 | The Wars of Alexander |  |
Vicesimus quintus passus Alexandri.
Þis selere was be sorsry selcuthely foundid,Made for a mervall to meeue with engine;
Twenti tamed Olifants turned it a-boute,
Quirland all on̄ queles quen þe quene entres.
Quen þai ware sett þar in samen̄ on̄ silkin webbis,
Sone begynnes it to gaa & gretly he wondres.
“Ware slike a wondire in oure marche of Messedone,” he said,
“It ware a daynte to deme for any duke oute!”
Þan̄ answars him þis athill quene & Alexander him callid,
“Mekill grettir it ware to ȝow of grece & to gomes here.”
Þan stemes he with þe stoute kyng & stiggis with his name;
His chere out of chere hew it changis in-to pale,
Þan has þat hende him by þe hand & hent vp a laȝtir.
In to A preue parlour þai passe bathe to-gedire,
And þar in perchement depayntid his person̄ scho schewid.
Said, “se þi-selfe a sampill þat I þe sothe neuyn̄!”
As fast as he on̄ þis figour festid his siȝt,
All falowis his face & his flesche trimblis;
“Qui fadis so þi faire hew?” said þe faire lady
“Þe werreour of all þe werd & wastoure of ynde,
Þou þat has brettend on̄ þe bent þe barbrins folke,
Þe pepill out of Panty þe Persens & þe Medis.
Loo, now, þe here withouten hiȝt in-to my handis sesed,
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Ser, wete it wele ȝoure worthenes þat for na wele here
Suld neuire no hathill vndire heuen [be] to hiȝe losed;
For all þe welthe of þe werd ware it a wee grantid,
It witis a-way at a wapp̄ as þe wynd turnes.”
Þan chawfis him þat chiftane & with him-selfe chidis,
All if he spared to spek his sprete he rehetis.
As any terand for tene he with his tethe gnaistes,
And hitterly on ilk side his heued he declines.
“Qui colkins þou, ser conquirour & crabbis so þi saule,
Quat may þi vertu now a-vaile & all þine vayn̄ pride?”
“I swete,” quod þe swete kyng “þat I na swerd haue,
For I na wapen̄ haue, I-wis my writh with to venge!”
“Now, bald baratour on̄ bent if þou a brand hade,
Quat prowis miȝt þi person̄ a-preue in þis stounde?”
“For I vnwarly,” quod þe kyng “am to ȝoure will taken,
I suld þe slaa þare þou sittis & þan my-selfe eftir!”
“Now, be my croun̄,” quod þe quene “as kniȝtly þou swaris;
Bot neuir-þe-lattir ȝit be liȝt & lete of þi sorowe.
For þou has broȝt my son̄ wife of bebricans handis,
And I sall surely þe saue vnsesid of þe berbrens.
For ware it knawen̄ of þi come þai walld þi cors schind,
For opressing of þe gud prince Porrus of Ynde.
And Caratros my kid son̄ has couplid him to wyfe
Þe doȝtir of þis dere kynge þat þou to dethe broȝt.”
With þat scho sesis þis sire & to þe sale ledes,
Sendis eftir hire sons & sobirly þam̄ tretis
Þis athill of ser Alexander as þai were all halden̄,
At þai suld menske him & mirthe & make him at esee.
“I knaw it wele,” quod Caratros “my comly modire,
Þat he my brothirs brid has out of bands leuird,
& how þe kyng, be þat cause has to þis kith sent;
Bot my wyfe will ga wode for wa bot I þis wee spill.
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Sure suld him sowe for his sake at him has sent hedire.
So sall his maistir, & I may be my dire saule,
For he þe fadire of my fere has in þe feld drepid.”
“A!” quod þis lade, “leue son̄ if we þis lede sloȝe,
Suld we vs nymme any name oȝt bot of sorowe?”
“Ȝa, Cartros,” quod Candoile “þis kniȝt has me saued,
And I sal lede him on lyue vn-to his lord tentis.”
‘Quat baitis þou me so, my brothire with þi breme wordis,
List ye we stryfe in þis stede & strike aithire oþir?”
“Þat kepe I noȝt,” quod Candoile “ȝit for na cas neuend,
Bot if þe langis to þat laike lo me here redy!”
þan callis Candace þe kniȝt in consaille him takis,
Sees hire sons wald him sla & radly scho pleynes;
‘Lord Alexander, þine are quare is þi wittis?
I prai þe for þi prouidence pesse now my childire.”
Þan bows þis baratour þire brethire to stere,
Fand caratros & candoile at knyfes to-drawen,
Bad, “blyns, bernes of ȝoure brathe & of ȝour breme wordis;
Ȝe fare bot with folite quare ere ȝoure fyue wittis?”
Þan carps he to ser Caratros & kythis on þis wyse,
Ser, if þou lessen my life na lowere þou wynnes.
For Alexander of his awen̄ has many athill kniȝtis
Þat ere mare sekire at a-say þan slike seuen̄ houndreth.
For if I ware fallen fey him forced bot littill.
For ware I a tresour to þat tulk trowe wele þi-selfe,
Þat me so sodanly þat sire had noȝt sent hedire,
With-outen wees me to warde nay, wene þou þat neuir.
Bot if þe list on̄ þat lede loke with þine eȝen,
Sire Alexander þe athill þine aldfadire bane,
Þe thare bot graunt me to geue quat guds as I craue,
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Þan ware þire brethire full blithe þus ware þai bath pesed,
And Candoile callis to þe king & kindly him thankis,
“Had I ȝow ay with me here happy ware I þan,
Þan wald I wene with ȝour witt to wast all my fais.”
With þat scho kende him a croun̄ clustrid with gemmes,
With Amatists & Adamands & an athill mantill,
Sterind & stiȝt full of stanes sithin stelis to him cussis,
With othire preuates him plesis bad pas on̄ with hele.
Nowe aires furth oure conquirour & candoile him gidis,
Driues furth all þe dai till doun was þe son̄,
And so þai come till a caue was out of course hoge,
Be-twene twa hillis in a hope & herberd all niȝt.
“Sire,” quod candoile þe kene & to þe kynge said,
“All spritis in þis spelonk here speke þai to-gedire,
Here is þaire comon̄ consaile;” & þis þe kyng heris,
Makis he gracis to his goddis & þan þe grofe entres.
Quen he was doun̄ in þe depe he saȝe a dym̄ cloude
Full of starand sternes and stiȝtild in þe myddest
A grete grysely god on̄ a gay trone,
Þat liȝt lemand eȝen as lanterns he had.
Oure mode kyng was so maied myndles him semed:
“Haile, Alexander þe hende” quod þat hiȝe driȝtin.
“Sire, qua ere ȝe?” said oure ser “Synches I hiȝt;
And to my powere vndire-putt is all þe playn̄ werd.
For þi name a cite has þou sesid bot þou settis me na temple.”
“Sire, if I miȝt merke to Messedone a Maistir I þe hiȝte;
Sall nane be like it in na lede;” “nay, lange noȝt þar-eftir!
Þou sall neuir loke on þat land ga lawere & be-hald.”
Þan̄ kend him quare anothire cloude was full of briȝt sternes,
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“Sire, quat ert þou,” said þe segge “ser Sirapis, I-wis;
Þe grond & þe begininge of all þe godis oute.”
“Now I be-seke þe, Serapis,” said oure kyng þan̄,
Quat segge is sett me to slaa þe sothe þou me tell.”
“Sire, I haue neuend þe or now þat, ware þat note knawen̄
Till any douth of quat dome þen̄ died I for sorowe.
Þou has a blisfull burȝe biggid to þi name,
Quare many bernes sall debate & bald emperouris,
Þare sall þi berynes be bildid & þi body grauen̄.”
Þan come vp oure kidd kyng and fra þe kniȝt partis,
Þus kaires he fro candele bad, ‘kepe wele him driȝtin.’
Moues him on̄ to his meny & on̄ þe morne eftir
Þan̄ dryues he furth with his dukis in-to a deyne entris,
A vale full of vermyn̄ & all of vile neddirs.
And þai ware crokid & coynnt with corouns on̄ hede,
As it smytten [ware] all of smythis of smaragdens fine.
Ȝit ware þai pasturde of pepir as þe prose tellis,
Of gyloffre & of gingere els ioyed þaim na fodis.
For all ouire couerd was þe coue claggid with spices,
Þat makis þire wormes so wele & wond in þaire kyndis,
Þat ilka twelmonth a turne þai turnay to-gedire,
Ilkane mellis with his make & so þare many dies.
Þan̄ pas þai thethen till a place of perlious bestis,
With clouen clees, sais þe clause as kynd of þe hoggs.
Þai ware thike & threuen wele thre foote o brede,
Quare-with þai faȝt with in-fere & fellid of his kniȝtis,
Þai ware so brefe at a blisch borely & grym̄.
On̄ ilka best a bares hede full of breme tuskis,
Þus ware þai fourmed all be-fore & farand be-hynde
Like as it ware lepards & lions with tailis.
Ȝit was þar gedird out of gripis & griffons emange,
Þat felly flappid at þe faces of þe fell erles,
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Þat he miȝt bere away a blonke & a kniȝt armed.
Þe kyng was on̄ his couresere to comforth his dukis,
On̄ þe bald bucifalon̄ eblande þaim he rydis,
Prekis fra place in-to place bad, “plukis vp̄ ȝour hertis,”
And cherischest his chiftans with chelous wordis.
He baldis of his bachelers & his bowmen he cheris,
To flay with flanes of þe fowlis & þe fell bestis.
And it was done at his dome with-drewe þai na langir,
Bath archere & alblastis & all þaim a-sailed.
Þe bataile on̄ bathe halfis brymly begynnys,
Oure seggis & þe Synagyns semblid vnfaire;
Gripis gripis of oure gomes out of gilt sadils,
Tuk þam̄ in þaire talons & titt fra þaire blonkis.
Bot ȝit oure kyng with his kniȝtis so kenely defendis,
And with his ginge out of grece þat he þe gree wynnes.
Bot ȝit was herid of his here twa hundreth & ouire,
Þus gafe vp̄ þe gaste with gold on̄ þai heles.
Þan ferd he furth till a flode & þat a ferly hoge,
Twenti forelang & ferre it had of full breede,
And all þe strands of þe streme stode full of stith reedis,
Quare-of he beds at a braid him bargis to make.
Quen it was hewyn at his hest with heggis ouire-folden̄,
Þan entirs in of his erles & ouire þe ee passis.
And all þat kith of oure kyng quen þai his come wist,
Þai perid to him with presands þe proudis of þat land.
Sum spends on̄ him of spon[ges] a sparles nounbre,
Of mirre & of mekill quat milke-quite
Sum men̄ muscles him mett & with so mekill schellis,
Þat sex pond miȝt of paise haue ni of watre.
Sum of seelis of þe see sendis to him cotis,
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As large as a mans lege & lamprays of weȝt
Twa hundreth pond ay a pece & past it be fifty.
Ȝit was þar wonand in þis watir as women it semed,
Þat ferly faire ware of face with haare to þaire heelis.
Ouire-stride þar any strange man̄ or be þir strandis sailed,
Þai droȝe þam̄ doun in-to þe depe & drowned þaim for euire,
Or els þai tillid þaim to þe trees as þe buke tellis,
And gert þaim laike with þaim so lange till þaim þe life wantis.
Oure men̄ tuke of þaim twa was ten̄ foote of hiȝt,
Als blaȝt as any briȝt snaw & as biche sons tothed.
| The Wars of Alexander | |