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When paste was the pes, parties were gedirt
ffro the tenttes & the toun, takyn the feld:
Assemblit were sadly soudiouris full noble,
Andin a stoure, þat was stith, stuernly þai foghtyn.
Menelay met vpon mayn Paris,
That bothe were þai backeward borne of þere horses,
With the lippe of þere launsis so launchet þai somyn.
Polydamas the pert preset to Vlixes,
With the caupe of a kene swerd kerue on his helme.
The freike with a fauchon fendit hym well,
And faght with the fuerse knight felly agayne.
Menestaus the mighty with a mayn dynt,
Antenour in angur angardly stroke,
Unhorset the here, hade hym to ground,
With the lip of a launse, þof hym lothe were.
Philmen the fuerse kyng with a fyne speire,
Gird to Agamynon, & the gome hit;
Greuit hym full gretly, gert hym to stoupe,
Þat he wauerit þerwith, & weikly he sete.
Telamon come tyte, & the tother met,
Bare hym ouer backeward with a big dynt,
Woundit hym wickedly, & the we halpe.
Achilacus, a choise son of the cheffe Nestor,
Presit to a prise son of Priam the kyng,
One Bynour the bold, as the boke sais,
And the lede with a launse out of lyue broght:
ffor the dethe of this dere myche dole rose.
The Troiens with tene toiled full hard,
With a Rumour full roide & a roght hate;
And to Troiell was told, hym tenyt þerwith.
With a fouchon full felle fuersly he stroke:
Mony britnet the bold for his brother sake,
Of the grekes in his grem, & to ground cast.
All the pepull hade he put to þe pure flight,
Ne hade the Mirmydons mightely his malis with-stonnd.
Than Troilus with tene turnyt hym swithe,
Mellit with the Mirmydons, marrit hom thicke,
Gird hom to ground and to grym dethe,
Woundit hom wickedly, walte hom besyde.
His dynttes so dedly durit so longe,
Þat all the Mirmydons men meuit hym fro,
ffell to the flight and the feld leuyt:
Hyet hom hedlynges, & þaire hold toke.
Troiell with the troiens turnyt hom after,
Woundit hom wickedly in hor wale tenttes,
ffellyn to fote, foghten full sore,
And mony at the mene tyme murtherit to dethe.
The clamour was kene, crying of pepull,
ffor the murthe was so mykill amonge the grekes,
The (skiew), for þe skrykyng & skremyng of folke,
Redoundet with dyn drede for to here.

The noyes noise neghit to Achilles,
As he lay in his loge, of ledis were hurt:
He spird at those specially, that spede hom to fle,
The cause of hor care & the crie hoge.
Thai told hym full tyte, the troiens with forse
Gird doun the grekes, & the ground wan;
Takyn þere tenttes, turnyt hom vnder;
Oppressit hom with payn & with pale strokes;
And þai no pouer hade plainly to put hom abake.
“And ȝe, that hopyn in hele here for to leng,
Sekir of your selfe, & no sore þole!
Hit shall hap you to haue in a hond while,
ffyfty thowsaund fell folke out of Troy,
To take you with tene & tirne you to ground.
Mony of your Mirmydons marrit for euer:
Thai haue no forse hom to fend, þaire fos are so kene;
Withouten socour of suremen þai sothely bene dede!”
Achilles for angur angardly swat;
So hatnet his hert in a hote yre,
Þe loue of his lady þan left was behynd,
Welt into wodnes, wan to his armys,
Strode on a stith horse, stroke into batell.
He fore with his fos in his felle angur,
As a wolfe in his wodenes with wethurs in fold:
He hurlit of helmys, hedis within,
Rent thurgh ribbis, russhit vnfaire:
Tenyt so the troiens with his tore weppon,
That þe bent was on blode blent with the erthe,
ffor britnyng of buernes with his bright sword.
Þan Troiell with tene the tourfer beheld,
Knew well the kyng by caupe of his hond,
Reiches his Reynis & his roile strykes,
Caires to þe kyng with a kant wille.
The kyng met hym with mayn, macchit hym sore;
Derf dynttes þai delt þo doghty betwene,
With þaire fawchons fell, femyt of blode.
Troiell carue at the kyng with a kene sword,
Woundit hym wickedly in wer of his lyf,
Þat he was led to the loge, laid as for dede,
But he langurd with lechyng long tyme after.
Troiell in the toile truly was hurt,
But not so dedly his dynttes deiret as Achilles.
Thus þai bykirt on the bent till the bare night,
Þan left þai for late, lordis and other,
Turnyt vnto towne & the toile leuyt.

Here FAGHT ÞAI XXTI DAYES TO-GEDUR.

Xxti dayes by dene with dynttes in feld,
Þan mett þai with mayn, & mony were kild:
Þat neuer restid þo Renkes fro Risyng of sun,
Of þat noyus note, till þe night come.
Þan Priam the prise kyng hade payn at his hert,
ffor Achilles by chaunse hade chaungit his wille,
And breme was in batell his buernes to qwelle.
He blamyt full bitturly þan his blithe qwene,
Þat euer he tentit hir tale for trifles of hym.
He said þat his suranse sothely was fals,
And done for dissait, demit he non other.
Polexena the pert hade pyne in hir thoght,
ffor ho purpost plainly in hir pure hert,
Hym to husband haue hade, and hir hap shope.
In Sex monys, at the most, þe mighty Achilles
Was hole of his hurt he hade in the feld,
Of Troiell in the toile, as I told haue;
Bothe sound & saf, set for to fight.
Þan hatnet his hert in a hote yre:
To Troiell with tene, þat turnit hym vnder,
And woundit hym wickedly, þes wordes said;
“Doutles with dynttes he deghes of my hond,
And er he fare out of fight haue a fowle end.”

THE DETHE OF TROILUS, BY ACHILLES TRAYTURLY SLAYNE IN THE XXJ BATELL.

When hit turnyt to þe tyme torfer shuld rise,
Tho mighty on mold metton to fight,
With thaire batels full breme, bret full of pepull;
And mony bold were þere britnet vpon both halues.
Achilles the c[h]oise kyng chargit his knightes,
Er þai busket to batell for baret on erthe,
Þat þai holly on a hepe held hom to-gedur,
And mynd of no mater for myschef ne othir,
Saue Troiell to take with torfer þat day;
Prese hym with pyne in parties aboute;
Cacche hym fro company, close hym within,
In myddes his mirmydons þat mighty to hold;
Stuff hym with strenght þat he ne stir might,
But hym-self hym to sle sleghly with hond.
When he meuyt his men þis malis to wirke,
He fore to þe fight with his felle knightes:
All his mirmydons mightely meuit hym after,
And put hym in prise his purpos to hold.
Þan Troiell full tidely turnyt into batell,
With a folke þat was fell, fuerse of assaute,
Hardy men of hond, hede knightes all,
And wondurfully wroght on hor wale fos.
Troiell the tru, with his triet strenght,
So britnet with his brond, & brisit the grekes,
Þat þai foundyt to flight for ferd of hym one,
And lefton the lond, þof hom lothe thught.
Then the Mirmydons mightely meuit in hole,
Two thowsaund by tale, as taght hom Achilles.
His comaundement to kepe kaston hom þen,
And assemblit on a sop sadly to-gedur.
The Troiens with tene þai tirnyt to ground,
Kyld of hor knightes & comyns full mony;
Wet hom with woundis, warpit hom doune,
And myche baret on bent to þe buernes did.
Þan the grekes agayne getton the feld;
ffell was the fight foynyng of speires.
Miche harme, in þat hete, happit to falle
On aither parte with pyne, þat put were to dethe.
The Mirmydons hade mynd of þe mayne troiell,
And laitede hym on the laund as the lede faght;
The compast the knight, closit hym within,
On yche syde vppon hepes hastely strikon:
But mony of þo Mirmydons þe mayn knight slogh,
& woundit hom wofully a wondurfull noumber.
Þai hurlit of his helme, hade hit to ground,
Harmyt the hode, þat was of hard maile;
Rofe hit full Roidly, rent hit in peses,
Þat all bare was the buerne aboue on his crowne;
Yet he fendit hym fuersly, fele of hom kild,
And gird hom to ground, þat greuyt hom most.
Than Achilles with angur come angardly fast,
Segh the hathell all to-hurlit, & his hede bare,
And no helpe of his hynd (men) hastid him to.
With a fauchon felle he flange at the knight,
Slough him full slawthly with sleght of his hond,
And hade of [his] hede vndur horse fete.
He light doun lyuely, leuit hym not so,
ffestnyt hym vp fuersely, by his fete euyn,
Hard by the here of his horse tayle,
And hurlit hym with hethyng þurgh þe hoole ost.

Thow Omer, þat oft-tymes openly writis
Of þat buerne in þi boke, as best of his hondes,
Or wegh þat is worshipfull, & wight of his dedis,
He comendith hym kyndly as a knight noble;
How be reason, or right, or rewle, may þou preue
To deme hym so doghty in dedis of armys?
And nomly in þis note, so noblely þou sayes,
Thurgh strenght of his strokes, stroyet he hase
Two Ectors eger, & to ende broght:—
The prinse of þat prouynse, þat no pere hade,
And Troiell the triet knight, his owne tru brother,
One, the strongist in stoure, þat on stede rode.
Lelly þi lesynges þou lappis full faire,
Thurgh affection & faithe þou fest with the grekes;
As þou said by þi-selfe, þurgh sibradyn first,
Thou was aliet to þat lynage, as by lyne olde,
Or ellis wodenes þe wrixlet, & þi wit failet,
And no reason by rewle þat Renke to comend.
Ne fell he not first with his fals trayne,
Honerable Ector, oddist of knightes,
The strongest in stoure þat euer on stede rode:
Þat mon hade no make of might in his lyue,
Ne so worthy in world, wist I neuer sithen.
When he caght hade a kyng, as come hym by chaunse,
And to pull hym of prese paynit hym fast,
With all besenes aboute & his brest naked,
His shild on his shulders shot was behynd,
He hedut no hathell, ne no harme thoght,
Saue the kyng to his company clenly to bryng.
Hade the prinse of his purpos persayuet before,
He hade keppit hym full cantly, cawpit with hym so,
Þat þe grekes shuld haue greuyt, & þe gre lost.
And troiell, the tru knight, trayturly he slogh,
Noght þurgh stowrenes of strokes, ne with strenght one;
But a M. þro knightes þrong hym aboute,
Þat noyet þat noble, & naked his hede,
And shamfully a shent mon he shope to the dethe.
There he found no defens, ne fightyng agayne;
But as a ded mon to deme, þat deiret no wight.
Neuer hond vnto hond harmyt he nother,
But as a caiteff, a coward, no knighthode at all.
Now, loke if þis lede soche longyng be worthe,
As þou writis in þi wordes, or were to alow
Þat so worshipfull a wegh, as þe wight Troilus,
Þat was comyn of a kyng, þe clennest on lyue,—
Neuer a bettur of blode borne on þis erthe,—
Shuld traile as a traytor by the taile of his horse.
Hade monhode hym meuyt maynly with-in,
Or gentilnes iugget iustly his werkes,
Sum pytie hade pricket, his purpos to leue,
Þat neuer so filthy a fare hade fallyn in his hond.

When Paris persayuit the plit of his brother,
How he was dolfully ded, and drawen in the ost,
Ofte he swonet for swym, as he swelt wold;
And myche dole was þat day, þe Duke to behold.
The troiens with tene trauailed full sore,
ffor the body of þat bold with baret was slayne,
The corse to Recouer, & kary to toune.
But the grekes were so grym, þai gird hom abake,
And withstode hom full stithly, stonyt hom euyll.
The mighty kyng Menon mikill sorow hade;
ffor þe dethe of þat dere with dole at his hert,
He chefe to Achilles with a chere felle
And warpit þes wordis in a wild yre:—
“Thou traytor vntru, þat trust was in neuer,
ffor shame may þou shunt, as shent of all knightes!
How found þou þat filthe in þi fals wille,
Of so dogget a dede in þi derf hert,
So worshipfull a wegh, & worthiest of blode,
Þat is comyn of a kyng, the clennest on lyue,
To tegh as a traytor, and traile vpon þe erthe,
And hurle at þi horse taile in hethyng of vs?
Leue me now lelly all þi lyfe after,
Neuer kepis þu þi corse out of cold angur.”
Þen þe kyng at hym caupit with a kene speire,
Hurt hym full hidusly, harmyt hym sore,
Þat bisi was þe buerne to bide in his sadill,
Or olofte for to lenge in his large sete.
Þen he swange out a sword swicly with þat,
Hurlit thurgh þe helme, hade hym to ground:
With a wound þat was wikkid walt of his horse,
Half lyueles on the laund light vnder fote.
Þen þe troiens with tene tokyn þe body
Of Troiell, þe tru knight, & to toun led.
Þe Mirmydons þaire maistur, masit on þe grene,
Lyfton vp lyuely, led hym away,
Horsit hym in haste, hade hym a lofte.
His strenkith restoris stithly agayn,
And he fore to þe fight with a fell wyll,
Machit hym monly to Menon þe kyng
And he keppit hym full kenly: þai caupit togedur.
Menon was myghtier, & met on hym so,
Þat he greuit þe greke, and geue hym þe worse.
Þen þe batels come bigli vppon bothe haluys,
Sundrit hom sone, þai soghtyn in twyn.
Þe day wex dym, droupit þe sun,
Þe lyght wex lasse, and þe laik endit:
Soghtyn to the sité, & sum to þe tentis,
And logget þe long nyght, layd hom to rest.

Then seuyn daies somyn, sothly þai met,
Bateld on bent as hom best likid.
ffell was þe fight þo fomen betwene,
And mony derf þer was ded er þe daie past!
Þe vij day sothly, saise me the lyne,
Achilles thurgh chaunse was cherit of his wond.
King Menon to mare with Malys he þoght,
And bounyt into batell with his buernes all.
He meuyt to his Mirmydons in maner before,
Þe kyng to vmbcast, & close hym with-in;
Asaile hym on yche side, til hym selfe come
His vilany to venge, and his vile hurt.
Þen þe stour was full stithe, sturne men were slayn;
Buernes on þe bent blody be-ronen;
And mony hathill, in þat hete, of his horse fell.

THE DETHE OF MENON ÞE KYNG, BY ACHILLES VNMONFULLY SLAYN.

Achilles hym chefe to þe choise Menon,
And monly þai met with hor mayn speris.
Þe dentis of þo derfe derit hom so,
Þat ayther light on þe laund, leuyt þaire horse;
Swange out swordys, swappit togedur;
And ffelli on fote fughtyn þai bothe.
Þe Mirmydons to Menon myghtily þronge,
Vmbset hym on yche side, sesit hym onon;
Hent hym in hond for no help comes,
Ne no rynk hym to rescow, but his ronk fos.
Þen Achilles come chaseond with a choise wepyn,
Segh Menon with his men myghtilé holdyn:
He stroke hym full stithly mony store dynt,
Till he britnet þe buerne, & broght hym to deth.
Hit was not lik þat þe lede, thurgh lust of hym one,
Schuld haue killit þis kyng with his clen strenkith;
Syn Menon with myght hade marrit hym ofte,
Þat ffro þe hede to þe hele þe hote blode ran:
And he likkir be lost þen to lyue after.
Þerfore ses of þi saghis, þou sore homer,
Þat writis of hym worchip, þat worthy is non;
Neuer kyld no kyng, ne no knight ȝet,
Þat a-countid was kene, but with cast treson:
And if treson with trumen be told as for worchip,
Þen is þat lede worthe lose for his lichir dedis.

Menelay with myght meuyt in þen,
Diamed þe dughti, and derf Telamonius:
þes gird in full grymli with a grete ost,
ffrusshet to þaire fos with a fell sthoure,
Greuit hom gretly, gird hom to fote.
ffull mony were marrit, & maymyt for euer!
Þen ffled all in fere, and þe feld leuyt,
Soghtyn to the Cité, with sorow þai hade.
Theire fos on hom folowet, fell hom full thicke,
Hew on with hard stele, hurt of hom þan,
And mony kild on þe cliffe vnto cold dethe.
Þai wan in wightly, warpit to þe yates,
Barrit hom full bigly with boltes of yerne;
Braid vp the brigges in a breme hast:
The tothir to the tenttes turnyt agayne.
Þan was sorow in the Cité, sobbyng of teres,
With Priam the prise kyng, & his pure wyfe;
Wailyng of wemen, weping of knightes,
ffor the losse and the lure of þe lele childer,
Honerable Ector, oddist of dedis,
Deffibus the doghty, & the derf Troilus:
Now dem þai no dede but the dethe þole!
Þan Priam, the prise kyng, prestly did send
To Agamynon the gret, for graunt of a tru:
And he assentid full sone, asurit with hond,
And affirmyt hit fast with a fyne othe.
Within the tyme of þe true, for troiell was made
A Sepulcre Solempne, set full of stones:
ffor Menon, the mighty, was made þere another,
And the corse of þat cleane close[t] þerein.

THE DETHE OF ACHILLES IN THE TEMPLE, BY PARIS SLAYN.

Within the tyme of þe tru, as the trety sayes,
Honerable Ecuba, Ectors moder,
ffor the dethe of hir dere sonnes moche dole hade,
With sykyng and sorow selly to here.
Þat worthy, in hir wit, warly bethoght
On all wise in this world þe worthy for to sle,
Þat hir greuit so gretly, and to ground broght
All þo fuerse men in fight, with his fals cast.
Parys full priuely sho pulled into councell;
Thies words to þat wegh wepyng she said:—
“Dere son, myche vs deres the dethe of þi brether,
Þat falsly in fight are fellit by Achilles.
ffirst, Ector with envy evill he dyssayuet,
Dang hym to dede; & the derfe troilus,
Þat my lykyng hase lost, & left but the none
Of all my semly sons, þat my solas was in;
Therfore, sothely me semes, o þe same wise,
Þat he with treason were takyn, & tirnyt to dethe,
And done for to dregh, by domys of right,
Soche wirdes & wo, as he wroght has.
He has sere men send, and sadly me prayed,
And deply desyred my doghter to wed,
Pollexena the pert, by purpos of olde.
I will hete hym full hertely his hest for to kepe,
My doghter full dere to his due wyf.
A sonnd will I send by a sad frynd,
On all wise in this world warn hym fro me,
To Appollo pure temple pertly to come,
Þat we may speike of our spede specially þere.
Thus I will þat þou wirk, wete þou for sothe:
Sure knightes of assent assemble þe to,
Turnys into the temple trystily enarmyt;
Kepis you in couer, cleane out of sight,
Tyll the kyng and his company by comyn within;
ffallys on hym fuersly, frap hym to dethe,
That he pas not your pouer for prayer ne other!”
The knight, at þe comaundement of his kene moder,
With sykyng & sorow asentid þerto.
He dressit for þe dede, by dom of þe qwene,
xxti knightes full kene of his kyd fryndes.
Choise of his chere men, chargit hym-selfe
His councell in couert to kepe for the tyme.
Þan Paris and his pepull past to the temple,
Keppit hom in couert, aclosit hom þerin,
Armyt at all pesis, abill to fight,
And a-bode till þe buerne vnto burgh come.
Þen Ecuba esely ordant a message,
Sent to þat souerain by a sad frynde;
Spake to hym specially to spede of his erend,
To turne to the temple, and tary not longe.
Than the hede kyng vnhappely hasted belyue,
Laburd with loue, þat lodly dissayuis,
And mony worthy and wise hase to wo broght,
Put vnto pouert, and to pale dethe.
Achilles with Archilagon chefe on þe way,
The noble sun and next heire of Nestor the Duke,
Soghtyn to the citie somyn onon,
And to Appollyns aune temple angardly yode.
Paris with his pert knightes presyt hym agayn,
With all his might & his malis the mon for to sle.
Swordis out swiftly þai swappit belyue,
And vmset hym full sore vpon sere halfes.
Achilles braid out a brand with a brem wille,
And fast vmbe his fist foldit his mantill.
All bare was the buerne, out of bright wedis,
Yet seyuon of þat sorte he slew with his hond.
Parys cast at the kyng with a kene will,
Þre darttes noght dole, and dedly hym woundit.
There kyld was the kyng, & the knight bothe,
And by treason in the temple tirnyt to dethe.
Þan Paris to the pepull prestly comaundit
The bodies of þo bold to britton onone,
And cast hom to curres & to kene foghles,
On þere flesshe hom to fede on a foule wise.
The corses of þo kant men were kast into strete,
Iche lede on to loke, as þai lust hade.
ffayne of þat fare were the felle troiens:
To se þe corse of þat kyng, þat hom care wroght,
Be dongen to dethe for deiryng of other.

Agamynon the gret, by grement of all,
To Priam, by prise men, pertly he send,
Þat he wold graunt to þe grekes, by grace of hym-selfon,
The bodies of þo bold to bery as hom liked.
Archilagon, the choise knight, was chere to his fader,
The noble Duke Nestor, þat noyet full sore.
Myche sorow hade his Syre the sun to behold,
And oft swonyt that swete, & in swyme felle.
The kyng graunttyd þo grekes þo grete for to haue,
The bodies to þe bastell barly to lede.
ffor the choise kyng Achilles þai cherit hom euill,
With mych dole for his dethe, and drede of hom more.
þai hopid full hertely, for þat hed losse,
Neuer the cite for to sese, ne hor Sute haue.
ffor the losse and the lure of þat lele kyng,
Myche water þai weppit, þat worthy to mysse.
Þan þai puruait of prise, with precious aray,
A Sepulcre solempne, set full of stonys:
Praying to Priam, þo prise men all,
Within the Cité to be set, with sufferans of hym.
He grauntid þo grete a graunt for to haue
In the entre of the est halfe, euyn at the yate,
That troiens in old tyme Tyboria did call.
Þere þai tild vp a toure, triedly wroght,
Meruelously made with masons deuyse,
With Jemmes, & iuwells, & other ioly stonys.
There closit þai the kyng vpon cleane wise,
With mykill sorow and sykyng, and soghtyn agayn.
Þan Agamynon all the gret gedirt onon,
Kynges into counsell, & oþer kyd dukes,
Erles, & all men oght of astate.
Thies wordis to þo worthy warpit þe prise:—
“Lokes now, lordes, our lure is full hoge,
On the mysse & the murthe of þe mighty Achilles.
Whethur is bettur in batell abide in this lond,
Or kaire to our cuntre, and the kythe leue?”
Iche whe, in þis werke, has for wit kast,
Þaire domes were full dyuers, doublit full þicke:
Sum lordes to lenge lusty þai were,
Sum frike to þe fare þere fryndes to se.
O sythen, þo souerains were of asent hole,
Þerein batell to byde, & the burghe sege.
Þof hom auntrid Achilles with angur to lose,
And fail hom in fight with his fyn strenght,
Þaire goddis will not gab, þat grauntid hom first
The cité to sese, as hom selfe lyked:
Troy with his touris tyrne vnto ground,
And hewyn vppon hom, þat þe hold kepis.
Þan Aiax the Auntrous atlet to say,
In myddes of þo mighty meuit to stond;—
“Lordes, yf hit like you, lystyn my wordis,
And hedis me with heryng, herkyn a litle!
Þof auntrus Achilles, abill of dedis,
Be drepit with dethe, and done fro our helpe;
Let send for his son, a sad mon of hond,
Oddest in armys, & auntrus in were,
A fuerse mon in fight, & in frike youthe,
Our knightes to comford & our kid pepull:
Of þis toun, ellis truly, tidis vs non end,
On no wise forto wyn, ne our wille haue.”
Then affirmyt hit fast all þe fyn councell,
And assentid to þe sound þo souerains all.
On þis message was made Menelay the kyng,
By agrement of þo grete, as for graith holdyn.
He was chosyn for chere of his choise wedis,
Neptolyn, the nobill son, naitly to seche,
Of þe duke þat was dede, doghty Achilles.
He was (lengyng) in lond with Licomed the kyng,
He was graunser of þat grete, & for graith holdyn.

OFF THE (XXII) BATELL.

Now hit tide for to tell þe tyme of þe yere.
The sun vndur ȝodiake set was olofte,
At þe poynt forto passe, & put into canser;
When þe season of somer was set at the last,
And the day of þe dreight dryuyn vppo long;
By domys of deuynours, þat delyn þerwith,
Abill of astronomy, þat auntris on se,
Sadmen of Syens, þat settyn hom þerto,
Solstacion, for sothe, sayn hit to hat.
In the monyth to merke, the myddis of Ioyne,
The sextene day sothely, sais me the lyne,
The boldmen to bent bounet full þicke,
Sadly on aither syde soghtyn to ffild.
The grekes hom greithed, the grettist & other,
Dyomede the doughty, & derf Menestaus;
Agamynon also auntrid hym with;
Menelaus among meuit to ffeld.
All buskes hor batels on hor best wise,
And past furth to the pase, þo pouer togedur.
Þan Priam, the prise kyng, puruait onon
His knightes in companyes cantly to wend,
Vndur gouernaunce graithe how þai go shuld,
And assignet hom hym-selfe, as souerain & lord.
Moche dole and doute þo doghty men hade,
Syn hom lacked the lede of the lorde Ector,
Þat was stithist of stoure, stabill of hert,
And the wit, þat hom wantid, of the worthy Deffibus,
With the truthe and the trist of Troiell the knight.
In defaute of tho fuerse, the fyne Duke Paris
ffore to the fight with a fell pouer.
Myche watur he weppit of his wale ene,
Ouer-flowet his face, fell on his brest,
With streamys out straght þurgh his stithe helme.
The murmur was mykill of his mayn knightes,
With gronyng & gref for þere gret angur,
Ay in doute of the dethe, dredyng hom-seluyn.
Than Polidamas full prest put next after;
Philmen, the fuerse kyng, with a folke hoge;
Esdyas also auntrid hom with;
Eneas also after hom went;
All the ledis to the listes on the laund past.
Paris with the percians, prise of all archers,
Assemblit full sone with a sad pepull.
Mony wondit þat wegh of þe wale grekes,
And mony slogh in þat slade with slight of his bowe.
Dyamede full dernly drof to the kyng,
Phylmyn the fuerse, with a frike wille;
Hym keppit þat kant on a kene speire.
With prise of þe pafigons, his oune pure men,
Mony grekes þo grym vnto ground broght;
Woundit full wickedly, walt hom to dethe.
Þai hurlet hom full hard with hor hoge dynttes,
Þat Diamed full dernly was dryven abacke.
Menestaus, þe mighty maistur of Athenes,
Presit Polidamas & put hym of horse,
With a spar of a speire in dispit felle.
Þan he braid out a brand, bikrid hym hard,
Wold haue kyld the knight to the cold erthe;
But þat Philmyn, þe fuerse kyng, fell to þe duke,
Halpe hym of hondes, hade hym away.
Paris full prestly put hom to ground,
With sharpnes of shot, shent mony knightes,
And greuit full gretly þe grekes þat day.
Þan Aiax, the auntrus, come angardly faste,
With bornysshed brand britnet his folke:
Mony troiens with tene he tirnit to dethe,
And angart hom euyll, vnarmyt þai were;
And he vnwoundit, I-wis, out of wothe paste.
To the percians he put hym, þat Paris did lede,
Britnet of þo bold, & myche bale wroght,
Þat all flagh hym in fere for ferd of his dynttes.

THE DETHE OF AIAX, BY PARIS SLAYNE.

Paris (with) pyne was pricket at his hert,
To se his men so be-mard, & murtherit to dethe.
With the birr of his bowe, & a big arow,
Þat put was in poison, he pairet his armur,
Rut þurgh his rybbes, rent hym with in,
Betwene the lyuer & the lightes launchit hym þurghe,
Þat all blackonet his blode, & his ble chaungit:
Þan feld wele the freike þat he fey was,
And ded of þe dynt or þe day past.

THE DETHE OF PARIS, BY AIAX SLAYNE.

He presit vnto Paris in his pale angur,
And as he faght in the feld, to þe freike said:—
“Paris, þou prestly hath put me to dethe,
And shent me with shot of þi sharp geire,
But I degh of þi dynt, and dump into helle,
Þow shall first go before, and fraite of our way.
Hit is reason and right for þi Ranke loue,
Þat þou part now with pyne fro þi prise Elan,
Þat is cause of þis care, and this cold angur;
And mony doghty ben dede of Dukes & Knightes.”
Than he bere to þe buerne with a bigge sworde,
Hurlyt þurgh þe helme & the hard chekys,
And he girt to þe ground & the gost yalde:
Euyn ded of þe dynt, deiret no mo.
Þan Aiax also, angardly swithe,
ffell of his fole, flat to þe erthe,
ffor payne of his pale wound passit o lyue,
Euyn ded of þe dynt, & to dole went.
The troiens, with tene for tirnyng of Paris,
Myche mournyng & myschefe in hor mynd hade;
The korse þai rekoueryt with þaire kant fight,
And broght hit to burgh with bale at þere hert.
Dyomed the Duke, & Derfe Menestaus,
With a folke þat was fuerse, felly with-stode,
Till þe troiens with tene turnyt the backe.
The sun in his sercle set vnto rest,
And the day ouer-drogh to þe derke night,
The troiens with torfer into toun entrid,
With myche lure & los of hor lefe knightes.
Þai ȝarkit to þe yatis ȝepely onon,
Barrit hom bigly on hor best wise;
Passit on prestly with payne to þere Innes.
When the light was lesse, the ledes with-oute,
Thurgh gouernaunce graithe of Agamynon the kyng,
Laidon wacche to þe wallis, þat no wegh past;
Pavilions and pure tenttes pightyn aboute,
And þere logget hom to lenge, while hom lefe thoght.
The troiens in toures, & on toun walles,
Laidon spies specially, & spekon hom to,
On all wise for to wacche & waite on hor fos,
ffor gawdis, othir gile, þat hom grefe might.

The same night sothely, sais me þe lettur,
The corse caried was to courtte of the knight Paris,
With myche weping & wo of his wale fryndes:
And sorow in the Cité was selly to here.
Now all the brether with bale were britnet to dethe,
Þat the folke shuld defend, & hor fos harme:
Was no lede, þat hade lust, on lyue for to be,
Ne hope of hor hele in hor hert thoght!
Myche pité was of Priam & his prise qwene,
With sobbyng of syster, þat semly were euer:
And Elan, of all wemen, angardly fast
Swonyt full swiftly, & in swym fell.
XXti tymes hit tide truly þat night,
Þat was draghen fro the Duke all in dede swone.
Myche leuer, for þat lure, out of lyue passe,
Þan any longur to lyffe, & hur luffe want.
Hir wordes & weping, wo to be-hold,
Of care & complaint, coldyng in hert,
Hit wold haue persit with pyté any pure sawle,
And tendrit with teres hor torfer to se.
Hit were labur to long hir lotis to tell,
Or any wegh for to write, þof he wit hade,
The sorow of þat semly, as sais me the lyne.
Both of kyng, & of kythe, & the cleane qwene,
Abriget of baret, for bale þat sho þolet;
And hade pitie of þat pure, hir payne for to here.
ffor the luff þat she laid on þere lefe sun,
And the dole, þat she dregh, for his dethe one,
Thai worshippit þat worthy as þere wale doghter;
And lelly no lesse louyt hir in hert.
Þan in Iono ioly temple, as the iest tellis,
Atyret was a tabernacle, triet for þe nones,
Made all of marbill, of mason deuyse,
With mony staryng stone stondyng aboute.
Therein Paris was put with prestis of þe laghe,
And closit vp his corse vpon clene wise,
With Sacrifice and solenité suche as þai vsit,
And come to corupcioun, as his kynd asked.