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The Story of England

by Robert Manning of Brunne, A.D. 1338. Edited from mss. at Lambeth Palace and the Inner Temple, by Frederick J. Furnivall

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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.