 | The Wars of Alexander |  |
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Nonus passus Alexandri.
“Alexsaundere þe athill aire oute [of] grece,Þe son̄ of Ph[ilip] þe fers & of his faire lady,
Honoured Olimpadas þe oddest vndire heuyn,
To þe, ser Dari, on̄ þi dese þis dities I write.
For I am sent, be þe sure many sere letters,
And namly now on newe time fra myne awen̄ kith,
Out of þe marche of Messadone þat mekill me greues,
All oþer wais to wirke & my will likis.
Bot I warne þe, or I wynd & will at þou knaw,
Þat for na drede I with-draw ne doute of þi pride,
For baisting of þi bobance ne of þi breme wordis,
Bot for to se þat is seke my semely modire.
Bot wete þou wele þis, I-wis with-in a wale time,
Fra þat I fraist haue þat faire of my fayre lady,
I sall þe seke with a sowme of seggis enarmed,
Ane ost to noy þus to neuyn̄ all of new knyȝtis.
And for þe sake of þi sede þou sent with þi lettre,
Loo, here a purse full of pepire my powere to ken̄,
To se þi-selfe a similitude how all þi soft grayns
Sall vndire-put be all þe pake vn-to þir peper-cornes.”
Þis pistill to Persyns he with his pepir takis,
Partis prestly þam to many proude giftis,
And þai haue laȝt þam þar leue & þe lettir fangis,
And passis on̄ to Persy þe princes to schewe.
Þan Alexander belyue with his athill dukis,
Rais him radly to ride & remowis his ost;
Fra þe streme of struma he streȝtis & still mournes,
And mevis him toward Messedone his modir to visit.
He aires þurȝe Arabie & armed þar he findis
A duke of Darys þe kyng þat drafe him agayne,
A pere out of Persy & prince of his ost,
A maister man in þa marches Amont was hatten.
He girdis him with a ging þe grekis he asailes,
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Marres of þe Messedons miȝtfull kniȝtis,
Dingis doun of þe dukis deris þam vn-faire,
Fra morne to þe mirke niȝt maynly þa cocken̄,
Seȝes doun on̄ aythire side segis out of nounbre.
Begynnys sone in þe gray day as any gleme springis,
And so to sett of þe son̄ sesid þai neuire.
Þus thre dais out a thraw þai threp̄ ay elike;
So lange, sais me þe lyne lastid þe bataill,
Sike scoures were of blude of schondirhed bernes,
Þat foles ferd in þe flosches to þe fetelakis;
Sa store & stithe was þe stoure þe story me tellis,
Þat for soroȝe of þe siȝt þe son̄ on̄ þe heuen
Kest away his clerete & his clippis suffirs,
For bale to blische on̄ þe blode at on þe bent floȝes.
With þat oure gomes out of grece gedirs vp þar hertis,
Fey fallis in þe fild fele of þire othire,
Þe pouwere of Persy in̄ partis many
Seȝes sidlings doun slayn̄ of þaire blonkis.
And quen þe duke of ser Darys þa dedis be-haldis,
Amonta þe miȝtfull his men þan̄ he fangis,
And vneth limpid him þe lee þe lyne me recordis,
Fra his faes with a fewe þe filde to de-voide.
And slike a pas, sais þe prose to Persy he ridis,
Þat ȝit þe selfe sandismen he in þe sale fyndis,
Þat fra þe streme of struma were apon stedis wysid
Fra Alexander & his ost with his athill pistill.
And ȝit ser dary on̄ his dese þa dities a-visis,
Held þe lettir in his loue & at þe ledis fraynes,
Quat he said of þe sedis þat he him-selfe sent.
And þai swiftly him sward & swyth þus him tellis:
“Þe kyng him kaȝt,” quod þe kniȝtis “& on þe cornes bitis,
And wele he geses be þe graynes ȝoure gomes ere fele,
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Þai ware bot soft, he suposed for so þe sede proued.”
Þan pullis him vp þe proude kyng & on̄ þe pepire tastis,
Said, as it tuke him by þe tonge “his tulkis ere fewe,
Bot, be his kniȝtis as kene as me þis cornes shewis,
All þe werd war to waike his wrothe to with-stand.”
Þe mody man̄ Amonta þan melis þir wordis,
“Ȝis, he ledis bot a lite lord, with ȝoure lefe;
Þare is bot fewe at him foloȝes bot feȝtand bernes,
Bot mare fersere in feld fell neuire of modire.
For I my-selfe with a sowme set þaim agayns,
With of þe Persyns proude a pake out of nounbre,
Felire þan̄ his folke be full fyue thousand,
And ȝit vs fell all to ferre þe fayntir to worthe;
For þai haue hedid of oure hathils & a hepe woundid,
Fey falne to þe fold many fers erlis,
Bet doun oure bachelers my banir to-rased,
And a selly somme slayne of my kniȝtis.
Quethire days thre þurȝe-out thraly we foȝten̄,
Derfe dintis & dreȝe delt & taken̄,
And ȝit þe lawest at þe last vs limpid to bee,
And vnethis sauyd I my-selfe vn-slayn̄ of þar handis.
Bot treuly, ser,” quod þe duke “gret tresore me thinke
At Alexander þe athill for of all ware he maister,
A-vanced with þe victore & vengid on̄ his faes,
Was neuire þe heȝare of a hawe his hert full of pride.
For mekely ilka modire son̄ his awen men̄ & othire,
Als wele þe pure Persens as þe grete grekis,
All þe douth at was dede be-dene he comands
To gedire þam̄ vp ilka gome & þam in grauys ligg.”
Now Alexander & his ost armed on̄ ridis,
And sone Cecile he with his seggis entrid,
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And saudiours him to sewe seuyntene thousand.
Þan ȝede he ouire in-to ane Ile Yssanna was hatten̄,
And þat was ȝapely him ȝeuyn & ȝolden be-lyue.
Þan vp he clame to a cliffe þat to þe cloudis semed,
Þe Tor of Tare to taken þe tretis it callis,
Þare fand he tildid on̄ þe top & tild vp a cite,
Þe proud toun̄ of Persopole & to þe place he neȝes.
Þare saȝe he selcuthis sere as þe buke sais,
Þe muses of musike & þe merke how it was made first.
Þan aires he in-to Asie & ai as he fonndis,
All þe citis of þa sidis he sesis þam clene,
So fares he furth to Frigie a-noþire faire Ile,
And ane þar of his ald gods he honourd in a temple.
Þan ferd he furth to a Flum was fyue cubetis brad,
Scamandra þe slire flode þe scriptour it callis.
“Now happy be ȝee,” quod þe hathill “all in hert beris
Þe honouris of þat odd clerke Homore þe grete.”
“Mekill dere,” quod ane Doctoneus “of ȝow I deme sall,
And he of þe takyng of Troi tald all his lyue.”
“Nay, I wald more worth,” quod þe [wee] “a wyse man disc[i]ple,
Þan̄ þe honour þat Acheles aȝt all his time.”
Þan̄ moves he him to Messedone with his mony princes,
Amendid of hire malidy his modire he fyndis,
A litill dais with hire lengis & of hire lyfe ioyes,
And graythes him þan with his gere & a-gayn fondis.
He passes on̄ to-ward Persy & piȝt doun his tentis
Besyd a burȝe at þe buke Abandra men̄ callis.
Þai fall on freschly þe folke of þe cite,
And barris bremely at a burȝe þe foure brad ȝatis.
Þan takis þe kyng his kniȝtis vmlapis þe wallis,
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Bot, for þe cite was vnsure þe seggis within̄
Miȝt noȝt þe braidis a-bide of bernes enarmed.
Þan cries all to þe kyng “ser conquirour,” þai said:
“Ne steke we noȝt oure stiff ȝatis ȝour strenthe to defend,
Bot for dred of ser Dary þe derfe Emperoure,
Lest, had we haldit to ȝour heste he had vs eft wastid.”
“Ȝa, werpis þam vp,” quod þe wee “& wyde open settis,
If at ȝe shap ȝow to shount vnschent of oure handis.
For quen I done haue with Dary & my dede fenyschid,
Þan sall I tell ȝow my tale how it sall tide eftir.”
So baiste þam þe bald kyng with his breme wordis,
Þat þai vnȝarked him þe ȝatis & ȝald him̄ þe keys.
Þe burȝe þus of abrandra he with his men takis,
To take & leue quat him list & lendis on̄ forthire.
Þen wyndis he to A wath toun̄ was Wyothy hatten̄,
And come so to Caldipol anoþer kid cite,
So to the watir of wintir as it þe writte callis.
Þare nere was fey for defaute enfamyschist his ost,
Kniȝtis kest vp a crie & kenely þam̄ menes:
“Loo, oure foles ere in fere fodeles to dye;”
Þai pleyne more þe pouirte & þe pite of þar horsis
Þan̄ þe soroȝe of þam̄-selfe by þe seuynt parte.
“Quat ailes ȝow?” quod Alexander to his athill dukis,
“Mi barons & my baratorus þe biggest in erth,
Þat has þe angwisch of armes ay to now suffird;
Quethire euire ȝoure hertis, I hope for horsys abatis?
May vs noȝt limp, if any life lenge in̄ oure brestis,
To couer be cas at a cleke courseris a thousand?
And vs demed be þe dome to die of þe werd,
Þan standis in stede noȝt of a stra all þe store stedis.
For-þi I rede,” quod þe renke “we ride on̄ forthire,
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Þat we may fange at þe full þe fude at vs wantis.”
And bath our folk & owr folex fyll þaire wambes.”
Þan̄ prekis he furth with his princes to slike a playn̄ wendis,
Luctus it hiȝt, þe letterure & þe line þus it callis;
Þare his forrayouris fand þe fulth of vitaill,
Bathe to berne & to blonk bide quen̄ him likid.
When he was full þare & fedd he flittis with his ost,
To Tergarontes he teȝe þare tiȝt was a mynstre;
He piȝt doun his pauilion̄ & passis to þe temple,
Sire Appoline to adoure & othire ald goddis,
To offire in̄ þat oritorie with honour he wyndis,
And sum of þam̄ at spire how he spede suld.
Bot sone ane ȝacora him said a semely summe,
Þan was nan̄ honour of answaringis bot on a-noþere bide.
Þan dose him furth þe dere king &, on̄ þe day eftire,
He seȝis to þe Synagog & sacrif[is]e makis,
And Appoline als beliue him aykewordly swaris,
‘Sire Ercules þe Emperoure’ he euire in ane callis.
Þan̄ Alexander all in ire angrily spekis:
“Now fynd I wele,” quod þe freke “þat fals ere þi wordis,
Now þou neuyns me a new name at I neuire hiȝt;
And þou a god,” quod þe gome “þat is grete ioye!”
Þan̄ sekis he furth with a somme & to A cite wyndis,
Þe toun Thebea þe tretis it callis,
And þare he biddis all þe burȝe þat foure bald kniȝtis
Suld be lett with him lend & lenge in his weris.
Þen tened þe Thebees folke & tynd to þe ȝatis,
And to with-stand his strenthe steȝid to þe wallis,
Bad him bow on̄ be-lyue & bide þare na laingire;
For if he did, withouten̄ dome þe deth þai him hiȝt.
Þan fangis him vp þe fell kyng a fuyll feyned laȝtir,
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Of all þe seggis vnder son̄ þat citiȝens hatt;
Mast hiȝe ȝe ere hersid & herid of ȝoure strenthe.
And nowe sa ȝape men̄ as ȝe þe ȝatis hase stoken,
And me & þe pruddest of my princes proferne vs werre;
And at ȝe so will, I-wis wondire me thinke,
For þus wald neuer at ȝe wroȝt þe wirscip̄ of armes.
It contraries kniȝthede ȝe knaw wele ȝour-selfe,
To any wiȝt werriours in wallis þam to close.
For he þat kid is & kene & couettis a name,
Will feȝt fersely in fild his famen agayns.”
Þan Alexander be-liue all a-boute þe cite,
Makis foure thousand with flanes & bowis,
Biddis þam to bend vp brathly with arowis
To wonde þe wees with-in þat on þe wallis houys.
And twa thousand be tale he titely comaundis,
Of wele buskid bernns in brenys & platis,
All þe sidis of þe cite þat sechus had biggid,
And Amphion, an̄ athill kempe onane to distruy.
A full thousand he fangid to fire þe foure ȝatis,
And thre thousand of thra men̄ to thraw with engynes.
Him-selfe of slingis & slike a-semblis a me[n]ȝe,
To heede & help of his hyne if any harme lympid.
Now ere his seggis all sett & þe saute neȝis,
Were wakens be-twene werbild in trompis;
Oure pepill with payn̄s pressis to without,
Halis vp hemp̄ cordis hurled out arowis;
Othire athils of armes Albastis bendis,
Quirys out quarrels quappid thurȝe mayles.
Sum with gunnes of þe grekis girdis vp̄ stanes,
To tene þe Tebis folke þat on̄ þe touris feȝtis;
Sum braide ouir þe barrers in blasand wede,
And faire fest on a fire all þe foure ȝatis;
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And þa þat sounde ware vnslayn̄ als sottes þam̄ ȝeldis.
Þan with-out in oure ost as þe buke tellis,
A Sire, at Sicistrus was callid be name,
A meri man, a Messangere þat maynly was ioyd
To se þe cite be sa sone sindid to brandis.
Anothre hathill vndire hand þat Hismon was callid,
Ane a maistre of musike a man of þe cite,
Aires to ser Alexander & in his hert wepis,
As qua sai, “prince, of oure place sum pete þou haue.”
Þan lokis þe lord to þe lede said, “lettrid berne,
Quare-to feynys þou þis fare for-with myne eȝen?”
“Sire conquirour,” quod þe clerke “ȝoure corage to bend,
And in ridding of oure riche toun ȝour reuth for to call.”
Þan was þe wale kyng wrath & wiȝtly comaundis
To bete in-to þe bare erth all þe burȝe-walles;
And quen all kynd was on̄ colis & kast apon hepis,
Þan airis he on with his ost mare honour to wynn̄.
A Ientill man̄ full ioyles iournais him eftir,
Foloȝes þare fare ai on̄ fote as þai ride,
A sege at of þe same toun sire was & maistre,
Ane callid was Cletomacus to crie eftir socure,
His ledis at left ware o-lyue a lite of þe cite.
Þan askid at sire Appoline al with a steuen,
“If euire it worthe sall to wee quen þe werd stand,
Oure bu[r]ȝe agayn̄ for to bigg þat bretted is to noȝt?”
Þan gales þaire god a-gayn̄ & þus spekis:
“Þe tulke þat tilld ȝour toun sall tield vp & rere,
Sall thre times haue þe thra of sum threuyn̄ gome
Of were ore of wristilling for þus has wirid shapen̄.
And quen þat wirschip is won̄ within a wale time,
Þan sall he sett vp him-selfe þe cite as be-forne.”
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And þai als fayne, all þe flote as fowell of þe day.
Þan aires on ser Alexander with his athill princes,
To þe castell of Corynthi he comes with his ost,
With þe Pers of þa partese to play on þe toures,
As all þe sires of þa sidis him-selfe had required.
Þe multitude ware sa miche of men for to reken̄,
Þat þare was sembild & sett þat siȝt to be-hald.
Quod Alexander bilyue to all at þare stode,
“Quat gome sall þis gammen̄ begin apon first?”
Þan comes forth Cletomacus & to þe kyng swaris,
Þe tulke out of Thebie I tald ȝow be-forne,
“If it ȝoure mekill maieste miȝt any thinge plese,
I wald to wacken ȝoure welth now wirstill a turne.”
Þan mas þe prince him a place & prestly him matches,
And he him girdes to þe grounde & þe gree wynnes.
“Now faithly,” quod þe fell kyng “fall þe so thrise,
Þou sall be crouned, or I caire for kiddest of þe gamen̄.”
Þan ȝede he eftsones to & his euen kastis,
Thringis to þe thrid time & þe thra wynnys.
And þan comandis him þe kyng a coroune on̄ hede,
As for þe prise of þe play putfull of stanes;
Þan bad him beddels belyue: ‘breue vs þi name.’
“Sirres, by my sothe,” quod þe segge “Sitiles I hiȝt.”
“Qwi so, my worthe werstillare?” þe wale kyng said,
“How tidis it þe & tou[n]les þi toname is callid?”
“Mi louely lorde,” quod þe lede & law him declines,
“Be-for ȝe come slike a kyng & þe croune werrid,
I had a cite my-selfe & segges I-nowe;
And sethen ȝe aȝt þis enpire I am it all priued.”
Þan trowid trewly þe kyng þat Theby he menyd,
And beddels & bailyfs he bad on brad crie,
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To sett his cite vp agayn̄ & of him-selfe halden̄.
Þan̄ passis he to a proude toun̄ Platea was hatten̄,
Þare was stiȝtild ane Strasageras þat was a stiffe prince,
Duse him in with his dukis to Dyanaas temple,
And fand a pure prophetas aparaild in̄ vailes.
And scho, as sone as scho him saȝe said him þir wordis:
“Welcom̄ we, at all þe werd sall wyn̄ with þi handis.”
Þe secund day before þe son̄ he at þe cite wildid,
In-to þe temple he turned tythandis to herken̄;
“Quat ware þi will, ser, to wete?” þe woman̄ frayned;
“Þou lesis all þi lordschip̄ within a lite dais.”
“Quat, & has þou ossed to Alexander þis ayndain wirdes,
And me þus ill? vn-ably þine abet þou weris.”
“Nay, tene ȝow noȝt, for treuly þus tide bose it nede.”
And so it worthid, for in a wrath þe wale kyng swyth
Him of his principalete priued & þan̄ þe prince fondis
Onane to Athenas & on̄ þe athill playntes;
And þai said, soure suld him sowe bot he þe cite ȝeld.
And Alexander with his ostes aires on forthire,
Ateynes him to-ward þe termes & of þar tene heres,
And slike a word he þaim wayues be writ fra him-self.
And qua so will has to wete how it worthid eftir,
Here sall I tell þam̄ at loues to here forthire.
| The Wars of Alexander | |