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Wen fortun wyth fell angur feftis on hond,
ffull tid in hire tene turnys he þe qwell!
Wen þes ffonnet folk were faryn to toune,
And entryd full Esely erdyng in sorow.
After settyng of þe Sun þai Seyn to þe ȝates,
Braidyn vp þaire briggis, barrit hom fast;
Iche Rink to þaire rest Richit hom seluyn,
And esit hom all nyght after þaire deuyse.
Wen þe day vp drogh, & þe dym voidit,
All þe troiens full tit tokyn þaire armys,
That were hoole and vnhurt hastid to ffild,
By the ordinaunce of Ector erly at morow,
To fare to þe fight þere fos to distroy,
And make an end of þere note naitly þai thoght.
But the grekes, in the gray day, graidly did send.
A message full myldly to þe maistur of Troy,
Of a true for to trete of a tyme short,—
Two monethes, and no more, þo mighty dessirit.
Hit was grauntid agayn of þo grete all;
Of Priam, & the prinse, & the pert Dukes.
Then the grekes were glad, gedrit þere folke,
That were brittnet in batell, broght hom to-gedur.
Thai gird into graves þe grettist of astate,
And beriet hom bairly on hor best wise.
All the Remnond and Roke radly þai broght,
And brent vp the bodies vnto bare askis,—
Consumet the corses for vnclene aire,
As the custome was comynly in cuntres of grece.
Achilles, the choise kyng, was of chere febill,
ffor Patroclus, his pere, þat put was to dethe:
Myche weping & wo, waylyng of teris,
And lamentacioun full long for loue of hym one.
He araiet for þat Rioll, all of Riche stones,
A faire toumbe & a fresshe all of fre marbill,
There closet he the kyng vppon cleane wise,
With Sacrifice and solempnite vnto sere goddes;
And Prothessalon, the pert kyng, put in another,
Wroght for þat worthy vppon wise faire;
And Merion, the mighty, into mold put
With soche worshipfull werkes, as þe weghis vsit.
All the Troiens, on the tother side, while the tru last,
Helit þere hurt men þurgh helpis of leches.
By two monethes were myldly mouit to end,
Iche freike was fyn hole of þere fell hurttes.
Care hade the kyng for Cassibilon his son,
ffor he was noblist & next of his naite children,
ffull tendurly with teris tynt myche watur,
And mournet full mekull, for he þe mon louyt.
In Venus temple þe worthy, in a wale toumbe
He bereit that bold on his best wise.
Cassandray, the kynges doughtur, consayuit the dole,
Weping and woo, þat þe weghis made,
Sho brast out in a birre, & to þe bold said:—
“A! wrecches vnwar, woo ys in our hond!
Why Sustayn ye þat sorow, þat Sewes for euer,
With care for to come, & cumbrans to all?
Why proffer ye not pes, or ye payne thole,
And be done to þe dethe with dynttes of swerdes?
This Cité and þe soile be sesit you fro,
Ouertyrnet with tene, temple and oþer;
Modris þere myld childer with mournyng behold,
Be set vnder seruage & sorow to byde!
Elan was neuer honour auenant so mykell,
Ne so precious of prise to pay for vs all!
So mony to be martrid for malice of hir!
All our lyuys to lose for lure of hir one!”
When the kyng had consayuit Cassandra noise,
He comaundet hir be caght, & closit full hard:
In a stithe house of ston stake hir vp fast;
There ho lengit full longe, as þe lyue says.
Palomydon, the proud kyng, prise of the Grekes,
Made murmur full mekyll in the mene tyme,
Agamynon the grete was of no gre chere
To beire the charge as cheftan of þo choise kynges.
More syttyn he saide hym seluyn to haue,
As Richer of Renttes, & Riollier of astate;
Held hym for no hede, ne wold his hest kepe,
ffor he Chargyt was for no cheftain, ne chosyn by hym
Ne of xxxti other þro kynges, þat þriuond were all;
Was non assentyd to þat souerain sothely but thre,
Without ordinaunce of other only or assent:
But of þat mater was meuit nomore at þat tyme.

When the tyme was ourtyrnyt, and þe tru vp,
Agamynon þe grekys gedrit in þe fild,
Armyt at all peses abill to fyght,
Araiet on a rout redy to batell.
Achilles the choise chargit to batell,
And Diomede the derfe drogh next aftur;
Monelay the mighty meuit with the þrid;
The Duke of Athens after auntird with the iiijrt.
Þus ordant were all men angardly mony,
In batels full big all boune to þe werre,
ffaire yche furde folowand on other,
And past furth prudly into þe plaine feld.
Ector, on the other side, egor hym selfe,
Dressit for þe dede, deuydyt his pepull.
Troiell, the tru knight, betakon was the first,
In his company to kayre mony kene buerne;
Other batels full bigge, with bold men to ride,
He araiet full Riolly by rede of hym seluyn.
Then the prinse with his power past to the lond,
And gird furth on his gate with a grym chere.
He met hom full monly with his mayn dynttes,
And gird hom to ground & to grym dethe.
Ector to Achilles amyt hym sone,
Þat he knew well be course was his kene fo;
And he keppit hym kenely, and coupid to-gedur,
That bothe went bakward & on bent lay.
But Ector the honerable erst was on fote,
Lepe on a light horse, leuyt Achilles,
Breke þurgh batels, britnet the grekes,
Kyld mony knightes, kest hom to ground.
Mony hurlet to þe hard erthe & þere horse leuyt;
Mony woundit wegh fro his wepyn past!
So he hurlit hom on hepis with his hard dinttes,
Till he was blody of þe buernes, & his bright wedis.
Achilles also afterward rose,
Hit on his horse, hurlit into fight,
Mony Troiens ouertyrnyt, tumblit to dethe,
And shot þurgh þere sheltrons, shent of þe pepull.
Þen auntred it eftsones þat Ector hym met,
As he fore þurgh the feld he ferkit hym to,
And aither lede full lyuely lachit vpon other,
Þat his speire alto sprottes sprent hom betwene,
And he hurlet doun hedstoupis to þe hard erthe.
Ector þat od kyng auntrid to take,
But he was put fro his purpos with prese of the grekes;
And reskewet full radly by renkes of his owne,
Achilles highit in hast, and on horse wan,
And auntred vppon Ector a full od dynt.
He hit on his helme with a heuy sword,
Þat greuit hym full gretly, gert hym to stoupe;
But in his sadell full sound þe souerain hym held.
Vne wode of his wit for the wale stroke,
He choppit to Achilles with a chere felle;
Heturly his helme hurlit in sonder,
Þat the fas in the fell hast femyt on blode.
ffull big was the batell þo buernes betwene!
Hade it last but a litle on þe laund so,
Auther doutles had deghit of þo derfe knightes;
But other batels full big vppon bothe haluys,
ffrusshet in fuersly þo frekes betwene,
And depertid hom with prese of þaire pale dynttes.
Þen Diomede the derfe drogh into batell,
With mony grekes full grym of a gret will;
And Troiell with a tore folke turnyt hym agayne.
Boldly tho buernes bickryn to-gedur,
That aither backward was borne & on bent lay;
But Diomede full deruly dressit vp first,
And wightly for all the woo wan on his horse;
Swynget out a sword, swappit at þat other;
Sundret the sercle of his sure helme.
Þat other freke vpon fote, þurgh his fyn strenght,
Diomedes dere horse vnto dethe broght.
And so the freikes on fote foghton to-gedur!
But the grekes þaire gay kynge getyn appoloft,
And the Troiens þat tother on a tried stede.
Þen foght þai in fere with þere felle swordes,
And delt mony dynttes, þo doughty in fere.
But Diomede in daunger duly hym toke,
And turnyt with the Troien tomly away,
Wold haue broght furth the buerne to his big tent;
But he was tarriet with the Troiens, & tenit full euyll,
And wernit of his wille, þof hym wo thoght;
His pray fro hym puld, & his pepull slayn.
Then to batell was boune bold Menelaus,
Hurlit in hastely with a hoge folke.
Withoutyn tarying o þe tother side titly cam Paris,
With mony triet knight of Troie, & the toile entrid.
So bycceret þe batells vppon bothe haluys,
And Restoret with stithe men þe stoure was full hoge!
Mony doughty þat day deghit in the fild,
Mony wofully woundit, & wappid to ground!
There was crie of kenmen, crussing of wepyn,
All the bent of þo buernes blody beronnen!
Ector euermore egerly foght,
Breke of þere batell, britnet þere knightes,
Mekyll greuit the grekes with his grete strenght,
And kild all to kold dethe, þat countrid hym with.
There come launchand o þe lond a lyuely yong knight,
Now made at the note, & nomet Boethes.
He auntrid hym to Ector euyn at the tyme,
And þe mighty hym met with a main dynt;
Carve hym euyn fro the creste cleane to þe nauell,
Þat he gird vnto ground & the gost yalde;
And sesit hys sure horse & a seruand betaght.

THE DETHE OF ARCHILACUS THE KYNG, BY ECTOR SLAYN.

Archilacus, a choise kyng & cheftain of grece,
Se his cosyn so kild & cast to þe dethe,
Wold venge o þat velany in a vile hast,
And ayres vnto Ector Angardly swithe.
The Prinse hym persayuit & preset hym agayn;
With the bit of his blade he bobbit hym so,
Thurgh the might of þe mon & þe mayn strenght,
He clefe hym to þe coler, & the kyng deghit.

THE DETHE OF PROTHENOR, BY ECTOR SLAYN.

Prothenor, a pert knight, preset hym ner,
Set hym a sad dynt Sydlyng by-hynd;
Vnhorsit hym heturly, er he hede toke.
But Ector in angur egurly rose,
Was horset in hast, hent to his sword,
Preset to Prothenor in a proude yre;
He merkit hym in mydward the mydell in two,
Þat he felle to þe flat erthe, flote he no lengur.
Achilles þan auerthward þis auntre beheld,
How Prothenor was perysshet, his aune pure cosyn:
He angurt hym full euyll, & egerd hym with,
ffor the dethe of þe dere his dole was þe more.
Þen he gedrit the grekes with a grete yre:
Of þo kynges, þat were kild, & oþer kene mony,
Wold haue vengit of þe velany, & þe vile harme.
Þen preset þai full prudly, & pynet hom selfe.
The Troiens hom tenyt and tyrnit to dethe;
Wet hom with woundes, warpit hom doun;
Greuit hom full gretly, gird hom abacke.
Þen fled all in fere, & the fild leuyt,
Turnyt to þere tenttes, þe troiens hom aftur,
Slogh hom in the slade, slang hom to ground;
Woundit hom wikkidly, walt hom of horse.
Þus neghet hom with noye, till þe night come;
Left hom for late, launchet to towne;
Entrid in all somyn, euyn at hor wille;
ffore to þere Innes, & þus the fight endit!