University of Virginia Library

Maistur in magesté, maker of Alle,
Endles and on, euer to last!
Now, god, of þi grace graunt me þi helpe,
And wysshe me with wyt þis werke for to ende
Off aunters ben olde of aunsetris nobill,
And slydyn vppon shlepe by slomeryng of Age:
Of stithe men in stoure strongest in armes,
And wisest in wer to wale in hor tyme,
Þat ben drepit with deth & þere day paste,
And most out of mynd for þere mecull age,
Sothe stories ben stoken vp, & straught out of mynde
And swolowet into swym by swiftenes of yeres,
Ffor new þat ben now, next at our hond,
Breuyt into bokes for boldyng of hertes;
On lusti to loke with lightnes of wille,
Cheuyt throughe chaunce & chaungyng of peopull;
Sum tru for to traist, triet in þe ende,
Sum feynit o fere & ay false vnder.
Yche wegh as he will warys his tyme,
And has lykyng to lerne þat hym list after.
But olde stories of stithe þat astate helde,
May be solas to sum þat it segh neuer,
Be writyng of wees þat wist it in dede,
With sight for to serche, of hom þat suet after,
To ken all the crafte how þe case felle,
By lokyng of letturs þat lefte were of olde.

Now of Troy forto telle is myn entent euyn,
Of the stoure & þe stryffe when it distroyet was.
Þof fele yeres ben faren syn þe fight endid,
And it meuyt out of mynd, myn hit I thinke
Alss wise men haue writen the wordes before,
Left it in latyn for lernyng of vs.
But sum poyetis full prist þat put hom þerto,
With ffablis and falshed fayned þere speche,
And made more of þat mater þan hom maister were:
Sum lokyt ouer litle and lympit of the sothe.
Amonges þat menye,—to myn hym be nome,—
Homer was holden haithill of dedis.
Qwiles his dayes enduret, derrist of other
Þat with the Grekys was gret & of grice comyn.
He feynet myche fals was neuer before wroght,
And traiet þe truth, trust ye non other.
Of his trifuls to telle I haue no tome nowe,
Ne of his feynit fare þat he fore with:
How goddes foght in the filde, folke as þai were,
And other errours vnable þat after were knowen,
That poyetis of prise have preuyt vntrew:
Ouyde and othir þat onest were ay,
Virgille þe virtuus, verrit for nobill,
Thes dampnet his dedys & for dull holdyn.
But þe truth for to telle & þe text euyn
Of þat fight how it felle in a few yeres,
Þat was clanly compilet with a clerk wise,
On Gydo, a gome, þat graidly hade soght,
And wist all þe werks by weghes he hade,
That bothe were in batell while the batell last,
And euþer sawte & assembly see with þere een.
Thai wrote all þe werkes wroght at þat tyme,
In letturs of þere langage, as þai lernede hade:
Dares and Dytes were duly þere namys.
Dites full dere was dew to the Grekys,
A lede of þat lond & logede hom with:
The tother was a Tulke out of Troy selfe,
Dares, þat duly the dedys be-helde.
Aither breuyt in a boke on þere best wise,
That sithen at a Sité somyn were founden
After at Atthenes as aunter befell;
The whiche bokes barely bothe as þai were,
A Romayn ouerraght & right hom hym-seluyn,
That Cornelius was cald to his kynde name.
He translated it into latyn for likyng to here,
But he shope it so short þat no shalke might
Haue knowlage by course how þe case felle;
ffor he brought it so breff, and so bare leuyt,
Þat no lede might have likyng to loke þerappon,
Till þis Gydo it gate, as hym grace felle,
And declaret it more clere & on clene wise.
In this shall faithfully be founden to the fer ende,
All þe dedis by dene as þai done were;
How þe groundes first grew, & þe grete hate,
Bothe of torfer and tene þat hom tide aftur.
And here fynde shall ye faire of þe felle peopull,
What kynges þere come of costes aboute:
Of Dukes full doughty, and of derffe Erles,
That assemblid to þe citie þat sawte to defend:
Of þe grekys þat were gedret how gret was þe nowmber,
How mony knightes þere come & kynges enarmede,
And what Dukes thedur droghe for dedis of were:
What Shippes þere were shene, & shalkes with in,
Bothe of barges & buernes þat broght were fro grese:
And all the batels on bent þe buernes betwene.
What Duke þat was dede throughe dyntes of hond,
Who ffallen was in ffylde, & how it fore aftur:
Bothe of truse & trayne þe truthe shall þu here,
And all the ferlies þat fell vnto the ferre ende.
ffro this prologe I passe & part me þerwith,
ffrayne will I fer and fraist of þere werkes,
Meue to my mater and make here an ende.