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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| Brytonum Inperatores. |
 | The Story of England |  |
Brytonum Inperatores.
“Belyn Constantyn & Maxymian,“Alle londes to Rome þey wan;
“Þey mayntend hem self, & dide prowesse.
“Bot now of ȝow, oþer weis hit esse!
“Y ne wot wher-on hit ys long,
“On ȝow þer ne comeþ non oft so strong
“Þat ȝe ne myghte ȝow self defende,
“ȝyf any grace on ȝow myghte desende.
“Bot ȝe [are] al gon out of kynde;
“ȝour wikkednesse now ȝe fynde!
“Turneþ ageyn, & wexeþ bolde,
“& þenkes on ȝour auncestres olde,
“Þat riche regions conquered!
“ffor fyght ne fondyng were þey ferd.
“fful late schul ȝe now conquere,
“Syn route of rascaille may ȝow ay fere.
“Now schal bi sene what hit schal vaille
“When Outlandeys comen ȝow to assaille?
“We haue ȝow closed þer most nede was;
“& ȝyf ȝe defende wel þat pas
“Wyþ archers & wyþ mangeneles,
“& wel kepe þe carneles,
“Þer-on ȝe may boþe scheote & kaste.
“Wexeþ bolde, & fendeþ ȝow faste!
“Þer Outlandeys aryues & rydes,
“Makeþ þer hauenes to kepe þo sydes,
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“Þat non alien on ȝow stele.
“Þenk, ȝour fadres wonne fraunchise!
“Be ȝe namore in oþeres seruise,
“Bot frely lyues ȝour lyues ende!
“We taken now leue, fro ȝow to wende.”
At þat word was mikel cry,
ffor manion wep ful delfully.
Was þer nought elles for to seye;
Þe Romayns þem keste, & wente þer weye,
And seyden hem þere for certeyn
Þey ne wolde her neuere come eft ageyn.
Gwanyus Melga hadde þer spyes,
Waytyng ay by stretes & styes
How longe þe Romayns scholde soiourne,
& whan þey scholde to Rome-ward tourne;
& al so sone as þey forþ nam,
Melga Gwaneys to þys lond cam,
Robbed & brente Northumberland;
Ageyns hem non encountre þei ne fand;
Made þey neuere stynt ne stal
Tyl þey come to þe Romayns wal.
Þe Bretons were redy þeron aboute,
To gyue bataille to þeym wyþoute:
Þer myghte men se on boþe partys
A scharp schour by-twyxten enemys;
Arewes, quareles, þykkely fleye,
Wiþ slynges casten stones heye.
Þo þat on þe wal faught,
fful mykel scaþe sone þey laught;
Þo þat were newe dobbed knyghtes,
Þey couþe bot litel þo of fightes;
Þe arewes come so þykke so reyn,
Þey couþe nought coeuere þer eye þer ageyn;
& also þykkely come þe stones,
Wiþ schot of dartes, al at ones;
Vneþes myghte non kepe his eye,
Þat he nas y poynt bakward to flye;
Was þer non so hardy Bretoun,
Þat hym ne þought long til he were doun.
Þey wyþoute were mynynge alle;
Þe wal þey holede, & dide hit falle,
& fulde in fele stedes þe dyke,
Þat wal & wey was euene y-like,
& made þer-þorow pleyn passage
Wyþ cart & wayn, wiþ hors & page.
Þey robbed & slowen al aboute,
ffor þey fond non þey hadde of doute;
Byforn þat tyme no man fonde
So manye at ones slayn in þys lond
Wiþ so delful deþ & vyl,
Of ȝonge knyghte, & so gentil.
Whylom Bretons bere þe pris,
Now al þer prowesse doun hit lys,
& þorow hem schal hit neuere a-ryse,
Bot þorow grace of oþer queyntyse.
Þen sent þey to Rome, to þe senatours,
& preyed hem ȝut of more socours.
Þe Romayns saiden, ‘þey ne wolde;
‘To Bretayne þey neuere come ne scholde;
‘On oþer halue þey hadde to do;
‘Þey wolde namore be trauailled so,
‘Bot gete þem help where þey myghte haue,
‘Þey wolde þem neyþer slo ne saue.’
Whan þe Romayns þus vs forsok,
Þe date of Cryst was wryten in bok,
Waytyng ay by stretes & styes
How longe þe Romayns scholde soiourne,
& whan þey scholde to Rome-ward tourne;
& al so sone as þey forþ nam,
Melga Gwaneys to þys lond cam,
Robbed & brente Northumberland;
Ageyns hem non encountre þei ne fand;
Made þey neuere stynt ne stal
Tyl þey come to þe Romayns wal.
Þe Bretons were redy þeron aboute,
To gyue bataille to þeym wyþoute:
Þer myghte men se on boþe partys
A scharp schour by-twyxten enemys;
Arewes, quareles, þykkely fleye,
Wiþ slynges casten stones heye.
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fful mykel scaþe sone þey laught;
Þo þat were newe dobbed knyghtes,
Þey couþe bot litel þo of fightes;
Þe arewes come so þykke so reyn,
Þey couþe nought coeuere þer eye þer ageyn;
& also þykkely come þe stones,
Wiþ schot of dartes, al at ones;
Vneþes myghte non kepe his eye,
Þat he nas y poynt bakward to flye;
Was þer non so hardy Bretoun,
Þat hym ne þought long til he were doun.
Þey wyþoute were mynynge alle;
Þe wal þey holede, & dide hit falle,
& fulde in fele stedes þe dyke,
Þat wal & wey was euene y-like,
& made þer-þorow pleyn passage
Wyþ cart & wayn, wiþ hors & page.
Þey robbed & slowen al aboute,
ffor þey fond non þey hadde of doute;
Byforn þat tyme no man fonde
So manye at ones slayn in þys lond
Wiþ so delful deþ & vyl,
Of ȝonge knyghte, & so gentil.
Whylom Bretons bere þe pris,
Now al þer prowesse doun hit lys,
& þorow hem schal hit neuere a-ryse,
Bot þorow grace of oþer queyntyse.
Þen sent þey to Rome, to þe senatours,
& preyed hem ȝut of more socours.
241
‘To Bretayne þey neuere come ne scholde;
‘On oþer halue þey hadde to do;
‘Þey wolde namore be trauailled so,
‘Bot gete þem help where þey myghte haue,
‘Þey wolde þem neyþer slo ne saue.’
Whan þe Romayns þus vs forsok,
Þe date of Cryst was wryten in bok,
ffour hundred ȝer, & nyne, were gon
Syn Iesu of Marye tok flesche & bon.
Syn Iesu of Marye tok flesche & bon.
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