The buik of Alexander Or the buik of the most noble and valiant conquerour Alexander the Grit: By John Barbour ... Edited in four volumes, from the unique printed copy in the possession of the Earl of Dalhousie, with introductions, notes and glossary, together with the French originals (Li Fuerres de Gadres and Les Voeux du Paon) collated with numerous mss.: By R. L. Graeme Ritchie |
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 | The buik of Alexander |  |
Of thir thre Iowes we find it writ,
The auld Testament witnesis it,
Thay did sa mekle that commonly
All men thame lufis generally,
And, as I trow, sall lufe thame ay,
Euermare quhill domisday.
Iosua suld first named be,
That was ane man of great pouste.
The flum Iordane partit he euin in tua
Throw his wisdome and prayers alsua,
And stude on ilk syde as ane wall
Quhill his men our passed all.
Towart the south he waryed lang,
Quhare tuelfe Kingis wan he, styth and strang,
And destroyit thame velanusly,
And reft thame thare landis halely;
Thay turned to his commandement,
And to him war thay obedient.
Dauid slew Golyath with strenth,
That seuin halfe ellis had of lenth,
And mony ane fell pagan he brocht,
Maugre thairis, all to nocht,
And was ouer all sa wele doand
That he was neuer recryand,
Bot in battell stout and hardy.
Men may say of him tantingly [OMITTED]
Iudas Machabeus, I hecht,
Was of sik vertew and sik micht
That, thoch thay all that lyfe micht lede
Come shorand him as for the dede,
Armit all for cruell battale,
He wald not fle, forouttin faill,
Quhill he with him of alkin men
Micht be ay ane aganes ten.
That Iudas that I heir of tell
Slew Antiochus the fell,
And Appollonius alsua,
Nicanor als and mony ma.
Of thir thre christin men I can tell heir
That neuer na better in warld weir.
Arthur, that held Britane the grant,
Slew Rostrik, that stark gyant,
That was sa stark and stout in deid
That of Kingis beirdis he maid ane weid,
The quhilk Kingis alluterly
War obeysant to his will all halely;
He wald haue had Arthouris beird,
And failȝeit, for he it richt weill weird.
On mount Michaell slew he ane,
That sik ane freik was neuer nane,
And ma gyantis in vther places sua,
Bot gif the story gabbing ma.
Charles of France slew Agoment,
And wan Spane to his commandement,
And slew the duke of Pauy,
And wan the Saxones halely,
Throw great battell and hard fechting,
That thay war all at his bidding;
And quhair God deit for our sauetie,
He put the haill christintie.
Men aucht to lufe him commonly
Baith in peirt and priuaty!
Godefray the Bullony throw cheualry
Into the plane of Romany
Wincust the michty Salamant,
And, before Anthioche, Corborant,
Quhen the King Sardanus was slane;
Than was he King, him-self allane,
Of Ierusalem syne ane ȝeir and mare.
Thir ar the nyne best that armes bare,
I haue deuysit ȝow ordourly,
That leuit weill and cheualrusly;
Bot neuer thair lyfetyme on ane day
Tholit thay sik pyne and sik affray
As Porrus, that sa haltanly
Avowit had throw cheualry,
Amang the ladeis that war fre,
Quhen the poun to deid brocht he.
The auld Testament witnesis it,
Thay did sa mekle that commonly
All men thame lufis generally,
And, as I trow, sall lufe thame ay,
Euermare quhill domisday.
Iosua suld first named be,
That was ane man of great pouste.
The flum Iordane partit he euin in tua
Throw his wisdome and prayers alsua,
And stude on ilk syde as ane wall
Quhill his men our passed all.
Towart the south he waryed lang,
Quhare tuelfe Kingis wan he, styth and strang,
And destroyit thame velanusly,
And reft thame thare landis halely;
Thay turned to his commandement,
And to him war thay obedient.
Dauid slew Golyath with strenth,
That seuin halfe ellis had of lenth,
And mony ane fell pagan he brocht,
Maugre thairis, all to nocht,
And was ouer all sa wele doand
That he was neuer recryand,
Bot in battell stout and hardy.
Men may say of him tantingly [OMITTED]
Iudas Machabeus, I hecht,
Was of sik vertew and sik micht
That, thoch thay all that lyfe micht lede
Come shorand him as for the dede,
405
He wald not fle, forouttin faill,
Quhill he with him of alkin men
Micht be ay ane aganes ten.
That Iudas that I heir of tell
Slew Antiochus the fell,
And Appollonius alsua,
Nicanor als and mony ma.
Of thir thre christin men I can tell heir
That neuer na better in warld weir.
Arthur, that held Britane the grant,
Slew Rostrik, that stark gyant,
That was sa stark and stout in deid
That of Kingis beirdis he maid ane weid,
The quhilk Kingis alluterly
War obeysant to his will all halely;
He wald haue had Arthouris beird,
And failȝeit, for he it richt weill weird.
On mount Michaell slew he ane,
That sik ane freik was neuer nane,
And ma gyantis in vther places sua,
Bot gif the story gabbing ma.
Charles of France slew Agoment,
And wan Spane to his commandement,
And slew the duke of Pauy,
And wan the Saxones halely,
Throw great battell and hard fechting,
That thay war all at his bidding;
And quhair God deit for our sauetie,
He put the haill christintie.
Men aucht to lufe him commonly
Baith in peirt and priuaty!
406
Into the plane of Romany
Wincust the michty Salamant,
And, before Anthioche, Corborant,
Quhen the King Sardanus was slane;
Than was he King, him-self allane,
Of Ierusalem syne ane ȝeir and mare.
Thir ar the nyne best that armes bare,
I haue deuysit ȝow ordourly,
That leuit weill and cheualrusly;
Bot neuer thair lyfetyme on ane day
Tholit thay sik pyne and sik affray
As Porrus, that sa haltanly
Avowit had throw cheualry,
Amang the ladeis that war fre,
Quhen the poun to deid brocht he.
Thvsgatis Porrus, as I haue tald,
That styth and stout was, stark and bald,
Was fechtand in that staluart stour,
Quhare mony men war of valour;
And thare he hewit, dang and smait.
All that he met into his gait
War dichtand for him ilka deill,
Sua suappit he with suerd of steill.
His men war alsua in trauell
To sla the King; fast thay did assale,
Sa that thay that maist restit war
Wer bathit in sueit baith heir and thare;
Bot the nobill renonit King,
That weill with suerd couth suap and suyng,
He leit nane of thame neich him neir,
Bot with the brand bricht and cleir
He straik and hewit on ilk syde,
And raucht about him routis ryde;
His defendours about him war,
Strykand richt fast with wapnis bare.
Sa hard the steill on helmys styntis
That fyre and low flew fra thare dyntis.
At sic mischeif war erlis and knychtis,
That for thare lordis faucht with all thare michtis.
Trumpetis, hornis and tauburn
Soundit hie with mare ydurn,
And mare horribill out alway,
Than thay did ony tyme all day.
The gentill-hertit gude fechters,
To quhom that nakin radnes deres,
Haistaly hidderwart thay socht
(For na radour sparit thay nocht)
Quhare thay haue sene the horribell stour
Of Alexander the empriour,
Sum to help and sum to sla.
Was na battale, I vnder-ta,
In all the feild nouthir heir nor thare
Na thai sone assemblit wair.
It was neir-hand none of the day;
For Alexander pressit thay,
That with leill hart lufit, and trew,
Hidderwart to his banare drew,
Quhare he on fute was in the thrang
And routis royd about him dang.
To him thare come Antigorus,
Tholomere, Dauclene and Caulus,
Betys alsua and Perdicas;
And Marcian, that worthy was,
For to help Porrus thidder ran,
And with him mony a mychty man.
Thare was sa mony a fare baneir,
Sa mony schynand scheild and speir,
And sa mony helmys on hede,
And sa mony gude knychtis deid,
That, sen that Cayan slew Abell,
Was neuer battall sene sa fell.
The feild [was] couerit with blude and brane
And [thay] that faucht with moid and mane,
That woundit war, gaif cryis and granis,
Trumpits and hornis blew at anis.
Porrus had na mening than
Of freindis, na father, na vthir man,
Bot set in intent baith strenth and mycht,
With all his thocht and all his slicht,
Body and hart, curage and will,
His outraieous vow for to fulfill.
Throw the thikkest of rankis he raid
Porrus, that sa great martirdome maid
That mony great man to ground is gane,
For of fechting he was neuer fane;
With suerd and . . . and arme all hale
Amang thame maid he sik a dale,
Sum he woundit and sum he slew,
And sum doun to the erd he drew;
Sic ferlyis wrocht he him alane
That, sen the tyme that Troy was tane,
Was neuer nane sene of sik couyne,
Sa fare, sa worthy, na sa fyne,
Out throw the Grecians, thocht thay had suorne,
He raid richt to ane hathorne
Neir the kirnalis, quhare Fesonas
Said to hir fallow Ideas,
“Dam, be the treuth that I trow in,
And be our Goddis mare and myn,
Ane better than he that rydis thare
Mycht neuer be, na sall neuer mair
Play with lady vnder courtyne!
Suld nane him call knycht of kytchyne!
Seis thow nocht gude Ferand, the stede
That he, throw douchtynes of deid,
Hes reft tuys fra Emynedoun,
And Alexander, for all his croun,
Wnto the erd gart ly flat braid,
And sic martyr on thame hes maid
That mony ane madin but held salbe?”
“Fare he thus lang, my hart,” sais she,
“The outrageous hardement that he hecht,
To discumfit throw force in fecht
This mekill battell that we se,
Sall in schort tyme escheuit be!”
That styth and stout was, stark and bald,
Was fechtand in that staluart stour,
Quhare mony men war of valour;
And thare he hewit, dang and smait.
All that he met into his gait
War dichtand for him ilka deill,
Sua suappit he with suerd of steill.
His men war alsua in trauell
To sla the King; fast thay did assale,
Sa that thay that maist restit war
Wer bathit in sueit baith heir and thare;
Bot the nobill renonit King,
That weill with suerd couth suap and suyng,
He leit nane of thame neich him neir,
Bot with the brand bricht and cleir
407
And raucht about him routis ryde;
His defendours about him war,
Strykand richt fast with wapnis bare.
Sa hard the steill on helmys styntis
That fyre and low flew fra thare dyntis.
At sic mischeif war erlis and knychtis,
That for thare lordis faucht with all thare michtis.
Trumpetis, hornis and tauburn
Soundit hie with mare ydurn,
And mare horribill out alway,
Than thay did ony tyme all day.
The gentill-hertit gude fechters,
To quhom that nakin radnes deres,
Haistaly hidderwart thay socht
(For na radour sparit thay nocht)
Quhare thay haue sene the horribell stour
Of Alexander the empriour,
Sum to help and sum to sla.
Was na battale, I vnder-ta,
In all the feild nouthir heir nor thare
Na thai sone assemblit wair.
It was neir-hand none of the day;
For Alexander pressit thay,
That with leill hart lufit, and trew,
Hidderwart to his banare drew,
Quhare he on fute was in the thrang
And routis royd about him dang.
To him thare come Antigorus,
Tholomere, Dauclene and Caulus,
Betys alsua and Perdicas;
And Marcian, that worthy was,
408
And with him mony a mychty man.
Thare was sa mony a fare baneir,
Sa mony schynand scheild and speir,
And sa mony helmys on hede,
And sa mony gude knychtis deid,
That, sen that Cayan slew Abell,
Was neuer battall sene sa fell.
The feild [was] couerit with blude and brane
And [thay] that faucht with moid and mane,
That woundit war, gaif cryis and granis,
Trumpits and hornis blew at anis.
Porrus had na mening than
Of freindis, na father, na vthir man,
Bot set in intent baith strenth and mycht,
With all his thocht and all his slicht,
Body and hart, curage and will,
His outraieous vow for to fulfill.
Throw the thikkest of rankis he raid
Porrus, that sa great martirdome maid
That mony great man to ground is gane,
For of fechting he was neuer fane;
With suerd and . . . and arme all hale
Amang thame maid he sik a dale,
Sum he woundit and sum he slew,
And sum doun to the erd he drew;
Sic ferlyis wrocht he him alane
That, sen the tyme that Troy was tane,
Was neuer nane sene of sik couyne,
Sa fare, sa worthy, na sa fyne,
Out throw the Grecians, thocht thay had suorne,
He raid richt to ane hathorne
409
Said to hir fallow Ideas,
“Dam, be the treuth that I trow in,
And be our Goddis mare and myn,
Ane better than he that rydis thare
Mycht neuer be, na sall neuer mair
Play with lady vnder courtyne!
Suld nane him call knycht of kytchyne!
Seis thow nocht gude Ferand, the stede
That he, throw douchtynes of deid,
Hes reft tuys fra Emynedoun,
And Alexander, for all his croun,
Wnto the erd gart ly flat braid,
And sic martyr on thame hes maid
That mony ane madin but held salbe?”
“Fare he thus lang, my hart,” sais she,
“The outrageous hardement that he hecht,
To discumfit throw force in fecht
This mekill battell that we se,
Sall in schort tyme escheuit be!”
The quhyle that Dam Fesonas
Sic speke of douchty Porrus mais,
He plungit in the thikkest pres,
Quhare sa vndemous sorrow wes.
Porrus met first with Lycanore,
And smait him, in the front before,
Sa roud ane rout that helme of steill
He gart to-frushe euer ilk deill.
He had bene deid, na war the brand
Turnit ane lytill in his hand,
Quhilk sauit him that he was nocht slane,
Bot nocht-for-thy with sik mane
He raucht that vndemus dynt
That baith his sterapis hes he tynt,
And gruflingis to the eard he glaid.
Porrus on hors attour him raid,
And strakes of strenth vpon the laue;
That he ourtuke, all doun he draue.
On fute ȝit was the nobill King,
Bot Tholomeir can to him thring,
With ane stede arrayit rychely;
And he lap on delyuerly,
And towart Porrus can he ga.
Quhen Marciane saw him horsit sa,
To him leit he his men.
Alexander and his battell then
Sterit to thame richt eirnistly;
Porrus and his men hardely
In middes the visage met thame thare,
The mischeif vox ay mare and mare:
Quha preis befoir thair fallowis wald,
For cowartis sould na man thame hald;
Thay hewit on helmes with brandis bricht,
And speirs throw staluart strakes tycht;
Thare fell full mony that rais nocht sin;
The feild that thay war fechtand in
Of rede blude was bludy than,
That heir and thare in stremis ran.
Porrus, that menit on his skaith
And on his avow bethocht him raith,
Said to his men, “it salbe sene
Quha knicht is, in this battell kene!
Cassamus hes my father slane;
I wate he may nocht leif agane.
God gif all that helpis me
To his slauchter, vengit be!”
With that, he bradit out his brand
And smait ane Grecian, I tak on hand,
Quhill shulder and arme flew him fra,
And he doun to the erd can ga.
Porrus dushit, with that, fer by
Amang the laif richt sturdely
That it semit tempest fers and fell.
Lordingis, quhat sall I to ȝow tell?
All dang he doun that he ourtuke;
Quhare he past, the renkis shuke,
To say the suith, sa mony he fellit
That nane is leuand that may tell it.
He socht Cassamus quhill he him fand,
Outwith the battell him restand.
Sic speke of douchty Porrus mais,
He plungit in the thikkest pres,
Quhare sa vndemous sorrow wes.
Porrus met first with Lycanore,
And smait him, in the front before,
Sa roud ane rout that helme of steill
He gart to-frushe euer ilk deill.
He had bene deid, na war the brand
Turnit ane lytill in his hand,
Quhilk sauit him that he was nocht slane,
Bot nocht-for-thy with sik mane
410
That baith his sterapis hes he tynt,
And gruflingis to the eard he glaid.
Porrus on hors attour him raid,
And strakes of strenth vpon the laue;
That he ourtuke, all doun he draue.
On fute ȝit was the nobill King,
Bot Tholomeir can to him thring,
With ane stede arrayit rychely;
And he lap on delyuerly,
And towart Porrus can he ga.
Quhen Marciane saw him horsit sa,
To him leit he his men.
Alexander and his battell then
Sterit to thame richt eirnistly;
Porrus and his men hardely
In middes the visage met thame thare,
The mischeif vox ay mare and mare:
Quha preis befoir thair fallowis wald,
For cowartis sould na man thame hald;
Thay hewit on helmes with brandis bricht,
And speirs throw staluart strakes tycht;
Thare fell full mony that rais nocht sin;
The feild that thay war fechtand in
Of rede blude was bludy than,
That heir and thare in stremis ran.
Porrus, that menit on his skaith
And on his avow bethocht him raith,
Said to his men, “it salbe sene
Quha knicht is, in this battell kene!
Cassamus hes my father slane;
I wate he may nocht leif agane.
411
To his slauchter, vengit be!”
With that, he bradit out his brand
And smait ane Grecian, I tak on hand,
Quhill shulder and arme flew him fra,
And he doun to the erd can ga.
Porrus dushit, with that, fer by
Amang the laif richt sturdely
That it semit tempest fers and fell.
Lordingis, quhat sall I to ȝow tell?
All dang he doun that he ourtuke;
Quhare he past, the renkis shuke,
To say the suith, sa mony he fellit
That nane is leuand that may tell it.
He socht Cassamus quhill he him fand,
Outwith the battell him restand.
Porrvs was glaid quhen he had sene
Auld Cassamus, for in that tene
He thocht to tak in that steid
Ane reuenge of his fatheris deid.
He said, “cairll with thy syde beird,
Throw quhom our folke ar all affeird,
That ane part fleis, ane vther part slane,
The thrid in perrell or in pane,
Thow leuis nocht lang, wit thow weill!
This sword, that sherand is of steill,
Sall in thy body bathit be!”
Said Cassamus, “(sa mot I the!)
Thy mannace dreid I nocht ane dait.
Do furth thy best, for weill I wait
That of that craft sum deill I can!
For I it leirit sen I was man,
Quhairthrow the war end salbe thyne!”
Efter this speich, but mair carpyne,
Togidder thay rushit sa velanusly,
And dang on vther sa egerly,
That with-in ane lytill space
The feild with mailȝeis strowit was.
Scheildis war hewin and helmes bare,
And, with thair swordis that sharply share,
Thay shure the fleshe out quhill it bled.
The heit withall sa hard thame led
That, or ony of tha tua
Had anes time thair end to ta,
Thair lynning claithis with blude and sueit,
Wit ȝe weill, war all maid weit,
That quha sa had flungin thame in to Sane;
Thus war thay baith in mekill pane.
Auld Cassamus, for in that tene
He thocht to tak in that steid
Ane reuenge of his fatheris deid.
He said, “cairll with thy syde beird,
Throw quhom our folke ar all affeird,
That ane part fleis, ane vther part slane,
The thrid in perrell or in pane,
Thow leuis nocht lang, wit thow weill!
This sword, that sherand is of steill,
Sall in thy body bathit be!”
Said Cassamus, “(sa mot I the!)
Thy mannace dreid I nocht ane dait.
Do furth thy best, for weill I wait
That of that craft sum deill I can!
For I it leirit sen I was man,
412
Efter this speich, but mair carpyne,
Togidder thay rushit sa velanusly,
And dang on vther sa egerly,
That with-in ane lytill space
The feild with mailȝeis strowit was.
Scheildis war hewin and helmes bare,
And, with thair swordis that sharply share,
Thay shure the fleshe out quhill it bled.
The heit withall sa hard thame led
That, or ony of tha tua
Had anes time thair end to ta,
Thair lynning claithis with blude and sueit,
Wit ȝe weill, war all maid weit,
That quha sa had flungin thame in to Sane;
Thus war thay baith in mekill pane.
Efter thir tua I tell of heir,
That war togidder peir and peir,
The battell was full cruell,
Hard, hiddeous, forsy and fell.
Weill far fra thame ane stane-cast neir,
Was Marciane and his baneir,
Alexander and his xii douzepeirs,
That in the stour thame stythlie steirs.
Thare men micht felloun fechting se
And knichtis bla of blude and ble,
And blude brist out of woundis wyde;
Thay cryit thair ensenȝeis on ilk syde,
The woundit gaue cryis and granes,
Trumpettis and hornis blew atanes,
It semit all the countre quoke.
Bot, quha-sa heir thairto wald luke,
It lykit nathing to Porrus
Na to his fallow Cassamus,
For smertly ilkane vther seruit
With strakes that thare armour keruit.
Porrus heued his brand on he,
And smait Cassamus quhill he micht dre;
With sic vertew that straik he gaue
That hart and body and all the laue
He put togidder, that helme of steill
Na basnet helpit neuer a deill,
And with the suord, richt to the chin
Baith helme and hede he claue in tuin;
He rushit doun of blude all rede.
Quhen Porrus sawe that he was dede,
Forouttin dout he was full blyth,
And ane thing he said him suyth:
“Here mon thow duell, thow hare auld gray,
And keip this land quhill domisday!
Althocht thow hes my father slane,
And thow thairfore hes tholed sic pane,
I the forgeue for euermare,
Thow sall be blamed neuer are
To ioys lufe of lady fre,
Na lede maydin maryit to be!”
That war togidder peir and peir,
The battell was full cruell,
Hard, hiddeous, forsy and fell.
Weill far fra thame ane stane-cast neir,
Was Marciane and his baneir,
Alexander and his xii douzepeirs,
That in the stour thame stythlie steirs.
Thare men micht felloun fechting se
And knichtis bla of blude and ble,
And blude brist out of woundis wyde;
Thay cryit thair ensenȝeis on ilk syde,
The woundit gaue cryis and granes,
Trumpettis and hornis blew atanes,
It semit all the countre quoke.
Bot, quha-sa heir thairto wald luke,
413
Na to his fallow Cassamus,
For smertly ilkane vther seruit
With strakes that thare armour keruit.
Porrus heued his brand on he,
And smait Cassamus quhill he micht dre;
With sic vertew that straik he gaue
That hart and body and all the laue
He put togidder, that helme of steill
Na basnet helpit neuer a deill,
And with the suord, richt to the chin
Baith helme and hede he claue in tuin;
He rushit doun of blude all rede.
Quhen Porrus sawe that he was dede,
Forouttin dout he was full blyth,
And ane thing he said him suyth:
“Here mon thow duell, thow hare auld gray,
And keip this land quhill domisday!
Althocht thow hes my father slane,
And thow thairfore hes tholed sic pane,
I the forgeue for euermare,
Thow sall be blamed neuer are
To ioys lufe of lady fre,
Na lede maydin maryit to be!”
Efter this speich, but langer baid
In the thikkest renk he raid;
Thare micht men se him suap on hicht
His byrnist brand, that was sa bricht.
Thare dang he doun schir Tholomere
Sa dyffie that he deit nere;
Syne gaif he Betys sic ane dynt;
Bot the helme the straik can stynt,
Ȝit hors and he ȝeid doun bedene.
The folk of Grece men micht haue sene
Gangand bak toward the toun,
Quhare Fesonas with the fare fassoun
Micht se thare dedes ilka deill;
It bird lyke hir ane party weill
To se hir lemmen that sho lufit,
In sic ane stour sa weill be prufit.
Than thay of Inde hes rasit the scry,
That thay war woxin sa hardy
That nane dedenȝeit to be rad.
The great vertew that Porrus had
Confortit thame sa fellonly
That all the cowartis commonly
Wald throw sembland formest be;
Sa hapned thay in his pouste.
Thay of Grece hes left the feild,
And ill affrayit, quha weill beheld;
And Porrus followit with arme straucht,
And Marciane, that was mekill of maucht.
The folk of Inde sa weill thame bare,
And sa worthy in were thay ware,
That, mekill and lyttill, to the citte
Thay rushit the King and his menȝe.
Thare men micht here sum cry, sum rare,
And sum mannance and sum mare,
And men woundit with wapones sere,
Quhare mony ane knycht was brocht on bere.
In the thikkest renk he raid;
Thare micht men se him suap on hicht
His byrnist brand, that was sa bricht.
Thare dang he doun schir Tholomere
Sa dyffie that he deit nere;
Syne gaif he Betys sic ane dynt;
Bot the helme the straik can stynt,
414
The folk of Grece men micht haue sene
Gangand bak toward the toun,
Quhare Fesonas with the fare fassoun
Micht se thare dedes ilka deill;
It bird lyke hir ane party weill
To se hir lemmen that sho lufit,
In sic ane stour sa weill be prufit.
Than thay of Inde hes rasit the scry,
That thay war woxin sa hardy
That nane dedenȝeit to be rad.
The great vertew that Porrus had
Confortit thame sa fellonly
That all the cowartis commonly
Wald throw sembland formest be;
Sa hapned thay in his pouste.
Thay of Grece hes left the feild,
And ill affrayit, quha weill beheld;
And Porrus followit with arme straucht,
And Marciane, that was mekill of maucht.
The folk of Inde sa weill thame bare,
And sa worthy in were thay ware,
That, mekill and lyttill, to the citte
Thay rushit the King and his menȝe.
Thare men micht here sum cry, sum rare,
And sum mannance and sum mare,
And men woundit with wapones sere,
Quhare mony ane knycht was brocht on bere.
The battell hard and hiddeous was,
Quhare thay of Grece deuoyded the plas.
For to restore schir Tholomere
Come Cliton, for thay fallowes were,
And to Betys come Predicas;
Throw thame and tharis sik bargane was
That horsit war thay knychtis baith,
Albeit thay of Ynd war wraith.
Bot tharefore ceisit nocht the dyn;
Ilkane dang vthir that to mycht wyn.
In the planis vnder Effezoun,
Quhare mony ane wicht and hardy barroun
Dang on vthir with wapnis seir,
Eftir none rais sic dyn and beir
That tua myle than it mycht be hard.
Quha had sene how Porrus ferd,
Deir God! how he abandonit ware,
His bodye, his armis, with brand all bare!
It was na neid to bid him strike;
He sparit nothir pouer nor rike,
That thare is nane that thare had bene
And had his mekill worship sene,
Na thay wald say that he suld be
Ane King of mekill ryalte.
As Porrus prikked throw the stour,
Fechtand as man of great valour,
Sum dingand and sum woundand,
And helmes of hedes arrysand,
Scheildis rugand fra shulders raith,
Dingand doun knychtis and steids baith,
Thare is na leuand man on leid
That in the stour had sene his deid,
His countenance and his worsheip,
How he couth baith assail and keip,
Bot he wald baith say and suere
That ane better nor he bare neuer spere!
And of all thame that faucht that day
On baith the halfis, I dar wele say,
But outtaking of ony man,
He was the best that thare was than.
Sa come the duke Emynedoun,
Prekand ane steid in ane randoun,
Sadillit new and gayly dicht;
Ane speir in hand he had, I hecht,
Short, sharpe and wele sherand.
Sory for he had tynt Ferrand,
He preked to Porrus, all wraith in hart,
And he him tuke at the outwart,
And Ferrand wery was and lamit,
Thocht that he not his hede had tamit;
He bare all doun, baith hors and man,
On sic maner that Porrus than
Was all to-frushit of that fall,
And beneth the kne, alsua with all
About thre finger braid or sua,
His shanke-bane brak euin in tua.
Throw this straik was his avowing
Brocht to nane vther encheuing,
And nocht-for-thy he held his hecht,
For he avowit, gif God of micht
Him saued that day fra encumring,
Fra mischeif and fra lymmes breking,
For to vincus the great battale.
Now may he nouther fend nor fale;
Thairof his euill-willeris war full glad,
And thay of Inde war full mad,
And sa discumfist that they fled,
Gaue hale thare bakis and left the sted;
The folk of Grece amang thame raid,
And sic ane marterdome hes maid,
Quhair all the feild was couerit haill.
Quhairto sould I mak lang my taill?
The folk of Inde war sa at vnder,
That nane abaid it was na wonder.
Sa chaissand thusgait to and fra,
Floridas can Marciane ta;
And the gude Emynedus,
Richt quhare he lay, hes tane Porrus
And offred him to the King, I hecht,
Sa mate, sa mad and sa euill dicht,
That he of him-selfe na power had
To stand vp richt, sa was he stad.
Quhare thay of Grece deuoyded the plas.
For to restore schir Tholomere
Come Cliton, for thay fallowes were,
415
Throw thame and tharis sik bargane was
That horsit war thay knychtis baith,
Albeit thay of Ynd war wraith.
Bot tharefore ceisit nocht the dyn;
Ilkane dang vthir that to mycht wyn.
In the planis vnder Effezoun,
Quhare mony ane wicht and hardy barroun
Dang on vthir with wapnis seir,
Eftir none rais sic dyn and beir
That tua myle than it mycht be hard.
Quha had sene how Porrus ferd,
Deir God! how he abandonit ware,
His bodye, his armis, with brand all bare!
It was na neid to bid him strike;
He sparit nothir pouer nor rike,
That thare is nane that thare had bene
And had his mekill worship sene,
Na thay wald say that he suld be
Ane King of mekill ryalte.
[415a]
Fechtand as man of great valour,
Sum dingand and sum woundand,
And helmes of hedes arrysand,
Scheildis rugand fra shulders raith,
Dingand doun knychtis and steids baith,
Thare is na leuand man on leid
That in the stour had sene his deid,
His countenance and his worsheip,
How he couth baith assail and keip,
Bot he wald baith say and suere
That ane better nor he bare neuer spere!
416
On baith the halfis, I dar wele say,
But outtaking of ony man,
He was the best that thare was than.
Sa come the duke Emynedoun,
Prekand ane steid in ane randoun,
Sadillit new and gayly dicht;
Ane speir in hand he had, I hecht,
Short, sharpe and wele sherand.
Sory for he had tynt Ferrand,
He preked to Porrus, all wraith in hart,
And he him tuke at the outwart,
And Ferrand wery was and lamit,
Thocht that he not his hede had tamit;
He bare all doun, baith hors and man,
On sic maner that Porrus than
Was all to-frushit of that fall,
And beneth the kne, alsua with all
About thre finger braid or sua,
His shanke-bane brak euin in tua.
Throw this straik was his avowing
Brocht to nane vther encheuing,
And nocht-for-thy he held his hecht,
For he avowit, gif God of micht
Him saued that day fra encumring,
Fra mischeif and fra lymmes breking,
For to vincus the great battale.
Now may he nouther fend nor fale;
Thairof his euill-willeris war full glad,
And thay of Inde war full mad,
And sa discumfist that they fled,
Gaue hale thare bakis and left the sted;
417
And sic ane marterdome hes maid,
Quhair all the feild was couerit haill.
Quhairto sould I mak lang my taill?
The folk of Inde war sa at vnder,
That nane abaid it was na wonder.
Sa chaissand thusgait to and fra,
Floridas can Marciane ta;
And the gude Emynedus,
Richt quhare he lay, hes tane Porrus
And offred him to the King, I hecht,
Sa mate, sa mad and sa euill dicht,
That he of him-selfe na power had
To stand vp richt, sa was he stad.
The great battell hes tane ending;
Porrus is presentit to the King,
Sa bludie, sa euill dicht and sa met,
That all his geir of blude was wet.
Alexander callit him quhen he was
Vnarmit and set in middes the place,
Veary, forbled, euill hewit and paill.
The King than to him said, “Vassaill,
Thow hes vs done to day great pane,
Defoulit our men, rushit and slane!
Throw thy worship and bountie,
I was in poynt for to die,
Defoulit and shamit for euer mare.
In euill tyme neir thy avowis ware
Maid, quhare thow this hynder day
Avowit, quhair thow in presoun lay,
To disconfit the great battale,
Quhair thow [sa] strykin hes, but fale,
That thow of baith halfis hes the pryse.
Now is me hapned on sik wyse
That God hes wrocht with the sa weill,
All haue I tynt of men great deill
That I may do of the my will,
To leif or die, to spare or spill.
Bot, be the Goddis that I honour,
Thow sall haue na dishonour
Na euill of na maner for me,
Bot heir I do the sik bounte,
For thy great hardiment and renoun,
That thow sall quyte gang of presoun
And haue conduct at thy deuyse.
And quhen thow in thy countre is,
Than sall thow vmbethink the
Quhether thow my freind or fa wilbe.
Or, gif it be thy will, beaushyre,
To put it melancholy away and yre,
Beleue with me; I sall the geif
Landis anew quhill thow may leif,
And to thy airis efter the;
And thow also sall mareit be,
Sa hely that thow salbe blyth,
For I knaw weill, thocht thow na kyth,
Thy hart, and quhair thow luifis perfay,
And quhy thy avow this hynder day
Ouer outtrageous vnmesurit was!
Dame Fesonas, the fair of face,
Is enchesoun of our mis-fair!
Throw hir my steidis hals lang are
War strykin in tua quyte and clene,
And I fell flatlingis on the grene!
Now ar we cummin to that, I wis,
That all that now forgeuin is.
Tak that fare vnto thy wyfe,
And put away all weir and stryfe.
Forȝet thy Father and thy brether baith.
Of Cassamus thocht it be skaith,
The fede salbe stanchit syne.
And the Bauderane, thy cousine,
Throw quhome this day my burnist brand
Was, maugre myne, tane of my hand,
Sall haue dame Ideas the fre;
Sa sall ȝe mare at lyking be.
Do this and myne helping haif,
Gaudefeir, Betys and all the laif
And me, gif ȝe stryfe ha,
Aganes all that on erd may ga.
Bot I will that thow be my man.
Now haue I said the that I can,
And thow may ansuer sone thairtill,
To do or leaue vndone, quhether thow will.”
Porrus is presentit to the King,
Sa bludie, sa euill dicht and sa met,
That all his geir of blude was wet.
Alexander callit him quhen he was
Vnarmit and set in middes the place,
Veary, forbled, euill hewit and paill.
The King than to him said, “Vassaill,
Thow hes vs done to day great pane,
Defoulit our men, rushit and slane!
Throw thy worship and bountie,
I was in poynt for to die,
Defoulit and shamit for euer mare.
In euill tyme neir thy avowis ware
Maid, quhare thow this hynder day
Avowit, quhair thow in presoun lay,
To disconfit the great battale,
Quhair thow [sa] strykin hes, but fale,
418
Now is me hapned on sik wyse
That God hes wrocht with the sa weill,
All haue I tynt of men great deill
That I may do of the my will,
To leif or die, to spare or spill.
Bot, be the Goddis that I honour,
Thow sall haue na dishonour
Na euill of na maner for me,
Bot heir I do the sik bounte,
For thy great hardiment and renoun,
That thow sall quyte gang of presoun
And haue conduct at thy deuyse.
And quhen thow in thy countre is,
Than sall thow vmbethink the
Quhether thow my freind or fa wilbe.
Or, gif it be thy will, beaushyre,
To put it melancholy away and yre,
Beleue with me; I sall the geif
Landis anew quhill thow may leif,
And to thy airis efter the;
And thow also sall mareit be,
Sa hely that thow salbe blyth,
For I knaw weill, thocht thow na kyth,
Thy hart, and quhair thow luifis perfay,
And quhy thy avow this hynder day
Ouer outtrageous vnmesurit was!
Dame Fesonas, the fair of face,
Is enchesoun of our mis-fair!
Throw hir my steidis hals lang are
War strykin in tua quyte and clene,
And I fell flatlingis on the grene!
419
That all that now forgeuin is.
Tak that fare vnto thy wyfe,
And put away all weir and stryfe.
Forȝet thy Father and thy brether baith.
Of Cassamus thocht it be skaith,
The fede salbe stanchit syne.
And the Bauderane, thy cousine,
Throw quhome this day my burnist brand
Was, maugre myne, tane of my hand,
Sall haue dame Ideas the fre;
Sa sall ȝe mare at lyking be.
Do this and myne helping haif,
Gaudefeir, Betys and all the laif
And me, gif ȝe stryfe ha,
Aganes all that on erd may ga.
Bot I will that thow be my man.
Now haue I said the that I can,
And thow may ansuer sone thairtill,
To do or leaue vndone, quhether thow will.”
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