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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 | The Story of England |  |
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.
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.
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,
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:
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
& 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
& 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.
‘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
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.
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