University of Virginia Library

When the Monethis were meuyt of the mene tru,
The Grekes with a grym fare gedrit to felde
Mony bold vppon bent in hor bright wedys,
All ffuerse to the fight, felle men of hondes.
Þan soght fro the Cité, with a sum hoge,
Troiell the triet knight, & þe toile entride.
The stoure was full stith, starf mony knightes;
Dedmen with dynttes droppit full thicke,
And mony lede on the laund out of lyfe past.
ffor tene of his tru brother, Troiell the knight,
Dressit hym the dethe of Deffibus to venge.
Mony grekes vnto grounde he gird out of lyue,
And fele with his fauchon þat fyn knight slogh.
As Dares of his dedis duly me tellus,
A thowsaund thro knightes þrong he to dethe
Þat day with his dynttes, of the derffe grekes.
All ffrickly his fos fled at the last;
Þai turnyt to þere tenttes with tene at þai hade:
The ffrigies hom folowet, fell hom with swordes.
Þan the day ouerdrogh to þe derke night,
The Troiens turnyt to toun, & the toile leuyt.

When the sun with his soft beames set vp olofte,
The grekes out gird þere grem for to venge,
And the Troiens full tyte, on the tother halue:
ffull mekill was the murthe, & meruell to here!
The derf kyng Dyomede, þat doghty was ay,
ffore with his fos as a fuerse lyon:
Mony britnet the buerne of the bold troiens;
Mony lede out of lyue with his launse broght.
Troiell þat torfer titly beheld,
Kayres euyn to the kyng, þat he knew well,
With all the corse of his caple & a kene speire.
He tachit on the tulke with a tore dynt,
And he keppit the caupe with a kant wille.
On the brest of the buerne brake he þe launse,
But he woundit not the wegh, ne nowise hurt.
Dyomede with the dynt of the derfe Troielus,
Halfe-lyueles along on the laund felle,
With a wicked wound thurgh the wast euyn.
Þan Troiell, the tore kyng, titly vmbraide
Of Bresaid, the bright, with his breme wordes.
The grekes with grem, & with gret strenght,
Hurlit hym fro horsfete, hade hym away.
The shalke on his sheld shoke to his tent,
As for ded of þe dynt dressit hym to ly.
Menelay þe mighty þis myschefe beheld,
The dethe of Diamede dressit hym to venge.
He thoght Troiell to take, or tene with his hond,
And rode to þe Renke with a roide fare.
Troiell keppit the kyng with a kant wille,
Woundit hym wickedly, walt hym to ground:
His hede vnder horsfete hit on the bent.
The men of þat mighty þaire maistur can take,
Braid hym on a brode sheld, bere to his tent;
As a lyueles lede, left hym for ded.
Agamynon the grem of þe grekes beheld,
Segh his weghis be woundit, & þe worse haue:
He cald hym a company of knightes full noble,
And fell to the frigies fuersly anon,
Greuit hom full gretly, and to ground broght:
Woundit hom wickedly warppit hom doun,
And myche harme with his hond happit to do.
Troiell with tene turnyt with the kyng,
Gird hym to ground, & greuit him euill;
Woundyt hym wickedly, but no woth in,
Þat he light on the laund, þof hym lothe were.
Þan he hasted to horse thurgh helpe of his knightes,
ffore out of fight, and his folke hoole;
ffor the day ouer drogh, dymmet the skewis,
And all the buernes of the burgh busket to rest.
Than to Priam, þe prise kyng, prestly þai sent
ffor a tru to be taken with treatyng of mowthe:
Sex monethes, and no more, þo mighty dessyret,
All parties in pes for to put ouer:
Of þis þe kyng and his councell carpit to-gedur.
By assent of his seniours, & sum of his knightes,
Hit was grauntid agayn, & grete men asurit;
And sum lacked the lede for þe long graunt.

In tyme of the tru, as tretis þe boke,
Breisaid the burd, vnbidyn of hir fader,
ffull duly to Dyamede dressit to wend,
Þat abode in his bed of his bale wound:
Oft tymes in the tru ho to his tent yode,
To comford the kyng in his cold angur.
Yet wist ho full well, þe wound þat he hade,
Betid hym of Troiell, þat was hir tru luff.
Oft ho waivet hir wit & hir wille chaunget,
And meuyt hir mynd, as maydons done yet.
Ho trust neuer with Troiell, terme of hir lyue,
To mell with in mariage, ne more of hir lust.
Ho purpost hir plainly, with all hir pure hert,
With Dyamede to dele, & do all his wille;
Neuer the grete for to grutche, ne the greke werne,
All his lust & his lykyng, as hyme lefe thught:
So hatnet hir hert in his hegh loue,
And all ȝomeryng for-yeton of hir yore dedes.

Agamynon the gret, and the good Nestor,
To the choise Achilles [chefe] on þere way;
And he welcomyt þo worthy on a wise faire,
As glad of thos gret as his degre wold.
With full speciall speche þai spake to þe kyng,
ffor to force hym to fight, & his feris help;
But his hert was so hardonet all in hote loue
He wold not mene to his mynd, ne þe men here.
But for lewtie of longtyme, þat þe lede hade
To Agamynon the gret, growen of old,
He hight hym full hertely to haue at his wille
The Mirmydons, his men, þat were of mayn strenght.
Þan he þankit hym þicke in his þro hert,
Toke leue at the lord, lengit no more,
Turnyt to his tent, talkit no ferr.

OF XVIIJ AND ÞE XIX BATELL.

When the dayes were don of the du pes,
Agamynon with his grekes graithed to feld.
All the Mirmydons men were mightyly arayed,
By charge of Achilles, þat was þere cheffe lord.
He assingnet yche Sege sekurly to haue,
As dropis of dew droppyng of Rede,
In hor colours to ken all ouer care wise,
As Remyng with Ruthe by right of hor hede,
Þat lappit was in luf, longit full sore:
So þai lutton þaire lord & þere leue toke,
ffore euyn to þe fight, & the fild entrid
With soft pas all somyn in a sop holl.
Þan þe Troiens with tene tachit on þe grekes,
And oppressid hom with payn, put hom to ground.
The Duke of Attens full derf, doghty of hond,
ffaght with hom felly, & hor foes noyet.
Troiell the tru knight turnyt to þe Duke,
And bare hym ouer backeward, he bult on þe erth;
Gird to þe grekes, & myche grem wroght;
Mard of þe Mirmyden with his mayn strenght;
Woundit hom wickedly, walt hom of horse;
Myche harmyt the hede men with his hond one.
Thus þai laiket o þe laund the long day ouer,
Till the sun in his sercle set vndernethe:
Then perted the pepull, presit to þere hold,
And loget the long night till the larke sang.

The secund [day] suyng, sais me the lyne,
Bothe the batels full brem on [the] bent met.
Kene was the crie, crusshyng of weppyn:
Blode flemyt o fer in flattes aboute!
Philmen the fre kyng, & fuerse Polydamas,
King Toax þai toke & turnyt away.
But the Mirmydons with mayn met on hom sone,
Refte hom the Renke with a roide fare;
Hent hym of hondes, hade hym at ese,
And alto hurlit þo hedmen, harmyt hom euyll.
Þan come Troiell ffull tyte with a tore weppyn,
Mony of þo Mirmydons maynet for euer;
Hew hom doun heterly, hade hom to ground;
With mony hidious hurt harmyt hom mekill.
Þai presit vmbe the prise knight prestly onon,
And the horse of þat hathell hewen to dethe;
Wold haue fongit the freike with hor fyne strenght,
And haue led the lede the lystis vnto.
Þan Paris the prise knight preset in swithe,
With his noble brethir naturell, nait men of werr.
Þai met on the Mirmydons, macchit hom hard,
Pallit thurgh the persans, put hom beside,
Hurlit þurgh the hard maile, hagget the lere,
And deliuert the lede lawse of hor hondes,
Horsit hym in hast þurgh help of his brether.
Þan wacknet þere wo & mony whe sorow!
The Mirmydons, for malice of the mayn troielus,
ffoghten so felly the fregies among,
On Swargadon þai slogh, a sure mon of armys,
A prise sun of Priam, & a pert knight,
The noblest of þe naturell, þat noiet hom all.
Troiell weppit for woo with watur of his ene,
And brochit in bremely his brother to venge;
With Parys, the prise knight, & proud men of Troye,
Mony warchond wound wroght at þat tyme.
The Mirmydons were mony & of mayn strenght,
Wise men in werr, wight of hor dedis,
Graithe of hor gouernaunce, grym in a feld,
Of all fetis enfourmyt, þat to fight longit:
Thai segh the troiens so tore & tentymys moo;
Þai hade no might, ne no mayn, þe men to with-stonde,
But assemblit on a sop sadly to-gedur,
And ay droghen o dregh, as hom deirit lest.
On nowise in this world weir hom þai might;
But Troylus with tene ay turnyt hom doun,
Sundrit the soppis with his sad dynttes,
Shot thurgh the sheltrons, & shent of hom mony.
Than Agamynon the grete & grym Menelaus,
Telamon the tore kyng, & tidé Vlixes,
And Diomede the doughtie, þat duly was hole,
All gird in full grymly with a gret pepull,
Restorit the stith fight stuernly agayn.
Hard was the hurtelyng tho herty betwene,
And mony bold vpon bent brittenet to dethe.
Then Troiell with tene turnyt in swith,
Gird to the grekes with a grete yre;
Woundit hom wickedly, walt hom to ground;
Oppresit hom with payn, & with pale strokes.
Thurgh the helpe of þat hynd & his hond one,
The grekes fleddon in fere, & þe fild leuyt,
Turnyt to þere tenttes, taried no lengur,
With all the hast of þere horses, houet þai noght.
Than Aiax the auntrus come angardly fast,
Þat was Telamon tore son, & of Troy comyn,
He gird in with the grekes, greuyt full mekill.
Þan the grekes with grym fare getyn the feld,
ffellyn to þe fight felly agayne,
As breuyt is in boke, & moche bale wroght:
ffull sharpe was the shoute, shent were þere mony,
Of knightes and comyns & other kyd lordes.
Troilus so toilus with his triet strenght,
Marit of the Mirmydons meruell to wete,
Breke þurgh the batels with his bronnd fell,
And mony gret of þe grekes vnto ground broght,
With the might of his monhode & his mayn swerd.
So wonderfully þe wegh wroght at þat tyme,
The grekes flowen in fere & the feld leuyt,
And turnyt to þere tenttes tenyt full euyll.
There Troiell with his troiens myche tene wroght,
ffolowet on hom fuersly, frunt hom to ground,
ffel hom with fawchons, foynet hom þurgh.
A hundreth hede men he with hond toke,
And sent to þe Cité with sure men to kepe;
Þan leuit the laike for late of þe night,
Aither pertie full prist preset to þere hold.
The mirmydons with mournyng meuit to Achilles,
With woundis full wete & wofully dight:
Thai told hym full tite, þe tene þat þai þolet,
And the murthe of his men þurgh the main Troiell:
There were fellit in the feld, founden of hom,
A hundreth with hond hewen to dethe.
The chere of Achilles chaunget with þat,
ffor eare of his knightes, þat were cold dede.
The buerne to his bed buskit anon,
As hit come hym by course of þe kynd night,
And lay in his loge, litill he sleppit,
But wandrit & woke for woo of his buernes.
Mony thoghtes full þro þrappit in his hert,
And gird hym in grefe his grem for to venge;
ffor his men, þat were mart, meuyt hym so,
Þat he was frike to the fight his fos to anoye.
But Pollexena the pert, with hir pure loue,
Enforce so þat fre in his felle angur,
Abated the bremnes in his bale yre,
And stoppet the strif of his strong hert;
ffor hit meuyt to his mynd in the mene tyme,
If he fore to þe fild, and þe fight entrid,
That the Loue of the Lady lost were for ay,
Withouten hope of þat hynd to haue in his lyue,
And vntrew of his trawth trust neuer after.
Of the forword he fest with his fre wille,
To Priam in priuete, and his prise qwene,
Neuer in fild to be founden, ne his folke harme,
Mony day he endurit in his depe thoght,
And ay compast þe cases in his clene hert.

HERE ÞAI FAGHT VIJ DAYES TO-GEDUR, ÞAT YS NOT RECONT: NO BATELL.

Than the Troiens on a tyme tokyn the feld,
And the grekes hom agayn with a grym fare:
Seyuyn dayes somyn sesit þai noght.
Mony doghty with dynt vnto dethe yode,
And mony in the mene tyme marrit of the grekes.
Yet the lede in his loge with his loue hote,
Neuer bownet vnto batell, ne to bright armys,
But in thoghtes full þro þrappit with hym-seluyn,
As a mon out of mynd, maset full euyll.
Þan Agamynon the grete, by grement of all,
To the toun for a trew tristy men sent;
ffor the murthe was so mykull of þe mayn grekes,
Þen dut hym the Duke for destany felle;
But the troiens full tite of the trew hym denyet,
Any tyme for to tary, for tene þat might happyn,
But a space for his spilt men spedely to graue,
And bryng hom to berynes, and barly no more.