 | The Wars of Alexander |  |
Tercius passus Alexandri.
Now it teȝt þe tyme at trauald þat qwene,Quen scho suld bryng furth hire birth to þe werd.
Scho bidis many hard brayde baret enduris,
What of wandreth & wa as wemen dose all.
Thik schouris hire thrat tholid mekill soroȝe,
Many peralus pull grete payne suffirs,
Sa sare werkis hire þe wame & slik vn̄-wyn dreis,
Þat all scho dredis hire dede & doute for þe werst.
Þan efter Anectanabus scho on-ane clepis,
And he was boune at hire bode & bowes to hire chambre,
Gais him vp at þe grece & gretis him̄ faire,
Fand hire sett in a sege & soroȝe ay elike.
“A! Anec!” quod þe qwene “me arȝes of my-selfe;
I am all in aunter sa akis me þe wame,
Of werke well ne I wede & slike wa tholis,
Þat me ware dere to be dede & dure þus on lyfe.”
“Ȝa, wynnes ȝow vp,” quod þe we “& walkis a littill,
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So trauailid out of temperoure & troubild of þat sone,
Þat makis þi grippis and þi gridis a grete dele þe kenere.”
Þan faris scho vp & farkis furth a fute or tway,
And sone sesis all hire syte in a sete quyle.
“Now bow þe doune,” quod þe berne & scho his bone fillis,
And syttand so in hire sege was softly delyuerd.
Bot now is meruaill to me of þis wondire,
Quen þis man fra his modire wambe on þe mold fell;
For all þe erd euyn ouer sa egirly schakis,
Þat teldis, templis, & touris tomble on hepis.
Þe liȝt lemand late laschis fra þe heuyn̄,
Thonere thrastis ware thra thristid þe welkyn,
Cloudis clenely to-clefe clatird vn-faire,
All blakenid a-boute & boris þe son̄.
Wild wedirs vp werpe & þe wynd ryse,
And all flames þe flode as it fire were,
Nowe briȝt, nowe blaa nowe on̄ blase efter,
And þan ouer-qwelmys in a qwirre & qwatis euer e-like.
Þan slike a derknes þar drafe & demyd þe skewys,
As blesenand as bale fyre & blake as þe hell,
Þat it was neuer bot as nyȝt fra þe none tyme
Till it to mydday was meten on̄ þe morne efter.
Gife þis ware mervale to myn̄ ȝet emang othire
Þen rekils it vnruydly & raynes doune stanys,
Fell fra þe fyrmament as a hand lyftyng,
And some as hoge as þi hede fra þe heuyn fallis.
Sa ferd was Philip̄ of þat fare þat his flesche trymblid,
For sere sygnes at he saȝe as selly ware ellis.
As wyde as all þe werd was þurȝe warnyng þai hadd,
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Than lendis him vp̄ þe leue kyng his lady to vysite,
Quod þe man to his make “I am in many thoȝtis,
Þat þis frute sall haue na fostring ne be fed nouþire;
I ges it be noȝt of my gett bot of god fourmed;
Be many cause at I ken̄ I kan noȝt supose
It be consayued of my kynde ne come of my-selfe.
I saȝe so, in þe same tyme he seuyrd fra þi wambe,
Þe erd & all þe elementis so egirly schoutid.
And queþer ȝit, for any quat a quyle latt him kepe,
And norisch him as namely as he myne awyn warre,
Ȝit will þare make of him mynde & myn it here-eftire
Hathils, swilke a haly son̄ I hade in my tyme.
Anoþer barne,” quod þe berne “I of my blode haue,
Ane of my sede, I supose & sibbire of þe twa,
Þat I wan on myne oþire wyfe þat I wedd first.
Lat him as ayre, quen I am erþed enherit my landis,
And stall we him in stede of þis to stiȝtill my rewme,
For he is borne of my blode & a-bore nerre,
And fede we þis othire, þat folke quen we ere fay worthid,
May sitt & carpe, slike a knaue þaire last kyng hade.”
Þai did all as he demed & his domes plesed,
Cherest þai þis ȝonge child & chosely him kepid;
Þai ware as besy him a-boute birdis & ladis,
As he had bene þar hiȝe god for sa þai hopid all,
Þis barne, quen he borne was as me þe boke tellis,
Miȝt wele a-prefe for his a-port to any prince oute.
Bot of þe lyfe þat he liȝt off he like was to nane,
Nouþer of fetour ne of face to fadire ne to modyre;
Þe fax on his faire hede was ferly to schawe,
Large lyons lockis þat lange ere & scharpe;
With grete glesenand eȝen grymly he lokis,
Þat ware as blyckenand briȝt as blesand sternes,
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Þe tane to brene at a blisch as blak as a cole,
As any ȝare ȝeten gold ȝalow was þe tothire.
And he wald-eȝed was as þe writt schewys,
Ȝit it tellis me þis tale þe tethe in his hede
Was as bitand breme as any bare tuskis.
His steuyn stiffe was [&] steryn þat stonayd many,
And as a lyon he lete quen̄ he loude romys.
His fell fygoure & his fourme fully be-takend
Þe prowis & þe grete pryse þat he a-preuyd eftire,
His hardynes, his hyndelaike & his hetter myȝtis,
Þe wirschip̄ þat he wan̄ quen he wex eldire.
Þan̄ sembled his syb men̄ be sent of þam̄ all,
To consaile of þis kyng son̄ how þai him call suld,
And so him neuyned was þe name of his next frendis
Alexsandire þe athill be allirs a-corde.
Þan was he lede furthe be-lyfe to lere at þe scole,
As sone as to þat sapient him-self was of elde,
On-ane vn-to Arystotill þat was his awen maister,
And one of þe coronest clerkis þat euer knew letter.
Þan was he broȝt to a benke a boke in his hand,
And faste by his enfourme was fettild his place;
For it come noȝt a kyng son̄ ȝe knaw wele to sytt
Doune in margon̄ & molle emange othire schrewis.
Sone wex he witter & wyse & wonder wele leres,
Sped him in a schort space to spell & to rede,
And seþen to gramere he gase as þe gyse wald,
And þat has he all hale in a hand-quyle.
In foure or in fyfe ȝere he ferre was in lare
Þan othire at had bene þare seuynte wynter;
Þat he suld passe him in þat plite vnpussible semed,
Bot at god will at gaa furth qua may agayn stande?
In absens of Arystotill if any of his feris
Raged with him vnridly or rofe him with harme,
Him wald he kenely on̄ þe croune knok with his tablis,
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If any scolere in þe scole his skorne at him makis,
He skapis him̄ full skathely bot if he skyp̄ better.
Þus with his feris he faȝt as I fynd wreten̄,
As wele in̄ letter & in lare as any laike ellis.
Þus skilfull lange he scolaid & þe scole vsed,
Tille he was euyn of eld elleuyn wynter.
He had na pere in na place þat proued so his tyme,
For þe principalte of all þe pake he of a-prefe wynnys.
And qwen it teȝt to þe tyme of ten ȝere of age,
Þen was him kend of þe kynde & craft of bataile,
Wele & wiȝtly in were to welden a spere,
A[nd] preke on̄ a proude stede proudly enarmed.
Þat lare was him lefe to & lerid in a qwile
Was þar na lede to him̄ like with-in a fewe ȝeris.
So cheualus a chiftan̄ he cheuys in a stonde,
Þat in anters of armes all men he passes.
Quen Philip̄ see him sa fers in his first elde,
His hert & his hardynes hiȝely he lofed,
Comendid mekill his knyȝt-hede & him callid on̄ a day
Be-twene þam selfe on̄ a tyme & talkis þire wordis:
“Alexander,” quod þe kyng “I augirly prayse
Þi wirschip, þi worthines þi wit & þi strenth.
Es nane so teche of þi tyme to tryi now o lyfe.
How suld I, lede, for þi lofe bot lufe þe in hert?
Bot I am sary for sothe my son̄, at þi fourme
Is lickenand on̄ na lym̄ ne like to my selfe;
Oft storbis me þi statour & stingis me ȝerne,
Þat þi personale proporcion̄ sa party is to myne.”
Þis herd hire þe hend quene & heterly scho dredis,
Sent efter Anec & askis him be-lyue,
Be-knew him clene all þe case how þe kyng sayd,
And frayns him fast quat þe freke of hire fare thingis.
Þen con he calke & a-conte & kest on his fyngirs,
Lokis him vp to þe lifte & þe lady swares:
“Be noȝt a-friȝt,” quod þe freke “ne a-frayd nouþir,
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With þat he heuys vp [his] hede & to þe heuyn lokis,
Hedis heterly on hiȝe behelde on̄ a sterne,
Of þe quilke he hopid in his hert sumquat to knawe,
Quat euire he wald wete of his will all-to-gedire.
Quod Alexander to þis athill as he his arte fandis,
“Quat is þe planet or þe poynt ȝe purpose to seme?
Quat sterne is it at ȝe stody on̄ quare stekis it in heuyn?
May ȝe oȝt me in any maner to þat sterne schewe?”
“Þat can I wele,” quod þe clerke “ellis couthe I littill;
Noȝt bot sewe me, son̄ quen þe son̄ is to reste,
Quen it [is] dreuyn to þe derke & þe day fynyst,
And þou sall sothely se þe same with þine eȝen.”
“Is oȝt þi werid to þe wissid?” quod þe wee þan;
“For þat I couet to ken if þou me kythe wald.”
“Sire, sothely of myne awen̄ son̄ slayne mon̄ I worth,
So was me destaned to dye gane many winter.”
As tyte as Anec[tanabus] þis aunter had tald,
Þen [he] treyned doune fra þe toure to tute in þe sternes.
Þan̄ airis ser Alexander eftire his fadire,
Þat euer he kyndild of his kynde kend he bot litill.
Þus led he furthe his leue child late on̄ ane euen̄,
Sylis softely him selfe þe cite with-outen̄,
Boȝes him vp to a brenke as þe buke tellis,
To þe hiȝt of þe depe dike & to þe heuyn waytis.
“Alexander, athil son̄” quod Anec his syre,
“Loo! ȝonder behald ouer þi hede & se my hatter werdis;
Þe euyll sterne of Ercules how egirly it soroȝes,
And how þe mode Marcure makis sa mekill ioy;
Loo! ȝonder þe gentill Iubiter how Iolyle he schynes,
Þe domes of my destany drawis to me swythe.
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Þe slaȝter of myne awen son̄ as me was sett euer.”
Vnethis werped he þat worde þe writt me recordis,
Þat ne Alexander as sone was at him be-hind,
And on̄ þe bake with slike a bire he bare with his handis,
Þat doune he drafe to þe depest of þe dike bothom̄,
Sayd, “lo! vnhappeiste vndire heuyn þat þus on̄ hand takis
As be þe welken to wete quat suld come efter!
Þou has feyned þe for wyse & fals all-to-gedire,
Wele semys slike a sacchell to syeȝe þus of lyfe!”
Þan Anec, as him aȝt wele augirly granys,
Dryues vp a dede voyce & dymly he spekis,
“Wele was þis cas to me knawen & kyd many wynter,
Þat I suld dee slike a dethe be dome of my werdis.
Sayd I þe noȝt so my selfe here be-fore,
I suld be slayn̄ of my son as now sothe worthis?”
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“Ȝha, son̄! als glad I my god I gat þe my seluen̄.”
Fro he had hym þis worde sayd he wakens no more,
Bot gaue a gremly grane & þe gast ȝheldez.
That oþer wy for hys werkez wepys eueryllyke,
So hard & so hertly þat neȝ hys hert brestes.
Þus plenys þis prouud knyght þe pyte of hys fader,
Cares hym downe into þe cafe þar as þe cors ligges,
Belife lyftes he on-lofte euen on hys shulders,
And beres hym forth vppon hys bake at þe brade ȝates.
Sone sayd þe whene, when sho hym see with syland teres;
“What haue ȝe done, my dere sonn̄?” & drowpys doun̄ in swone.
“Dame, now is þar none other to do bot deme it þi seluen̄,
For as þi foly was before so foloweth aftir.”
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Titely hys enterment as þai þat tyme vsed.
Þus shamesly of hys awne childe hym chevyd such end.
And her fynes a fytt & fayr when vs likez.
| The Wars of Alexander | |