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 fame, Pestilencia mortis, ac corrupcione
Aerys, & Exilio Brutonum. |
 | The Story of England |  |
Exe de fame, Pestilencia mortis, ac corrupcione Aerys, & Exilio Brutonum.
In his tyme failled þe corn,
ffor þer was non as was byforn.
Of þat defaute cam gret dere,
& gret hunger oueral was here;
Þre dayes to go, ȝyf on might dreye,
Er he fond any mete to bye,—
Oþer in burgh or in cite,
Or vpland, or in any contre,—
But ȝyf þey any bestes tok,
Or fysche in riuer or in brok,
Or any leues or rotes seþ,
Þat henged on heg or on heþ:
Al was elles turnd to faille,
Might noman lyue on his trauaille.
ffor þer was non as was byforn.
Of þat defaute cam gret dere,
& gret hunger oueral was here;
Þre dayes to go, ȝyf on might dreye,
Er he fond any mete to bye,—
Oþer in burgh or in cite,
Or vpland, or in any contre,—
But ȝyf þey any bestes tok,
Or fysche in riuer or in brok,
Or any leues or rotes seþ,
Þat henged on heg or on heþ:
Al was elles turnd to faille,
Might noman lyue on his trauaille.
570
ȝyf þys meschaunce cam ferly sore,
ȝyt þer was an oþer more;
So gret a man-qualm cam þer-wyþ,
ffro deþ vneþe might non haue gryþ,
Þorow roten eyr, þorow wykkede wyndes,
In alle stedes men dide gret myndes;
Now ȝede þey vp right hol & fer,
Now fel þey doun ilk oþer ner;
Etynge, spekynge, fel þey doun,
& goynge boþe in feld & toun.
ffader, moder, eam, & broþer,
Gentil & bonde, & alle oþer;
Vneþe in toune was any lefte
Of Bretons þat mighte tile þe lond efte.
Þat vengeaunce was so ferly grete,
Hit spared non, but al þorow schete;
So fele ley ded by ilka weye,
Þat þe quyke ne mighte hem on erþe leye;
ȝyf any had leyd a cors in pyt,
Hym self fel þanne ded þer-myt.
So mykel was þer sorewe & drede,
Left hous & lond, a-wey þey ȝede;
What for moryne, what for dere,
ffewe þer wore þat might liue here;
Of his long lyf can noman seye,
Þat ses his frend sodeynly deye;
Þat sees his neighebur brenne hym by,
To saue hym self he ys bysy.
ȝyt þer was an oþer more;
So gret a man-qualm cam þer-wyþ,
ffro deþ vneþe might non haue gryþ,
Þorow roten eyr, þorow wykkede wyndes,
In alle stedes men dide gret myndes;
Now ȝede þey vp right hol & fer,
Now fel þey doun ilk oþer ner;
Etynge, spekynge, fel þey doun,
& goynge boþe in feld & toun.
ffader, moder, eam, & broþer,
Gentil & bonde, & alle oþer;
Vneþe in toune was any lefte
Of Bretons þat mighte tile þe lond efte.
Þat vengeaunce was so ferly grete,
Hit spared non, but al þorow schete;
So fele ley ded by ilka weye,
Þat þe quyke ne mighte hem on erþe leye;
ȝyf any had leyd a cors in pyt,
Hym self fel þanne ded þer-myt.
So mykel was þer sorewe & drede,
Left hous & lond, a-wey þey ȝede;
What for moryne, what for dere,
ffewe þer wore þat might liue here;
Of his long lyf can noman seye,
Þat ses his frend sodeynly deye;
Þat sees his neighebur brenne hym by,
To saue hym self he ys bysy.
571
So mikel wo ouer al he fond,
To Luytel Bretaigne for sorewe he fledde;
Þat were on lyue, wyþ hym þem ledde.
Alayn he highte, þat þanne was kynge,
Þat was ful fayn of hys comynge.
When þe Bretons heþen went,
Þer faire wonynge mykel þey ment.
Þey seide hit was a vengeaunce strong,
Ageyns God þey lyuede wronge;
“Now schal we lese our lond þorow synne,
“Þat oure kynde han welt wyþ wynne.”
Þat lered were, þys salme þey songe,
& versled hit al wyþ o tonge:
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