University of Virginia Library

The wonderfule eskaipis of Vlixes aftire þat he departede fro Troy; and howe he made a soroweful compleynte against fortune to the worshipful kynge, called Ydumye.

O Vlixes, by ordre in my writyng,
Þin aventures commen on þe ring,
Ful wonderful boþe on lond and se,
Entermedlid with grete aduersite!
For Guydo, first discrivinge þi repeire,
Seith how þou founde weder foule & faire,
Now agreable, now þe thounder sowne,
Now stille and smothe, now with clowdis frowne,
And seith also, þat þou dedist ordeyne
To þi passage myȝty shippes tweyne,
Apparailled al for marchaundise,
Þat þou myȝtest in most secre wyse
Euery meschef of þe se eskape.
But for al þat þou haddist a fel iape:
For as þis auctor þi resort doþ wryte,
He seith Vlixes, for al his wordis white,
I-robbed was of riches and of good,
Contrarious wynde so a-geyn him stood
Þat he was drive, to his confusioun,
In-to þe myȝty stronge regioun
Where Thelamoun regned by his lyve;
And þere he was hent & take blyve,
Be myȝti hond sesid by þe brest,
And merciles put vnder arest;
For þei him had suspect in werkyng,
Touching þe mordre of þe same kyng.
But he so wrouȝt by his sleiȝti wyle,
And his tale sette in swiche a stile,
Þat hem alle he [pleinly] hath be-iaped,
And fro her hond frely is eskaped—
Except þat he, for al his queynt[e] fare,
Of his tresour was [y-]made ful bare;
And for his passage was to him vnkouþe,
He fil a-geyn in-to þe wolves mouþe:
For, verraily, as it is specified,
Kyng Naulus men han hym eft espied,
Take & bounde & cheyned mercyles,
For þe mordre of kyng Pallamydes.
But þe story reherseth in certeyn,
By his prudence he eskaped is a-geyn,
—For he was boþe expert, wys, & olde—
Al-þei þe maner be not fully tolde
Of his eskape, þoruȝ his besy peyne,
Out of daunger of þese kynges tweyne—
Til þoruȝ fortune he cam fro meschef fre
To þe presence of kyng Ydumee
In symple array and torne apparaile.
Wher-of þe kyng gretly gan mervaile
To sen his pouert in so lowe maner;
But for al þat he maked him good cher,—
Þouȝ þilke tyme he were Infortunat,
He hym resseiveth liche to his estat.
And whan þei wern boþe tweyne allone,
In compleynyng Vlixes made his mone
Vn-to þe kyng, as he þat was ful sage,
Ceriously þe sort of his passage,
With face sad and a sobre chere,
Fro point to point, anon as ȝe shal here.
“My lord,” quod he, “shortly to expresse,
Of trust I haue in ȝoure gentilnes,
I shal to ȝow myn aventures alle
Rehersyn her, riȝt as it is falle:
First, whan þat I Troye lond forsook
And þe water with my shippes took,
I was a-noon with wynde pesible blowe
To an yle whiche was to me vnknowe,
Callid Mirma, of gret haboundance;
And al[le] þing þat was to my plesaunce,
Þat may for siluer or for gold be bouȝt,
I redy fonde, & wantid riȝt nouȝt,
And þer abood ful long[e] while in Ioie
With þe tresour þat I gat at Troye,—
My shippes stuffed, my men hool & sounde,
And for commodite of þat ilk[e] grounde,
We lyked so þe contre enviroun,
Þat, for disport and recreacioun,
Oure tariyng þer we þouȝt not longe,
For no man dide vn-to vs no wronge.
Til on a day þat þe eyr was stille,
Þe wynde also fully at oure wille,
We seyled forþe in quiete and in pes
Vn-to a port called Clanstafages,
Wher with my meyne long & many day
I fond al þing according to my pay,
—Þe wedir lusty, agreable, and feir—
But who may trust ouþer in wynde or eyr!—
For vp-on feith of þe smoþe skye
Ageyn to ship fast I gan me hye,
Taried nouȝt, but tok anoon þe see,
Smoþe & calm enduring daies þre,
Þat in þe wedir founde was no lak.
But sodeynly þe heuene turned blak,
Þe hydous tempest & þe wawes grene
Oute of hope han me dispeired clene,
Troublid my spirit & made me [so] pensif,
With-oute refut teskape with þe lyf,
Possid & drive by many sondri yle,
Til at þe last, cast vp at Cecyle,
Recuryng lond with gret annoy & peyne,
Wher þilke tyme regned kynges tweyne.
And as I can remembre douteles,
Þe ton of hem called Sorigenes,
Whiche vn-to me ful contrarious was,
And þe toþer named Coclopas,—
Breþren of birþe, and, in conclusioun,
I-lyche cruel of condicioun:
For þouȝ my sort had shape for þe nonys,
Boþe tweyne fil on me attonys,
Oppressing me in ful gret distresse,
Spoiled my shipes of tresour & richesse,
And for no pite liked not to spare,
Til I was left destitut and bare
Of al my good, allas, my mortal chaunce!
And most of al was to me grevaunce,
Whan of my gold þei myȝt no more restreyne,
Þei sent doun her myȝti sonys tweyne:
Alipham, þat was ful large & long,
And Polipheme þe myȝti geaunt strong,
Whiche on my men tavenge hem wer so fayn,
Þat þei of hem han an hundred slayn,
Disaraied to stonden at diffence.
And of malys, with sodeyn violence
Þei token me, for meschef almost lorn,
And Alphenor, myn owne broþer sworn,
And hatfully, as þei han vs founde,
In cheynes cast and in stokkys bounde,
And after þat ylokked in presoun.
And for to make platly mencioun,
Þis myȝti man, þis gret[e] Polypheme,
A suster had, shortly for to deme,
Oon þe fairest þat euer ȝit was born—
She myȝt in bewte so be set a-forn,
Nature hir gaf swiche a prerogatyf—
A clene mayde, sothly, & no wyf,
Flouryng boþe in fairnes & bounte,
Whom Alphenor whan he dide se,
Al-be he was fetrid in prisoun,
For loue he lost wit & eke resoun,
And wex al mad, so na[r]we she dide him binde,
—Saue [vp-]on hir alwey was his mynde,
And closid ay was his perlous wounde.
And sixe monþes þus we leie bo[u]nde,
Boþe he & I, to seyn þe plat[te] trouþe,
Til Polypheme had vp-on vs rouþe;
And þoruȝ his grace and mediacioun
He quyt vs fre out of þat prisoun,
And shewed vs, of mercy and pite,
After oure sorwe gret humanite.
But Alphenor, yliche of oon entent,
Was with þe brond of Cupide brent,
And felt his part with many mortal fyt,
Til he so wrouȝt by his sotil wyt,
Þat on a nyȝt, who was lef or loþe,
He stale þis mayde, & his weye he goþe,
Þoruȝ help of men with him at þat tyme.
But on þe morwe at þe hour of pryme
Poliphemus gan vs for to sewe,
Whos myȝti hond we myȝt[e] nat eschewe;
And swiche a-saut on vs þei gan make,
Þat of force þei han þe mayde take
From Alphenor, maugre al his rage.
And Polypheme vn-to my damage
With his knyȝtes so sore vp-on me lay,
Þat I myȝt vnneþe eskape a-way
To saue my lyf, compassid enviroun,
To deth purswyd of þat champioun.
But whan I sawe þer was non oþer geyn,
To fle þe deth, shortly for to seyn,
While þis geaunt most fersly on me sette
With my swerd oute his eye I smette;
And vn-to ship with my companye
I fledde in haste, þat no man myȝt espie
Where I be-cam, nor Alphenor my fere.
And whan þe wawes gon[ne] for to clere,
And gracious wynd gan to vs awake,
Þilk contre we han anoon forsake—
It was nat holsom for vs to abide.”
—But of þis man like as writ Ovide,
Poliphemus þe geaunt, out of drede,
Had an eye mydde of his forhede,
Whiche Vlixes smot out at a stroke;
And like þe bowes of a braunchid oke
Was al his heer & his longe berde,—
On whom to loke childer were a-ferd.
And whan þat he had[de] lost his siȝt,
A-monge þe hilles he renneth day & nyȝt,
In a rage, to fynde hym som refuge,
Cast[e] roches and grete stones huge
On euery part enviroun þe contre,
On Vlixes avenged for to be.
Þus seith Ovide, in conclusioun,
In his boke of transformacioun—
Methamorphoseos—þer ȝe may it se,
Whan-so-euere þat ȝour leyser be
Ceriously þe story for to rede.
And in writinge forþe I wil procede,
How Vlixes, with face ded and pale,
To Ydumee told[e] forþe his tale,
Rehersyng þus, supprised & a-wapid:
“Fro Polipheme whan we wern eskaped,
Þoruȝ oure vnhap and infelicyte
In-to an yle myddes of þe see
We were dryve, whan it gan to nyȝte;
And Elodium þat litel kyngdam hyȝte,
Wher þat Circes, þe gret enchaunteresse,
Þilke tyme was lady and goddesse,
Þat koude hir craft so wonderly performe,
Al sodeynly a man for to transforme
To haue þe liknes (& lesen his resoun)
Of hors or bere, tigre or lyoun,
Wolf or fox, or what hir list deuise—
Hir dredful craft was shapen in swiche wise,
So myȝti wern hir straunge pociouns,
Her letuarye[s] and confecciouns.
And she also so fair vp-on to se,
Þat fro hir power to man myȝt[e] fle.
For be þe werke of þis sorceresse,
I was so fonned vppon hir fairnesse,
Þat finally þus with me it stood:
Þat al a ȝere I with hir [a]bood,
And pleynly had power noon ne myȝt
For to depart, nouþer day ne nyȝt,
So lusti was þe lyf þat I ladde,—
In whiche tyme by me a child she hadde,
Riȝt inly fair & goodly to þe siȝt.”
—And Thelagonivs in sothnes he hiȝt,
Whiche afterward, I [wel] reherse can,
By processe wex a manly man.—
“And be my sotil secre prouidence,
Of hir craft I hadde experience,
Þat maugre hir enchauntementes olde,
I stale a-way—she myȝt[e] me nat holde.
And finally my fate to conclude,
With my konnyng hir craft I gan delude,
Þat with my men I skaped fro her hond
And went at large fre out of hir lond.
But al þis þing me litel dide availe;
For on my way as I gan to saile,
For al my sleiȝt, in a litel while
I blowe was vp in-to an yle
Wher Calypha, suster to Circes,
Was crowned quene, & held her scepter in pes;
Whos craftis wern so myȝty & so strong,
Maugre my wil she held me þer ful long.
But she, in soþe, to speke of wommanhed,
Of bounte, fredam, and of goodlyhed,
Surly had so souereyn excellence,
Þat myn abood to me was noon offence.
But who-so-euere þer-at crye or clappe,
At þe last I skaped fro hir trappe
And cam to an yle, riȝt as any lyne,
Whiche specialy þoruȝ hiȝ power devyne
Ordeyned is of ȝore be myracle,
As it were, a spiritual oracle—
A man to haue in a temple þere
Sodeyn answere of what him list enquere,
Of questiouns and demaundes alle,
And of soule[s] what shal eke be-falle
Whan men ar dede & graven vnder stoon.
And I gan axe in þe temple anoon
Myn aventures þat shuld after swe,
And wher a man myȝt his fate eschewe;
And of al þis, lyk to myn entent,
I had answere ful conuenient—
Saue what befalleth whan a soule is goon,
Diffynycioun vn-to me was noon,
Swiche þing tasoile acordeþ nat to riȝt:
It is reserued vn-to Goddes myȝt,
And excedeth resoun & wit of man.
And fro þens forþe to seile I gan,
Dreven with wynde, & no part socoured,
Wher I was lyk to haue be deuourid
Of Caribdis, with his profounde welle,
Where Sirenes, Meremaydnes, dwelle,
Þat fro þe brest, with skalis siluer shene,
Ben of her shap fysches freshe & clene,
And vpper-more, Kynde doth compasse
Hem to apere femynyn of face,
Lyk virgines þat were of nature
With-oute spot, vndefouled pure.
And of custom, in wawis as þei flete,
Þe song of hem is so heuenly swete,
So angelik and ful of armonye,
Þat verrailly þe sugred melodie
Ravisshe wolde any man a-lyve,
Of inly Ioie almost his hert[e] ryue—
Make a man, of sodeyn hiȝe plesaunce,
Forȝete hym silf & lese his remembraunce,
Devoide hym clene from his owne þouȝt,
Til vnwarly he be to meschef brouȝt.
And with her song, or he take kepe,
He shal be brouȝt in a mortal slepe;
And þei anoon—it may not be withdrawe—
Wil drenche his ship lowe vnder þe wawe!
Þus þe swetnes of her heuenly soun
Bringeth a man to confusioun—
Who-so-euere by her boundis pace.
But with þe lif I eskaped by grace:
For myn erys with wex & gommys clere
Were stoppid so, þat I ne myȝt[e] here
Touche nor werble of her instrumentis,
Wher-by þe resoun of [a] man y-blent is.
And, finally, þoruȝ my sotilte,
I and my men ben eskapid fre,
Seiling forþe, al mat of werynesse,
Til we cam vp, with ful gret distresse,
At Phenyce, & toke a-noon þe lond,
Cast anker, and oure shippes bond.
But, sothly, þer it fil vs ful vnfaire;
For þe peple, cruel and contraire,
Only of malis fil on me anoon,
And slowe my men almost euerychon;
Tresour & good, litel þat I hadde,
Was me by-raft; and al with hem þei ladde;
And fewe of hem þat wer left alive,
Þei token hem & put in prisoun blyve.
Þus haþ Fortune lad me on her daunce
With litel Ioie and plente of meschaunce,
Of whos daunger lerned and expert,
I am falle in meschef and pouert;
And with gret dool & sorwe ful my brest,
On se and londe, by souþe & nat by est
I am com vn-to ȝoure presence,
And haue declared pleinly in sentence
Myn auentures to ȝoure worþinesse,
Of trust only and of feithfulnesse
Þat I haue to ȝow in special.
And now I haue rehersid & told al
To ȝoure hiȝnesse in my best[e] wyse,
With-oute more—to me it doth suffise.”