University of Virginia Library

Lowe on my knees now I muste loute
To þilk[e] god þat makeþ men to route,
And causeth folke to haue glad[e] swevenes,
Boþe at morwe & on lusti evenes,
Whan Morpheus, with his slepi wond,
Whiche þat he holdeth alweie in his hond,
Hath marked hem a-geyn þe dirke nyȝt,
To maken men boþe mery and lyȝt,
And somwhile for to han gladnes,
And sodeynly to falle in hevynes,
Lik as to hem he ȝeveth euydence
By sondry signes in his apparence.
Vn-to þat lord now moste I mekely preie,
At þis tyme my stile to conveye
Of Vlixes þe dreme to discrive,
Þe laste of alle he hadde be his lyue,
Declaryng hym be tokenes ful notable
And by signes verray demonstrable,
As he slepte ageyn þe pale mone,
His fatal day þat shulde folwe sone.
For it fel þus: as he a-bedde lay,
After mydnyȝt, to-fore þe morwe gray,
Hym þouȝt he sawe appere a creature
To his siȝt celestial of figure—
Noon erthely þing, but verraily devyne,
Of port, of chere wonder femynyne,
And, as hym sempte in his fantasye,
Like a þing sent oute of fair[i]e;
For þe bewte of hir goodly face
Recounforted, pleynly, al þe place,
Moste surmountynge & most souereyne;
And þe clernes of hir eyne tweyne,
Al sodeynli, or men myȝt aduerte,
Perce wolde euene to þe herte—
Diffence noon myȝt[e] be devysed.
And Vlixes, with hir loke supprysed,
Gan hir beholde al-weie more & more,
And in his slep for to siȝe sore,
Presyng ay with ful besy peyne
Hir tenbracen in his armys tweyne;
But ay þe more he presed hir to se,
Ay þe more from hym [she] gan to fle;
And ay þe more [þat] he gan purswe,
She ageynwarde gan hym to eschwe,
So contrarie to hym was fortune!
And whan she sawe he was importune,
She axed hym, shortly, what he wolde;
And he to hir þe plat[te] trouþe tolde:
“Certis,” quod he, “my lyues emperesse,
Wher þat ȝe ben woman or goddes
I can not deme nor Iugen half ariȝt,
I am so dirked and blendid in my siȝt;
But I dar wel affermyn in þis place,
My lyf, my deth stant hooly in ȝour grace,
More of merci requiryng þanne of riȝt
To rewe on me, whiche am ȝour owne knyȝt,
And of pite and compassioun
Goodly to sen to myn sauacioun:
For my desire but I may fulfille,
Þis silf[e] nyȝt to haue of ȝow my wille,
To my recure I can no remedie,
For lak of rouþe but I most[e] dye.
Now haue I al, a-twexe hope & drede,
My silf declared to ȝoure wommanhede.”
And after þat she kepte hir clos a while,
And ful sadly gan on hym to smyle,
And, as it is put in remembraunce,
Seyde vn-to hym, with sobre countenaunce:
“Sothly,” quod she, “þin affeccioun
Wolde fully turne to confusioun
Of vs boþe, it is so perillous,
So inly mortal and contagious,
Þat outterly, þer geyn[e] may no red,
But oon of vs moste anoon be ded—
Þis is þe fyn of þe hatful chaunce
Þat shulde folwe after oure plesaunce.”
And as Vlixes gan to neyȝe nere,
Beholdyng ay on hir heuenly cher,
Where-as she stood vpriȝt on þe grounde,
He sawe hir holde a spere longe & rounde,
Þe hed þer-of al of burned stele,
Forged new & grounde wonder wele;
And þer-vppon in his avisioun
He sawe a baner blased vp & doun,
Þe felde þer-of al [of] colour ynde,
Ful of fysshes betyn, as I fynde,
And in som bokys like as it is tolde,
In þe myddes a large crowne of golde.
And or þat she turne gan hir face,
Likly anoon to parte oute of þe place,
She spak to hym, & seyde in wordes pleyn:
“Þis ful tokene of partyng of vs tweyn
For euere-more, nowþer for sour nor swete,
After þis day neuer ageyn to mete!”
And, disapering, anoon hir leue she toke.
And after þat he sodeynly a-woke,
And gan to mvse in his fantasie
What þing þis dreme myȝt[e] sygnyfie;
But wher it ment owþer euel or good,
Þe secrenes he nat vndirstood,
For it surmountid, sothly, his resoun.
Þer-fore he sent þoruȝ his regioun
For swiche as wern sotil expositours
Of fate or sort, or crafti devinours,
For alle þe clerkis soget to his crowne,
Tassemble in oon his sweuene to expowne.
And whan þei knewe be informacioun
Þe maner hool of his avisioun,
Þei conclude, accordynge in-to oon,
Þe tyme aprocheþ & shal come anoon
Þat oon þat is nexte of his kynrede
With a spere shuld[e] make hym blede.
—Lat se wher he his fate can remewe!
Siþ it is hard destyne to eschewe,
As seyn þo folke in þer oppinioun,
Þat werke & truste on constellacioun.—
And Vlixes, mvsyng on þis tale,
Chaungeth colour & gan wexe pale,
Wonder dredful & ful of fantasies,
Gan in hym-silf seke remedyes
To voide a-weie þing þat wil nat be—
He stareth brode, but he may nat se,
His inward loke was with a cloude shent;
But wenyng he to haue be prudent,
Made calle his sone Thelamoun,
And to be take & shette vp in presoun,
He supposyng fully in his wit
Fro alle meschef þer-by to go quyte—
He nat aduerteth nor ne toke noon hede
To þe sharpnes of [þe] speris hed,
Nor to þe fysshes in þe baner bete,
Nor to þe se, wher þei swymme & flete,
Nor of þe quene þat called is Circes,
Þat signes brouȝt of werre & nat of pes,
Nor of þe crowne, tokene of dignite
Of oon þat shal holde his royal se,
Mid þe wawes, boþe fel & wood,
Amonge þe fysshes in þe large flood;—
And he shal make þe devisioun,
To-forne remembrid in thavisioun,
Ageyn his wil, of verray ignoraunce,
And execute þe fatal purueiaunce
Vp of þe dreme with his spere of stele,
Whiche Vlixes considereth neuere-a-dele,
Nor to no wyȝt hath suspecioun
But to his sone called Thelamoun,
Þat is closed & shet vp in a tour.
And Vlixes, with coste & gret labour,
Fro day to day doth his besynes
For hym-silf to make a forterresse,
Bilt on a roche, of lym & square stonys,
Depe diched aboute for þe nonys,
Þat no man may entre on no side,
Where he casteþ al his lyue tabide
With certeyn men chose in special,
Niȝt & day to wache on þe wal
Þat no wyȝt shulde haue [noon] entre,
But it so falle þat he be secre,
Knowe of olde, and to counceil sworne.
Now, as þe story rehersed hath to-forne,
Þe olde fool, þis dotard Vlixes,
A sone hadde be-geten on Circes—
Freshe & lusti, ȝonge and coraious;
And he was called Thelagonyus,
Born in þe se amonge þe flodis rage,
Þat was also, [for] to rekne his age,
Fyue & twenti ȝere or þere a-boute;
But of his fader he was ay in doute
What man he was or who it myȝt[e] be,
Beinge þere-of in noon-surete.
Til on a day he, desirous to knowe,
To his moder fil on knees lowe,
Beseching hir, goodly (& nat spare)
Of his fader þe trouþe to declare;
What he was, & where he shulde dwelle,
He besouȝt þat she wolde telle.
But, sothly, she long and many daies
Of prudence put hym in delayes,
Til þat she sawe she myȝt haue no reste,
So inportune he was in his requeste;
And whanne she knewe þer was non oþer bote,
Fro point to point she tolde hym crop & rote
Of Vlixes, & where þat he was kyng.
And he anoon made no lettyng,
But toke leve—it may no better be—
And seide pleinly he wolde his fader se;
Wher-of þe quene gan in herte colde.
But whan she sawe she myȝt him nat with-holde,
She hym besouȝt, with chere debonaire,
Þat he wolde sone ageyn repeire.
And forthe he seileth onward on his wey,
With-oute abood, þe silf[e] same day,
By many port and many fer contre,
Til he was brouȝt þere he wolde be—
To Achaia, a lond of gret renoun.
And he gan cerche þoruȝ þe regioun
After þe place and paleis principal
Where-as þe kyng helde his se royal;
And he so long in þe contre rood,
Til he was tauȝt where þe kyng abood,
Þer Vlixes was shet vp in mewe,
To whiche place in haste he gan purswe,
A gret party releued of his sorwe.
And on a Monday, erly be þe morwe,
Vn-to þe brigge þe riȝt[e] weie he toke,
And fond a porter deynous of his loke;
And lowly first he gan hym to preie
Þat he wold goodly hym conveie
In-to þe courte, & make no tariyng,
For a message he hadde to þe kyng.
But proudly he denyed hym þe gate,
And shortly seide þat he cam to late
To entre þere in any maner wyse,
And vngoodly gan hym to dispise,
Frowarde of speche and malicious.
But in al haste Thelagonyus,
As he þat was in herte nat afferde,
Þe proude porter hent[e] be þe berde,
And with his fyste brast his chawle boon,
Þat he fil ded, mvet as a stoon;
And oþer eke þat hym þo with-stood
He made proudly to lepe in-to [þe] flood;
And whan mo cam to make resistence,
He hent a swerde, be manly violence,
And furiously in his Irous tene
(Þe story seith) he slowe of hem fiftene,
Hym-silfe al-moste wounded to þe deth,
And gan, for-wery, sothly, faile breth.
And Vlixes, what for noise & soun,
To þe brigge is descendid doun,
Findinge his men at entre of þe gate
Ded & slayn be ful mortal hate;
And he ful Irous hent anoon a darte,
Of auenture stonding þo a-parte,
And cruelly caste at Thelagoun.
But þe stroke, as in conclusioun,
Damageth nat, for it glood a-side;
And he for haste no lenger wolde abide,
Hent vp þe darte, with-oute more areste,
And smot þe kyng lowe vnder þe breste
Þoruȝ þe ribbes, shortly for to seie,
[Þat] Of þe wounde he moste [nedis] deie,—
Having þo noon oppinioun
Þat he was kyng, nor suspecioun,
Nor þat he had his owne fader slawe.
Whiche faste gan to his ende drawe;
His wounde was so dedly & so kene
Þat he myȝt him silve nat sustene,
But pale & wan to þe grounde gan glide,
His men aboute vp-on euery side,
Þat besy wern to help hym and releue.
But his sore gan so ake and greve
Þat he wel felte þat he mvste be ded;
But abrayding, as he lifte vp his hed,
Havyng as ȝit mynde & good resoun,
Remembre gan on his avisioun,
And how it was tolde him, oute of drede,
Þat oon þat was nexte of hys kynrede,
Descendid doun from his owne lyne,
His sweuene shal parforme to þe fyne
And a-complisshe with a dart of stele.
And for he coude nat conceyve wele
What þat he was, nor who it shulde be,
He bad anoon vn-to his meyne,
With-oute harme or any violence
Fette anoon vn-to his presence
Þe ȝonge man whiche at þe gate stood,
Þat hath þat day shad so moche blood.
And whan he was a-forn Vlixes brouȝt,
Of hym he hath enquered oute & souȝt,
Firste of his kyn and nexte of his contre:
“Certis,” quod he, “I was born in þe se,
Amonge fysshes myd þe wawes grene,”—
And seide also his moder was a quene
Called Circes, of whom þe name is kouþe
Boþe Est & west, and riȝt fer be souþe,
And tolde also his fader was a kyng,
Þat hym begat at his home-comyng
Fro Troye toun, toward his contre;—
“And as my moder Circes tolde me
Secrely, þat he Vlixes hiȝte,
Of wham desirous for to han a siȝte,
I entred am þis myȝti regioun,
And haue pursuyd vn-to þis dongoun
Only in hope my fader to haue seyn;
But I se wel my labour is in veyn.
And sith, in soth, loste is my traueyl,
And þat it may on no side aveyle,
It were foly lenger here to dwelle:
Lo, here is al þat I can ȝou telle
Of my kynred; axeth me no more.”
With þat Vlixes gan to syȝe sore,
For lak of blood, as he þat was ful pale,
And seide anoon, whan he herde his tale:
“Now wote I wel my woful destine
Fulfilled is—it may noon oþer be!—
Now wote I wel þat it is to late
To grucche or strive ageyn my pitous fate;
For my sone, as clerkes whylom tolde,
Hath made an ende of my daies olde,
Þer-on expectant, with peynes ful greuous!”
And, with þat word, Thelagonyus,
Whan he wist ageyn natures lawe
Þat he, allas! hadde his fader slawe,
Whiche in þat lond long[e] bar his crowne,
With-oute abood he fil anoon a-swo[w]ne,
His cloþes rent, his ȝolwe here to-torn:
“Allas!” quod he, “þat euere was I born!
For cursid is my woful destine
And my fortune, whiche I may nat fle!
Cursid my sort, cursid myn auenture!
And I, refus of euery creature,
Forwaried eke my disposicioun,
And cursid is my constellacioun—
Cursed also and infortunat
Þe hour in whiche my fader me [be]gat!
So wolde God, with-oute lenger red,
—Taquiten hym anoon—þat I were ded,
To leie my lif for his deth to borwe!”
And whan þe kyng sawe his gret[e] sorwe,
And wist he was his sone of Circes born,
By many signe rehersed here-to-forn,
He vn-to hym anoon for-gaf his deth,
As he myȝt for want & lak of breth,
So importable was his passioun.
And his sone ycalled Thelamoun,
Whiche haþ in presoun so many day be shet,
To his presence in al haste was fet;
Whiche, whan he saw his fader in swiche point,
Vp-on þe deth stondyng in disioint,
And knewe also, & þe trouþe [haþ] founde
By whom he had his laste dedly wounde,
A swerd he hent, &, mortally Irous,
And wolde haue ronne on Thelagonivs,
Of hiȝe dispit avenged for to be.
But Vlixes of faderly pite
Made his men hold hym & restreyne;
And amyd of al his greuous peyne,
By his prudence—& þat was don anoon—
He made his sones for to be al oon;
And gaf in charge vn-to Thelamoun,
Of enternes and affeccioun,
And of hool herte, feyned neuer-adel,
Al his lyue to loue his broþer wel,
To parte with hym tresour, gold, & good,
As to þe nexte born of al his blood.
And þo, in soth, was no lenger taried,
Þat Vlixes rially was caried
Of Achaya to þe chefe cite;
And after þat lyued daies þre,
With-oute more, & þo gaf vp þe gost.
I can nat seyn, pleynly, to what cost,
After þis lyf þat his soule is goon,
But in a towmbe of metal & of stoon
Þe body was closed and yshet;
And after þat maked was no let,
Þat Thelamoun, with gret sollennite,
I-crowned was in his fadres see,
Swerd & septer deliuered to his hond
Of Achaya, a ful worþi lond,
Riȝt abundaunt of tresour & of good.
And Thelagoun with hym þer abood
A ȝere complet, wel cherisshed in his siȝt,
And of his broþer toke þe ordre of knyȝt;
And for hym list no lenger þer abide,
Þe kyng for hym wysly gan prouide,
Þat he with gold, gret tresour, & plente
Repeired is home to his contre;
And his moder, of age wex[e] sad,
Of [his] repeire passingly was glad,
As she þat sawe be hir sorserie
He skaped was many iupartie,
Many pereil, & many gret distresse.
And after þat, she fil in-to seknesse,
And hir dette ȝalde vn-to nature,
Whiche eskape may no creature
In al þis world þat is here lyuyng.
After whos deth hir sone was made kyng
Of Aulydos, þe merueillous contre,
As I haue tolde, enclosed with a see,
Amonge rokkes, wher many shippes drowne;
And sixti ȝere þer he bar his crowne,
Þis manly man, [þis] Thelagonyus.
And his brother, Thelamonyus,
Regned also in his regioun
Seuenti wynter, as made is mencioun.
And after þat, þei made a royal ende,
And boþe two to Iubiter þei wende,
To regne þere among þe sterris briȝt.

But now þe lanter and þe clere liȝt
Is wastid oute of Frigius Darete,
Whilom of Troye wryter & poete,
Guyde haue I noon, forþe for to passe:
For euene here in þe silf[e] place
He ficched hath þe boundis of his stile,
At þe sege he present al þe while,
And ay in oon with hem dide abide—
Dites þe Greke on þe toþer side.
And boþe two as in her writyng
Ne varie nat but in litel þing
Touching mater, as in special,
Þat is notable or historial:
I do no fors of incidentes smale,
Of whiche, in soth, it is but litel tale.
Saue þis Dites maketh mencioun
Of þe noumbre slay[e]n at þe toun
Lastinge þe sege, affermyng, out of drede,
Eyȝte hundrid þousand & sixe wer þer dede
On Grekis side, vpriȝt in þe felde;
And as Dares also þere behelde,
On Troye party in þe werre kene
Six hundrid þousand seuenti & sixtene
Were slay[e]n þere—in Guydo ȝe may se—
With hem þat cam to help[e] þe cite
Fro many coost & many regioun,
In diffence & reskus of þe toun.
And ful ten ȝere, so as I can caste,
And sixe monþes þe myȝti sege laste,
Or it was gete,—Dares writ hym silve—
And, ouermore, complet dayes twelve
Or Grekis hadde ful pocessioun,
By fals engyn of þe Greke Synoun,
Like as to-forn rehersid was but late.
I haue no more [of] latyn to translate
After Dites, Dares, nor Guydo,
And me to adden any more þer-to
Þan myn auctours specefie & seyn,
Þe occupacioun, sothly, wer but veyn,
Lik a maner of presumpcioun.
And tyme complet of þis translacioun,
By iust[e] rekenyng & accountis clere,
Was a þousand & foure hundrid ȝere,
And twenti ner,—I knowe it out of drede—
After þat Crist resseyved oure manhede
Of hir þat was Emperesse and quene
Of heuene & helle, and [a] maide clene—
Þe eyȝte ȝere, by computacioun,
Suynge after þe coronacioun
Of hym þat is most gracious in werkyng,
Herry þe Fyfþe, þe noble worþi kyng
And protector of Brutis Albyoun—
And called is, þoruȝ his hiȝe renoun,
Þoruȝ his prowes & his chiualrie,
Also fer as passeþ clowde or skye,
Of Normaundie þe myȝti conquerour:
For þoruȝ his knyȝthod & diligent labour,
Maugre alle þo þat list hym [to] with-seyn,
He hath conquered his herytage ageyn,
And by his myȝti prudent gouernaunce
Recured eke his trewe title of Fraunce;
Þat who-so liste loken and vnfolde
Þe pe-de-Grew of cronycles olde,
And cerchen bokes y-write longe a-forn,
He shal fynde þat he is iustly born
To regne in Fraunce by lyneal discent.
And onward now he is made regent
Of þilke lond durynge his fader lyf,
Of his goodnes to voide werre & stryf,—
He to reioisshe, with-oute more delay,
Septer & crowne after þe kynges day,
As it is clerly, in conclusioun,
Enrolled vp in þe conuencioun.
And þanne I hope þe tyme fortunat,
Of þe olde worlde called aureat,
Resorte shal, by influence of grace,
Þat cruel Mars shal no more manace
With his lokis furious and wood,
By false aspectus for to shede blood
A-twene þe folkes of þis rewmys tweyne,
Whiche euery wyȝt ouȝt[e] to compleyne.
But, as I trust in myn oppinioun,
Þis worþi kyng of wisdam & resoun
And of knyȝthod shal so doon his peyne
To maken oon þat longe hath be tweyne:
I mene þus, þat Yngelond and Fraunce
May be al oon, with-oute variaunce,
Oute of hertis old rancour to enchase
By influence of his myȝti grace,
Þat called is of clerkis, dout[e]les,
Þe souereyn lord and þe prince of pes.
And I hope his grace shal now reyne,
To sette reste atwene þis rewmys tweyne:
For in his power, sothly, stondeth al;
And alliaunce of þe blod royal,
Þat is knet vp by bonde of mariage,
Of werre shal voide aweie þe rage,
To make pes with briȝt[e] bemys shyne.
And on þat is called Kateryne,
And namyd is riȝt good & faire also,
Shal be mene a-twixe boþe two,
Of grace enprentid in hir wommanhede,
Þat to compleyne we shal haue no nede.
And I hope hir gracious arryvaille
In-to þis lond shal so moche availle,
Þat Ioie, honour, and prosperite,
With-oute trouble of al aduersite,
Repeire shal, & al hertly plesaunce,
Plente, welfare, & fulsom abundaunce,
Pes & quiete, boþe nyȝe and ferre,
With-oute strife, debat, or any werre,
Meschef, pouert, nede, or indygence,
With ful ceessyng of deth & pestilence—
Sothly, al þis I hope ȝe shal sen
Come in-to lond with þis noble quene,
Þat we shal seyn of hert, & feyne nouȝt:
Blessed be she þat al þis hath vs brouȝt!
—And he þat haþ þoruȝ myȝt of his werkyng,
Of his knyȝthod concluded al þis þing,
And swiche mervailles in armis don & wrouȝt,
And his purpos fully aboute brouȝt
Of hiȝe wisdam set in his inward siȝt,
Reioisshynge al þat longeth to his riȝt,
And hiȝest sit of worþinesse in glorie
With þe scepter of conquest and victorie—
I praie to God only for his beste,
Whan he hath al set in pes and reste,
And is ful put in clere pocessioun
Of al þat longeth to his subieccioun,
To sende hym home with as gret honour
As euere ȝit hadde any conquerour,
Longe after, in Ioie and in quyete
For to regnen in his royal sete!
Þus shal I ay—þer is no more to seye—
Day & nyȝt for his expleit y-preye
Of feythful herte & of hool entent,
Þat whylom gaf me in commaundement,
Nat ȝore a-go, in his faderes tyme,
Þe sege of Troye on my maner to ryme,
Moste for his sake, to speke in special.
Al-þouȝ þat I be boistous and rual,
He gaf me charge þis story to translate,
Rude of konnynge, called Iohn Lydgate,
Monke of Burie be professioun,
Vsynge an habite of perfeccioun,
Al-be my lyf acorde nat þer-to—
I feyne nat; I wote wel it is so—
It nedeth nat witnesse for to calle,
Record I take of my brethren alle,
Þat wil nat faille at so gret a nede.
And al þat shal þis noble story rede
I be-seche of support and of grace,
Þer I offende in any maner place,
Or wher-so-euere þat þei fynde errour,
Of gentilnesse to shewe þis fauour:
Benygnely for to done her peyne
To correcte, raþer þan disdeyne.
For wel wot I moche þing is wrong,
Falsly metrid, boþe of short & long;
And, ȝif þei shuld han of al disdeyn,
It is no drede, my labour wer in veyn.
Late ignoraunce & rudnesse me excuse:
For ȝif þat ȝe, platly, al refuse,
For certeyn fautes whiche ȝe shal fynde,
I doute nat, my þank is set be-hynde;
For in metring þouȝ þer be ignoraunce,
Ȝet in þe story ȝe may fynde plesaunce
Touching substaunce of [þat] myn auctour wryt.
And þouȝe so be þat any word myssit,
Amendeth it, with chere debonaire;
For an errour to hyndren & appaire,
Þat is nat seide of purpos nor malys,
It is no worshippe to hym þat is wys;
And no wyȝt gladly so sone ȝeveþ [a] lak
(Specialy be-hynden at þe bake),
As he, in sothe, þat can no skyl at al—
He goth ful hool þat neuer had[de] fal!
And I nat fynde, of newe nor of olde,
For to deme þer is noon so bolde,
As he þat is blent with vnkonnyng:
For blind Baiard cast pereil of no þing,
Til he stumble myddes of þe lake!
And noon so redy for to vndir-take
Þan he, in soth, nor bolder to seie wers,
Þat can no skyl on prose nor on vers;
Of alle swiche þat can nat be stille,
Litel forse, wher þei seie good or ille!
For vn-to hem my boke is nat direct,
But to swiche as hauen, in effect,
On symple folke ful compassioun,
Þat goodly can by correccioun
Amende a þing, & hindre neuere-adel,
Of custom ay redy to seie wel:
For he þat was gronde of wel-seying,
In al hys lyf hyndred no makyng,
My maister Chaucer, þat founde ful many spot—
Hym liste nat pinche nor gruche at euery blot,
Nor meue hym silf to parturbe his reste
(I haue herde telle), but seide alweie þe best,
Suffring goodly of his gentilnes
Ful many þing enbracid with rudnes.
And ȝif I shal shortly hym discryve,
Was neuer noon to þis day alyue,
To rekne alle, boþe ȝonge & olde,
Þat worþi was his ynkhorn for to holde.
And in þis lond ȝif þer any be,
In borwe or toun, village or cite,
Þat konnyng haþ his tracis for to swe,
Wher he go brood or be shet in mwe—
To hym I make a direccioun
Of þis boke to han inspeccioun,
Besechyng hem, with her prudent loke,
To race & skrape þoruȝ-oute al my boke,
Voide & adde wher hem semeth nede;
And þouȝ so be þat þei nat ne rede
In al þis boke no rethorikes newe,
Ȝit I hope þei shal fynde trewe
Þe story pleyn, chefly in substaunce.
And who-so liste to se variaunce,
Or worldly þing wrouȝt be daies olde,
In þis boke he may ful wel beholde
Chaunge of Fortune, in hir cours mutable,
Selde or nat feithful ouþer stable,
Lordes, princes from her royalte
Sodeinly brouȝt in aduersite,
And kynges eke plounged in pouert,
And for drede darynge in desert,—
Vnwar slauȝter compassed of envie,
Mordre execut by conspirasie,
Await[e] liggyng falshede and tresoun,
And of kyngdammys sodeyn euersioun,—
Rauysshyng of wommen for delyt,
Rote of þe werre & of mortal despit,
Fals mayntenaunce of avout[e]rye,
Many worþi causyng for to dye,
Synne ay concludynge, who-so takeþ hede,
Vengaunce vnwar for his final mede—
To declare, þat in al worldly lust,
Who loke ariȝt, is but litel trust,
As in þis boke exaumple ȝe shal fynde,
Ȝif þat ȝe list enprente it in ȝour mynde—
How al passeth & halt here no soiour,
Wastyng a-way as doth a somer flour,
Riche & pore, of euery maner age:
For oure lyf here is but a pilgrymage,
Meynt with labour & with moche wo,
Þat ȝif men wolde taken hede þer-to
And to-forn prudently aduerte,
Litel Ioie þei shuld han in her herte
To sette her trust in any worldly þing;
For þer is nouþer prince, lord, nor kyng,
Be exaumple of Troye, like as ȝe may se,
Þat in þis lif may haue ful surete.
Þerfore, to hym þat starf vppon þe rode,
Suffringe deth for oure alder goode,
Lyfte vp ȝoure hertis & þinke on him among:
For be ȝe neuere so myȝti nor so strong,
With-oute hym al may nat availle;
For he can ȝif victorie in bataille
And holde a felde, shortly to conclude,
With a fewe ageyn gret multitude.
And be grace he makeþ princes stronge,
And worþi kynges for to regne longe,
And tirauntis sodeynly oppresse,
Þrowe hem doun, for al her gret richesse;
And in his hond power he reserueth
Eche man taquite liche as he disserueth—
To whom I preie with deuocioun,
With al myn herte & hool affeccioun,
Þat he list graunt longe contenuance,
Prosperite, and good perseueraunce,
Helþe, welfare, victorie, and honour
Vn-to þat noble myȝti conquerour,
Herry þe Fyfþe, to-forn y-specefied,
So þat his name may be magnified
Here in þis lyf vp to þe sterres clere,
And afterward, aboue þe nynþe spere,
Whan he is ded, for to han a place!
Þis praie I God for to send hym grace,
At whos biddynge, as I tolde late,
First I be-gan þe sege to translate.
And now I haue hooly in his honour
Executed þe fyn of my labour.
Vn-to alle þat shal þis story se,
With humble herte and al humylite
Þis litel boke lowly I be-take,
It to supporte—and þus an ende I make.