University of Virginia Library

In Tiberyus tyme, þe trewe emperour,
Sir Sesar hym sulf seysed in Rome,
Whyle Pylat was prouost vnder þat prince riche
& ȝewen iustice also, in Judeus londis.
Herodes vnder his emperie, as heritage wolde,
Kyng of Galile ycalled, whan þat Crist deyed.
Þey Sesar sakles wer, þat oft synne hatide,
Þrow Pylat pyned he was & put on þe rode;
A pyler pyȝt was doun vpon þe playn erþe,
His body bonden þer to, beten with scourgis;
Whyppes of quyrboyle by-wente his white sides,
Til he al on rede blode ran, as rayn [i]n þe strete.
Suþ stoked hym on a stole with styf Mannes hondis,
Blyndfelled hym as a be & boffetis hym raȝte:
“ȝif þou be prophete of pris, prophecie,” þey sayde,
“Whiche [beryn] her aboute bolled þe laste!”
A þrange þornen croune was þraste on his hed,
Vmbe-casten hym with a cry & on a croys slowen.
For al þe harme þat he hadde hasted he noȝt,
On hem þe vyleny to venge, þat his veynys brosten,
Bot ay taried ouer þe tyme, ȝif þey tourne wolde,
ȝaf hem space þat hym spilide, þey hit spedde lyte,
XL wynter, as y fynde, & no fewer ȝyrys,
Or princes presed in hem þat hym to pyne wroȝt.
Til hit tydde on a tyme, þat Tytus of Rome,
Þat alle Gascoyne gate & Gyan þe noble,
Whyle noye noyet hym in Neroes tyme;
He hadde a malady vn-meke a-myd[dis] þe face:
Þe lyppe lyþ on a lumpe lyuered on þe cheke;
So a canker vnclene hit cloched to gedres.
Also his fader of flesche is ferly bytide,
A biker of waspen bees bredde on his nose,
Hyued upon his hed, he hadde hem of ȝouþe,
And Waspasian was caled þe waspene bees after.
Was neuer syknes sorer þan þis sir þoled;
For in a liter he lay, laser at Rome.
Out of Galace was gon, to glade hym a stounde;
For in þat cuþe he was kyng, þey he car þolede.
Nas þer no leche vpon lyue, þis lordes couþ helpe,
Ne no grace growyng to gayne her grym sores.
Now was þer on N[a]than, Neymes sone of Grec[e],
Þat souȝt oft ouer þe se fram cyte to oþer,
Knewe contreys fele, kyngdomes manye,
& was a marener myche & marchaunt boþe.
Sensceus out of Surye sent hym to Rome,
To þe athel Emperour an eraunde fram þe Jewes,
Caled Nero by name, þat hym to noye wroȝt,
Of his tribute to telle, þat þey withtake wolde.
Nathan toward Nero nome on his way
Ouer þe Grekys grounde, myd þe grym yþes,
An heye setteþ þe sayl, ouer þe [salte] water,
& with a dromound on þe deep drof on faste.
Þe wolco[n] wanned anon & þe water skeweþ,
Cloudes clateren gon, as þey cleue wolde.
Þe racke myd a rede wynde roos on þe myddel
& sone sette on þe se out of þe souþ syde,
Blewe on þe brode se, bolned vp harde.
Nathannys naue a-non on [þe] norþ dryueþ,
So þe wedour & þe wynd on þe water metyn,
Þat alle hurtled on an hepe, þat þe helm ȝemyd.
Nathan flatte for ferde & ful vnder hacchys,
Lete þe wedour & þe wynde worþe, as hit lyked.
Þe schip scher vpon schore, schot froward Rome
Toward vncouþ costes, keuereþ þe yþes,
Rapis vnradly vmbe ragged tourres;
Þe brode sail at o brayd to-bresteþ a twynne.
Þat on ende of þe sschip was ay toward heuen,
Þat oþer doun in þe deep, as alle drenche wolde.
Ouer wilde wawes he wende, as alle walte scholde,
St[a]rke stremes þrow yn, stormes & wyndes;
With mychel langour atte laste, as our lord wolde,
Alle was born at a by[rre] to Burdewes hauene.
By þat wer bernes atte banke, barouns & knyȝtes,
& [citezeins], of þe syȝt selcouþ [hem] þoȝt,
Þat euer barge oþer bot or berne vpon lyue
Vnpersched passed hadde: þe peryles wer so many.
Þey token hym to Titus, for he þe tonge couþe;
& he [hem] fraynes, how fer þe flode hadde yferked.
“Sir, out of Surre,” he seide, “y am come,
To Nero sondis-man sent, þe [seygnour] of Rome,
Ffram Sensceus, his seriant with certayn leteres,
Þat is iustise & iuge of Jewen lawe.
Me wer leuer, at þat londe le[ngede] þat y wer,
Þan alle þe gold oþer good þat euer god made.”
Þe kyng in to conseyl calleþ hym sone
& saide: “Canste þou any cur or craft vpon erþe
To softe þe grete sore, þat sitteþ on my cheke?
& y schal þe redly rewarde, & to Rome sende.”
Nathan nyckes hym with nay, sayde, he non couþe:
“Bot wer þou, kyng, in þat kuþþe þer þat Crist deyed,
Þer is a worlich wif, a womman ful clene,
Þat haþ softyng & salue for eche sore out.”
“Telle me tyt,” quoþ Titus, “& þe schal tyde better,
What medecyn is most, þat þat may vseþ,
Wheþer gommes, oþer graces, or any goode drenches,
Oþer chauntementes, or charmes? y charge þe to say.”
“Nay, non of þo,” quoþ Nathan, “bot now wole y [telle]:
Þer was a lede in our londe, while he lif hadde,
Preued for a prophete þrow preysed dedes,
& born in Bethleem, one by, of a burde schene,
& ȝo a mayde vnmarred, þat neuer man touched,
As clene as clef, þer cristalle sprynges.
Without hosebondes helpe, saue þe holy goste,
A kyng & a knaue child ȝo conceyued at ere;
A touche of þe trinyte touched hir hadde,
Þre persones in o place preued to gedres,
Eche grayn is o god, & o god bot alle,
& alle þre ben bot one, as eldres vs tellen.
Þe first is þe fader, þat fourmed was neuer,
Þe sccunde is þe sone, of his sede growyn,
Þe þridde in heuen myd hem is þe holy goste,
Neþer merked ne made, bot mene fram hem passyþ.
Alle ben þey endeles, & euer of o myȝt
& weren endeles euer, [er] þe world was bygonne.
As sone was þe sone as þe self fader,
Þe holy goste with hem hadde þey euer.
Þe secunde persone, þe sone, sent was to erþe,
To take careynes kynde of a clene mayde,
& so vnknowen he came caytifes to helpe,
& wroȝt wondres ynowe ay, tille he wo driede.
Wyne he wroȝt of water at o word ene,
Ten lasares at a logge he leched at enys,
Pyned myd p[ar]il[sye] he putte to hele
& ded men fro þe deþ eche day rered.
Croked & cancred, he keuered hem alle,
Boþ þe dombe & þe deue, myd his der wordes,
Dide myracles mo þan y in mynde haue;
Nis no clerk with countours couþe aluendel rekene.
Fyf þousand of folke, is ferr to here,
With two fisches he fedde & fif ber loues,
Þat eche freke hadde his fulle, & ȝit ferre leued
Of brede & of broken mete bascketes twelue.
Þer suwed hym out of an cite [seuenty] & twey,
To do what he dempte, disciples wer hoten.
Hem to citees he sende, his sawes to preche,
Ay by two & by two, til hy wer a-twynne.
Hym suwed of an-oþer cite semeliche twelue,
Pore men & noȝt prute, aposteles wer hoten,
Þat of cay[ti]fes he ches, holy churche to encresche,
Þe out-wale of þis worlde; þis wer her names:
Peter, James & Jon, & Jacob þe ferþe,
& þe fifþe of his felawys Phelip was hoten,
Þe sixte Symond was caled, & þe seueþ eke
Bertholomewe, þat his bone neuer breke nolde;
Þe eyȝt man was Mathu, þat is myche yloued,
Tadde & Tomas; her ben ten euen,
& Andreu þe elleueþ, þat auntred hym myche
Byfor princes to preche, was Petrus broþer.
Þe laste man was vnlele & luþer of his dedis,
Judas, þat Jesu Crist to þe Jewes solde;
Suþ hymsulf he slowe for sorow of þat dede,
His body on a balwe tree to-breste on þe myddel.
Whan Crist hadde heried helle & was [to] heuen passed,
For þat mansed man Mathie þey chossyn.
ȝit vnbaptized wer boþe, Barnabe & Poule,
& noȝt knewen of Crist, bot comen sone after.
Þe princes & þe prelates, aȝen þe paske tyme
Alle þei hadde hym in hate for his holy werkes;
Hit was a doylful dede, whan þey his deþ caste.
Þrow Pilat pyned he was, þe prouost of Rome,
& þat worliche wif, þat arst was ynempned,
Haþ his visage in hir veil, Veronyk ȝo hatte,
Peynted priuely & playn, þat no poynt wanteþ;
For loue he left hit hir til hir lyues ende.
Þer is no gome [o]n þis [grounde] þat is grym wounded,
Meselry ne meschef, ne man vpon erþe,
Þat kneleþ doun to þat cloþ & on Crist leueþ,
Bot alle hapneþ to hele in [ane] hand whyle.”
“At Rome reyned þe emperour,” quoþ þe kyng riche þan,
“Cesar, synful wrecche, þat sent hym fram Rome:
Why nadde þy lycam be leyd low vnder erþe,
Whan Pilat prouost was made, suche a prince to jugge?”
& or þis wordes wer [wel] wonne to þe ende,
Þe canker þat þe kyng hadde, clenly was heled,
With out faute þe face, of flesche & of hyde,
As newe as þe nebbe, þat neuer was wemmyd.”
“A, corteys Crist!” seide þe kyng riche þan,
“Was neuer worke þat y wroȝt, worþy þe to telle,
Ne dede þat y haue don, bot þy deþ mened,
Ne neuer sey þe in siȝt, goddis sone der;
Bot now [be] bayne [to] my bone, blessed lord,
To stire Nero with noye & newen his sorowe;
& y schal buske me boun, hem bale to wyrche,
To do þe deueles of dawe, & þy deþ venge.
Telle me tit,” quoþ Titus, “what tokne he lafte
To hem þat knew hym for Crist & his crafte leued!”
“Nempne þe trinyte by name,” quoþ Nathan, “at þries,
& þer myd baptemed be in blessed water!”
Forþ þey fetten a font & foulled hym þer,
Made hym cristen kyng, þat for Crist werred.
Corrours in to eche coste þan þe cours nomen
& alle his baronage broȝt to Burdewes hauen.
Suþ with þe sondes-man he [s]ouȝt to Rome,
Þe ferly & þe fair cure his fader to schewe;
& he gronnand glad grete god þanked
& loude criande on Crist carped & saide:
“Worþy, wemlese God, in whom y byleue,
[Als] þou in Bethleem was born of a bryȝt mayde,
Sende me hele of my hurt, & heyly y a-fowe
To be ded for þy deþ, bot hit be der ȝolden.”
Þat tyme Peter was pope & preched in Rome
Þe lawe & þe lore, þat our byleue askeþ,
Folowed faste on þe folke & to þe fayþ tourned,
& Crist wroȝt for þat wye wondres ynow.
Þer of Waspasian was war, þat þe waspys hadde,
Sone sendeþ hym to & þe soþe tolde
Of Crist & þe kerchef, þat keuered þe sike,
As Nathan, Neymes sone, seide, þat to Nero was come.
Þan to consayl was called þe knyȝtes of Rome,
& assenteden sone to sende messages.
XXti knyȝtes wer cud, þe ker[ch]yf to fecche,
& asked trewes of þe emperour, þat erand to done. . . .
Ac with out tribute or trewes tenfulle wyes,
Þe knyȝtes with þe kerchef comen ful blyue.
Þe pope ȝaf pardoun to hem, þat passed þer aȝens
With processioun & pres, princes & dukes;
& whan þe womman was war, þat þe wede owded,
[Of] seint Peter þe pope ȝo platte to þe grounde,
Vmbe-felde his fete & to þe freke saide:
“Of þis kerchef & my cors þe kepyng y þe take.”
Þan bygan þe burne biterly to wepe
For þe doylful deþ of his der mayster,
& longe stode in þe stede, or he stynte myȝt,
Whan he vnclosed þe cloþe, þat Cristes body touched.
Þe wede fram þe womman, [he] warpe atte laste,
Receyued hit myd reuerence; & rennande teris.
Out of þe place myd pres þey passed on swyþe
& ay held hit on hey, þat alle byhold myȝt.
Þan XII barouns bolde þe emperour bade wende,
& þe pope departe fram þe pople faste;
Veronyk & þe vail Waspasian þey broȝt,
& seint Peter þe pope presented boþe.
Bot a ferly byfelle forþ myd hem alle:
In her temple bytidde tenful þynges,
Þe mahound & þe mametes, to-mortled to peces
& al to-crased, as þe cloþ þroȝ þe kirke passed.
In to þe palice with þe printe þan þe pope ȝede,
Knyȝtes kepten þe cloþe & on knees fallen.
A flauour flambeþ þer fro, þey felleden hit alle,
Was neuer odour ne eyr vpon erþe swetter;
Þe kerchef clansed hit self & so cler wexed,
Myȝt no lede on hit loke for liȝt þat hit schewed.
As hit a-proched to þe prince, he put vp his hed,
For comfort of þe cloþ he cried wel loude:
“Lo, lordlynges, her, þe lyknesse of Crist,
Of whom my botnyng y bidde for his bitter woundis.”
Þan was wepyng & wo, & wryngyng of hondis,
With loude dyn & dit for doil of hym one.
Þe pope availed þe vaile & his visage touched,
Þe body suþ al aboute, blessed hit þrye.
Þe waspys wenten away, & alle þe wo after;
Þat er lasar was longe, lyȝtter was neuere:
Þan was pypyng & play, his pyne was awey,
Þey ȝelden grace to god, þis two grete lordes,
Þe kerchef carieþ fram alle & in þe [kirke] hangyþ,
Þat þe symple myȝt hit se, in to soper tyme.
Þe veronycle after Veronyk Waspasian hit called,
Garde hit gayly agysen in gold & in seluere.
ȝit is þe visage in þe vail, as Veronyk hym broȝt,
Þe Romaynes at Rome, for a relyk hit holden.
Þis whyle Nero hadde noye, & non nyȝtes reste,
For his tribute was [tynt], as Nathan told hadde.
He commaundiþ knyȝtes to come, consail to holde,
Erles & alle men þe emperour aboute.
Assembled þe senatours, sone vpon haste,
To iugge, who jewes myȝt best vpon þe Jewys take;
& alle demeden by dome, þo dukes to wende,
Þat wer cured þrow Crist, þat þey on croys slowen.
Þat on Waspasian was of þe wyes twey,
Þat þe trauail vndertoke, & Titus an oþer,
A bold burne on a blonke & of his body comyn,
No ferþer sib to hym-self bot his sone der,
Crouned kynges boþe, & mychel Crist loued,
Þat hadde hem ȝeuen of his grace, & her grem stroyed.
Moste þei hadde hit in hert, her hestes to kepe
& her forwardis to fulfille, þat þei byfor made.
Þan was rotlyng in Rome, robbyng of brynnyes,
Schewyng of scharpe, scheldes ydressed.
Lauȝte leue at þat lord, leften his sygne,
A grete dragoun of gold, & alle þe [g]yng folwed.
By þat schippis wer schred, yschot on þe depe,
Takled & atired on talterande yþes,
Ffresch water & wyn wounden yn faste,
& stof of alle maner store, þat hem strengþe scholde.
Þer wer floynes a flot, farcostes many,
Cogges & crayers, y-casteled alle.
Galees of grete streyngþe with golden fanes,
[Þe brede] on þe brod se aboute four myle.
Þey tyȝten vp tal-sail, whan þe tide asked,
Hadde byr at þe bake & þe bonke lefte,
Souȝte ouer þe se with soudeours manye,
& [ioyned in to] port Jaf in Judeis londys.
Suree, Cesaris londe, þou may seken euer,
Ful mychel wo m[o]n be wroȝte in þy [w]lonk tounes,
Cytees vnder S[yon], now is ȝour sorow uppe;
Þe deþ of þe dereworþ Crist der schal be ȝolden.
Now is, Bethleem, þy bost y-broȝt to an ende;
Jerusalem & Ierico, for-juggyd wrecchys,
Schal neuer kyng of ȝour kynde with croune be ynoyntid,
Ne Jewe for Jesu sake [i]ouke in ȝou more.
Þey setten vp-on eche side Surrie with-yn,
Brente ay at þe bak & [all] bar laften;
Was noȝt bot roryng & r[ut]h in alle þe riche tounnes,
& red laschyng lye alle þe londe ouer;
Token toun & tour, teldes ful fele,
Brosten ȝates of brass & many borwe wonnen;
Holy þe heþen here hewyn to grounde,
Boþ in bent & in borwe, þat abide wolde.
Þe Jewes to Ierusalem, þ[ere] Josephus dwelde,
Flowen, as þe foule doþ, þat faucoun wolde strike.
A cite vnder Syon sett was ful noble
With many toret & tour, þat toun to defende.
Princes & prelates & poreil of þe londe,
Clerkes & comens of contrees aboute,
Wer schacked to þat cite, sacrifice to make
At paske tyme, as preched hem prestes of þe lawe.
Many swykel at þe sweng to þe swerd ȝede;
For penyes passed non, þoȝ he pay wolde,
Bot diden alle to þe deþe & drowen hem after
With engynes to Jerusalem þer Jewes wer þykke.
Þey sette sadly a sege þe cite alle aboute,
Piȝten pauelouns doun of pallen webbes,
With ropis of riche silk, raysen vp swyþe
Grete tentis as a toun, of torke[is] cloþys,
Choppyn ouer þe cheuentayns with charboklis four
A gay egle of gold on a gilde appul,
With grete dragouns grym, alle in gold wroȝte,
& [þer] to lyouns two, lyande þer vnder.
Paled & paynted þe paueloun was vmbe,
Stoked ful of storijs, strayned myd armys
Of quaynte colour to know, kerneld a-lofte,
An hundred stondyng on stage in þat stede one.
Toured with torettes was þe tente þanne,
Suþ britaged a-boute, briȝt to byholde.
Er alle þe sege was sette, ȝit of þe cite comyn
Messengeres, wer made fram maistres of þe lawe;
To þe chef cheuentayn þey chosen her wey,
Deden mekly by mouþe her message attonys,
Sayen: “Þe cite haþ [vs] sent to serche ȝour wille,
To here þe cause of ȝour comyng, [& what] ȝe coueyte wolde.”
Waspasian no word to þe wyes schewed,
Bot sendeþ sondismen aȝen, xii siker knyȝtes,
ȝaf hem charge to go, & þe gomes telle,
Þat alle þe cause of her com[e] was Crist forto venge.
“Sayþ, y bidde hem be boun, bishopes & oþer,
To morow or [mydday] [modur nakyd] alle,
Vp her ȝates to ȝelde, with ȝerdes an hande,
Eche whiȝt in a white scherte, & no wede ellys,
Jewyse for Iesu Crist by juggement to take,
& make hem come, þat Iesu Crist þroȝ conseil bytrayede;
Or y to þe walles schal wende & walten alle ouere;
Schal no ston vpon ston stonde, by y passe.”
Þis sondismen sadly to þe cite ȝede,
Þer þe lordes of þe londe lent weren alle,
Tit tolden her tale, & wonder towe made,
Of Crist & of Cayphas, & how þey come scholde.
& when þe knyȝtes of Crist carpyn bygonn,
Þe Jewes token alle xii, with-out tale mor,
Her hondis bounden at her bak with borden stauys,
And of flocken her fa[x], & her fair berdis,
Made hem naked as a nedel to þe neþer houe,
Her visages blecken with bleche, & al þe body after,
Suþ knyt with a corde to eche knyȝtes swer
A chese, & charged hem her chyuentayn to ber:
“Sayþ, vnbuxum we beþ, his biddyng to ȝete,
Ne noȝt dreden his dom, his deþ haue we atled;
He schal vs fynde in þe felde, ne no ferr seke,
To morowe pryme or hit passe, & so ȝour prince telliþ.
Þe burnes busken out of burwe, bounden alle twelf,
Aȝen message to make fram þe maister Jewes.
Was neuer Waspasian so wroþe, as whan þe wyes come,
Þat wer scorned & schende vpon schame wyse.
Þis knyȝtes byfor þe kyng vpon knees fallen
& tolden þe tale, as hit tid hadde:
“Of þy manace ne þy myȝt þey make bot lyte:
Þus ben we tourned of our tyre, in tokne of þe soþe,
& bounden for our bolde speche; þe batail þey willeþ
To morowe prime or hit passe, þey put hit no ferre.
Hit schal be satled on þy-self, þe same þat þou atlest,
Þus han þey certifiet þe, & sende þe þis cheses.”
Wode wedande wroþ Waspasian was þanne,
Layde wecche to þe walle & warned in haste,
Þat alle maner of men in þe morowe scholde
Be sone after þe sonne assembled in þe felde.
He streyȝt up a standard in a stour wyse,
Bild as a belfray, bretful of wepne;
Whan oȝt fauted in þe folke, þat to þe feld longed,
Atte þe belfray to be, botnyng to fynde.
A dragoun was dressed, drawyn a lofte,
Wyde gapande, of gold, gomes to swelwe,
With arwes armed in þe mouþe, & also he hadde
A fauch[ou]n vnder his feet, with four kene bladdys,
Þer of þe poyntes wer piȝt in partyis four
Of þis wlonfulle wor[l]de, þer þei werr fondyn.
In forbesyn to þe folke þis fauchoun hengeþ,
Þat þey hadde wonnen with [werre] al þe world riche.
A bal of brennande gold þe beste was on sette,
His taille trayled þer a-boute, þat tourne scholde he neuere,
Whan he was lifte vp-on lofte, þer þe lord werred,
Bot ay lokande on þe londe, tille þat al lauȝte wer,
Þer by þe cite myȝt se, no setlyng wolde rise
Ne no trete of no trewes, bot þe toun ȝelde,
Or ride on þe Romayns, for þey han her rede take,
Þer britned to be or þe [burghe] wynne.
His wynges sprad wer abrode, boun forto flee,
With belles bordored a-boute, al of briȝt seluere,
Redy, whan ouȝte runnen to rynge ful loude
With eche [wap] of a [wynde], þat to þe wynges sprongyn.
Ibrytaged aboute þe belfray was þanne
With a tenful tour, þat ouer þe toun gawged.
Þe b[est] by þe briȝnesse burnes myȝt knowe
Four myle þer fro, so þe feldes schonen;
& on eche pomel wer pyȝt penseles hyȝe
Of selke & sendel, with seluere ybetyn.
Hit glitered as gled fur, ful of gold riche,
Ouer al þe cite to se, as þe sonne bemys.
Byfor þe four ȝates he formes to lenge
Sixtene þousand by somme, while þe sege lasteþ,
Sette ward [to] þe walles, þat noȝt awey scaped,
Sixe þousand in sercle þe cite alle a-boute.
Was noȝt, while þe nyȝt laste, bot nehyng of stedis,
Strogelyng in stele wede & stuffyng of helmes.
With armyng of olyfauntes & oþer arwe bestes,
Aȝen þe cristen to come with castels on bake.
Waspasya[n] in stele wede & his wyes alle,
Weren diȝt forþ by day, & drowen to þe vale
Of Josophat, þer Jesu Crist schal juggen alle þinges,
Bigly batayled hym þer, to abide þis oþer.
Þe fauward Titus toke, to telle vpon ferste,
With six þousand soudiours, assyned for þe nones,
& mony in þe myd-ward wer merked to lenge,
Þer Waspasian was with princes & dukes;
& sixtene þousand in þe þridde with a þryuande knyȝt,
Sir Sabyn of Surrie, a siker man of armes,
Þat prince was of Prouynce & michel peple ladde,
Fourty hundred in helmes & harnays to schewe,
& ten þousand atte tail at þe tentis lafte,
Hors & harnays fram harmyng to kepe.
By þat bemys on þe burwe blowen ful loude,
& baners beden hem forþ. Now blesse vs our lorde!

Þe Jewes assembled wer sone, & of þe cite come
An hundred þousand on hors, with hamberkes a-tired,
With-out folke vpon fot, at þe four ȝates,
Þat preset to þe place, with pauyes on hande.
Fyf & twenti olyfauntes, defensable bestes,
With brode castels on bak out of burwe come;
& on eche olyfaunte armed men manye,
Ay an hundred an hey, an hundred with-yn.
Þo drowen dromedarius doun, deuelich þicke,
[An] hundred þousand, & yheled with harnays of mayle,
Eche beste with a big tour, þer bold men wer ynne,
Twenty, told by tale, in eche tour euene.
Cameles closed in stele comen out þanne
Ffaste toward þe feld, a ferlich nonbr,
Busked to batail, & on bak hadde
Echon a toret of tre, with ten men of armes.
Chares ful of chosen, charged with wepne
A wonder nonbr þer was, who so wite lyste.
Many douȝti þat day, þat was adradde neuer,
Wer fond fey in þe feld, er þat fiȝt endid.
An olyfaunt yarmed came out at þe laste,
Keuered myd a castel, was craftily ywroȝt,
A tabernacle in þe tour atyred was riohe,
Piȝt as a paueloun, on pileres of seluere,
A which of white seluere wal[w]ynde þer-ynne
On four goions of gold, þat hit fram grounde bar,
A c[h]osen chayr þer-by on charbokeles twelfe,
Betyn al with barn[d] gold, with brennande sergis.
Þe chekes of þe chayr wer cha[r]bokles fyue,
Conered myd a riche cloþe, þer Cayphas was sette.
A plate of pulsched gold was piȝt on his breste,
With many preciose perle & pured stones.
Lered men of þe lawe, þat loude couþe synge,
With sawters seten hym by & þe psalmys tolde
Of douȝty David þe kyng, & oþer der storijs
Of Joseph, þe noble Jewe, & Judas þe knyȝt.
Cayphas of þe kyst kyppid a rolle
& radde, how þe folke ran þroȝ þe re[d]e wa[ters],
Whan Pharao & his ferde wer in þe floode drouned;
& myche of Moyses lawe he mynned þat tyme.
Whan þis faiþles folke to þe feld comen,
& batayled after þe bent with many burne kene,
For baneres þat blased & bestes y-armed,
Myȝt no man se þrow þe sonne, ne þe cite knowe.
Waspasian dyuyseþ þe [vale] alle a-boute,
Þat was with baneres ouer-sprad to þe borwe wallis,
To barouns & bold men, þat hym a-boute wer,
Seiþ: “Lordlynges,” a-loude, “lestenyþ my speche:
Her nys king noþer knyȝt comen to þis place,
Baroun, ne burges, ne burne, þat me folweþ,
Þat þe cause of his come nys Crist forto venge
Vpon þe faiþles folke þat hym fayntly slowen.
Byholdeþ þe heþyng & þe harde woundes,
Þe betyng & þe byndyng, þat þe body hadde:
Lat neuer þis lawles ledis lauȝ at his harmys,
Þat bouȝt vs fram bale with blod of his herte.
[I] quycke clayme þe querels of alle quyk burnes,
& clayme of euereche kyng, saue of Crist one,
Þat þis peple to pyne no pite ne hadde:
Þat preueþ his passioun, who so þe paas redeþ.
Hit nediþ noȝt at þis note of Nero to mynde,
Ne to trete of no trewe for tribute þat he askeþ;
Þat querel y quik cleyme, [qweþer] he ne wilneþ
Of þis rebel to Rome, bot resoun to haue.
Bot mor þing in our mynde myneþ [vs] to-day,
Þat by resoun to Rome þe regnance fallyþ,
Boþe þe myȝt & þe mayn, [&] maist[rie] o[n] e[rþe],
& lord[chipe] of eche londe, þat liþe vnder heuen.
Lat neuer þis faiþles folke with fiȝt [of] vs wynne
Hors ne harnays, bot þey hit hard byen,
Plate ne pesan ne pendauntes ende,
While any lyme may laste; or we þe lif haue,
For þei ben feyn[t] at þe fiȝt, fals of byleue,
& wel wenen at a wap alle þe wo[r]ld quelle,
Noþer groounded on god, ne on no grace tristen,
Bot alle in st[erynne]s of stour & in strengþ one;
& we ben diȝt to day driȝten to serue:
Hey heuen kyng [take] hede to his owne!”
Þe ledes louten hym alle & a-loude sayde:
“To day, þat fleþe any fote, þe fende haue his soule!”
Bemes blowen anon, blonkes to neȝe,
Stedis stampen in þe felde stif steil vnder,
Stiþe men in stiropys striden alofte;
Knyȝtes croysen hem-self, cacchen her helmys
With loude clarioun cry & alle kyn pypys;
Tymbris & tabourris, tonelande loude,
ȝeuen a schillande schout, schrynken þe Jewes,
As womman schal in a swem, whan hir þe water neȝeþ.
Lacchen launces a-non, lepyn to gedris,
As fur out of flynt ston ferde hem bytwene,
Doust drof vpon lofte, dymedyn alle aboute,
As þonder & þicke rayn, þrowolande in skyes.
[Þei] beren burnes þrow, brosten launces,
Knyȝtes crosschen doun to þe cold erþe,
Ffouȝt faste in þe felde, & ay þe fals vnder,
Doun swowande to swelt with out swar more.
Tytus tourneþ hym to, tolles of þe beste,
For-justes þe jolieste with joyn[yng] of werr.
Suþ with a briȝt bronde he betiþ on harde,
Tille þe brayn & þe blod on þe bent ornen;
Souȝt þroȝ an oþer side with a sore wepne
Bet on þe broun stele, while þe bladde laste,
An hey breydeþ þe brond, & as a bore lokeþ,
How hetterly doun, hente who so wolde.
Alle briȝtned þe bent, as bemys of sonne,
Of þe gilden ger & þe goode stones.
Ffor schyueryng of sche[l]des, & schynyng of helmes
Hit ferde, as alle þe firmament vp-on a fur wer.
Waspasian in þe vale þe fanward byholdeþ,
How þe heþyn her heldiþ to grounde,
Cam with a fair ferde þe fals men to mete.
As greued griffouns girden in samen,
Spakly her speres, on sprotes þey ȝeden,
Scheldes as schidwod, on scholdres to-cleuen,
Schoken out of scheþes, þat scharpe w[ere] ygrounde,
& mallen metel, . þroȝ vn-mylt hertes,
Hewen on þe heþen, hurtlen to-gedr
For-schorne gild schroud, sch[o]dered burne[s].
Baches woxen ablode a-boute in þe vale,
& goutes fram gold wede as goteres þey runne.
Sir Sabyn setteþ hym vp, whan hit so ȝede,
Rideþ myd þe rereward, & alle þe route folweþ.
Kenely þe castels came to assayle,
Þat þe bestes on her bake out of burwe ladden,
Atles on þe olyfauntes, þat orible wer,
Girdiþ out þe guttes with grounden speres.
R[o]ppis rispen forþ, þat redles an hundred
Scholde be busy to burie þat on a bent lafte.
Castels clateren doun, cameles brosten,
Dromedaries to þe deþ drowen ful swyþe.
Þe blode fomed hem fro in þe flasches aboute,
Þ[at] kne-depe in þe dale dascheden stedes.
Þe burnes in þe bretages, þat a-boue wer,
For þe doust & þe dyn, as alle doun ȝede,
Al for-stoppette in stele, storte-blynde wexen,
Whan hurdiȝs & hard erþe hurtled to gedre,
& vnder dromedaries doun diȝten hem sone.
Was non left vpon lyue, þat a lofte standeþ,
Saue [ane] o-lepy olyfaunt at þe grete ȝate,
Þer as Cayphas þe clerke in castel rideþ;
He say þe wrake on hem wende, & away tourneþ
With twelf maystres made of Moyses lawe.
An hundred helmed men hien hem after,
Er þey of castel myȝt come, cauȝten hem alle,
Bounden þe bischup on bycchyd wyse,
Þat þe blode out barst eche band vnder,
& broȝten [to] þe [berfraye] alle [þo] bew clerkes
Þer þe standard stode, & stadded hem þer.
Þe beste & þe britage & alle þe briȝt ger,
Chair & chaundelers & charbokel stones,
Þe rolles, þat þey redden [on], & alle þe riche bokes
Þey broȝte myd þe bischup, þou hym bale þouȝte.
Anon þe feyþles folke fayleden herte,
Tourned toward þe toun & Tytus hem after;
Ffel[d]e of þe fals ferde in þe felde lefte,
An hundred in her helmes, myd his honde one.
Þe fals Jewes in þe felde fallen so þicke
As hail froward heuen, hepe ouer oþer;
So was þe bent ouer-brad, blody by-runne,
With ded bodies aboute alle þe brod vale.
Myȝt no stede doun stap bot on stele wede,
Or on burne, oþer on beste, or on briȝt scheldes;
So myche was þe multitude, þat on þe molde lafte,
Þer so many wer mar[red]; mereuail wer ellis.
ȝit wer þe Romayns as rest, as þey fram Rome come,
[Vnrevyn] eche a renk, & noȝt a ryng brosten;
Was no poynt perschid of alle her pris armur,
So Crist his Knyȝtes gan kepe, tille complyn tyme.
An hundred þousand helmes of þe heþen syde
Wer fey fallen in þe felde, [þat no freke skapide,]
Saue seuen þousand of þe somme, þat to þe cite flowen,
& wy[nnen with mychel wo þe walles with-ynne.
Ledes lepen to a-non, louken þe ȝates,
Barren hem bigly with boltes of yren,
Brayden vp brigges with brouden chaynes
& portecolis with pile picchen to grounde.
Þei wynnen vp whyȝtly þe walles to kepe,
Fr[e]sche vnfonded folke, & grete defence made,
Tyeþ in-to tourres tonnes ful manye
With grete stones of gret & of gray marble,
Kepten kenly with caste þe kernels alofte,
Quar[r]en qu[a]rels out with quart[ote]s attonys.
Þat oþer folke at þe fote freshly assayled,
Tille eche dale with dewe was donked aboute.
With-drowen hem fro þe diche, dukes & oþer,
[For] þe caste was so kene, þat come fram þe walles;
Comen forþe with þe kyng, clene as þey ȝede,
W[ant]ed noȝt o wye, ne non þat wem hadde.
Princes to her pauelouns passen on swyþe,
Vnarmen hem as tyt & alle þe nyȝt resten
With wacche vmbe þe walles to many wyes sorowe;
Þey wolle noȝt þe heþen her so harmeles be lafte.
Sone as þe rede day ros [o]n þe schye,
Bemes blowen anon, burnes to aryse.
Þe kyng comaundeþ a cry, þat comsed was sone,
Þe ded bodies on þe bonke bar forto make;
To spoyle þe spilt folke, spar scholde none.
Geten girdeles & ger gold & goode stones,
Byes, broches bryȝt, besauntes riche,
Helmes hewen of gold, hamberkes manye.
Kesten ded vpon ded, was deil to byholde,
Made wide weyes & to þe walles comen,
Assembleden at þe cite, saut to bygynne,
Ffolke ferlich þycke, at þe four ȝates.
Þey broȝten toures of tre, þat þey taken hadde,
A-ȝen euereche ȝate, ȝarken hem hey;
By-gonnnen at þe grettist a garrite to rer,
Groded vp fro þe grounde on xij grete postes.
[It] was wonderlich wide, wroȝt vpon hyȝte,
Ffyue hundred in frounte, to fiȝten at þe walles.
Hardy men vp-on haste hyen at þe grecys
& bygonnnen with bir þe borow to assayle.
Quarels, flambande of fur flowen out harde,
& arwes [vn]arwely with attyr enuenymyd;
Taysen at þe toures, tachen on þe Jewes;
Þroȝ kernels cacchen her deþ many kene burnes.
brenten & beten doun þat bilde was wel þycke,
Brosten þe britages & þe brode toures.
By þat was many bold burne þe burwe to assayle,
Þe hole batail boun, a-boute þe brode walles,
Þat wer byg & brode & bycchet to wynne,
Wonder heye to byholde, with holwe diches vnder,
Heye bonked a-bou[t]e, vpon boþe sydes,
Riȝt wicked to wynne, bot ȝit wyles helpe.
Bow-men atte bonke benden her ger,
Schoten vp scharply to þe schene walles
With arwes & arblastes & alle þat harme myȝt,
To affray þe folke þat defence made.
Þe Jewes werien þe walles with wyles ynowe,
Hote [p]l[ay]ande picche a-monge þe peple ȝeten,
Brenn[a]n[d] leed & brynston, barels fulle,
Schoten schynande doun riȝt as schyr water.
Waspasian wendeþ fram þe walles, wariande hem alle;
Oþer busked wer boun, benden engynes,
Kesten at þe kernels & clustred toures,
& monye der daies worke dongen to grounde.
By þat wriȝtes han wroȝt a wonder stronge pale
Alle aboute þe burwe, with bastiles manye,
Þat [no freke in myȝt fonde with-owttyn fethyrhames,]
[Ne] no segge vnder sonne myȝt fram þe cite passe.
Suþ dommyn þe diches with þe ded corses,
Crammen hit myd karayn þe kirnels vnder,
Þat þe stynk of þe steem myȝt strike ouer þe walles,
To coþe þe corsed folke þat hem kepe scholde.
Þe cors of þe condit þat comen to [þe] toun,
Stoppen, euereche a streem, þer any str[ande] ȝede,
With stockes & stones & stynkande bestes,
Þat þey no water myȝt wynne, þat weren enclosed.
Waspasian tourneþ to his tente with Titus & oþer,
Commaundeþ consail anon on Cayphas to sitte,
W[hat] deþ by dome þat he dey scholde,
With þe lettered ledes þat þey lauȝte hadde.
Domes-men vpon de[y]s demeden swyþe
Þat ech freke wer quyk fleyn, þe selles of clene,
Þen to be on a bent with blonkes to-drawe,
& suþ honget on an hep vpon heye galwes,
Þe feet to þe firmament, alle folke to byholden,
With hony vpon ech [halfe] þe hydeles anoynted;
Corres & cattes with claures ful scharpe
Ffour kagge[d] & knyt to Cayphases þeyes,
Twey apys at his armes to angren hym mor,
Þat renten þe rawe flesche vpon rede peces.
So was he pyned fram prime with persched sides,
Tille þe sonne doun souȝt in sommere-tyme.
Þe lered men of þe lawe a litel bynyþe
Weren tourmented on a tre, topsail walten,
Knyt to euerech clerke kene corres twey,
Þat alle þe cite myȝt se þe sorow þat þey dryuen.
Þe Jewes walten ouer þe walles for wo at þat tyme,
Seuen hundred slow hem-self for sorow of her clerkes,
Somme hent her heer & fram þe hed pulled,
& somme [down] for deil dasch[e]de to grounde.
Þe kyng lete drawen hem a-doun, whan þey dede wer,
Bade a bole-fur betyn, to brennen þe corses;
Kesten Cayphas þer-yn & his clerkes twelf,
& brenten euereche bon in-to þe browne askes.
Suþ went to þe walle on þe wynde syde,
& alle a-brod on þe burwe blewen þe powder:
“Þer is doust [to] ȝour drynke!” a du[ke] to hem crieþ,
& bade hem bible of þat broþ for þe bischopes soule.
Þus ended coursed Cayphas & his clerkes alle,
Al to-brused myd bestes, brent at þe laste,
In tokne of tresoun & trey þat he wroȝt,
Whan Crist þrow his conseil was cacched to deþ.
By þat was þe day don, dym[m]ed þe skyes,
Merked [þe] montayns & mores a-boute,
Foules fallen to fote & her feþres r[y]s[t]en,
Þe nyȝt-wacche to þe walle & waytes to blowe;
Bryȝt fures a-boute betyn a-brode in þe oste,
Þe kyng & his consail carpen to-gedr,
Chosen chyuentayns out & chiden no mor,
Bot charged þe chek-wecche & to chambr wenten,
Kynges & knyȝtes to cacchen hem reste.
Waspasian lyþ in his logge, litel he slepiþ,
Bot walwyþ & wyndiþ & waltreþ a-boute,
Ofte tourneþ for tene & on þe toun þynkeþ.
Whan schadewes & schir day scheden attwynne,
Leuerockes vpon lofte lyften her steuenes,
Burnes busken hem out of bedde with bemes loude,
Boþe blowyng on bent & on þe burwe walles.
Waspasian bounys of bedde, busked hym fayr
Fram þe fote to þe fourche in fyne gold cloþes.
Suþ putteþ þe prince ouer his pal[l]e[n] wedes
A brynye, browded þicke, with a brest-plate,
[Þe] gra[te was] of gray steel & of gold riche;
Þer-ouer he casteþ a cote, colour[ede] of his armys;
A grete girdel of gold with-out ger oþer
Layþ vmbe his lendis, with lacchetes ynow.
A bryȝt burnesched swerd he belteþ alofte,
Of pur purged gold þe pomel & þe hulte;
A brod schynande scheld on scholdir he hongiþ,
Bocklyd myd briȝt gold, abou[t]e at þe necke.
Þe glowes of gray steel, þat wer with gold hemmyd,
Hauleþ [ouer] harnays & his hors askeþ;
Þe gold hewen helme haspeþ he blyue,
With viser & with a-vental deuysed for þe nones.
A croune of clene gold was closed vpon lofte,
Rybaunde vmbe þe rounde helm, ful of riche stones,
Pyȝt prudely with perles in-to þe pur corners,
& so with saphyres sett þe sydes a-boute.
He strideþ on a stif stede & strikeþ ouer þe bente,
Liȝt as a lyoun, wer loused out of cheyne.
His segges se[y]en hym alle, & echon sayþ to oþer:
“þis is a comlich kyng, knyȝtes to lede!”
He boweþ to þe barres, or he bide wolde,
Betynge on with þe brond on þe bras rynges:
“Comeþ, caytifes, forþ, ȝe þat Crist slowen,
Knoweþ hym for ȝour kyng, or ȝe cacche mor.
Wayteþ doun fro þe walle, what wo is on hande;
May ȝe fecche ȝou no fode, þoȝ ȝe fey worþe,
& þoȝ ȝe waterles wede, wynne ȝe noȝt o droppe,
Þoȝ ȝe deþ scholde dey, daies in ȝour lyue.
Þe pale þat I piȝt haue, passe hit who myȝt,
Þat is so byg on þe bonke & haþ þe burowe closed,
Ffourty to fyȝten aȝene fyue hundred,
Þoȝ ȝe wer etnes echon in scholde [ȝ]e [tourne].
& more manschyp wer hit ȝit mercy by-seche,
Þan metles marr þer no myȝt helpys.”
Was non þat warpiþ a word, bot waytes her poyntes,
ȝif [any] stertis on st[r]ay, with stones hem to kylle.
Þan wroþ as a wode bore he wendeþ his bridul:
“ȝif ȝe as dogges wol dey, þe deuel haue þat recche,
& or I wende fro þis walle, ȝe schul wordes schewe
& efte spakloker speke, or y ȝour speche owene.”
By þat a Jewe Josophus, þe gentyl clerke,
Hadde wroȝt a wonder wyle, whan hem water fayled;
Made wedes of wolle in wete for to plunge,
Water-waschen as þey wer, & on þe walle hengen.
Þe wedes dropeden doun, d[r]yed ȝerne,
Rich rises hem fro; þe Romayns byholden,
Wenden wel, her wedes hadde wasschyng so ryue,
Þat no wye in þe wone water schold fayle.
Waspasian þe wile wel ynow knewe,
Loude lawȝ[eþ] þer-at & lordlynges byddis:
“No burne abasched be, þoȝ þey þis bost make:
Hit beþ bot wyles of werr, for water hem fayleþ.”
Þan was no-þyng bot a newe note to bygynne,
Assaylen on eche a side þe cite by halues,
Merken myd manglouns ful vn-mete dyntes,
& myche of masouns note þey marden þat tyme.
Þer-of was Josophus war, þat myche of werr couþe,
& sette on þe walle side sakkes myd chaf,
Aȝens þe streyngþe of þe stroke, þer þe stones hytte,
Þat alle dered noȝt a dyȝs, bot grete dy[n] made.
Þe Romayns runne to a-non & on roddes knytte
Siþes for þe sackes, þat selly wer kene,
Raȝten to þe ropis, rent hem in sonder,
Þat alle dasschande doun in-to þe diche flatten.
Bot Josophus þe gynful her engynes alle
Brente with brennande oyle & myche bale wroȝt.
Waspasian wounded was þer wonderlich sore
Þrow þe hard of þe hele with an hande-darte,
Þat boot þrow þe bote & þe bone nayled
Of þe frytted fote in þe folis syde.
Sone assembled hym to many sadde hundred,
Þat wolden wrecken þe wounde, oþer wo habben.
Þey bowyn to þe barres, bekered ȝerne,
Fouȝt riȝt felly, foyned with speres,
Jo[k]ken Jewes þroȝ; engynes by þanne
Wer manye bent at þe bonke & to þe burwe þrewen.
Þer wer selcouþes sen, as segges mowe here:
A burne with a balwe-ston was þe brayn cloue,
Þe gretter pese of þe panne þe pyble forþ strikeþ,
Þat hit flow in-to þe feld, a forlong or more.
A womman, bounden with a barn, was on þe body hytte
With þe ston o[f] a staf[-slyng], as þe storyj telleþ,
Þat þe barn out brayde fram þe body clene
& was born vp as a bal ouer þe burwe walles.
Burnes wer brayned & brosed to deþ,
Wymmen wide open walte vnder stones,
Frosletes fro þe ferst to þe flor þrylled,
& many toret doun tilte þe temple a-boute.
Þe cite had ben seised myd saut at þat tyme,
Nad þe folke be so fers, þat þe fende serued,
Þat kilden on þe cristen, & kepten þe walles
With arwes & arblastes & archers manye,
With speres & spryngoldes sponnen out hard,
Dryuen dartes a-doun, ȝeuen depe woundes,
Þat manye renke out of Rome [by] rest[ing] of þ[e] s[o]nne
Was mychel leuer a leche þan layke myd his ton.
Waspasian stynteþ of þe stour, steweþ his burnes,
Þat wer for-beten & bled vnder bryȝt yren;
Tyen to her tentis myd tene þat þey hadde,
Al wery of þat werk & wounded ful sore.
Helmes & hamberkes hadden of sone,
Leches by torche-liȝt loken her hurtes,
Waschen woundes with wyn & with wolle stoppen,
With oyle & orisoun ordeyned in charme.
Suþ euereche a segge to þe soper ȝede;
Þoȝ þey wounded wer was no wo nempned
Bot daunsyng & no deil with dynnyng of pipis
& þe nakerer noyse alle þe nyȝt-tyme.
Whan þe derk was doun & þe day spr[o]ngen,
Sone after þe sonne sembled þe grete,
Comen forþ-with þe kyng conseil to her,
Alle þe knyȝthod clene þat for Crist werred.
Waspasian waiteþ a-wide, his wyes byholdeþ,
Þat wer frescher to fiȝt þan at þe furst tyme,
Prayeþ princes on ernest & alle þe peple after
Þat eche wye of þat werr schold his wille specke.
“For or þis toun be tak & þis toures heye
Michel tor[fere] & tene vs tides on hande.”
Þay tourned alle to Titus & hym þe tale scheweþ
Of þe cite & þe sege to seyn for hem alle.
Þan Titus tourneþ hem to & talkyng bygynneþ;
“Þus to layke with þis les[e folke] vs lympis þe worse,
For þey ben fel[l]e of defence, ferce men & noble,
& þis toured toun is tenful to wynne.
Þe worst wrecche in þe wone may on walle lygge,
Strike doun with a ston & stuny many knyȝtes,
Whan we schul houe & byholde & litel harme wirche,
& ay þe loþe of þe layk liȝt on vs-selue.
Now mowe þey ferke no ferr her fode forto wynne;
Wolde we stynt of our strif, whyle þëy her stor ma[r]den
We scholde with [hunger] hem honte, to hoke out of toun,
[With-owttyn weme or wounde or any wo ells;]
For þer as fayleþ þe fode þer is feynt strengþe,
& þer as hunger is hote, hertes ben feble.”
Alle assenteden to þe sawe, þat to þe [sege] longed,
Apaied as þe prince & þe peple wolde.
To þe kyng wer called constables þanne,
Marchals, maser[s] men þat he to tristiþ;
He chargeþ hem che[f]ly for chaunce þat may falle,
With wacche of waled men þe walles to kepe:
“For we wol hunten at þe hart þis heþes aboute,
& hur racches renne a-monge þis rowe bonkes,
Ride to þe reuer & rer vp þe foules,
Se faucouns fle, fole of þe beste,
Ech segge to þe solas, þat hym-self lyked.”
Princes out of pauelouns presen on stedes,
Torn[ei]en, trifflyn & on þe toun wayten,
Þis lyf þey ledde longe, & [lord] ȝyue vs grace!

In Rome Nero haþ now mychel noye wroȝt,
To deþ pyned þe pope & mychel peple quelled,
Petr apostlen prince & seint Poule [also],
Senek & þe senatours, & alle þe cite fured,
His modir & his my[l]de wif murdred to deþe,
Combred Cristen fele, þat on Crist leued.
Þe Romayns resen a-non, whan þey þ[i]s rewþe seyen,
To quelle þe emperour quyk, þat hem vnquemed hadde.
Þey pressed to his paleys, porayle & oþer,
To br[it]ten þe bold kyng ïn his burwe riche;
Þe cite & þe senatours assented hem boþe,
Non oþer dede was to doun, þey han his dome ȝolden.
Þan flowe þat freke frendles alone,
Out at a pore posterne, & alle þe peple folwed,
With a tronchoun of tre, toke he no more
Of alle þe glowande gold þat he on grounde hadde.
On þat tronchoun with his teþ he toggeþ & byteþ,
Tille hit was piked at þe poynt as a pokes ende.
Þan abideþ þat burne & biterlych spekeþ
To alle þe wyes þat þer wer wordes aloude:
“Tourneþ, traytours, aȝen: schal neuer þe tale rise
Of no karl by þe coppe, how he his kyng quelde.”
Hym-self he strykeþ myd þat staf: streȝt to þe hert,
Þat þe colke to-clef & þe kyng deyed.
Six monþe after & no mor þis myschef bytydde,
Þat Waspasian was went to werry on þe Jewes;
Four mettyn myle out of Rome, to mynde for euere,
Þat erst was emperour of alle, þus ended in sorow.
Þe grete to-gedres þan [gete] hem an-oþer,
On Gabba, a gome þat mychel grem hadde
Þroȝ Othis L[ucy]us, a lord þat hym longe hated,
& at þe last þat lord out of lyf hym broȝt.
Amydde þe market of Rome þe[y] mette to-gedres,
Othis falliþ hym fey; ȝaf hym fale woundes,
Þat four monþes & [no] mor hadde mayntened þe croune;
& þo deyed þe duke & þe diademe lefte.
& whan þat Gabba was gon & to grounde broȝt,
Othis entriþ on ernest & emperour was made;
Þe man in his maieste was monþes bot þre,
Þan he ȝeldeþ Sathanas þe soule & hym-self quelled.
Þe Romayns risen vp a renk, Rome for to kepe,
A knyȝt þat Vitel was calde, & hym þe croune rauȝte.
Bot for sir Sabyns sake, a segge þat was noble,
Waspasian broþer of blode, [þat] he brytned hadde,
Waspasian vpon Vitel to vengen his broþer,
S[en]t out of Surrie segges to Rome,
Þat [a]s naked as an nedul þe newe emperour,
For sir Sabyns sake alle þe cite drowe hym;
Suþ gored þe gome, þat his guttes alle
As a bowe[l]ed beste in-to his breche felle;
Doun ȝer[m]ande he ȝede, & ȝeldeþ þe soule,
& [þey] kayȝt þe cors, & kast in-to Tybre.
Seuen monþes þis [segge] hadde septre on hande,
& þus loste he þe lyf for his luþer dedes;
An oþer segge was to seke þat septre schold haue,
For alle þis grete ben gon & neuer agayn tournen.
Now of þe cite & of þe sege wolle y sey mor,
How þis comelich kyng, þat for Crist werreþ,
Haþ holden yn þe heþen men þis oþer half wynter,
Þat neuer burne was so bold, þe burwe for to passe.
As he to dyner on a day with dukes was sette,
Comen renkes fram Rome, rapande swyþe,
In bruneys & in bryȝt wede, with bodeworde newe,
Louten alle to þe lord, letres hym rauȝten;
Sayn: “Comelich kyng! þe knyȝthod of Rome,
Þroȝ þe senatours assent & alle þe cite ellis,
Han chosen þe her chyuentayn, her chef lord to worþe,
And riche emperour of Rome: þus redeþ þis letres.”
Þe lord vnlappeþ þe lef, þis letres byholdeþ,
Ouer-lokeþ ech a lyne to þe last ende;
Bordes born wer doun, & þe burne riseþ,
Calleþ consail a-non & kyþeþ þis speche:
“ȝe ben burnes of my blod, þat y best wolde,
My sone is next to my-self, & oþer sib manye,
Sir Sabyn of Surrie, a segge þat y triste,
& oþer frendes fele, þat me fayþ owen:
Now is me bodeword of blys broȝt froward Rome,
To be lord ouer þat lond as þis letres spekeþ.
Sir Sabyn of Surrie, sey þe by-houyþ,
How y myȝt sauy my-self, & I so wroȝt;
Ffor y haue heylych heyȝt her forto lenge,
[Tille] me þe ȝates ben ȝet & ȝolden þe keyes,
[And] I þis toured [t]oun ha[ue] taken at wille,
& suþ houshed on hem þat þis hold kepyn,
Brosten & betyn doun þis britages heye,
Þat neuer ston in þat stede stond vpon oþer.
Kyþe þ[i] consail, sir knyȝt,” þis kyng to hym sayde,
“For y wol worche by þy witt, ȝif worschip may folowe!”
Þan seiþ sir Sabyn a-non “Semelich lord,
We ben wyes þe with, þy worschup to furþer,
Of longe tyme bylafte, & ledes þyn owen;
Þat we doun is þy dede, may no man demen elles.
Þe dom demed was þer, who so doþ by anoþer,
Schal be soferayn hym-self, sein in þe werke,
For as fers is þe freke atte ferr ende,
Þat of fleis þe fel as he þat foot holdeþ.
Bytake Tytus, þy sone, þis toun for to kepe,
& to þe douȝti duke Domyssian, his broþer;
Her I holde vp myn honde, myd hem for to lenge
With alle þe here þat I haue, while my herte lasteþ;
& þou schalt ride to Rome, & receyue þe croune,
In honour emperour to be as þyn eure schapiþ;
So may þy couenaunt be kept, þat þou to Crist made,
Þy-self dest, þat þy soudiours by þyn assent worchen.”
Þan with a liouns lote he lifte vp þe eyen,
To Titus tourneþ a-non, & hym þe tale schewed,
& as sir Sabyn hadde seid he hym sone granteþ,
With his broþer & þe burne[s], as he hym blesse wolde:
“& I wol tarie at þis toun, til I hit taken haue,
Made weys þrow [þe walles] for wenes & cartes,
Our boþere heste to holde, ȝif me þe happ tydiþ,
Or her be to-hewen, or I hennes passe.”
A boke on a brode scheld was broȝt on to swer,
Alle burnes boden [to] þe honde & barouns hit kyssen,
To be leel to þat lord, þat hem lede scholde,
Sir Titus, þe trewe kyng tille þey þe toun hadde.
Fayn as þe foul of day was þe freke þanne,
Kysseþ knyȝtes a-non with carful wordes:
“My wele & my worschup ȝe weldeþ to kepe,
For þe tresour of my treuþ vpon þis toun hengyþ:
I nold, þis toun wer vn-take, ne þis toures heye,
For alle þe glowande golde vpon grounde riche,
[N]e no ston in þe stede stond[i]n[g] alofte,
Bot alle ouer-tourned & tilt, temple & oþer.”
Þus laccheþ [he] his leeue at his ledes alle,
Wende wepande a-way & on þe walles lokeþ,
Praieþ [god], as he gooþ, hem grace to sende,
To hold þat þey byhot han, & neuer her herte chaunge.
Now is Waspasian went ouer wale stremys
Euen entred in-to Rome & emperour maked,
& Titus for þe tydyng ha[þ] take [so] mychel joye
Þat in his synwys soudeynly a syknesse is fallen.
Þe freke for þe fayndom of þe fader blysse,
With a cramp & a colde cauȝt was so hard
Þat þe fyngres & feet, fustes & joyntes
Was lyþy as a leke & lost han her strengþe.
[He] croked aȝens kynde & as a crepel woxe,
& whan þey sey hym so, many segge wepyþ;
Þey [s]ende to þe cite & souȝten a leche,
Þat couþe keuere þe kyng, & condi[t] delyueryn.
Whan þey þe cyte hadde souȝt with seggys aboute,
Fynde couþe þey no [freke] þat on þe feet couþe,
Saue þe self Josophus, þat surgyan was noble,
& he graunteþ to go with a goode wylle.
Whan he was comen to þe kyng & þe cause wyste,
How þe segge so sodeynly in syknesse is fallen,
Tille he haue complet his cure; condit he askeþ
For what burne of þe burwe þat he brynge wolde.
Þe kyng was glad alle to graunte þat þe gome wylned,
& he ferkiþ hym forth, fettes ful blyue
A man to þe mody kyng þat he moste hated,
& yn bryngeþ þe burne to his beddes syde.
Whan Tytus saw þat segge sodeynly with eyen,
His herte in an hote yre so hetterly riseþ,
Þat þe blode bygan to [br]ed[e] abrode in þe vaynes,
& þe synwes [to] resorte in her self kynde.
Ffeet & alle þe fetoures as þey byfore wer,
comyn in her owen kynd; & þe kyng ryseþ,
Þonkeþ God of his grace & þe goode leche
Of alle, saue þat his enemy was yn on hym broȝt.
Þan sayþ Josophus; “þis segge haþ þe holpyn,
& her haþ be þy bote, þoȝ þou hym bale wolde;
Þerfor graunte hym þy grace a-ȝen his goode dede,
& be frende with þy foman þat frendschup haþ serued!”
Þe kyng satles with þe segge þat hym saued hadde,
& þer graunted hym grace to go wher he wolde;
With Josophus he made joye & jewels hym rauȝte,
Besauntes, byes of gold, broches & ryngys;
Bot alle forsakeþ þe segge: & to þe cite ȝede
With condit as he come; he kepiþ no more,
[And] Tytus segyþ þe toun, þer tene is on hande,
For hard hunger & hote þat hem is bylompyn.
[Nowe] of þe tene in þe toun wer [tor] for to telle
What moryne & meschef for mete is byfalle,
For four dayes byfor þey no fode hadde,
Noþer fisch ne flesch, freke on to byte,
Bred, browet ne broþe ne beste vpon lyue,
Wyn ne water to drynke bot wope of hemself.
Olde scheldes & schone scharply þey eten;
Þat liflode for ladies was luþer to chewe.
Fellen doun for defaute [f]latte to þe grounde,
Ded as a dore-nayl, eche day many hundred;
Wo wakned þycke, as wolues þey ferde;
Þe wy[ght]e waried on þe woke alle his wombe-fille.
On Marie, a myld wyf, for meschef of foode,
Hir owen barn þat ȝo bar. ȝo brad on þe gledis,
Rostyþ rigge & rib with rewful wordes,
Sayþ: “Sone, vpon eche side our sorow is a-lofte,
Batail a-boute þe borwe, our bodies to quelle,
Withyn hunger so hote, þat neȝ our herte brestyþ;
Þerfor ȝeld þat I þe ȝaf & aȝen tourne,
& entr þer þou cam out!” & etyþ a schoulder.
Þe smel roos of þe rost riȝt to þe walles,
Þat fele fastyng folke felde þe sauere;
Doun þei daschen þe dore: dey scholde þe berde,
Þat mete yn þis meschef hadde from men loyned.
Þan saiþ þat worþi wif: “in a wode hunger
Myn owen barn haue I brad & þe bones gnawen;
Ȝit haue I saued ȝou som.” & forþ a side feccheþ
Of þe barn þat ȝo bar & alle hir blode chaungeþ.
A-way þey went for wo, wepyng echone,
& sayn: “Alas, in þis lif how longe schul we dwelle?
Ȝit beter wer at o brayde in batail to deye,
Þan þus in langur to lyue, & lengþen our [p]yne.”
Þan þey demeden a dom, : þat deil was to hure:
To voiden alle by vile deþ þat vitelys destruyed,
Wymmen & weyke folke þat weren of olde age,
Myȝt noȝt stonde in stede bot her stor mardyn.
After [Þay] touche of trewe, to trete with þe lord,
Bot Titus graunteþ noȝt for gile þat þe gomes þenke,
For he is wise, þat is war, or hym wo hape,
& with falsede a-fer is fairest to dele.
To worchyn vnder þe wal w[a]yes þey casten,
Whan Tytus nold no trewe to þe toun graunte,
With mynours & masouns myne þey bygonne,
Grobben faste [i]n þe grounde & god ȝyue vs joye!

As Tytus after [on] a tyme vmbe þe toun r[i]deþ
Wyþ sixty speres of þe sege, segges a fewe,
Alle outwith þe ost, out of a kaue,
Vp a buschment brake alle of briȝt hedis.
Fyf hundred fiȝtyng men fellen hem aboute
In jepouns & jambers Jewes þey wer,
Hadde wroȝt hem a wey & þe wal myned,
& Titus tourneþ hem to without tale mor.
Schaftes schedred wer sone & scheldes yþrelled,
[And many schalke thurghe schotte with þe scharpe ende,]
Brunyes & briȝt wede blody by-runne,
& many segge at þat saute souȝte to þe grounde.
Hacchen vpon hard steel with an herty wylle,
Þat fur out flowe as of flynt stonys;
Of þe helm & þe hed hewen at-tonys,
Þe stompe vnder stede feet in þe steel leueþ.
Þe ȝong duk Domycian of þe dyn herde,
And issed out of þe ost with eȝte hundred speres,
Ffel on þe fals folke, vmbe-feldes hem sone,
As bestes bretnes hem alle & haþ his broþer holpen.
Þan Titus toward his tentis tourneþ hym sone,
Makeþ mynour[s] & men, þe myne to stoppe;
After profreþ pes for pyte þat he hadde,
Whan he wist of her wo þat wer withyn stoken.
Bot Jon þe jenfulle þat þe Jewes ladde,
An oþer Symond of his assent forsoke þe profre,
Sayn, leuer in þis lif lengen hem wer,
Þan any renke out of Rome [re]joycid her sorowe.
Sale in þe cite was cesed with þanne,
Was noȝt for besauntes to bye þat men bite myȝt,
For a ferþyng-worþ of fode floryns an hundred
Princes profren in þe toun to pay in þe fuste;
Bot alle was boteles bale, f[or] who so bred hadde,
Nold a gobet haue [g]ouen for goode vpon [erþ]e.
Wymmen falwed faste & her face chaungen,
Ffeynte & fallen doun, þat so fair wer;
S[ome] swallen as swyn, som swart wexen,
Som lene on to loke, as la[n]terne-hornes.
Þe morayne was so myche, þat no man couþe telle
Wher to burie in þe burwe þe bodies þat wer ded,
Bot wenten with hem to þe walle & walten [hem o]uere;
In-to þe depe of þe diche þe ded doun fallen.
Whan Titus told was þe tale, to trewe god he vouched
Þat [he] hadde profred hem pes & grete pite hadde;
Þo praied he Josophus to preche þe peple [to enforme]
[For] to saue hemself & þe cite ȝelde.
Bot Jon forsoke þe sawe, so forto wyrche,
With Symond, þat oþer segge, þat þe cyte ladde.
Myche peple for þe prechyng at þe posterne ȝatis
Tyen out of þe toun & Tytus bysecheþ,
To for[g]yue hem þe gult, þat þey to god wroȝt;
& he graunteþ hem grace & gaylers bytauȝt.
Bot whan þey metten with mete, vnmyȝty þey wer
Any fode to defye, so faynt was her strengþe,
Fful þe gottes of gold eche gome hadde:
Lest fomen fongen hem schold, her floreyns þey eten.
Whan hit was broȝt vp abrode & þe bourd aspyed,
[Wiþou]ten leue of þat lord, ledes hem slowen,
[G]oren euereche a gome, & þe gold taken;
Ffayn[ere] of þe floreyns [þan of] þe srekes alle.
Ay wer þe ȝates vn[ȝ]et tille two ȝeres ende,
So longe þey [s]ouȝt hit by sege, or þey þe [cite] hadde;
Eleuen hundred þousand Jewes in þe mene whyle
Swalten, while þe sweng last by swerd & by hunger.
Now Titus conseil haþ take þe toun to assayle,
To wynne hit on eche [wise] of warwolues handes,
Neuer pyte ne pees profre hem more,
Ne gome þat he gete may to no grace taken.
[Þei] armen hem as tyt alle for þe werr,
Tyen euen to þe toun with trompis & pypys,
With nakerers & grete noyce neȝen þe walles,
Þer many styf man & stour stondiþ alofte.
Sir Sabyn of Surrye on a syde ȝede,
Þe ȝong duke Domycian drow to an oþer;
XV þousand [fiȝtynge] men eche freke hadde,
With many maner of engyne & mynours ynowe.
Tytus at þe toun ȝate with ten þousand helmes
Merkeþ mynour[s] at þe wal, wher þey myne scholde,
On ech side for þe assaute setteþ engynes,
& bold-brayned men in belfrayes heye.
Was noȝt bot dyn & dyt as alle deye scholde,
So eche lyuande lyf layeþ on oþer;
At eche kernel was cry & quasschyng of wepne,
& many burne atte brayd brayned to deþ.
Sir Sabyn of Surrye whyle þe saute laste,
Leyþ a ladder to þe wal & alofet clymyþ,
Wendeþ wyȝtly þeron, þoȝ hym wo happned,
& vp stondiþ for ston[es] or for steel gere.
Syx he slow on þe wal, sir Sabyn alone;
Þe seueþ hitteþ on hym an vnhende dynte,
Þat þe brayn out brast at boþ nose-þrylles,
& Sabyn ded of þe dynt in-to þe diche falleþ.
Þan Tytus wepyþ for wo & warieþ þe tyme,
Syþ he þe lede haþ lost þat he loue scholde:
“Ffor now is a duke ded þe douȝtiest y trowe,
Þat euer stede bystrode or any steel wered.”
Tytus on þe same side setteþ an engyne,
A sowe wroȝt for þe werr, & to þe wal dryueþ,
Þat alle ouerwalte, þer he went, & wyes an hundred
Wer ded of þat dynt & in þe diche lyȝten.
Þan Tytus heueþ vp þe honde & heuen kyng þonkeþ,
Þat þey þe dukes deþ han so der bouȝte;
Þe Jewes praien þe pees —þis was þe paske-euene—
& þe comelich kyng þe keyes out rauȝten.
“Nay, traytours,” quoþ Tytus now take hem ȝourselfen,
Ffor schal no ward on ȝour wal vs þe way lette;
We han geten vs a gate a[g]en ȝour wille;
Þat schal be satled sour on ȝour sory kynde!”
Or þe ȝates wer ȝolden þre ȝer byfore,
Ouer þe cyte wer seyn selcouþe þynges:
A bryȝt bren[n]yng swerd ouer þe burwe henged
Without hond oþer helpe saue [of] heuen one.
Armed men in þe ayer vpon ost-wyse,
Ouer þe cyte wer seyn sundrede tymes;
A calf aȝen kynde calued in þe temple
& eued an ewe-lombe at [þe] offryng-tyme.
A wye on þe wal cried wonder heye,
“Voys fram est & fram west & fram þe four wyndis,”
& sayd: “Wo, wo, wo worþ on ȝou boþe,
Jerusalem, þe Jewen toun, : & þe joly temple!”
Ȝit sayþ þe wye on þe walle o word mor.
“Wo to þis worldly wone & wo to my-selue!”
& deyd, whan he don hadde, þrow dynt of [a] slynge,
& haplich was had away, how, wyst I neuere.
& þan þey deuysed hem & vengaunce hit helde,
& wyten her wo þe wronge þat þey wroȝte
Whan þey brutned in þe burwe þe byschup seint Jame,
Noȝt wolde acounte hit for Crist, þe car þat þey hadde;
Bot vp ȝeden her ȝates [þey] ȝelden hem alle,
Without brunee & briȝt wede, in her bar chertes;
Ffram none tille þe merke nyȝt neuer ne cesed,
Bot man after man mercy bysouȝt.
Tytus into þe toun takeþ his wey:
Myȝt no man st[e]ken [i]n þe stret for stynke of ded corses;
Þe peple in þe pauyment was pite to byholde,
Þat wer enfamy[n]ed for defaute whan hem fode wanted.
Was noȝt on ladies lafte bot þe lene bones,
Þat wer fleschy byfor & fayr on to loke;
Burges with balies as barels or þat tyme,
No gretter þan a grehounde to grype on þe medil.
Tytus tarieþ noȝt for þat, bot to þe temple wendiþ,
Þat was rayled þe roof with rebies grete,
With perles & peritotes, alle þe place ferde
As glowande gledfur þat on gold st[r]ikeþ.
Þe dores ful of dyemauntes dryuen wer þicke
& made merueylous-lye with margeri-perles;
Derst no candel be [ky]nde, whan clerkes scholde rise,
So wer þey lemaunde lyȝt & as a lampe schonen.
Þe Romayns wayten on þe werke, warien þe tyme,
Þat euer so precious a place scholde persche for her synne.
Out þe tresour to take, Tytus commaundyþ,
Doun bete þe bilde brenne hit in-to grounde.
Þer was plente in þe place of precious stonys,
Grete gaddes of gold, who-so grype lyste,
Platis, pecis of peys, pulsched vessel,
Bassynes of brend gold & oþer bryȝt ger,
Pelours, masly made of metals fele,
In cop[r]e craftly cast & in clene seluere;
Peynted [with] pur gold alle þe place was ouer;
Þe Romayns renten hem doun & to Rome ledyn.
Whan þey þe cyte han souȝt vpon þe same wyse,
Telle couþe no tonge þe tresours þat þei þer founden,
Jewels for joly men, je[mewes] riche,
Ffloreyns of [fyne] gold no freke wanted,
Riche pelour & pane, princes to wer,
Besantes, bies of gold, broches & rynges,
Clene cloþes of selke many carte-fulle,
Wele wanteþ no wye, bot wale[þ] what hym lykeþ.
Now masouns & mynours han þe molde souȝte,
With pykeyse & ponsone persched þe walles,
Hewen þrow hard ston hadde hem to grounde,
Þat alle derkned þe diche for doust of þe pouder.
So þey wrouȝten at þe wal alle þe woke-tyme,
Tille alle þe cyte was serched & souȝt al aboute,
Maden wast at [a] wappe þer þe walle stode,
Boþe in temple & in tour alle þe toun ouer.
Nas no ston in þe stede stondande alofte,
Morter ne m[o]de walle bot alle to mulle fallen—
Noþer tymbr ne tre, temple ne oþer,
Bot doun betyn & brent into blake erþe.
& whan þe temple was ouertourned, Tytus commaundys
In plowes to putte & alle þe place erye,
Suþ sow hit with salt, & seide þis wordes:
“Now is þis stalwourþe stede distroied for euere.”
Tytus suþ sett hym on a sete riche,
As juge Jewes to jugge, justise hym-self.
Criour[s] callen hem forþ as hy þat Crist slowen,
& beden Pilat apere þat prouost was þanne.
Pilat proffriþ hym forþ, apered at þe barr,
& he frayneþ þe freke alle with fair wordis,
Whan Crist of dawe was don & to þe deþ ȝede,
Of þe he[þ]yng þat he hadde, & þe hard woundis,
Þan melys þe man & þe matere tolde,
How alle þe ded was don, whan he deþ þoled.
For þritty penyes in a poke his postel hym solde,
So was he bargayned & bouȝt, & as a beste quelled.
“Now corsed be he,” quoþ þe kyng “þat þe cate made;
He wexe marchaunte amys, þat þe money fenged,
To sille so precyous a prince for penyes so fewe,
[Thoghe ilke a ferthynge had bene ful florence an hundrethe.]
Bot I schal marchaundise make in mynde of þat oþer,
Þat schal be heþyng to hem or I hennes passe:
Alle þat here bodyes wol by or bargaynes make,
By lower pris for to passe, þan þey þe prophete solde.”
He made in myddel of [þe] ost a market to crye,—
Alle þat cheffare wolde chepe chepis to haue,
Ay for a peny of pris, who-so pay wolde,
Þrytty Jewes in a þrom þrongen in ropis.
So wer þey bargayned & bouȝt & broȝt out of londe,
Neuer suþ [on] þat syde cam segge of hem after;
Ne non þat leued in her lawe scholde in þat londe dwelle,
Þat tormented trewe God þus Titus commaundyþ.
Josophus, þe gentile clerke, a-jorneyd was to Rome:
Þer of þis mater & mo he made fayr bokes.
& Pilat to prisoun was do, to pyne for euere,
At Viterbe, þer he veniaunce & vile deþ þoled.
Þe wye þat hym warded, wente on a tyme,
Hym-self fedyng with frut & feffyt hym with a per,
& forto paren his pere, he praieþ hym ȝerne
Of a knyf, & þe kempe kest hym a trenchour,
& with þe same he schef hymself to þe herte,
& so þe kaytif as his kynde corsedlich deied.
Whan alle was demed & d[on]e, þei drow vp tentis,
Trossen her tresour & trompen vp þe sege,
Wenten syngyng away & han her wille forþred,
& hom riden to Rome. Now rede ous our lord!