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 bello inter Regem Arthurum & ffrollum. |
 | The Story of England |  |
De bello inter Regem Arthurum & ffrollum.
When þey were armed & redy dight,
& were comen þer þey schold fyght,
Men myght þer se folk tremble & quake,
On boþe partis gret deol to make,
Handes wrynge, on knes to falle,
On Godes name to crie & calle,
‘Þat he myght wynne, þat pes wold haue,
‘& þe lond fro werre myght saue.’
Arþures folk stode & byheld,
Redy [digh]t wyþ helm & scheld,
& by[sought]e God inderly
To [graunt] Arþur þe maistri.
Þy[se two] knyghtes þat forþ were fet,
N[obilly di]ght, on horse wel set,
T[o assay]e þem how þey were wyght,
[Þe lanc]e to reyse, þer scheld to ryght.
[Who myg]hte wel telle, & soþ to seye,
[Þat sui]lk wer non þat tyme als þey;
[Ilk o]f þeym was horsed wel,
[Had a]rmes stronge as any stel;
By sight myght non þer chese þe best,
Ne whilk þen semed doughtiest;
Ne whilk schold wynne, ne haue þe gre,
By sighte myghte þer non hit se.
& were comen þer þey schold fyght,
Men myght þer se folk tremble & quake,
On boþe partis gret deol to make,
Handes wrynge, on knes to falle,
On Godes name to crie & calle,
‘Þat he myght wynne, þat pes wold haue,
‘& þe lond fro werre myght saue.’
Arþures folk stode & byheld,
Redy [digh]t wyþ helm & scheld,
& by[sought]e God inderly
To [graunt] Arþur þe maistri.
Þy[se two] knyghtes þat forþ were fet,
N[obilly di]ght, on horse wel set,
T[o assay]e þem how þey were wyght,
[Þe lanc]e to reyse, þer scheld to ryght.
[Who myg]hte wel telle, & soþ to seye,
[Þat sui]lk wer non þat tyme als þey;
379
[Had a]rmes stronge as any stel;
By sight myght non þer chese þe best,
Ne whilk þen semed doughtiest;
Ne whilk schold wynne, ne haue þe gre,
By sighte myghte þer non hit se.
When þey were bone, redy to smite,
& þer hors sondred a lyte,
Wyþ speres þey smot, þe bridel brayd,
Þer scheldes sette, þer launces forþ layd;
Þer horses at þer power runnen,
Þe partis wende haue lorn or wonnen;
But ffrolle failled of his dynt,—
I trowe his stede a syde stynt,—
& Arthur smot hym in þe scheld.
Þe hed was god, & ful wel held,
& ffrolle out of his sadel cast
So fer so þe launce might last.
ffrolle vp stirte, & sydlynges glent,
His scheld dressed, his launce vp hent;
Til Arþures stede þe point he bar,
Þorow þe breste þe herte he schar.
Arþur fel; he moste nede;
He was a fote, ded was his stede.
Þe Bretons seye he had þat fal,
Þem þoughte for wo þey al to-swal,
Þe erþe dunede for þeir cry,
To passe þe water þey were redy,
Þe trewes to breke þey were ful wylde,
To haue gon ouer in to þe ilde;
But þey sawe hym sone vp a-geyn;
Þey wyþstod þen, & were fayn.
When he was vp, he hadde no rest,
Wyþ ffrolle to fighte he was ful prest,
He leyde his hand to Caliborne,
Þat neuere for armes wolde scurne.
Þer-wyþ on ffrolle ful sore he sought,
& ffrolle a-geyn ne dredde hym nought;
Agayn Arthur he stod & stynt,
Nought abaischt hym for no dynt;
His swerd had drawen, he lyft hit heye,
On Arþur he let hit sore fleye:
Þe dynt was gret, for he was strong,
Þe fir out fley, þe sparkles sprong,
Þe helm he claf, & þe basyn,
& þe coyfe þat was so fyn.
Þe swerd was scharp, & ful wel bot,
In þe forehed Arþur he smot,
Þorow þe flesche, vnto þe pan;
After þe strok þe blod out ran.
& þer hors sondred a lyte,
Wyþ speres þey smot, þe bridel brayd,
Þer scheldes sette, þer launces forþ layd;
Þer horses at þer power runnen,
Þe partis wende haue lorn or wonnen;
But ffrolle failled of his dynt,—
I trowe his stede a syde stynt,—
& Arthur smot hym in þe scheld.
Þe hed was god, & ful wel held,
& ffrolle out of his sadel cast
So fer so þe launce might last.
ffrolle vp stirte, & sydlynges glent,
His scheld dressed, his launce vp hent;
Til Arþures stede þe point he bar,
Þorow þe breste þe herte he schar.
Arþur fel; he moste nede;
He was a fote, ded was his stede.
Þe Bretons seye he had þat fal,
Þem þoughte for wo þey al to-swal,
Þe erþe dunede for þeir cry,
To passe þe water þey were redy,
Þe trewes to breke þey were ful wylde,
To haue gon ouer in to þe ilde;
380
Þey wyþstod þen, & were fayn.
When he was vp, he hadde no rest,
Wyþ ffrolle to fighte he was ful prest,
He leyde his hand to Caliborne,
Þat neuere for armes wolde scurne.
Þer-wyþ on ffrolle ful sore he sought,
& ffrolle a-geyn ne dredde hym nought;
Agayn Arthur he stod & stynt,
Nought abaischt hym for no dynt;
His swerd had drawen, he lyft hit heye,
On Arþur he let hit sore fleye:
Þe dynt was gret, for he was strong,
Þe fir out fley, þe sparkles sprong,
Þe helm he claf, & þe basyn,
& þe coyfe þat was so fyn.
Þe swerd was scharp, & ful wel bot,
In þe forehed Arþur he smot,
Þorow þe flesche, vnto þe pan;
After þe strok þe blod out ran.
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