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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Bellum inter Romanos & Cassibolanum. |
 | The Story of England |  |
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Bellum inter Romanos & Cassibolanum.
Er þey hadde ony recet taken,Þey þoughte þey wolde hem a-wake[n].
When alle were set in ylka bataille,
& schept ho scholde formest assaille,
Toward þe Romayns faste þey nomen.
Whan Cesar sey þat þey scholde comen,
He cried to hys men “armes ȝow!
“Þe Bretons ar redy, & come right now.”
Sone were þer bataille to-gedere met,
& to bataille renget & set:
[Þe parties smert smyten togidre,
With scharp suerdes on̄ helmes gan glidre.
þer schaftes þorgh schoten body & schelde;
Many on fell, & many vphelde;
Many tome sadill & hors ostray,
Many douhti knyght doun þer lay;]
Many on wounded lay þer to blede,
& manyon stode, som fledde for drede;
Knyghte iustede, archers drowe,
On þoþe parties fol manie þey slowe,
Þei come so þikke & so smert,
& perced brunyes, brest & hert;
Wyþ wyfles strike, wyþ axes hewe,
Schuldres, schankes, & hedes, doun hewe;
Alle was strewed þe grene gras
Wyþ blod & bowaille & heuedes fresch.
fful hard was þer, & moste nede;
Þe quiyke vpon þe dede ȝede;
154
& eueryche slow þat he slo myght.
Cesar hadde in his bataille
Knyghte þat couþe boþe fende & saille;
He peyned hym to do þeym wo,
& faste he folewede hem for to slo;
Was þer no man þat he smot,
Þat ful sore on hym ne bot;
Mighte þer noman lyue no stounde,
Þat of his swerd[e] laughte wounde.
Androcheus com wyþ þo of Kent,
& Nemnyus, to-gedere þey went,
Þey set o þe Romayns a gret partie,
& beot hem doun as men hardie,
& seide “Turne we vpon Sezar!”
& als þey rod, þey were hym war.
Nemmyus fyrst ferde in þe stour,
& bated hym opon þe emperour,
And ful glad was þat he myght
Wiþ so noble a lordyng fyght.
Cesar perseyued þat he cam,
A-geyn his scheld a strok vp nam;
Cesars swerd was out ful sone;
Nemny to smyte he was al bone,
& Nemny on þe heued he smot;
Hit was trenchaunt, ouer fer hit bot,
Bot Nemny bar vp his scheld,
His heued a party lowe hit held;
Ȝit þe strok sank so doun,
Þorow þe helm he brak his croun;
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Clouen þe hed, þe dynt was sad;
Bot Nemny bar þe scheld o sker,
& Iulius smot his swerd ouer fer,
Þat he ne myghte drawe hyt ageyn;
Naþeles he dide þerto his peyn,
He drow þe swerd, Nempny þe scheld,
Ilkon wel his owen held;
Nemny wilde haue turnd & went,
Bot Iulius wiþ þe draught hym hent;
I hope Iulyus had drawen hit out,
Bot Nemnyus fol[k] were egre & stout.
Androcheus, Nemnyus neuew,
Wyþ hem of Kent dide gret prow;
On ilka side þey slowe aboute,
& Cesar saw hym self in doute,
& fro þem fledde in to þe feld,
& lefte his swerd in Nemnyus scheld.
Nemny saw of help ynow,
He turned þe scheld, þe swerd out drow,
& wiþ þat swerd forþ he faught;
Bot þo þat þer-wyþ woundes laught,
Myghte þey neuere haue medecyne,
Bot to þe deþ by-houed hem pyne.
Als he þus faught, þys Nemmyus,
He ouer-tok sire Labemnius,—
A lord he was of gret baillye,
In Rome he hadde a constablerye,—
Nemnius swilk a strok hym lent,
Þat by þe schuldres þe hed of went.
How manye þer deide, y may nought ame;
Of alle þe fighters y knowe no name;
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Wel mo þan any man wrot or seyd,
& wel mo scholde ȝit þat nyght,
Had þey nought sondred for faute of lyght.
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