The Story of England by Robert Manning of Brunne, A.D. 1338. Edited from mss. at Lambeth Palace and the Inner Temple, by Frederick J. Furnivall |
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De Moddreto traditore. |
 | The Story of England |  |
De Moddreto traditore.
He was passed þe mountes pleyn,
But Moddred dide hym turne ageyn.
A day as he to þe mete went,
Out of þis lond lettres were sent,
& right as his trumpes blewe,
A messager þat he wel knewe,
Þe lettres in his hand he leyde,
& til his owen mouþ he seyde,
‘Þat Moddred, his sister sone,
‘Had y-don hym gret tresone;
‘He had taken of þe lond homage,
‘& leyd in casteles gret hostage;
‘ȝit wil he nought be þer-by,
‘But waiteþ þe more vileny:
“Þy wif til hys hore haþ drawe,
“Ageynes cristen mannes lawe;
“& Cheldryk, kyng of Germye,
“Ys comen, & brought gret partie;
“By-ȝonde Humber, vntil Scotland,
“Cheldrik haþ þat in his hand;
“& al þat langes vntil Kent,
“Vntil Cheldrik gyue þey rent;
“To holde wyþ Moddred wyþ his might,
“Trouþe to-gydere haue þey plight.
“Seuen hundred schipe lyn by þe stronde,
“ffour score þousand þer come to londe
“Of men of armes, wyþoute pytaille,
“Ageyn þou comest, to gyue þe bataille.”
But Moddred dide hym turne ageyn.
A day as he to þe mete went,
Out of þis lond lettres were sent,
487
A messager þat he wel knewe,
Þe lettres in his hand he leyde,
& til his owen mouþ he seyde,
‘Þat Moddred, his sister sone,
‘Had y-don hym gret tresone;
‘He had taken of þe lond homage,
‘& leyd in casteles gret hostage;
‘ȝit wil he nought be þer-by,
‘But waiteþ þe more vileny:
“Þy wif til hys hore haþ drawe,
“Ageynes cristen mannes lawe;
“& Cheldryk, kyng of Germye,
“Ys comen, & brought gret partie;
“By-ȝonde Humber, vntil Scotland,
“Cheldrik haþ þat in his hand;
“& al þat langes vntil Kent,
“Vntil Cheldrik gyue þey rent;
“To holde wyþ Moddred wyþ his might,
“Trouþe to-gydere haue þey plight.
“Seuen hundred schipe lyn by þe stronde,
“ffour score þousand þer come to londe
“Of men of armes, wyþoute pytaille,
“Ageyn þou comest, to gyue þe bataille.”
When he had þus til Arthur teld,
How Moddred no feyþ ne trouþe hym held,
& synfullyke had reysed stryf,
His lond hym refte, for-leyn his wyf,
He made his plainte to sire Oel,
& preide hym to kepe ilkadel
Burgoyne & ffraunce boþe wel;
Til hym he tryste as to þe stel:
“Toward Bretaigne y wil me spede,
“Þe outlandeys wiþ me lede,
“On Moddred wil y bataille bede,
“& take vengaunce of his misdede.
“Lytel y preyse al my conquest
“Þat y haue wonne in þys est,
“ȝyf y now leue Bretayigne, my fe,
“Bretayne myn heritage þat fel to be.
“I schal me hye a-geyn to come;
“On alle manere y wil to Rome.”
He iorneyed þen fro land to land
Til he come to Whitsand.
He pleyned hym sore of Moddred,
Þat fro his conquest had don hym fled.
How Moddred no feyþ ne trouþe hym held,
& synfullyke had reysed stryf,
His lond hym refte, for-leyn his wyf,
He made his plainte to sire Oel,
& preide hym to kepe ilkadel
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Til hym he tryste as to þe stel:
“Toward Bretaigne y wil me spede,
“Þe outlandeys wiþ me lede,
“On Moddred wil y bataille bede,
“& take vengaunce of his misdede.
“Lytel y preyse al my conquest
“Þat y haue wonne in þys est,
“ȝyf y now leue Bretayigne, my fe,
“Bretayne myn heritage þat fel to be.
“I schal me hye a-geyn to come;
“On alle manere y wil to Rome.”
He iorneyed þen fro land to land
Til he come to Whitsand.
He pleyned hym sore of Moddred,
Þat fro his conquest had don hym fled.
Arthul had purueid hym a flet,
At Whitsand were þey in water set;
Moddred herde wel þat tydyng,
‘By Whitsand cam Arthur þe kyng.’
Modred gadered his hostes to-gydere,
Of hyse & oþer þat come þydere;
Arthur he hoped he durste abide,
Wyþ-sette þe hauenes on ilka syde.
Þe lond wolde nought Moddred lese,
Ne repente, ne to þe pes chese;
He wyste hym self so coupable,
To aske þe pes hit was but fable.
At Whitsand were þey in water set;
Moddred herde wel þat tydyng,
‘By Whitsand cam Arthur þe kyng.’
Modred gadered his hostes to-gydere,
Of hyse & oþer þat come þydere;
Arthur he hoped he durste abide,
Wyþ-sette þe hauenes on ilka syde.
Þe lond wolde nought Moddred lese,
Ne repente, ne to þe pes chese;
He wyste hym self so coupable,
To aske þe pes hit was but fable.
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