede;
Þeyr hostes boþe neighed ȝerne;
& whan þey were nought fro þem ferne,
Ouer an hil þen lay his weye;
& als he com in to þe valeye,
He saw þe Romayns fresche y þe feld,
Redy enbatailled wiþ spere & scheld.
Als sone mad he hym redy,
& loude ascried þem on har cry,
& sone þey schoten arewes & dartz
fful felonlyk on boþe partz.
Androcheus, atte firste comynge,
Of his enbuschement gan he springe;
Al freschely he com on hem ful hot,
& bacward vpon þe Bretons smot:
“Ey!” seid þe kyng, “here ys deseit!
“Bytwixt þem to þey holde vs streit!”
He ne myghte nought perce þe host Romeyn,
Ne he ne myghte turne ageyn;
Byhynde, biforn, he saw peryl.

178

O side he trauersed vnto a hil,
So nede hym byhoued, or be in clos.
On boþe sides he saw his foos,
He seide hym self þo, he was bitraischt;
Þen were þe Bretons alle abaischt.

Hic Cassibolanus se retraxit.

Ilk þat þer myght fle, þey fledde;
Þat best myght renne, best he spedde;
Bettere was fle, þan worse abide,
ffor socour þer cam on none syde.
Vntil a hey hil þey drowe hem to,
Bettere wistey nought what for to do;
& er þey myghte þat heye hil take,
Many a croune men myght se crake.
Whan þey hadde þe hil al nomen,
Þeym þoughte þey were til castel comen;
Non of þe Romayns durst com hem ney,
Bot held þem fro þe hil a drey.
Þe hil was strong busked aboute,
Þat þe Bretons of Cesar hadde no doute;
ffor eche man tok a tre to stal,
As tristi as a castel wal.
Cesa[r] byheld to þe hilles heyght,
Þat wyþ non assaut ne wyþ no sleight
Mighte he wynne þat forcelet;
Þerfore a sege abute hit set,

179

Þat þey ne myghte no-wer aboute,
Bot þorow hym, haue issue oute.
He dide sette in wardes seers,
Knyghte to wachem, & squiers;
& also he dide hewe trees,
Þe styes to stoppe, & þe entres,
& furgat nought ful lyghtly
How þey had chased hym wyþ maistri;
& ofte þey telde in þer auys
How þey bifore had chased hem twys:
“Now schal y ȝelde hit, ȝif þat y may,
“Er ȝe departe fro me away!”
Alas, hit schold euer so bytyde,
So bolde Bretons myght non abide!
ffor þey had chased twyes þat man
Þat al þe werld þorow bataille wan;
& ȝit þey stode stifly, ilkon,
Whan þey wiste socur of non,
ȝit suffrede þei nought for to be nome
Of hym þat þey had er ouercome;
But Dame ffortune had turned her whel
Donward til wo, þat er was wel;
ffor þo þat abouen were wond to be,
Donward þeym now turneþ sche.

Qualiter Brutones iam deuicti sunt per famem.

Þyse Bretons þat were in-clos
& byseged wiþ her fos,
Had þey neyþer drynke ne mete,
Ne non myght hem purchace ne gete.
Þey dredde no saut of bataille;

180

Bot what may þat help or a-vaille,
When of mete ys defaut?
Honger wynnes hit atte firste saut.
Þer ys no castel so strong idight,
Þat honger ne wynneþ wyþouten fight;
Wyþouten wepen or armour,
Honger ȝeldeþ castel & tour.
God castel dredes no power,
Emperour, kyng, ne kayser,
Ne oþer help me haue at nede;
Bot of honger ys al þe drede.
Þer force haþ mad manye assayes,
Honger hit wynnes byn fewe dayes.
Þre dayes þey were in þat turment,
Þat honger had þeym ner al schent.

Rex misit Androchio pro Misericordia & Auxilio.

Cassibolan had sorewe in wold,
How he mighte ascape þat hold:
On alle halue he saw Romayns
Redy for to do þeym payns;
He hadde no force wyþ hem to fyght,
& honger hadde ouer reft þer myght;
Mykel he dredde Iulius Cesar,
& more þe honger þat þey had þar.
He moste chese on of tweye:
ȝelde hym to Cesar, or for honger deye.
Two dayes & two nyghtes til ende
Wold he noman biseke ne sende;

Þe þrydde, he þoughte how best myght be,
& sende his sonde til Androche:—

181

I ne wot ho dide þe message,
Wheþer knyght, squier, or page:—
“Androcheus, y sende þe to seye,
“Suffre me nought schamely to deye.
“Þaw y mystok me greuously,
“I prey þe of me haue þou mercy.
“Þaw i dide an hastynesse,
“Y schal hit amende, as his wylle esse.
“A man schold nought his owen kynde
“Dampne for o defaute, we fynde;
“ffor hit haþ ofte be wyst & sen,
“Þat wraþe bytwyxte kynde haþ ben;
“Bot whan þer [wraþe] was brought til ende,
“Syn han þey ben ful feyþful frende.
“I preie þe now, ȝif þy wille be,
“Þat þou be now curteys to me;
“Y biseke þe, þenk on no mysdede,
“Bot schew me þy kyndenesse in þys nede,
“& saue me now byfore Cesar,
“& euere more eft wol y be war.
“To þe may neuere falle honur
“ȝyf me bytide a misauentur.”

Responcio e contrario.

Androcheus herde þe kynges pleint,
Þat ner was recreaunt & teynt;
& answered hym al at reburs:
“Haþ now þe kyng nede of my socurs?
“What, haþ my lord herd ought or seen?

182

“Seue nyght ȝit ne haþ hit ben,
“Þat he wolde me exile, & reue
“Al my lond, & no þyng leue,
“& þerto þrette me to slo,
“Whare he haue now laten þat mod ouer go.
“My lord þat bar hym so ouer stout,
“ffor no preiere to loue wolde lout,
“I wiste hit wolde nought falle hym wel,
“Þat was so fers, & ouer cruel.
“Wyþouten skil were we wroþe,
“& þat schal now repente vs boþe;
“Bot alder meste skaþe wil falle
“On hym seluen for vs alle;
“Hit falleþ no kyng to felon res,
“As lyon in þe tyme of pees,
“Ne in tyme of werre for to dare,
“Ne to fle for drede, as doþ þe hare.
“Þat he fled, sire, nought so,
“Bot his cruelte wil hym fordo;
“He auaunted hym til vs ilkone,
“He venquised þe enperour alone;
“Bot he alone neuere hym ne wan,
“Namore þan dide an oþer man;
“Bot þorow me & þorow my knyghtes
“Þat wounded were in many fightes,
“And oþer þat were al so doughty,
“& wel bettere þan he oþer y,
“Þorow þeir dede & oure trauaille
“Wan Cassibolan þe bataille.
“ffor swylk he made his noble fest,
“& seid hit was his owen conquest.
“His barons þat were his peres,
“Of his conqueste were parceners;

183

“ffor he þat stande wel in stour,
“He aughte haue part of þe honur.
“Þe kyng may wel hym seluen wyte,
“By hym alone schal hit nought byte;
“Þo þat halpe hym hit for to wynne,
“Wel oughte þey be parceners þer-ynne.

De gratitudine Androchii.

“Bot wel am y now venged on hym;
“Þat now ys meke, þat er was grym.
“Now, siþen þat he bisekeþ me
“On hym to haue mercy & pite;
“& y schal certes, ȝif y may spede,
“Help hym now in his gret nede.
“I may nought elles for no þyng;
“He ys myn eem, my lord, my kyng;
“I ne may nought faille hym, ne y ne wil!
“Syn he hym mekeþ, y wol do skil:
“I am venged on hym y-now;
“Now wol y fonde to don his prow.”

Dixit Androcheus Cesary pro pace Cassibolani.

Androcheus, wys knyght & war,
Anon he ȝede vntil Cesar,
And on knes byfore hym sette.
Iulyus Cesar ful faire he grette:
“Sire Iulius, þou art a myghti man,
“Conquered þou hast Cassibolan!
“Vnto þy mercy wol he now come,
“& ȝelde his truage vntil Rome;

184

“Tak of hym now þat truage,
“Of þe to holde his heritage;
“Wiþ loue let hym now come to þe.
“Þou askes nought elles of al his fe,
“Bot onlike of þe to holde;
“He hit graunteþ, & y hit wolde.
“Iulius, haue of hym mercy!
“Þy wille to do we ar redy.”
Bot Iulius Cesar wold hym nought here;
fful deflike herde he his preyere,
& passed forþ as he nought herde;
Til Androche nought he answerde.
Androcheus had þer-of disdeyn,
Þat Cesar tok his preyer in veyn;
He stirt vp wiþ yuel wylle,
& bad Cesar stonde a whyle stille:
“Þis londe ys ȝolden to þy baillye;
“Þorow me hastow þe seignurie;
“Þat y þe hight, y holde couenaunt,
“& more getes þou nought of graunt.
“Þe seignurye of al þenpyre,
“Þat may þou haue, as lorde & sire;
“Þat þow hast; what wiltow more?
“Nolde God þat oþer weys wore,
“Þat þou myn eem schost prisone or slo!
“Nay, Cesar, so schal hit nought go,
“Þat he schol be so lyghtly slayn,
“While þat y haue þat myght & mayn
“Þat hym for deþ y may rescuwe!
“He is myn eem, & y his neuewe;
“He noriced me, he ys me dere!
“ȝif þou ne wilt my biddyng here,
“Y parte fro þe, & haue god day:

185

“Do now til hym al þat þou may!”
Þen cam Cesar forþ, & stod,
Þoughte he was of kynde blod,
& þat he seide, hit was skyl,
& he dide his wit þer-til.
Whan he hadde al cast & þought,
He graunted al þat he had sought;
Hostages asked þe partys,
& þey wer graunted at here auis,
And truage þey graunted so,
As þe lond was taxed to:
Þre þousand pound ylka ȝer,
At termes so to paye plener;
Of alle þe lond gadered & tan.
Þen brought þey forþ Cassibolan,
& diden Cesar & hym kysse:
ffor þat acord was mykel blisse.
Byfore þis tyme, neuere y ne fond
Þat any man conquered þis lond.

Þenne returned Cesar wiþ hye
To Romeward after his victorie.
Bot ȝe schul here a wonder þyng

186

Þat fel in Rome after his wendynge:
He had þer mad chef of þe cite
Sire Crassus & sire Pompee;
When þey had so al þe maistry þer,
& he nought returned þe fyfte ȝer,
Þey racoillede þe Romayns til her wylle,
Ageyn Cesar. þat fel hem ylle;
ffor Iulius destruyde Rome þan,
& slow þer lord & gentilman;
& Crassus he slow in a tour hey,
Bot Pompeus skaped, & faste fley.
fforþ in to Poylle he chased hym wel;
Þer he byseged hym in a castel,—
Braundys hit highte, as men tolde;—
Bot þat myghte he nought longe holde,
Bot in-to Egipte þen schiped he,
ffor wel wend he þer siker haue be.
Bot Cesar hym suwed yn-to þat contre,
& spak to þe kyng, sire Tholome.
Wiþ him was sire Pompe y-take;
Bot for drede of Iulius sake
He nolde meyntene hym namore,
Bot his hed dide smyte of þore,
& sentyt Iulius til present;
& þer-wyþ he to Romward went
In al his moste nobleye. in Rome
Right yuele þey schope for hym ful sone:
His barons wiþ treson dide hym deye,
Bot Greffes hym mordred for enuye.
Twey neuews he hadde, bot sone non,
Þe eldest was cald Octouyon;
Þe Romayns corouned hym saunz faille;
Þen sesed he Braundys & Itaill,
Of Poylle & Grece he tok þauow,

187

& of alle þe reomes by-ȝonde Moungow.
And al þe Oryent, þat oþer sesed,
& tok tys part þat þe oþer leued;
Of þritty reomes euery kynge
Were enclinaunt til his coronyng.
Such wraþe bytwixte þe neuews ros sone,
Þat wiþ batailles to feld þey come.
Octouion þat oþer slow anon,
& his men desconfyted echon.
Þen hadde Rome suche renoun
Þat al þyng was in here baundon;
Þen gaf þey til þe enperrour
A newe name for gret honour,
‘Augustus Cesar’ þe calde hym þere,
ffor þei ouer alle oþere were;
& after þat he þat name had,
Þe Romayns were þe more y-drad,
ffor þemperour had þen vnder hand
Al þe werld, boþe se & land.

188

Bot Cassibolan was ful ioyous
Þat þis werre was ended þus.
ffyftene [ȝer] after he regned in pes,
Bot no child ne lefte at his deses;
Þerfore þe corounede sire Tenmace;
To gouerne þe reome he hadde grace.
Cassibolan was ded, as was pite,
& buryed at ȝork, þe gode cite.
Wiþ Iulyus went forþ sire Androche,
& his broþer reioisede þe regalte.
After cam Kymbely, Tenmace sone,
Þat had ful gret grace of Rome;
Of alle his truage þey relesed hym þer,
While he scholde regne & lyuen her,
So þat he neuere ne payed non
To Rome ne to Octouyon.
He meyntend euere his lond in pes,
& leftyt his sones after his deces.

De natiuitate Christi.

In his tyme was here a deuin,
His name was called Telesyn;
He telde þe Bretons many selcouþ,
(Al fond þey trewe he seide wyþ mouþ;)
He bad þem “lyue wyþouten errour,
“ffor now ys born our saueour!
“Now ys vs toward ioye & blys,
“Þat of a mayde þis child born ys!

189

“Al mankynde schal he saue!
“Ihesus, þat name schal he haue.”
Þis word þat þilk prophete seyde,
Þe Bretons in herte ful wel hit leyde;
Many a day þat word þey held;
Þey fondyt soþ al þat he teld.
Þer was no folk in al þe werd
Þat trowed so sone, when þey ought herd
Prechen ought of Iesu lawe,
Ne to þe feyþ so sone gon drawe.
Þen was þer a þowsand ȝer gon
Þat Brutes aryued in Albyon,
& þerto two hundred ȝer mo
Er Kymbelyn to deþ gan go.
As longe as he regned her,
Wyþ þe Romayns was he dere;
Þey asked hym neuere no truage,
Neyþer in his ȝougþe ne in age.

Christus natus est in tempore Kymbelyny.

Of Kymbelyn to childre left,
Þat þe Romayns þer truage reft.
Wyder, hight þe eldeste broþer;
Arwygar, men calde þat oþer.
Sire Wyder hadde þe heritage.
A man he was of gret corage,
Proud he was, & ouer stout;
Þe Romayns nolde he loue ne lout,
Bot whare so euere he hem fond,

190

He dide hem sone voyde þe lond.
Claudeus was þan emperour,
Of Rome maister gouernour:
Scorn hym þought, & swor his heued
Þer truage schold nought so be leued;
He scholde haue hit a-geyn ful wel,
Deserite Wyder of ylka del.
Of Romayns he gadered an host,
& hyed fast til Bretaigne cost.
Hauene he tok at Porcestre—
‘Kaer Perys’ hight þan þat estre,—
He wende haue taken þe toun in hast,
Bot he failled of his [t]ast.
Þan tened Claudius [w]iþal,
Byfore þe ȝate dide make a wal,
Þat no vitaille schuld come til toun:
To enfamyn hem was þencheson.
Bot Wyder & Arwygarus
Wyþ twenty þousand mad hem rescus.
Sire Claudius & his partie
ffledde faste to þer nauye;
Þe beste Romayns in batailles seer
Stoden somme ageyn Wyder,
& foughte wyþ hym longe stounde;
Of boþe side ley ded on grounde.

A Romayn þer was, a noble baroun,
His name þey calde sire Hamoun,
He was þemperores conseillour,
A noble knyght he was in stour;
He houed, & byheld sire Wyders,
How he bar hym stout & fers,

191

Romayns to felle, Romayns to slo,—
Vnneþe ascaped hym any fro,—
How wysly his folk he ledde,
& how in batailles he þem spredde,
Wyþouten los slow þe Romayns,
& syn relied his men agayns.
He saw wel—weel he mought hit leue,—
Þat oþer truage wold he no geue,
Ne þe Romayns schuldit neuere wynne
Whyle Wyder rengned kyng þer-ynne;
He þoughte þorow what manere þyng
He myght best slo Wyder þe kyng.
Þat ylke noble Hamon Romayn,
Dispoilled a Breton þat he fond slayn;
Wyþ þe armes of þat Brutoun
He armed hym seluen Hamoun,
& went þen o þe Bretons syde:
Als þey rod, so gan he ryde.
[Þe] armes deseyued hem ylkadel,
& of þer langage he spak ful wel,—
He had lered at our hostagers
Þat were at Rome truagers.—
He calde þe Breton by þer name,
& þey answered agayn þe same,
Til he cam to þe kyng Wyder,
Alwey he neyghed hym ner & ner;
Þys Hamon rod ay side by side,
To sle þe kyng his tyme tabide.
Þe kyng til hym gaf no tent;

192

Þat saw Hamoun, a knyf out hent,
Vnder þarmure þe kyng he styked,
Priuely fro þem alle he pryked.

De sapiencia & prudencia Arwygary.

Arwygarus, his owen broþer,
Parseyued þat er any oþer,
& þoughte hit were gret folye
Þere to grede or for to crie.
He tok þe kynges conisaunce,
ffor non scholde perseyue þat chaunce,
An bad his priues euer-ylkon,
“Nought so hardy make no mon;
“ffor wyst our folk we were þus trayscht,
“Hit scholde make þem alle abayscht;
“Wyste þe Romayns þys chaunce wore,
“Hit scholde enforce hem wel þe more.
“ȝyf we were bold, now be we baldere,
“& y schal vndertake þys were.”
He was wel armed, & on his stede
Toward þe bataille he gan hym spede.
Waster non þat wolde hym feyne
Whan þey sey þe kynges seigne.
So wel he bar hym, & so auster,
Þey wende hit were kyng Wyder.
Þan myghte men se knyghtes stoute,
Þat perced þorow þe Romayns Route;
Þe Romayns ne moughte to-gedere holde,
So were þe bretons egre & bolde;
Syre Claudius wyþ his partie

193

To þe water fledde wyþ his meynye;
Þat myghte nought to þe water fle,
Vntil a wode þen fledde he.
Hamoun, þat þe host al ledde,
To þer schypes faste he fledde;
He spirde after þer enperour,
Whider-ward he made his retour;
Men ynowe til hym gon seye,
Þat to þe water he tok hys weye.
Þe kynges broþer Arwygare,
Whider Hamon fledde, he was wel war.
Atte water Hamon doun lyght,
Intil a bot Hamon had tyght;
Byforn cam Arwygar atte bot;
Sire Hamones hed þer of he smot.
ffor Hamon lefte þere his heued,
Þe name of hym þer ys bileued;
& for þencheson of þulke Hamoun,
ffor hym þe calde þe toun Hamptoun:
ffor swylke chaunces þat han bytid,
Ar names of tounes cald & kyd.

Whan he was fled, þenperour,
& Hamon slayn atte retour,
& alle wer dryuen to þat cost,
Þe kyng to Wynchestre lad his host.
When Arwygar þiderward nam,
Claudius ef[t] to londe cam,
& com a-geyn to Porchestre,
& brak þe walles, & brente þe estre:
Al he brente, vp & doun,
& chaced men out of þe toun.

194

Byforen hit was a god cite;
Syn cam hit neuere to þat bounte.
When he had destruyed þus Porchestre,
Syþen he wente to Wynchestre;
Þer-inne he seged Arwygare,
& alle þat euere wyþ hym ware.
Gode engyns dide he make,
Þe walles to breke, houses to schake.
Arwygar heldyt a vylte,
So seged in a toun to be,
& seide ‘he wolde nought þrynne lye,
‘To wham-euere happede þe maistrie;
‘Eyþer wold he wynne or lese los,
‘Er he scholde more be halde inclos.’
He went out in-to þe feld,
& alle his knyghtes wyþ spere & scheld;
He batailled hem vnto þe fight,
Wyþ archers gode, wel adight;
Þe mene folk alle y fere
Were wysly set in god manere.
Bytwyxte þe partys was þer bot lyte
Þat þey ne scholde to-gedere smyte.

De consilio Sapientum Ciuitatis.

Þe wyseste men of þat cite
Conseilled hem how best myght be.
Mykel þey dredde þer god to tyne,
& slaughtre of þe folk, þe pyne;
Þey saide, “þe pes were better to haue,
“Our toun & oure godes to saue,

195

“þen for to lyue in werre & stryf,
“& lese oure godes, & tyne our lyf.”
Þey toke a man of honour,
& sent hym to þe Emperour,
To wite at hym wheþer þat he ches
To haue þe werre oþer þe pees.
Þenperour seide, als he þought,
“Werre to haue wylny nought,
“Ne y ne ȝerne nought of ȝoure,
“Bot þat Rome haue his honoure;
“Ne y ne wilne wyþ no man fight,
“So þat Rome mot haue his right.”
Þey graunted alle at his auis,
And sworen þe pees in boþe partys.

Concordati sunt Inperator & Rex.

Þe Emperour honured mykel þe kyng,
& profred hym a ful fair þynge:
“Sire kyng,” he seide, “a doughter y haue,
“& on þe y vouche hure saue
“ȝyf þou wilt myn owen bycome,
“& ȝeld þy truage vntil Rome.”
Arwygar graunted þer-to,
& to þe true ȝeldyng al-so.
In Wynchestre were þey hosteld boþe,
& frendes, þat er weren wroþe.
Þemperour to Rome sent
ffor Genwys, þat maiden gent.
In dwellyng of þis messagers,
Þey sampned knygtes & squyers;
Wyþ gret host þey wente þer weye,

196

& wonne þe ilde of Orkeneye,
& oþer ildes þat þer ware,
Wyþ help of sire Arwygare.
Þis Claudyus regned y þat tyme—
As seint Bede seys in his ryme—
Syn Ihesu was born of oure leuedy,
Þer fel ȝeres sixe & fourty.

Þis messegers þat went to Rome,
Y þe somer a-geyn þey come,
& broughte þat maiden Genwys,
Gentyl of body & fair of vis.
Þen cam hom þemperour;
Þan mad þey myrthe in halle & bour.
To wedde þat may in place auenaunt,
Þe couenaunt to holde, siker þey graunt,
Vpon Seuerne, in o vale
Þat riche was & ful ese,
Bytwyxten Ingelond & Wales,—
To telle ȝow þe soþe tales—
Þat for þe worschip of þat may,
A toun þey sette þer þat day.
Þys Emperour gat þer a sone;
Of þat child þe name we mone;
Gloy he hight y þat estre;

And for þat Gloy, hat hit Gloucestre.
Arwygar wedded þer Genwys,
In Gloucestre, wyþ mykel pris;
Þer was he corouned, & sche,

197

Noblely wiþ solempnete;
& when þe feste was brought til ende,
Claudius to Rome ageyn gan wende.

De aduentu Sancti Petry Apostoly.

I fynde writen, ȝow to teche,
Þat in Nero tyme seint Peter gan preche.
ffro Antyoche þat tyme he cam,
Þorow prechyng brought hit to Cristendam,
And was comen right in to Rome,
And preched þere of Cristes dome.

Whan gon was sire Claudyus,
In Bretayne regned Arwygarus;
Of hym self he let right mykel,
Bot proud he was, & a party fykel;
Þe true to Rome gyue he nolde,
ffor he dedeyned of hem to holde;
Þe Romayns þoughte an outrage
So for to lese þer truage;

Þey senten hyder Vaspasyan,
Maister of Rome was he þan.
At Douere wolde he vp a-ryue;
Þe kyng hit herde, & þyder gan dryue,—
As hit ys founden in Ebru,
Douere þen highte Reptupu,—
Þer fended he Vaspasian þe lond.
Þer sailles ageyn on mast þey wond,
& seyled by þe landes syde
Tyl Toteneys, þer gon þey ride.

198

ffor þy now hit dide hem qued
Þat þey hem so þat lond furbed.
Til Oxenford þey gon alle ride,
To take þe toun y þe euentyde:
‘Karphuelgoit’ vpon Bretoun,
On Englische, ‘Oxenford’ þe toun.
Þe toun of þeym hadde no doute,
Seuenyght þe seged hit wyþoute.
Þe kyng, als sone as he myght,
Oste gadred, & þider hym dight;
Raþer ne myghte þider wende;
Bote atte seue nyghtes ende,
He com in a morwe tyde.
Sone þey assembled on boþe syde,
ffro morn til euen bataille þey nomen,
Þat neyþer side was ouercomen;
At euen þey ȝeden alle asonder;
Al were þey wery, hit was no wonder.
On þe morn, þo þat were lefte,
Þey armed hem to bataille efte.

Concordati sunt per Reginam.

Bot þe quene, dame Genwys,
Sche acorded boþe partys;
Scheo peyned hure acord to make,
ffor loue of þe Romayns sake;
Algate scheo peyned hure so,
Til acord sche brought þem to.
Al þe wynter scheo dide þem byde,

199

Til hit was toward somertyde;
Þe pes was take, þe partys swore,
Bot Vaspasian swor first byfore.
Þe kyng, fro þat ylke day,
Al his lyue ȝald Rome þer pay;
Hys oþ ne let he neuere falle,
Bot ay worschiped Romayns alle,
And wyþ help of Vaspasian
Al Irlonde he wan;
Þe folk, þe lond, he couþe wel loke;
At Colchestre he lis, we fynde in boke.
A bok, men calleþ hit Iuuenal,
Of stories hit spekeþ al,
At Gloucestre, þer hit lys,
And þe quene, dam Genwys.

Marius Rex.

Marius his sone, of Genewys born,
Was kyng as his fader byforn.
A myghtful man was Maryus,
Of fair speche merueillous;
His ffader tyme he was atte Rome
Wiþ þe kynde his moder of come.
Wel he contened hym in his londe,
Þer blessed hym boþ fre & bonde.
In Maryus tyme fel þis ferlyk:
In Scotlond aryued a Peyt, Rodryk.
King Peyt cam out of þe se,
Þat neuere had mercy ne pite;

200

Mykel he loued to robbe & reue,
Scotland to waste wold he nought leue.
Als he wente & robbede faste,
Maryus mette hym atte laste;
Marius had god folk ynow,
& Peyt Rodryk smertly he slow.
ffor þat Maryus slow þe Peyht,
He dide þer set a ston þorow sleight,
ffor to schewe his prowesse,
& forto make þe menyng fresse;
ffor in þe ston he dide be wryte,
Whar-þorow euery man may wyte;
Hit wytnesseþ þe auenture,
& telles þe disconfiture,
How Marius slow þe Peyt Rodrik;
Þe ston was set for þat ferlyk:
Þo men þat weren, & ȝit are,
Þey calle þat ston ȝit ‘Westmare;’
Þat contre folk seyen ilkon
Þat te countre is cald after þe ston;

ffor þe ston Westmare, Westmorland;
Þus in þe Latyn writen y fand.
When þat Rodrik þe Peiht was ded,
Men gaf þe kyng Marius to red,
‘To take þe Peihtes more & lesse,
‘Deliuere hem a party of Catenesse
‘To tyle & haue in heritage,
‘ffor hit was bot wast & sauage.’
Þey herborwed þem þer euery where,
In stedes ese, þat best were.
Wymen of Bretayne wolde þey haue,
Bot þe Bretons vouched nought saue;

201

Þey dide hem in til Irland,
& tok þer wyues at her hand;
Of two kyndes, Iris & Peiht,
Sorewe & tene hit broughte on height.
Marius þe kyng, in his lyf her,
Lyuede nyne & fourty ȝer;
Buried he was in Salesbury,
Þat standes on a playne ful mury.

Coyl Rex.

After Marius þan lyuede longe,
Coyl his sone þat land gan fonge;
He was norysed y þe toun of Rome;
In alle lawes he gaf right dome;
Þey of Rome louede hym wel,
ffor þey hym founde as trewe as stel.
Coyl couþe of many queintise,
And manie artes of seer wyse;
He was neuere nygon ne nyce,
Ne neuere vsed yuel vice;
Ten ȝer he regned her al fully;
At Norwiche byried ful worþyly.

Lucius primus Rex Christianus.

After þis gode kyng Coylus,
Regned his sone sire Lucius;
He was large & curteys,
And firste Cristen kynge, men seis.
Al þis land so fair and fre,
Þorow hym was brought to Cristiente.

202

Whan he herde þe lawe of Crist,
How in his name [men] were baptist,
Of his miracles men spake ryf,
& of þapostles holy lyf,
& als how God for þeym wrought
Þat to Cristendam wer brought,
He sent þe Pope Eluthere,
Bysoughte hym as his fader dere
To sende hym a man myght hym baptyze,
Of Cristes lawe lere hym þe wyse.
When þe Pope herde þat tydynge,
He þanked Iesu, heuene kynge,
Þat in his tyme he wolde so wyrche,
Brytaigne to brynge to holy chirche.
Two clerkes he sente hider to preche—
Bisschopes þe were, þe lawe to teche,—
Þat o clerk highte sire Duman,
Þat oþer men calde Bisschop ffagan,
Þyse to bisschopes baptized þe kynge
& alle his men at her comynge.
Þorow þe kyng & his grauntise
Þey ordeyned þe lawe in right assise;
Þei ordeigned ilka bischop þer se,
& Erchebischopes abouen hem to be.
In hys tyme were temples olde,
Eyght & twenty flamins men tolde,—
Þe Latyn calleþ temple ‘flamins,’—
Somme of Mahoun, & somme of Appoll[i]ns,

203

Somme of Dyane, somme & of Berit.—
Two arche flaminus were þey ȝit;
At Londone was þer chef flamee,
& at ȝork þat oþer se;
Þe oþere flamins in londe ware
Als þe bischopes sees now are.
Þyse temples of Maumetries
Þey turned alle fro þer eresyes,
& halewode þem to Cristes werk,
& ordeyned kirkes, prest, & clerk,
Landes, rentes, lyght & catel,
Þat to þo temples langed or fel,
& al oþer aportynaunce,
He gaf hit to þer sustenaunce:
To a dyocise langed a cite,
& ordened paroschens for to be.
To parsones & to vicaries
Was graunted grete seignuryes.
When Bretayne was Cristen al,
& þe newe lawe was brought to stal,
Ioyful was sire Lucyus,
Þat sey þe folk al turne þus.
In Cristene lawe, als he hym ches,
Þer-inne he ended in god pes;
At Gloucestre he deide, & þer [he] lys,
& his soule wente to Paradis.
Þe date of Crist, men seid þo her,
Was an hundred & fyue & fifty ȝer.
Wyþouten heyr Lucyus ys ded.
Þen couþe þe Bretons þer-of no red:

204

Wo was hem he hadde non heyr!
To haue a lord þey were in speyr;
[þe were bigan omang þam alle,
to whom þe seignorie suld falle.]
ffro lond to la[n]d, fro man to man,

Of þat to Rome tydynge ran,
Þat ded was sire Lucyus,
& þat we werreyed amonge vs.

Sauerus Inperator.

Þey chose Sauer, a senatour, :emperour:
& made hym maister & gouernour:
He broughte hider two Legions.
Þe Bretons to þeym were felons;
Sauer werreyed on þem faste,
Manye he conquered & caste,
& ffele oþere hadde disdeyn
ffor to halde of any Romayn;
Vmwhile þey faught, vmwhile fleand;
Sauer þey[m] chaced to Scotland.
Þen chose þe Bretons þeym a kynge:

ffulgencius Rex.

ffulgence he highte, a gret lordyng;
He felawed hym wyþ þe Peytes,
Þat euere were ful of deseites;
Outlandeis þat were ffledde,
Alle swilk wyþ þeym þey ledde;
In a conrtre þey dide gret schame;
Dene was þenne þer-of þe name.
ffro Scotland in to þurlewal,
Peytes landes þey telde hit al.
ffulgence southewarde hym hasted,
Þe lond al aboute was wasted;

205

Sauer fledde southeward ageyn;
Þe Peites robbed & made al pleyn.
ffulgence wyþ Peytes on hem þey ran,
Bot þe Peyte fledde ilk a man;—
Som tyme wolde þey bataille abide,
& som tyme fledde on ilka syde;
Bot ofte dide þey Sauer tene,
ffulgence wiþ þe Peytes kene.
Longe dured þat reuery,
Þat Sauer mought neuere come þem by,
Til he dide make an ouerthwert dik,
Bitwyxte to sees a ful gret strik;
& þer-on a pale wel y-poynt,
Þykke & hey, ful wel y-ioynt,
& closed þat side of þe lond;
Ouerthwert, Est & West hit bond.
Syn þat tyme hit was in-clos,
Neuere non of alle his foos
Durste non of þeym ferþer fele,
Ne by þat side robbe ne stele.
ffulgence tok conseil at wyse,
& of Peytes & oþere of hyse,
To werre ȝit more vpon Sauer,
& hym to chace fer & ner.
Til Peytes he gaf gyftes grete,
& preied hem þey scholde nought lete
To gadere a god compaygnie
Toward þe se in his nauie.
When þey hadde gadered þer host,
& schipes by þe se cost,
Þe host was schiped, & went to se,
& aryued vp y þe beste contre,

206

& byseged ȝork al aboute.
Al þe contre til hym gan loute;
He sente to grete lordynges,
& het & gaf hem riche þynges.
ffor fair hot, & giftes þat þey tok,
Þemperour Sauer þey forsok.
Sauer tok hise oþer Bretons,
& asembled his legions;
Toward ȝork faste þem dight,
To remue hem he hadde tyght.
When þey were comen wyþynne a lyte,
Þe batailles gonne to-gedere smyte;
ffellyk þey foughte, for þer was slayn
On eyþer syde þeir cheftayn;
ffulgence was first feld to grounde,
& Sauer was slayn on a stounde.
Þe Romayns for Sauer bysought,
So þat his body to ȝork was brought,
& biried þer solempnely,
& his oþer frendes hym by.
Þis ilke enperour Sauer
Regned her seuentene ȝer:
Syn Crist cam of þe vyrgyne,
Nyne score ȝer euene, & nyne,

Of þys Sauer þat deide þere,
Tweye knaue childre were;
Þat on men calde Bassian,
Þat oþer had to name Cetan.
Cetan moder was a Romayn,
Comen of gode knyght & swayn.
Bassan was born of a Brette;
Þe Bretons of hym þe bettere lette.

207

Þe Romayns toke þis ilke Cetan,
& corouned hym, & bycome hys man.
Þe Bretons wiþ Bassan helde,
& of þe roeme highte hym þe schelde.
Þen ilkon in þer party
Held wyþ his kynde doughtyly:
Al þus wyþ megge & wiþ monge
Bytwixt hem wax þer werre stronge;
Ilkon ouer oþer so lange þey ran,
Þat atte laste slayn was Cetan.

Bassan Rex.

Þe Bretons, eft sones þey ches
Bassan kyng, & hadde þer pes.

Karaucius Maledictus.

A ladde was y þys londe, of fame,
Karaucyus þen was his name;
Hardy he was, & ful connynge,
Stalworthe of body, & wel fightynge;
In many nedes assayed he was;
Of prowesse men preised þys Karas;
Born he was of pouere lynage,
& litel he hadde of heritage.
Gretter & fairer stat he held,
Þan wolde his rentes, or land in feld;
Grete emprises he durst vndertake;
More louede he þe werre þan þes to make.
I þe se to wende, þenne was doute,
Maryners robbed þe ildes aboute;
Mighte atte hauenes reste ne be,
ffor outlandesmen þat come by se.
Karaucius þenne hym by-þought,

208

Þe senaturs of Rome he sought,
& tolde hem þat outlandes flet
Bretaygne alle aboute biset,
& seide “ȝif ȝe wil gyue me leue
“Þe robbours o þe se to greue,
“& gyue chartre of a-vowerye,
“Þe se to loke wyþ myn nauie,
“I scholde ȝow warante ȝoure truage,
“Þat non outlandeys scholde make passage.”
Þey graunted hym þen leue to haue,
So þat he schulde þer truage saue;
Chartre þey gaf hym wiþ her sel,
So þat he scholde to þeym beo leel.
Karres his leue atte Romayns nam,
& schewed [þe] chartre þer he cam;
Sone gat he hym mariners,
Wiþ schipes, barges, & balyngers.
He desired men þat were fledde,
Þeues & robbours, swylk he ledde,
Yuel dedy men þat were wight,
Of Outlandes al þat he myght;
Of swylk he gadered compaignies,
Born & norysched in felonyes.
Whan þis Karraus had gadered him ost,
Of manye a land he serched þe cost;
ffro on ilde til oþer he ȝede,
Of no þynge ne hadde þey drede;
Men he robbed, & landes wasted,
ffrom o stede til oþer he hasted;
To ney neygheburs, & ferþer fro,
Til alle he dide skaþe & w[o];

209

Al he tok þat he myght take,
He nolde mesure to no man make;
Þat Outlandeys byforn had left,
He spared non, bot alle he reft.

De fide ffracta.

To saue þe folk, Carrays was sworn,
Bot he was worse þan oþer byforn;
fful mykel he wan, ȝit ȝernde he more,
ffor his folk woxe & spredde ay whore;
Casteles & tounes doun he þrew;
ffor lord, he wolde þat alle hym knew.
So fer he sayled to wynne hym wayne,
Atte laste he aryued in Bretaigne;
Pryuely wiþ þe Bretons he spak,
& seide, “ȝe se nought ȝoure lak!
“ȝour kyng can nought hym seluen were!
“Bot ȝyf ȝe wyl me god feiþ bere,
“Y scholde deliuere ȝow out of peynes,
“And al ȝour land of ȝour Romaynes.”
He ȝede to þe Peytes, & seide hem þe same;
ȝif þey wolde alle wyþ o name
Make hym kynge of þempyres,
He wolde þem make lordes & syres.
þo were þe Peytes wyþ þe kyng pryue,
& in þys lond gret plente;
And Karays wyste þat þey were fykel,
Þerfore he glosed hem, & gaf hem mykel,
& þey hight hym wyþouten faille,
ȝyf he wyþ þe kynge tok bataille,
Tyl Kareys party schold þey go,
And þe kyng desconfite & slo.

210

Decepcio Pyctorum.

Whan þey had alle Karays y-highte,
Bretons & Peytes help at her myghte.
Bassian he gan defye,
& wiþ foule wordes hym descrie.
So longe lasted þer manace,
To bataille þey comen in to place:
Bassan affied hym o þe Peytes,
In bataille þey knewe many sleightes,
Þer-fore his trist was on þeym more
Þan on alle þo þat þer wore.
ffor he god trist to þem hadde,
Richely often þeym he cladde;
& als þe partys gaf bataille,
Iusted & chased, & gon assaille,
Þys ilke Peytes were traytours,
Ageyn þe kynge turned y þe stours,
& wyþ Karays partye held,
& traysched þe kyng right in þe feld,
And slowe þe kyng, sire Bassian,
& alle his folk, ylk a man.
Þus þey traisched hym in nede,
Sire Bassian þat dide þem fede;
& Karays lyghtli wan þe lond;
Agayns hym no party he ne fond.
Karays gaf hem, for þer seruise,
Among þe Scottes gret ffraunchise;
So þat Pictes & þe Scottes kynde
Ar now al on, as men fynde.

211

Allectus & Walwus, Romany, venerunt.

Whan þey of Rome tydyng herde
Þat Karays wiþ Bretaygne þus ferde,
Þey sente hider þre legions,
Wyþ to of þer bolde barons;
Allectus & Walwes þer name hyght,
Wysemen of werre, & hardy in fight.
Þey come pryuely out of þe se,
Bot Karays wolde haue reft hem þeir entre;
Bot maugre Karreys, on hym þey wan,
And slowe Karreys þe false man,
& alle þat weren of his kynde,
Destruyed hem by rote & rynde,
& alle þo þat þe Romayns forsok,
And til Kareys party tok.

De electione Regis Asclypidot in parliamento.

Þe Bretons seye þe Romayns aboue,
And Romayns myghte þey neuere loue;
ffayn wold þey þer fredam fende,
Truage to Rome wold þey non sende;
After þe barons þo þey sent,
To chesen at þat Parlement
A kyng þat myghte ageyn þeym vaille,
Asclipedot, Erl of Cornewaille.
Whan he was chosen, he dide somoune
Alle þe Bretons fro toune to toune,

212

Þat alle þat myghte wepene welde,
To bataille schold come, þat were of elde,
To Londone ageyn Allectus,
& his felawe sire Walwus.

De Bello inter Romanos & Regem apud Londonium.

A day þe Romayns made sacrifise
I þe temple, as was [þer] gyse.
Right in þeire solempnete,
Byseged þe Bretons þeir cite;
Þe Romayns herde noise & cry,
& cried “as armes!” on hy, on hy,
And dide þem out in to þe felde,
& baldely on þem self gon belde,
& foughten wyþ þe Bretons faste.
Bot þe Romayns route to-braste;
ffor Alectus dide; & his mene
ȝede al doun, & moughte nought fle;
Alle þat were on þat party,
Ascaped þer non by stret ne sty.
Sire Walwes sey þeir side ȝed doun;
By tyme he fledde in to þe toun,
& þe gates after þem sperde.
To karnels & to þe walle [t]hey ferde,
& to þe toures cop on hey,
& dide þe Brutons holde þem a dreigh.
Asclipedot þat was wyþoute,
Saw þe Romayns hadde no doute;
His lettres he dide write & sende
After mo bretons fer & hende,

213

Þat þey scholde come & sege make
Aboute Londone, Romayns to take.
ffor þe sonde of sire Asclipidot,
Come Walschemen & many a Scot;
On ilka syde alle þey cam,
Þat langed vnto þe kynedam.
Engyns dide þe Bretons reyse,
& mangenels ful gode to preyse,
& ffruscht þe wal of þe cite;
Wyþ strengþe on þeym þey had entre.
Þen myghte men se þe Romayns deye,
& on hepes leye by ilka weye;
Neuere byfore swylk slaughter was
Of [þe] Romayns at no pas.
Þe Romayns þat were so schent,
To priue fortelets þey went,
ffro þe Bretons for to hyde,
Þer lif to lengþe ay byside;
Bot þe Bretons helden hem streyt,
Þey ascaped nought for no deseyt.
Sory was Walwes, & made his mone,
& preyed vn-to þe Bretons ilkone,
“Lordynges, wol ȝe let me go
“Vnto Rome þer y cam fro,
“& my men for to saue?
“O legion, & namo, wold y craue.
“Þo þat mystaken haue, more or lesse,
“ffor þeym ask y forgyuenesse,
“& let vs senglely a-wey fare
“Out of þys lond for euere mare.”

214

Þe Bretons graunted þem þer bone,
& þe Romayns ȝolde þem sone.
Out of þe tours þey come al doun,
To þe pes in-to þe toun;
& als þe Romayns ȝolden were,
Þe Wa[l]ssche & Scottes wyþ al þer here
Comen wyþ gret noise & hew;
Tok þey no tent to pes ne trew;
Of the Romayns þey smyten ilkan heued,
Lord ne ladde was þer non leued.
Walwes þey tok, al his vnthank,
& leddym to Atyngal, a brokes bank;
Þer left he his heued, he was þe last;
His body in to Atyngal cast.
& for he in þat water lay,
Þe riueres name was turnd þat day;
On Englische tonge hit hat Walbrok,
ffor þat Walwes his deþ þer tok.

Þenne regned Asclipedot;
Neyþer was he schrewe ne sot.
Gret feste he held at hys coronynge,
& ten ȝer he regned kynge.

De Dioclisiano Inperatore.

In his tyme was an Emperour
Dioclisian, a werreour,
He sente hider Maximian;
& struyde & slow ilk Cristenman.

215

Þat he on þys half Moungow fond,
Til he come vntil þys lond,
Al he destruyed, & broughte to schame,
Þat cristned were in Iesu name.
Dioclisien, on his partie,
To Cristenmen dyde felonye;
Vnder hym & Maxymian
Þey slowe at Verolame seint Alban,
& seint Iue & seint Aroon.
Þo were in ware at Kerlyon,
Þe byschop wyþ alle þe clergie
Þat leued in Iesu or Marie,
Alle þey slowe þat þey fond,
fful fewe ascaped fro þer hond;
So fele were neuere slayn in stour
Of corseyntz vnder emperour.
Þat ȝer þe date of Iesu wex,

Two hundred ȝer, four score & sex.

De Rege Coele, Patre Sancte Elene.

In Colchestre waster a lordyng,
Of wham þe toun hadde gynnynge;
S[i]re Coel his name hight,
Of noble lynage, a man of myght;
He werreyed on Asclipedot,
ffor he had born hym as a sot,
& suffred to mykel Maximian,
Þat he þorow þe lond so ran,

216

Þe Cristene blod for to slo;
Þer-fore were þe Bretons wo.
ffor Asclipedot bar hym nought wel,
Þer-fore corouned þei sire Coel.
When Maximien was gon to Rome,
On Asclipedot toke þey dome;
Sire Coel hym in bataille slow,
ffor he fro Maximien hym yuel wyþdrow.
Þis Coel hadde a doughter fair,
Of clergie [sc]he couþe, & was his ayr;
Sone ne doughter had he namo
Þat þe heritage myghte to go,
Scheo was to hure fader ferly dere;
He dide maistres hure for to lere,
Þat scheo moughte bettere þe lond ȝeme,
& lord to take, as hure wolde byseme;
Þys ilke mayden highte Eleyne,
A ful god woman, & a certeyne.
Þe Romayns herde, & were fayn,
Þat Asclipedot was so slayn;
Þey sente hider a man of pris,
Constancius, þat was noble & wys;
Al Spayne he had wonnen to Rome,
Þorow truage al at her dome;
Was noman þanne of his bounte,
Þat men wiste, so mikel as he.
Þys Constant þat þus wan Spayne,
He aryued her in Brutaigne.
Choel, þat wiste his comyng,
He dredde Costant ouer alle þyng;
Coel sent til hym messegers,
& seide ‘he wolde on faire maners

217

‘Holde of hym, ȝif þat he wylde,
‘& redyly his truage ȝelde.’
Costant seide he wolde skyl,
& consented til his wyl;
Þe Romayns seyde þey were aboue,
& fayn þey were of pees & loue.
Was hit nought a monþe long,
Sire Coel tok an yuel strong;
Eyghte dayes lay he, & namo,
& deide, & wente þer we schal go.
Constant saw þys ilke Eleyne,—
Þis lond was al of hure demayne,—
Saw þat scheo was ferly wys,
And of beute bar þe prys;
Hym þoughte he myghte wel be byset
To wedde þat mayde, & bate baret.
Þen was he kyng, & scheo quene.
A knaue child com þer hem bytwene;
Constantyn was his name ytold;
& when he was enleuen ȝer old,
His fader fel in a seknesse,
Þat to þe deþ hit made hym stresse.
When Constant had y-mad his fyn,
In Euerwyk toun þey byried hym
fful ryaliche wiþ gret honur,
ffor he was a worþy emperour.
When þenterement was done,
Constantyn his sone þey coronede sone;
& þe more he wax in age,
Þe bettere loued hym ys baronage;

218

God chiualrie til hym he drow,
ffor he was large, & gaf ynow;
ȝif his fader were of bounte,
ȝit was þe sone wel more þan he.
Þis Constantyn was man of queyntise,
Þer-wyþ he was a noble iustise;
In his ȝouthe he was als wys
As elder were y þer moste pris.
ffor his moder, he loued Bretons;
ffor his ffader, of Rome al þe barons;
Of þyse two kyndes he was born,
And of þe noblest men byforn.

De Constantino, filio Constanty & sancte Elene.

At Rome was þenne an Emperour
Þat dide þe Romayns gret desonour;
His name was Maxencius,
Proud, & fers, & malicious;
He wasted þe honur of þe toun,
Þe noble men he brought þem doun,
Þe ordre of þer sene abated he,
& reft hem þeir dignite.
Somme þat hated hym of þo,
Left þer fes, dide hem to go
Hider to Bretaygne, til Constantyn.
ffor he was born of þeyr lyn,
Þey preied hym he wolde make defens,
& abate þe pruyde of Maxens,
Bysoughte as he was, worþy knyght,
Of þer sene to holde vp þe ryght.
Þe Bretons alle preied hym so,
Wyþ hym þey wolde concente þer to.

219

Longe þey preied, bot at þe ende
He graunted þeym þider to wende;
He tok wyþ hym knyghtes & squiers,
Men wiþ bowes & arblasters,
& his moder ful wys of dome;
Wyþ hym wente þey alle vntil Rome.
ffor þey were men of honurs,
He dide hem y þe ordre of senaturs;
Þat on highte sire Huwelyn,
Þat oþer Iohern, Eroert, & Maryn;
Wardeyns he ordeined gode & certeyn,
Þis lond to kepe til he com ageyn,

When Constantyn to Rome cam,
Þe maistrie fro Maxcence he nam,
And was hym selue emperour,
& Maxcence doun wiþ deshonur.
Til sire Huelyn he gaf a wyf,
Of noble kynde was sche ryf:
Of þat wyf, sire Huelyn wan
A child men calde Ma[x]imian.

De Rege Octauo.

I þe wardeyns tyme þat Constantyn tok
Þe Bretons for to lok,

220

Com Octauus, an erl of Walys,
& sesed þys lond, boþe dounes & dales.
Þy[s] erl of Walys was man of myght,
In Bretayne he cleymed ryght;
Wardeyns & schirreues he slow,
Baillifs, bedeles, dide schame ynow.
Bot Constantyn to Rome was went,
Til gretter nedes he gaf his tent;
He ne myghte þenne on none wyse
Hyder come to make iustise;
He sende hider sire Traherne,
Þe lond to kepe & to gouerne.
Two legions wiþ hym he ladde,
Toward Bretayne þey hem spedde;
At an hauen þat þey fond,
Sire Traherne tok þys lond.
To Wynchestre wente þis Trahere,
Two dayes he soiourned þere,
& to hym he dide hem ȝelde;
By þer willes þey ne wolde;
Maugre þeires, þey ȝolde þe estre.
Syþen he ȝede to Wynchestre;
Sire Octauus wiþ many a scheld
Was byforn hym in þe feld,
& gaf til hym bataille stout.
Þe Romayns ofte perced þe rout;
Octauus grettere force hadde,
So þat þe Romayns route to-schadde,
& dide hem to þe hauene fle,
Vntil þer schipes on þe se.

221

Þey sette vp sail heye on mast,
Toward þe northe þey seyled fast;
In Scotlond aryued, & logged his ost,
& pylede & robbed at ilka cost.
Til Octauus sone com tydand
Þat Trahern robbed in Scotland.
Octauus gadered host ay whare,
& hyed hym faste þat he were þare;
Oft he seyde wyþ grete pryde
Þat Trahern schold nought dur abide;
Bot his ouerwenyng gan faille;
Trahern stod, & bod bataille,
& dide Octauus for to fle;
In to Norweye ouer þe se.
Octauus þenne fledde for ferd;
He spak vntil þe [kinge] Comperd,
ffor help & socour he preyde ȝerne,
To wynne þe lond of sire Traherne.
Pryuely he sent to þis lond ageyn,
To þo þat were til hym certeyn,
Þat þey scholde fonde on alle wyse
To sle Traherne wiþ som queyntise.
Þat tyme spedde Traherne wel ynow;

Rex Trahernus.

Ageyn to þe southe Traherne drow,
& dide hym coroune kyng to be,
& regned wiþ solempnete.
A day to Londone he scholde out ryde;
His ffomen a-spied wel what tyde;
Enbusched þeym by þat strete
Þer þey hoped þe kyng to mete.
Sire Traherne of non hym dredde,
Þer-fore no folk wyþ hym ne ledde;

222

At a passage as he went,
Þey breken of þeyr enbuschement;
Þo þat hym hated for Octauus
Slowen þer sire Trahernus.
ffor Octauus þey sende þer sonde,
& sesed hym eft in to þe londe,
& corouned hym als he was er;
& alle þat comen wyþ Traher,
Euerilkon he dide þem slo;
Ascaped non bot wyþ wo;
Syþen in pes þe lond gan welde,
& longe lyuede til gret elde.

De consilio Octaui per Karadukum.

Whan he had regned þis lond her,
Þe tyme of to & þritty ȝer,
He sey þat of hym cam non eyr
Bot a maiden child right feir;
He asked who moughte his doughter haue,
Þis lond for to loke & saue.
ffele of his frendes seid his reson,
To sende to Rome for a baron,
His doughter for to gyue to wyue;
So myghte þey pes haue in þer lyue.
Oþer þer were þat loued Conan,
Þe kynges cosyn, a noble man;
Þey conseilled to make hym ys eyr,
He myghte best, in þeir espeir.
Þen spak þe Erl of Cornewaille,

223

Sire Karaduk: he seide, ‘saunz faille
‘He ne wolde nought conseille þer-to,
‘ffor hit were nought wel to do,
‘To make his eir sire Conan;
“Bot sende after Maxymian,
“Þe eldest sone of Huelyn,
“Eleynes cosyn, & Constantyn:
“His fader ys Breton, þat is certayn,
“& on his moder side Romayn;
“Gif hym þy doughter in mariage;
“Wys man he is, & wel of age.
“ȝif þou gaf hit vntil Conan,
“& maried þy doughter to anoþer man,
“He scholde fonde, when he myght wel,
“Þe lond of hym to wynne ilk del;
“He scholde þenke, & ful wel myght,
“Þat hit scholde be his þorow ryght;
“Bot ȝyf ȝe do as y ȝow seye,
“Of pes ys þer non oþer weye.”
Þe kyng held hym to þat conseil;
Þer-fore bygan þer a tyrpeyl
Bytwyxt Conan & Karaduk;
ffor Conan gan þat oþer rebuk,
& reuiled hym wyþ wordes þore;
& ȝif he had durst, he wolde more.
Sire Karaduk held ful litel awe
Of his manace or of his sawe.
Þe kyng bisoughte sire Karaduk
To sende to Rome his sone Maurik,
& preye hym vpon alle þynge
Maxymian to Bretaigne brynge.

224

Whan Mauryk was to Rome y-comen,
He saw þat gret party was nomen
Bytwixten þis Maximian
& Valentyn & Gracian:
Þey stryue to haue þe empire;
Þe breþere hadde þer partie most seure.
Sire Maurik þer Maximian fond,
& teldym he was of þys lond;
Anon he bad him, “take leue of Rome,
“& vntil Bretaygne smertly come,
“Þe kynges doughter for to take;
“Þou may þy party þe better make.”

De Maximiano Rege.

When Maximian þis tydynges herde,
Wiþ ioye to Bretayne wyþ Maurik [he] ferde:
Was non abyd ne no dwellynge
Til Maximian com to þe kynge.
Maximian at Southaumptoun gan ryue,
& asked þe kynges doughter to wyue.
Þan was Octauus al at ese;
Of his doughter he dide hym sese,
Wiþ al þe reome ilkadel,
& bad hym richely regne, & wel.

Conan was wroþ, & made gret bost,
He alyed hym to þe Scottes cost;
Octauus, his em, he gan manace,
& Maximien wiþ werre dide chace;
Bot Maximian gaf nought of hym;
He stod ageyn Conan ful grym.

225

fful often Conan of hym wan,
So dide of hym Maximian:—
Hit ys þer chaunce þat werre bygynne,
Vmwhile to lese, vmwhile to wynne.—
Whan þei to-gedere had werreyed longe,
Men of gode ȝede þeym amonge,
Dide þem acorde in loue & pes,
So þat Maximian nought ne les;
He highte hym, for his emes sake,
A riche man he scholde hym make.
Þre ȝer in pes, wyþouten fight,
He drow to tresour þat he myght;
He seide he wolde assaye þe chaunce,
Ouer se to wende, & wynne ffraunce,
& fro þenne wende to Rome,
Of his enemys to make dome,
And of alle þat wyþ hem helde,
Ageins hym fyghtynge in [þe] felde.

De nauigacione Maximiani versus Armoricham.

When he had folk, & was redy,
To schipe þey wente hastily.
Toward south-west þey passed þe se,
Aryued vp in a contre;
Armoriche was þenne þe name,
Bot now hit haþ an oþer fame.
Humbald was þer-in lord & sire,
Of Armoriche he held þenpire;
He dide somoune alle his barons,
A-wey to chace, & felle þe Bretons.
Þe Bretons were of wel more myght;

226

Humbaldes men þey slowe doun right,
Þey nadde no force to turne agein;
Alle þey fledde, knyght & swayn;
Bot fiftene þousand wer þer slayn.
& Maximien gan turne ageyn,
& ioyful was þat he so spedde:—
Þat lond held women, þe men were fledde:—
He tok sire Conan by þe hond,
& on hym low wyþ god semblaunt;
“Conan,” he seide, “þou art doughti;
“To manne Armoriche þou were worthi.
“Sestow now þis faire contre,
“fful plentyuous & ful ayse;
“Þe lond to tyle, god ys to wynne;
“Wodes, watres, ynowe þer-ynne,
“fforestes fulle of ful fayr dere,
“ffresche ryuers ese & ner;
“Y ne sey nere in al my lyue
“A fairer lond, ne more plentyue.
“On þe, Conan, y vouche hit saue,
“Þat þou hit welde wyþ ioye, & haue.
“Bretaygne þe grete was þe het,
“& on þe hit were ful wel byset;
“Bot for me þou hast hit lorn,
“Þer-fore to me yuel hastow born;
“ffor-gyue me now ilk a del,
“& haue þis lond, & brouk hit wel.
“Þis ys þe heste þat y þe hight;
“& bettere y wolde, ȝyf þat y myght;
“Þys lond we scholle clense of þyse,

227

“Þen schulle þe Bretons þe lond iustise;
“Non oþer folk schulle dwelle þer-ynne;
“Þen may þou weldit al wyþ wynne.”
Conan of hym receyued þe gyfte,
& Maximian to kyng hym lyfte;
And Conan made hym þer fewte,
Of hym to holde hit euere yn fe.

Brytannia Mynor conquesta est per Maximianum.

Maximian spak to þe kyng:
“Þis lond is Bretones wynnyng,
“& for þat ilke encheson
“Þat hit is conquered þorow Bretoun,
“Hit schal hote þe Lesse Bretayne,
“And we Bretons to be cheuentayne;
“And y comaunde ȝow alle oliche,
“Þat noman calle hit Armoriche.”
ffro þat day vntil þis same,
Of Armoriche hit loste þe name;
& now ys hit cald Bretaigne wyþ alle;
I trowe þat name schal neuere falle.
Maximien, til his demeynes
He sesed þe faire cite of Reynes.
Þat were þer-ynne, þe toun þenne left,
Durste neuere non of þeym ryse efte.
Maximian þe lond tok,
Tounes & casteles dide he lok;
ffaire countres ouer al he fond,
Bot þer were none myghte tyle þe lond;
He þoughte he wolde to Bretaigne sende
After men, boþe sibbe & fremde,

228

Þe lond to multeplie & to tyle,
Þat oþer þer-to ne scholde haue skyle.
He dide come of pore pedaille
An hundred þousand þat myghte trauaille,
To laboure & to tyle þer fode;
Wyþ þritty þousand men of armes gode,
Þe londe fro enemis to fende & were,
Þat Vtlandeys scholde þem nought dere.
Þenne was Conan corouned kyng,
& hadde þe regne al in kepynge,
Þer-ynne to lyue & to deye,
And Maximian wente forþ his weye.

Als he wente, Maximian,
ffraunce & al Lorreyne he wan.
Hym þoughte hit was nought ȝit ynow;
To Rome he þoughte, & þider he drow;
He þoughte to venge hym þenne of þo
Þat greued hym at Rome, when he scholde go;
& þo breþere to brynge to yuel fyn,
Boþe Gracien & sire Valentyn.
He com to Rome ful hastely;
Þat o broþer tok he par maystry;
Þat oþer he dide wyþ force fle,
& held þempire in dignite.
Þen was he þe fourtenþe Emperour
Syþen Augustus, þat bar þe flour:
Þe date of Crist þen was þus euene,
Þre hundred ȝer, seuenty & seuene.

229

De Dynoto, Custode siue Rege, & de Vrsula, filia eiusdem, & .xj. Ml virginum, tam per tempestatem quam apud Coloniam, occisis per Sarasenos.

When Maximian ferde fro Bretaigne,
Of Dynotis mad he cheftayne,
To kepe þe lond til his bihoue;
ffor trewe & feyþful he dide hym proue.
Sire Karaduk, þat y spak of byforn,
Was Dynotis broþer, & ȝonge born;
Bot ded þat tyme was Karaduk;
& his sone, þat highte sire Mauryk,—
Þat ȝede to Rome in Octauus message—
Wyþ Dyanot he kepte his heritage.
A doughter had Dianot, & no ma;
Hure name was cald dame Vrsula.
Þo þat were dryuen fro Armoriche,
Þe Frensche & þey felawed o-liche,
& rysen ageyn Conan to fight;
Bot Conan meyntende wel his right;
ffor þeym ne loste he neuere nought
Whan þey on hym bataille sought.
Þen was Conan meued of skyle
Hys lond to edefie & to tyle;
& þat þey moughte þe sikerere lyue,
Wyues he þoughte hem for to gyue.
ffrensche wymen wolde þey non take,
Þat þer blod no monge scholde make,

230

To haue cleym þorow heritage,
Ne dowarye þorow mariage.
Vntil no blod wolde þey hem bynde,
Bot only to þer owene kynde;
Þerfore Conan sente his sonde
To Dianot, þat kepte þis londe,
“To sende hym his doughter Vrsele—
“Wiþ non oþer wolde he dele,—
“And gentil damysels vngyuen,
“Þat able to mennes companye were þryuen,—
“Squyers doughtres, & frankelayns,
“To gyue hem to knyghtes & to swayns,
“Oþer maidens comen of þralles,
“To be maried as þem falles;
“Alle þat he myghte, he schold hym sende,
“Wiþ waryson he schold þem mende.”
Dynot graunted to sende hym hyre,
& richely þen dide hure atyre;
Alle þo þat he gete myght,
Lordynges doughtres wel adight:

Enleuen þousand þey were by tale,
Of gentil blod, grete & smale;
Oþer þat were of lower kynde,
Þe auenauntest þey myghte fynde,
Sexty þousand, so many þer ware,
Redy to schipen ouer to fare,
Wel dight ilkon for þe nones.
At Londone þey schiped at ones,
& drowe þer sail heye vpon mast;
Bytaughte þem God, & seyled fast.

231

When þey were in deppest flod,
& wenden han had passage god,
Ros a tempest, rorande loude,
& reyned al doun wyþ a blak cloude.
Derk was þe skye, gret was þe reyn,
Þe wynd was wod [&] þem ageyn;
Þe sky ferd as hit scholde doun falle;
Wonder wawes agaste þem alle,
So þey arysen on ouer anoþer,
Þat þeym nauaillede mast ne roþer;
Þe wynd, þe water, so faste þey faught,
Þem to saue was non þat þought.
Þrytty schipes þer were nomo,
Þo sexti þousand to deþe ȝede þo,
Þe oþere enleuene ful fer were dryuen,
In Barbarie þey vp aryuen:
Two Sarasyns were kynges of pris,
Þat on highte Melga, þat oþer Gwanis.
Gwanis was kyng of Huneys;
Melga, of Peyghtes was kynge, hit seis.
Þyse Sarasynes wolde han leyn hem by,
Bot þey nolde of no vileny,
Leuere þem were deye wyþ drede,
Þan to lecherye þer bodies bede.
Wiþ martirdom þey dide hem deye;
At Coloyne now, men sais, þei lye.

Þenne herde þise to Sarsyns seye
Þat þe force of Bretaigne was aweye,
How gret host wyþ Maximian went,
& to Conan þritty þousand sent;

232

What wyþ þat on, what wyþ þat oþer,
Þer lefte no force agayns non oþer.
What dide Melga & Guaneis,
Bot gadred ost of Outlandeys.
Wiþ gret nauye o þe se þey ryde,
& comen in alle by Scotlande syde;
Wyþ were & wo þey dide gret noye,
ffor Westmorland al gon þey struye;
Al þe northe contre þey wasted.
Þey passed Humber, & southe hem hasted;
Non encountre þey ne fond,
Bot husbonde-men þat tyled lond,
& werkmen, & oþer pedaille
Þat couþe nought werre ne of bataille;
ȝif any swyche stod ought agayn,
Wyþ armed men sone were þey slayn.
Ilk man fro his owen gan fle,
& þo þat ne myghte, slayn was he:
How scholde þat londe kepe hym fro harmes,
Þat naked ys of men of armes?
A lond hedles in tyme of nede,
Ouer al þanne ys sorewe & drede;
& so was þenne bot cry & kare,
Of socour & help þey were al bare;
Bot while þey hadde þer bolde barons,
Sauelike held þey þer castels & touns;
Ouer alle landes þey schewed þer myghtes,
Þe whyles þey hadde þer noble knyghtes.
Þen chose þey of most bolde & fers,
& sent hem to Rome as messegers
ffor help vnto Maximian;

233

And he þem sende sire Gracian;
Wyþ hym come two legyons
Þat wel socoured þe Bretouns;
Þise Sarsynes þeues þey drof awey,
In til Irland ilkon fled þey.

In þys tyme at Rome ros Valentyn
Wyþ al hys kynde, em & cosyn;
Wyþ hym com kynges of þe Est,
Mo þan twenty, as seyþ þe Gest;
Bot þorow treson, y ne wot how,
Algate Maximian þey slow.
Þe Bretons þat Maximian ledde,
Summe þey slowe, somme were fledde;
Þan sesed Valentyn Rome al efte,
Al þat Maximian hym refte.

De Rege Graciano Romano.

Þys tydyng com to Gracian,
How Valentyn slow Maxymian;
& saw he was here cheuentayne,
& dide hym coroune kyng of Bretayne,
And bar hym heye as a Tyraunt,
ffor þis was his custume & his haunt,
Pouere men to do þem wo;
Out of þer right he put þem fro,
& ful manye of þeym he slow;
Þe riche he louede wel ynow.
What dide þe mene folk & þe pedaille?
Samned þem a gret bataille;
To pryue conseille þey gon þem renge,

234

On Gracian þey wolde hem venge.
Þey byseded hym sodeynly,
& token hym syþen par maistri,
& his body al to-hewe,
Þe peces vntil houndes þrewe.
Þe Romayns þat were wyþ him comen,
Smertly a-geyn to Rome þey nomen.

De captiuitate Brytannie.

Melga Guaneys herde wel how
Þat þe poraille Gracian slow;
ffro Irlond þey come, ful fayn
Þat sire Gracian was so slayn;
Þey gadered alle þe outlandeys
Of Norwey men, wyþ þe Daneys,
& þe Scottes wyþ men of Irland,
& ouer-sette alle Northumberlande;
Þey passed Humber, pylede & brent.
Þen sawe þe Bretons þer lond al schent,
& þey hadde no myght to stoppe þer weye,
ffor nought þat þey couþe don or seye;
No þrowe in pes ne myghte þey reste;
Þer-opon þey conseilled what was þe beste.

Hic miserunt Britones ad Romanos pro defencione eorum.

Þey sente vnto þe senatours
Of rome for help & socours,
As men þat þey most on affied,

235

& in seruage to þem alyed,
To helpe hem on haste now in þer nede,
ffor ay þey lyue wyþ pylours in drede;
& þey ne scholde neuere, for wele ne wo,
More out of þer conseil do,
Bot ȝelde hem þat þeym oughte to haue,
ȝyf þey wolde helpe now þeym to saue.
Bot þe Romayns forgete nought
What schame byforn þey had hem wrought
So often & so fele syþe
Whan þey moughte þer felonye kyþe;
Natheles, twoo legions þey sent,
Þat sone come, as hap þem lent,
& deliuered þem of þer enemys:
To Scotland fledden Melga Gwanis.

Iam Romany venerunt, & fiery fecerunt Murum de Thurlwal.

Þys Romayns dide þem conseyl take,
A wal vpon a dik to make
ffro þe est se vnto þe west,
Agayns þer foos to saue þem best.
Ston þey dide gadere & graue,
& masons alle þat þey myghte haue;
Ouer-þwert þe lond, þat ys, þe brede,
Þey made þe wal ar þat þey ȝede,

ffor by þe northe ende come alle þo
Þat to þe lond broughte werre or wo.
Þat contre hight þat tyme Deyre,
Of þis half þe wal in ȝork-schire;

236

On þat oþer half, y vnderstande,
Men caldit þenne þe Peytes lande.
When þys land was al dight,
& wardeyns set boþe day & nyght
þat wal for to defende & lok,
Þat þey namore scaþe ne tok,
Toward þe southe gan þey wende
Whan þe wal was brought to þe ende.
At Londone þey sette a Parlement;
Þe heye folk of alle, þyder þey went,
Þorwout þe lond ilka lordynge;
And þus þey seyde at þer sampninge:
“We wole wende fro ȝow to Rome,
“& neuere hider sende ne come.
“Be ȝe doughty, & lereþ of armes,
“& quykly defende ȝow fro harmes,
“ffor we ne mowe come so fer viage,
“Ne endure þe grete costage.”
Þe Bretons seyde alle þer geynes.
Þenne stirte vp on of þe Romayns,
A wys man & a wel spekande,
& seyde, “Lordynges of þys land,
“Lystneþ now til y haue seyd;
“Þe Romayns reson on me ys leyd.

Hic Romany trugam renuerunt pro toto tempore, sic dixerunt.

“Lordes,” he seide, “mani a lore
“Haue we suffred þis lond fore;
“& byfore [vs], oure auncessours
“ffor ȝow han had ful harde stours.

237

“Truage ȝe gaf, & vmwhile nought;
“When we hit hadde, dere was hit bought;
“Litel þerof were we amended,
“ffor ay for ȝow wel more we spended.
“ȝyf o ȝer til vs we ȝe hit ȝolde,
“Two ȝer after ȝe ne wolde;
“ȝyf o kynges tyme ȝe were vs trwe,
“To so mykel after ȝour wrong was newe,—
“Til whan ȝe mighte onst stonde ageyn—
“Ne louede ȝe neuere man Romayn;
“Ay when we come to þys lond,
“To lese oure right som clieson ȝe fond,
“And oþer wronges til vs y-nowe;
“An[d] alderworst, oure men ȝe slowe.
“Now ȝe haue nede, ȝe vs byseke,
“And het vs þanne to ben vs meke.
“Whan we han holpen ȝow in cas,
“Þen do ȝe wors, & more trespas;
“Til vs ȝe bere ȝow as lyouns,
“& waytes vs wyþ sum tresons
“ffor to wyþ-halden vs oure right,
“Oþer yuel hit gyuen, & þat wiþ fyght.
“Wel bettere were hit al for-sake,
“Þan suffre þe wo we þer-fore take;
“Our costes ar grete, & [we] wone fer heþen,
“& ȝe haue ay nede, & ar byneþen;
“& we ne mowe nought come al day.
“Doþ now ȝour self as ȝe best may!
“May we ones take til Rome,
“ffor no man eft schol we here come.
“To saue ȝour self, bygynneþ now,

238

“ffor we namore wil mayntene ȝow.
“Wyteþ wel, ȝour auncessours:
“Were bolde & hardy conquerrours,

Brytonum Inperatores.

“Belyn Constantyn & Maxymian,
“Alle londes to Rome þey wan;
“Þey mayntend hem self, & dide prowesse.
“Bot now of ȝow, oþer weis hit esse!
“Y ne wot wher-on hit ys long,
“On ȝow þer ne comeþ non oft so strong
“Þat ȝe ne myghte ȝow self defende,
“ȝyf any grace on ȝow myghte desende.
“Bot ȝe [are] al gon out of kynde;
“ȝour wikkednesse now ȝe fynde!
“Turneþ ageyn, & wexeþ bolde,
“& þenkes on ȝour auncestres olde,
“Þat riche regions conquered!
“ffor fyght ne fondyng were þey ferd.
“fful late schul ȝe now conquere,
“Syn route of rascaille may ȝow ay fere.
“Now schal bi sene what hit schal vaille
“When Outlandeys comen ȝow to assaille?
“We haue ȝow closed þer most nede was;
“& ȝyf ȝe defende wel þat pas
“Wyþ archers & wyþ mangeneles,
“& wel kepe þe carneles,
“Þer-on ȝe may boþe scheote & kaste.
“Wexeþ bolde, & fendeþ ȝow faste!
“Þer Outlandeys aryues & rydes,
“Makeþ þer hauenes to kepe þo sydes,

239

“& at oþer recettes fele,
“Þat non alien on ȝow stele.
“Þenk, ȝour fadres wonne fraunchise!
“Be ȝe namore in oþeres seruise,
“Bot frely lyues ȝour lyues ende!
“We taken now leue, fro ȝow to wende.”
At þat word was mikel cry,
ffor manion wep ful delfully.
Was þer nought elles for to seye;
Þe Romayns þem keste, & wente þer weye,
And seyden hem þere for certeyn
Þey ne wolde her neuere come eft ageyn.

Gwanyus Melga hadde þer spyes,
Waytyng ay by stretes & styes
How longe þe Romayns scholde soiourne,
& whan þey scholde to Rome-ward tourne;
& al so sone as þey forþ nam,
Melga Gwaneys to þys lond cam,
Robbed & brente Northumberland;
Ageyns hem non encountre þei ne fand;
Made þey neuere stynt ne stal
Tyl þey come to þe Romayns wal.
Þe Bretons were redy þeron aboute,
To gyue bataille to þeym wyþoute:
Þer myghte men se on boþe partys
A scharp schour by-twyxten enemys;
Arewes, quareles, þykkely fleye,
Wiþ slynges casten stones heye.

240

Þo þat on þe wal faught,
fful mykel scaþe sone þey laught;
Þo þat were newe dobbed knyghtes,
Þey couþe bot litel þo of fightes;
Þe arewes come so þykke so reyn,
Þey couþe nought coeuere þer eye þer ageyn;
& also þykkely come þe stones,
Wiþ schot of dartes, al at ones;
Vneþes myghte non kepe his eye,
Þat he nas y poynt bakward to flye;
Was þer non so hardy Bretoun,
Þat hym ne þought long til he were doun.
Þey wyþoute were mynynge alle;
Þe wal þey holede, & dide hit falle,
& fulde in fele stedes þe dyke,
Þat wal & wey was euene y-like,
& made þer-þorow pleyn passage
Wyþ cart & wayn, wiþ hors & page.
Þey robbed & slowen al aboute,
ffor þey fond non þey hadde of doute;
Byforn þat tyme no man fonde
So manye at ones slayn in þys lond
Wiþ so delful deþ & vyl,
Of ȝonge knyghte, & so gentil.
Whylom Bretons bere þe pris,
Now al þer prowesse doun hit lys,
& þorow hem schal hit neuere a-ryse,
Bot þorow grace of oþer queyntyse.
Þen sent þey to Rome, to þe senatours,
& preyed hem ȝut of more socours.

241

Þe Romayns saiden, ‘þey ne wolde;
‘To Bretayne þey neuere come ne scholde;
‘On oþer halue þey hadde to do;
‘Þey wolde namore be trauailled so,
‘Bot gete þem help where þey myghte haue,
‘Þey wolde þem neyþer slo ne saue.’
Whan þe Romayns þus vs forsok,
Þe date of Cryst was wryten in bok,

ffour hundred ȝer, & nyne, were gon
Syn Iesu of Marye tok flesche & bon.

Hic miserunt Guncelinum Archiepiscopum ad Regem Minoris Brytannie.

Al þe clergie of þe contrees,
& lordynges of londes & fees,
At Londone þey toke þer conseil,
What myght hem helpe in þer turpeyl:
“Þys aliens al day vs noyes,
“& þe Cristen blod destruyes.
“Bot Iesu Crist visite vs sone,
“We Cristen men schul be fordone.”
Þen was at Londone þe bischopes se,
When Cristendam com first to be.
Þe Erchebischop highte Guncelyns,
A ful holy clerk was in deuynes;
Þys Erchebischop his conseil tok
At þo þat þis lond schulden lok,
Þat he wolde wende to þe Lasse Bretayne,
Þer Conan vmwhile was cheftayne.
Aldroan highte þe kyng was þan,
Þe ferþe kyng after Conan.

242

Þe bischop wente in to þe lond,
Sire Aldroel þer kyng he fond;
Þe kyng receyued hym curteysly—
His fame was god, his stat was hey,—
He asked what he so fer had sought,
& what tydynge he hadde brought.

“Lord,” he seyde, “ȝow þar nought wene,
“Why y am comen ȝe may wel mene,
“& what encheson me hider led,
“Þat y to ȝow so hastely sped;
“ffor ȝe nar nought born so late,
“Ne bytwyxt vs so fer gate,
“Þat ȝe naue herd tydynge seye,
“How alyens don vs schamely deye.
“Syþen Maximien went vs fro,
“We han y-lyued in sorewe & wo.
“Þat þys lond þorow conqueste wan,
“& gaf hit þyn auncestre, sire Conan,
“Oure doughti folk al wyþ hym went,
“& siþen were we neuere bot schent.
“Donward syþen haue we gon;
“ffrendes fond we fewe or non
“Þat euere vs wolde socoure or were;
“Bot to fele we fynde þat wolde vs dere.
“Whylom, Bretons landes wonnen,
“Þe renoun of þeym þorow lande ronne;
“Now ar þey nought so mykel of myght
“Þat þer lond may halde to ryght.
“Þey of Rome halp vs whylom;
“Now haue þey for-sake vs alle & sum,
“ffor fer wonyng & gret costage,

243

“Þat often mys-spedde in þer passage.
“Of folk we are ynowe ȝyt leued,
“Bot kepere non, ne kyng, to heued,
“Þat can oure folk to bataille lede,
“Ne oure enemis to haue of no drede.
“Bot we haue help by tyme now
“Of oþer landes, oþer of ȝow,
“We kenne neuere oure cursed kare,
“So fer doun byneþe we are.
“I ne may nought telle, for sor of herte,
“Al oure sorewe þat ys so smerte,
“Þat we han had, & ȝit haue;
“Bot God wyle, nought may vs saue.
“Here-fore am y to ȝow comen,
“As to kyþ of oure kynde nomen,
“ffor ȝe ar Brutes, & we Breton;
“& for þat skyle & þat reson,
“Help vs now to venge our foo,
“As we wolde ȝow & ȝe were wo.
“Þorow right lawe write men fynde,
“Þat men oughte to helpen þer kynde;
“& hit ys also worldes honur,
“At nede þer frendes for to socour.
“Þey no sybrede of kynde cam,
“Helpe ȝe scholde Crystendam.”

Whan Aldroel herde so Gwyncelyn speke,
ffor sorewe hym þoughte his herte wolde breke;
Þe teres ronnen out of his eyne,
ffor þat þey were in so gret pyne,

244

Gretand ageyn he hym answered,
“ffor þe doel þat y haue herd,
“Y schal do al my trauaille
“Þat y to ȝow may helpe or vaille.
“ȝyf y myghte my self, y wolde fayn,
“Bot Frensche men me chace ageyn;
“Þey werre on me al þat þey may,
“My self am þer a[t] ylka fray;
“I wol nought leue my litel þynge,
“Myn heritage, for more wynnynge;
“I haue a broþer, sire Constaunt,
“God werrour, & man valliaunt;
“Wyþ two þousand y schal hym sende,
“Wyþ gode knyghtes, ȝour lond to fende;
“Hym to Bretaigne schaltow lede,
“Þorow gode grace for to spede.”
He sente þenne for Constantyn,
& bytaughte hym sire Gwyncelyn.
Whan Guncelyn byheld þe knyght,
Þe hand he lyfte þat was þe ryght,
& gaf Constant þe benisoun:
Þe knyght byfore hym kneled doun,
Þe bisschop foure wordes seyde;
Þe wordes arn, o Latyn leyde,
“Christus vincit, Christus rengnat!
“Christus vincit, Christus inperat!”
Þe kyng þen bitaughtym four þousand
Of men of armes wel seruand,
& þre þousand men of fote.

245

Þe kyng þan seyde, “Þys may do bote
“To saue ȝour lond ilka del.
“My kynde þer-inne, gret þem wel.”

Syre Guncelyn aryued at Toteneys,
& sire Constant wyþ his harneys.
Þat herde þe Bretons alle aboute,
Þo þat er skulked for drede & doute.
Out of wodes & out of mountaynes
(Þat durste nought er come to þe playnes,)
To Constant come þen men ynowe,
Þat þer enemys ouer al slowe.
He dide hym vntil Westmorland;
Þe countre al wasted he fand;
Al þe lond, leye hit lay,
Þe folk for fere wer fled away;
Hadde þey nought vn-to þe fode,
Bot bestes wylde, & fische on flode.
Þeyr enemys þer þey broughte of lyue,
Þe remenaunt out of lond gon dryue.

Apud Cirencestriam coronatus est Rex Constantinus.

To Circestre Constant wente,
& held þer a parlymente.
Sire Guncelyn þer gaf hym þe coroun;
Þer-of was fayn ilka Bretoun.
Þenn tok he wyf auenaunt & god,
Sib þe bischop, of Romayns blod.
Þ[r]e childre on hure he gat auenaunt,
Þe eldest, highte his name Constant;

246

He dide hym norice at Wynchestre,
And ȝald hym monk in þat same estre;
Þat oþer sone highte Aurelyus,
His to-name was Ambrosius;
Þe þridde child, Vter he hight,
Þat lyuede lengest, & best was knyght.
Þe bischop, þorow leue of þe kynge,
Hadde þe two in his kepynge.
ȝyf Constant had lyued ani sel,
He schuld haue mended þe lond ful wel;
Two ȝer he regned, & namo;
Lyst how a traitour dide hym slo:

On ffortyger, of Walsche blod,
Þat neuere in truþe no stude stod,
He ȝerned mikel þe kyndam.
Lyst how þe treson fro hym cam:

De quodam Pycto traditore.

Y þe kynges court serued a Peyght,
Þat was þorow ffortegers deseit;—
Þis Peit, longe wiþ þe kyng had ben;
Of treson he þoughte ay by-twen;
Þys Peyt ȝede wyþ þe kynge a day
Vntil an herber alone to play;
Bot hit was perceyued of non
Whider þe kyng & þe Peyt was gon.
Þe kyng of treson wende nought,
Bot þe Peyt þeron he þought;
As þey boþe to-gyder sat,
& speken þer of many what,
Þe kyng til hym gaf no tent.

247

Þat saw þe Peyt, & his knyf out hent,
& smot þe kyng vntil þe hert,
& fledde awey also smert.
Pryuely þat fame ȝede
Þat fforteger had don þat dede.
fforteger was of þe Walscherye,
Þat euere louede trycherye;
Queynte he was, & fer couþe þenke
To compasse a wykked blenke;
ffaire he spak þer he wolde gyle;
& þer he hated, þer wolde he smyle;
Wel couþe he preyse & lakke somdel,
& treson couþe he teche wel:—
& somme þat arn at þis tyme here,
Þat craft of hym nought nedeþ lere.—

De electione Constanti Monachi in Regem.

Þe clergie for þis dide make asemble,
Whilk of þe children best kyng myght be;
Bot þey were so lytel & ȝonge,
Reson couþe þey non wiþ tonge.
Constant was eldest & mere,
& was a monk, a man of lere.
Þey seide atones, alle & som,
Þem noughte nout reue hym fro religion;
Ne lawe nolde hit by no weye,
A monk to take fro his abbeye:
To take an oþer, þe Conseil ches.
Þen stirte vp Forteger in al þe pres,
& seide, “Hit is to drede no þyng,

248

“Of þe monk to make a kynge.
“He ys eldest;—of þe habite no tale!—
“Þe oþere arn ȝonge, & ouer smale.
“Y graunte non oþer kyng to be.
“ffor al þe synne, y take on me.”
Non oþer assented to þat dome,
Þat þe monk scholde a kynge bycome;
Þey dredden swylk a þyng bygynne;
Bot fforteger dredde nought þat synne:
What he wold do, non durste hym werne,
To Wynchestre he hyed hym ȝerne,
He asked leue atte priour
To speke wyþ Constant y þe parlour:

“Constant,” he seide, “þy lord ys ded;
“Þy breþere ar ȝonge; what ys þy red?
“Y wolde þou haddest þe herytage,
“ffor þou art man most of age.
“Wiltow auaunce my rente, my fe,
“& loue me wel, & triste on me.
“Þy blake cloþes schalt þou loþe,
“& y þe richest y schal þe cloþe;
“Þy monkhod þow schalt al weyue,
“Þe heritage of þe reome reseyue.”
Þys monk was blent wyþ veyn glorye;
Abyte & ordre he let al flye,
ffor he ȝerned more pryde þan prow,
& wel more vice þan vertu.
Þat fforteger asked, he hym hight,
& þer-to his trouþe he dide hym plyght.
Out of his abite he hym schok,
Syþen out of þe abbeye hym tok;
In faire cloþes he hym cledde,
Wyþ hym to Londone Constant he ledde.

249

Was noman wyþ-seyde hym o nay;
Þey seye hit was þe monkes pay.
To somone þe folk anon þey bed;
Bot þerchebischop þat tyme was ded
Þat felle to make þe corounement;
Þer-to non oþer durste consent;
Bot fforteger þe coroune forþ fet,
And on Constantes heued hit set;
[was þer non oþer benyson,
bot Vortiger set on þe croun,]
& Constant þe coroune tok,
& ordre & habite al forsok;
Þus to worschipe gan he lende,
Wiþ schame he parted at his ende.

Hic ffortygernus traditor factus est custos Regny sub Monacho Rege.

Þenne ffortyger hadde alle þe maystrie,
Þe kyng at wille, & þe marchalsye;
Al to-gedere þe kyng he ledde,
& al he dide þat he hym redde;
Þe kyng dide al as fforteger wylde,
& al his conseil he fulfylde.
He saw þe kyng couþe no god,
Ne kynde skile nought vnderstod;
[on clostire skill couth he maste,
& his breþer with þe leste.]
He sey þe force of þe barons falle,

250

& saw his stat heyest of alle,
[þe folk discord nouht in a will;
þan he þouht in hert full still,]
& þoughte þe regne haue in his syde;
Her whuche a deseyte he spak þat tyde:

“Of o þyng, sires, y wot right wel,
“þer-of ȝe owen to wyte som del,
“Þat þe Daneys, wyþ men of Northweye,
“On ȝow wyl þey lyue & deye;
“& for þou art no knyght of armes,
“Þe more þey wayte þis lond wyþ harmes;
“On vs þey wyle þis somer haste,
“Þy casteles take, þy lond to-waste;
“Here-of y rede þou nyme ȝeme,
“Þy lond to fende, þy folk to queme.”
In casteles he sette garnysons
ffor þe drede of oþer traysons;
“To þo þat castels couþe loke,
“To swylke y wolde þat þou hem toke.”
Þan seyde þe kyng to ffortyger,
“Tak þou þe lokyng in þy power;
“As þou wilt, hit schal be so;
“Ouer þe wol y þat noman do;
“Þe castelles alle y þe bykenne,
“Now loke þat noman slo ne brenne.
“In þy conseil onlyk am y,
“Loke to me þou do truely.
“Of cites & of tresor al;
“Right as þou wilt, so be hit schal.”

251

Þenne was ffortyger at ese,
ffor alle þe strengþes he gan to sese.
When he had alle þys forceresses,
Wyþ cites, tounes, & alle richesses,
ȝyt he þoughte on oþer wyse
To contreoue a fals queyntyse:
“Sire,” he seyde, “ȝyf þou wilt do
“Þat y schal conseille þe to,
“Þy lond schaltow ful wel saue,
“& do þyn enemys of þe stond awe.
“Sent for knyghtes þat conne of sleytes.
“& þat ar bolde men in feyghtes;
“Lat þeym be alle þy souders,
“ffor of alle kyndes þey knowe þe maners;
“ffor ȝyf þey be y þy court wyþynne,
“On whilk side þat werre bygynne,
“Þen may þou sende hem aboute,
“To serche of wham þer ys most doute,
“Þaw þe Peytes & þeir kendes,
“Þat ofte han schewed þey were oure frendes.”

Exe iam tradicio falsy ffortygerny.

Þe kyng to fforteger þus seyd:
“My purueaunce ys on þe leyd;
“Do ryght als þy seluen wyle;
“Tak & lef as þou sest skyle,
“Als manye as þou hast of nede;
“Bettere þan y þou wost þe dede.”

252

Þen fforteger had his wille ynow;
An hundred Peyghtes to þe court he drow.
Of castles, tounes, & tresorye,
Of al he hadde þe maystrie;
He gaf þe Peytes what þey wyld,
Al þer askyng he fulfyld,
He honured hem swyþe mykel,
ffor wel he wyste þey were ful fykel;
Wyþ metes & drynkes he made þem glade,
& often dronken he þem made;
He preised hem faste in his sawe,
& oueral dide þem forþ drawe;
fforby alle oþere he þem honured;
Þat mester hadde, he þem socourred;
Þer-fore comunly ylka Peight,
Byfore alle þey seyde on heyght,
“Þat fforteger was more curteys
“Þan þe kyng was ony weys,
“& bettere semed to bere þe honur
“Þan þe kyng or his auncessour.”
In ilka stede whare þey ferde,
Þus þey seyde; þey ne roughte ho herde.
& for þe Peytes on hym seyde þis,
fforteger þer-of had gret blys;
& þe more þat þey hym preysed,
Þe more he þem vp areysed.

De Adulacione ffortygerny.

A day hit was, to þeym he drank
ffor to gete of hem more þank;
& right as þey dronke & songe,
Com fforteger þeym alle among,

253

& to þem seyde, “God glade ȝow here!”
Bot yuel he let, wyþ sory chere.
“Knyghtes,” he seide, “mykel y ȝow loue,
“I haue ȝow holpen to ȝoure aboue,
“& more y wolde, ȝyf y hadde ought;
“Þys [lond] ys þe kynges, & myn ys nought;
“Here hauy nought þat ought amountes;
“Þat y spend of, y ȝelde acountes,
“ffor y þys contre haue y nought;
“ffro fer hit comeþ þat me ys brought.
“To serue þe kyng y do my tent;
“Of hym hauy no lond ne rent,
“So þat y may nought holde to me
“ffourty squiers on al my fe;
“ȝyf y more hadde, hit were ȝour prow,
“Þer-fore nede y mot parte fro ȝow;
“& þat ouer-þynkes me ful sore,
“ffor pouere y am, & may namore.
“Bot ȝyf ȝe se þat y ought mende,
“Boldely comeþ to me, or sende,
“And y schal fonde, at al ȝour nede,
“Boþe forto cloþe & [to] fede.”

Exe iam falcitas ffortygerny.

Fortyger þenne turned his bak;
Fals he was, & feyntyse spak;
And þo þat hadden dronke wel,
Trowed his sawes ylkadel;
His word to truþe al þey hit turned,
Þat he to falsnesse had perforned;
Þey seide til oþer, “what haue ȝe mynt?

254

“Þys curteys knyght now haue we tynt.
“Þys folted king, he gyueþ vs lytel,
“ffor a monk can nought bot his chapitel.
“To slo þat folt, wel were to done;
“A bettere myghte we haue ful sone;
“Go we now, & sle þat vnþrift,
“& ffortyger to kyng we lyft,
“ffor he ys worþy to haue empyre,
“& bettere hym semed lord & syre
“Þan þis monk þat nought ne can;
“Go we & sle þis folted man!
“He haþ no kynde þat vs þarf drede,
“Þat myghte may[n]tene host ne lede;
“Ne hym self schal neuere be nought;
“Go we & do þat we haue þought!”
Þe whyles þer wylle was þus hot,
Þey stirte tys chaumbre; his hed of smot.
Wyþ þe heued als swyþe þey went,
To ffortyger þey made a present,
Þey gon to crie, “here may þow se
“Þat we wyl auaunce þe!
“Þis monk ys ded! now do þy wylle!
“Tak þe coroune, & hold vs stylle!”
ffortyger, þat saw þe kynges heued,
Glad he was þey haddyt hym reued;
Naþeles he couerede hym queyntely;
Semblaunt he made he was sory,
& for þat dide þo Peytes deye,
And at Londone he dide crye,
‘Þat al þe Peyghtes þat men myght wyte,
‘Þer heuedes scholde al of be smyte.’

255

Manyon were þat trowed & seyd,
Þat ‘non of þeym hadde handes leyd
‘On þe kyng wyþ yuel manere
‘Wyþoute þe conseyl of ffortygere;’
& þe Peyghtes seyde þe same,
Þat þey dide hit for his frame.
Þo þat þe children had in kepyng,
Aurelius & Vter, boþe ȝyng,
Dredde þat þorow þe conseil of þo
Þat slowen þe kyng, þem wolde þey slo;
Þer-fore þis conseil þey tok,
To Bretayne þey sentem, hem to lok,
To þe kyng Budice of þer kynde,
Þat ful nobly dide hem fynde,
And honured hem þorow al the lond;
When tyme was, armes hem fond.

Hic cepit Regnare ffortygernus.

Fortiger had al in kepynge þe land,
Casteles, & cites, al in hys hand;
& at his wylle þe folk he ledde;
ffor his power, noman he dredde;
He sey fortune toward hym falle,
And regned þen kyng ouer þeym alle.
Of two þynges wakned hys wough;
Of þe Peytes þat he slough;
Þey cald hym traitour wyþ manace,
& to meschaunce þey scholde hym chace;
An oþer þyng men hym telde,
Þat whan þe childre were of elde,
Þey scholde venge Constant her broþer;
War hym wel, & hope non oþer.

256

In tempore ffortygerny venerunt Saxones primo in Anglia.

Whyle þat fforteger þus regnede riche,
Þre schypes aryued at Sandwiche
Wyþ fair folk & wel y-dight,—
Hengist & Hors þer maistres hight;—
Of fair stature wyþouten lak,
& a selcouþ speche þey spak.
Þis ffortyger þat held þonour,
At Caunterbury he made soiour;
To þe kyng men tydynge tolde,
‘Þat a fair folk, wyþ faces bolde,
‘At Sandwyche late gonne aryue;
‘So faire y-schape were non alyue.’
Þen seyde þe kyng, “ȝyf swylk be comen,
“& peysibly þe hauene han nomen,
“In pes lat þem take þer rest,
“& wyþ my pes to do þer best,
“And ȝyf þey speke wyþ me in pes,
“& right so wende als þey ches.”

Hengistus, & Horsus frater eius, cepunt portum apud Sandwycum.

When þyse breþere Hengist & Hors
Had leue of þe kyng & of þe ports,
He greyþed his feres to fare al myry
To speke wyþ þe kyng at Caunterbyri.
When þey come, þe kyng þey grette,
& alle þat were by hym sette.

257

Þe kyng byheld þyse bachelers
Were faire of schap, & face clers,
How þey were mad so gentilly,
ffayrest of al þer compaigny:
Þen seyde þe kyng, “of whenne be ȝe?
What haue ȝe sought to þis contre?”
Þen was Hengist eldest & more;
ffor alle his feres onswered he þore:
“In Saxoyne were we born & fed;
“ffro þennes hyder our God vs led.
“ȝyf ye wil wite al þe manere,
“Whi & for what we ar com here;
“To telle ȝow, sire, gyues me leue,
“Þat ȝe ne ȝoure wyþ me ne greue.”
Þe kyng gaf hym þe grauntyse,
& Hengist teldym þen in his wyse:
“Sire kyng,” he seyde, “ȝyf þou euere herde,
“So waxynge folk in al þys werde,
“Ne so gendryng, ne so plentyue,
“Ne so gracious kynde to þryue,
“Als we arn of oure kynde,
“In no lond scholde men fynde,
“Ne selcouþloker so to gendre,
“Ne haue so manye childre tendre,
“& wexen boþe men & women y-nowe,
“Þat alle þer dwelle þey ne mowe.
“ffor whan þe folk ar woxen & larged,
“& þe lond ys ouer-charged,
“Oure Prynces perceyue þer ar so fele,
“Þe ȝonge dur þey nought out wele,

258

“Bot þulke of twenty wynter elde
“Or more, þat con þem kepe & welde,
“On strong[e] men, lotes þey kest,
“& byddem go purchace þem best,
“To seke oþer lond & lede,
“ffor mykel people may hit nought fede.
“Mo childre þer are of oure gendrure
“Þan bestes are in oure pasture;
“& for we so multeplye,
“We ar of þe kynde of Germenie.
“At þis tyme fel on vs þe lot,
“Þer-fore, nede, of lande we mot,
“To seke vs oþer on to lende;
“& hidere oure Godes dide vs wende;
“Mercurius, þat vs saues & schildes,
“Haþ vs brought vnto þys yldes.”

When þe kyng herde hym nemne a God,
He asked þenne how þey trowd,
& what þer Godes name hight,
On wham þey trowed had most myght.
He seide, “We haue Godes seeres
“ffor whos wyrschip we make auteres;
“Mars, Iubiter, & Saturnus,
“Dyane, & Mercuryus:
“Þis ar Godes of oure paen lay,
“Þat we worschipe at þer day.
“& mo Godes ȝyt we holde,
“As oure auncestres by-forn vs tolde;
“Bot on ouer alle wyrschipe we mest,

259

“Sire Mercurius, & holde his fest.
“Mercury ys on oure langage
“‘Woden,’ louerd, ys oure vsage,—
“Oure auncessour set hit so,—
“Þe ferþe day we halewe hym to.
“ffor we þat day worschipen hym alle,
“‘Wodenesday’ þat day we calle.
“Wyþouten hym an oþer we haue,
“A Godesse þat we for help to craue;
“On oure speche we calle hure ffre;
“Þe sixte day, hure worschipe we;
“ffor ‘ffre’ we calle hit ffryday,
“& worschipe hure on payen lay.”

Þen seide þe kyng, “ȝe leue al wronge;
“Wyþ false Godes ȝe make monge;
“On swylk ar nought for to leue,
“Hit ar ffendes þat schol ȝow greue;
“& þat sore ouer-þynkes me;
“Naþeles,” he seyde, “welcome ar ȝe!
“ffayre men ȝe are, & stalworthe seme.
“And ȝe wyl serue me to queme,
“Euerilkon y wyl ȝow take,
“& riche men y schal ȝow make.
“Þe Peytes wayten me wyþ wo,
“Þe Scottes also vs brenne & slo;
“ȝyf hit be so, ȝe may me vaille
“To vencuse þem in pleyn bataille;
“Gyftes schol ȝe haue ful gode
“Til ȝoure cloþynge & ȝour fode;
“& kepes wel ay þe Northe cost;
“ffro þennes comen ouer al þeyr ost.

260

“Loke y fynde in ȝow no feyntyse;
“ȝe schul me serue of swylk seruise.”
On þys manere come þe Saxouns
Þorow ffortyger among þe Bretouns.
Hengist tok leue at þe kynge,
To Londone for to brynge his þyng;
& sone com to þe court agayn
Wyþ manye faire knyght & swayn.

De Bello inter Saxones & Pyctos.

Wel sone after þat þey were come,
Þe Scottes & Peytes bataille nome,
And comen faste in-til þys lond,
Pylede & brente al þat þey fond;
Right to Humber water þey cam.
Þe kyng wyþ Saxons ageyn þem nam.
Þe Saxons were þer-of ful blyþe,
Þey arrayed hem wel, & þydeward swyþe,
Þey smyte to-gedere bataille smert;
Þe Peytes were euere ful egre of hert,
Þey stode wel furst & hardyly;
ffor þey were wond to haue þe maistri.
Þey wende haue had þer elde custume,
Þe lenger ageyn þe Bretons þey nome.
Þer wenyng þat day þey tynt,
ffor þe Saxons did þem bakward stynt,
[& were discounfet at þat dai;
þe Sessons bare þe prise a-wai.]
Þen was þe kyng a ioly man
Þat he þe bataille of þem so wan;

261

Þen let he mykel of þe Saxons,
& dide hem amende þer liuersons.
Þe kyng gaf Hengist faire maners
In Kent, & fele oþere stedes seers:
Þys loue lested bytwyxt þem longe,
ffeyþfullike, wel & strong.
Hengist sey til hym þe word wold schape,
His nedes to spede þen had he rape;
He sey oþ er do þer queyntyse,
Wher-of auauntage myghte aryse,
& also þoughte he þan seye som þynge
ffor to plese wyþ-al þe kyng.
On a day by þe kyng he sat,
To-gydere spekynge of many what;
He sey þe kyng was mury at ese,
Wyþ his conseil he gan hym plese:
“Sire,” he seis, “ȝe han do me honour,
“& mykel y haue y-take of ȝour.
“ȝyf y haue serued þe to wille,
“ȝyt bettere wol y forward fulfylle;
“& mikel haue y herd & seen
“Syþen y haue y þy court y-ben;
“ffor þou hast neyþer baron ne knyght,
“Þat alle ne hate þe wyþ her myght.
“Of two childre y here þem speke,
“Þat on þe harde schul þem wreke;

262

“Þer lige lordes þey scholden ben,
“Þorow heritage of þer faderes fe;
“& bynne schort terme schul þey come,
“& of vs boþe take harde dome:
“& þis ys þe comune sawe of alle,
“Þat yuel endyng on þe schal falle.
“Þus þey þrete wyþ manace,
“& ful yuel þey procure & purchace.
“When y here þem þus ȝelpe,
“Þen þenky how y myght ȝow helpe;
“Þer-fore to Saxoyne woldy sende,
“ffor my sib kynde, & oþer freinde;
“& ȝif y her hadde childre or wyf,
“Þen were y holden, on lymes & lyf,
“Þe forto socoure & to saue
“Wyþ al þe strengþe y myghte haue;
“Þe sikerer mightest þow be for me,
“& y scholde deserue more loue of þe;
“ffor alle þyn enemis, þaw þey wild fond,
“Ne durste nought reue þe a fot of lond.
“ffor y þe serue & loue truely,
“Haue y on me many enemy;
“& y lyg euere so naked syde,
“& oure fomen spred ful wyde;
“ȝyf y had ony fforcelet,
“To haue þer-inne som syker recet,
“Þen myghte we þe more be syker,
“What tyme our enemis wold giue vs byker.
“Þer-fore wer hit prow to þe
“Þat y hadde som castel or cite

263

“Where-inne y mighte sauely slepe,
“Þat none enemis on vs lepe;
“[wele more þan, þei wild me doute]
“Þan þey do now y lygge þer-oute.”

Þenne seide þe kyng vnto Hengist,
“Þorow sonde y wolde þy folk hit wist,
“Þat þey were her when we had nede;
“Inow þey scholden haue to mede.
“To gyue þe a toun, y ne may,
“ffor þou art of þe Payen lay;
“ffolye hit were, more þan resoun,
“To gyue a Payen a Cristen toun;
“Of oþer þyng þe entermet,
“ffor of toun getestow no recet.”

De cordys Corey Taury.

“Syn þou,” seide Hengist, “wyþseyst þat me,
“A skylful preiere þou graunte me:
“Of þy maners þat y mot haue—
“Wher-inne þat y may my lif saue—
“Namore lond, wyd ne syd,
“Þan y may sprede a boles hyd.”
Þat graunted anon kyng ffortygerne.
Þen Hengist of sente his frende ȝerne;
A boles hyde, he broughte hit þyder;
On þonges he carf hit al to-gyder,
And knytte hem alle þen on o þonge;
& al so fer as hit was long,
& euenlik al so mykel in brede,
Þe lond he tok hit ouer ȝede.

264

Þe lond aboute he dide hit stake,
A fforcelet þer-on þan dide he make,
& on his wyse he gaf hit name,
‘Þe Castel of Þonges,’ þe firste fame;
Syn, als schorter speche fel,
Hit was called ‘þong castel;’
Bot Frenschemen couþe nought so seye,
& caldit ‘Castel de Correye;’
Þat vse men byȝonde þe se,
& Bretons caldit ‘Kaer Karre.’

Exe Castellum factum est, cui dedit nomen Þongcastre.

When Þongcastre was al closed,
Þe name y-gyuen, oueral alosed,
Of þo þat Hengyst sente his sonde,
Þer comen sexten schipe to londe,
Wyþ mikel folk, knyghtes, swaynes,
& oþere þat were of his demaynes.

In a schip wyþ gentil men
Com Hengiste doughter þat hight Ronewen,
A ȝong woman & louely,
Auenaunt, & fair & semly;
Bot þis lewed men sey & synge,
& telle þat hit was mayden Inge.

265

Wryten of Inge, no clerk may kenne,
Bot of Hengiste doughter, Ronewenne.
Al þe folk Hengist fore sent;
To Þoncastre ilkon þey went.
(ffro Angle, a contre in Saxonye,
Comen alle Hengistes compaynie;
So þat for Angle, y vnderstond,
Bretayne was cald Engelond.)
Þen Hengiste faste hym purueyd,
& sente unto þe kyng, & seyd,
‘Preyenge, as he loued his griþ,
‘Þat he wolde ony night herberwe him wyþ,
‘A day to ete a sop, & drynke,
‘& se his werk, how þat hym þynke;
‘& of his folk, how þat hym þought,
‘& wyþholden þo þat to hym dought.’
Hengystes werk fayn wolde he se;
He ȝede þider al in pryuete.
Whan he hit saw, wel he hit preised,
& þat þer myght be folk wel aysed;
& þo knyghte þat late cam,
ffor þer sonde wyþ hym þey nam.
Hengist þat day dide his myght
Þat al was glad, kyng & knyght;
& als þey were best in gladyng,
& wel cuppe-schoten, knyght & kyng,

266

Exe Ronewenna, pulcra puella, quam Rex ffortygerus desponsauit secundum legem Paganorum.

ffro chaumbre cam Ronewenne so gent,
Byfore þe kyng in halle scheo went;
A coupe wyþ wyn sche hadde in hande,
And hure atyr was wel farande;
Byfore þe kyng o knes sche hir sette,
In hure langage ful faire him grette:
“Wassayl, my lord! wassail!” seyd sche.
Þen asked þe kyng what þat myght be:
On þat langage þe kyng ne couþe,
Bot a knygh[t] þat speche had lered in ȝouþe—
Breyþ highte þat knyght, y-born Bretoun,
Þat wel spak langage of Saxoun.
Þys Breþ was þe kynges latynier;—
& what scheo seyde, teldyt ffortyger:
“Sire,” Breþ seyde, “Ronewenne ȝow gretes,
“And kyng calles, & lord ȝow letes;
“Þys ys þer custume & þer gest,
“Whan they arn at þer [ale or] fest,
“Ilk man þat loues, þer hym best þynk
“Schal sey ‘wassail,’ & to hym drynk;
“He þat haldes schal sey ‘wassayl,’
“Þat oþer schal seye ageyn ‘drynk hayl’;
“Þat seys [wassayl] drynkes of þe coppe;
“Kissing his felawe, he gyueþ hit vppe;
“‘Drynk hail,’ he seyþ, & drynkeþ þer-of,
“Kyssyng hym in bourde & scof.”

267

Þe kyng seide as þe knight gan kenne,
“Drynk hayl,” smylynge on Ronewenne.
Ronewenne drank right as hure lyst,
& gaf þe kyng, & syn hym kist.—
Þat was þe firste wassail in dede,
Þat now & euere þe fame ȝede.
Of þat wassail men tolde gret tale,
& vsed ‘wassail’ when þey were at þale,
& ‘drynkhail’ to þem þat drank;
Þus was wassail take to þank.—
fful often þus þys mayden ȝyng
Wassailed & kyste þer þe kyng;
Of body sche was ful auenaunt,
Of fair colour, wyþ swet semblaunt.
Hure atir, ful wel hit bysemed;
Merueillyke þe kyng scheo quemed;
Out of mesure was he glad,
Opon þat mayden he wax al mad.
Þe ffend & dronkenesse hit wrought;
On þat þayen was al his þought.
As meschaunce þat tyme hym spedde,
He asked þat Payen for to wedde;
& Hengist wernde hym bot lyte,
Bot graunted hure hym al so tyt;
& Hors his broþer consented sone;
Hire frendes seyd alle, hit was to done;
Þey askede þe kyng to gyue hure Kent,
In dowarye, to take of rent.

268

Vpon þat mayde his herte so kast,
What-so þey asked, þe kyng mad fast.
I wene þe kyng tok hure þat day,
& wedded hure on Payens lay.
Of prest was þer no benisoun,
Ne messe songen, ne orysoun;
In sesyn þe kyng had hure þat nyght;
Of Kent he gaf Hengist þe ryght.
Þe Erl þat tyme þat Kent held,
Sire Gorogon, þat bar þe scheld,
Of þat gyft no þyng he ne wyste
Til he was dryuen out wyþ Hengist.
Þe Payens conseil þe kyng vnderstod,
& despised þe Cristene blod;
& alle þe Cristene hym forsok,
ffor he hym to þe Payens tok;
His owen kynde hated hym mest,
His children loued hym alder lest.
Byfore tyme he hadde a wyf,
But deþ hadde departed þer lyf;
Wyþ þat wyf he had þre sones
Þat helde ageyn hym for þe Bretons;
Þe eldest highte sire Vortymer,
Þat oþer, Patens, and Catyger.

De blandicione Hengisty.

Hengist wente wyþ þe kyng aboute,
To be syker for drede & doute,
& seyde, “y se hit on many gate
“Þat þou for me of summe hast hate;

269

“& y am—syker mot ȝe be—
“Hated for þe loue of þe.
“Þou art my sone, for þys skyle,
“Þou hast my doughter; as lawe hit wyle,
“Y am þy fader, als in honour
“To be þe a god conseillour;

“ȝyf þou wilt regne, trist on me wel,
“& help on my partie som del.
“ȝyf þou wilt greue þyn enemis,
“Y schal þe conseille by god auis,
“Send after my sone, sire Octa,
“& ffor his cosyn Ebsa,
“& ffor a noble knyght Kerdyk;
“in al Saxoyne nar non þem lyk;
“Þey ar fighters, & noble iustours,
“& queynte men & werreyour[s];
“Gyf hem lond y þe norþ to lende,—
“Þy werre comeþ euere in by þat ende,—
“ffro þyn enemis þey schul þe were,
“þat nought of þyn schulle þey dere;
“So myght þou haue, til þy deses,
“O þys half Humber þy lond in pes.”

Þen seyde þe kyng, “send after þo,
“& of þe beste, ȝyf þer be mo.”
Hengist hadde his sonde sone;
Þem to brynge þey were al bone;
Wyþ hem cam a fflute of fflode,
Þritty schipes alle gode;
Knyghtes þat wolde wende for wages,
Wyþ Octa wenten to þe ryuages.

270

After þat fflute, com ouer þe se
Schipes vmwhile by two or þre,
By foure & fyue, by six & seuene,
By eyghte & nyne, by ten & enleuene;
In a þrowe were mo Payen men,
Or al so manie, as were Cristen.
Þis seye þe Bretons, & were onoyed,
& seide þe kyng þe lond destruyed;
To þe kyng þey pleyned in curteys sawe;
“Payens ageyn þe Cristen lawe
“Bygynneþ gretly vs to greue;
“To wende a-wey, sire, gyue þem leue,
“Alle, or þe moste partye,
“ffor to Cristendom ȝe do vylenye.”
Þe kyng answered, & seyde, “nay,
“Y sente for þem; þey serue to pay.”

Vortimerus, filius ffortigerni, factus est Rex.

Whan þe Bretons herde þat þe kynge
Wolde nought leue for no þynge,
At Londone þey sette a Parlement,
& Vortymer to kyng þey hent,
Þe eldest sone of ffortyger,
Þat was a doughti bacheler.
Þis Vortymer dide crie a cry,
‘Þat no Saxon were so hardy,
‘In his demeynes dwelle ne be,
‘Neyþer in burgh ne in cite.’
Anon alle out he dide hem keste;

271

Among þe Bretons myghter non reste.
Þe kyng, for loue of his wyf,
Held wyþ þe Saxons, & meyntend strif.

De infortuniis Saxonum.

Hys sone hadde þer-wyþ enuye,
& sey his ffader meyntende folye;
He spied þe Saxoyns, whar þey ware,
& chased hem as hound doþ þe hare;
His folk was god, hym-self doughti,
& meyntende wel his party.
Baldely bolded on hym þe Bretons

De exilis Saxonum.

Ageyns his fader & þe Saxons;
ffoure tymes þey bataille nomen,
& euere þe Saxoyns were ouer-comen;
Þe firste bataille was vpon Derewent,
Þer were þe Saxons alle y-schent;
Þat oþer at Berforde, att a brok,
Þer þe Saxons eft bataille tok,
Þer was Hors & manye anoþer
Ageyn Catyger, Vortymeres broþer;
Gretly þey ȝernde ilk oþer tasayle,
& boþe were slayn at þat bataille.
Þe þridde tyme in Kent, at an hauen;
To þer schipes þer þey were drawen;
Þer wer þey so harde byset,
Þey fledde to þe yle of Tanet;
ffro byȝonde Humber, vnto þat ylde,
Was no Saxon so bold ne wylde,
Þat he ne dide hym þyder chace,

272

ffor in ffortiger þey fond no grace.
Þe Bretons folewed þem & slowe;
Þo þat ascaped, to þe hil þey drowe.
I þe yle þey assailled þem þer-ynne
Wiþ botes, as þey myghte þem wynne;
By þe se syde on þem þey carf;
O þe oþer syde for hunger þey starf.
Þan sey Saxons on ilk syde wo,
& þoughte best were to wende þer-fro;
Þey sente her sonde to ffortyger,
‘Þat he wolde so sende to Vortymer,
‘To gyue hem leue a-wey to wende
‘Wyþouten slaughter, as he was hende;
‘ffor þey ne leften nyght ne day
‘Þem tasaille wyþ strong afray:
‘His trewes, þer-fore, fond vs to gete.’
Þen drowe þe Saxons alle to a fflete,
& dight þer schipes, & sette vp sayl,
Left wyf & childre, & oþer porayl:
On þis manere a-wey þey scaped,
Ouer se til oþer land þeym raped.

De Restauracione ecclesiarum per Vortimerum.

Vortymer dide þanne restore
Þat for þem hadde any lore.
He dide kirkes reyse & make,—
Þo þat Hengist dide doun schake,—
& dide Godes seruise be songe & seyd,
Þat for þe Payens longe was leyd.

273

He sente to Rome, to seint Romeyn,
& he sente hider þe byschop Germeyn.
Þen com wyþ hym seint Lowys,
An holy bischop & a wys,—
Þey were sent þe londe to assoille,—
He kepte þe sege of the apostoylle.
Þyse two turned þe folk ageyn,
To Crist & to his lawe ageyn;
& manion þorow hem saued was
Þat er wer gyuen to Satanas.
Þorow hem schewed God many vertu,
Þat in þis lond dide gret pru.

De Maledicta Ronewenna.

When þey had stabled Godes lawe
Þorow miracle & þorow þer sawe,
Anoþer sorewe com vp ryf,
Þorow Ronewenne, ffortygeres wyf:
Scheo made a drynke þorow treson,
& Vortymer sche dide poyson;
Scheo poysend hym þat louede Crist,
ffor þe payen, hure ffader Hengist.
Whan Vortymer wyste he scholde deye—
Leches to lyue couþe hym non seye,—
Þen sent he after his barons bolde,
Bytaught hem alle his tresor to holde,
& seide, “takeþ conseil & red,—
“Of me nys non, for y am ded,—
“Men of armes swyþe ȝe take,
“By alle þe costes quykly to wake
“Þat no Saxoyn on ȝow aryue,

274

“Ne receyueþ non for þyng alyue;
“Holdeþ þe stat þat y ȝow wan,
“And trauailleþ forþ as y began;
“And ȝyf ȝe do als y schal rede,
“On ȝow to come þey schul drede.
“By þe se side, byrieþ me þere,
“Þe sight of me ȝyt schal hem fere;
“& doþ make a toumbe þat longe may last,
“Þe sight þerof schal þem agast;
“On alle manere ȝe make hit heye,
“Þat y be euere ageyn þer eye;
“Þat wey of me þan schul þey scurne,
“Ne neuere haue grace on me to turne.”
Þus he þem taughte, þus he þem seyd,
& þenne byforn þem alle he deyd.

Heu þro morte Vortimery!

Bot þei dide nought his comandement;
Þe dedes conseyl ys sone ouer-went,—
To Londone his body þey bar,
& in þe cite biried hym þar.
Þen wax ffortiger ful stout;
Als he fore dide, he regned þorowout.
Ronewenne þenne hure lord bysought
Þat Hengist myghte a-geyn be brought.
Anon tys wif, his wille he went,
& after Hengist his lettre sent:
To come sleightly he scholde fonde,
& litel folk wyþ hym brynge to londe,
So þe barons þem nought mispaye,
Ne þe comun folk affraye;
“Hit nedeþ no þyng gret folk to haue,
“ffor Vortymer lygges ded in graue.”

275

Hengistus reconsiliatus est.

When Hengist herde þo tydinges,
His God he þanked, & made offrynges;
He dight hym folk, an hundred þousand
Of armed men, brought þem to land.
Many a Breton þen dredde hym sore,
& so schold oþer þat þenne [ne] wore.
When þe kyng herde Hengist was comen,
& wiþ mykel folk þe lond had nomen,
He dredde hym sore, & mente his mone.
Þe Bretons were greued ones ilkone,
& seide ‘þey wolde do þer myght
‘To sle þem doun wyþ force & fight.’
Bot Hengist herde, what loud, what stille,
Þe Bretons to hym hadde yuel wille.
Hym self was euere ful feloun;
He sente to þe kyng al in tresoun,
‘Þat he wolde speke wyþ alle in pees,
‘& simplely wyþouten pres;
‘Pes he asked, pes wolde he seke,
‘Til hym in pes he wolde be meke,
‘& he wolde nought þe Bretons greue,
‘Ne dwelle wiþ force ageyn þer leue,
‘Bot chese þem-seluen, as þey wol say,
‘Wheþer we schul dwelle, or go our way.’
On þat couenaunt & þat deuis
Þey hadde trewes on boþe partys.
When þe partys to trewe wer brought,

276

Hengist of treson hym byþought;
Þorow trist of trues, of on assent
Þey sette a day of Parlement
Opon þe Playne of Salesbury,
Byside the Merueille of Aumbresbyry,
Þey bede Hengist no gret folk lede,
Bot senglely come, & noman drede,
& what lordyng he gan mete,
Als he þem dredde he scholde lete.
Hengist sent hym bode a-geyn,
Þat he wolde comen to þe Playn
Wyþoute armure on any wyght,
ffor drede of contek & of fight.

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,—

277

“On alle manere fondes how,
“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,

278

ffor whilk þe lond made mykel mone;
& 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.

279

ffortyger saw how þat hit foor;
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,

De castello ffortygerny in Wallia.

He dide sende after þe clergye,
Þe wysest men of astronomye;
At hem alle, conseil he took,
‘How he myghtym safliest lok
‘A-geyn his enemis for to fende,
‘ȝyf host byseged hym as he wende.’
Þus redde hym þenne his conseillours:
‘To make a strong castel wiþ tours
‘Þat non wyþ force mighte hit take,
‘Ne wyþ engyns hit perebrake;

280

‘& when hit [was] dight at his auys,
‘To warnyschit ageyn his enemis.’
In fele stedes þenne ches he
Where was best & most ese.
On an hil hight Mount de Tyre,
Þer-on was his moste desire;
Masons brought he þenne þer-tille,
Bygonne þat castelwerk o þat hille;
Morter þey made, & ston dide fet,
& spedde hem faste þer-on to set.
Alle þat þey made a day vpright,
ffallen was doun vpon þat nyght;
Often þey les al þeyr iornes,
Þat what [þei] made, lay doun on knes.
Þat saw þe kyng hit misferde so;
Þe maistres he dide eft com hym to,
& preide þem telle ‘what þyng hit deres
‘Þat þe erþe þys werk ne beres;
‘& ȝif þey mighte, þey scholde fonde
‘To wyte what myghte don hit stonde.’
Þys wyse maistres þer bokes kest,
Why þat werk ne wolde nought lest;
Þey fondyt þenne in þer musyng,
A gret selcouþ, & telde þe kyng:
“ȝyf ani man myghte a child fynde
“Þat hadde no fader of mankynde,
“ȝyf he were taken & slayn sone,
“& menged his blod wyþ morter & stone,
“Vpon þat morter þat blod wer inne,
“Þat werk men mygh[t] safly bygynne.”

281

Þe kyng als sone his sonde sent,
ffro toun to toun þorow Walys went;
In ilka contre, þorow euery schire,
He hadde spyes for to spyre;
& in oþer landes seeres
Sente þe kyng his messegers:
Two to-gyder, aboute þey ȝede,
Þe bettere for to spirre & spede.
Two of þyse wente þorow Walys,
Of swylk a child ȝif þey herde tales.
So fer in to þe lond þey nam,
Atte last to Kermerdyn þey cam:
By-fore þe ȝates y þe way
Sawe þey manye childre play;
Bytwyxt to þer a stryf þey herde,
Of grete reprefs ilk oþer onswerde;
Þey wyþ-stode, & gon abyde
ffor to here þe children chide.
When wraþe bygynneþ, þen comeþ vmbreyd;
Al þat men wot, ys þen forþ seyd;
So dide þey þat weren wroþe,—
Dynabus, Merlyn, (þus hight þey boþe,)—

Dynabus seyde, “Let be, Merlyn!
“ȝyf þou me vmbreyde, þe schame ys þyn.
“Y am born of heyer kynde
“Þan any man of þe may fynde.
“Hit aughte þe schame in al þy lyue
“Þat þou, Merlyn, wyþ me wilt stryue;
“ffor y am come of kynges blod,
“& þou, Merlyn, art nought so god;
“Þy kynde & myn ys no þyng euen,
“Ne þy fader canstow nought neuen,
“Ne neuere hym seye, ne hym ne knew,

282

“Ne of what kynde þat he grew!
“Þer wot no man of wham þart come,
“Þer-fore y halde þe no mannes sone!”
Þe messegers lystn̄ed, & þought
Þat swylk a child hadde þey sought;
Þey spird at men of þat cite,
Þat Dynabus seyde, ȝyf hit myght be,
Þat ffader wystey hym haue non.
Þey of þe cite seyde ylkon,
“His moder we knowe, þat hym bare;
“Of his fader ne wyte we whare;
“Hys moder kynde alle we knawe,
“Bot his ffader we neuere sawe.
“Scheo was þe kynges doughter, Dymenice,
“Of Walys he hadde half partye;
“Scho ys nonne of relygion
“At Seint Petres kirke of þis toun.”
Þey ȝede to þe Meyre of Kermerdyn,
O þe kynges halue asked Merlyn
Þat neuere ȝit no fader had;
His moder also wyþ hym þey lad.
Þe Meyre þen wolde þem nought werne,
Bot sped þem on þer wey ful ȝerne.
Þey come to þe kyng ffortyger,
& he welcomed hem on faire maner:

Dicta Matris Merlyny.

“Dame,” seyde þe kyng, “welcome be þou!
“Nedlike at þe y mot wyse how,
“Who þan gat þy sone Merlyne,
“& on what manere was he þyne.”
His moder stod a þrowe, & þought,
Er sche to þe kyng onswered ought.
When scheo had stande a litel wyght,
Sche seyde, “by Marye bright,

283

“Þat y ne sey, ne neuere knew,
“Hym þat þis child on me sew;
“Y ne wiste neuere, ne y ne herde,
“What maner wyght wyþ me so ferde;
“Bot þis þyng am y wel of graunt,
“Whon y was of elde auenaunt,
“On com þer to my bed, y wyst,
“& wyþ force me clipte & kyst;
“Als a man y hym felt,
“& als a man he me welt,
“And als a man he spak to me,
“Bot what he was myght y nought se.
“So often to my bed he cam,
“& ofte me kyste, in armes nam,
“& knew me als a man schold do,
“Byfore ne syþen did neuere non so:
“Al þus conseyued y þys knaue,
“& als y wiste, told y ȝow haue.”
Þen dide þe kyng a maister calle,
Magait he highte, wysest of alle;
He asked ȝyf hit myghte be so,
Þat þyng þat scheo telde þem to.
“ȝe,” seyde þe Maistere to þe kyng,
“Hit may bityde, swylka þyng.
“ffor we fynde writen in our scrytes
“Of swylk manere of spyrites;
“Bytwyxte þe mone & þe erþe þei wone—
“So telleþ vs our bokes þat we kone;—
“som what tak þey of mannes kynde,
“& mengyt wyþ angles, as we fynde;
“ffor þeyr wonyng ys in þe eyr,
“Vmwhile to þe erþe þey make repeir.
“Mykel skaþe do þey nought;

284

“Drecchynge by tymes haue þey wrought.
“Mannes nature vmwhile þey take;
“Þat ys þer myght þey may so make,
“Whan hit ys tyme of here powere,
“To haue lyknesse of bodyes here.
“What tyme þey tak hit, wot noman
“Bot he þat al may wyte & kan.
“Þise spyrites do women schame;
“Incuby demones, ys cald þer name,
“ffendes-in-bedde, as our bokes sayn,
“Þat many woman han forlayn.
“On þis manere myghte Merlyn
“Be geten & born, by oure deuyn.”

Dicta Merlyny.

Þen seide Merlyn: “Sire kyng! þou has
“Sent after me; sey me þy cas!
“What þou wilt, sey me þy wille,
“Wheþer hit is for god oþer ylle!”
Þen seid þe kyng, “þou schalt here;
“ffor þe y sente, at þe to lere.
“A castel y haue bygonne,
“& lore þer-on þat y haue wonne;
“Al þat þey make þer on a day,
“O nyght alone stand hit ne may;
“& eft when þey gynne þe walles,
“Eyþer hit synkes, or cleues, or falles;
“& ffayn y wolde þe werk haue hasted,
“& mykel of myn þer-fore ys wasted.
“Bot þus seide alle my dyuinours,
“Þat þer ne schal stande wal ne tours
“Bot þy blod þer-on be schad,
“Þow þat neuere no fader had.”
Þenne seide Merlyn, “þat wold nought God,

285

“Þat swylk a fals schold be bytrowd,
“Þat þorow þe mengynge of my blod
“Þy tour schold stande strong & god.
“Y schal proue þem fals fur-sworn
“ȝyf þou brynge þem me byforn:
“Þo þat on me lotes cast,
“& seyde my blod myght makyt fast,
“Y schal þem þroue for lyeres olde,
“Þylke maistres þat þe so tolde.”
Þe kyng dide þem come ilkone,
Ageyn Merlyn hym self alone.
“Maistres,” he seyde, “what haue ȝe seyd,
“What lotes haue ȝe on me leyd,
“ffor þys þyng ys þus ffarand,
“Þe kynges werk hit may nought stande?
“Con ȝe sey non oþer enchesoun
“Whi þat þis castel þus falles doun?
“& ȝyf ȝe can non oþer sey
“Why þat hit falles som certeyn wey,
“How couþe ȝe wyte þat þorow my blod
“Þis tour myght stande stark & god?
“Seys what þyng ys on þe ground
“Þat hit ne may stande hol ne sound,
“& seyþ what þyng hit helpe myght,
“Þat þys castel myght stande vpright.
“& ȝyf ȝe ne conne nought do hym wyte
“What þe fallyng may wyþ-syt,
“Þat ȝe haue seyd, hit ys bot fable,
“Þat my blod schold make hit stable!
“Seys now hym al þe desturblaunce,
“& where-of comeþ þat wonder chaunce!”
Þise maistres of astronomie & of deuyn

286

Onswered nought o word to Merlyn.
When Merlyn sey þey ne onswered nought,
Right to þe kyng he sayde his þought:

Dicta Merliny ad Regem.

“Syre kyng,” he saide, “gyf now entent!
“By-neþe þe erþe, atte ffundement,
“Is a water rennyng dep,
“Þat makes þy werk slyden o slep.
“& serteyn þer-of [þat] þou be,
“Do graue þe erþe al vp, & se.”
Þe kyng dide come mynours ynowe,
Þat þe erþe vp caste & drowe.
As Merlyn seyde, þe water þey fond.
“ȝe maistres,” seid Merlyn, “of þys lond,
“ȝyf ȝe con telle vs now here
“What merueille ys in þys ryuere,
“Seyeþ now þe righte certeynete,
“ȝe þat diuined þe deþ of me!”
Þe maistres alle stille þey stod,
Þey seyden neyþer yuel ne god.
Þen to-ward þe kyng Merlyn gan turne:
“Do scope þis water, & turn þe borne.
“Sykes do ȝe graue & groupe,
“Þe water þer-inne men schal scoupe.”
Þe kyng dide come folk ynowe,
Þat þe water wiþ scopes vp drowe.

287

De diuersitate duorum Draconum.

When þe water was oute clene,
Merlyn schewed what hit wold mene:
He telde þe folk alle atones,
Þat “y þe ground leye two hole stones;
“By-twyxte þe stones were to dragons,
“Þat dide hym make al þe somons.
“Do þat þo stones weren a twynne,
“Þe dragons schul ȝe fynde wyþynne.”
Þey brast þe stones vp al so tyt,
& founde a red dragon & a whyt.
Þis rede dragon was grym to se;
ffel to fyghte þen semed he;
Þe white was nought so grym of sight,
Ne so fel semyng to fyght.
“Sire kyng,” seid Merlyn, “to me þou herk!
“Þyse two dragons fordede þy werk!
“ffor whan þy werk on heyght[e] larged,
“Þen schok þe ground, & þeym ouer charged;
“Þen meued þey hem, þe water al quok,
“& þe werk abouen al schok;
“Of þat y seyde, nought y ne ley.”
Vp in to þe eyr þe dragons þen fley,
& foughte so þat hit was selcouþ;
fflaumes as fyr fley fro þer mouþ.
Al þe folk seide comunly,
Þey hoped þe rede schold haue þe maistri.
When þey hadde longe to-gyder smyten,
Spatled, spouted, belewed, & byten,

288

Wyppyng wyþ wenges, ouer-wepen & went,
Cracchyng wiþ clawes, rubbed, & brent;
Þe bataille lasted day & nyght,
Vntil þat oþer day was lyght.
Þe folk wondred þat þe white dragoun
To þe rede had any foysoun.
At þe ende, þe white a fflaume out cast,
Þat þe rede bolnede & brast.
When he was ded, þe rede dragoun,
Þe white ȝede & leyde hym doun;
Þre daye þen lyued he, & na mo,
Þe ferþe he deyde, y trowe, for wo.

Vortyger sey þanne þis chaunce;
He askede Merlyn þe signifiaunce,
& preyed hym telle what hit wild mene,
Wheþer hit tokned ioye or tene.
Þenne seyde Merlyn many thynges,
What y þis lond schuld tide of kynges,
Þat are in Blase bokes write,—
Þey þat hauyt, mowe hit wyte,—
And in Tolomer & sire Amytayn;
Þyse hadde Merlynes bokes playn,
ffor þyse þre write his prophecyes,
And were his maistres in ser partyes.
Som men haue þem mykel in hande,
Þat con nought þem wel vndestande.
Y sey for me, y naue no wyt
To open þe knottes þat Merlyn knyt.
Men may sey more þan he haþ seyd,

289

Þat noþyng þer-to may be leyd.
Merlyn spak on swylk a manere,
Þat til hit be gon, non may hit lere.

De interpretacione draconum per Merlynum.

Þe kyng held Merlyn in mikel pris,
ffor his seynge was god & wys.
(In ffortiger tyme, men hit told,
He was þat tyme bot twolf ȝer old.)
Þe kyng bisoughtym þat he wold seye
What manere deþ þat he schold deye.
“Sire kyng, to wyte hastow desir:
“Al way war þe wel fro fyr
“ffro Constantes childre, þat ar comand,
“Þat sone schul aryuen here on land.
“Þou signefiest þe rede dragoun,
“Þat ffader & broþer slowe wyþ tresoun;
“& hit menes, þer bataille strong,
“Þat þou hast halde þer lond wyþ wrong.
“Þe white dragon ys syngnefiaunce
“Þat þey schul take of þe vengaunce:
“fful yuel þou slowe þer ffader & broþer,
“& madest þe kyng, þat was anoþer.
“Þe þridde combraunce þat ȝit þe mones,
“Þou receyuedest þe Payens Saxones.
“On alle halue comes þy wo:
“Þe Saxoyns wyl waite þe to slo;
“I þat oþer halue þe eyres schul come,
“& aske þer lond of þe þorow dome;

290

“Þey ar now saylynge in þe se;
“Awey by tyme y rede þow fle.
“Þey schul aryue vp at Toteneys
“To morn, wyþ hors & wyþ harneys;
“To renne on þe [þey] schul þem renge;
“ffader & broþer þey schul þan venge.
“Þer þou wenst best recet to haue,
“ffle now faste, þy self to saue.
“ȝyt schal y warne þe of þys þynge,
“Aurelius schal first be kyng;
“& he schal lyue nought bot a stounde;
“Þorow poyson schal he be brought to grounde.
“Vter, his broþer, after hym schal be
“Kyng, & regne als dide he.
“Vter sone schal com fro Cornewaille,
“As a fyghtyng bor in bataille;
“Þe traiturs of þyne þat he may fynde,
“He schal furdo, and al þer kynde;
“Of prowesse he schal haue þe pris,
“& destruye alle his enemis.”
Merlyn stynte, & spak namore.
Þen fforteger tok his leue þore;
ffo[r] þes tydynges dwelt he nought,
On Merlynes wordes was al his þought.

Hic de Aurelyo Rege.

Þat oþer day, as Merlyn seyd,
Totenesse was vmbyleyd
Wyþ schipes wyþ þe children host,
& spred aboute by al þe cost.

291

Bretons þat herde, & weren blyþe;
Þey gadered þem, & þyder swyþe;
Þo þat were a-sondred ful wyde,
Com to Toteneys on ilka syde;
Lordes riden, & fotmen ran,
Bretons were bliþe ilka man.
Hengist byforn had don hem skulke
In wodes, in hilles, to crepe in hulke,
& had ney slayn al þer barons
Wyþ þe sexes of þe Saxons.
Þen were þey bolde of þe cominge;
Þey tok Aurelius, & made hym kyng.
Wyþ þe Bretons was blisse ynough,
& þretten Hengist to wake hys wough.

þys tidyng com to ffortiger,
Þat Aurelius & sire Vter
Were comen, & hadde seysed þe lond,
Þeym to venge, ȝyf þey hym fond.
ffor þo tydynges & þo tales
He fledde & warnyschet hem in Wales;—
Genoyre hight þe castel name,
(I not ȝyf hit haue ȝit þe same;)
Þe hil hight Cloart, þer men hit kennes,
& byside þe water of Weye rennes;
Þe contre þat hit standes yn,
Þe name þer-of hight Dergryn;—
Þider gadered his folk & þaire vitaille,
& warnyschet hem, ȝyf ought myght vaille.

De Morte ffortygerny.

Þe ȝonge kyng & his broþer,
Wyþ mania Breton, on & oþer,
& folk wyþ hym þat he brought,

292

In Walys fforteger þey sought.
Þey byseced straite his castel;
ffele arewes þey schotten, & quarel
Þey caste þer-to, on manie a gate,
ffor þey had þer-to ful gret hate.
I þe ost was þe erl of Gloucestre,—
In Walys he knew al þe estre,—
Eldok he highte, man of honur,
And hardy knyght & god werrour.
Þe kyng Aurelius asked hym red
ffor to venge his fader ded,
& seyde, “Sire Erl, þou furgetest ylk del
“Þat my fader feffed þe wel,
“& gaf þe armes, & made þe knyght;
“Syþen my broþer, in al his myght;
“& ȝif þou louedest hym feyþfuly,
“Help me to venge his enemy!
“Let now no god wille be wane,
“Bot help to venge my fader bane!
“Þenk o þe Payens þat sexes drow,
“& at þe Parlement þe lordes slow!”
When Eldok herde, he made swilk mone,
Þey cried “as armes” euerylkone,
To gyue assaut to þem wyþynne;
Bot þe castel was yuel to wynne.
Þey comaunded to al men lyk,
Wiþ brusch to come, & fylle þe dyk.
When hit was ful, fir þey set,

293

& on a lowe at ones hit set;
Þe lowe was mikel, & vp-ward stey,
So þat hit in to þe castel fley,
& vp in to þe tour hit went,
Þat alle þe houses aboute brent;
Castel, houses, wyþ al þer atyr,
Man & best, al was on fyr;
Til al was brent, woldit nought lynne.
Þe kyng hym self was brent þer-ynne,
& alle his folk euerylkone,
Brente to deþe, body & bone.
Of ilka traytour swilk ys þe ende!
Last of his lyue wyþ wo schal wende!
Of a traitour ys al of spoken;
Of Hengist wolde þe kyng be wroken.

When Aurelius & sire Vter
Were venged on sire ffortyger,
Al þe land, ouer al aboute,
Wyþ loue he did hit til hym loute.
Whan he wyste þat al þe land
Was til his wille bowand,
He seide, ‘he wolde no lenger abide;
‘Agayn þe Saxons wold he ryde,
‘Deliuere þe land of þem al klene;
‘Þey han vs do ful mykel tene.’
Hengist herde þo tydynges seye,
Toward Scotland he nam his weye;
Þe souþ contre al he fursok,
& ouer Humber þe way he tok;
Of Scottes & of Peytes þere
He hoped of help, ȝyf nede we[re].
Þe kyng hym spedde, when he hit wiste,

294

Toward þe northe after Hengyste.
When Bretons herde þe kyng passed Humbre,
So fele to hym come, men myghtem nowt noumbre.
Towards þe northe al ways[te] þey fonde,
Were þere non left myght tyle þe londe,
Casteles broken, tounes brent,
Holy kirke was broke & schent;
Þyse Payens Saxoyns al had reft.
Þen sey þe kyng nought waster left:
Al he highte to restore,
ȝyf he myght lyue, & eft come þore,

Whan Hengist wyste þat þe kyng cam,
ffor drede he ne wyste what wey he nam;
ffor to fle myght hit nought vaille,
Bot ned he mest byde bataille.
He calde his felawes, & bad þem rest,
& seide, “felawes, what ys þe best?
“Þis Bretons folewe vs faste & ney;
“Vs by-houes be queynte & sley.
“In bataille now þey wil vs frayst,
“Lok þat ȝe be trewe & traist;
“Dredeþ nought þer gret compaignye;
“ȝyf we wel stande, sone schul þey flye.
“Wel wot ȝe what Bretons are;
“Þey feynte ful sone ȝyf non þem spare.
“Standeþ styf & truely ageyn,
“We schul þen of hem make feldes pleyn.
“Wyþ fewe, we han seyn many tyme,

295

“We haue þeym sondred & smyten in swyme.
“Tak ȝe non hede of þeyr grete host,
“ffor wel ȝe wot þei ar bot bost,
“& fals folk, wyþ feble heuede;
“ffor þem our wed schal nought be leued.
“He ys a child þat hem ledes!
“He can nought ȝit on swylk[e] dedes!
“& we ar noble werreours
“Þat han be proued in many stours!
“Standes now wel ageyn ȝour fo!
“Raunsom for vs non may go.
“Defende oure lyues, best is to chese,
“Now al to wynne or al to lese!”
When Hengist had conforted hem þus,
Þey armed þeym alle att o frusch,
& riden fol softe & semly
Ageyn þe Bretons wyþouten cri.
Þey hoped vnarmed þe Bretons mete,
& al vnwarned on þem schete;
Bot þe Bretons, ilka conrey,
Were as wel armed as þey;
Þey hadden of þe Payens drede,
Night & day armed þey ȝede.
Þe kyng herde seye þey come þat syde,
And to bataille þey wolde abide;
A feld he ches, fair & brod,
He wente þyder, & þere abod.

De Bello inter Aurelium Regem & Hengystum.

Þre hundred knyghtes of his meyne
Þat wyþ hym comen ouer þe se,
Alle doughty knyghte, fro ferne he fet.

296

Boþe batailles þen sone wer set;
Of þe Walsche he tok to companies,
Paþes to waite, & stretes, & styes,
Þat Payens schulde for no nede
Þe hylles take, ȝyf þeym fel drede.
& þe wodes he dide so loke
Al so wel þat non þem toke,
Þat ȝyf ony þider drowe,
Þe Walsche men sone þem slowe,
Þe star-worþest to fyght & fende,
& his owen bataille þen schulde be hende.

When his batailles wer set & dight,
Renged & redy for to fyght,
Þe men of kuythe þat he wel knewe,
Þat he wyste were gode & trewe,
Þem dide he bere his baner,
& fro þo was he nought fer;
Sire Eldok was euere hym by,
& oþer barons also were ney.
“Lord,” seide Eldok, “had y þat grace,
“Hengist for to mete in place!
“Wel oughte me þe treson mene
“Þat on þe playne ȝit is wel sene:
“Þe flour of al þis Empyre
“Wer slayn bysydes Ambresbyre
“Þe firste day of clene May.
“Wyþ mikel wo y scaped away;
“Vneþes to Gloucestre y wan,

297

“Elles had we be slayn, ilkaman.”
Als Sire Eldok þus mente his mone,
Com Hengist & his men ylkone,
& vmbyleyden al þe feld,
Redy armed wyþ spere & scheld.
Sone after þat þey were comen,
Þe bataille bytwyxte þem was nomen.
Boþe partys ful felly hated,
Þe sonner to-gedere þey þem raped:
þer myghte men se strokes set
Bytwyxt enemis þat scharply met;
[sore he smote, þat smerte couht smyte;
bitterly bote, þat best myght bite;
Ilkone peyned oþer to slo,
for euerilkone was oþer[es] fo;]
Mercy was non on neyþer partye,
Ne no raunsom, bot al schold deye.
Þorow plate & hauberk þe spere out brast;
Ilkon oþer to deþ doun cast;
Þat doun was cast, þem lye most nede,
ffor hors & man vpon þem ȝede.
fful wel foughte þe Payen men,
& mykel better þan dide Cristen;
Bot sone after, þer force gan falle.
Vpon þer Godes þen cried þey alle;
Þe Crysten cried [for] help to Crist
A-gayn þe Payenes force Hengist.
Þe Cristenmen þeir bataille brak;
When þey wer sondred, þey turd þe bak;

298

ffele were slayn als þey fledde,
& fleyng þey sparplyed & spredde.
When Hengist saw his folk fleand,
& his force faille, & myght nowt stande,
He ffley to þe castel of Conyngesburgh,
ffor he wende saued haf ben þer-þorough.
Þat herde þe kyng, & after ȝerne,
Þe entre of þe castel him for to werne,
& cried þen faste, “folewe we to slo!
ffor þyse ar þey þat dide vs wo.”

When Hengist wiste þe kyng hym sywed,
Þorow castel þen wold he nought be rescowed:
Hit was bot pyne, wel hadde he herd,
Wyþoute socour in castel be sperd;
Leuere hym were holde hym wyþoute;
Þat held he betere, & lasse doute,
Þan yn castel be closed yn,
ffor he nyste ho hym out schude wyn.
ȝit þoughtym best myght hym a-uaille,
To relye his folk, & gyue bataille.
Þen gedred he his folk þat weren o stray,
ffor he wolde ȝit eft make asay.
Þe Payens to bataille turde agayn
fful egrely, boþe knyght & swayn,
Agayn þe Cristen ful hardyly,
& ascryed þem þanne wyþ a gret cry.
At þat comyng þe Cristen les,
So [s]toutly þe Payens on þem gan pres:
Grysly & grym was hit to se,

299

Syn neyþer partye wold blyþely fle.
In auenture þen was þe kynges syde,
Bot his þre hundred knyghtes holpe wel þat tyde
Þat comen out of þe Lytel Bretayn;
ffor, þis Paiens þey feld doun playn;
Vpon þe Payens þey trauersed þe feld,
& þe kynges side wel vp þey held.
Bot þe Payens so faste þey fought,
Þey hoped of no socour þat dought,
ffor wel þey wyste þat þe ne myght
Ascape wyþoute strengþe of fyght;
Þer-fore þei foughte as þey were wode,
Abated þem boldely, & styfly stode.

De Pungna inter Eldok & Hengystum.

As þey were boldest in þer baret,
Eldok & Hengist to-gedere met;
Sire Eldok, Hengist ful wel knew,
His herte a-geyns hym gros & grew:
Þey hit so dide, ful wel hit aughte,
Gret encheson mad þeym vnsaughte;
He preied to God his desir fulfil,
Þat he of Hengist might haue his wyl.
Wyþ scharpe swerdes to-gyder þey ran,
& Hengist kepte hym as a man;
Eldokes strok ful wel he sat,
Hengist ageyn anoþer smat;
Þer myg[h]te men se fighteres bolde;
ffor dynt of deþ spare þey ne wolde;

300

Wyþ swerdes of werre double dyntes,
Þe sparkles fleye as fir of flyntes;
ȝyf Eldokes help ne hadde be ney,
Hengist had had þe better party;
Bot þe Erl Corlyeus of Cornewaille,
Cam right y þe moste trauaille.
Whan Eldok sey þat þe Erl cam,
More hardynesse in herte he nam,
fful egrely þanne til Hengist he went,
& by þe vyser he hym hent,
& heldit til he had sesed his nekke:—
Þe Payens wer al mat wyþ þat chekke:—
“Þanked be Iesu, þat þou hit wylde!
“Þat y haue ȝerned, now ys fulfilde!
“Now hauy take oure moste fo,
“Þat haþ vs wakned many wo!
“Þis ys þe hound—wo mot hym be!—
“Þat neuere of vs hadde pyte!
“Þis hound y soughte, now y hym fond,
“He was heued to struye þis lond!
“Sire Erl, þys hound, þys comelyng,
“O myn half present hym to þe kyng,
“& sey his enemy ys ouer-comen
“Now þys hound Hengist ys nomen!”

De capcione Hengisti per Comitem Gloucestrie.

Þan was Hengist ful-like schent,
Þat ffetered to þe kyng was sent.
Þen dide þe kyng kep hym ful streit
In cheynes bounden for deseit.

301

Hengistes sone þat highte Octa,
& his cosyn sire Ebbesa,
Wyþ gret pyne þey boþe ascaped,
& ȝork to take þey hem raped.
Bot whan þey hadde þe toun taken,
Warly wayted, & held þem waken,
Þoþer þat lefte, fled her & þer,
By dounes & dales, by wodes ay-wher.
Þe kyng was ioyful þat he so spedde,
Hengist was taken, & his folk fledde;
To Conyngesburghe þe kyng gan turne,
& þere þre dayes mad he soiourne,
Þe wounded for to hele & reste,
Þe Payens fro þe Cristen keste.
In þat tyme þat þey þer lay,
Þe Bretons alle, þat oþer day
To conseil þe kyng cald hem to,
Þe beste to wite what were to do:
Wheþer Hengist þey redden hym to slo,
Or hym enprisone, or lete hym go.
A byschop onswered,—sire Eldadus,
Sire Eldokes broþer,—& seide right þus:
“I deme Hengist þe same wys
“As in þe bible Samuel seys.
“Samuel did Agag to þe ded—
“Kyng of Amalek was þat qued,—
“A ful fers kyng, riche & kene,
“To Godes folk he wroughte al tene,
“He robbed here godes, þer tounes brent,
“& alle he slow þat he myght hent.
“Swylk sorewe myght nought longe dure;
“He was taken at a desconfyture,

302

“& brought byfore Saul þe kyng,
“ffor his mysdedes to haue demyng.
“Saul asked what iugement
“Schuld Agag haue, er þat he went.

Exemplum de Iudicio Hengisti.

“Þan ros þe prophete Samuel,
“Keper of þe folk of Israel,
“And vpon Agag handes he leyd;
“Tyl hym & alle, þise wordes he seyd:
“‘Agag, þou has manion trauailled,
“‘Manion slayn, manyon assayled;
“‘Many lond mad wast & wylde,
“‘Many wydewe, many faderles childe;
“‘Þorow þe haue [many] ben lorn & slawen,
“‘Many soule & bodies brought of dawe.
“‘Þe same wyse schal þy body be refte!
“‘Childles for þe þy moder ys left!’
“Agag siþen he al to-hew,
“Thorow out þe contres þe peces þrew,
“& seide, ‘oueral þou hast don wo,
“‘Of þe oueral schal wonder go.’
“As þe prophete gaf dom þorow lawe,
“So schal ȝe do Hengist to-drawe.”
When sire Eldok herd hym so say,
& þat holy wryt schewed þat euene way,
Smertly wyþ þe dom al hot,
Hengistes heued of he smot.
Þen dide þe kyng þe body graue
I þe manere of Payen lawe.

Syþen quikly þe kyng hym spedde,
He ȝared his host, to ȝork þem ledde,
Þe toun & his enemys for to wynne;

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ffor Hengistes sone was þer-ynne,
& oþer manye lordynges þer ware,
& somme y þe contre in mykel kare.
Þen Octa studied in his þought:
To stonde to fens auailled nought;
Socour to sende he wyste of non,
Þer socour was for euere gon;
He couþe se no bettere bote,
Bot auntre, & falle þe kyng to fote;
ffel hit to wysdom or to foly,
He schulde auntre hym mercy to cry:
& alle his men red hym þer-tyl,
Naþeles hit was his owen wyl.
Out of þe tour ilkon cam;
As prisoners, barfot þey nam.
Octa had don, in stede of streng,
Aboute his nekke a chayne heng,
& on his knes fel mekely,
& seide, “Sire kyng! Mercy! Mercy!
“Alle oure Godes ar vs failled;
“Þat we on trowe, haue vs nought vailled;
“ȝour God ys of wel more myght;
“Þat we in leue, ar nought so right;
“He scheweþ miracle for þy loue;
“We ar byneþe, & ȝe aboue;
“We ar ouer-comen, þer-fore we com;
“Mercy to craue, to þe we nom.
“Haue here þys cheyne, & do þy wylle,
“Wheþer þat ȝe wil vs saue or spille!
“We ar payed, wheþer þou wylt;
“We arn aknowe we haue agilt.

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“To haue oure lyues, ȝyf þou wilt graunt,
“What so þou saist, we holde couenaunt
“To serue [þe] til oure lyues ende,
“Ne neuere more ageyn þe wende.”
Þe kyng was of ful gret pite;
He saide: “lordynges, what sey ȝe?
“What conseil wil ȝe me gyue?”
& seide, “rede ȝe þat þey lyue?”

Þenne spak þe Byschop Eldadus
Vnto þe kyng Aurelius:
“Wel ys worþy, mercy to haue,
“Þat mekely mercy wyl craue.
“Agayn mercy who-so ys grym,
“God wyl haue no mercy of hym.
“To þy mercy þey made asay,
“Mercy þey seke haue, ȝyf þe[y] may.
“ffor Bretaigne ys large & long,
“& many stedes wast among,
“Deliuere þeym lond þer þay se skil,
“Let þem trauaille þer-on to tyl.
“Bot y rede, hostages ȝe take;
“Sykernesse þey schul ȝow make,
“In alle seruise to be trewe;
“& ȝour mercy schal hem be newe.

Exemplum Byblie.

“In þe bible ensample bygan:
“Þe folk of Gabaot, þat wyþ wrong wan
“Of þe Iewes, & syþen hit les;
“At þe Iewes þey bysoughte pes,
“Of þer wrong bysoughte mercy,

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“& þey graunted hem al redy.
“Syn þey had mercy & pyte,
“Wirse þan þey, schul nought do we.
“At þe Iewes, ensample nymes,
“Graunt hem mercy, lyf & lymes.”
Þe kyng graunted þem þanne his pes
As þe bischop Eldade ches.
Bysyde Scotlond he gaf hem londes;
Þey tylede, & were grete husebondes;
Er þey wente, þey geue hostage,
Children of þeyres, of best lynage.
ffiftene dayes his court gan ly,
Þen dide he somone al þe clergy,—
& gaf þem landes, rentes, & fees,—
Bischopes, abbotes, of þe contres.
Schirreues, baillifs, he sente ay-whore,
His rentes to gadere & to restore;
Masons, whrightes, kyrkes dide make,
Þat þe Payens dide doun schake;
Þat fordon were þorow Hengist,
Were wrought a-geyn to serue Crist.
ffro þenne to Londone euene he went:
Þe toun he fond peyred & schent;
Kyrkes, houses, were beten doun;
To þe kyng þey mente hem of þe toun,
Þat many of þe beste burgeys
Were fled, euery man his weys.
He bigged eft þat er was playn,—
Clerkes, burgeys, dide come agayn,—
& gaf ilkon ageyn þer estre.
Syþen he wente to Wyncestre,
& bygged kirkes & houses þere,

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Als he had don elles where.
Syþen he ȝede to Salesbury,
& til þe abbey of Aumbresbury;
& til þat stede he tok his waye
Þere Hengist dide þe Bretons deye.
Þeyr buryels he þoughte for to honure
Wyþ som þyng þat ay myght dure,
& ffryþe þe stede þer þey lay,
Þat hit myght laste til Domesday.
He dide masons diuise a cast
What werk myghte lengest last.

De consilio Tremorii Episcopi.

Wyþ þe kyng a clerk was þore,
His name was sire Tremore,
Was Erchebischop of Kerlyon;
He seyde the kyng a god reson:
“ȝyf he wolde make a werk fyn,
“Do send ȝour sonde after Merlyn.
“To make þis werk, may no man
“Gyue swylk conseil als he can;
“He can þe telle what schal bityde:
“After hym, y rede, ȝour werk abyde.”

Rex mysit hic pro Merlyno.

Þen seyde þe kyng, “hit scholde so be;
“Mikel y desire Merlyn to se;
“Of his wysdam woldy here,
“He telleþ wondres on many manere.”
At a welles fer in Walys—
‘Baynes’ hit highte by olde tales—

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Þe messeger þen Merlyn fond:
“Cum, spek wyþ þe kyng! he sent his sond.”
When he com byfore þe kyng,
He made ioye for his comyng,
& honured hym, for he was wys,
& cherisched him ouer alle oþere of pris;
He praaied hym wel wyþ louely speche,
What scholde bytide, he wolde hym teche.

Responcio Merlyny.

“Syre kyng,” he seyde, “certes nay,
“To opene my mouþ y ne dar ne may,
“Bot hit [be] a byhouely þyng at nede,
“Þat were warnyng or tokene of dede,
“& ȝit wyþ gret lownesse of hert,
“Þat pruyde turne hit nought ouerthwert.
“ffor ȝyf y spak þorow pride or bost,
“Oþer for scorn, ageyn my gost,
“Þat ilke gost þat in me wones,
“Þat al me kennes & al me mones,
“Out of my mouþ hit wolde hym drawe,
“Of my connyng reue me my sawe,
“Þat namore myght y þen spek wyþ mouþ
“Þan an oþer þat nought ne couþ.
“Þer-fore of swyilk priuete
“Þenk nought þer-on, but let hit be.
“Þenk on þat why þou me soughtest;
“Bryng þat til ende whi þou me broughtest:
“ȝyf þou wilt make a werk stedefast,
“Þat fair wyl be, & euere to last,
“Sent for þo stones, þere þey stande,
“Þat þe Geaunt broughte til Irlande.
“Rounde aboute, þen ar þey set;
“Out of Aufryke were þey fet;
“Ilkon on oþer ys set vpright,

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“No man in erþe haþ no myght
“ffor to take doun a ston;
“Ne sette þeym eft ys þer non.”
Þen seyde þe kyng, & on hym low:
“Sertes, þat were selcouþ ynow
“Þat þo stones þat þou of seys,
“Ar so heuy, & of swylk peys,
“Þat non haþ force ne fuysoun
“To remue þem vp ne doun,
“& ar so fer ouer þe se!
“Who myghte þem þanne brynge to me?”

Prudencia superat omne Robur.

Þen seide Merlyn vnto þe kynge,
“Queyntise ouer-comeþ alle þynge.
“Strengþe ys god wyþ trauaille;
“Þer strengþe ne may, sleyght wil availle;
“Sleyght & connyng doþ many a chare,
“Bygynneþ þyng þat strengþe ne dar;
“Wyþ sleyght myght þou þe stones wynne,
“& in Bretaigne set þem inne,
“Þer þou ne schalt wyþ no strengthe
“Remewe hem a stones lengthe.

Exe virtus de Stonhenges.

“In Aufrik were þey compassed & wrought;
“Geauntz til Irland þennes hem brought,
“& sette þem on an hil ful hey
“Wiþ engyns ful queyntely.
“ffirst when þey ware compassed newe,
“Þey dide gret god to þem þat knewe;

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“þo þat were seke, or had laught skaþes,
“Wasche þe stones, did hit in baþes;
“Þat felde hem greued of grettere þynges,
“Wasched þem of þe selue waschinges,
“& warysched wel of al þer pyne;
“Had þey non oþer medycine.”

When þe kyng herde of þer vertu,
Þat þey myght falle þe folk to prw,
He had longyng for þem to go,—
& of þat wyl wer oþer mo,—
Þe stones to Bretaigne for to brynge,
Þat Merlyn made of sermonynge.
Þey chosen Vter, þe kynges broþer,
Þe kyng ofred hym self þat oþer;
Of folk þey ladde fyftene þousand,
Agayn þe Irische for to stand;
Wyþ þem wente daunz Merlyn,
ffor þo stones to make engyn.
When Vter wyþ his folk was ȝare,
To schip þey went, ouer se to fare,
& aryued vpon þat cost.
Þe Irisch kyng gadered his host;
Ageyn þe Bretons þey cam right ȝerne,
Þe lond þyf þey myghte þem werne.
Þe Irisch kyng þat regned þar,
His name was sire Gwylomar;
When he wyste why þat he cam,
& so fer viage for stones nam,
He scorned þem on his langage,
‘So fer for stones to make passage,
‘Ouer se til an oþer lond,
‘ffor þey no stones hender fond;’

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& seyde, “þe stones þey schold haue here,
“Þey schul by hem first ful dere;
“ffor ȝyf we may, þey schul nought spede,
“Þe stones out of my land to lede.”
He scorned & seyde, “hit schal be nought,
“Þey schul faille þat þey haue sought.”
Þys kyng byhig[h]t hem foul despit,
Bot wykke þey were to desconfyt.
So longe he manased & þret,
Atte laste to-gydere þey met.
At þeyr metyng, hit was nought lyte
When þey gonne to-gyder smyte.
fful wel foughte boþe partys,
Bot þe Bretons wan sone þe pris;
Þe Irische couþe nought so wel feight,
Ne of armure þey hadde no sleight,
Ne þer-of were so wel bone,
Þer-fore þe Irische fledde ful sone;
ffro stede to stede þey fledde to sculk,
On heþ & hilles to hyde in hulk.
When Bretons hadde don þat chace,
& rested þeym a gret[e] space,
Merlyn had þem alle at ones
To þe hil to se þe stones.—
Kylomare highte þe hyl
Þer þe geauntz broughte þem tyl.—

De asportacione lapidum de Stonhenges, de Hybernia in Brytanniam.

Þys Bretons aboute renged þe feld,
Þe carole of þe stones byhe[l]d.
fful often ȝede þey aboute,
Byhelde wyþynne & eke wyþoute;

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Alle þey seyde, so seyde þe kyng,
‘Þey sey neuere so selcouþ þyng.’
How þey were reysed þey had wonder,
& how þey scholde be brought a-sonder.
Merlyn seyde, “now makeþ assay
“To potte þe stones, ȝyf þat ȝe may;
“& wyþ force fondeþ þem to bere:
“Þer force ys mykel, lesse wyl þem dere.”
Þe host atones to þe hil þey went,
& ilk man tok þat he myght hent,
Ropes to drawe, tres to potte,
Þey schouued, þey þriste, þey stode o strot,
On ilka side, byhynde, by-forn;
Al for nought; þer trauail was lorn.
When þey ofte hadde put & þryst,
& ilk man do what hym do lyst,
& left þer pottyng many on,
ȝit stirede þey nought þe leste ston.
Bot Merlyn wiste hit scholde nought vaille:
Strengþe of body ne myght nout vaille.
He bad hem alle drawe þem o drey;
“Þorow strengþe come ȝe neuere þem ney.”
Al stille he stod, syþen hym bywent,
& spak, but non wist what he ment;
His lippes þey seye stire vp & doun,
Bot non herde his coniurysoun.
When he had gon alle aboute,
Wyþynne þe carole, & wyþoute,
& seide his coniurisouns,
Ageyn he calde al þe Bretouns,
And seyde, “now may ȝe lyghtly bere

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“þe stones to schip wyþouten dere.
“Goþ now alle, & spedeþ ȝow,
“ffor ȝe schal welde þem wel ynow.”
Als Merlyn þem taughte & seyd,
In to þe schypes þem lyghtly leyd;
Þen had þey wonne þat fer had sought.
To þe playne of Salesbury þem brought,
Of Aumbresbyri bysyde an abbay,
& hit was atte Whitemonday.
Þen dide þe kyng make somons
Of bischopes, erles, & barons,
& oþer lordes of þe nobleste,
& dide hym coroune at þat feste.
Þre dayes laste þe feste fode;
Þe ferþe day he gaf gyftes gode—
Croces [riche] to clerkes of pris,
To seint Saunsom & seint Dubris.
Seint Dubrice he gaf Kaerlyon,
ȝork he gaf to seint Saunson;
Þys gaf he at his coronement,
& many mo, þorow comun assent.
Byfore þe lordes þat come þyder,
Merlyn sette þe stones to-gyder;
Als þey were or, in þat certeyn,
So stande þey now vpon þe pleyn.
Wyþynne þe compas of þe stones
Ar byried alle þo lordes bones
Þat Hengist atte Parlement slow;
Here byforn ȝe herde wel how.

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De Pascencyo, filio ffortygerny.

Of ffortyger, þat þe kyng had brent,
Was left a sone þat highte Passent.
ffor drede of Aurelius & of Vter,
Vntil Alemayne he fledde fer,
& purchaced hym folk on þe se,
& aryued vp y þe northe contre,
Tounes struyed, contres wasted.
Þe kyng herd seye, & sone hym hasted.
When Pascence herde þat þe kyng cam,
Ageyn to þe se þe wey he nam;
Þer he cam fro, durst he nought wende,
Vpon Irland his flute gan lende;
He spak so wyþ þe kyng of þat land,
Þat he was his wel willand
Vpon Bretaigne a route to renge,
& on þe Bretons for to venge.
Passent calanged his fader wones,
Þe kyng for robberye of þe stones;
Truþe to-gydere boþe þey plyght,
To take vengaunce at þer myght.
Wyþ al þe force þei myght gete,
In Walsche lond aryued þer flete.
Þey spirde aboute in ilka contre;
Meneue þey tok, was a cite;
Meneue ys langage on Bretoun,
& now hit hatte Seint Dauy toun.
In þat tyme þat þey cam þus,
Syk lay oure kyng Aurelius
At Wynchestre mani a day;
Longe bedrede þer he lay,

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Þat he ne myghte neyþer couere ne deye,
Bot euer more languisched on weye.
As he lay sek, bode hym was sent
Þat ffortigeres sone, sire Passent,
In Walys was, & þe Irische kyng,
On hym to make a chalangyng;
He chalanged hym of robbery,
& sire Pascent of felony.
Þe kyng seide, “Vter for me schal go,
“ffor y ne may, me ys ful wo.”
Sire Vter seyde, “y am redy;”
His folk somonde al pryuely,
Wyþ hors & armes redy to ryde,
& com til hym; he scholde þem byde.
Longe hit was y þe somouns,
& þe buschyng of þe barouns;
God whyle hit was er he þem wan
In-til Walys, ilka man.

Appas traditor.

In al þys drechyng als þey gan dwelle,
Of on Appas y schal ȝow telle:
Appas he highte, & was a Saxon,
& well couþe contreue a treson;
He ffeyned hym to be [a] leche,
& couþe speke diuerse speche.
A day to Pascent þis Appas spak,—
Treson he þoughte, & out hit brak,—

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“Passent,” seyde Appas, “wel y wot,
“Bytwixt þe kyng & þe ys hatrede hot.
“What wiltow gyue me, & y schal go,
“Þe kyng Aurelyus for to slo?”
Passent seyde, “y schal gyue þe
“A þousand pound of god mone,
“Wyþy þy word be certayn
“To sey me when þou hast hym slayn.”
Appas seyde “wel y graunt;”
Seide Passent, “y holde couenaunt.”
Appas spak Latyn parfit,
& clad hym in a monkes habyt;
Als a monk he dide hym schaue,
Contenaunce couþe he ful wel haue.
Venyn for salue wyþ hym he nam,
Als a monk to court he cam;
ffor yueles he couþe medicine make,
Þe kyng he seyde he wolde vndertake:
‘ȝyf he wolde do after his queyntise,
‘Sone he scholde do hym vp ryse.’
He tasted his pous, saw his vryn,
He seide he knew his medycyn.

De Morte Aurelij Regis per Appas traditorem Saxonem.

Þe kyng ȝerned his hele mykel,
He wende nought a monk were fykel;
He dide hym in kepyng of þe feloun,
& he gaf hym drynke poysoun,

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& happed hym warme, & bad hym slepe,
ffor in his lymes hit schold al lepe.
When þys Appas his nedes had sped,
Al so swyþe a-wey he fled;
And sone after in a þrowe
Þe kyng hit wiste, & men wel sowe,
Þat he scholde al-gate deye.
Þen preied he men þey scholde hym leye
At Stonhenges in a graue,
His byriels for to mene & saue.
On þys manere þe kyng was ded,
& beryed als after his red.

De stella Cometa que apparuit.

Vter þat tyme in Walys was
Þat þe kyng was poysond wyþ Appas.
Als he was ded, þen ros a sterne
Þat many a man biheld ful ȝerne,
‘Comete’ ys cald in astronomye,
Kynges deþ wil hit signefye.
ffro þat cam a bem ful bryght,
Onlyke on, þat lemede lyght;
Þe lemyng was boþe red & schir,
Lyke a dragon þat sparkled fyr;
Was þer neuere erl ne baroun
Þat þey ne lykned hit til a dragoun.
Two brondes come out of his mouþ
Þat lightned Est, West, & Souþ:
Vpon ffraunce lygh[t]ned þat on;
Þat oþer vntil Moungow schon;
Þe þridde, þat vntil Irland ȝede,
In seuen braunches gan it sprede,

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& alle were þey schynand
On þe water & on þe land.
Þys ilke merueille þat þus was sene,
Men wondred what hit wolde mene.
Sire Vter, þe kynges broþer,
Hym merueilled more þan anoþer;
Merueillyng, he was affrayed;
Of þat affray he was nought payed;
He preyed Merlyn ful specialy
Þe toknyng þer-of to telle, & why.
Þen sey Merlyn þat sire Vter
Sore sykede, & feightit fer,
And stod as he were in dwale,
No word ne seide, bot wax al pale.
When his spirit was comen ageyn,
& þoughte, ‘þat may nought helpe, ys veyn,’
Seid Merlyn, “Sorewe may þey mone,
“Alle þat now in Bretaigne wone!
“Lore þey haue þer noble kyng
“Þat brought hem of Saxons encombrynge,
“Out of þe false Payens handes,
“Þat manion broughte in bitter bandes!”
When Vter herde his broþer was ded,
He bycom as heuy as led:
“Alas!” he seide, “now haþ Bretaygne
Loren þer noble cheuentayne!”
He syked for sorewe, deol was to se.
Þen seyde Merlyn, “Vter, let be,
“Þer no bote ys ouer sore ne sorewe!
“Þy lyf may no man bye ne borewe;

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“Of deþ may non þe bale bete,
“Þe sorewe nedly byhoueþ men lete;
“Bot haste þe swyþe on þyn enemis!
“Of þe bataille þou getest þe prys,
“To morewen schul þey boþe be schent,
“& al þer folk boþ sleyn & hent.
“Syþen schaltow þe coroune take,
“Þe pes to menteyne & to make.

De interpretacione Comete per Merlynum.

“Þe sterne þat þou seye so red,
“Bytokneþ euere þe kynges ded.
“Þe dragon, þat semeþ so hey,
“Þy self hit menes, þat ys so hardy;
“Þe brond þat schyned out of his mouþ,
“Þat spreden boþe Est & South,
“Þat ys, of þe schal come a sone
“Doughty of dede, many on schal mone;
“Alle ffraunce þen schal hym loute,
“Vntil Mongow men schal hym doute.
“Þat oþer, þat schon West so euen,
“Toward þe Norþ hit spredde in seuen,
“A doughter hit ys, y vnderstande,
“Þat maried schal be bysyde Scotlande;
“Hure eyres bymene þo seuen brondes,
“Þat schullen welde alle þo londes.”

Syre Vter listned ilka del
How Merlyn conforted hym wel;
He bad his host reste al þat nyght,
On morn erlik to bataille þem dight.

319

Þe Irische wyste whan þey schold come,
& made hem redy alle & some;
Stalworthly to-geder þey fought,
Bot þe Irische sone were brought to nought,
ffor þe Irische kyng & Passent
Were slayn, & þer host al to-schent;
& þo þat wyþ þe lyf ascaped,
To þer schipes faste þem raped.
Of þo þat fledden to þe se,
Þat was ouer-taken, slayn was he.
Whe[n] al were slayn þey myghte hent,
To Wynchestre sire Vter went.
I þe weye he mette a messeger,
Þat teldyt al to sire Vter
What manere þat þe kyng deyd,
& byryed [was] þer (als he seyd)
At Stonhenges so louely,
Wyþ þe byschopes & al þe clergy.
As Vter com rydyng y þe stret,
Þe folk on hym sore gon gret,
& seyde, “sire, haue mercy on vs!
“Ded ys þy broþer Aurelyus
“Þat mayntende vs in al his myght;
“Tak þou þe coroune, hit ys þy right,
“& be our heued, for we hit ȝern,
“& fend vs from our enemys fern.”

320

Vter apud Wyntoniam cepit coronam.

Syre Vter sey hit was to do,
ffor his heritage hit was of blod al so.
Hys barons þyder he dide somoune,
& made a feste, & dide hym coroune.
ffor Merlyn tolde þat toknyng
Þat Vter scholde be doughty kynge,
& of hym swylk heyres schold be,
Alosed þorow-out al Cristiante,
And for þat dragon he sey in syght
Bytokned hym self kyng þorow right,
He dide make two dragons
By conseil of hys barouns;
Þat on he dide byfore hym bere,
& ilka tyme he ȝede to were;
Þat oþer dragon he did wyrk,
& heng hit at seinte Petres kirk.
ffor þat skyl & þat enchesoun
Was he cald Vter Pendragoun:
Pen ys heued in Walsche langage;
Dragon ys seyd on oure vsage;
Pendragon was his to-name
In all his lyue for þat same.

De Octa, filio Hengysty.

Octa, Hengystes sone þat was,
When Aurelius furgaf his trespas,
& had hym gyuen, & his meyne,
Londes y þe norþ contre;
When he wyste þat he was ded

321

Þat þeym þe lond furst furbed,
Of hym he gaf nought, þat was newe,
Til hym þoughte he neuere be trewe.
What dide þis schrewe, þe false Octa?
Conseilled wyþ his cosyn Ebessa,
Wyþ alle þo of his owen kynde,
& oþer Saxons þat þey myght fynde;
& fele of þo wyþ hem went
Þat scaped atte slaughter of Passent;
Þat fro Vter handes fled,
Þey com til Octa, & he þem led.
By-ȝonde Humber al þe land
Octa tok vntil hys hand,
Al til Scotland in lengþe & bred.
To ȝork syþen al þey ȝed,
Þat [toun] for to bysege & to wyn;
Þey defended hem faste wyþyn;
Þe kyng þe sege wolde remewe,
Þe toun a-geynes þeym rescuwe;
He þoughte nought longe fort abyde,
Bot gadered folk on ilka syde.
When he was comen, he abod nought,
Bot on þe Payens bataille sought;
& þe Payens egre & stout,
Þorow þe Bretons held þem out;
Payens & Cristen, many were slawen,
& many a sowle fro body drawen.

322

Obsitus est Vterus Rex super collem qui vocatur Damer; et exe saluati sunt per consilium Gorleni Comitis.

Þe Bretons þat tyme myght nought sped;
Bak þey turnde, þey saw ned;
Þe Payens after folewed fast,
& many vn-to dede cast.
Whider to fle þey were al wyl;
Þe Payens hem chased vntil an hyl,
‘Damer’ þe hil so hight.
Þe Bretons tok hit þo þat nyght;
Hey & streit, ful narow to prykke,
Aboute y-busched wyþ þornes þykke.
When þe Bretons þe hil had taken,
Wyþ sege þe Payens held þem waken,
Bot hit was atte þe nyght,
Þeym to saille þey ne myght;
Þey logged þem stille in þe playn,
& þe Bretons were y þe mountayn;
Þe Payens to þer loggyng gan lep;
Wery þey were, & fulle on slep.
Þe kyng had of hym self gret drede,
& of his folk þat he schold lede,
How he scholde a-scape þem fro;
Þer weyes wer stopped þer þey schold go.
Þe Erl of Cornewaille was o þat hyl,
Gorlens he highte, a man of skyl,
Wysest he held hym of ylkon;
To hym for conseil þey mente þer mon,

323

ffor he was man of gret queyntyse,
& neuere louede no cowardyse.
He seide “for conseil ȝe com me to;
“Y schal ȝow conseille, ȝyf ȝe wil so.

“Mercy to God, first we schal cry,
“& mende vs of al oure foly,
“& preye Iesu our Saueour
“To schulde vs fro mysauentour,
“& gif vs grace & powere
“Ageins þe Payens þat sege vs here,
“Þat vs often wo han vs wrought,
“& hym for Lord ne knowe þey nought;
“Þat he to day stonde vs by,
“On hys enemys to haue maystri.
“ȝyf he wyl helpe, our Lord Ihesus,
“Who may þanne ageyns vs?”
To his conseille þei graunted alle,
& faste on Iesu þen gon þey calle,
& highte to make amendement,
Þat tyme to schape ȝyf he þem lent.
“Arme ȝow,” he seyde, “pryuely,
“& go we stille, wyþouten cry;
“Þey arn a slepe, y am right siker;
“Þey trauailled faste to gyue vs byker,
“& wene nought we dur vs abate,
“ffor þey desconfit vs so late;
“Þey hope to morn atte sonne rysyng
“Vs to slo, or take our kyng.
“Arme vs swyþe, & go we doun,
“Wyþoute any more sarmoun!”

Þey armed þenne knyght & swayn,

324

Pryuely com doun in to þe playn,
& fond hem slepyng, als he sayd;
Vnarmed, ilkon were þey leyd.

Occisio Paganorum.

When þe Bretons were spred aboute
In þer host, wyþynne & wyþoute,
Þen was slaughtere wyþoute pite;
Was non for merci ȝolden fre;
Þorow wombe & breste þe speres bot,
Hedes, handes, fet, of smot.
To arme þeym þey nadde no space,
Ne to fle had þey no grace;
ȝyf any fledde þat fle myght,
Þe merknesse saued [hem] þat nyght.
Octa & Ebessa o lyue þey tok,
At Londone in prison he dide þem lok.

When þis Payens were desconfit,
Toward þe norþ þey went ful tyt;
Northumberland, Scotland, þorow þey rod,
Als hit was fer, [boþ] long & brod.
Þo þat myghte no men iustise,
Al he drow til his seruise;
Ouer al he sette swylk pees,
Bettere neuere no man ches.
When he was kyng kyd & couþ,
He tok his gate toward þe souþ;
At Londone his Pasches he held,
Wyþ erl & baron, & knyght of scheld;
Byschopes, abbotes, he dide somoune,
& riche burgeyses, & oþer in toune;

325

He dide comaunde, vpon þer lyf,
Þat wedded men schold bryng þer wyf,
& oþere honeste of his meyne,
Man or woman, wheþer þey be;
Al he bad vntil his feste,
Þat were worþy & honeste.

De festo Vtery Regis.

When alle were comen þat schold or wylde,
Innes taken, ne fulfilde,
& at þe kirke þer seruise seyd,
In halles & hales bordes leyd,
Þe kyng was set, & serued of mees,
& at þat oþer ende was a dees;
Þer set þe barons of pris,
Þe Erl of Cornewaille ageyn his vys;
By hym sat Igerne his wyf,
Of whas fairhede was speche ryf;
In al þe reome, so fair was non,
Ne of swylk kynde, bot scheo al on.
Often þe kyng had herd hure preyse,
Þat sche was fair, god, & curteyse;
Mikel desired he hure to se.
When he hure sey, more louede he;
Þe sight of hure hym al to-blast;
His herte on hure ageyn he cast;

326

De Igerna, Comitissa Cornubye.

Wheþer he et or drank, spak ought or nought,
Igerne was euere in his þought,
Ne cam sche neuere out of his hert,
To hure was his eye euere ouer-thwert.
By his priues often [he] hure grette,
& his presentes byforn hure sette,
Often hure lout, & on hure low,
& made semblaunt of loue ynow.
Hure contenaunce was, & hure semblaunt,
Sche nought ne seyde, ne nought wold graunt;
Þe kyng of hure nought vnderstod
In contenaunce but stable & god.
What for laughynge & oþer tyhtes,
What for presentes & oþer delites,
Þe Erl perceyued & þoughte ful ȝerne
Þe kyng louede his wyf Igerne;
& þoughte no feyþ til [him] wold bere,
But he in pes his wyf myght were.
Vp þen stirt he fro þe bord—
To þe kyng ne spak he word,—
His wyf by þe hand he hent,
& calde his knyghtes, & þennes went.
Hastely þer hors were bone,
& to Cornewaille þey come sone.
Er he was redy for to wende,
Þe kyng comaunded, as he was hende,
‘Þat he schold comen to court a-geyn,
‘Or he dide vylenye til his souereyn;
‘And ȝyf he ne wolde come bleþely,
‘Waite hym wel as for his enemy.’

327

Þe kynges sonde he wolde nought here,
He made no force of his preyere.
When þe kyng wyste þat he wold nought
Come ageyn, as he bisought,
He manased hym wyþ [felle] herte,
& seyde he schold hit sore smerte.
ffor no manace ne wolde he byde;
Bot he ne wyste what scholde bytide.
Two casteles he hadde in Cornewaille,
Þo he warnisched wyþ vitaille;
In þe castel of Tyntagel
He dide his wyf to kepe wel;
Of defens hit hadde gret los,
Wyþ dyk & se hit ys in clos;
Who-so kepes þat [ȝate] in nede,
In oþer stede dar hym nought drede;
Þer-inne scheo was ȝemed & sperd,
& he til his oþer castel ferd;
Þider he ledde his souders,
To kepe þe kyng at sautes sers;
I þat castel was, þat he to cam,
Þe force of al his erldam.

De obsisione Gorlencii Comitis per Regem.

Þe kyng wyste he made purueaunce
A-gayns hym to stande to chaunce.
Þe kyng also sone purueyed his host;
Þer þe Erl was, byseged þe cost;
Þe castel þat þe Erl was in,
He byseged hyt for to wyn.

328

Al a wyke þe kyng þer lay,
He spilte his tyme, sped of no pray;
Of þe Erl nought he ne wan,
Ne dide scaþe til no man,
ffor þe Erl kepte euere þe comyng
Hy[m] to socoure þe Irische kyng.
Þe kyng sey þe sege was wast;
Igerne to haue he wilde hym hast;
He was ful gretlyk onoyed
Þat his tyme so was destruyed.
He calde Vlfyn, his priue baroun,
To conceille hym of som resoun:
“Vlfyn,” he saide, “þou conseil me;
“My beste conseil y take at þe.
“On Igerne y am enamured strong,
“I deye ȝyf hit me laste long;
“Y ne may slepe, wyþ wo y wake,
“So am y in hure loue y-take;
“Ete ne drynke ne may y nought,
“So lowe hure loue haþ me brought;
“Loue dereþ me so, to deye y dred;
“Y aske conseil how y may sped.”
Seyd Vlfyn þen, “y here merueilles!
“Þou louest his wyf þat þou assailles!
“Wenestow þer-wyþ to ben aboue?
“Þorow werre wynne his wyf to loue?
“Hure to loue þou com to late;
“Hure loue to gete, hure lord to take.
“At wham toke þou þis conseil,
“To loue in tene & in turpeyl?
“Conseil of þis can y non kest;
“Of swylk conseil Merlyn can best;

329

“He can ynow of swylke craftes,
“Of alle vigures he turnes þe schaftes.
“ȝyf he can kenne þe no weye,
“Igerne to wynne, can no man seye.”
Þorow þe conseil of sire Vlfyn
Þe kyng dide sende after Merlyn.
Merlyn com þe kyng byforn;
He seide, “Merlyn, y am ner lorn!
“Conseille me, syn þat þou can,
“& y schal euere-more be þy man!
“Y haue ner lorn wyt & lyf
“ffor Igerne, þe kynges wyf!
“Help me now, þat y hure haue;
“& what þou wilt, y vouche saue.”

Dicta Merlyny.

“Syre,” seid Merlyn, “God furbede
“Þat þou for hure schold be in drede,
“ffor Igerne to haue þe ded!
“Er schold y don anoþer red;
“Þou schalt hure haue wyþoute pyne,
“& ȝit wol y haue nought of þyne.
“Bot, sire Vter, þou wost hit wel,
“Strong ys þe hold of Tyntagel;
“& scho ys loken þer-yn so strait,
“Bot þorow queyntise or deseit
“Noman ne may hure out[e] take,
“Þorow non engyn þat men can make;
“ffor two men þat oughtes be,
“May kepe þe issue & þe entre;
“& þey al hit be wykke to wynne,
“fful wel schal y þe brynge þer ynne.

330

De transfiguracione Merlyny.

“ffor alle manere forme þat ys,
“Kan y turne til oþer lyknes:
“A face to be like anoþer,
“& a body vnto þat oþer;
“Stature of body, speche & leryng,
“& contenaunce of ylka þyng,
“Y schal chaunge, what so þey are,
“Ilkon schal wene þat oþer ware.
“Þe Erl cherly wyþ hym ledes
“Two knyghtes, doughti of dedes;
“Sire Bertel þen hat þat on,
“Þat oþer heyghte sire Iordon;
“Þis are his priue conseillours:
“Til þeir lyknesse y schal turne oures;
“Y þe Erles lyknesse y schal þe dight,
“Y schal be lyke Bertil his knyght,
“Lyke Iordan schal be Vlfyn;
“Þus schal we come þe castel yn;
“Alle þre at euen schol we go
“To þe castel, wyþouten mo,
“& speke þer speche & þer facounde;
“We schul come in þen on a stounde.
“Dred þe nought of no man,
“ffor no queyntise þat any can;
“And þou schalt haue hure to þy wylle,
“Þy grete desir to fulfille.”
Al þat euere Merlyn teld,
As gospel þe kyng hit held:
Þen comaunded he til on certeyn,
Þe host to kepe til he com ageyn.

331

Þem charmed Merlyn þorow vertue,
& colour & cloþyng dide remue,
Contenaunce, speche, þe same assise;
He turnde þe kyng on þe Erles wyse,
& he & Vlfyn, to alle sightes,
As Bertel & Iordan, þe Erles knyghtes.
At euen þey come to Tyntagel,
& þo þat wende haue knowe þem wel,
Receyued þeym wyþ glad[e] chere,
As hit were þe Erl lef & dere.
What þey wilde, non wold þem werne;
Þe kyng lay þat myght by Igerne,
& scheo conseyued of hym þat nyght

Concepcio Arthury.

Arthur, þat was so mykel of myght.
In þe host was told anon,
‘Þat non wiste whider þe kyng was gon:’
His ordynaunce þey al fursok,
Þat þe kyng þe kepyng took;
Þey armed hem to make asaut,
ffor þat þey hadde of heued defaut,
& went forþ y þe morn[e] tyde;
Non for oþer wold oþer abyde;
Of bataille sette þey no right renge,
Bot ilkon forþ, þe kyng to venge.
Þen gon þey assaille boþ fer & hende.
Þe Erl ageyn þem faste ga[n] fende:
As he stod, er he lest wende,
He was schot to deþe, & made his ende.
When he was ded, his side gan slaken;
Lightly was þen þe castel taken.

332

De Morte Comitis Cornubye.

Þo þat askaped wyþ þe lyf,
Brought tydyng to the Erles wyf,
‘Hure lord was slayn y þe mornyng,
‘Þe castel taken vnto þe kyng.’
Þe kyng hym selue þe tydyng herd,
He styrt vp, & þem answerd:
“Let be ȝour tales to tene my wyf,—
“Y þank God y am her on lyf!—
“To telle swylk tales for to greue!
“Lesynges ar nought to byleue!
“Y wot wel þey are in doute;
“Vnwarned fro þeym y went oute;
“ffor when y out of þe castel ȝede,
“Y spak to non,—þat ys þer drede,—
“Ne seyde whider þat y wold go,
“ffor doute & treson of my fo;
“& for y cam nought sone agayn,
“Wene þey now þat y be slayn.
“Bot þat my folk doun ys born,
“Slayn, & [eke] þe castel lorn,
“Hit may do tene & greuaunce;
“Bot y lyue, God þanky þe chaunce!
“I schal me haste, out y schal wende,
“Pes for to seke; þe kyng ys hende.
“Er any more skaþe falle,
“Y wyl acorde me wiþ þem alle.
“ȝyf he wyþ sege sperre me her-yn,
“More wo þan ys, þen scholde bygyn.”
To þat conseil Igerne redde,—
Alle tymes þe kyng scheo dredde;—

333

In armes boþe ilk oþer hent,
Þe kyng hure kyste, & out he went.

When þey passed, alle þre,
Ilkon was, as fel to be,
& come dryuande vntil þe host;
After þe Erl he spyrde most,
Who gaf conseil for to go,
Þe castel to take, þe Erl to slo?
Þe soþe þenne was hym told,
Of on & oþer, symple & bold.
Þe kyng þer-fore was wo ynow,
He wraþed wyþ hem þat hym slow;
Bot longe nold he þer-fore mourne,
To Tyntagel a-geyn gan tourne,
& to þeym of þe castel spak
& seide: “y rede ȝe turne ȝour bak,
“ffor he þat bataille on me bed,
“Þe Erl ȝour lord, [he] ys now ded;
“Now schol ȝe of non fynde socour
“Agayn[e]s me to stande in stour.”
When þey herde þe kyng þus seyd,
Þer socour lorn, þer heued doun leyd,
Þe castel anon til hym þey ȝolde,
& leet hym do what þat he wolde.
He ȝede anon to dame Igerne;
Als he had don, he teld hire ȝerne,
Al how he by hure lay,
& how he wente from hure away:

Rex desponsauit Igerniam.

“Y am,” he seide, “wyþouten wyf,
“& þou art a sengle woman of lyf;

334

“Y wol þe wedde, ȝyf þou wilt so.”
Dame Igerne consented þer-to:
“Of no deseite nere wist y;
“Bot of þy weddyng, sire, graunt mersy.”
Þe child scheo conseyued byforn,
When tyme fel, hit was born:
Arthur was þe childes name,
A noble man, of ful gret fame.
A doughter þey hadde,—Anne sche hight,—
Þat gyuen was til a doughti knyght,
Vntil sire Loth of Lonneys;
Hys sone was Wawayn þe Curteys.
Syþen regned Vter ful longe,
& þan fel hym an yuel stronge;
Bedrede doun ful longe he lay,
& languissed so forþ fro day to day.

D[e] Octa, filio Hengisty.

Þo þat kepte Octa, Hengistes sone,
& Ebessa, at Londone in prysone,
Þey greued þem of þer longe lokyng,
And Octa gaf þem mykel þynge.
ffor gyftes gyuen ofte & gret,
Þey leet hem scape of þe prison sket,
& wente wyþ hem ouer þe se
In-til Saxoyne, þeyr contre.
Þer gadered Octa ful gret host;
Toward our kyng þey blewen bost;
He purchased hym a fflute on flod;
Wyþ men of armes & archers god

335

Toward Scotland þey gan vp ryue,
Pyled & brent, men broughte of lyue.

De langore Vtery Regis.

Our kyng þat lay in langoryng,
Of hym was non help ne socuring
His lond for to fende & were,
He myghte nought ryse armes to bere;
Þer-fore he bad alle his barouns
Don after Lotes somouns,
ffor he was doughti, noble & wys,
& sley cheuentayn of god auys.
Sire Octa þat hadde folk ynowe,
Oueral þe Bretons þei pyled & slowe;
He bolded hym wyþ mykel pryde,
Þat þe kyng ne myghte go ne ryde;
To meschef he putte al þat he fond,
Man & wyf, þorow al þys lond.
Bot often Lot wyþ hym met,
& ofte hym chaced þorow baret.
Many tyme of hym he wan,
& eft on hym þat oþer ran:—
Hit ys custume þat werre bygynne,
Somme to lese, & somme to wynne:—
Lot ful often dide hym fle,
& chaced hym vnto þe se;
Bot gret dedeyn [was] of þe barouns,
Þat wold nought come for Lotes somouns,—
Þey þought hem al [so] gentil of blod,
& al so mykel in stede stod
At ylka tyme, or more þan he,
& also mykel of rente & fe;—
Þus þey delayed, long was þe drede,

336

Til þe kyng sey how þat hit ȝede;
ffor Octa, al þe Norþ he wan,
& of the Southe to seint Alban;
Þys wan he for þe barons defaut,
Þat for Lot nolde gyue assaut.
Al þe lond, to þe kyng þey pleyned
Þat þe barons alle feyned.

Bot hereþ now of þe kynges wyl,
Þat lefte for syknesse ne for yl
Þat he ne ros vp ful auster,
& dide hym make a liter
Corneled as an hors bere,
& seyde þis word þat alle myght here:
“Now schal y se ho schal wyþstonde,
“& ho wyl come for my sonde!”
He somounde firste þo til his werre
Þat deyned nought for Lot come nerre.
Þey come, & were ful sore agrysen
Whan þey wyste þe kyng was rysen.
To þe toun of Wyrolhram
Þe kyng & alle þe barons cam:
Seint Albon, þer lygges he,
Þat highte Wyrolhram þe cite.
Þer com þey to þe toun wyþ wyn;
Octa & hyse were alle þer-yn.
Þe kyng byseged hit aboute,
Dide make engyns stronge & stoute.
Þe toun was þanne so strong & fyn,
Hit hadde no dere of non engyn;
Octa & hyse were ryght bolde,
Þey hadde god folk & syker holde,

337

& seyde, ‘hit was neuere [to] fere
‘Of half a dedman lyggyng on bere,
‘Ne for swyche on to kepe þe gates loken;
“Cowardyse of vs scholde be spoken,
“ffor to haue of swylkon drede,
“Þat in a bere to bataille ȝede.”
Alas! hit was no Cristen man,
Þes Octa þat so fer wan.
His ouerwenyng & his pryde
Dide þem opene þe gates wyde,
& com stoutly vnto þe byker;
Bot þer hap was al vnsyker;
ffor synne of Octa, fals & fursworn,
Dide al his felawes & hym be lorn;
ffor slayn was þere sire Octa,
& his cosyn sire Ebessa;
Oþer ynowe ȝit þey skaped,
Vntil Scotland þey hem raped,
& ches þeym a prynce, sire Colgroyn,
Þat was sire Octa cosyn.
Longe þey lendend by þat cost,
& gedered þere anoþer host.

Dicta Vtery.

But for þis noble ouercomyng
Þat God gaf Vter oure kyng,
ffor ioie he stirte vp of his bere
Als he hadde be hol & fere,
Al armed in ire[n] & stel,
& bolded alle his barons wel,
& seyde, þus standynge, & low:

338

“More worschip ys, as me þynkeþ now,
“In a bere for to lye,
“In syknesse wynne þe maistrie,
“Þan be a man hol & sound,
“& schamely lygge ded on ground.
“Octa despised me many a day,
“ffor þat y sek in bedde lay;
“Skornful wordes þey me bed,
“& held me bot an half man ded.
“Þe half dedman ful felonlyk
“Haþ slayn his fos, boþ hol & quyk.
“Þe hole & quyke ar dede & fled;
“ȝyt lyueþ þe syke þat lay in bed;
“ȝit schal y folewe þem þat fle!
“Do dight ȝow alle, & wendeþ wyþ me!
“ffor no þyng ne schal y leue
“Þat y ne schal exyle & reue,
“& ȝelde þem ful harde stoures,
“Þat my lond destruyde, & ȝoures.”

When þe kyng had seyd his wille,
Hys barons bed hym byleue stille
Til he were warysched of his syknesse,
Or his penaunce y-swaged lesse.
Þus departed alle þe barouns,
& chased after þe Saxouns.
When þe chas was al lefte,
& þe Saxoyns were gadered eft,
Þey conseilled hem, & toke þer red,
How þey might do þe kyng to ded:
Þey seide, ‘ȝyf þey myghte þe kyng destruye,
‘He hadde non eir þat scholde þem noye;
‘& al so lange as he myght lyue,
‘Bataille dirste þey neuere hym gyue,

339

‘Bot ȝif hit were þorow tresoun,
‘To gyue hym venym & poysoun.’

Consilium exploratorum.

Þen ches þey men þat couþe swilk dede;
To go þider þey gaf þem mede:
To Wyrolhram þey bad hem go,
& fonde þe kyng for to slo.
In pouere wede þey dide þem dight,
& þyder þey come byn seuenyght;
Alle manere langage þey couþe
Þat semeþ wel in traytours mouþe.
Þey ȝede aboute þe court to spye
Wher þey myght do þer trayterye.
So yuel þey spedde of þer pray,
Þat þey ne myght come þer þe kyng lay.
So longe al wey to þe court þey ferde,
Þat þey perceyued & often herde
Þat for certeyn was hit told,
Þe kyng drank nought bot water cold,
Þat was best for his peyne,
& euere of o welle certeyne
Þat sprong vp byside his halle,
& beste water forby alle;
Non oþer þyng þought hym so god,
Þat best ageyn his yuel stod.
When þo þat his deþ so sought,
Wiþ þer wyles auailled nought,
Þey wente & venymed þat welle
Of þat he drank, als þey herd telle.

De morte Vtery

When þey had don þat wykked dede,
Out of toune sone þey ȝede,
& ay lystned what þey herd seye,

340

How þe kyng schold sone deye.
Þe kyng, whan he þe water drank,
He wax al blak, & bolned rank,
& deyde sone yn a þrowe
Byfore his meyne þat hit sowe;
& so dede fele oþer mo
Þat drank þerof, to deþ gon go.
& þis lasted a god whyle
Til men aperceyued þat gyle.
Þen ȝede þe comune alle atones,
& stopped þe welle wyþ erþe & stones.
So longe ber þey erþe þer til,
Þat er was welle, now ys an hil.
When sire Vter oure kynge
Was ded, & don his endynge,
At Stonhenges, as he seyde,
Bysyde his broþer men hym leyde.

Arthurus, filius Vtery, factus est Rex, & coronatus apud Cyrencestriam.

The Erchebishop his conseil held,
Of erles, barons, & knyghtes of scheld;
Ilkon after oþer sent
To come to comune Parlement,
& after sire Vteres sone Arthorghe
To come to Circestre, þe noble burghe;
& þere bitaught hym þe coroun,
Þorow comun graunt of ilka baroun.
fful ȝonge þen was he, lond to welde;
ffyftene ȝer þan was his elde;

341

At Circestre þat tyme þar
Was first tyme þat he croune bar;
Some of his þewes y wil descrye;
I trowe y schal nought mykel lye:

Craftily dide he mannes dedes,
Doughtiest knyght at alle nedes;
Þan of myrþe most was in halle,
Glad-chered, louely, & lordlyest of alle;
Ageyn þe proude, proud herted was he;
Ageyn þe meke, debonere & ese;
Þe hardiest man hym self to fende,
Bleþely gaf, largely wold spende;
Þat nedful was, & hym bysought,
Þat he myghte, he werned hym nought;
Mykel loued he ioie & worthly þynge,
Doughti dedes made of menyng;
Nobliche his court he ledde,
Richely alle hyse he fedde;
Ilka day come tydynges newe;
Gestes of ioye, wyþ knyghtes trewe;
Ouer alle prynces þe pris he nam
Of curteseye & of wysdam;
Was no þyng so noble of þewes,
As men reden of hym, & schewes.

When he had take þe regalte,
& mad oþ by his wille fre,
‘Þat Saxons schulde neuere haue pes
‘In stede of his þer þey ought ches,’—
Hys fader & his em þey slow,

342

& oþer wo þey wroughte y-now,—
He dide somoune þe folk, & fette;
Largely he gaf, & wel þem hette,
& bad hem be redy wyþ hym to wende:
Þey passed ȝork toward þe norþ ende.
Colgrym of Saxons was cheuetayn
Syn Octa was at Wyrolhram slayn;

Colgrim princeps Saxonum.

Þe Scottische men wer at his cry,
Þe Peytes wyþ hem were ay redy
A-geyn Arthur, & al þer myght,
& redy wyþ hym for to fyght.
Bysyde þe water of Douglas,
Þere þey mette att a pas:
Þe partys were bolde, & þoughte wel byde;
Many on wer slayn on ilka syde.
Desconfit was þer sire Colgrym,
Vnneþe he scaped wyþ mykel pyn;
Toward ȝork Colgrym fley,
Arthur hym pursued faste & ney;
Ȝork he tok for drede & doute,
& Arþur byseged hym wyþoute.

De Balduk fratre Colgrym.

Colgrim had a broþer on þe se,
Balduk, þat hadde gret meyne;
He abod þe kyng of Alemayne,
Þat cam wyþ host toward Bretayne.
Son hym was told of on & oþer
Þat Arþur byseged Colgrim his broþer,
How in bataille [he] was disconfit.
To londe he drow hym þenne as tyt:

343

In a wode by þat cost,
ffyue mile Balduk busched fro þe host;
& many were in his compayny,
Six þousand armed redy,
Þat scholde haue stolen þat ylke nyght
Vpon Arþur, al redy dight.
A man perceyued þer enbuschment,
& til Arþur þe bodeword sent.
When Arþur wyste þat þey wer þer,
He calde to consail þe Erl Cador
Þat was lord of Cornewaille:
Hys lyf to lese ne wold he faille.
“Cador,” he seyde, “Balduk wyþ gyle
“Ys enbusched fro vs four myle.
“Tak sex hundred of gode knyghtes,
“Þre þousand oþer, ȝyf þou myghtes;
“Al vnwarned on þem falle,
“Lightly may þou wynne þem alle.”
Sire Cador dight þem al redy,
& wente wyþoute noyse & cry.
Al vnwarned right þore þey ware;
Sore to smyte wold he nought spare;
Þe most del was slayn of þat frape,
Vnneþes myghter any a-scape;
ȝyf any of hem ascape myght,
Þe derknesse saued hem þat nyght,
& wode letted þem to renne;
Þe redy wey couþ þey nought kenne.

Balduk fledde, & durst nought byde,
ffro busche to busche on ilka syde;
Lorn he hadde his men ilkon,

344

Conseil couþe he take at non
How he moughte his broþer helpe,—
Of gret los mighte he make his ȝelpe,—
ffayn he wolde wyþ hym speke,
Bot of his enemis ne myght him wreke.
He couþe of notes & of layes,
& of harpe he knew þasayes;
He feyned hym as a iogelour,
& cam to þe ost of kyng Arþour;
His hed, his berd, he dide al schaue;
Men wend a were a folted knaue;
Als a gleman gan he synge,
& couþe a party of harpyng.
Longe he ȝede þus aboute,
Non ne wende of gyle ne doute;
Bot he was boþe wyly & sley;
Þe wal he neighede ful ney;
He spak to þeym, & þey hym knew,
Doun to hym a rop þey þrew,
& he knytte hym þer-inne al,
& þey drow hym ouer þe wal.
Netheles þey were at meschef,
ffor to ascape þem were ful lef;
Bot sone com þem tydynges gode,
Þat sex hundred schipes on flode
Out of Alemayne were comen,
& in Scotland had hauen nomen.

345

De potestate Cheldryk contra Arthurum.

Til Arthur cam bode als quyk,
Þat þider schold come þe child Cheldrik
Wyþ mykel people on ilka syde,
Þat Arthur schold nought dur abyde.
Þe beste frendes þat were hym couþ,
Conseilled hym turne toward þe South,
& gyue no bataille at þat tyme,
Bot let his folk sprede & ryme:
“Hys folk ys fresche & ful auster
“& twyes so fele as we haue her;
“& ȝyf þey folewe vs ouer Humber,
“Þe sonner schul we þem a-comber;
“Þen schal vs come folk ay fresche,
“& þey schul euere wexe þe lesse.”
To þat conseil he gaf god tent,
& to Londone right fro þenne he went.

Þe folk hadde sorewe & wo,
Þe drede þat al to deþe schold go;
Þat hadde castele, þider þey drow;
Þat non ne hadde, þey hem slow;
To holes & hilles men crep for nede;
Þat sykerest was, had ful gret drede.

Hic Arthurus misit pro Ohele, Rege Mynoris Brytannie.

But men gaf Arthur in conseil,
To sende for his cosyn Ohel,
Kyng of Bretayne, his sister sone:
By lettre his nedes gan hym mone,

346

& preyed hym of help a stounde,
Or elles he scholde go to grounde:
“Bot y som help of þe now haue,
“Or of som oþer, my lond to saue,
“Wyþynne a þrowe hit schal be lorn,
“Þat oure auncestres han had byforn;
“& schame hit were til oure lynage
“So sone to lese myn heritage.”
fful wel he vnderstod his nede.
Wyþ al þe poer þat he myght spede
He made no long soiournynge,
Hors & harneys he dide bryng,
ffyftene þousand helmes clers,
Wyþoute seriauntz & archers.
God wynd þey hadde þat gan hem dryue,
At Southaumptone þey dide vp ryue.
Mikel ioye made sire Arthurgh,
& feire receyued hym in toun & burgh.
Wolde þey make no lenger delay,
ffor þey nadde neyþer drede naffray;
Bot sende messegers [ful] smert,
& folk com til hym wyþ ful god hert.

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

Þe host was aryued on a þrowe,
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 non þem broughte þat mought out gete,
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.

De reuercione Regis Cheldryk apud Totenes.

Þey set vp sail, þe wynd hem blew,
So fer þei seyled þat non þem knew.
When þey were so fer born

349

Þat we of þeym þe sight had lorn,
ȝut þoughte þey more treson & gyle,
Þey turnde þer flute wyþynne a while
Bytwix Ingeland & Normandye,
Þey dighte eft hydeward þer nauie,
& entred in til Dertemuthe;
Neyþer fond þey arest ne rescue;
At Totenes toke þey hauen & lond;
Al ȝede to deþ þat by-forn hem fond.
In þe contres þey spredde aboute;
To go to deþ al was in doute;
Robes þey refte, armure þey tok,
Tounes brente, houses doun schok.
Þe contres trauersed þey ouerþwert,
Ouer al was wo, & no whar quert;
Deneschire, & Somersete,
& a partie of Dorsete,
Al þey wastes, & robbed þe god;
Was þer non þat hem wyþstod;
Þe knyghte þat aughten haue ben at hom,
To Scotland wyþ Arþur þey nom.
Þe Saxons dide so mykel scaþe,
Þey robbed in to þe toun of Baþe;
Bot þey of Baþe held þem wyþoute,
& þey byseged hit alle aboute.

Arthur werred vpon þe Scottes,
ffor þey had don as foule sottes,
Holpen Colgrim & Cheldryk,
& ageyns þer lord do so wyk;

350

Bot when he wyste þat þe Saxons
Brek couenaunt, & dide tresons,
& hadde byseged þe toun of Baþe,
Hei seyde, “þe Saxoyns false me ful raþe.”

War.

Þer ostages ilkon he heng
Heye on galewes, wyþ rop & streng.
When þer ostages to deþ wer done,
Toward þe souþ he hyed hym sone
Ohel his cosy[n], & his meyne,
He lefte sek in a cite,
In Aclud, þer-inne he lay,
Þat was þe name by þat day.
Wyþ al þe folk Ohel myght spare,
Toward Baþe, Arþur was ȝare.
Cheldrykes sege he wolde remue,
His men wyþynne he þoughte rescue.
In a playn by a wode syde
Arthur dide his folk abide,
To arme þem, & til ordeyne
Whylk schuld go, & wyþ whilk seyne.
Hym self was armed fynly wel
Wyþ sabatons, & spores, & iaumbers of stel,
Doublet & quysseux, wiþ poleyns ful riche,
Voydes, breche of maille, wyþ paunz non liche
Hauberk wiþ plates y-burnuscht ful wel,
Vaumbras & rerbras, wyþ coters of stel,
Þer-opon an aketon wyþ stof & al sylk,
His cote of armes þer-on; in world was no swylk;
& þen girt wyþ Caliborne, þat gode brond;
A bettere cam neuere in no kynges hond;
Ten fote longe was þen þe blade,
In Ramesey & oþer stedes þe merke ys ymade;

351

ffro þe hilte vnto þe pomel
Was twenti vnche large, meten ful wel;
Þe brede of þe blade was seuen inche & more;
Wond was hit y þat world smite ful sore.
An helm he had on his hed, no betere vp on molde;
A riche corounal wiþ perre, al of brent golde,
Þe nasel & bendeles of gold ful bryght,
Þer-opon a dragoun selcouþ of sight;
Aboute his nekke heng his scheld,
Pryd-wenne hit highte, many hit byheld;
Þer-on was purtrayd, next hym by,
Þe ymage of oure swete leuedy,
In nede to byholde hure face,
Ageyn his enemis to haue grace.
Hys spere was gret, he cald hit Ron,
Wyþ an hed by-fore, ful noble þer-on;
Hit was long, & swyþe gret,
Þer was no scheld þat he ne þorow schet.

De recuperacione belly & montis per Arthurum.

When Arthur was armed wel,
& his folk dight ilka del,
Al softly he bad þem go,

352

Þat non schulde byfore oþer þro
Til þey come vnto þe bataille.
Bot þe Saxons durst nought assaille,
Bot fledde vntil an hey hyl,
Þat non myghte wel wynne þem til.
Þey helde þat hil als castel strong,
& defended þem ferly long,
As þey were closed wyþ a wal;
Bot atte þe laste hit stod no stal.
Arthur saw þe hil was taken,
& longe þere þey held hem waken;
Tene hym þoughte þey fro hym brak,
& til his men þus he spak:

“Lordynges,” he seide, “þis hil ys hey,
“& we may nought wel com þem ney
“Bot hit were þorow long destresse.
“Þe lengþe fayn woldy schorte lesse;
“Ageyn to Scotland woldy be,
“Ohel my cosyn, fayn woldy se.”
He bad þem wyþ wordes smert
Þat [þey] schold alle be gode of hert:
“Lo! here byforn vs þan ar þo
“Þat han vs wrought ful muche wo!
“Þyse are þat han wasted our lond,
“Þat riche was, & farre vs fond!
“Þise are þat slowe our auncessours,
“Als wel myne als ȝoures!
“Þis ar þo þat vs assailled,
“& often in werre vs trauailled!
“Venge vs now we se hem here!
“Let hem abye our godes dere!

353

“Lat þeym bye þey toke byforn,
“& let hem now lese, for we haue lorn!
“& y schal ȝelde, ȝyf þat y may,
“Þe fals oþ þey swore þe toþer day;
“Þer turnyng y wole rescowe,
“Þat þey come til Dertemuwe.
“ȝyf y may ought wyþ hem mele,
“Hand of hand strokes schul dele,
“Þey schul neuere eft haue power
“In bataille to neighe me ner!”

De occisione Saxonum apud Bathoniam.

Wyþ þat word he smot his stede,
Byforn þem alle vpward he ȝede;
Hys launce ful wel he bar þe point,
Hys scheld byfore ful wel was ioynt;
Þe firste Saxon þat wyþ hym met,
His dayes were no lenger set.
Þen bygan Arþur to crye,
“A-geyn þes Payens, helpe, Marie!”
& bar on hem þe breste byfore.
After hym þe Bretons gon bore:
“Þe firste strok þann ys myn!”
On he mette, & m[a]de hys fyn;
Þen myghte men se þe Bretons strike,
& felle þe Saxons doughtilyke.
Arthur þen egred þem so wyþ sawe,
ffo[r] schame ne myghte þey hem wyþdrawe;

354

Þey byhalued þem aboute,
& ryden þorow þe Saxons route.
On ilka syde doun þey fley,
& euere Arthur vpward stey
Wyþ Caliborn drawen in his hond;
Was non his dynt þat myghte wyþstond,
Þat hym ne byhoued nedly deye;
Þer-fore þey fledde, & gaf hym weye;
So fele he slow, & broughte til schame,
ffor þus þey counted þat couþe þem ame,
ffour hundred he slow, mo allone
Þan his host dide ilkone.
Ded was Balduk, slayn was Colgrym,
& Cheldrik fledde wyþ mykel pyn;
Toward þer schipes to Toteneys
Þey fledde, & lefte al oþer harneys;
Lyghtly to go, wightly to fle,
Þey leften al, & fledde to þe se.
Arthur perceyued wel ynow
Þat to þer schipes þey fledde & drow;
Þen bad he sire Cador of Cornewaille
Take ten þousand of gode apparaille;
& after hem swyþe hey spedde,
& ouertoke þo þat fledde;
ffor Arthur to Scotland went:
Ohel a messeger hym sent,
& seyde ‘þe Scottes byseged þe castel,
‘& hadde ner taken sire Ohel.’
Cheldrik fledde til his nauye;
But Cador was queynte & wyly;
By a bywey to Totenes lay,
Cador & hyse toke þat way,
And to þe hauen wel raþer cam

355

Er any Saxon to schipe nam.
Sire Cador, þe mene folk he tok,
He gaf þem þe schipes for to loke,
& bad þem ryde fer fro þe land,
Þat Saxons ne raughte no bot wyþ hand.
Syþen went he wyþ alle his ost,
& y þe contres kepte þe cost,
& kepte þem euere as þey come;
By ten, by twelue, vm-while þey nome;
Armure & robes hadde þey cast,
Þat þey were lyght to fle right fast;
Þey hadde but swerdes on þer hypes,
Sone to come vnto þer schipes.
Als þey passed þe water of Teyne,
Were þey war of Cadores seyne.
When þey hit sey, þey held hem schent,
Hider & þyder a-wey þey glent.
As þey tok þe hil of Teynewyk,
Þer was he slayn, þe kyng Cheldryk;
Þe oþere þat wende wel haue scaped,
To deþe were þey al to-fraped;
Þo þat ascaped to þe hauen vnslayn,
When þey com þere, þey were vnfayn,
ffor þey kept [hem] atte brynke,
In to þe water þey dide hem synke.
On alle halue wax þem wo;
To wodes & hilles fledde somme of þo,
Þeym to hyde, þat non ne wyst,
Tyl þey deyde for hunger & þirst.

When Cador had mad þe contre clene,
Þat no Saxon were more sene,

356

He hyed hym faste toward Scotland.
In Aklud, Arthur he fond,
& Ohel wyþ hym, his cosyn,
Of his seknesse warisched fyn.
Þe Scottes þer sege remued
When Arthur cam, Ohel rescued;
Al þe contre gan þey weyue,
& fledde a-wey vn to Murreyue,
Þer þey hoped best to be,
& closed þem in a strong cite;
Þere þey hoped Arthur to byde,
A-geyns þem what wolde bytyde.
Arthur wyste hit certeynly
Þey gadered ageyns hym party;
He hyed hym þide[r]ward ful ȝerne,
& þey herd hit seye, & fledde ȝit ferne
Right vnto þe Louh Lumyne:
A selcouþ þyng hit ys to see.

De admiracione Lacus Lumine in Scocia.

In þat louh ar sexti iles—
In þo þe dwelte longe whyles—
& ilk an yle haþ a rocher
& a water dep & cler.
In þo roches foules reste,
& ernes brede, & make þer neste;
ȝyf any sorewe or any wo,
Or any werre or any þro,

357

Schal in þat lond tyde or gynne,
Alle þe ernes þat brede þer-inne
Schul crie & ȝelle, & make rere,
Þat al þe contre aboute schal here,
& feighte to-gydere four daies or fyue,
& al to-pulle þe feþeres, & ryue.
Þys louh, Luminie men calle,
Sexti watres þer-inne falle,
& alle dwelle þer-inne ilkon;
Non rennes out to þe se but on.
Wyþynne þis lough had þey dwellynge,
Þe Scottes, for Arthur oure kynge.
Arthur byseged alle þe loughes,
& gadered botes, chalans, & trowes,
Þat non myghte brynge þem ne gyue
Mete ne drynke, wyþal to lyue.
So wyþynne a lytel while
So mykel hunger was yn þe ile,
Men sey by hundredes & þousandes
Ly ded for hunger on þe sandes;
Men seye þem go & falle right doun
ffor hunger, þat was lord of toun.

Gwylomar, þe Irische kynge,
Com ouer þe se wyþ many lordyng
To helpe þe Saxons in þer nede.
Lytel, y wene, myghte þey spede!
He aryued vp by þat cost
Þer Arthur lay, & al his host.

358

Arthur & hyse a-geyn hym nomen,
Bot þe Irische wer sone ouer-comen;
He dide þe Irische wyþ force to fle
A-geyn til Irland, ouer þe se.

De vastacione Scocie, & lamentacione Scotorum.

But ȝyt Arthur nought ne left
Þat he þe Scottes byseged eft.
Þen come þe byschopes of þe land,
& religious relikes bryngand,
And preyed Arthur of mercy;
& als wyþ hem com many ledy,
Alle barfot, & bare þe heued,
Þer her to-rent, or litel leued;
ȝonge childre wyþ hem brought,
& reuly gretyng, mercy bysought,
Mekely fulle doun til his fet.
Byschops, abbotes, & ladis alle gret,
& asked hym ‘mercy & pes,
‘To saue þo childre helples:
“Þyse ladies þat þis sorewe haue,
“ȝeld þem þer lordes, þer lyues to saue!
“ȝeld vs þo þat are on lyue!
“Let hem nought alle to deþe dryue!
“Let vs nought alle so dere a-bye
“Þe false Saxons felonye!
“ffor hit was neuere by our wille
“Þat þey com here to do ȝow ylle!
“Of þer comyng had we no frame,
“Þer dwellyng dide vs mykel schame;

359

“Al day were we wyþ hem noyed,
“Oure lyf[e]lode þey ete & stroyed,
“Catel þey bar a-wey, & spended;
“Had we non heued þat vs defended!
“Þat we þem halp, ys no trespas;
“Maugre oures, forsoþe hit was;
“Þeir force was more þan oures,
“We nyste of non to haue socoures.
“ȝe wot þey are of þe lawe Payen,
“& we, as ȝe, ar men Crysten;
“Þer-fore þey dide vs þe more wo.
“At ilka tyme, boþe to & fro,
“Wo dude þey vs! & worse haue [we] now!
“& þat ys non honur til ȝow,
“Vs to slo þat crye mercy,
“& deye for hunger so deolfoly.
“Þou hast vs wonnen; lef vs þe lyf,
“Lord to lady, husebande to wyf!
“& gyue vs lond on for to lyue!
“Trewe hostage we wol þe gyue.
“Þorow righte reson þou scholde vs spare,
“ffor we ar Cristen as ȝe are;
“& ȝyf we deye in swylk destresse,
“Cristendam ys mykel þe lesse;
“Þan ys þy peryl mykel þe more,
“Þat þou wraþest Crist so sore.”

Arthur wiste þey seide reson,
& wel excused hem of þe Saxon.
ffor byschope & clerkes þat hym bysought,
& þe relikes þat þey brought,
& of þe lauedies hym rewed sore,
& ȝonge childre þat þer wore,

360

He graunted þem alle þat þey ches,
Lyf & lymes, & his pes.

De primo Lacu in Scocia.

Ohel byheld þe lough, þat lake,
& til Arthur þer-of he spak:
“Arthur,” he seyde, “y haue merueille
“Of þis lough & of þis entaille:
“So many yles, y telde sexty,
“& ilkon haþ a roche hey;
“& so manye ernes nestes,
“& þer cri þat ilkon kestes:
“A wonder me þynkeþ hit may be,
“Of ilka þyng þat y se!”

De secundo Lacu ibidem.

Þen seyde Arthur vnto Ohel,
“Of þis ne merueilleþ me no del;
“But of an oþer ys selcouþ more,
“& so schaltow seye when þou comes þore:
“Þat lough ys here yn þys contre,
“Cornerd as a cheker quarre;
“Twenty fot of lengþe, as þe brede, es,
“& fyue fot hit haþ of depnes;
“In þe water, atte corners,
“Are fisches inne foure maners:
“Þo þat are y þat o corner,
“Neuer more come þat oþer ner;
“Ne þe fisches alle foure,
“Ne wyþ oþer menge ne voure;
“Ne no partyng ys þem bytwene
“Of erþe ne ston, but water clene,
“Ne oþer þyng þat may bywyte,
“Þat myghte þer mengyng wyþ-sitte;
“I ne wot ȝyf hit be þorow kynde,
“Or craft of clergie, as men may fynde.

361

De tercio lacu versus Walliam iuxta Seuerne.

“Of anoþer ys more selcouþ,
“& þat lough ys in þat souþ,
“Toward Walys, bysyde Seuerne.
“When þe flod flowes þider in ȝerne,
“Þe water wexes noþyng on hey,
“Þan þe flod come neuere þer ney;
“Als longe as flod þer-ynne flowes,
“Þe water of þe lough no þyng ne growes,
“In no stede, by bank ne bre,
“Þat any man may perceiue or se.
“But when þe flod drawes ageyn,
“& ys atte þe ebbe certeyn,
“Þenne bygynnes þe lough to flowe,
“& ouer þe bankes to renne & rowe;
“Wyþ rysyng wawes, & wyþ grete,
“ffer aboute hym wil he wete.
“ȝyf hit beo a couþ man of þe contre
“þat goþ þider þe water to se,
“& feleþ þe wawes þat so wetes,
“Hit rennes on hym, & doun hym betes.
“Of-ten of þo þat so haue gon,
“Han be drenkled manion.
“ȝyf any connyng man of þo
“Standeþ stille, or sidlyng can go,
“He may stande on þe brynkes
“Al so lange as hym god þynkes:

362

“Schal he neuere take scathe,
“Ne haue wetynge ne waþe.”
Ohel seyde, “yt is wonder þyng,
“& selcouþ ho made þe gynnynge!”

Þan dide Arthur bemes blowe,
Hornes, belles, þat men myght knowe
Þat he wolde þennes turne,
& remue his host fro þat burne.
His barons þat come fro ferne,
He bad hem renne hom ryght ȝerne,
To wyte how hit for at home,
& glade þer wyues whan þey come.
Wyþ mykel ioye & mykel play
Wente þe ost homward þer way;
Of Arthur made þey mykel pris,
How he was hardy, large, & wys,
& seyde “neuere or in Bretaigne
“Was so noble a cheuentayne!”
Vntil ȝork Arthur gan turne;
Þere al þe ȝol he made soiourne.

On þe ȝol day he made his feste
Wyþ þe barons of his geste.
fful mykel enpeired was þe toun,
Kyrkes, houses, were beten doun;
Þer burgeyses were bygged riche,
Wast & Eyuere [?] was hit liche.—
Þe bischop was slayn wyþ þe Saxons,
& oþere manye religions;—
Al he dide hit bigge ageyn
As hit was byfore certeyn.

363

Hym serued a prest, a ful god man,
Hys name was cald sire Pyran;
He gaf hym þe erchebishopes se,
& bad hym ‘kepe þat dignite,
‘& holy kirke a-geyn restore,
‘Þat þe Saxons had wasted byfore.’
Pes he dide oueral crye,
Þat non dide oþer vylenye,
But in lawe, right, & skyle;
Husebande men, bad hem tyle;
ffrankeleyns þat hadde desheritison,
He dide þem seke in ilka toun,
& gaf hem a-geyn þer heritage,
Restored þem þer oþer damage.
Þre þer were, doughti & gode,
Noble men, of kynges blode,
Loth, Aguisel, & Vryen,
Þe northe langed to þyse þre men;
Þyse þre departed þe northe lond
Þorow Arthures gift, y vnderstond.
To Lothe he gaf al Lounes,
Al þe contre, right as hit es.
Scotlond he gaf sire Anguisel;
Vryen had Murreue vntil his del;
& alle to holde of hym þer þynge,
ffor Arthur was þer chef[e] kyng.
Sire Lothe þat weddede Anne,
Wawayn þer sone at Rome was þanne
To norise, als þe romaunce seys,
& he highte Wawayn þe curteys.

364

Hic desponsauit Guenneueram.

When Arthur hadde his lond iustised,
& don als he hadde auised,
Genoyre he wedded, & mad hure quen:
Norysched wyþ Cador had scheo ben;
Sche was sire Cadores cosyn,
& born was of þe Romayns lyn,
ffor hure moder was of Romayns kynde.
So fair as scheo myght no man fynde;
Y-now scheo couþe of curtesy,
Large gyuere, & spak louely;
Of body was scheo swyþe auenaunt,
ffair contenaunced, wyþ swete semblaunt.
Alas! þey myghte non heyr haue,
Neyþer maide child, ne knaue.

Deuicit Hyberniam.

When wynter cold was al away,
& hete comen of someresday,
& fair weder on se to fare,
A flute on flode Arthur dide ȝare;
He seide he wolde til Irland,
& wynne hit al to Bretons hand.
Longe tyme wolde he nought waste,
He dide somoune his folk on haste,
Erles, barouns, knyghtes, squiers,
Alle þe ȝongest bachelers
Þat wel myghte, & best couþe
Stonde in werre, & were of ȝouþe.

365

Vpon Irland his fflute gan lende;
Swyþe vp to lande gon þey wende,
Vitaille to seke, & mele & corn;
Bestes slayn to schipe were born,
Lyflode al þat þey myghte gete,
To sustinaunce vntil þer mete,
Ilkadel to schipe þey drow,
& vitailled hem wel y-now.
To Gwylomar, þe Irische kyng,
Com bode sone of þeir comyng;
Þat Arthur was aryued þere,
Al his lond for to conquere.
Þe folk pleyned hem aboute;
Þer godes were lorn, & þey in doute.
Þe Irische kyng dide folk somoune
Þorow-out þe lond, of ylka toune,
Of vpland & of burghe,
To giue bataille to kyng Arthurghe.
When boþe partis come to þe fight,
Þe naked Irische were nought dight;
Hauberk ne scheld ne myghte þey bere,
Ne fro þe arewes couþe þem nought were;
Þey nadde neuere seen non ar.
O syde þey fledde here & þar;
Ilkon made oþer agast,
& conseilled hem to fle ful fast
To wodes, to hilles, þer lyues to saue;
Oþer socour þey wyste non haue.
Þe kyng fley til a wode syde;
Arthur hym folewed, & dide hym byde,
& al wyþ force hym þer tok;
& he swor hym vpon þe bok,
To holde of hym his heritage
& ȝelde hym ilka ȝer truwage.

366

Þer-til he gaf hym god hostage,
To holden his fewte & homage.

Hic transfretauit, & Orchades cepit.

When þat was pesed & brought til ende,
Til Island [Arthur] dight hym to wende.
Island sone al he wan,
ffor lord þey knew hym ilka man.
Goneweys þe kyng of Orkeneye,
How Arthur wan, wel herde he seye;
So dide Doldan of Gotland,
& Rumarek þe kyng of Wentland;
Tyl alle þre was hit told
Þat Arthur was a conquerour bold.
Þyse þre kynges, þey hym dredde
ffor þe gret host þat he ledde;
Þey durste nought stande hym ageyn,
Ne þey ne hadde non host certeyn,
Ne þey ne wolde þer lond destruye,
Ne hym ne þeym to-gedere noye.
Þe beste consail þey toke on hand,
& wente to Arthur into Island,
& for þeyr landes made alle pes.
Arthur þem þanked þat þey so ches;
Louely tok he þer alle here fewte,
ffor þey come alle so wyþ wylle fre.

When al was syker & certeyn,
Til Ingland he turnde ageyn;
& when þey wyste þat he cam,
Wyþ ioye alle a-geyn hym nam.

367

Twelf ȝer after þat comyng,
In reste & pes he regned kyng,
Þat neuere on hym no werre bygan,
Ne he ne werrede vpon no man.
He tok so mykel of curtesy,
Wyþoute techyng of any hym by,
þat non ne mighte conne more,
Neyþer þorow kynde, ne craft of lore.
In alle answeres he was right wys,
Of alle manhede he bar þe pris;
Of non þat tyme ne was swylk speche,
Þat til his nobleye mighte reche,—
Nought of þe Emperour of Rome,—
Þat he ouer hym ne bar þe blome;
In alle manere þat kynge schold do,
Non oþer hadde such grace þer-to.
He ne herde neuere speke of knyght
Þat losed was of dedes wyght,
Þat he ne ȝerned hym for to se,
& for to haue hym of meyne;
ȝyf he for mede serue hym wolde,
He ne lefte for seluer ne for golde.

Hic ordinatur Tabula Rotunda.

For his barons þat were so bolde,
Þat al þe werld pris of þem tolde,
ffor noman wyste who was best,
Ne in armes doughtiest,
Dide Arthur ordeyne þe round table
Þat ȝit men telle of many a fable.
At þer bord in tyme of mete,
Alle þis noble knyghte schold ete;

368

Non sat wyþynne, non sat wyþoute,
Bot alle euene rounde aboute;
Non sat first, ne non sat last,
But per by per, in euen cast;
Non sat heye, non sat lowe,
But alle euenlyk men myghte þem knowe;
Non was set at non ende,
But alle a round, for alle were hende;
Non wyste whiche of pris most was,
Þer-fore þey sete alle in compas;
Alle at ones doun þey seten,
At ones ros when þey hadde eten;
Alle were þey serued of o seruise,
Euenly, alle of on assise.

De gloria Curye Arthury.

What knyght had ben in al þe werld,
Had his los be neuere so wel byherd,
Were he ffrenche, were he Bretoun,
Normaund, fflemyng, or Burgoiloun,
Spaynard, Gascoyn, or Angeuyn,
Scot, Irische, Pykard, or Peyteuyn,
Daneys, Norneys, or Selander,
Henner, ffryson, or Katelaner,
Arragoneys, Lombard, or Brabaunt,
Prouyncial, Nauerner, or Alemaunt,
Of wham he held his fe, or how,
ffro þe Weste [or] Est vntil Moungow,
He was told of non honour
Bot he had ben wyþ kyng Arthour,

369

& hadde taken of his liuere,
Cloþ or queyntise, þat knowe myght be.
Of ferne landes many on namen,
& til þat court for worschyp camen,
To lere honur & curtesy,
& here þe prowesse of knyghtes hardy,
& to here þe faire gestes
þat knyghtes broughte & telde at festes.
Somme come to se his faire wonyng,
& se & here þere selcouþ þynge;
Pouere men, þey louede hym alle,
& riche honured hym in halle;
ffele kynges of ferne stede
Sent hym gyftes for doute & drede;
Þey wyst hit wel, ȝyf þey wold ryde,
His werre durste no kyng abide;
Kynges aforced þer casteles aboute,
ffor alle landes of hym hadde doute,
þat ȝyf he come, he scholde þem lese,
Or gyue hym truwage as be wold chese;
þer-fore ilkon at þer myght
Aforced þer cites, & wel þeym dight.

De nobilitate Arthury.

But in þyse twelf ȝeres tyme
ffel auentures þat men rede in ryme;
In þat tyme were herd & sen
Þat somme seye, þat neuere haþ ben.
Of Arthur ys seid many selcouþ
In diuerse landes northe & souþ
Þat men holdeþ now for fable,

370

Be þey neuere so trewe ne stable.
Al ys nought soþ, ne nought al lye,
Ne al wysdam, ne al folye;
Þer nys no þyng of hym seyd
þat hit ne may be to godnesse leyd.
More þan oþere were his dedes,
Þat men of hym so mykel redes;
Ne were his dedes hadde be writen,
Of hym no þyng men scholde haue wyten.
Geffrey Arthur of Monemu,
He wrot his dedes þat were of pru,
& blamed boþe Gyldas & Bede,
Why þey wolde nought of hym rede,
Syn he bar þe pris of alle cristen kynges,
& write so litel of his preysynges,
& more worschip of hym spoke þer was
Þat of any of þo þat spekes Gildas,
Or of any þat Bede wrot,
Saue holy men þat we wot.
In alle landes wrot men of Arthur,
Hys noble dedes of honur:
In ffraunce men wrot, & ȝit men wryte,
But herd haue we of hym but lyte;
Þere-fore of hym more men fynde
In farre bokes, als ys kynde,
Þan we haue in þys lond:
Þat we haue, þer men hit fond;
Til Domesday men schalle spelle,
& of Arthures dedes talke & telle.

371

Now ys Arthur of pleyn age,
He conseilled wyþ his baronage;
& his gode knyghtes hym redde,
Þat he had fostred & forþ fedde.
He seyde he wolde ouer se to Fraunce,
& wynne hit al wyþ dynt of launce.
But first he seide ‘he wolde to Norweye,
‘Þe kyng had sent hym bode he hoped to deye;
“& Loth, myn neuew, schal he his eyr;
“To make hym kyng y am in speyr;
“His neuew he ys, of next degre,
“Of blod ys non nerrer þan he.”
Right as he seyde, also he þought,
He wende þe barons wolde so haue wrought;
But when þey seye þat he was ded,
Þey toke þem til anoþer red:
Loth to haue, þey hym forsok,
& anoþer kyng þey tok;
ffor alle þey seide wyþ o mouþ,
‘Þey wolde haue no kyng vncouþ;
‘Þey hoped nought þey schold hym fynde
‘Als godliche as þer owen kynde.
‘Alyens,’ þey seyde, ‘he wolde auaunce,
‘Þat schulde be þeire appurtynaunce.
‘A heued þey wolde haue þem aboue,
‘Þat hem wolde auaunce & loue.’
Þorow þat consail & þat reson,
Rycolf þey ches, was a baron,
& coroned hym, & now ys kyng;
& þus haþ Lot lorn þat þyng.

372

“ffor help,” seid Arthur, “Loth haþ bysought;
“ffaille hym by no weye wol y nought;
“Y wolde his honur & [his] right,
“& þat schal y he[l]pe at my myght.
“Rycolfes coroune y wolde abate,
“Þat þe Noreys gef hym so late.”

De conquestu Norganie.

Tyl Arthur com þer folk ynow;
To schipes on flode faste þey drow;
Þe wynd blew, & gan hem dryue,
Vp in Norweye gon þey aryue.
Ricolf was god, & wolde nought fle
Ne remue hym out of þe contre;
He gadered host, for wel he wende
Ageyn Arthur hym self defende;
But his wenyng was al veyn,
ffor Ricolf & hise wer alle þer sleyn.
When Arthur hadde Norweye wonnen,
Þe barons alle ouer riden & ronnen,
Loth, his neuew, he gaf þe croun,
After Ricolf þat was doun.
Loth made Arthur þenne feute,
Als til his chef ouer al þat fe.

Lothes sone, sire Wawayn,
Had ben at Rome to lere Romayn,
Wyþ Supplice þe Apostoille to wone,
Honur to lere, langage to kone;
& þere was he dubbed knyght.
And holden hardy, strong, & wyght.
When Supplice had don his ende,
Tyl Bretayne-ward Wawayn gan wende.

373

Now ys Wawayn comen hom,
fful blithe ys Loth al of his com;
Noble he was, & ful curteys,
Mykel honur of hym euere men seys:
He loued mesure & faire beryng;
Pruyde ne bost loued he no þyng;
Vnkynde, false, & fykele, he hated;
Lesynges, alle swilk he abated;
More he gaf þan he by-hette,
Wel more he dide þan terme of sette.

Now ys Loth in Norweye seised,
& Wawayn comen, þat mykel ys preised.
Alle þo men þat were of myght,
Þat weren ȝonge, & couþe of fyght,
& loueden more werre þan pes,
Arthur til hym alle swyche ches;
Of swylk gadered he many on,
& schipes on se ful god won.
When his host was styf & stark,
He schiped to-wardes Denemark.
Achil, þat þen was kyng of Danes,
Saw Bretons & Noreys come alle at anes
Wyþ Arthur, to wynne his lond,
& for to destruye al þat he fond.
But Achil þoughte, as kyng ful wys,
Þat Arthur oueral hadde þe prys;
He wiste wel he schulde conquere
His lond of hym, ȝyf he come þere;
But he seide ‘he wolde nought so
‘Hym seluen ne his lond fur-do,

374

‘Ne suffre his folk to be slayn,
‘Ne his tresor spende in vayn,
‘Ne his casteles beten doun,
‘Ne kirke robbed, ne brenne toun;’
But faire he spak, & wel he hette,
& wysly gaf giftes wel bysette,
So þat of Arthur he had grauntise,
Þe lond in pes for his seruise;
& Arthur þen his seruise tok,
Omage he swor hym on þe bok.

Arthur was glad þat he þus wan,
So sone þe kyng bicam his man;
But ȝut he þoughte to wynne wel more.
Of þe beste knyghtes he ches þore,
& squiers bolde, & gode archers,
Þat louede werre, & knew þe maners—
I ne wot how manye þousandes
Þat he so gadered y þo landes;—
Of gret folk mad he purueaunce,
ffor he seyde he wolde to ffraunce:
fflaundre he wan, Boloyne he tok;
Tounes, casteles, for hym þey quok;
His folk so wysly gan he lede,
Struyed he no lond als he ȝede,
He tok no þyng fer ne hende,
But mete & drynke, & hors prouende;
ȝit toke þei non wyþ no maistrie,
But bought hit þere hit was to bye.
Þat tyme þat þis chaunce gan falle,
Þat now hat ffraunce, þo hight hit Galle;
Þe Romayns þat ilke tyme hit held,
Was þer no kyng bar croune ne scheld;

375

& ilk ȝer toke þey þer-of truage,
Syþen Iulius wan hit in seruage.

De ffrollo, Romano Regente ffrancie.

Frolle, a doughti bacheler,
Had hit in kepyng many a ȝer;
To Romayns byhoue gadered þer rent,
& at termes to Rome hit sent,
Or bar hit hym self to þe Emperour.
ffrolle was a ful hardy man in stour,
He was comen of Romayns blod,
He dredde non þat ageyns hym stod.
Al day tydyng men hym told,
Þat Arthur com wyþ host ful bold,
& þat no man myghte dwelle ne be
But ȝif he helde of hym in fe.
Þat herde ffrolle, & was ful wo,
& seide hit schuld nought þat wey go.
He dide somoune alle to come
Til hym, þat helde þer fe of Rome,
ffor to brynge hors & armes,
Þe lond for to fende fro harmes,
& doughtily to-gydere stande
Ageyn Arthur þat was comande.

Hic gens ffrolly cecidit.

Hit was nought longe bytwyxt hem set
Ar þer hostes to-gedere met.
ffrolle mysfel atte firste pres,
ffor ner alle his beste folk he les,

376

What y-slayn & ouer schaken,
& nerhande hym self had ben taken.
Hit was no wonder þat he fledde,
ffor þe gret host þat Arthur ay ledde;
Was non þat couþe hit noumbre ne seye,
Þe folk he tok, comynge in weye;
Hit was no lond þat he þorow sought,
Euere þe beste wyþ hym he brought;
Þat doughti was on horse or fote,
Wold he, nold he, forþ he mote:
Somme wente for his fair speche,
& somme for drede of oþer wreche,
& somme for he gaf largely,
& somme for his grete curtesy,
& somme for los & doute of ded,
Knowlechyng til hym þey bed:
Of ffraunce many a lordyng
Comen to holde of hym þer þyng.

De obsidione ffrolly per Arthurum.

ffrolle fledde faste to Parys,
Hit was þe strengest cite of pris;
He knew no bettere recet to haue
Ageyn Arthur, þat myghte hym saue;
Night & day dide his trauaille
To warnische þe toun wyþ vitaille.
Mykel folk to Paris fledde,
& Arthur þider faste hym spedde;
& Arthur vnderstod ful wel
Þe purueaunce of ffrolle ilka del;

377

Þer-fore he hasted his sege to sette,
His purueaunce for to lette.
Arthur byseged hym so streit
Þat ffrolle mighte wyþ no deseit
Of vitaille helpe hym at nede,
By londe ne by water lede
Ner al a monþe, as men teld,
Þat ffrolle þe cite of Paris held;
& al þat tyme Arthur þer lay,
He ne remued night ne day.
So mykel folk was þer-ynne,
Þe raþer bigan þer fight to gynne;
Hit was despended, þat þey in drow;
Þey hadde no tyme to drawe inow;
ffor hunger gan þey make mone,
Men, women, & childre, ilkone.
ȝyf ffrolle wylde as þey wolde,
Þe toun had ben ful sone ȝolde;
Þey preied ffrolle þorow þe burghe
To make pes wyþ kyng Arthurghe.
ffrolle saw þey pleyned þem sore,
& þer vitaille was namore,
& seye wel þey alle wylde
Þe toun vntil Arthur ȝylde;
& [þat] þought hym schame & vyl;
Hym self had leuere be in peril,
& auenture hym his deþ to take,
Þan wyþ his wille Parys fursake;
“Strengþe of body or wille y fonde.”
Tyl Arþur he sente his sonde:
‘ȝyf þat he wilde bytwyxt þem to
‘To-gedere fighte, wyþoute mo,

378

‘& whilk of þem were ouer-come,
‘Or slayn, or wyþ force nome,
‘Tak hym þe lond til his wylle,
‘So þat þe folk nought ne spille.’
Þat bode cam Arþur wel to hert;
His gloue he gaf vp al so smert,
& tok hostage o boþe partys,
Of Arthures host & of Parys,
Þe bataille scholde be in a pleyne
Bytwyxt two watres, Marne & Seyne.

De bello inter Regem Arthurum & ffrollum.

When þey were armed & redy dight,
& were comen þer þey schold fyght,
Men myght þer se folk tremble & quake,
On boþe partis gret deol to make,
Handes wrynge, on knes to falle,
On Godes name to crie & calle,
‘Þat he myght wynne, þat pes wold haue,
‘& þe lond fro werre myght saue.’
Arþures folk stode & byheld,
Redy [digh]t wyþ helm & scheld,
& by[sought]e God inderly
To [graunt] Arþur þe maistri.
Þy[se two] knyghtes þat forþ were fet,
N[obilly di]ght, on horse wel set,
T[o assay]e þem how þey were wyght,
[Þe lanc]e to reyse, þer scheld to ryght.
[Who myg]hte wel telle, & soþ to seye,
[Þat sui]lk wer non þat tyme als þey;

379

[Ilk o]f þeym was horsed wel,
[Had a]rmes stronge as any stel;
By sight myght non þer chese þe best,
Ne whilk þen semed doughtiest;
Ne whilk schold wynne, ne haue þe gre,
By sighte myghte þer non hit se.

When þey were bone, redy to smite,
& þer hors sondred a lyte,
Wyþ speres þey smot, þe bridel brayd,
Þer scheldes sette, þer launces forþ layd;
Þer horses at þer power runnen,
Þe partis wende haue lorn or wonnen;
But ffrolle failled of his dynt,—
I trowe his stede a syde stynt,—
& Arthur smot hym in þe scheld.
Þe hed was god, & ful wel held,
& ffrolle out of his sadel cast
So fer so þe launce might last.
ffrolle vp stirte, & sydlynges glent,
His scheld dressed, his launce vp hent;
Til Arþures stede þe point he bar,
Þorow þe breste þe herte he schar.
Arþur fel; he moste nede;
He was a fote, ded was his stede.
Þe Bretons seye he had þat fal,
Þem þoughte for wo þey al to-swal,
Þe erþe dunede for þeir cry,
To passe þe water þey were redy,
Þe trewes to breke þey were ful wylde,
To haue gon ouer in to þe ilde;

380

But þey sawe hym sone vp a-geyn;
Þey wyþstod þen, & were fayn.
When he was vp, he hadde no rest,
Wyþ ffrolle to fighte he was ful prest,
He leyde his hand to Caliborne,
Þat neuere for armes wolde scurne.
Þer-wyþ on ffrolle ful sore he sought,
& ffrolle a-geyn ne dredde hym nought;
Agayn Arthur he stod & stynt,
Nought abaischt hym for no dynt;
His swerd had drawen, he lyft hit heye,
On Arþur he let hit sore fleye:
Þe dynt was gret, for he was strong,
Þe fir out fley, þe sparkles sprong,
Þe helm he claf, & þe basyn,
& þe coyfe þat was so fyn.
Þe swerd was scharp, & ful wel bot,
In þe forehed Arþur he smot,
Þorow þe flesche, vnto þe pan;
After þe strok þe blod out ran.

De occisione ffrolly, Regentis ffrancie.

When Arthur felde þat he was wounded,
Noþyng he ne stinte ne stounded;
ffor, ful of yre, wyþ colour teint,
Was he neyþer abaischt ne feint;
Caliborne he hadde in hande,
He tok hym byre þe strok teysande;
Abouen his helm ful faste he dref;
Hed & nekke & breste he clef.
Þey of þe cite mad deol ynow,
& þe Bretons þer-fore þey low;

381

What sorewe so þey made al gates,
Agayns Arthur þey opened þe gates,
And let hym in, & alle hyse,
& dide hym omage & seruise.
When he had homage of lef & loþ,
Hostages he tok to halde þer oþ;
At Parys to soiourne he ches;
Baillifs he sette to ȝeme þe pes;
He parted his host in haluendel,
Bytaughte he þem to sire Ohel,
& bad hym ‘go to wynne Burgoyne,
‘Peytowe, Nauerne, & Gascoigne,
‘& Lorreyne, ȝyf he myghte,
‘Assaye þem wyþ loue or fyghte.’
Ohel dide his comaundement,
He tok þe folk, & þyder went;
And alle þo landes þat y haue seyd,
To gyue truage on þem he leyd.

De austeritate Gwytardi.

Gwithard, þe Duk of Peyters,
Was a fel knyght & a fers
ffor to kepe his heritage,
Nought ne wolde gyue truage;
Often he turnde Ohel þe vys,
& often of hym wan þe pris,
& often a-geyn hym he les
Er þan he wolde come til þe pes.
Ohel destruide ner al þe lond;
Þat he wyþouten castel fond,

382

Al was destruyed, & al was reft,
Þe selue vynes þey ne left.
When Gwytard saw ner al was lorn,
So þat he ne mighte be byforn,
He saw hit was non oþer bote,
Bot ȝede & fel Arthur to fote,
& dide hym homage & feute,
Of hym to halden al his fe.
Syþen loued Arthur Gwytard ful wel,
Non so mykel, but only Ohel.
Þo oþere contres south fro ffraunce,
Arthur þem wan til his alliaunce.

Hic remunerauit Arthurus famulos & seruientes.

When Arthur had geten alle þo landes,
& wonne hem wyþ dint of his handes,
Til þo men þat trauailled sore,
Wel of elde þat wyþ hym wore,
ȝald hem þer sond & þer seruise,
Vnto þer contres he bad þem wyse.
But þo þat were ȝonge & wylde,
Þat neyþer hadde wyf ne childe,
& louede to bere spere & scheld,
Nyne ȝer in ffraunce he þem held.
Manye wondres by times sers
Bytydde Arthur þo nyn[e] ȝeres;
Many a proud man lowe he brought,
Til many felon, wo he wrought;
Enuyous men he hated alle,
Þe mysproude ful lowe dide falle.

383

Þer haue men bokes of al his lyf,
Þer are his merueilles red ful ryf;
Þat we of hym here alle rede,
Þere were þey writen ilka dede.
Þyse grete bokes so faire langage,
Writen & spoken of ffraunces vsage,
Þat neuere was writen þorow Englischemen,
Swilk stile to speke, kynde ne can,
But ffrensche men wryten hit in prose,
Right as he dide, hym for to alose;
In prose al of hym ys writen,
Þe bettere til vnderstande & wyten.

Hic diuisit Arthurus Prouincias, & dedit Ducibus Comitibus, Baronibus, Militibus, & aliis, secundum probitates suas.

Arthur at Pasches, at Parys,
He held his feste of gret[e] pris:
Til alle þo þorow hym had lorn,
Restored he als þey were byforn;
Riche or pore, gentil or þral,
Þat he þem aughte, he ȝald þem al.
After þat he was worthy,
He ȝald þer seruise largely:
To Kaye þat was his stywarde,
Aungowe he gaf hym til his part;
He gaf also sire Beduer,
Þat was of fe his boteler,
He gaf hym in fe all Normandie,
But þenne hit was cald Neustrie;

384

Boloyne he gaf to sire Holdyn,
And Mayne to Borel his cosyn;
He gaf giftes of honurs,
& landes & rentes, to vauasours.

Reuersio Arthury in Angliam, in Mense Aprilis.

When he had feffed his barouns,
& mad his priues lordes of touns,
Þe nexte April, when somer gan,
Til Ingeland wente ilka man.
When men wiste þat þey wer comen,
Ageyn Arthur faste þey nomen;
Þey made suche ioye, non myghte be more;
Hys longe dwellyng þem for-þoughte sore;
Ladyes kyste þer lordes swete,
Modres & childre for ioye gon grete,
Sones welcomed þer fadres home,
& made al murthe for þer come;
Lemmans leue ilk oþer kest,
Of more þey esed hem when þem lest;
Neueus nyftes, sistres broþer,
Ilka frend welcomede oþer;
Þey stode in ilka strete & sty,
In grete routes men passed for-by,
Þey spirde at hem ‘how þey hadde faren,
‘& whi þat þey so longe waren,
‘& how þey spedde of þeyr conquest,
‘& what þey wonne so fer est,
‘& how þey ferde in al þer wo:
“We wole namore ȝe fare vs fro.”

385

& þen þey teld hem al þer chaunce,
How Arthur hadde wonne ffraunce,
& of merueilles þat þey had sen,
& in what peryl þey had ben.

Þe lordynges of þys lond
Þat Arthur bifore hym fond,
Riche presentes þey hym sent,
Hys longe dwellyng mykel þey ment;
& he ageyn was ful curteys,
Some gaf he hors or oþer harneys;
Gladly he gaf, & largely.
ffor to schewe his curtesy,
ffor to schewe his grete prowesse,
& do by-knowe his grete richesse,
& for to speken of his dedes
Þat alle kynges doutes & dredes,
Þey conseilled hym his lond to somoune,
At Whitsonday, to do hym coroune.
At Kerlyon in Glamorgan,
Dide somoune þyder ilka man.
Karlyoun was som tyme riche,
Rome & hit lykned y-liche;
Hit standeþ on a water men calleþ Vsk,
To Seuarne hit rennes by bank & busk;
In Vsk men myghte þider wende,
Outlandes fer þat þider wol lende;
On þat o syde ran þat ryuer,
Þat oþer side, fforest, ful of der;

386

Venisoun þer was ynow,
Plente of fysche in water þey drow;
Large medes wyþ gras plente,
Lond to tile, non bettere myght be.
Two kyrkes were in þe toun,
Þat tyme had þey gret renoun;
Of seint Iuly was þat on,
Þat oþer was of seint Aaron.
Seint Iuly in martirdam gan deye,
Nonnes were at his abbeye;
Seint Aaron, þer was þe byschopes se,
Þe heued kyrke of þe cyte;
Þer-of Arthur was [þe] ffoundour,
& set hit in seint Arons honour;
Þer were chanons of clergye,
& knewe þem wel in astronomye;
To knowe þe sternes, þer tente þey leyd,
& til Arthur often seyd,
Þat what þyng he was aboute,
He schulde spede wyþoute doute:
Wel was þat tyme at Kerlyoun!
But siþ þat tyme haþ hit go doun.
ffor þe plente of ffysche & flesche,
Of wode & water, hey & gres,
Of housyng, & of oþer aysement
By water & londe men broughte & sent.
Þen seide Arthur he wolde þer holde
ffeste wyþ alle his barons bolde,
& at þat selue samenynge
He seyde he wolde be corouned kynge.

387

Exe quot Reges Comites & Barones venerunt ad coronacionem Arthury.

Messegers he dide sende
ffor kynges & ducs, fer & hende,
And for erles & barouns,
Knyghtes of castels, lordes of touns.
A legat fro Rome was sent
ffor to make þe corounement;
Erchebischopes were þer þre,—
At Londone was þenne þe se,
Þat oþer was at Euerwyk,
At Kaerlioun was seynt Dubryk;—
Of Scotland king Agusel,
Þat til Arthur was ful lel;
Of Murreue þe kyng Vrian,
Wyþ hym com his sone Ywayn;
Stater of Southe Walys al,
Of North Walys þe kyng Cadwal,
Cador þe Erl of Cornewaille,
ffor Arthur hadde many trauaille;
Sire Moryond þe Erl of Gloucestre,
Sire Mauryce þe Erl of Wyncestre,
Gurgoynt þe Erl of Hereforde,
& sire Beus of Oxenforde,
Sire Vrgence þe Erl of Bathe,
Þere þe Saxons dide scaþe;
Sire Cursal of Chestre was,
Of Dorcestre sire Ionatas,
Emoraund þe Erl of Salesbury,

388

& Kynmar, kyng of Kaunterbury,
Sire Baruk, Erl of Circestre,
& sire Iugens of Leycestre,
Sire Ergal, þe Erl of Warewyk,
Hys men come to court ful þyk.

De filiis Magnatum.

Of þer childre hit seis þe names;
To nemne hem here, litel hit frames:
Þer was Porfodes sone, Donaunt;
& sire Regines sone, Elaunt;
& Coyles sone highte Keneus;
& Catel sone, Catellus;
& oþer names selcouþ to telle,
But hit ys nought on þem to dwelle;
Þyse serued atte rounde table;
To rekene þem alle hit ys but fable.
So manye þer were in chaumbre & halle,
Men schuld yrke to telle þem alle;
What of þo þat y fond writen,
& of þo þat fewe men wyten,
Hit are but fewe þat can þem telle,
& þo þat can, þer-to ne wyl dwelle.

Nomina Regum.

Outlandische kynges þat of hym held,
Þat bowed vntil Arthures scheld,
Þo þat he wan wyþ his hand,
Gwylomar þe kyng of Irland,

389

Þe kyng of Demark, sire Askyl,
Loth of Norweye com hym tyl,
Goneweys þe kyng of Orkeneye,
(By Irland he cam in his weye,)
Doldan þe kyng of Gouthland,
& Reumarek, kyng of Wentland,
Of Nauare þe kyng, & of Gascoigne,
Sire Liger, þe Erl of Boloyne,
And of fflaundres, þe Erl Holdyn,
Of Chartres, þe Erl Geryn,—
He was a man noble & fers,
Wyþ hym come alle þe dusze pers,—
Sire Gwytard, þe Erl of Peyters,
& sire Caye, lord of Aungers;
Of Normandie, sire Beduer,
(Of fe þe kynges boteler,)
& of Manns, þe Erl Borel,
Of Bretaigne, sire Ohel;
Sire Ohel & þo of ffraunce,
Þey were of noble contenaunce,
Wel clad & arayed y þe richest,
& horsed alle for þe best.

Pro quantis comoditatibus venerunt ad Curiam Arthuri.

Hit was no baron in al Spaigne,
Ne þennes in-til Alemaigne,
Þat he til Arthures feste ne ferde,
Þat doughti was, & þer-of herde;
Somme, hym seluen for to se,

390

& to byholde his meyne;
& somme, to se on what wyse
Þey ordeigned þer faire seruise;
& some, to se þe Table Rounde
Þat neuere byforn þat tyme was founde;
& somme, to se his faire paleys;
Somme, to biholde his riche harneys;
Somme, þe folk to by-howe;
& somme, his knyghtes for to knowe;
& somme, for his geftes gode;
& somme, for his noble fode;
& somme come for to haue bailly;
& somme, to lere þere curtesy.

When Arthures court was plener,
& alle were comen, fer & ner,
Þe erþe abouen stired & quok,
So faste hors & man þer schok:
Þer was puttynge, þristinge, & þro,
Wyþ fot-folk þat come to & fro,
Innes for to teme & take;
Þat non hadde, pauilons did make;
Þer maistres mareschals ferde aboute,
Deliuered innes wyþynne & wyþoute;
Bordes broughte, cordes & cables,
& made mangers to stande in stables.
Þen mighte men se þe ladies lede
Many fair palfray & stede
In mud, in mires, to soille & dasche,
Siþen in wayers to watre & wasche,
Syþen to wype, & to mangers teye,
Hey & prouende byfor þem leye.

391

Þenne come chaumberleyns & squiers,
Wiþ riche robes of mani maners,
To folde, to presse, & to pyke,
& somme to hange, & som to strike,
Manteles, forours of riche pris,
Of meneuer, stranlyng, veyr, & gris;
Oþer pelure ynowe þer were,
Þe names of þem y ne wot what are,
Lomb or boge, conyng or hare,
Y ne knowe me nought in swylk chaffare.

Þe morn when þe feste schuld be,
Come þe Erchebischopes of þer degre;
Wyþ hym, of Rome cam þe legat;
And oþer bischopes of mener stat;
&, right als þe story seys,
Dubrice corouned hym in his paleys;
A legat of Rome & he
Dide þer þat solempnete.
When he was corouned on þat wyse,
To þe kyrke þey ȝede to þer seruise;
Þe two Erchebischopes þat þer war,
Þey ledden hym, ys armes vp bar,
& sette hym in a riche chayer,
Þer he scholde his seruise her.
ffoure swerdes of golde were born
Wyþ foure kynges hym byforn,—
Þat seruise fel to þer scheld
When þat Arthur his feste held,—
Þe kyng of North Walys & of Scotland,
& of Southe Walys (þus wryten y fand),

392

Of Cornewaille, þe Duk Cador,
Þe fferþe swerd bar he þor;
Þaw his stat were nought so hey,
ȝit was he man ful wel worþy.
Dubrice, þat was a noble prelat,
& of Rome þe Legat,
Þat office þey dide, þey myghte best,
Of dignete þey were heyest.

De Regina Guenore.

Þe Quen Guenore, on hure syde
Was serued of mykel pryde,
ffor scheo had byfore y-sent
After leuedys & maydens gent
Þat were of hure owen kynde,
& oþer of pris þat scheo myght fynde;
Quenes, cuntesses, oþer laydys mo,
Comen to mayntene þe fest þo;
And in hure chaumbre vpon a pal
Þey corouned hure wyþ a coronal.
When scheo was corouned, þe leuedys
Led hire to kyrke of Seint Iulys;
Þer were þe nonnes of religion,
& þer þe Messe schulde be don.

De processione eorum.

To ben a twynne, so þey ches,
ffor to departe þer mykel pres;

393

Þey myghte nought be in o stede,
ffor folk vnryde, & mykel crede.
ffoure ladies wente þe same assise
As þe kynges dide Arþures seruise,
ffour white douues byforn hure bare;—
Þe ladies, kynges wyues ware;—
& after þem come oþer leuedys
Richely cled in pourpre & bys,
In cloþes of golde þat schon so schene,
& oþere in scarlet & in grene,
Alle were þey richely y-dight;
Þer was neuere seyen swyche a sight!
I trowe þer were many doude
Þat proudly spak for noble schroude;
Ilkon oþer faste byheld,
And of þe faire, mykel was of teld.

De Cantu ad Missam.

When þe Procession was gon,
Þe Messe bygan sone anon:
Þer myghte men se fair samninge
Of þo clerkes þat best couþe synge,
Wyþ treble, mene, & burdoun,
Of mani on was ful swete soun;
Of þo þat songe heye & lowe,
& þo þat couþe org[a]nes blowe,

394

Inow þer was of menestralcie,
& of song gret melodye.
Þer myght men se folk come & go
To þe kyrkes, boþe to & fro,
Of knyghtes & [of] squiers bolde
To listne song, leuedis byholde;
ffro þat o kyrke to þe oþer þey ran;
Where was þe beste, wyste no man;
At neyþer þem þoughte þey dwelled longe,
Ne nought were ful to here þe songe;
ȝyf hit had ben at her pay,
Þat song had lasted al þat day.

When þe Messes were boþe done,
& homward þey were al bone,
Þe kyng dide of his atir þar
Þat he vntil þe kirke bar,
& tok anoþer of lasse peys;
Þe quene dide þe same weys;
Þeir heuy atir þey dide of boþe,
& in lightere dide þem cloþe.
Þe kyng com vntil his paleys
& sat atte þe mete þat ilke weys;
Þe quene vntil anoþer ȝede,
& þe leuedis wiþ hure gan lede:
But custume was whilom in Troye,
Þat when þey made feste of ioye,
Men to-gydere schuld go to mete,
Þe ladys by þem self schuld ete;
Þe Bretons had þe selue vsage,
Þey were of þe Troiens lynage;
Þat ilke vsage was at þer feste,

395

No womman cam among þer geste;
Þe wommen wyþoute men schuld be,
But seruiturs of here meyne.

De nobile Conuiuio & seruientibus.

Þe kyng was set vp at þe des,
Þer was in ful mykel pres,
But aboute hym þe lordynges sat,
Ilkon after his astat.
Kay was styward, chosen of alle
To serue byforn þe kyng in halle;
Hys cloþyng was god & fyn,
& þe pelure of eremyn;
Wyþ hym serued byfore þe kyng
A þousand y þe same cloþynge;
Out of the kechene serued sire Kay,
& alle his felawes þat day.

Sire Beduer on þat oþer partie,
He serued of þe botelerye;
Wiþ hym was clad in eremin
A þousand þat serued of þe wyn:
Was þer non þat serue bad,
But he in riche pelure were clad.
Þe kynges coupe sire Beduer bar,
& ȝede byforn al þat þer war;
After hym come alle þe route
Þat serued þe lordes alle aboute.

Þe quene was serued ful richely,
Hure seriauntz were assigned redy

396

In alle offices for to serue,
& byfore þe ladys kerue.
Many a vessel was þer riche,
Of sere colours, nought alle y-liche;
Of metes many manere seruise,
& seer drynkes of þat wyse.
Al þe nobleye couthe y nought telle,
Ne y naue no stounde þer-on to dwelle,
Þe names to seye of þe richesse,
Ne of þe men of prowesse;
Was þer no lond in al þe werd,
Of gode knyghtes so mykel of herd.
Was þer no knyght of so hey blod,
Ne so mykel hadde of wordles god,
Þat þer fore scholde be holde in pris,
But he in dede were proued þrys;
Þries y-proued atte þe leste;
Þen was he alosed at þe feste,
Þen schulde his armes þat men knew,
& his cloþyng [be] al on hew;
þe same queintise his armes had,
In þat same schuld he be clad;
& his wyf clad y þe same colour,
ffor hure lord was man of honur.
ȝyf on were doughti, & sengle man,
Þen schuld he chese hym a lemman;
Elles schold he nought be byloued

397

But he had ben in bataille proued.
Þo leuedys þat were holden chast,
ffor noþyng wolde do no wast,
Þo leuedis were clad al in on,
& by þeir cloþyng men knewe ilkon.

De diuersis Ludis ibidem.

When þey had eten, & schulde rise,
Ilk man dight hym on þat wyse
Þat he best couþe inne playe.
In to þe feld þey tok her waye,
& parted hem in stedes sers
To pleye ilkon on þer maners:
Somme iusted, þat couþe & myght,
ffor to schewe þer stedes wyght;
Somme skipte, & keste þe ston,
& somme skirmed ful god won,
Dartes schoten, launces cast,
& þo þat couþe, wrastled fast.
Ilkon pleide þe gamen þey couþe,
Þat mest had vsed in his ȝouþe;
Þat best dide in his pleynge,
He was brought by-fore þe kynge,
& þe kyng gaf hym mede,
Þat he was paied er þat he ȝede.

Þe ladies vpon þe walles stey
ffor to biholde al þer pley;
Who so hadde lemman þan in place,
Toward hym turned boþe eye & face;
On boþe sides ilk oþer byhelde,

398

Þo on þe walles, þey in þe felde.
Iogelours were þere ynowe,
Þat þer queyntise forþ drowe;
Many mynestrales þorow out þe toun,
Som blewe trompe & clarioun,
Harpes, pypes, & tabours,
ffyþeles, sitoles, sautreours,
Belles, chymbes, & symfan,
& oþere y-nowe, þat nemne y ne can;
Gestours, singers, þat merye sang,
So gret murþe was, þat ouer al rang;
Dysours y-nowe tolde þem fables,
& somme pleide wyþ des & tables,
& somme pleide at hasard fast,
& lore & wonne wiþ chaunce of cast;
Somme þat wolde nought of þe tabler,
Drowe forthe meyne for þe cheker
Wyþ draughtes queinte of knight & rok,
& oþer sleyghtes ilk oþer byswok;
At ilka mattyng þei seide ‘chek;’
Þat most þer loste, sat y þe blek.

399

De donis Arthury.

Þre daies þe feste sat—
I trowe neuere non was lyke þat—
& when hit cam to þe Wodnesday,
Þat þe people schuld parte, to wende þer way,
Þe kyng þem gaf his giftes riche,
Þo þat til his seruise were briche,
& for þer seruises held hem at fees;
& somme he gaf burwes & cites;
Bischopes & abbotes, auaunced þer rent
Er þan þey fro his court[e] went;
And oþere þat of strange landes were,
Þat for worschip were come þere,
He gaf þem stede, & coupes of golde,
& oþere iuels, þe beste on molde;
Somme gaf he hauberks, & somme grehoundes,
Somme riche robes, wyþ many poundes,
Somme manteles wyþ veyr & grys,
& somme masers of riche pris,
& somme helmes, & somme hauberkes;
& gode palefrays he gaf to clerkes;
Bowes, arewes, he gaf to archers,
Rounsyes gode vnto squiers;
Som gaf he plates & swerdes of plyght,
Somme gyrdles & knyues ful richely dight;

400

Somme gaf he ewer & basyn,
& somme pelure of fyn eremin.
Vnto disours þat telde þem gestes,
Gaf he cloþes, or wylde bestes,
Lyouns, lepards, þat wold þem take,
Beres & apes boþe white & blake;
Was þer non ought worthy
Þat he ne gaf hym ful bleþely,
& after þat his astat was lyft,
Als he rewarded hym of gyft.

De Nunciis Lucii Inperatoris Rome.

Ryght als þis giftes were in gyuyng,
& alle y-serued, knyght & kyng,
Arthur sat [vp]on þe des,
And aboute hym his mykel pres
Of kynges, dukes, erles, & barouns,
& of straunge lordes & Bretons,
& schulde haue taken leue, & went,
Twelue messegers til hym were sent
ffro þe Emperour of Rome:
Two to-gydere, faire þey come
In to þe halle, Arthur byforn,
Wyþ olyue braunches in handes born,
Wyþ softe pas & [fulle] seine
Gret þei Arthur & his meyne:
Þey seide þei were “messegers,
“Comen in pes & in faire maners

401

“Out of Rome, þenne ful fer,
“ffro þe Emperour Lucius Iber,
“Þat ys oure lord lef & dere;
“By vs he sendes his lettres here,
“& þe comaundeþ on alle weys
“Þat þou do as þis lettre seys.”
Þe lettre in his hand þey leyde;
List now what þe lettre seyde:

fforma litere Lucii Inperatoris.

“Lucius, þat Rome had in baillie,
“& ouer þe Romains haþ maistrie,
“Sendeþ til Arthur þe Bretoun
“Als on of his enemys feloun.
“Me merueilles mykel, & ilka Romayn,
“& merueillyng, we haue disdeyn
“Þat þou dar bere þe so heye,
“Ageyns a Romayn open þyn eye.
“Y wondre at the bost þou makest,
“& at wham þou conseil takest,
“Ageyn Rome to reyse strif,
“Þe whiles þou wost o Romayn has lyf.
“Þou gaf þy self a sory chek,
“Ageyns Rome to reise cuntek,
“Þat al erthe þorow dom hit demes,
“& as hed of al þe word hit ȝemes!
“Þou wot nought, ȝit wist shal hit be,
“Ne nought hast seyn, but þou schalt se,

402

“How gret hit ys to wrathe Rome
“Þat al þe werd schal iustice & dome!
“Ageyn kynde hastou gon!
“Reson ne mesure hastou non!
“Wheþen come þou? what þyng þe boldes?
“Oure truage takes, & has, & holdes,
“Oure landes vs reues as þou wyldes,
“& til vs no þyng þou [ne] ȝeldes!
“What right hastow þer vnto?
“Þy folye hit ys þat þou didest so!
“ȝyf þey may longe wyþ þe so leue,
“Þat we þorow force þe þem nought reue,
“Þen may þou seye, & scorne, þe wheþer
“Þat þe wolf fleþ for þe weþer;
“& ȝit þat he so longe slep
“Þat durste nought wake to asaille a schep,
“Or þat a got þe wolf dyd dare,
“& þe grehound fledde for þe hare.
“But swilk a þyng may nought bitide!
“Namore schal hit on oure syde!
“Oure auncestre Iulius Sesar
“Wan Bretayne (art þou nought war?)
“And tok trewage þer-of longe—
“ffour hundred ȝer we gon hit fonge,—
“& of oþere ildes aboute;
“But now þorow þe we are wyþoute.
“ȝut hastou don vs more vilte
“Þan al þat los we telle to þe,
“Þat þou ffrolle, our baroun, slow,
“ffraunce & fflaundres from vs þou drow!
“ffor þou hast of Rome no doute,
“Ne til his lordschip wil þou loute,

403

“Y make þe somouns vnto Rome,
“& comaunde þe þat þou come,
“ffolewyng atte nexte heruest.
“Hit schal nought helpe cheson to kest;
“But com, & amende þyn vnright,
“Þat þou so slowe ffrolle oure knyght,
“& als amende on oþer weye
“Of þat we conne to þe seye.
“But ȝif hit be so þou make delay,
“Þat þou nelt come at þy day,
“Ne come til oure comaundement,
“Þan telly þe outrely schent!
“ffor, þorow force, ffraunce y schal þe reue;
“Of Bretayne nought o fote byleue!
“Y trowe nought þou wilt abide,
“& ȝyf þou do, þou schalt þe hide,
“& siker on þys half þe se
“Þou schalt nought dur schewe þe to me;
“& ȝyf þou on þys half bes,
“At my comyng for soþe þou fles,
“Þou schal nought tapice a night to slepe
“Þat y ne schal do þe sterte & lepe,
“& brynge þe to Rome in bondes,
“& leue þe þer in Romaynes hondes!”

At þat word was noise & cry
Of þe Bretons þat stoden ney;
Oþes þey swore þat “þey schold deye

404

“Þat broughte þat lettre of vylenye!
“& for his loue þat sente ȝow hyder,
“ȝe schul ben honged alle to-gyder!”
Lytel letted þey nadde be slayn or hirt;
But Arthur þenne anon vp stirt:
“Bretouns!” he saide, “holdeþ ȝow stille!
“Þe messegers schul haue non ylle!
“Ne neyþer ille haue ne here,
“But come & go in faire manere;
“Messegers of Rome þey are,
“In pes þey come, so schul þey fare;
“Þer message þat þei haue seyd,
“A lord þey haue, on þem hit leyd.”
When þe noyse was wel pesed,
& eft hadde þeir sittynge sesed,
Þe kyng tok wyþ hym two or þre
Of his wysest barouns priue,
Þat best couþe conseille til honour;
Wyþ hym þey ȝede vntil a tour,—
Þe name þer-of, hit was in haunt
As y fond writen, þe Tour Geaunt—
Þer sat Arthur, & þey byside,
To conseille how myghte best bytide.

Dicta Cadoris Cornubye.

Sire Cador spak firste, & low,
& seyde, “sire kyng, y schal sey ȝow:
“Often in studie haue y ben,
“And in gret drede ay bytwen,
“Þat þorow ildelnesse of pes
“Are Bretons feble & herteles;

405

“ffor Ildelnesse norischeþ but iuel;
“Temptacion of flesche & of þe deuel;
“Idelnesse makeþ man ful slow,
“& doþ prowesse falle right low;
“Idelnesse norischeþ lecherye,
“& doþ vs tente to such folye;
“Ildelnesse & long rest,
“ȝougþe in wast awey wil kest,
“& doþ men tente to folye fables,
“Tyl hasardrie, des, & tables.
“We haue now al þis fyue ȝer
“Lyued in lechours mester,
“& þorow rest & such soiour
“Haue we lorn gret honour.
“A long while þen haue we slept,
“Þat noman wakynge vs kept;
“But, þanked be God & oure lady,
“Now ar we wakned a party;
“Som grace is ronne in Romayns herte
“Þat þey chalange vs so smerte,
“Vs to bynime oure landes & fees,
“& oure conqueste of oþer contres.
“ȝyf Romayns be so coraious
“Þat þey wil do as þey send vs,
“ȝit schul þe Bretons wynne þem los
“Of Romayns þat in Rome gos;
“ffor longe pes louede y neuere,
“Ne nought ne schal, þey y lyue euere.”

Þenne spak Wawayn þe curteys:
“Merueillike, Cador, þou seys!

406

“After werre, god ys pes;
“& after wo, þe wele god ches;
“In pes ys don gret vasselage,
“ffor loue men doþ gret outrage.”
& at þat word þey set hem doun,
Þe kyng & ilka baroun.

When þe kyng saw þem set,
Alle þat were til conseil fet,
Þe kyng þoughte a þrowe, þen lifte his hed,
When þei hadde þer ianglyng leued:
“Barouns,” he seide, “þat ben now here,
“ȝe are my felawes, me ful dere;
“When y lese, ȝe haue part þer-ynne,
“& felawes ȝe are when þat y wynne;
“When wo or werre haþ me comen,
“ȝour part wyþ me haue ȝe nomen,
“As felawes in prosperite
“& felawes in aduersete;
“ffor wheþer y haue wonne or loren,
“ȝour hap wyþ me haue ȝe forþ boren;
“Þorow ȝoure help & god auys
“Hauy wonnen mikel pris;
“By water, by londe, haue y ȝow led,
“Þorow ȝow in nede haue y wel sped;
“Euere y haue founde ȝow trewe,
“& euere ȝour conseil god & newe;
“Alle þe londes þat y haue wonne,
“Wyþoute ȝow was nought bygonne.
“Þe Romayns, as ȝe haue herd
“By þys lettre þat here ys sperd,
“Me & ȝow þey manace fast,
“Wyþ grete wordes þey wene me gast.

407

“ȝyf God wil helpe me & ȝow;
“Þeir þret schal nought be for þer prow;
“Of vs gete þey neuere nought,
“But ȝif hit be ouer dere abought.
“Þey haue gret power, & ar ful riche,
“Þer nis no power to þeires liche,
“Þer-fore we moste bifore purueye
“What we wil do, what we wil seye,
“& auenauntly & resonable,
“& þat we seye, hold hit stable.
“A þyng for þought þat men wil rede,
“Hit is þe bettere mayntened at nede;
“An arewe þat ys schoten, ȝe se,
“Eyþer bihoues hit men fendit or fle;
“Þat same weys byhoues vs do.
“Þyse Romayns han yschoten vs to;
“Now conseille we, & keuere vs raþe,
“So þat her schetyng do vs no scaþe.
“Trewe þey aske, so haue þey had;
“Þat ys bihinde, send þem þey bad,
“Of þis lond & oþere mo;
“& ffraunce wil þey nought furgo.

Dicta siue Responcio Arthury ad Romanos.

“For Bretaigne wil y first answere,
“Writen in lettre þat þey schul bere,
“Answeryng for ȝow & me,
“Þat lettre wil y þat hit so be.

408

“Þus wil y seye, þus wol y write
“My skile; leste me a lite:
“Cesar of Rome þis land first wan,
“A[l] þorow fight & force of man;
“Þe Bretouns mighte nought defende;
“Trewe byhoued þem to sende;
“& force, ȝe wite wel, ys no god right,
“But pruyde out of mesure myght;
“Hit is no skile, ne lawe non makes,
“Þyng þat þou þorow force takes;
“& swylk giftes men schal furdo,
“Þat wyþ wrong was taken so.
“Þey repreue vs of our auncessours,
“Þat þey ouer-cam þem wyþ harde stours;
“Of pouerte þey make vmbreyd,
“& of trewage byfore seyd;
“& of þis þey make auauntement,
“Þat here-byforn our fadres schent.
“So mykel oughte we greue þem þe more.
“& þey ar halden vs to restore;
“Wel oughte we hat hem þat hem han hated,
“& bere hem doun þat hem abated.
“Þey wolde don vs þe same outrage,
“& seye hit ys þer heritage
“To haue oure godes, & vs to reuille!
“Þey schul nought bide eft þat while;

“But by þer resoun & þer dome,
“Wyþ skile y may chalange Rome;
“So wyþ skile & reson y may wel
“Þe lond of Rome aske euery del.

409

“Belyn was kyng of Bretouns,
“And Brenne duk of Burgoilouns;
“Þyse breþere, of Bretaygne born,
“Conquered Rome here byforn,
“& of Rome tok truages,
“& henge þer twenty of þeir hostages
“Byfore þer eyen, þat þey myght se,
“& siþen conquered al þe cite.
“When Belyn turnde to Bretayne,
“Of Rome he made Brenne cheftayne,
“& bad hym gouerne al þe honour,
“& he so regned as Emperour.
“Now wil y late of Belyn,
“& speke y wil of Constantyn,
“Constances sone & Eleynes,
“Þat held Rome als his demeynes.
“Constance, of Rome had seynurye fair,
“& Constantyn þen was his heyr,
“& y am heir of Constantyn;
“Þorow þat desent Rome schal be myn.
“Maximyan, Leons sone,
“Kyng of Bretayne, at Rome gan wone;
“He wan Neustrie, þe Lesse Bretayne,
“& al ffraunce & Alemayne,
“& al Mongow & Lombardye,
“And of Rome hadde þe seignurye;
“Þyse were myn ancessours of scheld,
“Þat only þe honour of Rome held.
“Now þorow skil haue ȝe knowen
“Þat Rome by reson schold be myn owen
“Al so wel as Bretayne þeyres,
“Þorow eld auncetrie til heyres.

410

“Rome had trewage, & hit fur-sok;
“& trewe of Rome myn auncestres tok;
“Þey cleyme Bretayne, & y cleyme Rome;
“Þat we boþe cleyme, ȝut ys to come;
“Let þem wynne hit ȝif þat þey may,
“ȝit haue y kept hit al my day.
“ffraunce y wan of ffrolle þer knyght;
“To kepe hit lengere he hadde no myght;
“Þorow force þey wonne hit, als y hit wan;
“Wyþ force so mighte anoþer man.
“Wherto chalange þey so bolde
“Þat þey ne myghte no lenger holde?
“Þorow right skil haue þey no seruise,
“But al þorow force & couetyse,
“Þat ys to anoþer al so fre
“Als hit was to þeym or me.
“Þe Emperour makeþ vs gret manace,
“Out of þis lond me for to chace,
“& in bondes to Rome lede.
“Nolde God he scholde so spede!
“Y preyse hym litel, & drede hym lesse!
“ȝyf he on me wil seke prowesse,
“Encountre he getes er þat he go,
“Þat eft ne schal he me manace ne slo,
“Ne to none of myne do ylle;
“So schul we don hym chaunge his wille.
“But when þey come to chalangyng,
“Bryng Rome, & y schal Bretayne bryng!
“& whilk of vs þat most may,
“Bere Rome & Bretayne boþ a-way.”

411

Dicta Ohelys Regis.

When Arþur had seid his resoun,
Wel was hit alowed of ilka baroun.
Wiþ o word seide þei alle at ones,
“Wel haue ȝe seid, sire, for þe nones!”
When þei were stilled a party,
ffirst spak sire Ohel þat sat hym by,
& seide: “no man ȝong ne old
“Schuld ought amende þat ȝe haue told;
“But syþen þou sest þat þou art þret,
“& may nought passe wyþoute baret,
“Somoun þy folk, & make þem ȝare,
“& set þem day when þou wilt fare.
“But make no long drecching þer-to,
“ffor y wile, ȝif þat þou wilt so,
“& passe Moungu in to þe mountz,
“& holde day of þy somouns.
“& ȝif we wende so alle to-gyder,
“& he se þat we come þyder,
“So may bytide, þen schal hym rewe
“Þat he bigan þis bale to brewe;
“& hit bytydes many stoundes,
“Þat who so bygynneþ, hym self confoundes.
“I trowe þat God wil vs auaunce;
“Grace ys to-ward, & gode chaunce.
“Þe Emperour sendes after þe;
“Sek hym þer-fore, wher so he be,
“& baldely bede we on hym þe bars;
“Sone schul we se þen ho ys chars;

412

“Set þe Emperour in swylk a drede
“Þat he tys court nere dur vs bede.
“Loke what seis þe prophesie,—
“Sibille þe sage [þat] wil nought lye:—
“Þe Bretons, of Bretayne schul come,
“& þorow force gouerne Rome.”
“ffoure ar passed, wel we mene;
“Þou art þe fifte schal do þem tene;
“Þe fifte þou art, y wot hit we[l],
“Þat Rome schal haue ilkadel.
“Syn so ys ordeyned to bityde,
“Wher-to schold we longe abide?
“Auaunce now boþe þy self & ous!
“Oure wil to helpe ys coraious;
“Y dar wel seye, so hastou founde,
“ffor we ne doute no dynt ne wounde,
“Ne deþ, ne prison, ne langour,
“So wilne we faste þyn honour!
“Leue nought now, but faste þe spede,
“& y schal, ȝyf þat þou haue nede,
“Come wyþ ten þousand of gode knyghtes,
“Horsed & armed at alle rightes.
“& ȝyf þou for tresour lette,
“Al my lond schal y wed-sette
“ffor gold & seluer, þe to take,
“Er þou þis viage schuld fursake.”
(Seint Dubrice, þe holy man,
At kyng Arþur tok leue þan
ffor to chaunge his abyte,

413

& bycam anon heremyte;
& Dauid, Arthures em, hit tok,
Þe erchebischopriche þat Dubrice fursok.)

Dicta Aguselly, Regis Scocie.

After þe speche of sire Ohel,
Seyde þe kyng sire Agusel,
Sire Lothes broþer, & sire Vrien,—
Alle þre were doughti men,—
& seide, “ȝyf þou wilt werre bygynne,
“Spek now to þo þat ar here-ynne,
“Þe beste of alle þy baronage,
“Þat wyte & herden þe message,
“And wite þer wille, what þey wil do,
“& what þat þey may helpe þer-to.
“Now ys tyme to purueye
“Of help, & god conseil to seye,
“Alle þo þat of þe holde,
“Riche lordes, & barouns bolde,
“Þat oughte to helpe þe þorow skile,
“& wel y trowe þat so þey wyle.
“No tydynge neuere y ne vnderstod
“Þat gladed me so mikel in mod,
“As wyþ þe Romayns for to werre,
“Þat alle men in þer daunger sperre.
“Y ne may þem nought loue ne preise,
“ffor þey ar proude & vncurteyse,
“Gode men so mykel to despise,
“Þat schul nought liue but in þer seruise;
“& þey ar men of non honour,
“But couetous to gedere tresour,

414

“Gode men wyþ-al to noye,
“& þer londes to robbe & struye.
“Y trowe þei schul ȝit mis-bytide
“ffor þer couetise & þer pryde;
“Of þys þat þey haue y-sent,
“Þey schul be wrothe er hit be ent;
“Wonder were elles, or art me failles,
“But þey pleye wyþ repentailles.
“& þaw þey neuere had hit by-gonne,
“We scholde þorow right on þem haue ronne
“ffor to venge our auncessours,
“& bate þer pride as þey wolde ours.
“Þey seide þey had of þeym trewage,
“& chalange hit for here heritage:
“I trowe þat þey nere þem non gaf,
“But þorow force þem ouer haf,
“As þeues robbed þem, & reft:
“Þat wil we chalange of þem now eft;
“Wyþ force þey gaf hit to þe Romayns,
“Wyþ force we wil haue hit agayns.
“So harde oure force may to þem byte,
“Þat alle oure scaþes schul þey quyte;
“We haue wonnen many a stour,
“& ouer al born a-wey þe fflour,
“So schul we ȝit þer pride abate,
“ffor þer couetise & þeir hate.
“Þat we haue wonne, y sette at nought,
“But ȝif þe Romayns to ryng be brought;
“Noþyng now desire y more
“Þan þider-ward we redy wore,

415

“& þat we were at þe bataille,
“To se who scholde best assaille;
“Þer schuld we wynne prowesse & prow,
“Hors, harneys, tresor ynow;
“Ȝif God vs graunte our lyf to saue,
“Þat we þem aske, we schul wel haue,
“Rome & al þat þer-to langes;
“Þen schul we ryghte, þat now vs wranges.
“Ȝyf God wil graunte vs wel to venge,
“Toward hym we schal wynne Lorrenge
“& Alemayne, ȝyf þat we may;
“Algate, ȝut schul we make assay!
“Als y seye, so wol y rede,
“& þat ilke wil do in dede.
“Ȝif God me graunte wel to spede,
“Two þousand schal y wyþ me lede,
“& fot folk ynowe, gode at nede:
“Ȝif God wyle, noman schul we drede!”

When þen Scottysche kyng had his tale told,
Alle þey seide wyþ tonge o fold,
‘Þat schent he schold be of hem alle,
‘On wham þat þe wendyng schulde nought falle.’
When ilkon had seid his wylle,
Arthur listned, & sat ful stille,
Let calle a clerk wyþ inke & penne,
& bad hym write he scholde hym kenne.
Als he had seyd in alle maners,
& bitaught hit þe messegers

416

ffaire folden, & wel enseled,
& to þer maister was hit deled,
& dide þem alle gret honour,
Y-now he gaf hem of tresour,
& bad hem seye to þe Emperour,
Þat “Arthur of ffraunce [is] gouernour,
“& of Bretaigne chef & flour,
“& schal defendit, castel & tour,
“& be þer warant & socour
“Ageyns Romayns to stonde in stour.”
“Seis ȝour lord, y wil nought let
“To come þat day þat he haþ set;
“No trewage to ȝelde, but trewage to fet;
“Loke he be redy, do þat he het!”

Þe messegers þer leue þey tok,
Toward Rome þer wey þey schok,
& telde þe Emperour, when þey come,
Þe grete nobleye of Arthures home,
How mykel folk þey wyþ hym fond,—
So doughti þer nar in no lond,—
& in what stede his court he held,
Al þe stat þer-of, þey teld,
How curteisly to þem he spak,
“Nought but wysdom of his mouþ brak;
“Nys non on lyue, cayser ne kynge,
“Þat semeþ so wel his beryng,
“Ne so curteys þer-wyþ-al;
“His giftes ar large, & stonde in stal;
“Þer ys no kyng doþ suche costages
“Of mete ne drynke, ne giftes of wages;

417

“Ne swilk seruise ys þer non
“In no court, as in his allon.
“To aske hym trewe, hit is for nought;
“He þenkes to aske ȝe þennes brought.”
Þe chartre þey schewed þer barouns,
& seide, “swich ys Arthures respouns.”

When þe Romayns had wel herd
How þe messegers answerd,
& þeir lettre acorded wel
Vntil þer sawe ilka del,
Þat Arthur wolde no seruise do,
But haue trewage,—þe lettre wild so,—
Þey seide to the Emperour alle aboute,
“Wyþ force ȝe schul don hym loute.
“Passeþ Moungu wiþ host right stoute;
“& ȝif he come, we schal hym route,
“& reue hym his regne, maugre his snoute,
“& wyþ righte force hold hym wyþoute.”

De Consilio Romanorum contra Arthurum, cum nominibus Regum eorum.

When Lucius wyste Arthures respouns,
He saw þe wille of his barouns,
& dide somoune wyþoute delay
To be redy byn þe twentyþ day,
Wyþ hors & harneys to wende al prest
Ageyn Arthur toward þe west:
“ffor y schal nere stynte no stounde
“Til y come þere þat þey hym founde.”

418

Nomina Regum.

ffirst com Epistrot þe kyng of Grece,
& Sire Otheon, Duc of Boece,
Sire Hurtak þe kyng of Turkeys,
A doughti knyght & a curteys,
Pandras þe kyng of Egipte,
& of Cyce þe kyng Ypolipte,—
He was of gret seignurie,
An hundred cites at his baillie;—
Out of Syre cam Ewander,
& out of ffryse þe kyng Teucer,
& out of Babilloyne sire Macipsa,
& out of Spayne sire Elephatina,
& out of Mede þe kyng Bockus,
& out of Lubye sire Sertorius,
Out of Bycynie sire Polidetes,
& out of Tyre þe kyng Serses,
Sire Musensar, kyng of Aufrik,—
A lond ferne a ful gret stryk;
But he broughte tresor gret plente,
& fair folk, & fele, to se.—
Þo þat were of þe senatours,
Men of Rome most of honurs,
Of þeym cam Marcel, Lucius, Catel,
Octa, Gayus, & sire Metel,
Manye oþere of þe same kynde,
Þat noman may þer names fynde;

419

& þey alle þe names wer founde,
Me þynkeþ hit were but tynt, þe stounde
To write þe names of so fele hounde
Þat were vncristned in þys mounde.
When alle were comen, symple & bolde,
ffour hundred þousand þer wer tolde,
& an hundred & foure score,
Alle armed men, hit telles byfore,
Wyþoute fotmen & seriauntye,
Þat þe noumbre kan non descrye.
When alle were comen þat þider schold come,
At þe Lammesse þey wente fro Rome,
& tok þer weye toward Moungu
Wyþ mykel noyse & cry & heu.

De tenentibus Regis Arthury.

When Arthur departed his meyne,
& schulde go þer þey wold be,
By name he made þem alle somouns
Er þey wente, alle þe barouns,
& preied hem of help at here myght,—
But þat þey saued wel þeir ryght;—
And how mikel ilkon myght brynge,
Þat wolde he wyte ouer alle þynge.
Irland, Gutland, & Norweye,
Denmark, Island, & Orkeneye,
Sex score þousand þey hym het,
Of alle þo landes gedered & fet,—
Knyghtes were namo of þo,
But oþere,—þat on fote most go;

420

On fote by-houed þem bere þer armes,
Dartes, gauelokes, & gysarmes;
Þat was þe manere of þer lond,
Þey hadde non oþer, ne non þem fond.

Of Normandye & of Angeowe,
Of Pykardie & of Peytowe,
And out of fflaundres & of Brabant,
ffour score þousand wyþouten want,
So mykel scholde þey fynde of fe,
& namore was þer ryght to be.
In ffraunce were þanne twelue lordes fers,
Þat men calle þe dusze pers;
Þyse dusze pers, lordes of ffraunce,
To Gerny of Chartres þey hadde alliaunce;
Eche of hem fond an hundred knyghtes
Þat fel to þer fe at alle rightes.
Ten þousand hette sire Ohel,
& two þousand sire Agusel;
& Arthur, of þys ilke lond
Sexti þousand knyghtes he fond,
Wyþ-outen fot-folk & archers,
& seriauntz & arblasters;
Of þyse y ne fond no noumbre y-writen,
Ne of na mo ne couþe men witen.

When Arthur wyste þe certeyn,
What ilk lord scholde brynge hym ageyn
Of men of armes of god array,
He preied hem come, & sette a day,
At Bareflete in Normandye,
Þider scholde come al þer nauye;

421

& ilkon certeynlike þey het
To be þere at þat day set.
Þen went alle hom, kyng & knyght,
& purueyd hem þat þey were dight.

De Modredo, ffratre Walwyny, traditore.

Sire Arthur hadde a cosyn,
Moddred he highte, a traitur fyn;
A noble knyght he was in stour,
But til his e[me] he was traytour.
Arthur bitaughtym his lond to kepe;—
Hym hadde ben bettere haue leid to slepe;
ffor he had loued þe quene priuely,
Arthures wyf, & leyn hure by;
Nought was perceyued bytwyxte hem to:
Who schuld haue trowed hit had be so?
Who wold haue went so synful lyf,
Þat þe cosyn had leyn by þe emes wyf?
& namely of swylk a man?
Þorow al þe werld his los of ran.—
Arthur bitaught hym Geneuere þe quen,
(Alas þat euere hit scholde so ben!)
& al þe lond saue þe coroune,
& schop his host to Southaumptoune,
Þer schipes y þe hauen ryden,
Þat Arthur & his folk abiden.

422

Þer myghte men se þe mariners,
Many wyght man in schipes fers,
Ropes to righte, lynes to leye,
By banke & brymme to tache & teye,
Cables to knytte aboute þe mast,
Þe sail on ȝerde þey feste ful fast,
Ancres, ores, redy to hande,
Roþeres, helmes, right for to stande,
Bowlyne on bouspret to sette & hale,
Cordes, kyuiles, atached þe wale;
When al was redy in god point,
Vnto þe lond þe schipes ioynt;
Somme stode in schipe, somme on sand,
Brygges & plankes þey caste to land,
Wyþ men & hors for to charge
Cogges, barges, & schipes large;
Brought yn helmes, hauberks & scheldes,
& al þat men yn bataille weldes,
Hors in to drawe, hors in to dryue;
Men hyed þer-after yn ful blyue.
When alle were inne, and mad al ȝare,
& þey on þer wey[e] schuld[e] fare,
To þeym o land þey preieden eft
To grete þer frendes þat þey had lefte:
On boþe parties was heuy chere
[Whan frendes departed leue & dere.]

When alle were ynne, & were o flote,
Mariners dighte þem to note,

423

Þer takel for to righte & taille,
By þe wynd wel for to saylle;
Ancres o bord, sayl drowen heye,
Þe wynd blew wel, þer schipe gon fleye,
& þe mariners þat weren sleye,
Ilkon dide þer maistrie:
Somme aforced þe wyndas,
Somme þe loof, somme þe bytas;
Þe mayster mariner was byhynde,
Þe schip to stere by þe wynde.
(Queynte he was, & right hardy,
& engynous man & sley,
Þat first fond schip on se to fare,
& turnde wyþ þe wynd þer he nyste whare,
Lond to seke þat he saw nought,
Ne whiderward he schulde be brought.)

De Sompno Arthury.

Sire Arthur hadde weder at wille,
Saflyk he seyled, wythouten ylle;
Hys folk was ioiful & gl[a]dly let,
ffor þeire pathe fare to Bareflet.
Atte midnyght men gaf god kep,
Arthur fel on slomber & slep;
In his slepyng als he gan lye,
Hym þoughte he sey a Bere flye
An hugely gret, a lothly best,
& fley faste towardes þe est.

424

O þat oþer syde a Dragon vp stey;
In to þe west hym þoughte he fley;
Of his mouþ a flaume cam out,
Þe lond, þe water, schon al about.
Þe bere assailled þe dragoun,
& he defended hym as a lyoun;
Wonderly ilk oþer gan assaille,
& strong was þanne þer bataille;
Scharply þer ilk oþer smot,
Bitterly boþe þey blewe & bot.
Þe dragon was swyft, & sleyly swypte,
Þe bere in his clawes he clypte,
& þriste hym so þat he to-barst,
& doun vnto þe erþe hym cast.
Arthur of his slepyng wok,
Gret tent of his drem he tok;
He askede clerkes sete hym aboute,
Wheþer hit mente drede or doute:
“Y wolde wyte what hit wolde mene,
“& wheþer hit tokned ioye or tene,
“& wheþer hit was help or dere,
“Þat þe dragoun slow þe bere.”

Interpretacio Sompny Arthury.

Somme þer were þus hit descried,
‘Hym self þe dragon signefied,
‘& þe bere som geaunt
‘Þat he schuld make recreaunt,
‘ffro fer schold come, & do gret wo,
‘& þorow force he schulde hym slo.’

425

Somme oþer weys gan hit rede,
But alle þey seyde he schulde wel spede;
Þen seide hym self, “y trowe hit menes
“Þis werre, & manye oþer tenes
“Bytwyxt me & þe Emperour.
“Let God al worthe, my creatour!”

At þat word þe day gan sprynge,
Þe sonne ros faire y þe mornynge,
& at þe sonne rysyng in god tyme
Þey come to Bareflete er pryme.
ffro schip to londe ful sone þey ȝede,
& in þe contre aboute gon sprede;
He seide he wolde his folk abyde,
Þo þat were nought come þat tyde.
Longe while dwelled he nought,
Þat tydynges men hym brought,
Þat þider was comen a geaunt,
& longe þer hadde ben his haunt;
Out of Spayne was he comen,
& [had] Sire Oheles nece y-nomen;
Mayde Eleyne was hure name,
He had hure taken to do hure schame,
& had hure brought vnto an hil,
Þat non ne myghte ne durste com til.—
Micheles Mount men calles hit now,
Þere þe geaunt Eleyne slow;
Was þer non auter ne no chapel
Þat ilke tyme þat þis chaunce fel;
Aboute þat hil þe water flowes,
Comeþ þer non þat he ne rowes.—
Þer was non þat hadde þat myght
Þat wyþ þe geaunt durst ones fight;

426

Somme þer were vmwhile wylde fonde,
& hym assailled by water & londe,
But he gaf nought of þeir assaut,
ffor þey fulle euere in þeir defaut;
ffor grete roches at þem he cast,
& þer schipes to-rof & brast.
Many were drenkled, fele were slayn,
Þo þat ascaped, hit was wyþ payn;
Þer-fore þe contre was ner al fled,
Þeir wonyng fursoke, þeir godes led,
& lefte þat lond wast & wylde,
ffor man or best, wyf or childe.
Þe geauntes name was Dynabrok,
A grysly man was on to loke.

De Gygante Dynabroke.

When Arthur hadde herd þe pleynt,
How wyþ þe geaunt þe folk was teynt,
He calde sire Caye & Beduer,
& ilk of þeym tok a squyer;
Armure dide þey wiþ hem lede,
& ilk of þeym tok hym a stede.
He nolde schewe hit to namo
Þat he wolde to þe geaunt go;
Ȝyf alle had wyst he wente so one,
Þe ost had ben abaischt ilkone;
He tristed wel in Godes grace
Þat he durste hym schewe his face,
& on his grete vaillauntise
Ar he durst take þat emprise.

427

Al þat ilke night þey ryden,
Þat þey no whar stynte ne biden,
Til hit was y þe morn[e] tyde
Þat þey seye wel þere bysyde
A bot standynge at a stage;
Þen hoped þey þere was þe passage.
Two hilles wyþynne þe water wore,
Þat on was lasse, þat oþer more;
O þe more hil þer was a fyr,
ffro ferre þey sey hit brenne schir;
Þe lasse hil was nought so drey
ffro þe more, but euene ney;
An oþer fir was on þat hil;
Þer-fore Arthur was al wyl
On whilk hil þe geaunt was,
Ne non couþe kenne hym þe righte pas.
Þen bad he sire Beduer “go
“To serche þe hilles to & fro;
“& when þou wost þe certeyn,
“Hye þe þanne to me a-geyn.”

Þenne Beduer dide hym in þe bot,
& on þe nexte hil he smot.
Beduer stod, & hym auysed
Whider-ward þe weyes wysed;
Þe nexte wey he tok vp hey,
& als he wente he herde a cry;
Gret pleynte he herde on make;
A party gan his herte quake;
He wende hit hadde þe geaunt ben,
Þat his comyng had wist or sen;
He drow hys swerd al so smert,
& gadered hardinesse of hert,

428

& þought þat ȝyf he wyþ hym mette,
Wyþ hym to fighte he wolde nought lette.
But al þat þenkyng was in vayn,
ffor on þe hil aboue þe playn
He fond a fir brennyng an hy,
& a toumbe newe þer-by;
Als he bar his swerd in hande,
By þe toumbe he sey on sittande,
A womman, ner al naked,
Aboute hure hed hure her to-schaked;
Biside þe toumbe þis womman lay,
& often cried “wey la way!”
& mente þe vilenye & þe peyne,
& seide, “alas for þe, Eleyne!”

De Tumba Elene, & de nutrice eius.

Beduer sey þe toumbe was newe,
& of hure deol his herte gan rewe.
Whan scheo perceyued sire Beduer,
Scheo saide, “cheytyf, what wiltow her?
“Som synne haþ þe hyder y-brought,
“Þat þy deþ her hastow sought;
“Þis day ys þe schape to deye,
“Ȝyf þe geaunt þe se wyþ eye.
“Þis ilke hil swyþe þou weyue,
“So þat he þe nought perceyue.”

“Wyf,” he seide, “for charite,
“Let þy gretyng, & spek wyþ me,
“& sey me what þou art, & why
“Þou wepest here so delfully,
“& ho ys leyd here on þis graue;

429

“& sey me soþ, so God þe saue!”

“I am,” scheo seyde, “a wo-bygon,”
“An helples þyng, a waryed on,
“& grete for a maydens myshap
“Þat whilom y norisched at my pap,
“& souke y gaf hure of my brest;
“& þis ys hure toumbe þat þou sest;
“Eleyne scheo highte, Oheles nece,
“Of flesche was non so fair a pece.
“To norische sche was me taught,
“Alas þe while y euere hure aught!
“So cam þis fend to þys contre,
“& tok boþe Eleyne & me,
“& broughte vs here vnto þis hyl,
“So þat noman dar come vs tyl.
“Eleyne he wolde haue furlayn,
“But sche ne myghte nought wyþ þat payn;
“He was so huge, ouer mesure,
“& scheo so ȝong, þat myght nought dure.
“Þorow gret destresse hire herte brast,
“In his armes scheo ȝald þe gast,
“& yn þys toumbe y haue hure leyd;
“& þus hit was als y haue seid.”

Þen seid he, “wherto dwellest þou here,
“Syþen sche ys ded þat was þe dere?”
“Sire,” scheo seyde, “y wil þe telle
“Ȝif þou durstest so longe dwelle.
“Sire, for y þe se of body auenaunt,
“& gentil man by [þi] semblaunt,
“When y sey Eleyne so schamely deye,
“My wit was lorn, & al a-weye;

430

“Wyþ force he dide me leue stille,
“His lecherie in me to fulfille.
“On God hym selue y take witnes,
“Þat al maugre myn hit es!
“& ilka tyme þat y him se,
“Y wilde be sonken, for y ne may fle;
“& y trowe he comeþ right sone,
“His lecherie wyþ me to done.
“Y telle þe ded, ȝyf þou here bydes,
“No þyng ne saueþ þe, ne hides;
“Swyþe þou fle, y gyue þe red,
“Y wolde nought þou were so ded.
“Ȝonder ys he, y schal þe kenne,
“On ȝone hil þer þou sest brenne;
“Sone to come his tyme schal be,
“Þer-fore, sire knyght, y rede þou fle,
“& let me haue my self my sorewe,
“My wille ys to be ded to morewe.”
Of hure wo sore hym ouer þought;
But he ne wiste what hure dought,
Ne to make long dwellyng.
He turned ageyn vnto þe kynge;
& als scheo seide, so he hym tolde,
How Eleyne deyde, & scheo in holde,
& he scholde fynde þe geaunt
Y þe more hil, þer was his haunt;
“Out of þat stede þe smoke cam fro,
“We may hym fynde ȝif þat we go.”

ffor Eleyne had Arthur sorewe ynow,
& abod til þe flod wyþ-drow.
Vntil þe ebbe a stounde þey bod,
Wiþ þer hors þen ouer þey rod,

431

& wenten bote a softe pas
Tyl þei perceiued wher he was.
Þeir stedes & þer palfreys
Þeir squiers helde, wiþ oþer harneys;
But sire Beduer & sire Kay
Ȝede wiþ Arthur vp þe way.
Arthur seide, “y wil proue my might,
“Wiþ þe geaunt alone to fight;
“Hold ȝow here byhynde a lyte;
“Alone on hym wil y first smite;
“While y may my selue saue,
“Oþer help wil y non haue;
“Me þynkeþ hit were no vasselage,
“Þre til on; hit were outrage!
“Nere þe les, ȝyf þat ȝe se nede,
“Bettere ys help þan ouer drede;
“ffor men seye, ‘hit ys folye
“‘In strengthe to mikel for to affye.’”
Þey seide, ‘for prowesse ne for ȝelp,
‘Ȝyf hit were ned, þey wolde hym help.’

De Occisione Gygantis Dynabrok per Arthurum.

Arthur alone þe hil he tok
Vnto þe geaunt Dynabrok.
By a mykel fir he sat,
Rostyng a swyn gret & fat,
& oþer flesche biside was sode;
His bryn, his berd, þer-wiþ al lothen,

432

& al to-soilled wyþ þe spyk:
I trowe þat syght was ful loþlyk;
But Arthur þoughte to haue þe grace
to smyte er he tok his mace.
When þe geaunt of hym was war,
fferly he hadde how he cam þar,
& stirte vp þenne al o glyft,
His grete mace for to lyft;
But Arthur auised hym wel ynow;
Als he hys mace vpward drow,
Arthur bar on hym wyþ his launce
To combren hym, als of chaunce;
Longe þey foughte, a wel god while,
But Arthur couþe mykel of gyle;
Nere sleighte & queyntise hadde ben, & gile,
Somme had be combred þer in a whyle;
ffor kyng Arthur neuere er was
Bystad in so hard a cas.
Dynabrok a-geyn hym stod
Wyþ his mace, as geaunt wod,
ffor þre men, wyþoute þe forþe,
Schuld nought haue stired his mace from erþe;
He sey wel how he made his mynt,
& wiþ his mace he teysed his dynt;
He wiste þe strok schulde be gret;
Vnder his scheld al he schet,
& ageyn his strok hit held.
Þen smot þe geaunt on his scheld,
& wyþ þat dynt so heuy & stronge
Þe hilles alle aboute ronge,

433

& al þat was þer-inne, hit schok
When Arthur þat dynt so huge tok.
Arthur was stoneyd, stakered, & stynt,
But ȝut fel he nought for þat dynt.
Anoþer strok wold he nought byde,
But peyned hym to smyte a syde
Wyþ his swerd Caliborne;
Scharply he gan hym torne;
Þat swerd he lifte wel on hey,
& valede his scheld a party;
Endlong his forehed he hym smot,
Þe swerd bot wel, & he was hot,
& entamed boþe his bryn
Þat al þe skyn heng ouer hys eyn.
Wyþ þat strok he hadde ben slayn:
His mace he held wel þer a-gayn,
& his heued a party glent,
Þat som of þe strok hit hent;
Netheles, wel was hit set;
Þe blod al ouer his eyen hit schet;
Þen lost he þer al his sight,
Þen wax he woder for to fyght,
Þen was he woder þen he was or,
ffightyng als a wylde bor,
Þe same weys so dide he;
When he sey þat he myghte nought se,
He ne lefte for swerd ne oþer hirt
Þat he vntil Arthur stirt;
Aboute his middel his armes he leyd,
& on Arthur so sore he breyd,

434

On heighte he lifte hym four fet;
& als he þere hym doun let,
Vpon his knes he hym kast.
Þen Arthur proued his force fast,
Our lady hym halp, his wille was god,
Wyþ force he ros, & he vp stod;
& Arthur was algate queynte,
& his wille was neuere feynte;
On þat syde he bar his scheld,
& þe geaunt nought ne held,
Wyþ þat he wroþ, & turnde his syde,
& dide his armes opene wyde.
When he hym self was fro hym broken,
& þat his body was nought loken,
fful lyght hym þoughte þat he was oute;
Wiþ Caliborne þen ran he aboute,
And euere on þe geaunt smot,
& Caliborne sore vpon hym bot.
Þe geaunt glente hider & tyder,
Þe blod so blent hym, he nyst whider;
He groped aboute hym for to hent,
& Arthur aboute hym euere went,
& smot hym sore woundes fele,
Nought of hym ne wolde he spele;
& at a turn þe geaunt stynt,
Arthur gaf hym so gret a dynt
O þe hed, þat in to þe nekke hit dref,
& in to þe schuldres þe panne he clef;
Ȝyt he after Arthur raught,—
Arthur wyþ-drow his swerd a draught,—

435

Þat he stombled, & gaf a cry,
A dredful & a loþly;
When he fel, he gaf a lasche
As wyþ a blast had falle an asche;
& for þat fal Arthur low,
He was venged hym þoughte y-now;
ffro ferre he stod, & loked on hym,
& seyde he was a geaunt grym;
He bad Beduer he schulde go
To smyte þe heued þe body fro,
& bytake hit a squier
To schewe hit al þe host plener.

Hic narrauit Arthurus Beduero & Kayo de gigante Rytone.

Þen telde Arthur to Beduer & Kay,
Þat he nadde neuere suche affray,
Of no geaunt but of on,
& þat geaunt highte Ryton;
fful manye kynges had he don slo,
& flow þe berdes of alle þo;
Til a pane, as a furour, he did hem tewe:
Loke ȝif Ryton were nought a schrewe!
Þat geaunt Riton sende his sonde
Til Arthur fro ferne londe,
& seide he scholde make hym a-ferd
But he flowe of his owen berd,
& sent hit hym vntil his pane,

436

To menske hit þer hit was wane;
& ȝyf he sent hit hym bleþely,
He schulde set hit most worschipfuly,
ffor he wolde vrle his pane wyþ-al
Aboute wiþ a ffylet smal;
And ȝyf Arthur wylde nought
Do als Ryton hym bisought,
Greyþe hym as sone as he myght,
ffor Ryton wolde wyþ hym fight;
& whilk of þem might oþer slo,
His berd he scholde don of flo,
& haue þe pane ilka del,
Þer-wyþ aboute vrle hit wel.
Arthur þen til Ryton went,
In bataille he slow hym & schent,
& wan þe pane & his berd;
O þe mount Derane he was conquerd.
Siþen fond Arthur neuere non
But Dynabrok, as was Ryton,
Þat neuere dide til hym in dede,
Þat he had of so mykel drede.
Þer þey hym slowe, þer þey hym leued,
& Beduer tok a squier þe heued,
To bere & schewe þe host aboute,
Wher þat þey were, & in what doute.
Sire Ohel ful sore byment
Þat his nece was so schent;
A fair chapel for hure dide make,
Of oure lady, for Eleynes sake.
Siþen þat tyme scheo was þer leyd,
ffor Eleyne, ‘Eleynes toumbe’ ys seid;

437

& so men han cald hit ay
‘Eleynes toumbe’ vnto þys day.

When þe host was al comen & ȝare,
Þo þat scholde wiþ Arthur fare,
No þrowe wolde he þare lye,
But passed sone al Normandie.
His folk wax wher-so he cam,
Þe doughtiest wyþ hym he nam,
Out of castel & of cite,
& passed Burgoyne, al þat contre;
Vntil Hostum, þyder he þought;
& þennes tidynges men hym brought,
Þat þey of Rome com wyþ gret route,
& tok þe contre al aboute.

Al as Arthur schulde a water passe—
Albe, hit seis þe name wasse—
Al day til Arthur men tolde,
Wiþ passand men & spies bolde,
Þat þe Emperour was þere bysyde;
To conseille what best myghte bytide,
His pauilons, his penceles, þykke
Nought fer fro þenne had þey don wyk:
“Þer are so manye of Romayns,
“& þyn host may nought þeym ageyns.
“ffoure haþ he agayns on of þyne;
“& ȝif ȝe assemble, þou most tyne.”
Arthur seide, “Godes help ys ney!
“He wot ho schal haue þe maistri.”

438

He left nought for no manace;
Vpon Albe in a strong place
A castel he dide reyse & set,
Ȝyf he had nede to take recet;
Smertly to make þei were al bon
Wyþ folk ynow, & sone had don.
When al was ended þe grete tour,
He leyde in his harneys & his tresour,
Ȝyf chaunce come þei moste wyþdrawe
To rest hem þere a litel þrawe.

Arthurus misit nuncios ad Inperatorem.

When þe castel was al dight,
& defensable for kyng & knyght,
He ordeynd messegers to wende,
To þe Emperour he þoughte to sende,
Two erles þat were of noble lynage,
& wel spekynge, of god langage:
Geryn of Chartres, a man of pris,
Wiþ Beofs of Hamptone, an oþer ful wys;
Wiþ þise two wente sire Wawayn,
ffor he spak wel þe speche Romayn;
ffor he had longe wiþ hem ben,
& his connynge þey hadde wel sen;
ffor þat skile Arthur hym sent,
Þat he wist best what þeir speche ment;
& Arthur taughte þem þus to seye,
When þey schulde wende þer weye:
“Sey þemperour he go to Rome,
“& to ffraunce non hender come,

439

“Ne til no landes þat y wan,
“Ne chalange hit as man Romayn;
“Þo ar myne; & myne schul be;
“Romayn of þeym schal neuere haue fee.
“Ȝyf he wil nought turne ageyn,
“Byd hem abide þe bataille pleyn,
“& auenture at alle chaunce
“To dereyne þe ryght of Rome & ffraunce.
“As longe as y may ffraunce saue,
“Þe Romayns schul hit neuere haue.
“Wyþ bataille, sey hym, y hit wan,
“& schal defend hit fro ilka man.
“Wiþ force, þer-of had þey first fee,
“Wyþ force þey les hit a-geyns me;
“& now wiþ bataille schal hit be sene
“Who schal haue hit quyt & clene.”

De nunciis Regis Arthury ad Inperatorem.

Þe messegers þat wente þo nedes,
Horsed þem on gode stedes:
& armed þem at alle rightes,
As fel vnto noble knyghtes.
Oþer Bretons herd her-of seye,
& wente to mete hem bifore on weye,
And preied hem hertely for to do
Som þyng, or seye þe Romayns to,
Þat þe werre myghte algate go
Er þey comen þe court fro:

440

“Hit haþ be longe manaced & þret,
“But so ney to-gydere were we nere set;
“Schame hit were þat eyþer ȝede
“Wiþouten bataille or vaillaunte dede.
“Ȝyf so bitide ȝe hit bygynne,
“Ȝyt schul Bretons prowesse wynne;
“Þer-to algate dos ȝour trauail,
“& þat we may, we wil ȝow vaille.”
Þen seide Wawayn, “in alle manere
“Of vs schul ȝe som tyding here;
“& ȝyf ȝe se þat we ought dwelle,
“Tydyng þer-of men schal telle.”

Þe messegers passed a mountayne,
& þenne a wode, & syþen a playne;
ffro þat playne a partye helded,
& þer-on were þe Romayns telded;
fful semly wyþouten bost
Þey come rydyng al þorow þe host.
Þe Romains on ilka side aboute,
Of þer tentes comen oute
Þo messegers to byholde,
Þat semed noble bodies & bolde.
Þey asked what tydynges þey brought,
Or þider for þe pes þey sought:
Wyþ non þey stode, ne tales helde,
Tyl þey come to þe Emperours telde.
When þey were at his pauyloun,
Þere-byfore þey lyghte alle doun,
& bitok þeir hors þeir pages,
To stande right stille at certeyn stages.

441

Hic venerunt Nuncii coram Inperatore.

By-fore þe Emperour come alle þre,
& seide þeir message as men auise,
Geryn & Beofs boþe ful wys;
And þe Emperour seide hem his auis,
& spak ageyn þeym boþe fast.
But þenne spak Wawayn atte last:
“We ar come fro þe kyng Arthour
“To þe, sire Lucius, Emperour;
“We are his knyghte to lyue & deye;
“His message y schal þe holy seye.
“Þys ys þe message þat he þe sendes:
“He comaundes þe, & defendes,
“Þat þou of ffraunce nought entremet,
“Ne no fot þideward ferrer set;
“ffor Fraunce he holdes as his demeynes,
“& euere schal, for alle Romeynes.
“Ȝyf þou of hym wilt ought chalenge,
“Þorow bataille wil he hym venge.
“Þorow bataille first wonne ȝe ffraunce,
“& les hit after þorow a chaunce;
“A-geyn Arthur ȝe hit les
“Þorow bataille, as þe party ches,
“& now ys holde as his conqueste,
“& schal while þe sonne ryseþ est.
“& ȝyf þou sette chalange þer-ynne,
“Þorow bataille byhoueþ þe hit wynne;
“Þorow bataille schal hit be dereynt,
“Þy chalangyng & al þy pleynt,

442

“& sone assigned wyþoute delay,
“Com to morn, & prof þy day,
“& wyn hit ȝyf þou wynne schal!
“Or al to lese, or wynne hit al!
“Ȝyf þou wilt nought turne a-geyn,
“Al þy dwellyng is in veyn,
“ffor þou hast lorn, & we haue wonnen,
“So ferre we haue þy lond ouer ronnen.”

Responcio Lucii Inperatoris.

Þenne seyde þemperour to þise þre,
“To turne ageyn, hit schal nought be.
“ffraunce ys myn, þider wol y go;
“ffor ȝif y lese hit, me schal be wo;
“& ȝif y ha lore hit at vnskyle,
“Y schal hit wynne eft when God wyle.”
Þus he seide, for wel he wende
Þey hadde no force Fraunce to fende.
A knyght þer was, hight Quyntalyn,
Syb þemperour, & his cosyn,
Contrariously to Wawayn spak,
& vyleynlike he gan hym lak:
“Bretons,” he saide, “ar bot auaunturs,
“& manace mikel at rebours;
“Þer bostful wordes ar nought to seke,
“Þer dedes ar nought worþ a leke.
“Ȝe manace ay ‘hit schal ben so;’
“Ȝour dedes ar noughte þat ȝe do.
“Al day bostfuly ȝe þrete;
“Doþ hit in dede! manace ȝe lete!”
Wawayn hym listed, & gram low,

443

But smertly out his swerd he drow,
& smot his hed of þer al quit,
& bad his felawes horse þem tyt,
And seyde vnto þe Romaynes alle,
“Bretons schul rise, & ȝe schul falle!
“Ȝow were wel bettere at Rome burgh,
“Þan reyse baner a-geyn Arthurgh!”
Þer-wyþ sire Wawayn his hors hent,
& homward alle þre þey went.

De probitate nunciorum Arthury.

Þe knyght was frayed, no wonder was,
Þe Emperour cried “alas! alas!

“Slayn þey haue sire Quyntalyn
“Now right here byfore myn eyn!
“Ȝyf þey a-scape vs alle fro,
“Merueille may men telle of þo.”
Romayns ronne out of pauylons,
& hasted fast after þe Bretons.
Ilkon tok þat þey myght hent,
& after þem prykede faste, & went.
On þer was þat hadde a stede,
Þat byfore alle þe oþere ȝede,
& cried ful loude, “abyd! abyd!
“Ȝyf þou dar, turne, & to me ryd!”
Sire Geryn herde what he seyde,
& turnde hym, & his spere forþ leyde,
& of his gode hors hym cast
Als fer as þe spere wold last.
Þen seide Geryn als he lay þore,
“Þyn hors bar þe ouer faste byfore;

444

“Ȝit were þe bettere ha ben at þe ost
“Þan fort ha foched þy deþ wyþ bost,
“& haue holde þe fer o drey,
“ffor now þe ouer-þynkeþ þou come so ney.”

Beofs of Oxenforde þen loked bak,
& listned how þat Geryn spak,
Saw þe Romayn ded þer lay,
& his hors wente forþ o stray;
Þen þoughte sire Beofs, “y am to blame
“But y do til anoþer þe same.”
His hors he turnd þen, and abod,
& til anoþer Romayn rod;
& wyþ his spere he bar hym yn
Þorow-out þe þrote, byneþe þe chyn.
Gapyng he lay at erþe al streked
Als he was wyþ þe launce cheked.
Þen seide sire Beofs, for þat he gaped,
“To þe mete fuer sone hym raped,
“But ly now stille þer, ar þou ete,
“& ȝif þy felawes þe ouer gete,
“Sey, ‘þe messegers wente here forþ god spede,
“‘& wiþ suche musseles he can ȝow fede.’”

Þen cam anoþer ride faste byforn,
A noble knyght of Rome born,—
Marcels, hit seyþ his name hight,—
& hadde an hors was ferly lyght;
Of þem alle last horsed he was,
& passed þe formest a gret pas;
And for gret haste, as of chaunce,

445

He hadde furgete at hom his launce.
He sporede his hors, forþ faste gan schake,
Wel wende he Wawayn for to ha take,
& seyde, “hit were ful gret ferlik
“But he broughte Wawayn to þem al quyk.”
Wawayn wondred hym ferne fro
Þat his hors myght so wel go.
ffor Marcel neyghed Wawayn right hende,
Wawayn to take ful wel he wende;
But his hors com so smertly,
& passed Wawayn fast hym by,
& als he by Wawayn glent,
Wawayn had his swerd out hent,
And clef his heued at o dynt,
Þorow helm, þat at þe breste hit stynt;
His gode armure auailled nought,
Wyþ þat strok to þe erþe he sought.
In his fallynge, seide Wawayn,
“Marcel, y rede þou turne a-gayn,
“& go to Quyntalyn to helle,
“& on myn half þou hym telle,
“Þat þe Bretons þat ȝe þus chace,
“Wel more con do þan manace.
“Sey Quyntalyn, ‘we hym by þe grete,
“‘& more wol gyue þan we wol hete!’”
Now to-gydere þey gonne þem drawe,
& oþer þre þey dide of dawe;
Lenger to iuste myght þey nought stande,
But þem defended al wyþdrawande.
Þe Romayns on alle halue hem went,
Wiþ swerd & spere strokes þey lent,

446

But neuere for strok þat þey þer tok,
Of stirop ne sadel out ne schok,
Ne drowen blod, ne gof þem wounde,
Ne stopped þem þer wey no stounde.

Þenne had Marcel a neuew
Þat was horsed vntil his prew:
In his wey Marcel he fond,
Liggyng slayn þer on a lond.
After þe messegers trauersed [he] þe feld;
& Wawayn houed, & byheld
Þat he cam so gret a spurne,
He had no leyser his hors to turne
Vntil he cam among þem alle,
& of his hand his spere let falle,
& drow his swerd, scharp to byte:
He wende Wawayn wel to smyte;
& as he lifte his swerd vp heye,
At his hand Wawayn let fleye,
& smot of boþe hand & arm,
So þat he dide namore harm.
Anoþer strok he scholde haue had,
But wiþ þe Romayns þey were ouerstad,
So ferly fele after þem schok.
But for al hem, þe wode þey tok,
Þat was bitwixt hem & Arthures hold,
Þe newe castel y lang er told.

Hic misit Arthurus in obuiam sex mille armatos.

Arthur our kyng, þat was at home,
Wondred þe messegers nought ne come;
Sex þousand sent he for drede,
To socoure þeym ȝyf þey had nede.

447

Þey come & passed to þe wodes side,
& þere wyþstode for to abyde.
After þer messegers þey gaf þer tent,
Ȝyf þey of hem had any glent;
Þey seye gret folk in partyes sprede,
Þat folewede þre þat to þe wode ȝede.
Þen perceyued knyghtes & squiers
Þat þo þre were messegers
Þat þey come fore, & after sought.
Pryuely þey stode, auised þer þought,
Siþen þey gaue a cri ful gret,
At ones vpon þe Romayns þei schet,
Al vnwarned in þer vys.
Þenne sprad þe Romayns in partis;
Somme þat fledde were ouer-taken,
& somme prisoned, & halden waken,
Somme slayn & beten doun,
fful fewe were leten to raunsoun;
Wiþ mikel wo any ascaped,
Þat he ne was fruscht & al to-fraped.

Petreus, Romanorum tribunus.

A noble man was þere of Rome,
Of alle þer knyghtes he bar þe blome,
Petreus his name hight,
A worthi man, & mykel of myght;
What for his prowesse & god knyght,
Ten þousand men he ladde in fyght.
He herde of þe Bretons assaut,
& how þer men were att defaut;

448

“Smertly wyþ ten þousand scheldes
“To sokere hem go we to þe feldes.”
Wyþ þo ten þousand þat he brought,
Vpon þe Bretons harde he sought,
Þat maugre þeires he dide þem go
In to þe wode þer þey come fro;
O þe playne myghte þey holde no place,
Þat to þe wode he gan þem chace;
& when þey were in wode teld,
Ageyn Petron þer owen þey held.
Petrens often on þem gan pres,
But mikel of his folk he les,
ffor þe Bretons stirt out & slow,
& eft in to þe wode þem drow;
By þe wodes side in a busch
Was many a stour & many a frusch.

Iterum misit Arthurus quinque mille armatos.

Arthur merueilled ferly strong
Þat þe messegers dwelled so long,
& what þem letted, & þorow wham,
Þat þe sex þousand hom ne cam.
Þen cald he swyþe sire Ider
Þat was a doughti bacheler:
“Tak fyf þousand, & smartly fare,
“Þe sex þousand sekeþ, wher þey are.”
Sire Ider dide as Arthur bad,
& for his wendyng fele were glad.
Als Ider & his folk forþ ferde,
Gret noise vnder a wode þey herde;

449

Þey hied þem þanne, & wel go[d] pas,
Þey dredde þem sore of som mys cas.
Þen say Ider þat sire Wawayn
& Geryn, & Beof, foughte oþer a-geyn.
In to þe most pres Ider þen sprong,
& gaf a cri, þe wode al rong.
Þanne were þe Bretons alle abouen,
Þe Romayns route bakward schouen:
When Ider had met wyþ þe Romains route,
Of dynt ne deþ had he no doute;
Lytel þey þoughte hem self to saue,
So fayn þey wolde þe werre haue;
Þe Romayns þey ouer ryden & ronne,
& þer gode stedes wonne;
& þe Romayns atter power
Stryken & stoden ageyns Ider;
Manye were on boþe partys
Slayn þer for to wynne pris.

Petreus, he þat y of tolde,
þe noble Romayn fers & bolde,
He mayntende þer bataille,
& sette his folk wysly to assaille;
Wel couþe he stande, wel couþe he scurne,
& faire wyþdrawe hym, & eft returne.
Bytwyxt þem were many chaces,
ffele turnynges & fele wanlaces:
Þat hardy was, he fond hardy;
Who so couþe iuste, he fond redy;
Þat wel couþe fighte, þer fond his fere;
Þat nought ne couþe, þer myght he lere.

450

Al þe Bretons, oft astray þey rod,
Non held to-gydere, ne oþer abod.
ffor prowesse þat þey ȝernde al day,
Þer-fore þey nere of non array;
Þey nadde warde how þat þey ȝede,
But þat prowesse wer do of armes dede.

Petreus bygan auise hym more,
Hys beste men a-boute hym wore,
He couþe in werre wel stonde in stour,
& at his nede gete hym socour;
fful wel he halp þere help failled,
& wel hym rescowed when he was sailled;
God tent til al his men he tok,
When þey astraied, whideward þey schok,
& alle relyed þem wel ageyn,
Þat ilkon wyste his certeyn.

Beofs of Oxenforde perceiued wel
Þe comynges of Petron ilka del,
Þat wyþoute los schold þey nought go
But ȝyf þey mighte Petron slo,—
Sle, or take in pleyn[e] feld,—
ffor his confort þe Romayns vp held.
Hider & þider þe Bretons went,
Al out of array, & were ney schent.
Þe beste barons of þem alle,
Beofs to consail gon þey[m] calle:

451

“Lordes,” he seyde, “spekeþ wyþ me,
“Þo þat til Arthur wol leaute.
“Bygonne we haue a cuntek,
“But Arthur wot nought of þis chek;
“Wyþoute his wityng is þis tyrpeyl,
“Þer-fore y cald ȝow to conseil;
“Ȝyf hit falle wel, wel schal vs be;
“Ȝyf hit ne do, we gete maugre.
“But ȝyf we in þys firste stour
“Haue þe pris, & bere þe flour,
“I telle vs schent, ilka man,
“& mikel maugre þat we hit gan.
“Hit was ȝour conseil as wel as oures,
“Ȝe preied vs to bygynne þyse stoures:
“Þe bettere þer-fore peyne ȝow to do
“Þyng þat y schal conseille to;
“ffonde we now euer-ilkon
“ffort acombre þylke Petron;
“Quik or ded, vs bos hym haue,
“Ȝyf [we] þis day our folk schul saue;
“& elles schul we nere gon heþen,
“Þat we ne schul myl be byneþen.
“Þer-for, lordynges, alle to-gyder
“ffolewes whar y turne, or whider,
“& helpeþ wel when ȝe se nede:
“Ȝyf we gete hym, ful wel we spede.”
Alle þey seide, “what so bitydes,
“We schul þe folewe wher þou rydes;
“Go we þanne, þat God vs a-vaille,
“So þat we of hym ne faille.”
Beofs aspied & saw hym sone:
“I se Petron! make ȝow al bone!”

452

Beofs smot þe hors wyþ þe spores,
& þey after, ouer feld & fores;
Wilde he nere stynte ne ses
Vntil he cam in to alle þe pres
Þer Petron was, & til hym rod,
Hors til hors þat þey bistrod;
Til hym ful faste Beofs allied,
& on hys felawes wel hym affied.

Beof by þe nekke Petron hent,
& doun til erthe boþe þey went;
Beof fel doun al by hys wylle,
& held Petron al ston[e] stille;
Beof dide þere a ful gret wyle,
& putte hym self in gret perile.
Beofs held sore, & Petron drow;
Petron had go, nad Beofs be tow.
Þe Romayns Petron wilde rescouse,
But Bretons a-geyn þem faste gan brouse,
Wyþ scharpe speres to-gidere sett,
& al to-frusched þat þey wiþ mett:
When speres myghte namore serue,
Þer swerdes drowe, ful faste to kerue;
Wyþ hardy herte ilk oþer on hew,
In armes hente, of sadeles þrew,
Helmes bowed, & þorow were steke,
Scheldes clef, & swerdes breke,
Hauberks ryuen & al fur-mailled,
Stedes slayn, stumbled & failled,
Men were slayn, & feld to grounde,
& manye cast þat hadde no wounde;
So þykke þey were to-gydere in þrong,

453

Ilk oþer wroþ, ilk oþer swong,
& ilk oþer of sadeles wrast,
& vnder ho[r]se fet wer cast;
Non knew oþer, þey were so ney,
But by þer speche or by þer cry:
Bretons cried “kyng Arthour,”
& Romayns, “Lucius Emperour.”
Þe Bretons faste on þem abated,
& þe Romayns ful sore þem hated;
Þer couþe non knowe for certeyn
Whilk was Breton, whilk was Romeyn,
But by þer speche þat þey spak,
Or any out of þe pres ought brak.
ffayn wolde Wawayn Petron haue,
& Beofs wold þey al-gate saue;
He brak in to þe mykel pres,
To smyte sore wold he nought ses;
On alle sides he smot aboute,
& made þeym rounn þorow-out þe route;
Was þer non stod in his weye,
Þat his dynt ne dide hym deye.
Sire Ider on þat oþer syde,
ffor Geryn durste no Romayn byde;
Ilk on for oþer bolded here hert,
& smyten strokes so grete & smert
Þat no Romayn durst bide þer dynt,
But fer on bak dide þem stynt;
Þen was Petron alle a-glyft.
Þe Bretons vp sire Beofs lyft,
& horsed hym ful wel a-geyn,
& toke Petron, þe maister Romayn;

454

Þorow al þe pres þey hym led,
& wiþ hym vntil wode þey fled,
& dide hym þer he mighte be syker,
& eft al newe bygonne to byker.
But þen had þey no gouernour
Þat couþe meyntene þem in stour,
Namore þan schip or barge can,
Þere hym wanteþ a steres man.

Vassalacio Brytonum.

Þenne broched þe Bretons among þem alle,
Man & hors þey dide doun falle;
Þat were fallen, þey ouer schok;
& þo þat fledde, þey ouer-tok;
Somme þey slowe, & somme þey held,
& somme þey spoyled y þe feld;
Al were slayn þe moste frape,
ffayn wer þey þat myghte a-scape.
Þen turnde a-geyn alle þe Bretons,
& come to wode to þer prisons,
& led þem alle wiþ sire Petron,
& presented Arthur wiþ ilkon.
Þen þanked he his messegers,
& alle þe oþere þat were þer pers,
& seide hem, “ȝyf hit may be wonne,
“Þe game þat we haue by-gonne,
“He wolde amende þer rente & fe,
“Ȝyf þat tyme myghte bitide or be.”

455

De Romanis incarceratis.

Þe kyng dide his prisons toke
Wiþ wardeyns þat hem vndertoke.
Þen seide men of conseil wys,
‘Best was to send hem to Parys
‘Wiþ men of armes þat scholde þem lede;
‘To hold hem in court hit were drede.’
Þen was ordeyned wyþ hem schold go—
ffor rescours & for takyng fro—
Cador, Borel, & Erl Richer,
& sire Beduer his boteler:
Noble of blod were alle þyse,
& in þe mornynge schuld þey ryse,
To conueye hem þe passages alle,
þer most deseite & drede myght falle.
& when þey were passed ylkone,
Let oþer mener wiþ hem forþ gone.

Nunciatum est hic Inperatory hoc Infortunium.

Þe Emperours hadde ful gode spies
Þat hadde knowynge on boþe parties:
Þey come & teld hym oþe eue byforn
‘Þat þe prisons erlik at morn
‘Vntil Paris schuld ben led;
‘To holde þem þare þey are a-dred.’
Þen bad þemperour take ten þousand,
To go þat nyght fer byfore hand,

456

Rescours of þeym ȝyf þey might make,
& þe prisons fro þem take.
Þyse were þo þe Emperour sent,
Þat on þe nyght byfore went:
Sertorius, of Lybye kyng & sire,
Sire Ewander þe kyng of Syrie,
Carice, Catel, & sire Wylters,
Þyse were of Rome, kynges pers,
Þise were chosen by somouns
To make rescours of þe prisouns;
& þey toke þe wey at euen late,
& passed bifore our men þe gate;
& when þey in þat weye cam
Þat right forth to Parys nam,
In þat weye gan þey reste,
& priuely enbusched þer þey sey beste.

Exe pungna inter Brytones & Romanos qui de nocte eos precesserunt.

Als þey were busched redy to byker,
Come Arthures men, wend haue be siker;
Natheles, ȝit hadde þey doute,
Þer-fore þey dide sondre þer route:
Sire Borel & Erl Cadore,
Wyþ þer folk riden byfore;
Sire Beduer & þe Erl Richer,
Þyse were þe prisons ner;
Wyþ hem come men fif hundred,
Þat fro þe prisons were nought sundred.
On Borel & Cador þat formest went,
Þe Romayns a-side on hem glent,
& ffelonly on þem gan strike,
& þey defended hem doughtilyke.

457

Sire Richer saw, & Beduer herde,
Þat þer enemis þer weyes sperde,
& wyþ þer felawes faste gon fight,—
Armed men wiþ swerdes bryght;—
Þey dide þer prisons þer wyþstande,
Þe mene men toke þem on hande,
In siker stede wiþ hem to byde
Til more sykernesse myghte bityde.
Wiþ haste ilk man tok his stede
To helpe þer felawes in þer nede;
Þenne by-gonne Bretons to bolden,
& here partie wel vp holden.
Þe Romayns ronne a-mong þe Bretons
To seke after þer prisons;
Þe Bretons to slo, tente þey nought,
But hider & þyder þe prisons sought;
& while þey ȝede aboute to seke,
Þey ne spedde nought worþ a leke,
ffor mykel of þer folk þey les
Als þey soughten in þe pres.
Þe Bretons hollyk to-gyder riden,
At þeir assautes to-gydere byden,
To-gyder wente, to-gydere camen,
In alle stedes were þey samen;
ffor þey to-gydere so wel held,
Þey slowe þe Romay[n]s doun in feld;
In foures routes þe Bretons hem set,
Þe sykerer wiþ þe Romayns þey met;
Sire Cador wyþ þe Cornewaleys,
Sire Beduer wyþ his Herupeys,

458

Sire Borel & sire Richer,
Ilkon hadde þer bataille ser.
Þe Romayns al aboute wond;
ffaste þey lore, & nought ne fond.

Roborati sunt Romany per consilium Ewanderi.

Ewanden, þe kyng of Libye,
Saw þe Romayns force doun flye;
He relyed þen his folk a stounde,
& sey þe prisons myght nought be founde;
“To seke prisons ys tynt trauaille,”
He bad þem tente al to þe bataille;
He sette þem alle in swylk certeyn,
Þat þe bettere party þey wan a-geyn;
Of þe Bretons þey felde ynowe,
& foure of our beste men þey slowe,—
Sire Iders sone þe Bretoun,
& Irelgas of Peryron,
Sire Alydauk of Tyntagel,
Þat was lord of þat castel,
And Mauryk Cador Caneys;—
Souereyne knyghtes þey were, hit seys.
Þe Erl Borel, a gret lordyng,
Hym smot Ewander þe kynge;
In at þe mouþ Borel he bar,
Þorow-out þe þrote o two he schar.

When þey seye sire Borel fel,
ffor wo þe Bretons al to-swel

459

Þat þey so þeir lord les
Wyþ þe Romains grete pres;
Ageyn o Breton were ten Romayn;
Nere grace had ben, al had be slayn,
Al had ben ded & doun born,
& þer prisons had ben lorn;
But Vtred, a lord of Peyters,
He was cheftayn of fforreyers,
He com dryuande þat ilke while,
ffor hit was told hym of [þat] gyle,
Þat Romayns come rescours to make,
Þe Bretons to slo, þe prisons to take.
Wiþ hym come þre þousand knyghtes,
& archers gode at alle rightes,
& on þe Romayns smyten ful tit,
Þat had our Bretons ner desconfit;
Þeir scharpe speres & scheld forþ leyd,
An hundred þei felde atte firste breyd,
Þat neuere eft þey ne ros,
Of þe Bretons to wynne los.

Iam Romany tymorati sunt.

Þenne were þe Romayn[s] al a-baischt,
& al was schent þat or was trayst;
Þey wende Arthur & al his ost
Had folewed þem in þat cost;
Þe Peyteuyns faste þeym assailled,
& þe Bretons nought ne failled,

460

Þe ton quiked þe toþer to lyue,
Þe Romayns to greue, fast gon þey stryue,
Þe Romayns in haste turnde & fledde,
Þey hadde no clos, but oueral spredde;
To þer logges þer þey hem busched,
Þey fledde, & þer wer al to-lusched.
But Ewander þat slow Borel,
& ffyue hundred wyþ sire Catel,
Were alle slayn & don in hold,
Wyþouten lordes þat more were told.
Þat þey wold haue, al þey hadden,
Prysons y-nowe alle þey ladden;
Þer þe bataille was, þey turnde ageyn,
& tryde þe Bretons fro ilk Romeyn.
To seke Borel his men had hast,
Þey fond hym sone, ȝeldyng þe gast.
Þe wounded men to saue þey sought,
& þe slayn to erþe þey brought.
Þe firste prisons þat Arthur sent,
Þo þat were charged, to Parys went;
Þe oþere prisons þat þey last hent,
Of þeym til Arthur þey made present,
& telde þem wel of þeyr deseit,
How þeir hap was ner ouer-streit,
& how Vtred was þer socour,
& grately meyntende þem in stour,
& bed hem boldely to bataille wende;
Of þemperour gat þey þe fairere ende.

Þemperour herde þe Bretons sped
Þorow þe help of sire Vtred,

461

& þat sire Ewander was slayn,
& þe oþere y-do to payn;
Grace til hym wold non bytide,
But euere mys happed on his syde;
Þer-fore mykel he was dismayed,
Þat werre was gonne, he was nought payed;
Al þe day he studied & þought
Wheþer he wylde werre forþ or nought;
To take þe bataille mykel he dredde,
ffor he no tyme byfore ne spedde;
Of þys to conseille he nyste at wham,
Or leue al til anoþer cam;
ȝyf he left til anoþer wore,
Þen shulde hym schame þat he com þore;
Þus he þoughte to do or lete,
ffor drede of Arthur þat was so grete.
But þis conseil had he of som,
Þat he schulde remue til Oston,
& passe by Langres þe contre,
Þat nyght to reste in þat cite.
At þe morn he gan to ride,
& cam to Langres y þe euen tyde.

Inperator pre timore fugiit: tunc dixit Arthurus.

Arthur herde hit sone seye
How to Oston he tok þe wey,
& wolde nought to bataille stande
Til hym com more help til hande;
But þer-til Arthur nought ne radde,
So longe abide til he folk hadde,

462

But as priuely as men myght,
He dide his ost remue þat nyght,
& let Langres on þe left,
& þe wey til Ostum hym reft.
By o weye þat he wiste gayn,
He passed hilles, wode, & playn,
Til þey com þer þe stret lay hey,
In a valeye þat hatte Swesy;
Þorow þat veleye alle camen,
Þat fro Ostum to Langres namen.
When þey were þere he bad þem rest,
& syþen ilkon þer armure on kest,
To be redy, what tyme þey mette,
Swyþe on hem to-gydere sette.
Þer harneys & þer frapaille
Þat fel nought to be in bataille,
Vnder an hil he set þem þere,
As þey armed men alle were,
Þat when þe Romayns on þem had sight,
Þe mikelhed schuld make þem aflight.
A legion þe kyng ches & tok,
Þe Erl of Gloucestre had þo to lok,—
A legion ys of folk þat wex,
Sex þousand, sex hundred, sexti & sex,—
& tauht hym on an hil to byde:
“Meue nought, for ought þat may bytide,
“Til þat y come, when y se nede;
“Þorow þe, we may stande & spede.
“ȝyf swylk auenture bytide or be,
“Þat þe Romayns turn bak & ffle,
“ffolewe þou affter, þenne, & slo;

463

“In god tyme þider þou go.”
Sire Moronthe seide hit schold be don.
ȝit tok þe kyng a legion
Of doughti knyghtes horsed wel,—
Þey bere þe name of þe beste eschel,—
In more sight were þo set,
Hym self was chef, & he þem get;
Þey were þo þat þe rounde table preised,
Þat he had norisched & vp reysed,—
A-mong þo was þe dragoun
Þat Arthur bar for gonfanoun;—
Þat oþer was set at his pay
On eyghte batailles of gode array;
Alle were þey knyghtes gode,
& hardy men þat wel stode;
He bisoughte þem at her might,
When þe fotmen schulde fight,
Þat horsmen come ouer-þwert,
& trauersed þe Romayns smert.
In ilka bataille was teld þus euene—
Þus fond y write as y schal neuene—
ffif þousand, fif hundred, fifti & fyue,
Of þe noblest knyghtes o lyue,
Wel armed at her wille,
& hadde no doute of non ylle.
Þus were þey sett, right as y finde,
ffoure byfore, & foure byhynde;
Bytwixt þise foure was folk þe moste,
Alle þe comune of þer hoste,

464

On hors, on fote, arrayed ful wel,
Þat were nought set in non eschel.
Þe fotmen also ful doughti ware,
In ilka bataille for to fare.
In ilka bataille of lordynges,
Two cheftayns chosen, erles & kynges:

Sire Agusel hadde þe first bataille,
Wiþ sire Cador of Cornewaille;

Beofs of Oxenforde hadde þe secounde,
Erl Geryn of Chartres halp hym þat stounde;

A-child of Denmark þe þrydde conreye,
Wyþ sire Loth, kyng of Norweye;

Þe ferthe had Ohel of Bretaygne,
& wyþ hym was þe gode Wawayne.
After þo foure, oþer foure ware
Renged & set to bataille ȝare;

Of þat on, was Kay Iustiser,
& wiþ hym was sire Beduer;

Þat oþer eschele had sire Holdyn,
& sire Gwitard þe Peyteuin;

Þe seuenþe had Iugens of Leycestre,
Wyþ sire Ianatas of Dorcestre.

Þe Erl of Chestre, sire Cursalen,
Baruk of Circestre, of Baþe Vrgen,
Þe eyghteþe bataille to þem was allied,
fful mykel on þem Arthur affied;
Þe seriauntz & þe archers,

465

& oþere noble arbalasters,
Þo were set wyþoute þe pres
To kepe þe Romayns at trauers;
But bifore Arthur schuld þeos alle wende,
& Arthur was þen y þe last ende.

Comendacio cum pulcris verbis per Arthurum.

When Arthur had set ilka bataille,
& taught hem when þey scholde assaille,
Lystneþ þe grete curtesy
He spak til his barons alle on hy,
& þe grete preysynge he made,
His men to bolde, þeir hertes to glade:
“Lordynges,” he seyde, “ioye me ledes
“When y þenke on ȝoure doughti dedes,
“Of ȝoure þewes, of ȝoure conquest,
“& euere fynd y ȝow hardy & prest;
“ȝour prowesse & nobleye, hit wexeþ ay,
“Maugre þo þat wolde sey nay!
“When y byþenke on ȝoure godnesse,
“Þat Bretaygne, ȝour lond, in oure tyme ys
“Hed of þritty kynedames,
“& lorde ouere þem, as men hit names,
“ffor þat ioye myn herte ys tykel;
“In God & ȝow y affie me mykel,
“Þat ȝut schul we oure land auaunce
“Þorow Gode grace & ȝour god chaunce.
“Of dedes of armes ȝe haue þe pris,
“& haue ouercomen þe Romayns twys!
“Myn herte me gyueþ, þat grace hit schapes,

466

“& tyme neigheþ, & þer-to rapes,
“Þat we schul þis day, in þis were,
“ffro þe Romayns þe maistri bere.
“Norwey, Denmark, we haue ouer-ronne,
“ffraunce & fflaundres þorow bataille ȝe wonne,
“Wel schuld we wynne þe lasse worthi,
“Syn ȝe of þe beste hadde maistri.
“To seruage þey wene vs to drawe,
“& gyue hem trewage þorow awe,
“& ffraunce to reue vs, rote & rynde!
“Swilk folk wene þey here to fynde
“Als þey out of þe Est brynge:—
“Wommen con bettere of fightynge!—
“On Crist we schul hope & affye
“A-geyn þe houndes of Paynye!
“ffor houndes, schul ȝe neuere fle,
“& Romayns ar nought worþ a be!
“Wel wot y, & ȝe schul wyte,
“Þat y schal se ho wel schal smyte,
“ffor y schal be at ilka dede,
“& y schal helpe at alle nede.”

Responcio gentis Arthury.

Þys þat he seide was wel herd,
& alle at ones þey hym answerd,
“Maistrie ne pes wolde he non ȝelde;
“Bataille was set, bataille þey wylde.
“Þey wylde deye þer in þe feld,
“But ȝyf þe maystrie wyþ hem held.”
Þey swore al þat myghte be sworn,
‘What chaunce so was leid hem byforn,

467

‘Þat ilke chaunce þey scholde haue alle,
‘God or wykke, wheþer God let falle.’

Dicta Lucii Inperatoris.

Lucius Yber was born in Spayne,
Of Rome emperour & cheuentaigne.
ȝong man ynow was sire Lucy,
More þan þritti, but nought fourty;
Don he hadde in þat age
Many a doughti vasselage;
ffor he was strong, lastynge in stour,
Þer-fore was he mad Emperour.
O þe morn erlyk, on a þrom
Þey meoued fro Langres toward Ostum
Wyþ mikel folk & gret[e] route
Þat spredde in lengþe & brede aboute.
Þen herde þemperour by spies seye
Þat Arthur had trauersed his weye;
He perceiued þen his bold-hede,
& sey þat he hadde of hym no drede,
Þat eyþer bihoued hym to bataille stande,
Or turne a-geyn, & be fleande:
To turne a-geyn were cowardise,
& þat were schame til hym & hyse.
Kynge, prynces, & dukes, alle þo
Þat were wyþ hym, two hundred & mo,
To conseille alle he calde þem to,
To wite at hem what he schuld do:
“Lordes, peres, men of honurs,
“Doughti lordes, gode conquerrours,

468

“ȝe are comen of þo auncessours
“Þat ful wel stode in alle stours;
“Þorow þem ys Rome, wel haue ȝe herd,
“Halden hed of al þe werd,
“& so schal be, y gyue ȝow a gyue,
“Al so longe as y may lyue.
“Þey wonne þe londes þat we now heyre;
“Schame hit were we scholde now peyre.
“Gentil þey were, oure kynde hit mones,
“Of doughti fadres, of doughti sones;
“Þer-fore doþ now þat in ȝow es,
“Likneþ ȝour fadres in doughtines!
“Better hit were in bataille pyne,
“Þan faderes heritage to tyne;
“& þat schul we on none wyse,
“Heritage lese for feintyse!
“Þyse wordes for yuel seide y nought now,
“ffor y fond neuere feintise in ȝow;
“ȝour fadres were gode, so ar ȝe,
“Or bettere þan þey, hit may so be.
“ȝe wyte & se, as wel as y,
“Þat by þat weye we schul go by
“Vntil Ostum, hit ys wyþ-set;
“But wiþ bataille or baret—
“I ne wot wheþer þey be robbours
“Or þeues þat wolde haue ought of ours;—
“Þat weye þey haue vs wyþ-sted
“Þat y scholde ȝow haue inne y-led;
“Y trowe þey wende þat y had scurned,
“ffor þat y now ageyn-ward turned.
“Nay for soþe, þat þought y nought!
“Y wolde þey hadde on vs more sought;

469

“Ouer fer byfore vs þey han hopped,
“& oure right passage haue þey stopped;
“But þer forgate schal þem nought vaille;
“Arme vs, & gyue we þem bataille,
“To do þem bak be dryuen & born,
“Þat passed vs so fer byforn!
“ȝyf þey stande, we schul þem smite;
“ȝyf þat þey fle, þen schul þey wyte
“Þer pryde þat hem so haþ schent,
“Þat þey þe weyes byfore vs wente.”

Hic habetur magnum bellum inter Inperatorem & Arthurum in valle Swesy, inter Ostum & Langres.

When Lucius had þus gat seid,
fforþ þey ferde alle at o breyd,
& armed þem ilkon right wel,
& sette ilk man til his eschel:
Kynge & prynces of Payen
Were medled among Cristen,
Þat her landes of Rome held,
& to þer werre seruise of scheld.
By milers & by centeners
Sette þey þe bataille seers;
Horsmen, fotfolk, on ilka partie,
Were somme set lowe, & somme heye,
Right after þat þeym god þought.
Þat were of prowesse, & of bataille dought,
When þey were dight & set

470

In twolue batailles, þo þat hym get,
Doun wyþ þe hil þey toke þe weye
Al sarrely in to þe valeye;
& þat o syde toke þe Romayns,
& Arthur þat oþer euen þer-gayns.
Þe Romayns comen fro-ward þe west,
& Arthures folk were al prest;
On boþe sydes þey gonne to blowe
Trumpes & pipes a wel god þrowe;
Þe batailles neyghed ney & ney,
Sadly passing, and softely.
When þey seye þat þey might mete,
Wyþ bowes & arblastes gan þey schete,
Dartes, launces, stones, kaste,
On boþe parties þykke & faste;
Vneþes myght any open his eye,
So þykke atones gon þey fleye,—
Also þkke as snow þen snew,
Or al so hail þat stormes blew,—
Þorow scheldes smiten, & þorow paunces.
After þat schot, þey schote launces;
ffer weys mighte men here þe brusche,
A þousand breken at o frusche.
After launces, wyþ swerdes smiten,
& wyþ axes & daggares þat wel biten;
Þer was bataille merueillous,
Neuer non byfore so perilous,
Ne non so asper ne so þyk,
ffor ilk was oþer euen quik.

471

Þat wel couþe feighte, he fond his mecche,
Cowardie halp þer no wrecche.
Al þe valeye aboute schok,
So harde þe parties to-gidere tok;
ffull harde to-gydere gan þey hurte,
Þat on a-geyn þat oþer burte.
Manye doun fulle, & fele þer stod,
& mani on lay drenkled in blod;
Many knyght of sadel was wrast,
& many stede wyþ hem were cast,
& many oþer wente o stray,
Þe bridles broken, & sadeles a-way.
Wel þey foughte a ful long stounde,
Ilk fonded oþer to haue to grounde.
So vaillaunt was neuere no Romayn
Þat myghte þe Bretons ruyse ones ageyn,
Ne þe Bretons of þem nought wan,
So wel þey stoden ilka man;
Neþeles, foure batailles of oures
Had hard encountre & scharpe stoures,—
Agusel & sire Cador,
Beofs & Geryn, þyse were þor,
Achil, Loth, & sire Ohel,
& sire Wawayn þat dide so wel,—
Þyse foure wyþ þe comun host,
Alle had þey ful hand al-most.
Noman mighte þer wel chese
Whilk of þem schold wynne or lese,

472

Til þat o bataille forþ spred,
Þat sire Kay & Beduer led.
Þey saw þe Bretons nought ne wan,
Þe Romayns helde as þey bigan;
To þem þey seyde þey wilde al-gate.
On al þe pres þey gonne hem abate;
In to al þe þrong þer was þykkest,
Kay & Beduer in gonne brest.
fful wel faught Beduer, & so dide Kay;
Þo þat þey hitte, ded þey lay:—
Þus seyde þo þat stode þem ner,
Þat neuere styward ne botyler
Þat serued kyng ne kayser,
So wel halp at here power;—
fful mikel þey dide, & more þey scholde
ȝyf þey had lyued, & Crist hit wolde.
Byfore þey breke þe Romayns route,
Þer folk folewode, & hadde no doute;
Many a strok þey gaue & tok,
Out of þer sadeles mani on schok.
Sire Beduer among hem presed,
Romayns to slo nought ne sesed;
O þat oþer side Kay ne blan,
ffor he feld doun hors & man.
ȝyf þey hem self couþe haue meþed,
& als þer strokes couþe haue leþed,
And þer folk wolde haue byden,
And alle to-gidere þat þey had ryden,
Til þat oþer bataille had comen,
& þenne alle at ones nomen,
Gret prowesse of þem had ben told,
& saued þer bodies, þat sone were cold.

473

Alas! ȝyf þat God had wyld!
Þer hardinesse þem seluen spild!
Þey þoughte to perce þe host þorow-out,
ffor þey hadde hertes ful fers & stout,
& on hem self ouer mykel affyed,
Þer men to hem were so allyed
Þat þey ne roughte where þey ȝede,
Ne nought rewarded how þey were in drede:

A bataille þey mette, & smot þer-in,
Nought of þe Romayns, but of Sarazyn,—
Of Mede he was, Bokkus he hight,
Kyng he was, & ful god knyght.—
A ful gret host þys Bokkes ledde,
Our Erles were hardy, & nought ne dredde,
Right on þem alle fulbut þey riden;
Þer was a bataille ful sore smyten
Bytwixt þe houndes Sarazyns,
& Herupeys & Angeuyns.
Bokkes rod in wyþ a gleyue,
ffayn wold he Beduer deseyue;
In att þe brest Beduer he smot;
Þe glayue was scharp, & ouer fer bot;
Scheld & hauberk þorow he brak,
Þe spere fley out al at his bak.
Þen fel Beduer; myght non hym saue;
But Ihesu Crist his soule ay haue!
Kay fond Beduer þer he lay,
ffayn wold he haue þe body a-way,
Of alle men he louede hym most;
& þenne gan faste relie his host,
& gaf eft bataille to þem of Mede;
Wyþ force he dide hem flitte þat stede.

474

Als he schuld þer þe body vp fange,
He dwelled þer-on a litel to lange,
ffor þenne com Sentor, kyng of Lubye,
Wiþ gret power of paynye,
& on sire Kay smot he þore,
& wounded hym ferly sore;
But for no wo, wounde, ne dynt,
Þe body ne lefte he, ne tynt.
His gode folk was hym aboute,
& holpe hym of þat mykel doute;
Þē bodi þen to þe dragon brought,
Maugre þo þat on hym sought.

De probitate Irelgas, congnato Beduery.

Sire Beduer cosyn hight Irelgas:
When he wyste þat harde cas,
What of his frendes, & of his kynde,
& oþer þe beste þat he myght fynde,
Þre hundred men wiþ helmes bright,
& wel horsed, & al wel dight,
When he had samned þem ilkone,
“Lordynge, to ȝow now make y my mone!
“At þis nedes helpeþ now,
“Of þo houndes þat myn em slow!
“Of Bokkus, þe kyng of Mede,
“Aspieþ hym wel in ilka stede!”
Þey serched ouer al vp & doun
Til þei seye his gonfanoun;
When þey hit seye, þider gon þey drawe,

475

On Kaliborne þey cried a þrawe.
Irelgas, noman wyþ-stod;
His em to venge he was ful wod;
He dredde non of alle þe renge,
But þat he myght þer his em venge;
fful wel hym halp þen his felawes alle,
Wyþ speres dide þey many on falle,
& on þem ride, þat doun were cast,
& Bokkus bataille trauailled fast.
When þey til his bataille were comen,
So wel þey dide, þat þorow þem nomen;
But Irelgas was euere byfore,
After hym his folk held wel þe score;
Syde & oþer, þey lefte no þyng
Vntil þey fond Bokkus þe kynge.
When Irelgas was wel auised,
His hors on hym his bridel wysed,
He teysed his dint, Bokkes to smyte,
Þe swerd was god, & wel wold byte,
Þe helm[it] clef, þe hauberk tar,
Þorow-out þe breste þe swerd hym schar,
I trowe þe soule to helle went,
But Irelgas by þe arm hym hent,
Þat þe body fel nought doun;
He leide hum ouer-þwert hys arsoun;
Þe knyght was god, þe hors was stronge,
He turnde þer-wiþ out of þe þronge;
Þe body to þer dragon bar,—
Wel holp his men þat aboute hym war,—
Bysyde his em þe body þrew,
& on peces hym al to-hew;
Al to-hewen þer he hym let;
Houndes, foules, his body ete.

476

When Irelgas had don þat pris,
“ffelawes,” he seyde, “graunt mercis!
“Turne we ȝut on þem a-geyns,
“& folewe faste o þe Romeyns,
“& on þise houndes þat mys byleue,
“Þat oure Cristene so mykel greue!”
Þey turnde ageyn as men hardy;
Þen myghte men here noise & cry;
Swerdes, helmes, men mighte se glyder,
& sparklyng as þey smyte to-gyder.
Holdyn, þe Erl of fflaundres, held
Gaunt & Bruges vnder his scheld;
Of a bataille he was cheftayne,
He countred wyþ Alyfatyn of Spayne.
So longe þat on þat oþer assailled,
& ilk on oþer so trauailled,
Þat slayn was sire Alyfatyn,
& slayn was þe Erl Holdyn.

Lyger, þe kyng of Babilloyne,
Rod to þe Erl of Boloyne:
Slayn was þe erl, slayn was þe kyng,
& oþer þre mad þeir endynge,
Baruk, Vrgens, & sire Cursal;
Wiþ ilk was gret folk wyþ-al.
Sire Vrgens of Baþe was sire,
& Baruk of Circestre & Wilteschire,
& Cursal, Erl of Chestre was;
Þise were slayn þer at þat pas.
Þer men gaf bak, & turnde agayn,

477

& com til Ohel & til Wawayn:—
Swilk two knyghte, ful wel þou leue,
Wer non syn Adam was, & Eue;—
Þer men & þey were gode ilkon,
In pres, in pleyn, þey douted non.
Þo þat first on Bretons brak,
Þeir cheftayns slowe, dide þem gyue bak;
Alle þo þey slowe, & dide þem fle,
& turnde þem ouer, þat men myght se.
So harde strokes þe Bretons gaf,
Þe Romayns route al ouer-haf,
Þat þe Romains, wold ho, ne wolde,
fflede vnto þe Egle of golde.
(Egle ys ern on Englische roun;
Þat was þe Romayns gunphanoun.)
Þere þey fond þe Emperour,
& of al Rome þer was þe flour.
When þey seye þey come so ner,
Þe Romains were þem ful auster;
Nere herd þey seye, ne sawe hit writen,
Swilk a stour to Romayns smyten,
A doughty erl þat highte Kynmar,
Wiþ sire Ohel þat tyme was þar;
Don he hadde gret vasselage,
Þe Romayns slayn at ilka stage;
Mighte no Romayn hym a-scape,
Þat to þe deþ he dide hym rape.
A fotman þenne his bowe vp drow,
& Erl Kynmar atte lasste he slow,
& two þousand of þe Bretouns,
Wiþoute men of grete renouns.

478

De tribus sociis nobilibus.

Þre noble knyghtes þer were, & wyghte;
Iugens, hit seyþ, þat on so hyghte,—
Out of Bolayn, þeþen was he,
A borough y wene, or a cite;—
Þat oþer highte Rykomarkus,
Þe þrydde men calde Boklonius;
Þer wer non þre in al þe stour
Þat wroughte after so gret honur;
ȝif þey had ben dukes or kynges,
Of þem had ben grete preysynges;
Þer was no Romayn bitwyxt hem cam,
Þat awey wyþ lyf fro þem nam;
Were he neuere so doughty,
On lyue passed non forby;
Right to þe Emperours owen bataille
Þey ne lefte Romayns to assaille.
Þat seye Romayns, þey dide gret wow,
Þey closed hem, & alle þre slow.
When Wawayn wiste, & sire Ohel,
Þat her gode folk doun so fel,
Was neuere lubard ne lyoun,
Ne wilde wolf ne dragoun,
Þat was so wod, beste to byte,
As Wawayn was Romayns to smyte.
Sire Ohel als on his partye,
Many on dide he ded doun lye.
Þe Romayns wel þem defended,
Grete strokes on þe Bretons spended;
But Wawayn was euere fresche & prest,

479

When oþer ne myghte, þan was he best;
Was þer non helm wiþ stel so rank
Þat his swerd þorow-out ne sank,
Ne hauberk non, wyþ maille gret,
Þat his spere ne þorow schet;
Þat tyme manion dide he deye,
& þo þat myghte, made hym weye;
Among þe moste euere he presed,
His harde strokes nought ne sesed;
Right to þe Emperour Lucius,
Of Romayns he made rescous.
Lucius was ȝong, ynow had elde,
Hardy & stalworthe, armes to welde;
Bytwyxte þrytti & fourty
Was þe elde of sire Lucy.

De Insulto Walwyny ad Inperatorem.

Lucius knew wel sire Wawayn,
& he hym ful wel ageyn;
Ilk on oþer auisement sett,
But þemþerour ful wel he let;
He hoped wyþ Wawayn for to fight,
ffor he was man preised of myght,
& ȝif he myghte ascape of chaunce,
Þer-of at Rome wold he auaunce.
Right anon no þrowe abyden,
But swyþe smertly to-gydere riden;
Þeir schaftes schiuered, & fleye in feld,
But þey fel nought, ne donward held;
Gode were þer brunyes, & stronge of maille,
Þer-fore þer dyntes myghte nought vaille;

480

Wiþ swerd to smite þen þey hem hasted,
On many manere ilk oþer tasted
Ilk oþer to slo, ilk oþer to wounde,
How eyþer myght oþer brynge to grounde:
Þei proued byneþen and a-bouen,
Wyþ swerdes poyntes sadly þei schouen;
fful wel þei couþe ilk oþer assaye,
& þer as was peril ilk oþer affraye;
fful sone schuld eyþer to deþ haue gon,
ȝyf þey nadde be let of non.
Þe Romayns perceyued þer bataille hard,
& relyed þem to þe standard,
& come to socoure þemperour
Þat was in a perilous stour;
fful litel failled he nadde ben lorn.
Þen were þe Bretons bakward born,
Bretons wyþ-drowe, & Romayns wonne,
& many on ouer riden & ronne.
Þer was Wawayn in gret doute,
Þe pris of Rome was hym aboute;
Ohel & he a-scaped þorow,
& wente & teld hit til Arthorow
Þat þey had ben at þat standard,
& ner al slayn, & dryue bakward.

Confortacio Arthury.

When Arthur sey his men gaf bak,
Þe Romayns boldely on þem brak,
& poyned or pryked þem wyþ pres,
& þey wyþ-drowen hem, & erþe þey les,

481

Þen wolde Arthur no lenger byde,
Ne myghte, ȝyf he wolde saue his syde;
He cam criynge wiþ his bataille,
“Agayn, ȝe Bretons, þe Romayns asaille!
“Y am Arthur, þat wil nought faille!
“At al ȝoure nede y schal ȝow vaille!
“Y am Arthur þat hider ȝow ledde,
“Þat neuere in feld for no man fledde,
“Ne deþ, ne dynt, ne bataille dredde!
“In alle stours wel haue y spedde!
“Y am Arthur, schal make ȝow weye,
“& Romayns to Rome for drede do fleye!
“Loke þat non of ȝow recreye,
“Ne at þys iourne feynte ne feye!
“Þenkeþ now of ȝour grete bountes,
“How fele we haue wonne landes & fees!
“To day ne schal y fro þys feld fle
“Til al be wonne or lorn þorow me!”

De crudelitate fortissimi belly inter Arthurum & Inperatorem.

He smot his stede, & forþ to go,
Romayns to felle, Romayns to slo;
Þo þat hit seye, myght hit wel seye,
So mykel folk for hym gan deye,
So many helmes for hym þorow dryuen,
Scheldes clouen, hauberks ryuen,
Þat Caliborne hadde þorow byten,
Hedes, armes, legges, of smyten;
I may nought seye al, ne how,

482

At ilka dynt a man he slow.
As þe lyon for hunger snacches
& sleþ þe best þat he first lacches,
So ferd Arthur wyþ ilkon,
Many hors, men, a lyue left non;
Wham-so he myghte reche or smyte,
Þough he hym wounded neuere so lyte,
Leche craft couþe hym nought seye;
ffor any medisine, nede most he deye:
As þe wolf chaseþ þe schep,
He dide þe Romayns by-fore hym lep;
And als Arthur after þem schok,
Sertor of Lubye he ouer-tok;
His hed he smot of at o dynt,
ffor non armure þe swerd ne stynt;
Seide Arthur þen to þo þer ware,
“Schame þe tyme þou armes bare!
“& þat þou come me so ney,
“Caliborne to make blody!”
Arthur ouer-gat in anoþer pres
Þe kyng of Bythayne, Pollydetes,
Of a lond of Payenye:
A wonder strok Arthur let flye!
By þe schuldres þe hed of plat;
Þe hed fel doun, þe body vp sat.
Þorow Arthures wordes & dedes trayst,
Þe Bretons bolded, & Romayns abaischt;

483

Netheles þe Romayns wel abod,
Ageyn þe Bretons stifly rod,
& foughten as þey were wod,
Wiþ gret strengþe a-geyn þem stod.
ffor Arthur saw þey wolde nought scurne,
He gaf þem strokes wyþ Caliborne.
Þemperour þenne taried nought,
On Arthures folk ful sore he sought,
But þemperour ne Arthur þe kyng
Mighte nought mete for no þynge;
Mikel was þe pres, ful þykke þe þro,
Þey myghte nought mete; Arthur was wo.
Wel faught þe Breton, & wel þe Romayn;
A þousand wyþynne a þrowe were slayn;
Might noman wyte ho schulde ȝut wynne,
Ne whiche of hem wer oute ne inne;
Þer was þe flour of boþe partis,
& neyþer side bar ȝit þe pris.
Moreont, of Gloucetre cheftayn,
Meoued aboue vpon þe montayn;
He sey þe bataille was ful long,
Ne non ne fledde out of þe þrong;
He hadde a legion of folk þat wex
Sex þousand, sex hundred, sexti & sex;
And alle knyghtes wyþ helm on stede;
& þoughte þat Arthur hadde nede;
He sey non þat hym ne gaf þe feld,
& til þe Bretons þer owen held;
He þoughte þorow help of a lite
Þey scholde þe Romayns desconfite,
& for to venge Arthures tene,

484

Of þe Romayns þey schuld make clene.
He com doun al pryuely,
Þat non ne herde noyse ne cry;
Byhynde þe bank he cam al hot,
& on þe Emperours side he smot,
& his bataille perced þorow out.
Þen gon þey baysche þat er wer stout,
Þe Romayns þenne no lenger byden,
Þe Bretons folewed, & þem ouer ryden,
& al fleynge lightly þem slow,
& spoyled hem, & al to-drow;
Syn had þey no grace to stande,
Ne myghte relye, but euere fleande.
Þer was þemperour slayn of chaunce
Þorow-out þe body wiþ a launce;—
Y can nought seye ho dide hym falle,
But sire Wawayn, men seide hit alle;
Y þe laste bataille þat in sprong,
He was slayn þer among;
Þe certeyn can þer noman ame,
But sire Wawayn bar þe name;—
Among þe dede þey hym founde,
& wiþ a spere was his wounde.
Þe Romayns alle faste þey fledde,
& þe Payens for drede spredde;
Whilk of þem þat swyþest nam,
Þe Bretons kept þem as þey cam;
Þey were wery alle to slo,
ffor wery, manion let þey go;
Þe blod ran þer as water stremes

485

In chynes, in creuesses, & in semes;
Gode stedes & palfrays
ȝede o stray, ilk his ways.
Arthur was glad þat þorow here dome
Had so abated þe pride of Rome;
ffor byforn, seyden alle þe Romayns,
Þat non myght standen þem ageyns;
Þerfore þanked Arthur God Almyght,
Þat gaf hym þe maistri of hem þorow fight.

Et sic finitur bellum incomparabile.

Þenne dide he seke alle þe Bretons,
Erles, knyghtes, & barouns,
& dide þem carie to þer contres,
& byried þem at here cites,
Til heremytages & til abbeyes,
Þer men holy bodies leyes.
He tok þe body of þe Emperour,
& dide hit kepe at gret honur,
& sent hit to Rome to do in graue;
‘Oþer truwage schuld þey non haue:
‘ȝyf þey any oþer lord fond
‘To aske truwage of Arthurs lond,
‘Eyþer of Bretaigne or of Fraunce,
‘Hym schulde falle þe same chaunce;
“& Arthur preyes ȝow, for þe arrerage
“Þat ȝe receyue now þys truwage;
“And ȝyf ȝe chalange hym any mare,
“He schal ȝow sende swiche as þyse are.”

486

De sepultura Mangnatum Brytannie Mortuorum.

Kay, þat was wounded byforn,
Vntil þe castel was he born;
He compassed hit in lengþe & brede
Er he to þe bataille ȝede,
& gaf hit name, & cald hit Chymoun;
I ne wot why, ne what resoun.
Sire Kay liuede nought but a stounde,
He hadde so manye dedly wounde;
Þey byried hym at an heremitage
Bysyde Chymoun, at a passage.
At Bayouse in Normandie
Þey seide sire Beduer schulde þere lye;
Þey biried hym at a kyrke name-couþ,
Wyþoute þe ȝate toward þe souþ.
To fflaundres þei bere þe erl Holdyn,
In Tyrewane þei biried hym in;
Sire Liger was boren to Boloigne.
& Arthur lefte in Burgoyne,
Al þe wynter he dwelled þer-inne,
& tounes dide he manie bygynne;
In somer he þoughte to Rome haue gon,
ȝyf he ne hadde lettyng of non.

De Moddreto traditore.

He was passed þe mountes pleyn,
But Moddred dide hym turne ageyn.
A day as he to þe mete went,
Out of þis lond lettres were sent,

487

& right as his trumpes blewe,
A messager þat he wel knewe,
Þe lettres in his hand he leyde,
& til his owen mouþ he seyde,
‘Þat Moddred, his sister sone,
‘Had y-don hym gret tresone;
‘He had taken of þe lond homage,
‘& leyd in casteles gret hostage;
‘ȝit wil he nought be þer-by,
‘But waiteþ þe more vileny:
“Þy wif til hys hore haþ drawe,
“Ageynes cristen mannes lawe;
“& Cheldryk, kyng of Germye,
“Ys comen, & brought gret partie;
“By-ȝonde Humber, vntil Scotland,
“Cheldrik haþ þat in his hand;
“& al þat langes vntil Kent,
“Vntil Cheldrik gyue þey rent;
“To holde wyþ Moddred wyþ his might,
“Trouþe to-gydere haue þey plight.
“Seuen hundred schipe lyn by þe stronde,
“ffour score þousand þer come to londe
“Of men of armes, wyþoute pytaille,
“Ageyn þou comest, to gyue þe bataille.”

When he had þus til Arthur teld,
How Moddred no feyþ ne trouþe hym held,
& synfullyke had reysed stryf,
His lond hym refte, for-leyn his wyf,
He made his plainte to sire Oel,
& preide hym to kepe ilkadel

488

Burgoyne & ffraunce boþe wel;
Til hym he tryste as to þe stel:
“Toward Bretaigne y wil me spede,
“Þe outlandeys wiþ me lede,
“On Moddred wil y bataille bede,
“& take vengaunce of his misdede.
“Lytel y preyse al my conquest
“Þat y haue wonne in þys est,
“ȝyf y now leue Bretayigne, my fe,
“Bretayne myn heritage þat fel to be.
“I schal me hye a-geyn to come;
“On alle manere y wil to Rome.”
He iorneyed þen fro land to land
Til he come to Whitsand.
He pleyned hym sore of Moddred,
Þat fro his conquest had don hym fled.

Arthul had purueid hym a flet,
At Whitsand were þey in water set;
Moddred herde wel þat tydyng,
‘By Whitsand cam Arthur þe kyng.’
Modred gadered his hostes to-gydere,
Of hyse & oþer þat come þydere;
Arthur he hoped he durste abide,
Wyþ-sette þe hauenes on ilka syde.
Þe lond wolde nought Moddred lese,
Ne repente, ne to þe pes chese;
He wyste hym self so coupable,
To aske þe pes hit was but fable.

De bello inter Arthurum & Modredum traditorem.

Arthur dide his flete eft dight,
To Romeneye þey redde þem right;
But er þey were of schipes nomen,

489

Er was Moddred a-geyn hym comen,
& letted hym to haue entre,
Þey mighte nought come vp fro þe se.
But Arthures men mighte wyþ trauaille;
ffalse Moddred þey gonne assaille;
& he a-geyn was ful bold.
ffor he hadde so siker hold,
Arthures folk were more schent;
ffor to þer schipes þey gaf þer tent
To stere þem boþe fer & hende,
Þey tenden nought hem self to fende;
Þey mighte hem nought fro arewes couere
While þey stode on bankes ouer;
Þer-fore were manie at meschef,
& þer lost was more gref.
As þey to londe fro botes stirte,
Many were slayn, & fele were hyrte,
& mescheuously þen fel such cas
Þat sire Wawayn slayn þer was,
& sire Agusel of Scotland
By hym lay ded on his hand;—
Þe soþe ne saw y write, ne how,
Wheþer þat bowe or swerd hem slow;—
& manye oþere were slayn þore,
Þat Arthur pleyned hem ful sore,
But non by þe tenþe del
As Wawayn & Agusel:
He had so mikel sorewe for þo
Þat he þoughte in non oþer wo;
Þeir sorewe myghte he neuere furgete;

490

Siþen eet he neuere gladly mete.
But whan his folk land had taken,
A party gan his sorewe ouer schaken;
Þen myghte Moddred haue no duree,
Ne no fot helden his meynee;
Þaw þey were fele, þey were nought prest,
Þey had be norisched in pes & rest,
Þey couþe nought fighte, ne to-gydere wone,
Ne at tyme stande ne schone,
Als Arthures folk in werre couþe,
Þat had hit vsed fro tyme of ȝouþe.

De occisione gentis Moddredy.

Þat ilke day at Romeneye
Arþur dide manion deye
Of Moddredes folk here & þere,
& mo schulde, ȝyf þe nyght ne were.
Arthur sey þe day gan faille,
He bod & stynte his folk to taille;
He gaf al tente til his owen conrey.
Þat while fledde Moddred a-wey;
Al þat night Moddred fledde
To seke recet, but yuele he spedde;
He wende Londone wolde hym receyue;
Þey wold hym nought, but let hym weyue.
Temese & Londone he passed al,
At Wynchestre þer tok he stal,
Þere he herbergwed al a nyght
Ageyn þer wille, al þorow myght;
Of þe burgeys he tok feaute

491

& homage, al þeir maugre.

De Sepultura Walwyny.

Arthur wolde no soiour make,
But Moddred wold he sle or take;
But sorewe ful þough, did hym gret pyn,
Of sire Gawayn his dere cosyn,
& Agusel þe Scottische kyng:
Arthur made here byrying
At Wybyry, þat ys in Walys;
Þer lye þey boþe, seyþ Peres tales.
Now comeþ al Arthures sorewe & drede.
To venge hym on þe false Moddrede,
Day ne night ne wolde he blynne.
To sege Wynchestre, Moddred wyþynne,
He dide þe contre somoune al out,
& vmbyleide þe toun about.
Þen sey Moddred he was in clos,
& byseged wiþ his fos;
He þoughte þat ȝyf he so longe lay,
Wel schulde he nought wynne a-way,
Þat nedly taken schuld he be,
& maugre hym ȝelde þe cite.
Among his men he made a cry,
& bad hem alle arme hem redy;
Wyþ hym to fighte leuere he wylde
Þan, his vnþankes, to þem ȝelde.
His men in bataille gan þem renge,
& wente right out hym for to venge;
Þe parties sone to-gydere ran,
& lorn was þere þen many a man.
Moddredes partie ȝede al doun,
ffor his folk had no fuisoun;

492

Hit was no wonder he hadde no grace,
ffor traitour scholde nought spede in place.
He sey his side no tyme ne spedde;
ffor his misdede þe kyng he dredde;
Hym self he þoughte algate to saue,
Siþen he ne mighte no grace haue;
His priues alle til hym he tok,
Þo þat Arthur alle fursok,
Þo þat Moddred hadde forþ brought,
Þat neuere louede Arthur nought;
Priuely wyþ hem he fledde a-wey,
& lefte þer al his oþer conrey.
To Souþhaumptone he tok þe sty,
& huyred hym schipes al redy,
& swyþe anon þey gonne forþ saille;
ffor drede he fledde til Cornewaille.
Þo þat Moddred byhinde hym left,
Alle were þey slayn, þer lyues reft,
& wan þe toun of þem ilkon;
But wo was hym Moddred was gon.
Sire Vrienes sone, Iwene he hight,
Gentil of blod, and ful god knyght;
Agusel cosyn was sire Iweyn,
Þe reme of Scotland he gan to cleym,
He left hit til Iweyn in herytage,
& Iweyn made Arthur homage.
Iweyn had laught gret honour,
Ageyn Moddred he stod in stour,
& dide & seyde Moddred gret schonde,
Þe while Arthur was out of londe.

493

At ȝork to soiourne was þe quen,
Scheo herde what wo hem was bytwen,
Þat Moddred ne myghte in bataille dure,
But euere was at desconfiture.
Scheo þoughte scheo was þen mykel to blame
ffor þe vylenye & þe schame
þat Moddred hadde brought hure inne,
& wyþ hym hadde y-leyn in synne,
& wedded hure ageyn þe lawe,—
He ne lefte for kyng ne Godes awe,—
Scheo hopede þat hit scholde yuele ende,
Hure noble lord so foule to schende,
& hure self for euere y-schent.
So mykel sorewe in herte scheo hent,
Scheo fledde away out of þe toun
To Walys, vntil Carlioun;
Sch[eo] ȝald hure til þat nonnerye,
& tok þe veil for hure folye;
Þer-inne was scheo hyd & sperd,
Þat noman of hure more herd.

Moddred had sesed þen Cornewaille,
ffor al Ingeland gan hym faille,
& sente aboute to landes sers
After knyghte & souders;
Payen & Cristen knyght of scheld,
Alle þat wilde, at soud he held.
He sente for Irysche & Noreys;
Þe Saxons come wyþ þe Daneys;
‘Þat hadde nought on to lyue,
‘Lond,’ he seyde, ‘he wolde hem gyue;’
He highte & gaf to forthe his sped,
As man byhoues þat haþ gret ned.

494

But Arthur sore ouer þoughte
ȝyf he wiste what hym doughte;
He dredde mykel his grete comynge,
Payens among þe Crystene to brynge.
Arthur wolde no lenger byde,
But gadered folk on ilka syde
Of alle þe contres heþen to Humber;
fful manye þer were, as seys þe noumber.
ȝyf Arthur hadde lenger abiden,
Þe sykerere myghte Moddred haue ryden.
When þe kyng had folk ynow,
Toward Cornewaille he hym drow,
& com in þer by þat cost
Þer þat Moddred logged his host.
Þen seide Moddred, ‘he wolde nought fle,
‘But abyde what chaunce so be;
‘He schulde er putte hym self to deye,
‘Er he wolde eft fle his weye.’
Moddred hadde fourty þousand,
In a wode busched to stand
By-syde a water, Tambre, y wene,
Þat þe parties ran by-twene.
Stronge were þe hostes, gret was þe hate,
& wrathe to-gydere dide þem abate.
Þorow hate & ire to-gydere þey ran,
& Payens loues no Cristen man;
Þerfore þe bataille was merueillous,
& þe slaughter more hydous.
On boþe partis were slayn fele,

495

ffor þer non wolde oþer [forbere ne] spele.
When Arthur sey Moddred feloun,
He rod til hym wiþ gret raundoun;
Byfore hym dide bere his dragoun,
Moddred to smyte as a lyoun.
Moddred he smot, & he smot hym,
On boþe partis were woundes grym.
But Moddredes side gan misfalle,
ffor he was slayn, & his men alle;
& als was slayn þer y þat stour,
Of þe Rounde Table þe faire flour,—
Þe faire ȝonglynges so mykel y-preised
Þat Arthur had norisched & vp reysed,
Þat he had gadered of alle landes,
Þe doughtiest þat were of handes;—
& Arthur hym seluen þore,
Men seyþ, he was wounded sore;
&, for his woundes were to drede,
Þer-fore he dide hym self lede
In to þe Ilde of Aualoun.
& þus seys ilka Bretoun,
Þat on lyue þere he ys,
Lyuende man wyþ blod & flesche,
& after hym ȝut þey lok.
Maister Wace þat made þys bok,
He seyþ namore of his fyn
Þat doþ þe prophete Merlyn.
Merlyn seide ful merueillouse,
Þat Arthures deþ was dotouse;
Þer-fore ȝyt þe Bretons drede,
& seyn þat he lyues in lede;

496

But y seye þey trowe wrong;
ffor ȝyf he now lyue, his lyf ys long;
& ȝyf he lyue þys ilke day,
He schal lyue for euere & ay.
Nought þan y trowe þe Bretons lye;
He was so wounded, he moste dye.

Nomina dominorum occissorum, tam ex parte Arthury, quam Moddredy.

Þyse were þe lordes of renoun
Þat on Moddredes side ȝed doun:
Brumyng, Egbright, Elays, Cheldryk,
Gyllarion, Syllatel, Gylomar, Gylopayk.

Þo þat deyde on Arthures syde,
Þat were lorn þat ilke tyde:
Egbright of Norweye, Askyl of Denmark,
Cador, & Cassibolon, doughti men & stark;
& many oþer lordes les þer lyf,
Many lady wydewe, þat was wyf.
Arthur was born til Aualoun
I þe ȝer of þe Incarnacion
ffyue hundred, & two & fourty,
Syn Iesu lyghte in virgyne Mary.
But al þe roialme was in speyr,
ffor of his body was non heyr.

497

De Rege Constantino post Arthurum.

But Cadores sone highte Constantyn
Of Cornewaille, Arthures cosyn,
He tok hym þe roiame in kepyng;
Vntil he cam, bad hym be kyng.

Of Moddred were two sones left,
Þat þe lond wold hym haue reft;
Proude men & riche were þey;
Þey seye þe force ȝede al awey,
Þe gode knyghte þat þer ware,
Were y-slayn, þe land was bare.
Þey seye þat Arthur nought ne com;
To haue drede þey nyste of whom;
Þe newe kyng nought þey dredde,
But gadered folk, & hostes ledde,—
Þo Saxons þat Moddred held,
Þat ascaped vnslayn y þe feld,—
To þem alle were ef[t] alyed;
Þe kynges men ouer al þei spyed;
Of Londone þat on sesed þe cite,
& þe beste of alle þe contre;
Þat oþer, Wynchestre & al þe schire,
& wende haue ben lord & sire.

Constantyn herde of þer estre,
& hyed hym ȝerne vnto Wynchestre,
& in a kyrke he hym fond.
ffor al þe kirke ne wolde he wond;
Byfore þe auter seint Anfrybal
His hed he smot of quitly al;

498

And when þat on al þus was ded,
On þat oþer, bataille he bed;
But he ne durste nought hym abyde,
In a kirke he gan hym hyde,
But þat stod til hym no prow,
ffor in þe kirke he hym slow.
Þre ȝer holy was he kyng;
At Stonhenge he mad his endyng;
ffor Conan his cosyn þere hym slow
Treterously,—but y not how,—
& in þe same stede ys leyd,
Wyþynne þe carole, þe story seyd.

De Rege Conano.

After hym was kyng his cosyn Conan,
Þat was a folt, a mysproud man;
Pes couþe he non ȝeme his lyue,
But suffrede his folk ay fighte & striue.
In cites was ay contek & tene,
Þe barons werrede þem by-twene;
His men & he were sonder saught,
By stoundes often to-gydere faught;
Hit semed wel he couþe no god,
Syn he furdude his owen blod;
Hys oþer Em tok wyþ werre & wow,
& boþe his Emes sones he slow,
ffor þey were righte heires of þe lond,
Þat after hym self of blod men fonde;
Þer-fore he was þe more to blame,
Þat his owen blod so broughte to schame.
ffour ȝer he regned, & in tresoun,
& deide in dampnacion;

499

He regned & dide,—his feble hap,—
And after hym regned sire Vortap;
In þe Latyn ys writen þus,
Hys ryghte name ys Vortapus.

De Rege Vortapo.

In Vortapus time ryse Saxones
To haue wonne þe lond eft sones:
Þer chaunce was god in þeir rysy[n]ge,
Gret skaþe þey dide vnto þe kynge.
His secounde ȝer his grace cam,
& hardinesse in herte he nam,
Huyred souders, & gaf þem wages,
& destruyed þe Saxons lynages,
Þat non durste in his lond abide
But þorow truage at terme & tyde.
ffour ȝer he hadde þe lond in pees;
At Londone he made his deces.

De Rege Malgo.

After hym cam his sone Malgo;
Til alle manhede he gaf hym to;
Alle men hadde of hym doute,
He wan þe ildes ouer al aboute,
& of kynges he tok feaute,
As whilom hit was woned to be;
Of doughtinesse, of body feir,
He lyknede his auncestre als heir;
Of knyght-schipe noblely he proued;
Alle his kynde ful wel he loued;
Large he was, of ȝyftes bolde;
Tresor wolde he neuere holde;
He let nought þat day to lyuen,
But he had som what of his gyuen,

500

Þat alle of hym were glad & blythe,
And þanked hym ful many syþe.
His þrydde ȝer was yuel to lyke,
He vsed þe synne Sodomyke,—
Þe synne of Sodome, as men fynde,
Is a sinne ageynes kynde;—
At Wynchestre, at his baþynge,
Sodeynly mad he his endynge.

De Rege Cariceo.

After Malgo, Carice þei ches,
A nyce þat louede no pes.
ffor he was ai sorwful & wroþ,
Þer-fore was he alle men loþ.
Þat herde þe Saxons he was gremande,
& þoughte he myghte nought dure ne stande.
Ouer al aboute hym þey ros,
& oþer aliens, Bretons fos,
Þat come wyþ Gormound by þe se side.
Þe nauye of Gormound spredde ful wyde,
He destruyed þe Bretons alle,
& þer name for euere dide falle,
And þe name of þe lond [was] lorn,
Þat highte Bretayne longe byforn:
A þousand ȝer byfore þe Incarnacioun
Hight hit Bretaigne, for loue of Bretoun,
Euere vntil Gormound cam;
Þe name of Bretayne þenne a-wey nam.
Listneþ now a litel pas,
When Gormound cam, & what he was:

501

De Gormundo de Aufrico.

Gurmound was a noble knyght,
Of noble lynage, of mykel myght,
Stalworþe of body, hardy of wille,
He dredde noman for god ne ille;
Kynges sone he was of Aufryk,
Þat is in heþenesse a ful fer stryk;
Of al Aufrike was he heyr,
But þer-of ne tok he ward ne speir;
ffor, Aufrik he gaf til his broþer,
& seide he wolde purchace hym oþer,
He seide he wolde toward þe west,
By þe se syde, to make conquest,
& croune wolde he neuere bere
But he hit wan wyþ force & were.
Merlyn þe clerk longe byforn
Of Gormound spak, er he was born,
& seide, ‘þe wolf vpon þe se
‘Schuld do alle þe Bretons fle:’
Þus seyde Merlyn wyþ herte ful sor,
Þe Bretons tyme for euere mor,
Til Cadwal & til Conan
Þeir bones broughte ageyn wyþ man.

fful wel he cald hym ‘wolf of drede;’
He robbed oueral as he ȝede.
He purchased hym, þorow robberye,
Men ynowe, & fair nauye,—
An hundred & sexti þousand bolde
Of men of armes knowe & tolde,

502

Wyþouten gelde & maryners,
& sergauntz, & gode archers;—
Schipes he hadde, y ne wot how fele;
Alle he tok, & non wold spele.
Water & lond, long & brod,
He ouer sailed, & al þorow rode;
Ildes þorow ȝede, kynges ouer-cam,
Þeyr landes sesed, þer godes nam.
So longe he ferde o þe se sailand,
& kynges slow by se & sand,
Al holy his flute gan dryue,
Vpon Irland he gan aryue;
Þe lond sone til hym gan falle;
Irische kyng he dide hym calle;
Þen seide he ‘he wolde to Bretaigne,
‘Wiþ Bretons to make a newe bargayne.’

Saxons were manie ȝyt in þys lond,
Þorow trewage þat men þem in bond,
& when þey felde hem ought of might,
In Hengistes landes þey claymed right,
Thwancastre, Lyndesye & Kent,
Of þyse Hengist furst hadde rent,
& þat he gaf Octa his sone,—
By Scotland þer gan he wone;—
Þey chalangede hit of auncestrie,
Al þat was Hengistes partie;
Ofte þey wan hit þorow dynt,
& often hit a-geyn þey tynt;
Often þer-fore þey gaf hostages,
& also ofte made þey homages;
To þe Bretons oþ þey swor,
& often ageyn þer oþ þey for;

503

Neuere held þey lenger feyþ ne ryght
Þan þey sey tyme & terme of myght,—
Þat a kyng was ded or doune,
Or ȝyf a feble on hadde þe croune;—
Þenne þey ryse, on Bretons ronne,
Vmwhile þey les, vmwhile þei wonne;
ȝyf a discord were bitwixt þe Bretons,
Euere medlande were þe Saxons;
On wham-so ros contek or wo,
Þe Saxons were redy þeym to slo.

Northumberland was al þeyr home,
Þere þey wonede, þennes þey come;
Hit was gyuen þem first to bigge,
Al wast was hit wone to ligge;
But þer dwellynge mended þat contre
Wel bettere þan hit was wone to be.

Of Gurmound ȝede þe word ful wyde,
Þat alle landes he wolde þorow ryde;
Payen he was, þey herde wel telle,
Cristen men to struye & quelle.
When þey herde of hym þus speke,
Þey hoped þan he scholde þem wreke;
Wyþ þe Bretons þei made al pes,
Þe whiles messegers þey ches,
& sente til Gurmound ouer þe se,
& hette ‘to holde of hym þer fe
‘Wyþ þy he wolde come to Bretaigne,
‘& gyue hit þem, & be cheftaigne,
‘& be hym self lord & kynge,
‘Wyþy þey helde of hym þeir þynge,
‘Þat leuede on his owen lawe,
‘& brynge þe Cristene alle of dawe:

504

“ffor ȝe ar Payen, & so ar we;
“O lawe we wolde þat al schuld be,
“& swylk a kyng wolde we haue
“Þat þe Payen lay might saue.”
ffaste hym bisoughte, & þus þey hym het,
So þat Gurmound mad redy his flet,
& seide ‘he wolde auenture his chaunce,
‘Hys Payen lay for to auaunce.’
To schipe he wente at a tyde,
O Northumberland he gan ryde.
Gurmound acorded wiþ þe Saxons,
‘To voide þe lond of alle þe Bretons,
‘& gyue hit þe Saxons in fe ageyn.’
Of þys made þey foreward certeyn,
& þat þey schulde gyue hym truwage,
& þer-til swore, & gaf hostage.

Oueral þenne was sorewe & drede
Whenne þe Payens gonne to sprede!
ffor þey of noman hadde mercy,
But alle deide delfully;
Þe Cristen blod [þat] er was gentil,
Was turned to Payen so vyl.
Þe Saxons ledde þe Aufrykans,
& destruyed þe Cristen wans;
Knyghtes, clerkes, to deþ were don,
& namely alle religion;
Was non spared of Cristen tonge,
Neyþer womman ne childre ȝonge.
Byschopes, abbotes, þat reliqes had,
When þey fledde, a-wey þeym lad,

505

& manye in þe erthe þey dalf,
Þat now men fynde on many half;—
Crosses, belles, men haue founden,
In welles, in watres, vp haue wounden,
Þat tyme were casten, so to saue,
ffor þey myghte nought alle wyþ hem haue;—
Cors seyntes bones wyþ hem bare;
& hidde in erþe manion ȝut are.
Alle fledde þat fle might;
Þe hardiest was ful sore afright.
Theof, þe erchebischop of London,
To wode he fledde, & was nought fonden;
Sire Thadok, þe erchebischop of ȝork,
He liuede in kerres, as doþ þe stork;
Þey liuede wyþ herbes of þe ryuers,
In wast, wyþ bestes, at stedes sers;
Non þeym tok to castel ne tour,
ffor þey wyste of no socour;
Halles, chaumbres, alle þey let,
To Walys fele fledde on fet.
& somme þat mighte hauen hent,
In schip to litel Bretaigne went;
Þe mene folk & þe poraille
ffledde in to Walys & Cornewaille.

Þe kyng fledde fro cost to cost,
ffor he myght gete to-gedere non host
Þat durste stande Gurmound agayn,
Erl, baron, knyght, ne swayn;
Ne þe kyng durst hym nought se,
ffor non wilde stande, but alle wold fle.

506

Seint Bede telles in his gestes
How þe Bretons brak Godes heste[s]:
Why þat meschaunce gan on þem falle,
In his bokes he writes hit alle.
Of eighte þat he wrytes, y telle þe þre,
In stede of an autorite:
Propre profit, & pryue hate,
ȝonge mennes conseil þey toke algate;
ffor by alle þyse þre þey ches,
And mest þorow þyse, Bretayne þey les.

Caricius, Rex Brutonum, versus est in fugam.

Gurmound soughte faste & spyrede,
Þe kyng to haue, mykel he desyred;
Carice to folewe, faste he spedde,
& euere Carice byfore hym fledde;
To Circestre algate he wan,
& Gurmound hym folewede, þe Aufrican,
Byseged þe toun a ful long while,
& brente hit wyþ a queynte gyle.
He telleþ first of a meschaunce
Of kyng Lowys cosyn of ffraunce,—
His name was cald Isambert—
He dide hym selue a folie apert;
To Gurmound cam, & wyþ hym spak,
His Cristendom fursok & brak,

507

To venge hym on his em Lowys
Þat hadde hym flemed out of Parys.
A deuel he was—þe soþe was sene—
Our God to fursake, hys em to tene.

Gurmound aspied oueral ilk estre
How best he mighte bisege Circestre;
Tentes & pauilons he sette,
Engyns dide mak & fette;
Þe toun he seged so straite aboute
Þat þey wyþynne myght naught oute.
Þey wyþynne ageyn þem kast,
Wyþ tymber & ston þey closed þem fast,—
Engines on walles þey hadde ynowe,
Out of carneles, arblastes drowe,—
On dayes þey wroughte on þer clos,
On nyghtes þey woke for þeir foos.
Þough al þer clos were right god,
& skyle þey seye & vnderstod,
Þat atte laste,—nylde þey, wylde,—
Þe toun byhoued þem nedly ȝelde;
Þey wyste hit wel, & nought ne wende
Þe toun for euere þey mighte defende.
Nought for þan þey were dismayed,
ffor gyle al day þey were affrayed.

508

Þey wyþoute ofte þem assailled;
Þe toun was strong, in veyn trauailled.
Þen sey Gurmound hit halp þem nought,
Þe sautes þat þey on hem sought,
& longe byhoued þem þere to lye
Er he schold wynne hit wyþ maistrie.
Castels aboute þe toun dide make,
Bretaxed & carneled, þer-inne to wake.
Isambert, þat on he tok,
Þeyr estres for to spye & lok;
An oþer he tok his owene barouns;
Þe þrydde gaf he to þe Saxouns.
Vntil hym self he made a tour;
Þer-inne he lay, & held soiour,
Þer-inne ȝede he vp & doun,
And spied þe estres of þe toun.
Þey of þe toun were bolde & stout,
By tyme vmwhile þey camen out
Al armed, as men hardy,
& dide þe Payens gret vyleny.
By-twyxten þem was many a chace,
& putte þer lyues ofte in grace;
fful often dide þey many foul chek,
& often were þey in þe brek;
On boþe sides, to wynne pris,
Boldely bede þey ilk oþer þe vys;
But þey wyþoute were euere þe mo,
Ageyn to toune dide þem go;

509

On eyþer half slewe þey manye a man,
Of Bretons, Saxoyns, & Aufrican.
When þey had dryuen þe Bretons in,
Þe Walsche men myghte þey nought wyn;
Þe toun ful longe þer owen held.
Þe ost wyþoute leye in þe feld,
& hadde destruyed al þe contre,
ffourty myle aboute, & þre.

Audite iam quoddam Mirabile de cremacione Cirencestrie.

But listneþ now a selkouþ
Þat neuere er fel by norþ ne souþ,
Ne neuere contreued in elde ne ȝouþe,
Ne conseil gyuen of mannes mouþe:
Þe Payens wyþowte leide nettes & lynes,
& sparewes toke al day by tymes;
After þat, luytel notes þey toke,
& holede þem, þe kerneles out schoke;
Þey dide y þe schelles, fyr & tunder,
Brymston & flax,—þys was a wonder,—
& feste þem by þe sparewes fet;
At euen homward fleye þem let;
Þe sparewes fleye at euen to reste,
Til houses þere þey were woned to neste;
In eueses þey crepte, & in þe þakkes,
& in hey & in corn stakkes;
Þe fir, þe tonder, þe brymston hot,
Kyndled on lowe, & vp hit smot.

510

Þe Bretons wyst nought how hit brent,
Ne on what manere þe fir was sent;
Þey armed þeym alle redy to fight;
Ouer fewe þey were, & hadde no myght.
Þe kyng þer in-to Walys skaped,
& þo þat myghte, wiþ hym þeym raped;—
Syþ herde y nought telle of wham
Whiderward Carice by-cam;—
& right þus Circestre was taken,
Þat longe held þe Payens waken;
& for hit was wyþ sparewes brent,
Þo men þat þorow þe contre went,
On Englische cald hit “Sparewes Toun,”
& Frensche men “Cite de Mischeroun,”
ffor to mene þe queyntise
How hit was wonne, & on what wyse.

When Gurmound had al ouer riden & ronne,
& Bretayne til his hand al wonne,
Þat no Breton durst hym abyde,
Ne ageines hym in bataille ride,
To þe Saxons he gaf þe lond
Þat he in Northumberland first fond.
And ȝyf dide Gurmound so, he dide right,
He sykerede þem byforn, & hight;

511

& þo þat ȝerned Hengistes þyng,
Þorow Gurmound hadde þer ȝernyng;
ffor he gaf þeym þe lond of Kent,
Þat longe wyþ Hengistes blod was went.

Alynage of þe out ildes he dide allye,
Þat langed vntil Saxonie;
Men þei were of gret honur,
& doughti for to stande in stour;—
‘Anglysche’ kalde þei al þat kynde,
To knowe where men mighte hit fynde;—
Gurmound þe lond to þem hit gaf,
But þe oþere Saxoyns be þem ouer haf,
& made Anglische souereyns for to be,
ffor to holde hit of hym in fee;
In Northfolk was first þer wonynge;
‘Estangle’ hit hight for þer comynge;
Anglys, þat contre first þey aught,
& of Anglis, Estangle hit laught:
Þus fondy in Maister Waces boke;
Of Peres of Langtoft also y toke,
& of Gyldas þer-to y leyde,
Right as Peres þer-of seyde;
Of alle þre bryng y to place,
Gyldas, Peres, & Maister Wace.
But þe Saxons acorded for no þynge
Þat þe Anglys schuld be þer kyng;
“Þey hadde wel leuere,” þe Saxons seyd,
“Þat þe lond were in partis leyd,
“Þan þe Anglys of þe out ildes
“Schulde be chef of alle þer gyldes.”

512

Diuisio Regni per Gurmundum, secundum Gyldas.

Gurmound sey þey acorded nought,
He parted þe lond as hym best þought:
In Kent a kyng ordeyned he,
& Caunterbury was þe chef cite;
Southsex was þat oþer estre,
& þe chef toun was Chichestre;
Westsex þe þrydde of renoun,
& Wyltone was þer chef toun;
Middelsex þe ferþe founden,
Þe chef toun þanne was Lounden;
Estangle þe fyfte kynge-riche,
Þer chef cite þenne was Norwiche;
Southfolk langed al þer til,
Of Estangle hit ys þorow skyl.
Þe syxte was Merce, now ys Lyndeseye,
Þe hed toun þer to Lyncolne lay;
Þe seue[n]þe roialme of rente & fe,
ffro Humber, al þe northe contre
Vntil Scotland, als hit lys,
& ȝork þer chef toun was of pris.
In Gildas bok þus y fond,
Þat Gurmound parted Ingelond;
Siþen vpon ffraunce he ran,
To wynne hit, for Arthur hit wan.

513

Declaracio Hystorie secundum Benedictum Bedam.

Now haue þe Anglys þe seignurye,
Þat are þe kynde of Germenye.
Þe Saxons als, þat now are on,
Spred y þys reomes ilkon.
Ilke a kyng desired his lawe,
Of alle myghte noman seye no sawe,
So fele þer were now & now,
What þey wroughte, couþe non sey how;
But þat seynt Bede of þem alle seys,
Elles schulde non haue knowe what weys,
Ne no story forto haue writen;
But as seint Bede doþ vs to wyten
Whilk were gode, whilke were elles;
And of byschopes al so he telles,
Þat ȝe in his bokes rede;
To telle hit here hit ys no nede;
Hit were a degyse þyng,
But whan þe lond was til o kyng.

Longe after, þus write y fond,
How a Breton chalanged þys lond:
‘Engle,’ þe story seyþ he hight,
And broughte a chaumpion for to fight,—
‘Scardynk’ highte þe chaumpioun
Þat cam wyþ Engle þe Bretoun;—
On al þe lond he sette chalange,
ffor his auncestres wolde he venge,
& take vengeaunce of þe Anglys
Þat chased þe Bretons out of þys.
Alle Anglys þys Engle dredde
ffor þe grete poer þat he ledde.

514

Þys Engle sente vntil þe barouns,
& alle þe kynges he made somouns,
To holde of hym al her ryght,
Or he schulde wynne hit of hem wiþ fyght,
Eyþer þorow pleyn bataille in feld,
Or wyþ chaumpion staf & scheld.
Þys Skardyng was ferly strong,
Als a geaunt gret & longe,
Þat non for drede dyrst auntre on hym,
So was he strong, mykel & grym.
ffor drede of Engle & of Skardynge,
Þey maden Engle þer chef kyng;
ffor þys Engle þys lond þus wan,
Engelond cald hit ilka man.
When Engle hadde þe lond al þorow,
He gaf to Scardyng Scardeburghe;
Toward þe northe, by þe see side,
An hauene hit is, schipes in to ryde.
fflayn highte his broþer, als seyþ þe tale
Þat Thomas made of Kendale;
Of Scarthe & fflayn, Thomas seys,
What þey were, how þey dide, what weys.
Mayster Edmond seis, as me mones,
Þat þe Engle hadde nynetene sones.
Þyse nynetene, after þe ffader deuis,
Departed þe lond in nynetene partis.
Of þo parties fond y non wryten,
But o partie þat y can wyten;
Þe nynetenþe partie was þat þynge
Þat langed to seint Edmond þe kynge:
Þis ys þat oþer skyle y fond
Why hit was called Engelond,

515

Als Maister Edmond þer-of seys,
& as he seys, y seye þat weys;
But of Ynge saw y neuere nought,
Neyþer in boke write ne wrought;
But lewed men þer-of speke & crye,
& meyntene al-wey vp þat lye.

Mayster Wace telles his skyl:
‘Þe Englys were nought of o wyl
‘O kyng ouer þem to set,
‘Ne for to be til on suget;
‘But, þorow conseil of þem alle,
‘Deuisede þe reomes as best wild falle.
‘When ilkon hadde his porcion,
‘Held hym kyng & bar coroun.’
He acordes wyþ Gyldas;
As Gormond gaf hit, als hit was.
Mani a werre by-twyxte þem ros,
& often were þey frendes & foos;
Þe strengest on þe febleste ran,
& ilk on oþer werre by-gan.
Longe lasted al þat care,
Þat o kyng þe chef coroune non bare,
Ne halewede kirke, ne messe songen,
Ne child cristned, ne belle rongen.
ffyue score ȝer, & seuene more,
Þat non leuede on Cristes lore.

516

In alle þe fyue score ȝer
Was no storye write of her,
ffor hit was al Payenie,
Þe certein couþe non descrie;
Ilk on oþer werre sought,
& ilk in seruage oþer brought,
And ilk of oþer tok men in hold,
& ilk of oþeres men þey sold.
In al þys were & al þys wo,
Marchauntz come ay to & fro,
& boughte þe childre of þys lond,
In stedes to selle þer þey hem fond;
Þo þat were taken in hostage,
Þey solde hem schipmen þat made passage.
So fair a kynde in al þys werd,
Ne non so trewe þat men of herd,
Als were þe Englys þat men of spyred,
Ne of no kynde men so desired;
And marchauntz come mo childre to bye,
Rather þan oþer marchaundie,
& solde hem in londes dere,
ffor þey were so white & clere.
Wel more oughte Englys loue God, & drede,
Þan any nacion or any lede,
ffor a grace þat God haþ hem gyuen
ffor-by alle þo kyndes þat lyuen;
Als fair are þe comune pedaille
As þe lordynges & of entaille.
Giue Englische men euen kepynge,
Mete & drynke, & oþer þynge,
Ys no man of so fair colour,
Ne so cler, ne of so swete sauour.

517

Interpretacio Anglorum secundum Sanctum Bedam.

To Rome men ledde þem for to selle,—
& seint Bede so herdy telle,—
To Rome, he seys, marchauntz þem led,
& solde þem þere, & forþ þem fed.
Als þey to selle were often set,
On þem to se, þe folk wel let;
Manie burgeses of þe cite
Come þe faire childre to se.
Among alle þo þat þyder nam,
O tyme seint Gregore wiþ hem cam;
When he sey þo semly sitte,
Wheþen þey were, wolde he wyt;
ffor he seide þat ‘he sey neuere er,
‘So faire childre of huyde ne her.
“Of what lond,” seide he, “þis childre be?”
Men seide, “of Bretayne, a fer contre.”
He seide, “fair folk ys þere-inne!
“Þer faces to se, hit ys gret wynne!
“Wheþer ar þei Cristen,” he seide, “or non?”
“Þey are Paiens,” þey seide, “ilkon.”
“Alas!” he saide, “so fair mankynde,
“Þat þe fend in pyne schal bynde!
“So fare persones, so bright of ble,
“Þat in merknesse euere schul be!”
Þeyr kynde he asked, “how men þem calle?”
“Anglys,” þey seyde, “so het þey alle.”
“Angle!” he saide, “a name of grace!

518

“ffor angeles ar þey lyke of face.
“& wel oughte swylk be heires of heuene;
“Þer name ys Angle, Angel to neuene.
“Of Bretayne þey are, ȝe tolde byforn:
“What highte þe contre þei were inne born?”
Þey seide, “y þe norþ side of a schire;
“Þe contre men calles hit Deyire.”
“Deyire!” he seide, “ful wel sey ȝe;
“ffro Godes ire þei schul falle & fle,
“& be cald til his mercy,
“In blisse wyþ angles to wone hym by!
“What hette þer kyng? can ȝe me telle?”
“ȝe, sire,” þey seide, “þeir kyng hight Elle.”
Seint Gregore at þat name low;
He seide, “þat name ys wel y-now;
“fful wel,” seide he, “certes, ȝa!
“ffor hit bitoknes Aleluya;
“Alleluya, a song of honour
“To worschipe Crist oure Saueour.”
Scint Gregore to þe pope ȝede,
& preyede hym for oure grete nede
‘Þat he mighte to Bretayne wende,
‘& Cristendom by hym þem sende;
‘He seide his wille were wel þer-to
‘ȝif þat þe pope wolde hit so.’
But þe court wolde nought consent
Þat seint Gregore so fer went,
ffor he was ablest, next pope to be
After hym þat held þo þe se.

Whan he was pope, furgat he nought,
But on our nede ful wel he þought,

519

& sente forþ hider seint Austyn.
By þe Ilde of Tanete cam he in,
Þat ys þe est side of Kent:
In Tenet lond seint Austyn hent;

De Parentela Ethelberty.

And in þe tyme of his comynge,
Of Kent Ethelbright was kynge;
And þe kynedam of Ethelbright,
Til Humber was he chef in right.
Þis Ethelbright, as we fynde,
He was of Hengistes kynde;
Gurmond þen sesed in þat kyndam
Þe kynde þat of Hengist cam.
Þyse wordes of seint Bede y tok,
Þe fifte chapitre of þe secounde bok;
Þorow þat chapitre al y wyst
Bytwixt Ethelbright & Hengist.
Hengistes sone, Oysk was his name,
Kyng of Kent, & of noble fame;
ffor fame of Oysk, of Kent þe kynges
Longe were þey cald Oysynges.
Þis Oysk was noble, & so ferlyk,
Hys sone men calde hym Oyrik;
Octa cam of Kyng Oyryk,
& Octa sone highte Irumeryk;
Irumerykes sone hight Ethelbright,—
Þus, seiþ seint Bede, þe kynde ȝede right.

520

Of Ethe[l]bright haue I told þe kyn;
Now turn ageyn to seint Austyn.
Þe lengþe of þe Ilde of Tenet,
Sex myle þen ys þe met,
& þre myle þen is þe brede,
By two weyes þat me wil lede;
& of þys ilde boþe endes
Al aboute, þe se hit wendes.
In to þys ilde seint Austyn cam,
& ffourty felawes wyþ hym nam
Of Cristene & of religions,
To make Ethelbert somons
‘Þat he scholde to Rome wende,
‘To knowe þe lyf wyþouten ende,
‘Þat Ihesu Crist, Lord of myght,
‘Þat in þe Virgine Marie lyght,
‘And ys, & euere more schal be,
‘Sothfast God in Trynite.’

When þe kyng wiste swilk men were comen,
& in þe ilde hadde hauene inomen,
Þat dide ne seide to noman ille,
He bad þey schulde leue stille,
& be serued þat þem was nede
Of mete & drynke, wyþouten drede,
Til þat hym seluen cam þem to,
To wyte at hem what þey wild do.

521

Þe kyng had herd seid wel byforn
Þat Ihesu was of Marie born,
& hadde y-taught a newe lawe;
Of-ten þer-of he herde in sawe;
& his wyf was Cristen,
In ffraunce born of Frensche men,
& in swilk foreward scheo hym took
Þat scheo hure lawe nought fursook;
Þat ladies name was Dame Berk.
Wyþ hure cam ouer a noble clerk,
A byschop þat highte Sire Leothard,
To holde his wyf þat foreward,
‘Þe kyng schulde nought furdo hure feythe,
‘Neyþer for loþ, lef, ne leythe.’

Þe kyng a day til Austyn set,
To come to þe Ilde of Tanet:
Þe kyng durste come no couert til,
But stod & bod vnder an hyl;
Of wiche-craft he hadde doute,
Þer-fore of couert he held hym oute;
In toune ne hous ne com he nought,
ffor drede of gyle þat mighte be wrought.
Þat his poer mighte hym be raft
Þorow word or werk of wychecraft;
Þus he hoped, & wel he wende,
After hym þer-fore dide he sende.
When his message til Austyn cam,
His felawes alle wyþ hym þey nam,
& byforn hem dide bere a croys
Of seluer, & alle wyþ o voys

522

Songen þey þe Letanie,
Austyn & al his companie,
Þat Ihesu Crist wolde þem here,
ffor wham þey made þeir preiere.

Aduentus Regis ad Augustinum.

When þey come byfore þe kyng,
Seint Austyn made a prechyng,
& seide, ‘Seint Gregore til hym he sent,
‘ffor hym & his amendment,
‘And somoned hym þer for to come
‘To Cristes lawe, þe lawe of Rome.’
He tolde hym of þe Incarnacion,
& sithen of al his passion,
‘How Ihesu tholede woundes fyue,
‘& deide, & ros fro deþ to lyue,
‘And stey til heuene, God & man,
‘Til oure kynde þe blisse vs wan;
‘And how he ys ful of mercy,
‘& til ilka synful man redy,
‘Þat in god hope til hym wil calle:
‘Til his blysse he brynge vs alle!’

De Responcione & curialitate Regis.

When þys prechyng was [all] don,
Til hym seide þe kyng ful son:
“ffaire are þy wordes, & swete,
“& þy byhestes þow vs byhete!
“& þat þy God ys milde of mod,
“Als þou seide, y vnderstod.
“But for ȝe aren ȝut so newe,
“& non of vs ȝow neuere knewe,

523

“Þer-fore ȝit y ne may
“Leten oure forfadres lay,
“Þat we longe on haue y-leued,
“& til oure Godes þer-inne y-cheued;
“And ȝoures ȝit we nought ne knowe;
“Þer-fore we schul byden a þrowe;
“& ȝe are of so fer contre,
“And als pylegryms, so seme ȝe,
“Vs þys newe lawe to preche.
“And ȝyf hit be soþ þat ȝe teche,
“And amonges vs [þat ȝe] wil lende,
“Y schal nought be to ȝow vnhende;
“Takeþ ȝour wonyng wher ȝe wyle,
“& þat yow falleþ to haue in skile;
“And alle þo þat ȝe may wynne
“Til þat lawe þat ȝe bygynne,
“I graunte ȝow my wille fre,
“ȝyf hit be sike[r] þat y may se.”
Þe kyng þem graunted at þer comynge,
I þe cite to make a biggyng,—
Doroberma þe cite þen hight,
Þat Caunterbury now cald ys right;—
He dide þem haue swiche purueaunce
Þat neded for þer sustinaunce.
To preche þe folk he wernde nought,
But do as good[e] þem by-þought.

To þe cite þey come singand;
Þe cros byfore, men bare in hand;
A table þey broughte þeym bytwyx,—
Þer-on purtraied a crucyfix,—
& þe Letanie þei songe
Alle wyþ o voys & o tonge;

524

Þer-wyþ þey seide a fair anteme,
Ihesu Crist al for to queme:

Deprecamus te, Domine, in omni misericordia tua, . vt auferatur furor tuus & ira tua a ciuitate . ista, & de domo tua sancta, qua pauimus. . Alleuya!

“Of merci, Lord, we preye to þe,
“Do þy wrathþe from þys cite,
“And fro þy holy hous al-swa!
“ffor our synnes we singe Alleluya!”
Alleluya ys forto seye,
‘Make me saf, God, er y deye!’

In þat tyme þat y now rede—
Þe date was, as seyþ seint Bede,
ffyf hundred & four score,
& foure ȝeres mo byfore,—
In þys date was an Emperour,—
Maurice he highte,—þat bar þe flour.
Þre & fifti ȝer Emperour had he ben
Syn Augustus was Emperour sen.
Þys Maurice þat y of telle her,
He rengned on and twenti ȝer;—
I telle ȝow now of hym story,
ffor in his tyme was seint Gregori:
Y þe tenþe ȝer als rengned he,
Seint Gregore tok þe dignete,
& was pope þrytty ȝer,
Syx monthes, & ten dayes ser.
In his tyme com seint Austyn;
Byforn had Saxons woned her-in
An hundred & fifti ȝer,
And were heþene, al plener,

525

Syn ffortiger [tyme] þat Hengist cam,
Til þat seint Austyn broughte Cristendam.—
Seint Austyn hadde þere wonynge
Good while er he cristned þe kynge,
& ȝede & preched oueral aboute.
Til his prechyng manion gan loute;
Þey sey his lyf honeste & clene,
& euere milde, wyþouten tene;
Many miracle þey seye hym wirke.
But þat tyme was þer no kirke,
But a chapel wyþoute þe toun,
Syn þe tyme of þe Bretoun.—
Syn þe Romains hadde þys lond,
Was þe chapel þat þey þer fond.—
Þe chapel was of seint Martyn:
Of-ten þe folk wyþ seint Austyn
Wente þyder wiþ hym þe feyþ to lere,
Matines & messe for to here.
Tyl þe kyng wel vnderstod
Þat his lawe was trewe & god,
He dide hym cristne, & alle hyse,
& was god sithen til Godes seruise.
A kyrke he ordeyned y þat cite
I þe name of þe Trynite;
Right als seint Austyn wylde,
Al his wille þe kyng fulfilde.

Þe kynedam of sire Ethelbright,
Vntil Humber was his right.
At Londone anoþer kyng gan wone,
Ethelbrightes sister sone;

526

Saberk þen was his name,
Dame Rytula highte his dame;
O þys half Temyse was his enpire,
Of Est Essex he was al sire;
But al þe kyngdam þat Saberk held,
A-cheued vntil Ethelbrightes scheld.

Þre holy men of religioun,
Wyþ seint Austyn had gret renoun,
& for godnesse wel ys to wyten
Þer names of þo þat ar writen;
Sire Mellite highte þat on,
Sire Iust was loued of many on,
Sire Laurence highte þe þrydde;
Alle were þey bischopes, als bytydde;
Mellite was bischop of Londone,
Þer was þe se of Bretone.
Þe Est Saxons wyþynne a lite
Were cristned þorow Mellite;
Sire Ethelbright dide hym wyrke
Seynt Poules mynstre to ben his kyrke.

Syre Iust was bischop y þat estre
Þat we on Englische calle Roucestre;
Byforn hit hadde a name selly
In Breton, Dorciberni;
But þenglische, when þey first came,
Roffa þey caldyt, after a name;
And syþen for Rof, Rofchestre teld;
Sire Iust þe byschop-riche held.
Sire Ethelbright, þorow grace hym grew,
Wrought hym a kyrke of seint Andrew.

527

Laurence was byschop after Austyn;
He dide hym doun, & Laurence in.
Seint Austyn, to preche he ȝede,
In Ihesu Cristes werk to spede;
Clerkes ordeyned, kirkes dide make,
Þat þe Paens dide doun schake.
When he hadde al þat cost
Brought to Cristendam al-most,
Toward Rouchestre he tok his weye,
Godes worde for to seye.
Byside Rouchestre y þe londe,
South est þethen, a folk he fond
Þat to Godes werk gaf no tent,
Ne no grace in þem non hent;
But þere he stod þem to preche,
& þer sauacion for to teche,
Byhynd hym on his cloþes þey henge,
Righe tailles on a strenge.

Qua de causa Anglici vocantur Caudati.

When þey had don þat vyleny,
Þey drof hym þenne wyþ maistri;
ffer weys þey gan hym chace,
Tailles þey casten in hys face.
Þys holy man God bisought,
ffor þey hym þat vileny wrought,
Þat on þem & on al þer kynde,
Tailled, alle men schulde hem fynde.
And God graunted al þat he bad,
ffor alle þat kynde tailles had,—
Tailles hadde, & tailles haue;
ffro þat vengaunce non may þem saue.—

528

ffor þey wyþ tailles þe godeman schamed,
ffor tailles al Englische kynde ys blamed;
In manie sere londes seyd,
Of þo tailles we haue vmbreyde.

When þys godeman was þenne ascaped,—
Þe schame to haue, þer kynde ys schaped—
Til o valeye he fledde þo fyle[s],
ffro Rouchest[r]e hit ys manie myles;
Bytwyxt two valeyes to þe northe west,
At a hil he gan hym rest.
Wery he was, for fer gon,
So were his felawes euerichon;
& þe grete hete þem greued,
& þe folk þat misbileued
Had don hym so foul despit,
Boþe he þoughte, & seide ful tyt,
Þat he wolde make hym al ȝare,
& fro þat wikked folk wild fare.
But Ihesu Crist wolde hit nought;
He spak til hym, for he so þought:
“Let al þat þought ilkadel,
“& trist opon myn help right wel!
“Þou art my seriaunt, & paies me;
“Þy þought & dede, wel y hit se;
“Of mi grace to þe y graunte,
“Þat þow dost, y holde couenaunte;
“Heuen ys open to þe redy,
“And for wham þou askest merci.”

529

When seint Austyn had sen & herd
God of heuene þat hym answerde,
He þanked hym of his swete grace,
An[d] kneled doun in þat place,
& kyste þe erthe fele sithe;
He grette for ioie, so was he bliþe.
When he had longe preied & gret,
Doun y þe erthe his staf he set;
Þer right as he sey þat sight,
He pighte his staf þer doun vpright:
& þer of þe erthe a water spronge
Þat ys now a ryuer longe,
& neuere byforen was non sen,
Ne no man wonyng had þer ben;
ffor noman mighte liue ne dwelle
Wyþoute ryuer or water of welle;
& for þer was non neuer byforn,
Was þe contre wast & lorn.

Quare vocatur Cernel.

Seint Austyn gladed his felawes
Of Godes sight & of his sawes;
& for [he] hadde sen right þer
Þe sight þat he saw neuere er,
‘Cernel’ he calde þat ilke stede,
ffor he saw God, & herde his bede.
‘Cerno’ ys on Englische, ‘y se;’
‘El’ ys Ebrew, ‘God’ schuld hit be;
Do to-gyder Cerno & El,

530

Þat ys called Cernoel.
When Englische men & Saxons—
ffirst þe kynge, þen þe barons,—
Hadde receiued þe bapteme,
& children also crystned in creme,
Mykel ioye seint Austyn mad,
& þanked God wyþ herte glade.

Toward Walys, Bretons he fond,
Ageyn þe Englishe defended þer lond,
Ageyn al þe Englische poer,
Monke, abbote, & seculer.
Þorow Gormound þe Englische had hit wonne,
& ouer þe Bretons riden & ronne,
& in to Walys dide þem chace,
Þer þey wonede, biggand a place.
Þo religious whilom wer her,
Þen woned þey þor in stedes ser.
Of þo ilke religiouses
ffond seint Austyn many houses,
Abbote, monkes, wyþoute vitaille,
Þat lyuede alle on þer trauaille.
Seuen bischopes sey he þere,
Þat in Walys wonynge were;
An erchebischop of gret degre,
At Kerlion was þenne þe se;
At Bangor al-so was an abbeye
Of blake monkes, but none greye;
Two þousand, þat was þer lot,
Þeyr abbot highte sire Dynot.
Þyse two þousand, at here deuis,
Were departed in seuen partis;

531

Þre hundred were euere in o couent
Vntil labour set & sent;
But on to lyue, had þey nought
But by þer trauail þat þey wrought.

De comitiua Monachorum in Bangor qui noluerunt Augustino obedire, sed omnino eum renuerunt.

Seint Austyn for þe bischop sente:
To wite his wille til hym þey wente:
He seyde ‘he was of Rome legat,
‘& of Ingelond þe prymat,
“Þer-fore ȝe oughte þorow reson
“Of me receiue þe benisoun,
“& be bowynge vntil me.”
Alle þey seyde þat schulde nought be:
“Oure prymat, of Kerlion es;
“He ys our heued, he schal vs bles;
“He ys confermed of þe Court of Rome;
“We nyl stande at non oþer dome;
“& for Englische mennes sake,
“Ageyn þe oughte we to take;
“Þaw a party reson hit wolde,
“Ageyn þe Englische we oughte holde;
“ffor þey vs chased out of our fees,
“& wone wyþ wrong in oure contres,
“& we Bretons ar Cristen men,
“& þey are of lawe Paen,
“& now late conuerted are.
“Oure vilenie certes hit ware

532

“ffor to be to þeym suget,
“& late hym þat has vs get.
“Þo we holde for oure enemis
“Þat haþ þem brought to swilk[e] pris;
“We wile neyþer of þem ne þe
“Comune wiþ-al, ne blessed be.”

Seint Austyn seyde namore;—
Þer yuel wil þem ouer-þoughte sore;—
Til Ethelbright he turnde agein,
& telde hym how þey hadde disdeyn
To bowe ought to þe Englische blod,
Or til any þat wolde þem god.
Þe kyng wrathed þer-wyþ-al,
& seide til Austyn, “fonde y schal
“Þat oure kynde, þat now are ayres,
“Schal do þem bowe, maugre þayres.”
He sente his sonde þenne als so quik
In to þe northe, to þe kynge Ekfrik,
& bad hym come wyþ alle hyse
Þat til hym dide any seruise,
& telde how ‘[þey] of Kerlyoun
‘And þey of Bangor, wyþoute resoun
‘Han despised al þer kyn,
‘ffor þem forsaken seint Austyn,
‘Ne til hym nold bowe on none wyse,
‘But al for vs gan hym despise.’
He sente aboute for alle þer kynde
Of þe Englische þat þey might fynde.

533

At Leycestre made þey somonynge,
Of southe & northe, ilka kyng;
Terme þey sette to make þem ȝare
So forth in to Walys to fare.

De Comite Leycestrie.

Brochivail wyþ þe Bretons held,
Of Leycestre he bar þe scheld;
He had don þe Bretons somoune
Þorow þe contre, fro toun to toune,
Ageyn þenglische for to go.
But þe Bretons were al to fo;
Brochiuail was þer desconfit;
Til a wode he fledde ful tyt,
& his men were slayn al doun;
Þe kyng Elfryk wan þe toun.
Monk & heremite, ilk a tail
Þat hadde þer hope on Brochiuail,
Alle were þey don to swerd,
Lered & lewed, al so ferd.

De Occisione Monachorum.

Þe monkes þat were of Bangor
Bysoughte þe kyng wyþ herte sor
Þat he wold haue on þem mercy,
& of þe kirke saue þe clergy;
Þey preied alle, monk & clerk,
Chanon, heremite, man of werk,
Riche & pore, alle barefot.
ffor al þer preiere fond þey no bot;
On hem were þe Englische ful feloun,
Þe ouer hand hadde, fel als þe lyoun,
Monk ne clerk wolde þey non spare,
ffor þe[y] byforn vnbuxom ware;

534

Of prest ne clerk gaf þey no kep,
Namore þan wolf doþ of þe schep;
Ouer mykel was þeir ire,
Of so fele to make martire;
Two þousand, & two hundred mo,
So manie of þem dide þey slo.
Syn seide þey þat þey wolde wende,
Bangor to struye, & brynge til ende;
But ȝit þey seide þey wilde abide,
To purueye þeym when þey wold ryde.

De Morte Augustini Anno Domini .Dc.iiijto

To Caunterbire cam seint Austyn,
Þer he deide, & made his fyn;
He deide ȝyt er seint Gregori,
A ȝer byforn, als seyþ þe story;
Þe date of Crist, to telle fro,
Sex hundred ȝer, & foure mo;
In his liue was his ordinaunce,
In his stede bischop Laurance.
When seint Gregore passed his lyue,
Þe date was sex hundred ȝer & fyue.
When Ethelbright had regned her
In Kent syx & fifty ȝer,
He was byried ful solempnely,
& dame Berke was leid hym by.
Twelf ȝer after sent Austyn
Lyued Ethelbright er he made hys fyn;
Þe date of Crist þus fele to mene,
Sex hundred & euen fiftene.

535

Ethelbrightes sone highte Edbalde,
Þe righte feyþ wolde he nought halde;
His wikkednesse ys to mene;
To Iust & Mellite dide he tene;
He & Sygbertes sones þre,
In to ffraunce dide þem fle.
Edbal, þorow a vision
He knew wel he had mis-don,
& þorow þe byschop Lauraunce
He hadde on Crist god affiaunce.
Þre of Sygbertes sones were slayn,
Þe bischopes come to londe agayn.

Bretons of Walys herde wel how
Þat þe Englische þe monkes slow;
Þey gadered þem to consail
How to venge þat tyrpayl.
Þre noble men were in þat cite,
Þo þre made a gret semble;
Þo þre weren alle kynges,
& of þe Bretons lordynges:
Bledryk, of Cornewaille was sire,
& lord ouer al Deueneschire,
Als þe water of Ex rennes
ffro þe hed,—þer men hit kennes,—
Vnto þe se þer hit gos yn;
Longe helden hit þe Bretons kyn,
Euere til Adelston cam;
He dide þat kynde mykel scham.

Of Northe Walys, Cadwan was kynge,
& Mergadu of Southe Walys lordyng;

536

Al was hit þeires vntil Seuerne,
Byside þe hille of Maluerne.
But Athelstan, þorow force & eye,
He drof [þem] byȝonde þe water of Weye.
Bledrik, Margadu, & Cadwan,
Ost þey gadered of mania man.
Englische, Saxons, þey assailled,
& þe Englische þem sore trauailled.
Elfrik was wounded, þe deþ he dredde,
In feld[e] he gaf bak, & fledde;
ffele of his were þere slayn,
But he ascaped wyþ gret payn:—
(Sire Bledryk of Cornewaille,
He was slayn in þat bataille);—
No wonder þey hym yuel bitid,
He had no mercy þat mercy cryd.
Of þe monkes y telde biforn;
Wyþoute mercy were þey lorn.

Cadwan Rex Brytonum.

Syre Cadwan & Margadu
Gadred hostes, & bostes blew;
To Leycestre boþe þey went,
& helden þere a parlement.
Þorow comun conseil of elde & ȝyng,
Ches þey Cadwan þer kynge.
Þenne bolded faste þe Bretons,
& Cadwan sente aboute somons
To þe Englische kynges in alle contres
On þys half Humber þat held þer fes,
& ‘but þey wolde til him cheue,
‘On oþer halue he schold þem greue.’

537

Þey seye hit was non oþer bote;
Þey come & fulle Cadwan to fote,
Þat ys to seye, made hym feaute,
& he þer alder chef schuld be;—
I hope al com þem þat wo,
ffor þe monkes þey dide so slo.—
Cadwan seide he wolde passe Humber,
Elfrik to struye & to comber;
Northumberland al wold he struye,
& al þer kynde for þem schold noye,
Oþer in bataille he schold hym slo,
Or do hym fle þe reome fro.
Elfrik herde his manace,
How to wo he wolde hym chace;
He assembled his barons
Þat Englische were, & þe Saxons.
Grete ostes were on ilka syde:
Wise men þer were dide þem abyde,
& ilkon seyde his auis
Þat frendes hadde on boþe partis:
“ȝyf þyse kynges to-gidere smite,
“Þe sorewe til fele wyl nought be lyte;
“Non of vs schal neuere more
“Þe grete los ageyn restore;
“Þer-fore y rede we fonde to abate
“Þys kynges wrathes, þer ire & hate.”
& so þey dide right als þey redde;
ffrom on til oþer so wel þey spedde,
Þat þey boþe grauntede þe pes;
To make hit syker, ostage þey ches.

538

Al þer richesse for to saue,
Þey sette þe lond, what ilk schulde haue:
ffro Humber, northe, Elfryk schuld be,
Cadwan fro þeþen al þe southe contre:
Þus was departed ilka scheld,
& þat pes ful wel þey held;
ffor neuere was loue of lordynges
So mikel as was bytwyxt þo kynges;
Þat þet on hadde, þey hadde hit bothe,
Noþyng mighte make þem loþe;
Wyues þey toke, þer loues to ferme,
Two sones had þey at o terme;
Elfrykes sone highte Eadwyn,
Cadwanes sone highte Cadwalyn;
In o ȝer were þey born.
ffor þe pees schold nought be lorn,
Dide þey þer sones to-gedere ȝeme;
Þat þe ton þat oþer schulde queme,
In on þei were clad & fed,
Of o maister lered & led;
& when þey were waxen on elde,
Armes to bere, & wepne to welde,
& þem self wyþ wit couþe lede,
Scheld to bere, & ride on stede,
In to Bretayne dide þem sende,
ffor whi þer loue schulde more amende;
ffor þer was Cadwanes kynde,
Of Maximiens conqueste, we fynde;
Þere were þey knyghted boþe to-gyder,
& dwelled þer til þei come hider.

539

De Morte Regum.

When tyme was þer fadres schuld deye,
By messegers þei herdit seye;
Ouer se þey hadde passage,
& receyued þer heritage.
ffrendes þey were þe firste two ȝer,
Als þer fadres loueden her,
& helde þer landes als þey or lay
Departed by þer fadres day;
Eadwyn fro Humber northward,
Þe southe was Cadwalynes part;—
But Cadwalyn had mo & betere cites,
& larger londes and rentes & fees
Þan Edwyn hadde, by mikel þynge;
Þe southe þer-fore was chef kynge,
& coroune bar ouer þem ilkon,
& alle þe oþere schulde bere non.

Coronacio Cadwalini.

At Cadwalynes coronement,
Alle kynges til his feste went
Sire Edwyn þere hym by-þought,
Cadwalyn of a bone bysought,
& preied hym þat he mighte be
Wyþ leue corouned in his contre.
Þys bisoughte þe kyng Eadwyn,

Australes semper dominabant Boriales.

To haue leue of Cadwalyn.
‘Conseil,’ seid Cadwalyn, ‘he schuld take;
‘Als conseil gaf, so schulde men make;
“But y schal wite what ys to done,
“& þou schalt haue answere right sone.”

Afterward, no þrowe ne was,
Þei mette atte water of Douglas,
To conseille þem, & to wyte
How þat þyng best mighte site.

540

Bytwyxt þem was þe water, y wene,
& messegers ȝede ay by-twene.
Manie skiles forþ were cast,
How hit mighte be mad studefast.
As Cadwalyn of his hors doun lyght,
An heuinesse, a gret vnmight,
On Cadwalyn gan to lepe,
Þat nede most he þer right slepe,
Brian kept hym als he lay,
Hys cosyn, þat was in gret affray
Of ‘þat þat Edwyn hadde bysought,
‘Þat neuere or byfore was wrought,
‘& now wil graunte swyche a foly,
‘To lowe his stat þat or was hey.’
& als he his lord kept,
Ouer hys heued ful sore he wept,
Þat wyþ þo teres þat he let,
Made he þe kynges hed al wet.
ffor sorewe & sobbynge, Brian quoke,
So þat his lorde þer-wyþ a-woke,
& he byheld Bryan fast.
Þe kyng had wonder, & was agast:
“Brian,” he seide, “what tydinge now?
“What eilest þe? why gretes þow?”

“No wonder,” seyd Bryan, “þaw y grete,
“ȝe ar in wyl ȝour worschip to lete.
“In no kynges tyme here byforn
“Was þe croune so mykel or lorn
“Als hit ys now in point to be;
“How hit schal turne, wel y hit se.
“Of oure auncestres, ilka Bretoun

541

“Byfore alle oþere bere þey þe croun;
“& now y drede hit schal nought so;
“Þat or was on, now schal be two.
“Þe hole coroune þat or had on,
“ȝyf hit be two, y telle hit gon.
“Þyse Englische sc[h]ul haue so gret pride,
“Þat wo schal waxe on ilka syde;
“ffor þer kynde so ryst on heyghte,
“Þat non of oures dar wyþ þem feighte;
“Syn Malgo tyme was no kyng
“Þat myghte of hem wynne any þynge;
“& now ys Edwyn so wel wyþ þe,
“Coroune to bere, þer non schuld be.
“& y se ȝe þenke nought
“What þey til oure kynde han wrought:
“Þey slowe þe kyng Aurelius,
“& so þey þenke þat þey schul vs;
“And certeinly ful wel þey may,
“ffor Bretons power gos faste away;
“Syn Arthur deyde here byforn,
“Þe scheld of Bretayne has ben lorn.”

Cadwalanus dixit Bryano.

Þe kyng listned what Bryan seide,
& in his herte ful wel hit leyde:
“ffor þyng þat þou hast greten sore,
“So schal hit tyde neuer more.
“Þat hol was, hol schal byleue,
“Þe hole coroune non schal me reue.”
Til Edwyn he sente bode hastif,
‘Þat als he wolde his loue & lyf,

542

‘He schulde namore þer-of speke,
‘Þe coroune wolde he neuere breke,
‘Ne his conseil wolde nought consent
‘To suffre non oþer corounement;
‘Hit were neyþer reson ne lawe,
‘Þat on was, by elde dawe,
‘& now schulde be gyuen to two,
‘So for hym schuld hit neuere go;
“Hit schal ben hol, als now ys;
“ffor me ne schal hit neuer be less;
“Ne here no lenger wyl y lende,
“But in to Walys wil y wende.”

Eadwyn was ffel & proud;
Til hys messager he seyde a loud:
“Schal y neuere eft hym byseke,
“Ne þer-fore bowe, ne be meke;
“Swilk ffraunchise y schal haue here,
“& als he haþ, þe same manere.”
Cadwalyn seide, ‘but ȝyf he left,
‘Wyþ force hit schulde ben hym refte.’
On þys manere parted þey boþe,
& neuere frend, but euere wroþe.
Edwyn þer-on was ful brym,
To ȝork he ȝede, & corounded hym.

Als Cadwalyn was in Wales,
Of þys was teld hym many tales,
Þat Edwyn for þys despit
Dide hym coroune al so tyt.
Cadwalyn herd hit sone seye;
Til Humber wiþ host he tok þe weye,
& on Edwyn gan to renne,
Men to slo, tounes to brenne.

543

Edwyn he þoughte desherite,
& ȝyf he mighte, his heued of smite;
But Edwyn was of ful gret wille,
He wolde nought fle for drede ne ille,
Ne he wolde neyþer trewe ne pees;
Bataille he wolde, & þer-to ches.
Wyþ Cadwaly so harde he met,
& Cadwalyn fley atte ferste set;
Toward þe southe he wolde haue fled,
But Edwyn his weye wyþ-sperd;
& Cadwalyn fley hym byside,
In busches & wodes hym for to hyde;
By sties & paþes þat he fond,
So he fley in to Scotlond,
& euere Edwyn after fley.
Cadwalyn, gret pyne he drey;
A schip he tok, til Irlond went,
But Edwyn mighte hym neuere hent,
But schop hym swyþe wiþ alle haste,
Cadwalynes londes for to waste.
Casteles dide he bete right doun,
Contres destruied, toun by toun;
Al his lond he þorow ȝede,
Til alle he dide sorewe & drede.
Of Bryanes sister men hym told,
At Wircestre scheo was in hold;
Edwyn þere hure out toke,
To ȝork he sent hure for to loke;
Wyþ his wyf scheo was seruaunt,
Mayden gentil & auenaunt.

544

De Pellitho Sortilego.

In þys kynges court, Edwyn,
Was a clerk couþe of deuin;
ffer in Spayne was he born,
Of chaunces couþe he telle byforn;
He knew alle þe foules cry,
& couþe y-now of astronomy.
Pellith highte þat ilke clerk,
He serued Edwyn of god werk;
ffor Cadwalyn myghte neuere, for wele ne wo,
No tyme in hauen to schipe go,
Ne in se hiderward ryde,—
ffel hit neuere so god a tyde,—
Þat þys ilke clerk deuyn
Als swiþe teld hit til Edwyn.
He knew alle manere roun,
& many manere coniurison,
& mani chaunces couþe descrie
By sciences & artz of clergye.

De infortuniis Cadwalini.

Cadwalyn was ofte on fflote
Wyþ many fair[e] schip on schote,
& wel þe wynd gan hym dryue
Vp vntil þys lond to arryue;
But euere Edwyn cam hym byforn,
Þat his trauaile was euere lorn,
& al was þorow þe clerkes engyn,
Þat warned ay þe kyng Edwyn.
Cadwalyn hadde sorewe & site
Þat he was ay at desconfite;
& manie oþere sore hit ment,
Þat out of londe wyþ hym were went,
& fur-ȝeden lond & lyth,
Þat wyþ hym byde many wo sith.

545

To þem he seyde, ‘he wilde wende
‘Til lytel-Bretayne to seke frende:
“Wiþ þe kyng Salamon woldy speke;
“He may me helpe my bale to wreke.
“He ȝerneþ me to se & haue;
“Somme of mine ȝyt may he saue.”

Infirmacio Cadwalini.

He sailed al day, & on þe nyght,
Vmwhile boþe wrong & ryught,
Til he com in-til an ilde,
‘Gernet,’ a litel land ful wilde;
No lond nyster ferrere west,
Þer þe sonne goþ to rest;
By-twyxt Bretayne & Cornewaille
Is þat ilde wyþouten faille.
& bynne a while þat he cam þore,
Þe kyng iueled swyþe sore;
Þe ffeuere agu ful sore hym hatte;
But sone he chared, & wel swatte;
Venison he ȝerned sore to ete,
He ne mighte wiþ non oþer mete.
Þe kyng comaunded til Brian—
He nadde non oþer leches man—
Þat he schulde seke hym venisoun,
Or hys iuel schulde brynge hym doun:
“But ȝyf þat y som venison haue,
“No þyng so sone may me saue;
“Hit ys no tale wher-of hit be,
“But þat þou mightest gete hit me.”

546

De gratitudine Briany.

Brian hadde ful gret longyng
ffor to saue his em þe kyng,
& took þo men þat were wont
Go to chace, & ȝede to hont.
Þey soughte þe dales & þe playnes,
Þey soughte busche & montaynes,
& þorow mores & þorow lynde:
ffond þey neuere hert ne hynde,
Ne wilde bor, ne bukke ne do,
Ne hare, cony, ffowen, no ro.
Þen hadde Brian sorewe ynow,
& seide, “how schal myn em fare, how,
“Þat y may no venison fynde?”
But he dide als a man ful kynde;
He schar a pece out of his þe,
& lardid & rostoid, as fel to be,
& dightit for þe kyng right wel,
& he et hit ilk a del,
And passed wel þo þat hache;
So swete a mete neuer or et he.
When þe kyng felte hym of might,
Þer schipes alle to þe se he dight,
& aryued vp at a toun—
‘Achidalet’ was þe name Breton;
ȝyt men seyþ after þe flod
Men knowes þere þe toun stod.—

547

Þe kyng welcomed Cadwalyn,
& ofte compleyned his mikel pyn;
& his in, to make soiour,
He dide hym haue at grete honur;
& hight hym ‘he schulde in a stounde
‘Helpym to brynge Edwyn to grounde:
“But certes, meruaille y haue
“Þat grete Bretayne may ȝe nought saue.
“fful wel kept hit Sire Belyn,
“& Maximian & Co[n]stantyn,
“And Lucius dide vs Cristen be,—
“But Arthur ys ded, wel may men se,—
“Þey lore neuere a foot of land.
“Myn heritage y holde in hand;
“So woldy þat þou didest þyn
“Ageyn þe Englische paen Edwyn.”

Cadwalyn seide sire Salamon,
“Oure kynde conqueste is longes gon.
“Wite þou wel þo conquerrours
“Were myn auncestres & ȝours,
“& ve[n]iaunce fel on many of þo,
“Þat of þer blod cam na mo:
“On riche men hit [is] a veniaunce,
“Childre to gete þat haue no chaunce;

De translacione nature Brytonum.

“Þenne goþ heritage out of kynde;
“When nought of þe blod men fynde,
“Þen schul men gyue hit for good
“To þem þat han hated al þe blod.

548

De lamentacione & planctu Cadwalini ad Salamonem.

“Lucius þat brought vs Cristendam,
“Non heir of his body cam;
“Aliens had hit after hym,
“Þat til oure kynde were ful brym.
“Co[n]stantyn & Maximian,
“Non heir of þer body ran;
“Ne Arthur, þe noble kynge,
“Of his body cam no þynge,
“Ne of Conan, ne of Vortapus,
“Ne Malgo, ne of Caricius;
“Of alle þise, heires com þer non,
“But out of kynde ys hit al gon;
“ffor God hit wolde þat þey non hadde,
“Þat synfully þeir lyues ladde,—
“Þey vsede alle manere synnes,
“ffor synful lyf oure kynde blynnes,—
“Ne God wil namore þat þey be
“Keperes of þat dignete.”—
Sire Gildas writes & seyþ þe same,
Þer-fore am y nought for to blame.—
Al þe wynter þer he lay,
& purueid hym fro day to day
ffolk & schipes for to gete,
Opon þe se to haue a fflete.

De Briano.

In þys þat þey made purueaunce,
Bryan seyde ‘he wolde o chaunce
‘Til Ingelond wende priuely,
‘ȝyf he by sleyghte [Pellith] mighte come by;

549

“ffor also longe as he ys on lyue,
“In Ingelond may we neuere arryue;
“ffor he can telle þorow his art,
“Whider we wile, & to what part.”
Bryan auntred hym al in drede,
But God hym gaf wel for to spede.
At Barbeflet to schipe he went,
At Southaumptone hauene he hent;
ffaire cloþes wolde he non were,
But dightym al lyke to a beggere;
A schort staf he dide hym make,
Als palmeres in handes take,
& dide þer-inne a wel longe pyk
Squar grounden, scharp, euenlyk;
He feyned hym croked many a tyme,
As he hadde longe ben a pylgrime;
He let hym al[s] he had ben wery,
& al-wey spirde priuely;
After þe kyng he spird vm-while,
ffor non hoped til hym no gyle.
So queyntely aboute hym wond,
Þe kynges court at ȝork he fond;
He dide hym þere among þe poraille,
Wyþ bagge & burdon of þeir entaille;
Wyþ hem he stod, wiþ hem he wente,
But euere his eye o syde he glente;
He saw his sister wyþ a bacyn,
Water for to feche þer-in.
& Brian stirt forþ in hure weye,
& stille seide þat he wolde seye.

550

When scheo hym knew, sche gan to grete;
He seide “Þy gretyng I rede þou lete,
“ffor ȝyf any man me aparceiue,
“ffro þe deþ may y nought weyue;
“Þer-fore þou lete now al þy mone,
“& drawe vs by oure self al one.”

Quomodo Brianus occidit Pellitum sortilegum.

Þey ȝede out of þe pres a lite,
Þat non ne scholde hem se ne wite.
He asked after þe clerk Pellith:
Wiþ þat he com þer also tyt.
“Lo!” scheo seide, “wher he comeþ here!”
& telde of Pellit al þe manere.
“Haue god day,” þen saide Bryan;
“Do þyn erende as þou bygan.”
Toward Pellit he gan hym hye,
ffro hym ne lefte he neuere his eye:
Pellit among þe pouere ȝede,
Als he schulde haue bet þer nede,
To & fro euere als a fool;
& Bryan folewede him ay on hool,
And right in al þe moste pres,
Among þem alle, Pellit he ches;
His staf ful sleyly vp he warp,
& putte þe longe pyk so scharp
Ageyn þe herte, in at þe bak,
Þat he fel doun; no word ne spak;
Cried he neyþer wo ne way,
But ded he was, & þer he lay.
Brian lefte his staf right þere,
& drow o syde, as nought ne were,

551

& as queyntely as he might,
O drey he held hym out of sight;
Among þe pore he hidde his face,
& sleyly wroughte, & hadde fair grace.
Al þat ilke day he sculked,
Among þe pouere men he hulked;
When þe night cam, he was ful fayn,
His wey he tok to þe south a-gayn.
What day, what night, ful faste he spedde,
Þat til Oxenforde algate he redde.
Þen com þe folk wyþouten sesse
Aboute Brian for to presse;
Þe Bretons alle, & þe of Cornewaille,
& out of Walys cam gret pedaille;
Þey frayned hym faste ‘when he cam,
‘& whider he wilde, and to wham;
“& what nede ys now in hande
“Þat Cadwalyn comeþ nought to lande?
“And where he ys, we preye þe telle,
“And wheþer he schal come or dwelle.”
“Sertes,” he seide, “wyþynne a þrowe
“ȝe schul wel vnderstande & knowe
“Þat Edwyn schal nought dur abyde,
“But ȝif mischaunnce hym by-tyde.
“But warnische casteles, do make toures,
“ffor ȝow schal sone come socoures.”
Of alle þe grete he wiste þer wille;
Þer-fore ful baldely & stille

552

Dide he vitaille þe toun ful wel,
Defensable wyþ bretaxes & pel.
He sente hys em a messeger,
& telde al on what maner
Þat he had slayn þe clerke Pellyt,
Stored Oxenforde til his profit.

Of þat bode þe kyng was paied,
His wendyng was nought delayed;
Night & day made hym redy;
Ten þousand he hadde til his nauy,
What of hise owen, & of ffrendes
Þat kyng Salamon wiþ hym sendes.
When Cadwalyn was al ȝare,
Til he was forþe, gret was his care;
At Totenesse he gan vp ryue;
Glad was þe folk he was on lyue;
& gret sorewe made þe kyng Edwyn
Þat slayn was so þe clerk Pēllyn.

Penda, þe kyng of Lyndeseye,
How Bryan dide, he herde wel seye;
Gret force of folk Penda dide fet,
Cadwalyn for to wyþ-set.
Oxenforde he byseged aboute,
But Brian heldym wel wyþoute.
When Cadwalyn was ryued on lande,
Til hym cam ful smert tydande
‘Þat an Englische kyng Penda
‘Byseged Bryan, & was his fa.’
Cadwalyn was al an-ired;
To rescowe Brian he desired;

553

Als faste as he mighte, he hasted;
Iornes to make, folk he tasted;
& when he was þe toun ought ney,
He bad þem reste þat were wery:
“Rest ȝou now for ȝoure trauaille;
“Þe smertloker ȝe may assaille.”
Þe folk of Oxenforde were glade
Of þe ioye þat Brian made;
Gret ioie þer was, he was so ner,
& more of his grete power.

De remotu obsidionis, & capcione Pende Regis.

Cadwalyn was fel of hert,
Þe sege he assailled smert;
ffor he had longe be born a-bak,
Þe hertiloker on þem he brak;
He douted neyþer deþ ne dynt.
Þat tyme was many a man þer tynt;
Hertly were þey halden waken;
And Penda, maugre hym, was taken,
And smertly don in syker hold;
ffor no raunsom might he be sold,
Ne for no man loþ ne leue,
But he wolde to Cadwalyn cheue,
& holde of hym his heritage,
& don hym feaute & homage.
When Penda hadde to Cadwalyn
Obliged hym, & mad his fyn;
More loue to make, & bate stryfe,
Pendas sister he tok to wyfe,

554

And wedded hure on Cristen lawe.
To god migh[t] noman Penda drawe;
As was Penda yuel in dede,
As telleþ þe boke of seint Bede.

Cadwalyn þanked his barons,
& nameliche of þe Bretons,
Of al þer trauaille & al þer ylle
Þat þey had þoled wiþ gode wille;
Al he schulde auaunce þer lore
Þat þey had lost for hym byfore;
& alle þo þat dide hym noye,
Of hem he gan ful faste destruye;
He passed þe Humber wyþ folk ynow,
Tounes brente, & men he slow.

De occisione Edwyny & filiorum eius.

Of his comyng Edwyn herd seye,
How he nought spared in his weye;
He gadered alle his retenauntz,
Knyghtes, squiers, & seriauntz,
& alle oþer þat of hym held,
And comen alle in-til Hatfeld;
Þyder þey samned, boþe partys,
Þat longe had be stronge enemys.
Þenda þat schrewe, þe Sarazyn,
To helpe he com wyþ Cadwalyn.
& Edwyn was hardy & bold,
And eighte & fourty ȝer was old;
Þer was he slayn, hys sone hym wyth,

555

A god knyght, was cald Osfryth.
Elleuen ȝer was Edwyn kynge
Er þan he tok his cristnyng;
& þer-inne two wyues he tok
Er he þe Paen lawe fur-sok;
Gwenburghe, þe ferste highte so,
Wyþ hure had he childre two;

Osfriht & Eadfrith, þus þey highte,
& knyghtes were þey boþe wyghte.
Dame Ethelburgh highte þat oþer,
Þe kyng of Kent was hure broþer,
Sire Ethelbright hure fader was,
Þat we byforn han rad in pas.
Seint Bede spekeþ of þys Edwyn,
Syn he fursok þe lawe Sarazyn,
So god a Cristen kyng was non
In al þis lond als he alon;
He was cristned o þe Pasche day,
At ȝork fursok his Paen lay;
Syx hundred ȝer þe date was þo,
& passed seuene & twenty mo;
Emfled, his doughter born,
Sche was cristned a ȝer byforn.
Whan he þe Cristendam þoughte take,
Þe kirke of ȝork he dide first make;
But longe er hit was brought til ende,
He was slayn wyþ folk vnhende;
But seint Osewald, þat gode man,
He ended þat Edwyn bygan.

556

Sire Edwyn was syx ȝer
Cristen kyng in þys lond her:
What cristen, what heþen þral,
Seuentene ȝer he regned in al;
Þat selue ȝer Oswy was slayn,
His cosyn Osfry y þe same payn,
Þe ȝeres of Crist six hundred wore,
& þrytty ȝer, & þre more;
Þe ferþe day þat ys y þe ides
Of Octobre, ho so hit bydes.
Þer he lay, a chapel ys wrought,
& ȝit ys þer folk þat þyder han sought.

Of Cadwalyn now schal we seye;
He slow þe kyng of Orkeneye,
Sire Cadan, & sire Gabaon,—
Þe Scottische kyng was þat on,—
& manie oþere lordes mo,
ffor wham was mad ful mykel wo.
Cadwalyn hadde neuere mercy
Of Edwynes kynde he mighte com by;
Man & woman he slow al day,
& childre þat in þe cradel lay;
Alle he slow hem, olde & ȝonge,
Þat til Edwyn teld any tonge.
ȝyt of Edwyn was left on quik,
Hys emes sone þat highte Osrik,

557

Þat rescowed þe heritage;
But luytel held he hit in age,
ffor Cadwalyn wrought hym so wow,
His two cosyns & hym he slow;
Þowh al he hadde Crysten feyþ,
To þo Crysten he dide ouer leyþ,
Þat ȝong & olde, al ȝede to ded,
ffor o man þat hym mys bed.
Seint Bede blames Cadwalyn;
Of wille he calles hym ‘barbaryn,’—
‘Barbaryn’ ys a Sarazyn straunge,
To mercy þat wil nere turne ne chaunge;—
ffor al þe werd, so ferde he,
On lyue wolde he non let be.
Þat slaughter lasted so gret stounde,
Vnneþes a Cristen man men founde,
But turnde vnto þe lawe Paen,
Þat er was brought to be Cristen,
Vnto þe tyme of seint Osewalde,
Þat þe feiþ a-geyn dide halde;
Vnto þe reame he hadde right,
And was ful fre, & gentil knyght;
He sente for þe bischop Aydan,
Of Scotland was þat gode man;
Þat bischop cam, his folk to preche,
Þer Cristendam fro Paen wreche.

De Miraculo Sancti Osewaldy.

Of þys Osewald, seint Bede telles,
& manye of his miracles spelles;

558

Of on to telle, mykel y charge,
Þat he vnto þe pore was large.
Þe pore folk spirde, & men þem tolde
Wher Osewald schulde hys Pasche holde.
O þe Pasche day in tyme of mete,
Þe pouere gaderede, god to gete;
&, right as þe borde was leyd,
Þe cloþ[es] spred, þe graces seyd,
Þey serued þe kyng in a seluer dische—
Wiþ what mete y ne wot y-wys.—
His aumener stod þe kyng before,
& seide þat ‘manie pouere were þore,
“& ȝyt þer comen on ilka syde,
“Of ȝoure almes help to byde.”
Þan tok þe kyng þat he schuld ete,
& brak þe dische wyþ al þe mete,
& bad hym parte hit a-mong hem. alle,
Boþe mete & syluer, as hit wold falle.

Dixit Aydanus: ‘non in- ‘ueteras- ‘cat illa ‘manus.’

Aydan sey how þe kyng hit brak;
Þer-fore til hym þys word he spak:
“Nere mote þat hand rote ne elde,
“But hol wyþouten ende to welde.”
& so hit ys right als he seyde;
In schryne at Peterburgh is hit leyde;
At þe abbeye, in þe kirke,
Þe kyng Penda dide hit wirke.
Oswald was sib Edwyn byforn;
Of Acha his sister was Osewald born;
Þer-fore Cadwalyn wilde nought sesse,
But faste on Osewald werre gan presse;

559

To Scotland he chased Osewold.
ffor Cadwalyn had more folk, & bold,
Osewald fledde, & gaf hym place,
So þat Cadwalyn left hys chace;
His folk hym þoughte trauailled sore,
But Penda at þat tyme was þore;
He bad hym folewe, Osewald to take,
Or don hym þe lond for-sake.

When Osewald wyste þe certeyn,
Þat Cadwalyn was turnd ageyn,
Ageyn Penda wolde he stande,
ffor hym nold he be fleande.
In a feld Osewald gan byde,
To bide þe bataille what so bytyde;—
‘Heuene-feld’ þe name ys cald,
ffor þe loue of seint Osewald;—
In þat feld a crois he lyft,
& bad þem alle nought be aglift,
But come & knele byfore þe crois,
And Iesu preye al wyþ o voys,
“Þat he þys day stand vs by,
“A-geyn Penda, Godes enemy,
“Þat wyþ wrong vs onoyes,
“& our Cristen men destruyes.”
Alle þey dide as Osewald bad,
& preyde Ihesu, þat his blod schad
On þe croys for mannes nede,
‘Ageyn Penda wel þat day spede.’
Alle were þey of gode repentaunce,
& wel y-schryuen for alle chaunce.

560

Syn þey dight hem to þe bataille,
& Penda gan hem faste assaille:
His host was gret, & wyde y-spred;
Ner were þey slayn, & Penda fled.
Penda ascaped wyþ mykel pyn,
& pleyned hym vnto Cadwalyn,
& seide, ‘bot he venge hym wolde,
‘Of hym schuld he namore holde.’
At þat tyme þus hit byleft
Vntil þey samned þer hostes eft:
Þe bataille was byside þyrlwal,
Þat whilom closed þe northende al;
& þere was many myracle schewed,
Þat witnesseþ boþe lered & lewed;
Þe cros dide þere many merueilles,
Halp man & best of þeir trauailles.

De Rege Osewaldo.

Ȝyt Cadwalyn & þys Penda
Þoughte to wirke Osewald ful wa:
Þey gadered hostes, þise enemys,
& come on Osewald in twey partys.
In a stede hatte Mazerfeld,
Þere Osewald schewed his scheld,
Þere he seyde he wolde abyde.
Grete were þer batailles on eyþer syde;

De Morte Osewaldy.

Osewald wyste he schuld þer deye,
& mighte nought scape by no weye;
In his fallynge he seyde on hy,
“Of alle our soules, Lord, haue mercy!”

561

Þat was þe laste werde he seid,
& fel doun, & þer he deyd.
Of þo men þat þys word herd,
A byword in al þe contre ferd,
“God haue our soules! quaþ Osewold.”
Þys byword was longe y-told,
Þys þey seide at ilka rage,
& longe had þey hit in vsage:
Þis word witnesseþ wel seynt Bede,
Þat longe was vsed in many lede.
Nyne wynter was he kyng,
& eighte & þritty ȝer was ȝynge;
Þe date of Crist ys told redy,
Six hundred ȝer, & two & fourty.
Þyse wikkede kynges þat hym slow,
Dide henge his lymes on a bow;
A tre þey dide sette þer fore;
Handes, armes, þey dide þorow bore;

De Rege Osewy

Hys heued heng a ȝer to mone;
But Oswy, his broþer, sone
Was kyng, & tok þe hed hengand,
& biried hit at ffarnelland;
Of an ilde hit ys þe name,
To Durem langes þat same.
A quene þen was lady of [þo] landes,
Sche dide take armes wyþ handes;
Þat on scheo biried vnder molde,
Þat oþer ys kept in seluer & golde,
In seinte Petres kirke to holde.
& after þe Quen þe toun was tolde;

562

‘Bebba’ for þe Quen hit is calde;
A nyce name, for soþe y halde;
& for hit was so nice a name,
I wene þey chaungede hit for schame,
(Er þanne hit highte Methamstede,)
Peterburgh, þat semely sede.

Longe after Osewald was ded,
Holy kirke mykel peyne bed:
ffor al þat he þer-inne had wrought,
Wyþ stronge men was al doun brought;
Prest & clerk þey slowe right doun,
Þat al was wast ner ilk a toun,
& þe goodes a-wey iborn;
Til Osewy cam, ner al was lorn.
& for he was his broþer sone,
Hym fel to haue þe regione.
Þo þat þer were, conseil þey held,
& bitaughte Osewy þe scheld.
Osewy saw þe folk al pouere,
& þe land at no recouere;
Þe power of Cadwalyn was mikel,
& Penda poyned hym als a prykel;
He sey his power ne was nought
ȝyf Cadwalyn werre on hym sought;
Leuer hym were in loue to bowe,
Þat þey namo of his men slowe,
Þan in werre bere hym ouer heye,
& euere be on þe werre partye.
Til Cadwalyn his sonde he sent,
Þat he wolde com til parlement;

563

And þyder cam he al wyþ leue,
ffor Cadwalyn wold hym nought greue.
He gaf hym boþe seluer & gold
ffor Cadwalyn schold ben hym hold,
& he receiued his homage,
& som restored of his damage.
Al þus þe pes was þer y-graunted,
& in loue longe haunted;
But Oswy mikel kynde hadde,
Þat often conseilled þem & radde
ffor to werre vpon Osewy,
Þey cleymed of hys land gret parti;
But Osewy defended hym als a man,
So þat of hym neuere þey ne wan.
On, Alfriche, cleymed of his right;
Ouer Humber he chased hym þorow fight;
On þys half he fledde hym fra,
& cam & pleyned hym to Penda,
And preied he wolde hym mayntene
Agayn Osewy þat was so kene,
& þe lond þat he might of hym wynne;
He schulde haue his part þer-inne.

De coronacione Cadwaliny.

Penda seide he dirste naught,
ffor Cadwal & Osewy were al saught:
“But fonde i schal, by som queyntise,
“Of Cadwalyn to haue grauntise;

564

“& ȝyf y may gete his leue
“Wyþ ȝow to holde, y wold hym greue.”
Þan fel hit at þe Whitsontyde,
Cadwalyn no lenger wolde byde;
At Londen set he his coronement.

Malicia Pende.

Alle his barons þyder went
ffor to be þer at his feste,
South, north, west, & est;
But þider cam nought þo Osewy;
I ne wot for what hit was, ne why.
When Penda hit perseiued, he made gret fare
ffor þat Osewy was nought þare:
To Cadwalyn he made his pleynt,
& seide ‘Osewy was fals & feynt,
“Syn he cam nought for þy somons
“To þy court, als oþer barouns.
“Alle ar þey comen, ilka Bretoun,
“& ilkan Englische & Saxoun;
“But Osewy tok þy somons in veyn,
“To come to court he hadde disdeyn.”
Þe kyng excused hym curteysly:
“He haþ som gret encheson why;
“Perauenture he haþ som syknesse
“Or oþer greuaunce þat makeþ hym stresse.”
“Nay,” seide Penda, “hit ys nought so!
“Þou sest nought what Osewy wil do!
“In þys tyme of þy corounement,
“In-til Saxoyn haþ he sent
“After souders, as was me told,
“To venge þe deþ of Osewold.
“When he seþ tyme þat he may,
“On þe to renne he wile assay.

565

“But, Cadwalyn, wil þou giue me leue,
“I schal hym brynge til a mescheue,
“Þat eyþer schal y don hym fle,
“Or quik or ded bryng hym to þe.”
Seide Cadwalyn, “þus may hit make;
“Neþeles y schal conseil take.”
He calde þe Bretons hym aboute,
And dide Penda go wyþoute,
& þe Englische euerychone;
So þe Bretons left al-one.

Cadwalyn seyd, “lordes alle,
“Seyeþ now what wil best byfalle
“Of þys þat Penda haþ bysought;
“Wheþer hit is god to do or nought.”
Þenne spak first sire Margadu,
Lord of Southwalys, for þer prou:
“Longe hit is þys was bygonne,
“& ȝyt is hit nought al ouer ronne,
“Bytwyxt vs & þe Englische kynde,
“& ȝit wot non how hit wyl bynde;
“Hou so bitwyxt hem be strif or stresse,
“Vs to noye euere ar þey fresche;
“Be þey byneþe, be þey aboue,
“Vs ne wil þey neuere loue,
“Ne þer trouþe wyl þey nought holde;
“To do a felonye ar þey ful bolde.
“Haue þys y þyn herte ful streit,
“How þey haue don vs many deseit
“So fele tymes here byforn;
“& also often hastow sworn
“Þat þou scholdest ȝit brynge hem heþen;
“But þyn oþ ys ay byneþen,

566

“Syn þou sest þat þou may nought
“ffulfylle þy dede wyþ þy þought,—
“Ne per chaunce ys nought þy wille,—
“Suffre þat on þat oþer spille,
“Suffre þat on þat oþer schende,
“Ne entremet þe at neyþer ende.
“Penda is Englische, & noþyng good,
“& Osewy ys of Englische blod;
“Make we þer-of no maner iangle,
“Suffre þe dogges ech oþer strangle,
“Suffre hem eyþer on oþer renne,
“& ilkon oþer robbe & brenne;
“& þorow meschaunce of fight or flyt,
“Þys lond mai happe of þem be quit.”
Þen speke þe Bretons at o breyd,
“Sire Margadu, þou hast wel seyd!
“To þys conseil alle we holde,
“Right as sire Margadu haþ tolde.”
“Penda,” þey seyde, “do what þou wilt
“To Cadwalyn! hit is no gilt.”

Penda proudly tok his leue;
Oswy algate wold he greue;
He gadred gret host on his side,
& Penda cam wyþ ful gret pryde;
He sembled his host ful hastely,
ffersly to struye sire Osewy.
Osewy sone herdit seye

567

How Penda on hym wold lyue & deye;
He douted sore his wykked res,
& sende to Penda for þe pe;
‘& ȝyf he wolde þer-to graunt,
‘He wolde hym gyue in god couenaunt
‘Gold & siluer at his might,
‘His lond to haue wyþoute fight.’
Penda seide ‘he wolde nought leue:
‘He scholde hym chace, þe coroune reue.’

De Episcopo Aydano.

Wyþ Osewy was an holy man,
Bischop he was, his name Aydan;
He preied God for þer nede,
Ageyn Penda Osewy wel spede:
“Louerd! þou quenche his wykkednesse!
“His grete power, þou make hit lesse,
“& suffre vs neuere fele þere smert,
“Þe ffelonie of his wikked hert!”

When Osewy sey no loue wolde sende,
But at his power he moste hym fende,
He gadered host on hys syde,
And Penda cam wyþ ful gret pryde.
At a day bataille was set,
Boþe hostes to-gedere met.
In gode hope Oswy were inne,
Þat he schulde þe maistrie wynne;
He tristed wel y þe Holy Gost,
& Penda tristed on hys grete host.
Þey smette to-gedere so bitterlyke
Þat eyþer side fond oþer quyke;
He þat hit gan, þe worse he hadde,
ffor Penda party al to-schadde;

568

Penda periit Anno domini

Hys grete host ȝede al doun,
& slayn was þere þat feloun;
fful wel he spedde þat gaf þe dynt,
ffor Penda lyf & soule was tynt;
Þe ȝer þat he to deþ[e] ȝede,
Þe date was, as seyþ seint Bede,
Sex hundred ȝer, fyfty & fyue.
Þe day þat Penda les his lyue,
Vpon Twede þe bataille was,
Þrytty dukes slayn y þat plas,
On Penda syde euerilkone,
ffor whilke manye was mad mone.
Wolfrith his sone a-scaped þat pyn,
& cam & told hit to Cadwalyn.
Cadwalyn gaf hym his heritage,
& he til hym made his homage.

Cadwalyn, þat kepte þe lond,
A trewe iustise men hym fond;
He regned foure & fourty ȝer,
What in pes & [what] in wer.
At Londone wax he syk, & deyde,
Þe Bretons þere his body leyde;
But for to haue menynge of hym,
How he was noble, meke, & grym,
Of coper þey dyde make a knyght,
& an hors of coper al dight;
Set hym þer-on in kynges wede,
Als he was wond to ryde on stede;
Þer byside þey leyde his body,
Abouen at a gate ful hey,

569

In Londone, toward þe west:
Longe hit stod þer wel y-fest;
Byside, þey sette a chapel
Of seint Martyn, a fair iuwel.
Þus þey dide, for gret nobleye,
Hys dede for to mene & seye.

Cadwaladrus was after Cadwalyn
His fader, & Penda cosyn;
Penda cosyn, his sister sone,
Cadwalyn wedded, y dide ȝow mone.
Cadwaladrus was a ful god kynge,
And louede God ouer alle þynge;

Exe de fame, Pestilencia mortis, ac corrupcione Aerys, & Exilio Brutonum.

In his tyme failled þe corn,
ffor þer was non as was byforn.
Of þat defaute cam gret dere,
& gret hunger oueral was here;
Þre dayes to go, ȝyf on might dreye,
Er he fond any mete to bye,—
Oþer in burgh or in cite,
Or vpland, or in any contre,—
But ȝyf þey any bestes tok,
Or fysche in riuer or in brok,
Or any leues or rotes seþ,
Þat henged on heg or on heþ:
Al was elles turnd to faille,
Might noman lyue on his trauaille.

570

ȝyf þys meschaunce cam ferly sore,
ȝyt þer was an oþer more;
So gret a man-qualm cam þer-wyþ,
ffro deþ vneþe might non haue gryþ,
Þorow roten eyr, þorow wykkede wyndes,
In alle stedes men dide gret myndes;
Now ȝede þey vp right hol & fer,
Now fel þey doun ilk oþer ner;
Etynge, spekynge, fel þey doun,
& goynge boþe in feld & toun.
ffader, moder, eam, & broþer,
Gentil & bonde, & alle oþer;
Vneþe in toune was any lefte
Of Bretons þat mighte tile þe lond efte.
Þat vengeaunce was so ferly grete,
Hit spared non, but al þorow schete;
So fele ley ded by ilka weye,
Þat þe quyke ne mighte hem on erþe leye;
ȝyf any had leyd a cors in pyt,
Hym self fel þanne ded þer-myt.
So mykel was þer sorewe & drede,
Left hous & lond, a-wey þey ȝede;
What for moryne, what for dere,
ffewe þer wore þat might liue here;
Of his long lyf can noman seye,
Þat ses his frend sodeynly deye;
Þat sees his neighebur brenne hym by,
To saue hym self he ys bysy.

571

Cadwaladrus, þe kyng of þys lond,
So mikel wo ouer al he fond,
To Luytel Bretaigne for sorewe he fledde;
Þat were on lyue, wyþ hym þem ledde.
Alayn he highte, þat þanne was kynge,
Þat was ful fayn of hys comynge.
When þe Bretons heþen went,
Þer faire wonynge mykel þey ment.
Þey seide hit was a vengeaunce strong,
Ageyns God þey lyuede wronge;
“Now schal we lese our lond þorow synne,
“Þat oure kynde han welt wyþ wynne.”
Þat lered were, þys salme þey songe,
& versled hit al wyþ o tonge:

Exe de lamentacione Brutonum.

‘Deus auribus nostris’ hatte þat salme
Þat þey seide for þat man-qualme.
But at a vers þat is þer-inne,
Pleynyng to God þus gan þey gynne,
“Vendidisti populum tuum sine precio;”
& toward þer schipes þey songen hit so,
“Dedisti nos tanquam oues escarum,
“& cetera [per totum psalmum].”
To schipe þen wente kyng Cadwaladres;
Wyþ hym þe Bretons þat he ches;
Wyþ sorwful chere, & herte brym,
fful often made þey pleynte til hym:

572

“Wo til vs, sinful þat are,
“Þat for our wikkednesse we þus fare!
“Wyþ synne we wraþed God Almight,
“& þorow his wraþe we lese oure right.
“Louerd! of mercy we preye þe,
“Space of penaunce gyue vs fre!
“Of þis grete wraþe þou stynt!
“Þaw we sinful our lond haue tynt,
“Graunte þe gode men þat þou ches,
“Þat oure kynde nought al hit les,—
“We se þy vengeaunce ȝit more may do,—
“Þat neuere þe Romayns mighte come to,
“Ne oþere straunger þan were þey,
“Might non brynge vs or a-wey.
“Out of mesure þen synned we,
“Als wel to þyne as vntil þe,
“Þat we nar worþy a-geyn be cald
“To penaunce, ne oure land to hald.
“We wolde no mercy when tyme was;
“Now schewest vs wraþe for þat trespas!
“Now fynde we wel þou canst right deme!
“While we had tyme we nolde þe queme;
“Often we faught to fende our land,
“& ay þou gaf vs þe heyer hand;
“Þou gaf vs grace to wynne þe pris
“Al-wey of oure enemys.
“Now hit ys for nought we fynde,
“We lese hit al by rote & rynde!
“We preye þe, Lord, to be suffrable,
“& turne oure sorewe to ioye stable,
“& come ageyn, ȝyf hit þy wille be,
“On oure lond for to serue þe!

573

“Now may þe Romayns come ageyn,
“Þe Scottes & Peytes þat dide vs peyn,
“& þe tricherous Saxons—
“Þeyr tricherye vs euere mones;—
“Þys voyde land schul þey now take!
“Voide of vs mighte neuere þey make;
“Al þer strengthe dide vs nought fle,
“But Godes wrathe, þat serued we.”
Swylk sorewe & swilk gret mone
Made þe Bretons euer-ilkone
To Cadwaladrus, þer cheuentayne;
And alle þey schiped to þe Lesse Bretayne.

Exitus Brytonum.

When þer flote to lande was leyd,
Þe kyng Aleyn byfore-seid
Receyued hym wyþ gode wille,
Preynge wyþ hym to leue stille,
& alle þo þat wyþ hym wore;
While he wolde, schuld dwelle þore.
Þen was þys lond wast al left,
Moryne & hunger þe folk had reft;
Enleuen ȝer, þus wryten þey fond,
Was her no folk might tile þe lond,
But ful fewe of þe Bretons,
& also fewe of þe Saxons;
ffor al þe folk wyþ tempest vnkynde
Were slayn, þat non mighte men fynde.

574

De multiplicacione Saxonum, & edificacione eorum per loca.

When þys tempest sessed was,
& fele ȝeres passed hard pas,
Þe Saxons vntil Saxoyne sent,
& þey were fayn, & þyder went.
Þey aryuede in Northumber-land,
Þe moste of þer kynde þere þey land.
ffro Scotland vntil Cornewaille,
Al þe lond gan þey taille;—
Logres hit highte a wel god þrowe,
ffor Loqeryn þat we in Ingeland knowe;
But Bretayne was, by elde tales,
Engelond, Scotland, & Wales;
Al o land, al was o name;
Of þys matere y telde þe same.—
Was þer non here þat letted þer weye,
Ne þer takynge wolde wyþ-seye;
ffor of þe Bretons were left but fo,
Or any þat were yborn of þo,
& þo skulked to wodes & fennes,
To Cornewaille þey fledden hennes;
In to Walys þey fledden also;
Of Bretons kynde were left namo.
At þys tyme þat y here mene,
Þe Bretons passed out quit & clene,
& Englische made her þeyr byggynge,
& ches þeym of þeyr kynde a kyng.
Þyse Saxons þat hyder camen,
Loue & pees þey held ay samen;

575

Þe lond to tyle, oueral þey sought,
Cites, casteles, tounes, wrought,
& made houses, & tilede þe feld,
Þer vsages & þer lawes held;
Þat þey in Saxoyne helde byfore,
Þe same wolde þey haue þore.
Þe tounes names on þeir langage
Held þey after þeir lynage;
Þe erldames & þe baronyes,
On þeir vsage made partyes;
& somme þey helde on Bretons manere;
Longe had þey seyn hit byforn here.
Of pes þey made good sykernesse,
Þe lond to tyle wyþ more & lesse.

Whenne þyse Englische were oueral spred,
In fele stedes stored & fed,
& þe folk was wel y-mored,
And þe land bettere a-stored,
Hit was er a wel good þrowe,
As mannes in-wyt may þat wel knowe.
Cadwaladrus hym by-þought,
Þat in to Bretaigne for hunger sought;
By passagers wel herde he seye
Þe venimouse eyr was al a-weye;
Gretynge he preied þe kyng Aleyn
His kyndam to geten hym a-geyn;
& als he hadde bysought hym so,
On þe night a voys cam hym to,
And seide, “lef now at my biddynge,
“Til hit be schewed wyþ toknyng.

576

“Of Bretayne God haþ ordeyned þys,
“& gyuen hit haþ to þe Englische.
“Þe Bretons kynde schal namore
“In þat lond make wonynge þore,
“Til þat tyme come þat ys auysed,
“Þat Merlyn til Arthur prophetysed:
“He seyde, ‘þat þe folk of Breton,
“‘Er domesday schulde hit be don,
“‘Þat þey schul haue þys lond ageyn,
“‘When fulfild ys þe terme certeyn.’”
He bad hym, “he schulde go to Rome,
“To þe Pope, & take his dome,
“Þe forte assoille, penaunce to drye;
“Among þe seyntes þer schaltow lye—
“Þe prophesie schal nought falle—
“Til þe Bretons brynge þy bones alle
“Out of Rome to þys Bretayne,
“Þen schul þey haue þys lond agayne.”
Hit schal bytide swilk a weys,
Right as seint Methodye seys,
Þat many an holy bon of pris
Þat y þys tyme in ffertre lys,
Schal men take, & a-wey lede
Out of þe ffertres, for Paen drede;
& so schul his bones be brought;
What tyme hit schal be, wyte we nought.

Cadwaladres, when he þys herde,
Als a man in dwale he ferde;
Stoneyed he was a wel god þrowe,
Er þan he couþe hym self y-knowe.

577

At þe laste, þer-of he brak,
& til þe kyng Alayn he spak,
And teld hym what þe vois had seyd,
& what toknyng for hym was leyd.
Gret wonder hadde þe kyng Aleyn,
& wilned faste to wyte þe certeyn;
His wyse clerkes he dide forþ calle,
& dide þem seke þer bokes alle
‘To wyte what þe prophesie[s]
‘Mente & seide in sere partyes,
‘ȝif þey acorded til þat selcouþ
‘Þat Cadwaladres seide wiþ mouþ.’

De propheciis Aquile, Sibillie, & Merlyny.

Þey soughte þe prophesies of Aquilee,
At Chestre was hit seid schuld be;
Sybiles sawes forþ þey leyd,
& what þe clerk Merlyn had seyd,
And þe sawes of Sephonye,
Of whiche non ne wolde lye;
But þey acorded alle til on,
Þe voys & þer bokes ilkon;
Non seide seer for to blame,
But as þe vois þey seide þe same.
To Cadwaladrus seide Aleyn þe kyng,
“I conseille þe to fulfulle þat þyng.
“Syn God of heuene haþ seid hit so,
“His wille, y rede, þat ȝe do:

578

“ffor couetyse of no lond,
“To don his wille ne schaltow wond.”
Cadwaladre bad Iuor his sone,
& Iny his neuew, “wende & wone
“In to Bretaigne, & meintene efte
“Þo þat were of Bretons lefte,
“Þat þey ne lese þat er was myn,
“Þeyr fredam, for no Barbaryn.”
(A barbaryn, as seyþ seint Bede,
Ne had neuere merci for no nede.)

Cadwaladres al þys world fursok,
To God & to penaunce hym tok.
To Rome þen wente Cadwaladrus,
Vnto þe Pope Sergius,
Þat receyued hym wyþ mikel wynne,
& til hym he schrof his synne,
Wyþ wyl of herte þat he myght mene;
& þe Pope assoillede hym clene.
In langour lay he many a day,
& deyde þe twelfte kalende of May;
Þe date of Crist was euen in lyne,
Sex hundred ȝer, four score & nyne;
& his soule wente to blis,
Þe body at Rome ffertred ys.
Þanke we God þat grace hym gaf!
Þyse vers are his epitaf:

579

Culmen, opes, sobolem, pollencia Regna, triumphos,
Exuuias, proceres, menia, castra, lares,
Queque patrum virtus, et que congesserat ipse,
Cadwal armipotens liquit amore Dei;
Vt Petrum, sedem-que Petri, Rex cerneret hospes,
Cuiusfonte meras sumeret almus aquas, [&c.]
Now haue we told of þe Bretons,
Of kynges, & of somme barons,
How þey mayntened þys lond
Syn Brutes tyme þat first hit fond,
Vntil Cadwaladrus tyme.
Of Bretons þere leue we to ryme,
& now of Englische wil we telle,
Syn þe Bretons here gan dwelle,
Þat toke þe lond þorow Godes heste:
Þeyr tyme we calle al ‘Englische geste’;
Al ys cala geste Englische’
Þat on þis langage spoken ys.
ffrankysche speche ys cald Romaunce,
So sey þis clerkes & men of ffraunce.
Peres of Langtofte, a chanoun
Schauen y þe hous of Brydlyngtoun,
On Romaunce al þys story he wrot
Of Englishe kynges, as we wel wot,
He wrot þer dedes alle þat þey wrought;
After hym in Englische y hit brought;

580

Of his meninge y wot þe weye,
But his fair speche can y nought seye;
I am nought worþy open hys bok,
ffor no conninge þer-on to lok,
But for to schewe his mykel wyt,
On my spekynge þat ys but skyt,
How he was queynte in speche, & wys,
Þat swiche a bok made of pris,
And gadered þe stories alle til on,
Þat neuere er was mad for non.
When Peres first bygan his werk,
He bisoughte an holy clerk
To gyue hym grace wel to spede,—
Þat holy man highte seint Bede,—
flor in his bokes mykel he fond;
He made ffyue bokes of Engelond,
And y schal prey hym þat ilke weys,
Als he ys corseint & curteys,
He gyue me grace wel to seye,
& rightly þys in rym to leye,
Þys story þat ys seyd þorow Peres,
Þat alle be payed þat hit heres.

Amen!