University of Virginia Library

[S]ythen god hade þis world wrouȝt,
Heouene and eorþe and al of nouȝt,
Mony anturis han by-falle
Þat we no knowen heom nouȝt alle;
ffor-þy y wol a stounde dwelle,
And þeo bataile of troye telle,
ffor such a bataile as hit was on,
y wis me nuste neuer non.
Þrytty wynter, wiþ-oute faile,
Men of grece heolden gret bataile
Wiþ þe kyng of troye stout and grym
And at þeo laste þey ouercome him.
So saide a knyȝt þat þer was,
Þat was hote sir Daries;
He sauȝ þat weore, wiþ-oute faile,
And dude write hit ilke a bataile.
And seothen a maister of sotil engyn
Turnede hit fro gryw in-to latyn;
And out of latyn, wel ich wot
A clerk on englysch þus hit wrot.
Lordynges, in grece a mon þer was,
A prynce þat hette pelyas;
He was nouȝt of grece þeo hyȝeste lordyng,
ffor ouer him was an hyȝer kyng
And callid was prynce of polpensoun
And hadde a neuow þat hette Jasoun.
Jason was fair mon, for þeo nones,
Styf and strong of body and bones,
Corteis and hende, hardy and bold,
Alle folk him louode, ȝong and old.
Þeo kyng callid to him sir Jason
And tolde him þis reson.
“Me is don,” he saide, “to vndurstonde
Þat þe kyng of troie haþ in his londe
Þeo koyntiste þyng aboue molde,
Þat is, a schepis skyn of golde.
Myȝtest þou wiþ þy coyntiste gyn
And from heom þat skyn wyn
And brynge to me þat skyn of gold,
Þy trauaile qwyte þe y wolde.”
“Par-fay,” saide Jason þan,
“y schal do al þat y kan.
And to þeo troens y schal fare,
Tidandis for to spie þare.
Bote ȝef y may wiþ any gynne,
Brynge y schal þat schepis skyn.”
When þe kyng herde he wolde gon,
He sente after wryȝtes mony on
And bad þey schulde tymber take
And a sikir schip to Jason make.
Þe kyng dude make a sikir schip
Aboue þeo water deop
And was boþe styf and good;
Þeo mast was gold þer-yn stod.
And whan hit was al-redy wrouȝt
And was on þeo water brouȝt,
He dude hit charge, wiþ-oute faile,
Wiþ mete and drynke and oþir vitayle
And al-so prouendre, corn, and hay
To stedes and to palfrayes.
Þo hit was þus vitailed wel,
He tok wiþ him knyȝtis armed wel
And tok wiþ him sir Ercules,
Þat stalworþe knyȝt and hardy wes,
And mony anoþir hardy and hende
Wiþ him to troye for to wende.
Þeo knyȝtis schipeden wiþ gomen and play
And seileden forþ boþe nyȝt and day,
Þat ouer þeo see þeo wynd heom dryues
And at troye vp þey aryueþ.
Þey made heore schip at hauene stand;
Ercules and Jason wenten aland.
Þe kyng of troye, sire Leomadan,
Was a wondur wis man;
Herde telle þat men of grece weore y-come
In til his lond, al and somme.
Þeo kyng comaundede turne agayn,
Or þey scholde dyȝe, knyȝt and swayn,
And swar, al-so moste he thryue,
Aliens scholde nouȝt on his lond aryue,
And comaunded heom to turne agayn,
Or þey scholde dye, boþe knyȝt and swayn.
Sir Ercules and Jasoun baþe,
Þat þider weore come to wayte skaþe,
Of his wordes agreued ware
And ouer al þyng aschamed sare
To beo rebuykid of a kyng,
So as þey hadde mysdo no-þyng.
To dwelle þer lengore no þouȝte heom good
And sailedyn agayn ouer þeo flod
And passeden forþ, nouȝt to layn,
And hom to grece þey comen agayn.
Byfore foure barouns conne þey gon,
Grete lordyngis þey weore ilkon,
Þat on was pollex, þat oþir castor,
Þat oþir talamon, þat oþir nestor.
“Lordyngis,” þey saide, “herkeniþ bygynnyng & eynde
How þe kyng of troye vs gan schende;
And, bote his wordis beon deore abouȝt,
Vchon of vs is told for nouȝt.
ffor-þy helpeþ wiþ ȝoure socour
And meynteneþ ȝoure owne honour,
Or elles men of troye, þat beon stowt & fers,
Wolen holde vs alle for losengeris.”
Þo spak sir Pollex & sir Castor,
Sire thalamon and sir Nestor,
And sworen alle in a companye
And seiden þey wolden al stoutlye
Amongis þeo troeynes comen and gon
To greue þe kyng, sir Leomadan.
“And, maugre him and alle his,
We wolen do þat good is.
Now go we alle monly abowte
And gedre we vs a noble rowte;
Apon his lond we wolen aryue
And loke who wol vs þennes dryue.”
Þey dude make schipes mony and gode
ffor to passen ouer þeo flode
And chargid heom wel and sure
And vitailed heom wiþ good armure
And token wiþ heom gret chiualrye
And duden heom to schip ful hastely
And drowen seyl, þeo wynd was good,
And saileden ouer þeo salte flod.
Al by water conne þey wende
And at troye conne þey londe.
Þey aryueden alle on lond
Of anturis for to fonde.
Þeo folk of þeo cite hadde wondur what þey woldo do,
And wheþen þey comen, and whar to.
In þeo cite was muche folk spekand
And mony a mon ille lokand,
And dude þeo kyng to vndurstande
Þat schipes of grece weore come to lande
Wiþ mukil folk stout and grym,
And saide þey wolde by-sege him.
Þeo kyng anon dude make a cry
Þat alle folk scholde arme heom hastely
And heom dyȝte swiþe wel
Boþe in yrn and in steil
And alle þat myȝte beore brand
Or any weopne in his hand
Wiþ alblaster or wiþ bowe bent—
Þis was þe kyngis commandement.
Þeo kyng him armed anon ryȝt
And al his folk was wel y-dyȝt,
And wenten hastely out of þeo toun
And come to-gedre apon a downe.
And when þey weore to-gedres met,
Þer weore strokis wel y-set;
Þer was crakid mony a croun
And mony a stout bacheler falle adoun.
Þeo kyng of troye wiþ Ercules met
And ȝaf him strokis wel y-set;
And Ercules wiþ his myȝt
Defendid him as an hardy knyȝt;
So þat, wiþ-inne a litel stounde,
Þeo kyng of troye was brouȝt to grounde.
He stikede þeo kyng þoruȝ sides boo;
Þreo of his sones he dude al-so.
þeo men of troye, in a litel stounde,
Þeo gregeys him brouȝt al to grounde.
Whan þe kyng was þus to deþ falle,
Ercules and his felawes alle
Wenten and robboden þat riche cite;
Of mon no wommon þey nade pite.
Þe kyng of troye nade douȝter bote an
And heo was hote dame vsian.
When heo herde hire fadir was brouȝt of lyf,
Heo wente and hudde hire swiþe;
And Hercules was so stout,
fful hastely he fond hire out
And ladde hire to schip in hy;
No wondur þauȝ heo weore sory.
Heo hadde sorwe and mukil þouȝt,
ffor hire fadir was to deþe brouȝt,
Hire þreo breþeren and al hire kyn;
Gret was þeo sorwe þat heo was yn.
Ercules wan þe skyn al-so
ffor wham was wakened al þis wo.
Þey token tresour, armure al-so,
And duden heom in haste to schip go
And passeden ouer þeo salte fom
And to grece þey comen hom
And maden murþe and slowe care
And lokid how þey best myȝte fare.
Þeo forme bataile þis þenne was,
Wher-þoruȝ was mony child faderles.
Þeo werre laste, ich vndurstonde,
Þrytty wynter wiþ mukil wronge.
Þeo children þat in heore modir wombe weoren
Waxeden and vengede heore fadir þere.
Þus was þe kyng þo brouȝt to grounde
Wiþ dunt of sweord and speris wounde,
His barounes and al his meyne,
Borgeys and bacheleris of þat cite.
Þeo romaunce me doþ to vndurstande
Þat Ercules tok þeo kyngis douȝter by þe hande
And brouȝte hire to grece wiþ mukil care
And lokid how þey best myȝte fare.
Bote, for-soþe, þey no wiste nouȝt alle
After þat murthe what wolde by-falle.
Stynte we now of al þat ioye
And speke we of þe kyng of troye.
y telle ȝow alle, wiþ-oute fayle,
Þus endiþ þeo forme bataile.

[L]isteneþ, lordyngis, er ȝe gange,
Of þe kyng of troye þat was ded wiþ wrange.
He hade a sone þat Priamus hyȝte,
Þat was a mon of mukil myȝte;
Þoruȝ heritage him wolde falle
To beo kyng of troenes alle.
And in þe lond of fryse he wonode þat tyme
Wiþ child and wif, we fynden in ryme;
And of þat discomfiture wiste he nouȝt:
How his fadir was to deþe brouȝt
And his þreo breþeȝen apon a day,
His faire suster lad away.
And saide, “alas, who haþ don þat dede?
Of freondis is me now ful nede,
Now troye is þus distroyed.”
He sorwode and was ful sore anuyed.
Priamus hade sones þreo,
Noble men, cortaise and freo:
Sir Ector was his eldeste sone, y-wis,
Troyle, Alisaunder Parys.
Þat nyȝt þat alisaunder was geten of man,
A drem his modir dremede þan
Þat out of hire body a braunche sprang
Þat brennede troye and al þat lond.
And when heo wakened of hire dremyng,
Heo sende after maistres, olde & ȝyng;
And when þey weore alle y-come
By-fore þeo qwene, al & somme,
Heo tolde hire drem by-fore heom alle
And bad heom say what scholde by-falle
And bad heom say, and noþyng lyȝe,
What hire drem scholde signefye.
“Madame,” þey saide, “wiþ-oute les,
In þy body a child þer is
Þat schal brynge troye to nouȝt;
ffor him mony mon to deþe biþ brouȝt.”
ffor þe sawe þeo qwene was wo
And saide to heom, “hit schal nouȝt so.”
When þeo child was born of þat lady,
ffairer myȝte no mon seo wiþ eyȝe.
Norices feole to him weore souȝt;
Þe child was ȝemed fair and softe.
And whan þe child was seoue ȝer old,
He was fair and of speche bold.
His modir þouȝte on hire dremyng
Þat heo mette in hire slepyng,
And þouȝte he no scholde sle no men
No þeo cite of troye make beo slayn;
And dude make þe child cloþis tyȝt,
Curtel and tabard and hod al whyt,
And made him to þeo feld to gon
To kepe swyn wiþ staf and ston
Vndur a mon þat better couþe,
Þat kneow þe feldis by norþ and souþe.
Þe qwene sende hire owne child
In-to a contray wast and wilde,
And made him kepe swyn þere
As he a pore monnes sone weore,
ffor he no scholde seo non armure bryȝt,
Ny no batail, ny no fyȝt.
Bote when þe child sawȝ fyȝte bole or bor,
Or any oþir best, lasse or more,
He hadde gret ioye heom to by-holde
Whiche of heom oþir ouercome scholde;
Þeo child wolde do ilke best to fyȝt
And hade gret ioye of þat syȝt;
Wilke best wolde fyȝte & stande
He wolde him coroune wiþ a garlande.
Of alle dedis þe child was wis;
ffor-þy he was called child Parys.
Þe kyng his fadir herde þe sawe,
How his sone was wys of lawe,
And after þe child dude he sende
Wiþ him to troye for to wende.
His qwene, his sone wiþ him he nam
And hastely to troye he cam,
And swor and saide al his þouȝt:
His fader deþ scholde beo deore abouȝt.
And after alle masons [he] sende anon
Þat wel couþe worche wiþ lym and ston,
And dude heom go to worche alle
Þeo cite of troye to by-walle,
And dude make þeo walles wondur hyȝ—
ffairer mon neuer no syȝ.
Þe cite he closede wiþ a dych—
Non deopper vndur heouene riche—
And seoþen ȝates he made, y-wis,
Wiþ drawe-brugge and port-colys;
And whan þe see was hyȝ on flode
Hit scholde renne aboute þe cite good;
And when hit ebbed agaynward
Þeo dych scholde beo deop and hard.
A better cite nas neuer vndur sonne;
ffor certes hit no myȝte neuer beo wonne
Bote hit weore þoruȝ treson.
In al þeo world nas neuer such a toun.
In troye he made a tour;
Of alle toures hit was flour.
And in þe tour he made an auter
Of þe false god, sire Jubiter,
A mawmet riche, for þe nones,
Of gold, seoluer, and precious stones.
Þis was mony hundred ȝer by-foren,
Er ihesu weore of marye boren;
Þey naden non oþir a-vowery
Bote false godes and mawmetrye.
In þat tour Priamus made his woneyng;
A richer hade neuer no kyng.
When þe tour was dyȝt, as hit beo schal
Priamus sende after his baronage al
And dude coroune him kyng þo
And dame Ecuba his quene al-so;
Ector, his aldest sone, he tas,
A prynce vndur him he was;
His oþir sone, Alisaunder Parys,
Þat was halden war and wis,
An eorldam he sesede in his hond
And alle his freondis he made lordis of lond.
And siþen he made his parlement
And after al his kyndam sent.
When þeo parlement plener was,
Ilke mon saide his a-vys.
ffurst þenne saide Priamus
And saide, “lordynges, þus & þus
Ȝe witen how þeo gregeys hider come
And þis land þey slowe and nome
And al ȝoure freondis þey han distruyed.
Alle ȝe auȝten to beo anuyed.
Ȝef ȝe wolen here til counsail,
y schal heom ȝeue a neowe bataile
And weorre on heom boþe nyȝt and day.”
And his counsail saide, “sir, nay.
Beter weore pes for-euer and ho
Þan bataile, slauȝter, weorre, & wo.
We rede ȝou do, as kyng hende,
Som wys baroun þider to sende
To heom þat owre aldres slowe
And oure godes away drowe.
And bote þey wolen amendes don
Þat þey duden in þis toun,
And senden agayn þy suster bryȝt,
Dame Vsian faire of syȝt—
Ȝef þey wolen do so, good is;
And ȝef þey no wolen, do ȝoure a-vys.”
Þeo kyng saide, “y graunte þer-to.
Who may best þeo message do?”
Amongis heom þey saiden ilkon,
“Sire Antynos moste forþ gon.”
Sire Antynor graunted and greiþed him
And passede þeo see þat was grym
And tok wiþ him þat he wolde al-so
And drowe seyl and konne forþ go.
Nyȝt and day forþ conne þey ryden
And come to grece wiþ mukil pruyde.
Þeo messanger com to sir Ercules,
Þat maister of þat discomfitoure was,
And to sir Pollex and to sir Castor,
To sir Talamon and sir Nestor,
And saide to heom, “y am comen heir
ffro troye as a neowe messanger.
Þe kyng Priamus made me hider wende
To wite ȝef þat ȝe wolen amende
Of þis þyng,—ȝe comen agayn þe pes
And slowen his fadir gulteles.
And whiche of ȝow haþ his suster hende,
y rede þat he agayn hire sende,
ffor certeynly hit is vnryȝt
A kyngis douȝter to serue a pore knyȝt.
ffor-þy y rede ȝou to him gon
And do ȝou in his mercy anon.”
Þo him spak a gret lordyng—
fful sorly him likid þat tydyng—
Ercules was his nome called;
He was a baroun swiþe bold.
“ffy a debles,” saide sir Ercules,
“Þilke dispyt ows neuer do wes.
Scholde we in his mercy byde?
Nay, þat schal ows neuer by-tyde.
Go say ȝour kyng he dude vs ones a wrong
And we him anoþir al so strong.
And, bote þou no were a messanger,
fful eouel hayl þou come heir;
ffor-þon ȝe þenkist to passe on lyue,
Trusse þe hennes and þat swiþe.”
Sir Antynor saw hit nas no bote
Agaynes heom alle for to mote
And turnede agayn wiþ-oute targyng
And com hom and tolde Priamus þeo kyng;
He tolde þeo kyng his lord
How he was rebuykid ilke a word.
Þe kyng was þo wondur wroþ
And swar mony an hard oth
Þat he no scholde neuer beo bliþe
Til he weore venged and þat swiþe;
And sende abowte swiþe anon
After wryȝtes mony on
And bad heom gon and tymber take
And foure-score schipes dude heom make.
And when þey weore alle wrouȝt
And apon þeo water brouȝt,
He charged heom, wiþ-oute fayle,
Wiþ mete and drynke and oþer vitaile,
Boþe wiþ prouandre, corn, and hay,
To stedis, courseris, and palfray.
Þe kyng him purueyede þoruȝ counsail
A noble ost, wiþ-oute raskayl.
Þe kyng made him boun to grece to fare
Wiþ alle his knyȝtis, lasse and mare.
Þo com Ector his sone eldest,
Of alle his breþeren he was boldest,
And saide þus to his lord þe kyng,
“y rede ȝou trauaile to grece no-þyng,
Bote dwelle at home and murye make
And þyn host y wol take
And weorre agayn ȝoure enemyes
And stoutly brynge hom þeo pris.”
Þe kyng onswerede wiþ wordis stille,
“y alowe, sone, þy gode wille.”
Þe kyng hoped þat he wolde beo good werrier
And graunted him al his power
And biddes him take his ost anon
And fongon to avengyn him of his fon.
Þenne com forþ alisaunder Parys,
Þe kyngis medlyste sone of prys,
And saide þus to his lord þeo kyng,
“y schal ȝou telle anoþir tydyng:
Ȝef ȝe tan ȝoure seolf, ȝoure ost
And wendest þider wiþ mukil bost,
Ȝe may beo scoumfited oþir y-tan
And ȝoure folk slayn euerilkan.
Ȝet sire, wol ȝe heren anoþir:
And ȝe sende forþ ector, my broþir,
His ost and he may beo al to-torn
And þenne arn we alle for-lorn.
y rede ȝe dwelle stille here
And let me go forþ wiþ ȝoure power,
And y schal in grece weorre swa
Þat men schal speke þer-of euer-ma,
And wynne þeo maystry wiþ muche honour
And come agayn as conquerour.”
Þo onswerde Priamus kyng
And saide [to] his sone ȝyng.
“Sone,” he saide, “how spekestow now?
Ector is ten siþe streyngor þen þow.
Þou telle me, y comaunde þe,
On what maner hopest þou spede better þan he?”
“Sire,” he saide, “treowely,
“y wot hit wel, certeynly.
Herkeneþ, fadir, to my spelle
And of a wounder y schal þe telle:
Þis endur day ich wende in-to þeo forest
To hunte and take som wilde beste;
y tok þeo honte and houndis tene
To witen how þey wolde renne;
We haden mukil gomen and gleo,
Of venesoun we haden gret plente.
Þo wente we ilkon oure way ser
To honte for þeo wilde deor.
y prikide & rod forþ good pas;
Þeo weder chaunged, gret myst þer was
So þat y loste my felawes ilkon;
Of alle heom no saw y neuer on.
And in þeo forest y rod so longe
Þat my ryȝte way y loste & tok þeo wronge,
So wiþ-in a litel while
y passede in-to þeo forest two myle.
Anon a slep me tok
Þat y no myȝte ryde no loke;
y alyȝte adoun apon þe grounde
And lay and slepte a litel stounde
And al-so y slepte vndur þat treo.
Deore fadir, listene me:
In þat forest weore gangand
ffoure ladies of eluene land—
Þat tyme of heom wiste y no del,
Bote after-ward ich wiste wel—
And as þey wenten heom to play,
Þey founden a bal of gold verray.
Hit was a ful riche bal,
Of brend gold hit was al;
Þer-on was in lettrure
Lettres of seoluer, ful fair scripture,
Þat vche clerk myȝte hit rede
Þat to bok was set or to scole ȝeede.
Þe lettres saide: ‘Þe faireste wommon of al
Schal haue & welde þis riche bal.’
Saturnus þeo eldest þeo bal vp tok
And on þeo lettres gon heo loke
And saide, ‘y wol haue þis riche bal
And, when me likiþ, playe wiþ-al.’
‘Nay,’ saide Jubiter, ‘so god me saue,
Þis riche bal y wol haue,
ffor y am fairer, so haue y blis,
And so am y halden þer wise men is.’
‘Nay,’ saide Mercurius, ‘so mote y go,
y am fairer þan ȝe bo;
ffor-þy y wol haue þis riche bal
And, whan me likiþ, playe wiþ-al.’
Þo spak venus ful hendely,
‘Susteris, flyten con nouȝt y.
Bote ȝon,’ he saide, ‘lyþ a knyȝt;
He schal tryȝe al oure ryȝt,
Whiche of ows schal haue þeo bal.’
And þerto graunteden þis sustres al.
ffadir,” saide Paris, “þus hit was.
Here now a wondur cas:
Þo konne þis wymmen to me gan
And stode byfore me euerilkon
And beden me anon rise vp & wake
And in myn hand þeo bal gon take
And ȝeue þe bal þer corteysely,
As þeo lettres spak, to þeo faireste lady.
Whiche was þeo faireste couþe y nouȝt sayn—
Þey weore so faire euerilkon.
Þo spak saturnus to me ful sone,
‘Knyȝt, ȝef me þe bal and han y-don.
A bettre ȝefþe y wol ȝeue þe,
Ȝef þou þeo bal wolt ȝeue me.
y schal þe make þeo rycheste man
Þat lyueþ vndur god alone,
ffor y haue myȝt to ȝeue richesse
To whom y wol, more or lasse.
ffor-þy þis faire bal ȝef þou me,
And gret richesse y schal ȝeue þe.
What kyn richesse þat þou wolt craue
ffor þeo bal schaltow haue.’
And y þouȝte ich was riche ynouȝ þo.
What schold y wiþ more richesse do?
Þo spak Mercurius, þat oþir lady,
‘Knyȝt, ȝef me þeo bal for þy cortesye
And y schal ȝeue streynþe and myȝt;
In al þeo world [no] schal beo such a knyȝt.
Ector ny no knyȝt in lande
Schal haue no myȝt agayn þyn hande.
In turnement no in batail, feor no ner,
In al þis world [no] schal beo þy per,
ffor y haue power to ȝeue mon myȝt
Boþe to sqwyer and to knyȝt.
ffor-þy þis faire bal ȝef þou me
And muche streynþe y schal ȝeue þe.’
Me þouȝte y was strong ynouȝ þo.
What schold y wiþ more streynþe do?
Þo saide Jubiter, þeo þridde lady,
‘Knyȝt, ȝef me þeo bal for þy cortesy
And þou schalt beo þeo faireste mon
Þat liueþ now vndur god al-one,
ffor of bewte y haue þe myȝt
To make boþe fair, clerk and knyȝt.
ffor-þy ȝef þeo bal to me
And a fair knyȝt y schal make þe.’
And me þouȝte y was fair ynouȝ þo.
What schold y wiþ more bewte do?
Þo spak Venus, þeo furþe lady,
‘Knyȝt, ȝef me þeo bal for þy cortesy
And þou schalt haue loue and wolde,
Alle folk þe schal [loue], boþe ȝonge & olde;
Alle wymmen þat þe seon wiþ syȝt
Schole þe loue wiþ al heore myȝt—
Maydenes in chaumbre schal loue þe alle,
Ladyes in boure, & wyues in halle.
Alle wymmen schole beo in þy pouste
And alle schole þey loue þe.’
Þan hade y muche blys
To haue þeo loue of alle þis
And ȝaf hire þeo bal hastely
And saide heo was þeo faireste lady.
And y saide, so moste y þe,
Heo was fairer þan þeo þreo
In alle þyngis treowely.
And Venus saide wel hendely,
‘Alisaunder, y schal qwyte þe
Þat þou hast þus honoured me.
Bide þy fadir, as he is kyng hende,
Graunte þe to grece to wende,
ffor noþyng schaltow þer drede;
fful wel schaltow þer spede.
Þeo faireste lady þat beoriþ lyf
Þou schalt welde to þy wif.’
ffor-þy, sir, let me þider wende.”
His fader graunted as kyng hende
And al his power him by-takes
And maister ouer his ost him makes,
And bed him beore him manly
And ouer al þyng steore him stoutly,
And euermore wiþ al his myȝt
Meyntene his fadir ryȝt.
Alisaunder and his folk ilkon
In haste dude heom to schip to gon.
Þo was alisaunder ful of iolyte,
Saylyng in þe see wiþ real meyne,
Wiþ foure-score schipes gode & strange;
Þeo mastes of fir gode and lange—
Vche mast hade fane of red sandel
Wiþ þe signe of troye wrouȝt ful wel
And noble sailes of cloþ—
And haden good wynd and forþ þey goþ.
Nyȝt & day forþ þey dryueþ
And comen to grece & þer þey aryueþ.
Þeo folk of þeo cite haden wondur what þey wolde do,
And whennes þey comen, & whar to.
Mukil folk com heom to by-holde
And hendly axed what þey wolde.
Alisaunder Paris and alle his
Answerde þo wiþ wordis wis,
And ȝeorne weoren aboute to spye & here
In what contre þat Ercules were
And sir Pollex and sir Castor,
Sir thalamon and sir Nestor,
And alle þeo lordis euerichon
Þat token his aunte Dame Vsian.
Þey þouȝten mukil & saide nouȝt ille,
Bote ay þey hopeden to haue heore wille.
So hit by-feol in þat tyme,
As we fynden in oure ryme,
Þe hyȝe kyng of grece, sir Menolay,
Soiornede boþe nyȝt and day
In þat ilke court al
Wiþ a meyne wel real.
He was boþe kyng and emperour
And regned in grece wiþ mukil honour,
And hade wiþ him Dame Elayne, his qwene,
Þat was boþe bryȝt aud schene.
A fairer creature þan heo was on
By-fore hire was neuer non.
Heo was gentil, curtays, & freo;
Alle folk hire louoden in þat contre.
Sir Menolay, of grece kyng,
Herde telle of þat neowe tidyng:
Of sir Alisaunder Paris,
Þeo kyngis sone of troye, y-comen is
Into þis lond wiþ gret chyualrye;
Bote he no wiste werfore no why.
Dame Elayne þeo qwene wiþ blisful mod
Spak mo wordis þan weore good,
And bygan to say þus and þus,
“Mukil folk spekiþ of sire Priamus,
Þat kyng of troye koroned ys,
And of his sone, sir Alisaunder Parys,
Þat comen is hider wiþ streynþe & myȝt;
Men telliþ he is a fair knyȝt.
And þer-fore,” heo saide, “so mote y the,
Me longiþ sore him to seo;
Neuer schal y blyþe beo
Til y him may wiþ eyȝnen y-seo.”
A squyer herde þat tydyng wel
And com & tolde alisaunder ilka del.
“Parfay,” saide Alisaunder, “me doþ al-so
To seo hire eynen and vysage boo.
Bliþe no wol y neuer beo
Til y mowe hire wiþ eyȝnen seo.”
Apon a tyme Dame Elayne þeo qwene
Wiþ knyȝtis, ladies—þrytty and tene—
Come to a temple wiþ mukil blys.
And sir alisaunder herde telle þis,
And greiþed him wiþ gret cheualry
And com to þeo temple ful hastely.
Wiþ-oute þeo [temple] þey conne mete
And ful hendely eyþir oþir con grete.
Eyþir by-huld oþir louely;
Boþe weore þey fair and comly.
Þeo qwene by-huld alisaunder ofte
And in hire heorte so hire þouȝte
Þat heo no saw neuer a fayrer knyȝt,
Neyþir by dayes no by nyȝt,
And þouȝte hire heorte wolde to-sprynge,
So was heo cauȝt in loue longynge.
Alisaunder sauȝ þeo qwene forþ go
And sore syked and was ful wo.
Þeo loue of hire hadde tan so blyue
Þat nyȝh his heorte to-brak on fyue,
And saide he nolde ete no mete
Er he hire hadde wiþ streynþe y-gete,
And to his ost [he] by-gynneþ to gon
And byd heom arme heom euerichon
And comaundede ilk mon arme him
And his weopne wiþ him nym.
“And furst,” he saide, “of alle þyng
Takiþ sir Menolay þeo kyng,
And wher-þat-euer þe kyng bycome
Þat þeo qwene beo y-nome.
And ilk mon force him wel to do
And y my-seolf schal do al-so.”
Þo rod alisaunder forþ wiþ his ost,
Cryenge and blowyng wiþ mukil bost.
ffaste asaut conne þey gynne
Þeo cite þe kyng [and] þe qwene weoren ynne.
On vche a side þeo schipes of troye al
Ȝeuen asaute to þe wal;
Vche maste hade top castel
And assayliþ þe cite harde and wel
And by-gan to scheote stones and caste;
Þeo folk of þeo cite defendiþ heom faste.
Alisaunder loste monye of his men
Wiþ scheot of bowe and dunt of ston.
Mony good body he feol adoun
And deffended him-seolf as a noble baroun;
Helmes ryuen and scheldis rappes
And mony hed fro þeo body swappes;
Þer no was baroun, knyȝt, no swayn
Þat myȝte wiþ-stonde his dunt agayn.
Þer no [was] wal no ȝate aboute þeo toun
Þat he and his ost no fellen adoun.
Alisaunder and his folk slowe þat day
Þat folk þat no mon nombre may.
Þe kyng of grece saw his knyȝtis alle
Weore slawe and to grounde falle
And was adred to go to deþ
And fled away and forþ he geþ
So þat no mon wiste wher þe kyng by-cam.
And alisaunder þo þe qwene nam
And tok þeo qwene in hire wede
And sette hire by-fore him on his stede;
Þeo qwene grette and made gret cry
And [he] ladde hire forþ to schip in hy
And mony contasses and ladyes al-so,
Þeo faireste þat myȝte on eorþe go.
Þeo whiles his folk robbed and reued—
In al þat contray nouȝt þey leued.
Wiþ tresour þey charged heore schipes wel;
Þeo tresour þey token ilk a del.
Leyngore to dwelle heom was loþ
And voideþ þeo lond for doute of scaþe.
Alisaunder com hom to his fadir tour;
His fadir welcomode him wiþ honour
And saide, “how hastow sped, sone myn?”
“ffader,” he saide, “wel afyn.
y haue destryed in alle þyngis
Of alle grece þeo grete lordyngis;
Þe kyng him-seolf, sir Menolay,
Away is fled, welaway.
Þe qwene y haue whyt so flour
Wiþ alle þeo maydenes of hire bour;
Þeo gold, þeo seoluer, gret and smal,
And þe tresour of þat contre al.”
Þe kyng of troye faste louȝ þo,
ffor he haþ so wel y-do.
Dame Elayne weopede sore
And alle þe ladies þat wiþ hire weore.
“In heorte,” heo saide, “me is ful wo.
Why no wol hit to-berste atwo?
Alas, why no wol myn heorte to-ryue?
Al to longe y am on lyue.”
Alisaunder, þat gode knyȝt,
Comforted hire wiþ al his myȝt
And louode hire as his owne lyf
And hire weddede to his wyf.
ffurst heo was qwene and emperesse
And þo was heo bote a symple contasse.
Alisaunder hadde at his weddyng
Of þat lond ilke a lordyng
And huld a feste swiþe real,
As a kyngis sone schal.
Þer was ioye and melodye
Of alle skynnes menstracye,
Of trompe, tabour, harpe, and crouþ,
And mony mury dissour of mouþ;
Þer weore ȝeue mony ȝeftes, for þeo nones,
Of gold, seoluer, and preciouse stones.
Þeo murgere þat ilke mon made
Þeo more sorowe Dame Elayne hade.
Heo þat þer weoren wiste nouȝt alle
After þat murþe what wolde byfalle.
Reste we now a litel pece
And speke we of þeo kyng of grece.
Lordyngis, saun fayle,
Þus con ende þeo secounde bataile.
Þe kyng of grece, sir Menolay,
Sykede and sorewe nyȝt and day,
And wiþ muche sorwe lediþ his lyf
And sore bymeneþ Dame Elayne, his wif.
“Alas,” he saide, “my wyf is from me tan;
Myn eorlis, my barouns alle slayn
And al my lond robbed and reued
And y my-seolf in sorwe am leued.”
And when he saw he myȝte non oþir,
He sende anon after his broþir,
Þat was callid sir agaman,
He was a duyk, a noble man;
And al-so he sende after sir Daries,
Þeo beste knyȝt þat in his lond wes.
Agaman & sir Daries in al þyng
Solaceden and comforteden heore kyng
And bede þe kyng sende wyde
Ouer al his kyndam on vch a syde
To alle men þat weore of elde,
Þat any armes myȝte welde,
Scholde come byfore him euerichon.
Þe kyng graunted þer-to anon.
He sente anon, wiþ-oute dwellyng,
Ouer al to vche a lordyng,
To duyk, Eorl, baroun, and knyȝt,
And to vche mon þat was of myȝt
And gedered on heore side,
Alle þat myȝte gon or ryde
And comen to a certeyne stude.
And so vche a lordyng dude.
Þe kyng of grece, wiþ-oute les,
A litel, mene mon he wes;
His hed was red, his berd al-so—
Þeo hendeste knyȝt þat myȝte go—
And was stalworþe and hardy among
And him was loþ to soffre wrong.
Þeo kyng him purueyede wiþ al his myȝt
A gret host and wel y-dyȝt.
Þeo kyng dude make schipes fyue hundred,
So mukil hit weoren þat hit was wondur
And dude heom charge, wiþ-owte faile,
Wiþ mete and drynke and good vitayle,
Somme wiþ prouandre, corn, and hay
To stedes and to Palfrayes.
Þeo kyng gedered a ful good rowte
Of stronge men and of stowte.
Þeo kyngis broþir, agaman,
Was a wondur mukil man
And was Duyk of mestene witerly
And brouȝte wiþ him schipes .L.
And an ost stout and good
To passe ouer þeo salte flod.
Sir Daries com ful wel y-dyȝt
In armes; he was a douȝty knyȝt.
An hardier mon bar neuer bones,
Curteys and large, for þe nones,
Glad of semblant and knyȝt hardy
And lord he was of parchy.
He brouȝte fyfty schipes gode and sure
Vytailed wel wiþ good armure
And an ost stout and good
To passe ouer þeo salte flod.
Sir Polipete of empy
ffour-score schipes he brouȝte him by
And an ost stowt and good
To passen ouer þeo salte flod.
Sir Nestor, þeo lord of Pyle,
He brouȝte wiþ him out of his yle
A gret ost and a[l] wel y-kore
And gode schippes foure score.
Sire Podam of Calapy
Brouȝte schipes foure and þrytty
And an host stout and good
To passen ouer þeo salte flod.
Sir Archelay, þeo lord of boys,
Of al his lond he brouȝte þe choys
Of gode men and hardy
And brouȝte schipes fyfty.
Sir ywayn of cipre al-so
Brouȝte twenty schipes and no mo
Wiþ mony stout bacheler
And wenten forþ wiþ glad chere.
Sir Astolope, þeo gode weorrer,
He was lord of erkemer;
Þrytty schipes he brouȝte wiþ him
And an ost stout and grym.
Sir Prestolay of Manassy
Brouȝte schipes ffourty
And an ost stout and good
To passen ouer þeo salte flod.
Sir Etrop of Paladyde
He brouȝte his ost him bysyde,
Wel y-armed in-to þeo teþ,
And ffourty schipes al-so he deþ.
Sir Monstow of Arbady
Brouȝte schipes ful fyfty
And an ost wiþ muche ioye
To wende wiþ þeo kyng to troye.
Sir aiax of salamayn
Brouȝte his ost wiþ myȝt and mayn
And .XL. schipes gode and sure
Vytailed wiþ good armure.
Sir Sarpenor of barbary
Brouȝte schipes fourty
And an ost stout and gay
Wiþ al þeo ioye þat he may.
Sir Polinestor as wel
Wiþ his lord gon he wel
And brouȝte his ost wiþ streynþe and myȝt
And .XX. schipes wel y-dyȝt.
Sir Philete of melebow al-so
Seoue schipes he brouȝte & no mo
And com to grece, as y ow say,
Þer þe grete naue lay.
Sir tholas of tholy
Brouȝte schipes þreo and þrytty
And an ost stout and good
To passe ouer þeo salte flod.
Sir ancipe of alyde
Com wiþ .XV. schipes him by-syde
And com to grece, ieo vous dy,
To passe wiþ þat company.
Sir Vlyex, a bold baroun,
Swar þat troye scholde al adoun
And brouȝte his ost, wiþ-owte wene,
And gode schipes .XV.
Sir theofele of Rode
He brouȝte schipes monye and gode
And com to grece, y ȝow say,
Þer þe grete naue lay.
Sir ancipe of Caladoun
Þrytty schipes he brouȝte al boun
Wiþ al þe power of þat ende
And redy was to troye [to] wende.
Sir ampedy of Pery
Ten schipes he brouȝte him by;
Þeo schipes weoren gode and sure,
Vitayled wiþ good armure.
Sir edomeyne, þeo lord of grece,
To wende forþ nolde he nouȝt lete;
ffour score schipes he dude brynge,
fful wel vitayled in al þyng.
Sir Ermupil com al-so
Wiþ .XV. schipes and no mo
And an ost stout and good
To passe ouer þeo salte flod.
Sir Castor of locry
Com wiþ gret cheualry
And was redy [wiþ] swayn and knyȝt
And ffourty schipes wel y-dyȝt.
Sir namply of Palamyde
Com wiþ þrytty schippes large and wide
And an ost stout and good
To passen ouer þeo salte flod.
Sir Prestolay, for-soþe to telle,
To wende to troye wolde he nouȝt dwelle
And a gret ost brouȝte and mare
And fourty schipes wiþ sayl and ore.
Þus þey conne alle to-gedres dryue
Wiþ tweolf hundred schipes .L. and .V.
Herkeneþ now to my spelle
And more of þis y wol ȝou telle.
Þo spak Menolay, of grece kyng,
To his barones an euenyng.
“We moten to appolyn sacrefice make
Þat he me helpe and for ows wake,
Þeo betre, ich hope, þat we schal do.”
And alle his barounes grauntiþ þer-to.
Þeo kyng tok a riche coupe, for þe nones,
fful of gold and precious stones,
And tok þis coupe wiþ seoluer and gold
And called a baroun þat was bold.
“Tak,” he saide, “þis riche tresour
And offre hit to appolyn, oure saueour,
And wite at him, wiþ-oute faile,
How we schule spede in oure bataile.”
Daries tok þeo tresour þat was fyn
And ȝaf hit to þeo temple of appolyn
And offrede as þeo maner was þo
And feol adoun on his kneoes bo.
“Lord appolyn, y by-seche þe
Þat þou wole onswere me.
Ȝef we schal to bataile wende,
How schole we spede at þeo laste eynde?”
Þeo mawmet onswerde him afyn,
“Goþ and werreþ by leue myn
And loke þat ȝe no stunte nouȝt
Til troye beo to grounde y-brouȝt
And er þis ten ȝeir beon y-gon
Ȝe schole ouercomen heom euerychon.”
Daries herde þat tidyng
And comeþ and telliþ Menolay þeo kyng
And telliþ þe kyng his lord
Þeo mawmetes onswer vche a word.
Þeo kyng þo was glad ynowȝ
And for þat tidyng faste he lowȝ.
Þeo kyng callede agamon, his broþir—
He truste him more þen any oþir—
And constable of his ost him makes
And al his power to him he takes.
Þeo kyng comaundede þer vch a man
To beo attendaunt to agaman,
“ffor he schal wiþ mukil honour
Beo ȝoure alle gouernour.”
Þeo kyng greiþed him to gon
And his ost euerilkon.
Þo wente agaman wiþ al his chiualry,
Sailyng ouer þeo see hastely
Wiþ þreo hundrod schipes .L. and .V.—
Þat was a fair company to ryue.
To troye on haste þey come to londe
And þer þey made heore schipes stonde,
And wenten on londe euerichon
And senden to þeo kyng of troye anon
And beden þat he scholde heom sende
Dame Elayne, heore qwene, cortais and hende.
And ȝef þey þat wolden do,
Wiþ pes agayn wolde þey go;
And ȝef þey nolden non oþir þer nys,
Þey wolden him slo and alle his.
Þeo kyng of troye, sire Priamus,
Suffreode heom and saide þus,
“Ȝe of grece my fadir slowen
And my suster hennes drowen;
ffor-þy ich wole holde ȝoure qwene,
Dame Elayne, bryȝt and schene.
And mukil maugre come ȝou to,
Bote ȝe alle ȝoure worste do.
y haue here, y do ȝou vndurstonde,
Al þe power of my londe
ffor to defende vp and doun
Troye my riche toun.”
Þe messangers speken nouȝt agayn þo,
Bote agayn duden heom go
And tolden þe kyng heore lord
Þeo onswere vche a word.
Þeo folk anon gonne ryde
And asailed troye on vche a side,
And crieden and bleowen and schoten faste,
Wiþ al maner engyn þey gonne caste
And haden grete engynes, for þe nones,
Þat casten wondur grete stones.
Vche cornel of þe toun þey gonne assaile
.xii. moneþ wiþ gret bataile.
And þey of troye þat weore wiþ-ynne
Defendiþ heom wiþ al maner gynne;
Vche tour was ful abowte þeo wal
Wiþ bowe, alblaster, and spryngal,
Wiþ gode bowes and alblast,
And gode slyngis stones to caste.
Þey wiþ-oute þeo wal breken
And þey wiþ-ynne heom awreken.
On boþe partyes þeo folk ȝeode doun,
Bote þey haden þeo worse wiþ-owte þeo toun.
Þeo forme ȝeir wiþ gret fyȝt
Mony þousand was to deþe dyȝt.
Lordynges, saun faile,
Þus endiþ þeo þrydde bataile.
Anon þer-after sir Priamus,
Þeo kyng of troye, dude þus:
He callede forþ by-foren him
His to sones stout and grym,
Ector his sone eldeste is
And þat oþir, Alisaunder Paris.
“Takiþ ȝoure ost and goþ in-to þeo feld
Þeo folk of grece bataile to ȝeilde;
And kuyþes þat ȝe arn douȝty knyȝtis
And meynteneþ ȝoure fadir ryȝtis.”
Ector and Alisaunder þat weore stoute
Brouȝten heore ost in-to þeo feld oute,
And weoren armed wel and sikir
And þer bygon a wel strong bikir.
Sir ector, þat stoute baroun,
Mony gret lord he feol adoun;
Þer no was helm no targe
Þat myȝte stonde his strokes large.
When alisaunder by-gon to smyte,
He sparede nouþir muche no luyte.
Mony eorles and barouns of grece
Wiþ heore hondes þey heowe to peces.
Þus þey fauȝte wiþ sweord and spere
Mony moneþ of þe ȝere.
In troye þey restiþ ilke a nyȝt
And amorwe agayn [þey wente] to fyȝt.
Þeo folk of grece on heore side
Beden treowenes for to abyde
Til dede bodies weore buried in grounde
And to hele heom þat haden wounde.
Þeo kyng of troye graunted heore bone
Til þe ȝer weore al done.
Lordyngis, saun faile,
Þus endiþ þeo iiij bataile.
Þeo feorþe ȝeir Ector, þe gode werreour,
Brouȝte his ost wiþ gret honour
Oute of troye in-to þe feld,
Himȝseolf on stede wiþ spere and scheld;
And þe folk of grece he destruyes
And þey agayn him harde dryues.
And duyk of grece, sir Prestolay,
Com prikand vppon his way.
Sir ector smytiþ him wiþ his spere
Þat out of his sadel he con him beore.
Þo com a baroun, sir Patrode,
And oþir weorreours mony and gode;
Alle þey leyden sir Ector on,
And he defendede him as a mon;
Patrodes body he smot atoo
An hundred knyȝtis he slouȝ al-so.
Þus lesteþ þat sory play
ffourty dayes, day by day.
Sir Monstow, of grece a noble baroun,
Com to iuste wiþ Ector, þeo champion,
And wiþ his spere rideþ him nyȝh
And smot sir Ector þoruȝ þe þyȝh.
When Ector saw his blod renne adoun,
He wax egre as any lyoun;
Ector by-gan to sle wiþ sweordes dunt
Sixty men er þen he stunt.
And his broþir, Alisaunder Paris,
He feol doun mony knyȝt of pris.
Þeo kyng of grece sawȝ alisaunder, his fo;
To him he criede and saide so,
“Traytour, deliuere me my qwene bryȝt
Þat þou haldest wiþ mukil vnryȝt,
Or þou schalt say, er we gon,
fful eouel hayl þou hire won.”
And eyþir wolde to oþir wynne,
Bote þeo ost heom starte by-tweone.
Alisaunder of a mon a bowe tok
And drouȝ an arwe to þe hok
And smot þeo kyng þoruȝ þe syde
ffor al his armure a wounde wyde.
A leche anon þeo arwe owt drouȝ
And helede þeo kyng wel y-nouȝ.
No mon myȝte nombre, wiþ-owte les,
Þeo folk þat on boþe syde slawe wes.
When þeo folk by-gan to faile,
Anon departiþ þat stronge bataile;
And þey of troye wenten in-to þe toun
And þey of grece to paueloun;
And maden pes on eyþir side
Half a ȝeir to abyde.
Þeo dede bodyes þey laiden in grounde
And heleden heom þat haden wounde.
Alle þeo woundede þey helede faste
And þeo dede in eorþe caste.
Lordyngis, saun fayle,
Þus endiþ þeo fyfþe bataile.
When tyme of treowenes was come to þe ende,
Þey maden heom redy to batail to wende
And dyȝten heom faste on eyþir syde
Wiþ alle þat myȝte gon or ryde.
Þe kyng of grece, sir Menolay,
He callede by-foren him apon a day
Sir agamon, his broþir, y-wis,
Þat constable ouer his host ys,
Til eorlles and til mony baroun
And oþir lordes of gret renoun
And saide, “lordyngis, seo ȝe nouȝt
How oure folk is to grounde y-brouȝt?
Bote ȝe worche wysloker or betre ȝou tan
Ector wol sle ows euerilkan.
ffor-þy now y pray ȝow,
Euerichon for his owne prow,
Þat ȝe sle Ector, ȝef ȝe may;
Þanne haue we þeo maystry for-euer and ay.”
Þanne onswerde a clerk and saide ryȝt,
Maister Palmydes y wot he hyȝt.
“Sire kyng,” he saide, “herkene me
And god counsaile y schal ȝeue þe.
In þis world nys mon lyuand
Þat may sle Ector wiþ dunt of sweord,
Bote a child þat was wyȝt and hardy
And was born in þe lond of Parchy.
Ȝef þon þat child haue myȝt,
He schal sle Ector, þat douȝty knyȝt.
Achilles is þeo childes name;
His modur is a wyche, kan mukil schame.
Ȝe þat wolen a stounde dwelle,
Of þat child y wol ȝow telle.
And how he was geten herkeneþ now,
ffor alle men wyten nouȝt how.
Half mon, half hors his fadir was
And was hote sir Pyles.
His modur was a goddes of þeo see,
Half fysch, half womman was heo;
Hire name was Dame tetes;
On hire was geten Achilles.
When he was born, wiþ-oute faile,
ffor he scholde beo strong in bataile,
His modur baþede him verrament
In a water of enchauntement
Þat al so hard by-com his skyn
As any baleyn to hewen yn,
Bote þeo soles of his feet
Þer his modur hondys seet.
And sethen he was slayn þer,
As ȝe her-after schal now here.
When achilles was seoue ȝeir old,
He was wys and of speche bold.
And þus was his fadir wone
ffor til gere his ȝonge sone
To waden in þeo deope see feor yn
And made him stonde vp to þe chyn
To fyȝte aȝen þe wawes grete;
And ȝef he feolle, he wolde him bete.
And ȝet he made þeo child more do
To take þeo lyounes wheolpes hire fro,
And, for he was so hard of skyn,
Þey no myȝte no damage do him.
Apon a day Dame Tetes
To þe firmament heo lokid, wiþ-oute les,
And þer heo saw, saun faile,
Hire sone scholde beo slayn in bataile.
ffor-þy his modir was ful wo
And saide, “certes hit scholde nouȝt beo so;”
And sende him in-to þeo lond of Parchy
In a maydenes tyr witerly
And saiden achilles was hit nouȝt,
Bote his suster þey haden þyder brouȝt.
Sir Lycamydes hette þeo kyng;
He hadde a douȝter þat was ȝyng—
Tyamedes was hire name—
Muche heo kouþe of gleo and game.
So longe achilles was in boure
Wiþ maydenes of honoure
Þe kyngis douȝter wiþ childe was
Heriþ now a wondur cas:
Knyȝtis of grece comen hastely
In-to þeo lond of Parchy
To seo achilles þat was so wyȝt.
In þe kyngis court þey fonde him ryȝt.
And sone þey come to þat cite
Þer þe kyng was and his meyne.
Þat day þeo knyȝtis, wiþ-oute lesyng,
Eten wiþ Lycamedes þe kyng;
And when þey alle eten hadde,
Þeo kyngis douȝter [þe] daunce ladde.
Achilles was gret and long wiþ-al;
Þe kyngis douȝter was gent and smal.
Achilles hadde stoute visage
And was ful gay and sauage.
Þeo knyȝtis saiden euerychon
Þat hit nas no wommon
And token heore counsail þer anon,
Er þey wolde þennes gon,
To ȝeue þeo maydenes broche and ryng
And achilles ȝeue no-þyng;
Bote an hauberk and a spere
To achilles wolde þey beore.
When achilles saw þat þyng,
He forsok broche and ryng;
To kynde armure he wolde take
And broche and ryng he wolde forsake.
And amorwe, wiþ-oute lesyng,
Al-so þey eten wiþ þe kyng;
And when þey haden ete and bord was tan,
Þeo maydenes daunceden euerilkan.
Þeo knyȝtis ȝeuen heom broche and ryng
Bote achilles ȝeue þey no soche þyng.
Þey leyden by-fore him scheld and spere
And al maner armure þat knyȝt scholde weore.
Achilles stod and by-huld ryȝt
Þeo armure þat was fair and bryȝt;
And on him sone he con hit caste
And in þat atyr he wente in haste.
And when he was armed in yrn and stel,
Þo [hit] him liked wondur wel.
Þo spak achilles hastely,
“Sir kyng, armure bryȝt weore wol y;
In maydenes daunce wol y nouȝt go
Bote to armure bryȝt wol y me ta.
ffor-þy, sire kyng, now pray y þe,
Dobbe me knyȝt, par charite,
And ȝeue me armure, scheld, and spere,
A stede good my body to beore.”
Anon þe kyng him dobbed to knyȝt—
In riche atyr þen was he dyȝt—
And ȝef him armure good and sure
Wiþ a lyon of good asure,
And gode stedes he ȝaf him to,
And bed him swiþe to troye to go
Þeo kyng of grece to socoure
Boþe in bataile and in stoure.
Achilles wendiþ to troye as faste as he may
To helpe þe kyng, sir Menolay.
When achilles was come to troye,
Þeo grekes maden mukil ioye.
Sir Menolay, of grece kyng,
Welcomede achilles in alle þyng
And saide, “achilles, y telle þe,
Of þyn help gret mester haue we,
ffor sir Priamus, of troye kyng,
Haþ a sone, a fair ȝonglyng,
And is a mon of mukil myȝt—
A balder mon com neuer in fyȝt.
Þer nys no mon in oure side
Þat dar his strokes in batail abyde.”
Achilles onswerde þe kyng þer-to,
“Al þat y may, y wol do.”
y swere, sire, by god Mahoun,
Beo Ector neuer so strong champioun,
Þeo firme tyme y may to him wynne,
He schal me sle or y wol him.”
Achilles modir was a wiche, y-wis;
Heo tauȝte hire sone a fair coyntise
How he scholde him kepe hol and sounde
And come fro bataile wiþ-oute wounde.
Achilles dude þo pryuely
As his modir him tauȝte witerly.
Wiþ wiche-craft and nygremancy þer-til
His modir him baþede in þe water of helle,
And was honged by þe feet & þries deopped adoun
Body and blod, hed and croun,
Bote þeo soles of his feet
Þer his modir hondes seet.
And his hed was blak as Mahoun
ffro þeo feet to þe croun
And al his body was hard as flynt
Þat was good agaynes dunt.
When achilles was þus y-dyȝt,
He armede him wel in armure bryȝt;
And to þe feld anon he rydes
And wiþ þe kyng batail abydes.
Sir Priamus, of troye kyng,
Wiþ his ost was redy in al þyng,
And Ector and Alisaunder Paris,
Þat weore knyȝtis of gret pris.
Þenne com forþ sir Ectoris wyf,
Þat louode hire lord as hire lyf;
Heo cryede and grette tenderly
And saide, “lord kyng, y cry þe mercy.
To nyȝt abowte mydnyȝt
In my drem me þouȝte ryȝt,—
Ȝef Ector, my lord, to bataile gos,
He wol beo slayn among his fos;
And þer-fore, lord, y ȝou pray,
Mak him dwelle at home to-day.”
Þenne onswerde Priamus kyng,
“Ector, for chaunse of þy wyues dremyng,
Dwelle at home wiþ þy lady hende;
We beon y-nowe to bataile to wende.”
Ector þo at home abydes
And his fadir wiþ his ost forþ rydes.
And eyþir oþir con assaile;
Þer bygon a strong bataile—
Mony þousand weore slayn, saun faile.
Þus þey fouȝten þeo knyȝtis stoute
ffourty dayes, out and oute;
Of barounes, knyȝtis, and oþir putayle
ffyue hondred þousand dyeden, saun faile.
No mon myȝte seo for no good
In al þe feld bote blod;
In grete ryuers þeo blod con renne
Of hors, of bodies, of dede menne.
And euer Achilles souȝte vp and doun
After Ector, þeo champion;
Bote achilles myȝte nouȝt mete wiþ him,
ffor he was nouȝt in þe feld þat tyme.
When achilles myȝte mete wiþ him nouȝt,
He mette wiþ an eorl þat deore hit bouȝt.
Achilles þeo eorl harde strikes
And his body atoo sone smytes;
And anoþir he huttes on þe scheld
Þat hed and helm flauȝ in þe feld;
Þe þridde knyȝt he sparede nouȝt—
Hors and mon to deþe he brouȝt;
Doun to þeo sadel he clef þeo furþe:
Alle þat he smot wente to þeo eorþe.
As a wod lyoun ferde he
Þat hadde fast dayes þreo.
Þeo kyng of troye saw achilles so ryde
And flauȝh wiþ his ost and durste nouȝt abyde.
Achilles honted þeo ost al
Ryȝt to troye [to] þe castel wal.
Þus Achilles wan þe maistry.
Þe kyng of grece was glad for-þy.
Lordynges, saun faile,
Þus con enden þeo sixte bataile.
Ector in a tour stant and seos
How his fadir and his ost flees.
“Alas,” saide Ector, “þat y was born!
My faderis honour to-day is lorn.
y no schal, whil y may go or ride,
Seo my fadir suche hap by-tyde
And namely for a drem of a womman.
Of feble comfort for-soþe y am.”
Ector armede him ful hastely,—
ffor-soþe hit turned to gret foly.
When þat Ector was redy boun,
He went him forþ out of þe toun
And prikede forþ wiþ myȝt and mayn
And al þe oste he drof aȝayn.
His owne body er þen he stynt
Slouȝ þritty knyȝtis wiþ his dunt.
Sone achilles wiþ Ector mette;
Þer weore strokes harde y-sette.
Ector on achilles harde strikes
Wiþ his sweord þat wel bytes;
Ector smot achilles wiþ gret ire
Þat of his helm sprang þe fuyre;
And achilles wiþ myȝt and mayn
Smot sir Ector harde aȝayn
Þat a qwarter of his scheld
fflauȝ away in-to þeo feld.
And Ector on achilles harde strikes
Wiþ his sweord þat wel bytes—
Þeo sweord was scharp and wel kene
Þat on achilles hed hit was sene;
Þeo sercle of gold doun he feld
Þat hit flauȝ in-to þeo feld.
Þo achilles by-gan to smyte
And sparede Ector bote lyte.
Achilles smot Ector on his scheld
Þat a qwarter flauȝ in-to þe feld.
By-tweone heom þeo batail was strong
And harde strokes þey ȝeuen among;
Wiþ sweordes þey heowen on helmes clere;
Þey nolde nouȝt stunte on no manere.
Ector was wroþ mon ynouȝ;
His gode sweord forþ he drouȝ
And smot achilles on þe croun
Þat his helm to peces feol doun;
Þeo sweord apon þeo schuldre glad
And schar þeo hauberk an hande brad;
A kedoun curtel hit schar atoo—
fforþir þen þe curtel myȝte hit nouȝt go.
Þeo skyn no myȝte hit perce nouȝt
Wiþ no weopne þat euer was wrouȝt;
Achilles was baþed in þe water of helle,
ffor-þy no myȝte him no mon qwelle.
His skyn was hard as any flynt
Þat was good agaynes dunt.
When achilles was þus smyten,
He was wroþ, wel may ȝe wyten;
To venge him he hadde good wille
And smot Ector ful harde tille
Apon his scholdre, god hit wot,
Þat þeo sweord þeo scholdre bot
Half a fote and sumdel mare,—
Þeo blod made red þat whyt was are.
When Ector saw his blod renne doun,
He wax wod as any lyoun
And smot achilles in þat stounde
Þat he feol to þe grounde;
Bote achilles ferde neuer þe wors.
Þo Ector anon turnede his hors;
Toward troye can he ryde
And nolde no lengore þer abyde.
Ector saw þat, wiþ non ille,
Achilles myȝte he neuer come tille.
Ector flowȝ apon his stede
And Achilles folewed good spede.
As Ector prikede apon his way,
He sawȝ an helm þer hit lay
Þat was riche, for þe nones,
Al by-set wiþ preciouse stones,
And loþ him was þeo helm for-go.
ffor-þy he loste worþ þe too;
He loste his lyf for þeo helmes sake;
ffor Ector in Troye gret sorwe þey makiþ.
Ector to þeo helm rod ryȝt—
Þer-þoruȝ dyede þat douȝty knyȝt.
He leonede ouer his stedis mane
Þeo riche helm vp to tane;
Achilles com rydyng verrement
And smot him yn at þe fondement
And to þeo heorte smot him ryȝt;
Þus endiþ þat douȝty knyȝt.
Þe lyȝt of day by-gan to fayle,
Þenne departiþ þat grete bataile.
And apon þe morwe for eyþeris sake
On boþe half treowenes was y-take—
A ȝeir by boþes red,
Þeo while þey graueden alle þeo dede.
Þenne aiþir kyng þo ful wyde
Sende after folk on boþe syde
And al-so þey purueyeden more vytaile.
Þus con ende þeo seouenþe bataile.
Kyng Priamus and alle his
Maden gret sorowe, no wondur nys,
ffor Ector þat douȝty Champion.
Þey wenten wiþ gret processioun
And fatten Ector, out of þe feld—
Alas, turned vp was his scheld—
And was buried wiþ gret honour
By-fore þeo ȝates of þeo tour.
Alle þe folk of þat cite
ffor Ector, maden sorwe and pitee.
Achilles aboute þeo cite rydes;
fful seldene in paueloun he abydes.
Apon a tyme achilles comeþ and seees
Wher þat Ector buried ys;
And by þe burynes stont a mayde schene,
Þeo kyngis douȝter, dame Polluxene.
Heo weopte and sorwede and mony anoþir
And by-menede Ector, hire broþir.
Achilles stod and by-huld ryȝt,
Þeo maiden þat was fair and bryȝt—
How heo was dyȝt in seoluer and gold—
And þouȝte þeo faireste may on molde
And by-gan to loue þeo maide so
Þat nyȝh his heorte barst atwo.
He wolde haue speke wiþ hire þare,
Bote for hire freondis he dude spare;
And to his paueloun rides ryȝt
And to him he callede a knyȝt,
“Go to troye and say kyng Priamus
Þat ich þe sende to say þus:
Þat for a wommon þis weorre was waked,
And for a womman pes schal beo maked.
ffor Dame Elayne, þe qwene of grece,
Mony men han beon hewen to peces;
Ȝef me his douȝter; ȝef he wol swa,
Schal beo mad pes for euer-ma;
Ȝef he and his gode qwene
Wol ȝeue me heore douȝtir Polluxene
To beo myn owne contasse,
Alle harmes y wol redresse,
ffor good weore pes on eyþir syde,
Leste more harm wole by-tyde.”
Þe knyȝt wende to Priamus kyng
And him tolde þis neowe tydyng.

[P]riamus saide nay, treowely,
Þat he nolde hire gyue to his enemy.
“Þat day schal me neuer bytyde,
Þe whiles ich may go and ryde.”
Þo spek þe qwene, his owne wyf.
“Sir, good is,” heo saide, “to stynte stryf.
Go to þy lord, sire achilles;
So þat he make perpetuel pes
So þat neuer weorre beo,
We schal him ȝeue owre douȝtir freo.”
Þe knyȝt tok leue wiþ good acord
And com and tolde his lord vche a word,
“Ȝef ȝe wol make pes wiþ-oute eynde,
Ȝe schal haue heore douȝtir hynde.”
Achilles was glad of þat tidyng
And wente to Menolay þe kyng
And saide to þe kyng, wiþ-oute les,
He was abowte to make pes.
Þe kyng of grece, sir Menolay,
Answerde achilles and saide, “nay,
To pes wol y neuer counsaile
Til þey beon ouercomen in pleyn bataile.
ffor now Ector is to deþe falle,
y no ȝeue a sore heom alle.”
Achilles in wraþþe went away
And lyuede in loue longyng al þat day.
When tyme of treowenes was come to þe ende,
Þey made heom redy to batail to wende.
Achilles at home in wraþþe abydes
And þeo kyng of troye comen ys
And his sone, alisaunder Paris,
And his oþir sone, a ȝong knyȝt,
Sir Troyle was his name ryȝt,
And eorles and barouns wiþ mukil pruyde
And by-gan þe batail anon þat tyde.
Al þat somer þeo batail con laste;
Mony knyȝt oþir doun kaste.
Alisaunder Paris and his broþir
Slowe þe lordes, on and oþir;
Troyle woundede þeo kyng of grece þo
And agamon, his broþir, bo,
And wolde haue brouȝt heom til ded
Bote þey flowe awey for drede.
Þeo kyng of grece flouȝ wiþ his barouns;
Þe troyens robboden heore pauelouns
Of tresour, hors, and heore atyr,
And mony schipes þey setten on fuyr.
Þe kyng of grece com to sir achilles
And sette him doun apon his kneos
And saide, “sir achilles, y crye mercy
Þat þou ows helpe and þat in hy.
In þeo batail was a knyȝt berdles,
Þries stalworþir þen Ector euer was.
Þer nys no mon þat may a-stande
Þeo strokes he ȝaf þer wiþ his hande.
ffor-þy help vs at þis nede
Or elles, certes, we narn bote dede.”
Achilles com prykynge on his stede;
Of troyle he takiþ good hede.
Suche a strok he haþ him rauȝt
Þat his scheld wente to nouȝt,
And Troile sore agreued was
And smot a dunt to achilles
Þat his scheld in peces feol to grounde;
And achilles smot agayn þat stounde
And smot a strok to his scheld
Þat helm and hed flauȝ in þe feld;
And anoþir he smot in þat stounde
And smot him ded to þe grounde.
Þe þridde, þeo feorþe þat he hittes—
Al þat he smyt, he al to-slyttes.
Þeo kyng flouȝ and durste nouȝt abyde,
When he sawȝ achilles so ryde;
And achilles folewes þeo ost al
Ryȝt to þeo cite wal.
Þo tok þey treowenes half a ȝeir
And heled heom þat wounded were
And buriede þe dede bodies good sped
And purueyden heom þey haden of nede.
Lordyngis, saun faile,
Þus endip þeo viij bataile.
Þe kyng of troye was in gret drede,
ffor his folk weore brouȝt to dede;
And made feorme his dyches vp and doun
And sette good warde ouer al þe toun
And comandede his bailyfs feor and wyde
To fache more folk on vche a side.
Þeo qwene of troye, sir Priamus wyf,
In gret sorwe lediþ hire lif;
ffor Troyle, hire sone, heo sykede sore
And saide þus euer-more,
“Achilles, Traitour, euer beo þou wo
Þat Troyle hast slayn and Ector bo.
Myn hole heorte wol berste on fyue,
Bote y beo wreken and þat blyue.
Alisaunder, sone, com now to me.
My deore sone, y pray þe
And on my blessyng do by my red
And awrek þy breþeren þat beon dede.”
Alisaunder answerde, “modir, how
Schulde y awreke my breþeren now?
ffor in þis world nas neuer mon founde
Þat may achilles brynge to grounde.
How scholde ich þenne brynge him doun?”
“Ȝus, sone,” heo saide, “wiþ tresoun.
He haþ desired mony a day
To wedde my douȝtir þat faire may.
Þer-fore y schal to him sende
Þat he schal to þe temple wende
And wedde my douȝtir wiþ mukil honour,
Pollexene whyt so flour.
And þer-fore to þe temple þou go
Wiþ an hundred men of armes and mo;
And when he is þider comen,
Qwyk or ded þat he beo nomen.”
And alisaundir ches him vp and doun
Men of armes of gret renoun,
An hundred men þat couþe fyȝte,
And hudde heom in þe temple by nyȝte.
And þe qwene sende to achilles by treson.
Þeo messanger wente out of þeo toun
And gretiþ achilles wel and saide þus,
“Hyder me sende kyng Priamus
And saide he wol no more bataile,
ffor his folk by-gynneþ to faile,
And wol sauȝtenen al wiþ pes
And ȝeue þe his douȝtir, sir achilles.
And to þe temple ȝe scholde wende
And wedde þer his douȝtir hende
And haue half his kyndam wiþ hire.
And þer-fore haste ȝou, swete sire,
And whom þou wolt, wiþ þe þou take
And go to þeo temple sykirnesse to make.”
Achilles dyȝte him in riche atyr and gay,
ffor he louode muche þat may,
And cladde him in a fair schroude—
And for to wedde hire he was proude—
And lappede him in a mantel of sandel
And tok his sweord and dude wel.
Of al his folk tolde he non
Whider þat he wolde gon;
Bote a ȝong knygȝt wiþ him he ladde.
(y-wis he was ful harde by-stadde.)
And proudly to þe temple he cam—
Of no treson wiste he þan—
And com hastely þer-yn.
Þeo dore þey steken apon him
And crieden, “traitour, ȝeld þe anon.”
And he onswerde þo ful son,
“y was neuer traitour, treowely,
And þat sone preoue wol y.”
And abouten his arm his mantel lappes
And drawiþ his sweord, to heom he swappes
And woundede heom and dude heom harm
And smot of hedes and eke arm.
His felaw was slayn anon ryȝt,
Bote he defended him as a knyȝt.
Þey no myȝte achilles do no dere
Nowþir wiþ sweord no wiþ spere.
He stod ful harde agayn heore dunt;
His skyn was hard so any flynt.
In mony steodis he ȝaf heom wounde
And sixty of heom he brouȝte to grounde
Wiþ sweord and þey asaileden him faste.
Achilles defended him whiles his lif laste.
So harde he smot to heom þo
Þat his sweord barst atwo.
Achilles sturede him, for nede him teches,
Wiþ þe schuldres to heom he reches
And slang heom abowte and lette heom gon
Þat heo to-barsten aȝeyn þeo ston;
And anoþir he slang aȝeyn a wal
And þer he dyede among heom al;
Þe þridde he tok in his armure stowt
And kaste him at a wyndowe owt.
As an hungry lyoun ferde he
Þat hadde fast dayes þreo.
So wiþ strokes he kan heom dryue;
Of an hundred he no lafte bote twenty on lyue.
Al þe blod of þat mon
In swot out of his body hit ran;
Þo wax he feble and þat was no ferly:
His heorte blod was al dreory.
Þat alisaunder parceyued anon ryȝt
And spak to achilles, þat gode knyȝt,
“Traytour, þou schalt to deþe go.”
Wiþ his sweord he smot achilles þo.
And seoþen þey twenty alle at ones,
So fayn þey wolden to breke his bones,
Þey putten achilles doun to grounde
And vndur his feet þey ȝaf him wounde
Wiþ sweord and long knyf.
þus þey raften him his lyf.
Þus was achilles slayn wiþ treson,
And by þe legges drawen out of þeo toun.
Þe kyng of troye coma[n]ded on hy
Wiþ out-horn and out-cry
In-to þe feld men scholde drawe him or beore
Þat wilde bestes myȝte him teore;
And swar grete oþes þan
He was a deol and no mon.
Þus endiþ achilles þere;
In al þeo world [he no] lafte his pere.
Sir Menolay, of grece kyng,
Herde telle of þat sory tidyng—
How achilles, his gode baroun,
Was slayn wiþ foul tresoun.
He made sorwe and was ful wo
And alle his barons callede him to
And seide, “as armes, lordynges,
Þat vch mon beo greiþe in alle þyngis,
ffor achilles venged beo schal
Or we schole leose oure lyues al.”
Þe kyng takiþ his ost and forþ he hyes
And comeþ to troye and heom destruyes.
And Priamus of troye al-so
And alisaunder Paris and oþir mo,
Heo heom greiþed on eyþir syde
Wiþ al þat myȝte gon oþir ryde
And wente agayn heore enemyes
And layden on harde, y-wis,
Wiþ sweord, spere, and wiþ knyf;
Þrytty þousand þer lafte heore lyf.
And þus þey fauȝte, wiþ-owte faile,
.xx. dayes wiþ strong bataile.
Ay was alisaunder in þe vant-warde;
Þer nas no mon þat he sparede—
Eorl, baroun, knyȝt, no sweyn;
No no mon myȝte him stonde aȝeyn.
Mony of grece he brouȝte to grounde
And ȝaf heom wiþ spere deþes wounde.
Sir aiax of grece, a noble baroun,
He was a mon of gret renoun;
He com prikyng wiþ spere and scheld
To iuste wiþ alisaunder in þe feld.
And alisaunder tok a spere al-so
And agayn aiax he rod þo
And made his spere so nyȝ him glyde
Þat þe spere-hed lafte in his syde.
Þer was aiax smyte ful sore,
Bote he þouȝte to iuste more.
Aiax rod agayn-ward
And smot Alisaunder ful hard
Þoruȝ þe scheld to þe heorte ryȝt
And þus dyede þat douȝty knyȝt.
Knyȝtis of troye þat þer ware
Token vp alisaunder and hom him bare
And burieden him by Ector, his broþir.
His fadir sorwede and mony anoþir
And Dame Elayne, his qwene, al-so
Heo weop for him and was ful wo
And saide, “alisaunder, welaway,
Why fattest þou me fro grece away
Wiþ streynþe hider to beo þy wyf?
Þer-fore hastow lost þy lyf.”
Doun heo feol [in] swowne hym by
And knyȝtis token hire vp in hy.
Lete we now alisaunder beo
And of sir aiax speke we.
Aiax to his pauelon con ryde
Wiþ speres hed in his syde
And saide he myȝte go and ryde
Weore þeo speris hed out of his syde.
Bote when hit was out of þe knyȝt,
Aiax dyede anon ryȝt.
Þenne spak Menolay þe kyng
And kalled his barons an euenyng
And saide, “now haþ alisaunder his mede,
ffor he away my wyf can lede.
Now is his treson wel y-ȝolde;
y am qwyk and he is vndur molde.
And þer-fore now ful sikir am y
We geten now þeo maistry.
We beon ynowe styf and stowte;
Go we by-sege heom al abowte.
We schole heom slee at oure owne wille,
Or þey schule for honger spille.”
When þe kyng hadde þus y-saide,
Þey weore armed and sone graiþed
And by-seged troye on vch a syde
Þat no mon myȝte go no ryde
Wiþ mete no drynke fer no neor.
Þus was troye by-seged half a ȝeir.
Lordyngis, saun faile,
Þus endiþ þeo tenþe bataile.
So hit by-feol in þe by-gynnyng of may,
When foulis syngen on vche a spray,
And blosmes breken on vche a boȝh,
And ouer al was murþe y-nowȝh,
Bote in troye was luyte murþe þo.
Sir Priamus þe kyng was wo
And called his barons to him ful sone
And saide, “lordynges, what schal we don?
Weore my sone now on lyue,
He wolde owre fomen fro ows dryue,
Or his broþir alisaunder Paris—
Luyte wolde we doute of owre enemyes.
And y am now old witerly,
Þat y no may go to bataile for-þy.
Bote ȝe beon ynowe stalworþe and stoute,
Takiþ oure ost and goþ in-to þe feld oute
Þeo men of grece to asaile
And sleþ heom doun in bataile.
And kyþes þat ȝe arn douȝty of dede,
fful wel y hope þat ȝe schal spede.”
Þan onswerde a baroun, a faytour,
Sir Antynor, a foul traitour.
“Lord,” he saide, “we schulen out gon
And awreke ȝow of ȝoure foon.”
Þo wente antynor ful good pas
To anoþir traitour, Eneas.
“Eneas,” he saide, “what to rede?
Ȝef we gon to bataile, we arn dede;
And ȝef we dwelle stille and defende þeo toun,
ffor honger we schal falle adoun.
ffor-þy at nyȝt we wole wende out
To þeo kyng of grece þat is stout
And bidde him graunte lyme and lyf
And saue ows boþe child and wyf
And we wolen Troye to him ȝeilde.
Better so is þen dye in feilde.”
Eneas graunted þer-to ful sone
And plyȝte treouþis hit scholde beo done.
Antynor and Eneas anon heom dyȝt
And out at a postorne wente by nyȝt,
And comen to Menolay, of grece kyng.
Antynor spak furst at þeo bygynnyng
And saide lord þus and þus,
“Ȝe by-segen oure kyng, Priamus.
Bote certes wiþ none skynnes gyn
Troye þou schalt neuer wyn;
ffor al þat þou myȝt don euer,
Þe cite of troye wynne ȝe neuer.
Wol ȝe graunte ows to owre lyues
And owre children and owre wyues
And all owre godis euer-meo,
And we schal lete ȝou in-to þe cite
Þis ilke nyȝt þat comeþ nest.
When ȝe beon ynne, do ȝowre best.”
Þeo kyng of grece onswerde heom þo,
“Now makiþ me sikir er ȝe go.
And eiþir of ȝou ȝowre trowþe me plyȝte
To lete ows come yn þis ilke nyȝt,
And, as y am treowe kyng,
y schal ȝou saue in alle þyng
Wiþ wyf, child, and wiþ land,
And þer-to y halde vp myn hand.”
Þeo traytours anon plyȝten heore treouþe
To by-traye heore lord; hit was reouþe.
Þey token heore leue þeose traytours boo
And by-trayeden heore lord,—ay worþ heom wo.
Apon þe morwe þey wente vp and doun
And comforteden þeo ost ouer al þe toun
And beden þe folk wiþ al heore myȝt
Kepe wel þe wardes þat ilke nyȝt,
And beden þe kyng he scholde nouȝt spare
To make him mury wiþ-owte kare,
And saiden hit was by heore counsaile
Þat he bygon þat ilke bataile.
ffor-þy þey saiden þat þey wolde
Agayn his enemyes þe cite holde.
Þeo kyng saide, “blessed mote ȝe beo
And alle my barons þat helpeþ me.”
Þeo kyng saide qwyte heom he wolde
Wiþ riche rentes and wiþ golde.
When nyȝt was comen and gon þe day,
Þe kyng of grece, sir Menolay,
Comaundede his ost to greiþe heom stille
And saide þey scholde haue al heore wille.
Þe kyng callede by-fore him ryȝt
Achilles-is sone, a noble knyȝt;
He was a douȝty mon and feyr,
Prynce of Murmydoun, his fadir eyr;
His nome was hote sir Pirrus.
Þe kyng of grece to him spak þus,
“Pirrus, woltow venge þy fadir now?”
“fful fayn, lord, and y wiste how.”
Þeo kyng saide, “tak half myn ost
Ryȝt pryuely wiþ-oute bost
And go to þeo cite ryȝt ful sone—
Þe brugge bes doun and þeo ȝates vndone—
Calle Antynor and Eneas,
Saue heore lyues and let heom passe,
And reyse þy baner when þow art yn:
Þus þou schalt troye wynne.
And slee clanly vp and doun
Al þat þou fyndest in þe toun;
And we schal wiþ-owte beo
To kepe þat no mon away fleo.”
Pirrus wente ryȝt to þe ȝate
And fond þeo traytours redy þer-ate.
He lette heom at þeo ȝates forþ passe
And slowen þeo oþir, more and lasse.
In at þeo ȝates þey conne dryue
And reysed vp his baner swiþe.
Þeo two traytours he lette forþ go
Wiþ wyues and wiþ childre boo.
Þeo cry aros ouer al þe cite
And þey layden on wiþ-owte pyte.
Nyȝt and day þeo folk þey slees;
Al þat þey founde to deþe gos—
Suster and sone, modir and fadir.
Þey slowe þe childre in þe cadir
And alle þey bleden sweyn and knaue,
Men and wymmen þat wente wiþ staue;
ffyue dayes and .v. nyȝt, þoruȝ and þoruȝ,
þey slowe folk in þe boruȝ.
When þey hadde slayn heom so,
Ten hundred þousand men and mo,
Þenne spak Priamus, of troye kyng,
When he stod in his tour and saw þis þyng.
“Alas,” he saide, “wiþ foul treson
Now haue y lore my faire toun.”
And saide, “alas, þat y was born!
Þoruȝ treson arn we alle for-loren.
Hade treowþe beon amongis vs alle;
Troye hadde neuer þis chaunse by-falle.
Trowþe wolde, wiþ ryȝte and lawe,
Þat traytours scholde beo to-drawe.
Trowþe, certes, is leyd doun to-day
And treson vp resed, welaway.
Lyuede Ector, my sone or alisaundir Paris,
Weore hit nouȝt þenne as hit now is.
Now haue y no freond me to wreke.
Alas, why nul myn heorte to-breke?
Now is þe kyng of grece to-day
Lord of troye, weylaway.
Þis no wende y neuer to seo
Þat myn enemy myn eyr scholde beo.”
Þeo kyng weopte for þeo mukil vntrewþe;
To seo olde men weope hit is gret rewþe.
ffor care and sorwe þe kyng saw þat day,
He feol to grounde and in swownyng lay.
His barons defended his tour faste.
Wiþ grete stones and alblastre
Þeo men of grece þe tour asayles,
Armed wel in hawberk of mayles,
And asaileden þeo tour faste
And breken yn at þe laste.
Alle þat þey founden þey conne slo
And seoþen to þe kyng conne þey go
And heowen þe kyng on peces smal
And þe qwene and hire maydenes al.
ffor heom moste go no raunson,
ffor kyng no for baroun.
Pirrus takiþ Polluxene,
Þe kyngis douȝtir bryȝt and schene.
“My fadir,” he saide, “sir Achilles,
ffor þy loue slayn he wes
In þe temple wiþ gret tresoun.
ffor þe schal go no raunsoun.”
Heo cryede mercy and was ful wo;
Wiþ his fuste he smot hire necke atwo,—
He nolde hire sle wiþ no wepne of steil—
Þus he vengede his fadir wel.
Þeo qwene of grece þey founden þat day
And brouȝten hire to sire Menolay
And þey brouȝten hire by-fore hire lord
And kusseden boþe wiþ good acord.
Þe kyng made him mury wiþ his cheualry,
When he hadde wonne þe maystry.
Þe kyng dwelled in troye wiþ his ost
A moneþ and more wiþ mukil bost
And sesen in troye þe kyng gon take
And mukil murþe and ioye þey make.
And when heom liked dwelle no more,
Þey dyȝten heore schipes wiþ sayl and ore
And chargeden heore schipes wiþ mukil good
And sayleden ouer þeo salte flod
Þeo folk of grece of mony a toun
Comen wiþ caroles and wiþ processioun
And welcomeden hem in alle þyng—
Sir Menolay, heore kyng,
And dame Elayne, his gode wyf,
ffor hire was wakened mukil stryf.
Þer was ioye in vche a toun
Of eorles and of baroun.
ffourty dayes þeo kyng heold feste—
Þat was riche and honeste—
Of pekoccus, feysans, and biccar;
Þer was veneson of herte and bar;
Þer was pyment of clarre.
To riche men and heore meyne
Þer was riche seruyse,
As riche as mon myȝte deuyse.
And when þe feste was brouȝt to endyng,
Þey toke leue at heore kyng,
And vche mon wente to his contre
And maden ioye wiþ heore meyne.
Þus was ended þe bataile of troye;
God ȝeue ows alle heouene ioye.
Such a batail as hit was oon
Neuer byþ no neuer schal beo noon