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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 stella Cometa que apparuit.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

De stella Cometa que apparuit.

Vter þat tyme in Walys was
Þat þe kyng was poysond wyþ Appas.
Als he was ded, þen ros a sterne
Þat many a man biheld ful ȝerne,
‘Comete’ ys cald in astronomye,
Kynges deþ wil hit signefye.
ffro þat cam a bem ful bryght,
Onlyke on, þat lemede lyght;
Þe lemyng was boþe red & schir,
Lyke a dragon þat sparkled fyr;
Was þer neuere erl ne baroun
Þat þey ne lykned hit til a dragoun.
Two brondes come out of his mouþ
Þat lightned Est, West, & Souþ:
Vpon ffraunce lygh[t]ned þat on;
Þat oþer vntil Moungow schon;
Þe þridde, þat vntil Irland ȝede,
In seuen braunches gan it sprede,

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& alle were þey schynand
On þe water & on þe land.
Þys ilke merueille þat þus was sene,
Men wondred what hit wolde mene.
Sire Vter, þe kynges broþer,
Hym merueilled more þan anoþer;
Merueillyng, he was affrayed;
Of þat affray he was nought payed;
He preyed Merlyn ful specialy
Þe toknyng þer-of to telle, & why.
Þen sey Merlyn þat sire Vter
Sore sykede, & feightit fer,
And stod as he were in dwale,
No word ne seide, bot wax al pale.
When his spirit was comen ageyn,
& þoughte, ‘þat may nought helpe, ys veyn,’
Seid Merlyn, “Sorewe may þey mone,
“Alle þat now in Bretaigne wone!
“Lore þey haue þer noble kyng
“Þat brought hem of Saxons encombrynge,
“Out of þe false Payens handes,
“Þat manion broughte in bitter bandes!”
When Vter herde his broþer was ded,
He bycom as heuy as led:
“Alas!” he seide, “now haþ Bretaygne
Loren þer noble cheuentayne!”
He syked for sorewe, deol was to se.
Þen seyde Merlyn, “Vter, let be,
“Þer no bote ys ouer sore ne sorewe!
“Þy lyf may no man bye ne borewe;

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“Of deþ may non þe bale bete,
“Þe sorewe nedly byhoueþ men lete;
“Bot haste þe swyþe on þyn enemis!
“Of þe bataille þou getest þe prys,
“To morewen schul þey boþe be schent,
“& al þer folk boþ sleyn & hent.
“Syþen schaltow þe coroune take,
“Þe pes to menteyne & to make.