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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| Exe de Raptu Helene Regine Grecie. |
 | The Story of England |  |
Exe de Raptu Helene Regine Grecie.
Vnto þe schip was scheo brought:
Parys þe [duk] forgat he nought
þat he ne dide as Venus bad.
ffor þe quene comynge he was fol glad;
ffaire iueles forth þey drowe,
& schewed þe lady right ynowe;
& whyles þei richesse bifore hure caste,
Þer sayl þey drow vp by þe maste.
Þys lady Heleyne gaf no tent,
Me non of hures, how þe schip out went;
Wyþynne a þrowe, to mile or þre
Was þe schip wyþynne þe se.
Parys þe [duk] forgat he nought
þat he ne dide as Venus bad.
ffor þe quene comynge he was fol glad;
ffaire iueles forth þey drowe,
& schewed þe lady right ynowe;
& whyles þei richesse bifore hure caste,
Þer sayl þey drow vp by þe maste.
Þys lady Heleyne gaf no tent,
Me non of hures, how þe schip out went;
Wyþynne a þrowe, to mile or þre
Was þe schip wyþynne þe se.
Whan þey weren fro þe lond,
Parys tok þe quene by þe hond:
“Welcome,” he saide, “art þou to me!
“ffor þe cam y to þys contre;
“Now y haue þe, mykel is my ioye,
“Þy fairehede schal mende al Troye;
“Þou were me gyuen; þat gyft y haue;
“Al my trauaille, y vouche hit saue.”
Y kan nought sey of þat leuedy
Wheþer scheo was glad or sory;
Bot whan hure lord þe kyng hit wist,
Ioye to make him ne lyst;
After his barons alle he sent
& schewede hem how þat he was schent;
‘Þat a schip of Troye was comen,
Þe quene þorow treson þey nomen.’
Whan þei alle wiste þys grete despit,
Wiþ o wille þey seyde fol tyt,
Þei scholde neuere reste ne lende
To struye Troye wyþouten ende.
Here-fore bigan þe sorewe and peyne,
Þe slaughtre of Troye, for þys Heleyne;
Þys slaughter was yn bataille seer,
& lasted two & twenty ȝer
Bytwyxte þe Troiens & þe Gregeys,
Als þe stories wytnesses & seys.
At a batalle þat þey set,
Troye & Grece at ones met,
At which bataille þe Troiens lees,
& fledde fro þat mykel prees.
Þat mighte fle, fledde ay-whore,
& Troye destruyed for euere more.
Al þe werd makes ȝyt menynge
How Troye was struyed for þys þynge;
Clerkes wyse yn boke hit wrot,
Þorow whiche wrytynge wel alle hit wot;
Þey write þe names of þe kynges
& of alle þe oþer lordynges,
Whilke were men of most honur,
Þat fledde fro þe grete stour.
A gret lord of Troye þer was,
Parys tok þe quene by þe hond:
“Welcome,” he saide, “art þou to me!
“ffor þe cam y to þys contre;
“Now y haue þe, mykel is my ioye,
“Þy fairehede schal mende al Troye;
25
“Al my trauaille, y vouche hit saue.”
Y kan nought sey of þat leuedy
Wheþer scheo was glad or sory;
Bot whan hure lord þe kyng hit wist,
Ioye to make him ne lyst;
After his barons alle he sent
& schewede hem how þat he was schent;
‘Þat a schip of Troye was comen,
Þe quene þorow treson þey nomen.’
Whan þei alle wiste þys grete despit,
Wiþ o wille þey seyde fol tyt,
Þei scholde neuere reste ne lende
To struye Troye wyþouten ende.
Here-fore bigan þe sorewe and peyne,
Þe slaughtre of Troye, for þys Heleyne;
Þys slaughter was yn bataille seer,
& lasted two & twenty ȝer
Bytwyxte þe Troiens & þe Gregeys,
Als þe stories wytnesses & seys.
At a batalle þat þey set,
Troye & Grece at ones met,
At which bataille þe Troiens lees,
& fledde fro þat mykel prees.
Þat mighte fle, fledde ay-whore,
& Troye destruyed for euere more.
Al þe werd makes ȝyt menynge
How Troye was struyed for þys þynge;
Clerkes wyse yn boke hit wrot,
Þorow whiche wrytynge wel alle hit wot;
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& of alle þe oþer lordynges,
Whilke were men of most honur,
Þat fledde fro þe grete stour.
Men calde duk Eneas;
ffor þat grete slaughter he fled,
Hys sone Askaneus wiþ hym led;
Sone ne doughter had he namo
Whan he fledde þe cite fro;
In þe slaughtre a-monge þe pres,
Hys wyf Creusa, he hure les.
þys Eneas fledde him self to saue,
Hys sones lif & his to haue;
Wyþ mikel vitaille & tresor good
He charged twenty schipes on flood.
He dwelte longe in þe se,
& many perille ascapede he.
Wyþ alle þe wo þat he gan dreye,
He cam to þe lond of Ytalye.
(Italye was kalled þenne
Þe land þat Rome now standes ynne:
Of Rome þat ilke tyme was nought,
Ne longe after was hit wrought.)
Eneas þat had al þat trauaille,
What in se & in bataille,
Atte laste he gan aryue
In Ytalye, a lond plentyue.
By þe water of Tyber land þey nome,
By whilk water now standeþ Rome.
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