University of Virginia Library

THE FFOLY DESYRE OF ECTOR.

When the kyng was kyld, cast to þe grene,
His shene armys to shew shone in the filde.
Ector to þe erth egurly light,
The gay armur to get of the gode hew,
That he duly dessirit in his depe hert;
And to spoile that spilt kyng he sped ferr.
His horse in his hond held by the reyne,
And come to þe kyng, þere the corse lay,
Wold haue Robbit the Renke of his riche wede.
With the ton hond in the toile tyrnyt it offe:
But Merion the mighty with a mayn pepull,
With þre thousaund þro men þrong hym vnto.
In defence of the freike, þat on fild lay,
To Ector in ernyst full angurdly said:
“Nay, warloghe wolfe, in þi wode hongur,
Þat neuer of forray art full, with þi foule vse,
The tydis not to taste of þis triet meite!
ffor-bode the firke þi fode forto wyn!
Sone shall þou se in a sad hast,
A C thousaund on horse highand þe to,
Thyn hede forto haue, & hew þe to dethe,
And put þe fro purpos, þi payn to encres!”
Sone, by the same kyng & his sad helpis,
He was borne fro þe body, backward agayn.
His horse for to haue, þai hasted by-dene,
And mony strokes, in þat stoure, þo stithe men hym gefe,
Till þe knight, vndur knappis, vppon knes fell.
Then he stert vp full stithly, with his store might,
Was on hys wight horse, for wepyn or other.
ffor all the grefe of þo grekes, & þe grete þronge,
Was no led might hym let, þof hom lothe were.
He meuit taward Merion his malis to venge,
Wode of his wit, in his wan yre;
But Glaucon the grete, with a grym batell,
Theseus, þe tore kyng, turnyt hym agayn,
With iij. M. þro men þronge hym aboute,
And socurd the same kyng with hor sad helpis.
But the first of þo frekes þat he fell to,
Was Archilacus, a choise kyng, hym cheuit full ille:
The buerne, with his bare sword, bere hym to dethe,
Þat he felle of his fole flat to þe ground!
Mony on he martrid at the meane tyme!
The pruddist, þat hym preset, plainly he slogh.
Breme was the batell on the bent þan!
Mony stithe, in the stoure, stale fro þere lyues.
Yet Ector, eftsones, ettillit to assay,
And Patroclus proud geere preset to haue.
He light doune full lyuely, lettid he noght,
And bounet to þe body, þere the buerne lay.
Þen come þere a kyng with kene men of armys,
Idymynus, full dernly, & dressit hym to,
With two thowsaund þro knightes, & þronge hym aboute:
And Myrion, þat I mynt, with his men all.
Thay preset so the prince with power of knightes,
Þat þai warnit hym his wille, & away put:
But fele dynttes he delt, & to dethe cast,
And other weghis hym with woundet the grekes.
When he segh þat hym-selfe was set vppon fote,
And so fele of his fos fuerse hym aboute,
All horset but he, & on hegh set,
He aforset hym felly with his fyn strenght;
Gird to the grekes in his grete yre.
Mony woundis he wroght, weghis to dethe;
Hondes of hew heturly fast;
Mony foteles freike of his fell dinttes;
ffele horses with his hond hew he to dethe,
Till all shent fro þat shene, & þe shalke leuyt!
So he rid hym a rowme in a rad hast,
Of þo tulkes, with tene, þat hym take wold.
Than Merion, þe mody kyng, þat I mynt first,
Presit to Patroclus in place þere he lay,
Braid vp the body on his big horse,
And so the freike hym before ferkit to his tent.
Now the grekes with grem gedrit vnto Ector,
His horse for to haue, & hym away lede.
Thay caupit at the knight, kene men of armys,
Þat the wegh on no wise might wyn on his horse.
In þat company kene was a knight noble,
That Carion was cald by his kynd nome,
ffull ernestly with Ector auntrid to fight;
Gaf hym dinttes full dedly, & derit hym mekill.
But a souerain seruand of þe same prinse
Segh his maistur at mischefe amonges his fos;
Two speirus full dispitus he sparet to cast,
Þat fuerse were before & of fell bite.
At the knight Carion cast he þat one,
As he mellit with his maistur, merkit hym euyn,
Hit hym so hitturly with a hard dynt,
Þat he gird to þe ground, & þe gost yalde.
Þen anoþer, þat was next, noyet hym alse,
Mellit with his maistur at þe mene tyme,
The tother speire, þat he sparit, spent vpon hym:
Brochit hym þrough þe body þat þe buerne swalt.
Then criet he full cantly þe knightes vpon,
And the tyde men of Troy, with a tore steuyn,
In hast for to hye to þere hed prinse,
Þat in perell was put in plite to be slayn.
Þen Synabor, forsothe, with a sad pepull,
Neghit to þe note,—his naturall brother;
He come to þe crye with a cant will,
And gird to the grekes mony grym dynt,
ffelled mony fuerse men with his fyne strenght,
Made wais full wide, wan to his lord,
Halpe hym full hertely, hurt of his fos;
Gird hom to ground, & to grym dethe.
Thretty of þe þroest he þronge out of lyue:
Mony weghis he woundit & warpit to erthe!
Þen the troiens full tyt tokyn þere hertes,
ffell of hor fos with a frike wille,
Getyn þere ground with a gret strenght,
And frusshet þere fos fer vppo backe.
ffuerse Ector was fayn of his fyn helpe,
And as wode as a wild bore wan on his horse.
He shouuyt þurgh his sheltrum, shent mony grekes,
And mard of þo men, out of mynd fele;
Gird hom to ground with mony grym hurt.
All þat met hym with malis in þe mene tyme,
Auther dyet of his dynttes, or were ded wondit.
The grekes, for þe greuaunce, gyuen hym þe way,
ffled all in fere, ferd of hor dethe.
Mony batell he broke, myche bale wroght,
All his wedis wex wete of hor wan blode:
Þen found he no frekes to fraist on his strenght,
Ne non so derfe to endure a dynt of his hond.
Then Menestaus, þe mighty, with his men hole,
The Duke of Athens full derf, drogh into batell,
With þre thowsaund þro men, þriuond in armys,
And other folke full fuerse, þat the freike hade.
He launchit in o þe left side with his ledis all,
There Troilus the tried, turnyd to fight
With the frigies fell, þat þe freike lad,
Þat myche greuaunce & grem to þe grekes did;
With Alcanus, a kyng, a kid man of strenght,
And Machaon, the mighty, with his men all:
Xantipus the same batell sothely was þen.
There mynget þai þere men, machit hom to-gedur;
Mony dedly dint delt hom amonge!
Big was the batell vpon bothe haluys,
And myche slaghtur in slade, & slyngyng to ground!
Troilus, in the toile, turnyt was of hors,
ffaght vppon fote felly agayne:
Mony woundit the wegh of his wale fos.
Menestaus, the mighty, mainly beheld,
Segh Troiell in toile, & tynt had his horse,
ffoght vppon fote in þe fuerse batell,
And myche harme with his hond happit to do.
Then aforsit hym the freike with his fuerse knightes,
Troilus to take and to tent lede.
Presit hym full prudly with his prise folke,
Halit hym fro horse fete, & in hond toke.
Then he led hym furthe lyuely, and his wille hade.
But a mon of þat mighty, þat Myseres was cald,
To the frigies in fere felly he saide;—
“Alas! ledis of þis lond, þat ye lyfe haue!
Wherto bounet ye to batell in your bright geire,
Whethur worship to wyn, or willfully shame?
Se ye not the sun of youre sure kyng,
With torfer be takon, & turnyt away?
If ye let hym be led furthe, your lefe haue ye tynt,
And of sham, þat be shapyn you, shent be ye neuer.
Mellis you with monhod & might of your seluyn,
To Restore the rynke in a rad hast,
Er he be led out of lenght, & lost of your sight,
And past fro your pouer thurgh the prese hoge!”
Then Alcanus, the kyng, kyndlit in yre,
Gird after the Grekes, with a grete speire,
Þat Troilus hade takon, hym tenyt full ylle.
So he frusshet to a freike, þat the fre led,
Þat sodenly he seit doun, soght out of lyue;
And anoþer, anon, he nolpit to ground,
Shent of þo shalkes, shudrit hom Itwyn.
So fuersly he fore, and freikes þat hym halpe,
Þat Troilus was takyn, & turnyt furth louse,
And don out of daunger for the due tyme.
The freke þen in fuerse hast ferkid on horse,
Grippit to a grym sword, gird on his fos,
ffor to comford the kyng, þat hym caght hade.
Þis Xantipus soght forth with a sad dynt
To Mynestaus with might, & þe mon hit,
That þe freike hade ben fay but for his fyn armur.
Then Menestaus mournyt, & mykell sorow hade,
That Troilus, þe triet, was takyn of his hond,
And afforsit hys frekys to þe fight harde:
He gedrit all hys gomys in a grete hate.
Þe fyght was fel þo frekis betwene;
Mony derf, to þe deth, vndur dyntes yode;
Mony buerne on the bent bytturly wondyt;
Mony knyghtys were kyld to þe cold deth!
Ector was euermore Eger with-all;
Mony weghys in hys wrath welt to þe ground;
Mony Slogh in þe slade þurgh sleght of hys hond;
And sore greuyt þe Grekys with his grete dyntys.
Menestaus þe mighty, þat mekill was in yre,
ffor he faylit of þe freke, þat he first toke,
As he rod þurgh þe rout with his roid fare,
Þe troiens to tene with his tore strenkyth,
He met with þis Myseres at þe mene tyme,
By qwom he lost þe lord, þat he laght hade.
He knew hym full lyuely by colore of his armys,
And frunt euyn to þe freke with a fell spere,
Hurlet hym to hard vrthe vndur horse fete;
But þe lede vppon lyue leuyt he þen,
And nolpit to another, þat hym noiet at,
Gird hym vne to þe ground in hys gret yre.
Þen Hupon, þe hoge kyng, highet to batell.
With mony tulkys of troy, tryet in were;
And Eripa also auntrid hym with,
With all þe ledys of Larris led hom betwene.
And fro þe grekys com gyrdond agaynes þo two,
Prothenor, a prise kyng, & pert Archelaus,
With all þe buernes of Boyes, bold men of hond.
Þen þe fyght wex fell, & mony freke deghyt!
Sone after, forsothe, o þe Cité halue,
Polidamas aprochit with a proud ost,—
Antenor aune son abill of dedys.
He segh þe troiens so tore, & turnyt so þik,
All pyght in a place on a playn feld.
Anon to anothir side naitli he dryuys,
With all þe here, þat he hade, highit aboute,
And fell to þe fyght with his folke hole.
Þen yssit furth also, yrfull in dedys,
Remys, þe Ryche kyng, with a rught batell,
And presit in prudly with a proud wyll,
And fell to þe fyght with þe freke alse.
Þere was kyllyng of knyghtis, crusshyng of helmys,
Bold men bakward borne of hor horses:
Þat assembly was sorer of þo sad knyghtis.
Mony hurlit doun hedstoupis to þe hard vrthe!
Polidamus, þe pert, presit vnto Merion,
Þat was auntrus in armys, Elan aune cosyn;—
He was a duke in hys day, & for dere holdyn,
A ȝop knyght & a ȝonge, of ȝeris but lite;—
So he gird to þat greke with a grym spere,
Þat he seyt to þe soile, & soght out of lyue.
When Menelay, þe myghty, þat myschef beheld,
Myche sorow for þe syght sank in his hert;
He turnyt to þe troiens his tene for to venge,
With all þe bir in hys brest, for hys bale angur.
He raght vnto Remys with a roid dynt,
Alto hurlit his helme, harmyt hym euyll,
Wondyt hym wykkydly, walt hym to ground.
Half ded of þe dynt, þer þe duk lay!
Hys weghys all wend, for þe wale stroke,
Þat þe kyng hade ben kyld, & myche care had:
Non soght hvm to socore with no sad holp,
But all purpost hom playnly to pas of þe fyld.
Polidamas, prestly, þe pupull gert lenge,
And warnet vppon all wyse his weghis to go,
ffond with hor forse þe freke for to wyn,
Hurle hym fro horse fete, haue hym away,
Ber hym out fro þe batell to þe burgh euyn.
With myche wepyng & wo, weghis of his aune
Luggit hym out to þe laund, lefte hym for ded;
And fore agayne to þe fyght þaire feris to help.