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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Respice Donwalem Conquestorem. |
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Respice Donwalem Conquestorem.
Ageyn Donwal þey broughte þer host,In to halues, by diuerse cost;
Rudak of Walys had þat o syde;
Toward þe northe Stater gan ride;
Þey brente & slowe, nought wolde þey spare,
Of castel & toun þey made bare.
Donwal herde his lond þey wasted,
He dighte his host, & to þem hasted;
He mette wiþ hem, and dide hem stande,—
Þey were in feld þritty þousande;
Gret noise at her samny[n]g was,
Wiþ trompe & taber, & horn of bras,—
& grete strokes, & sore sette,
Wer gyuen when þey to-gedere mette,
Helm þorow smyten, & many a scheld,
Many a knyght was feld in feld,
Of many hauberks was hewen þe maille.
Longe þey stode, & gaf bataille;
Non wyste ho scholde haue þe maystri,
Þe parties were boþe so doughti.
Donewal was werreour god,
Hym ouerþoughte þey so wel stod;
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Þat proued were, hardy & stout;
He dide þer armes al doun leye
Pryuely biside þe weye,
& armed þem on alle manere
Als here enemis armes were,
Þer scheldes toke, helm & gleyue,
Þeyr enemyes forto deseyue.
Þey diden alle at his auys,
& toke þe armes of þere enemis
Þat leyen dede, wyþ here queyntise,
& dight hem on her enemys wyse.
Donewal saide, “comes alle wyþ me,
“& þider as y go, so schol ȝe.”
Þey ȝede spiande her & þer
In what bataille þe kynges wer;
When þay wyste alle at ones,
Trauersed þem for þe nones
Als þey had ben of þeyr party,
& syde by side ryden hym by;
Þe kynges to þem gaue no tent,
Bot forþ in here bataille went.
“Haue at!” seyd Donwal, “now ys leyser!”
& seysede Rudak & Stater,
& boþe at ones þeym lyghtly slow,
& of þat pres þem smartly drow,
& caste þer armes of, þe vnknowen,
And armede hem eft wyþ here owen.
When þey hadde þer armes nomen,
And to þer host ageyn were comen,
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Þat sone þer force gan doun falle;
Þat oþer side stod nought in stour,
ffor þey had lost þer gouernour;
Þey fledde to wode & to mountaynes,
ffor slayn were þeyr cheuentaynes.
Whan Donewal hadde þe maistrie,
Hys pes he dide hit sette & crye,
Þat so god pes was neuere or,
Ne þerafter schal namor.
A coroune of gold he dyde hym make,
Swylk on neuere for kynges sake
Was in Bretaigne wrought byforn,
Ne on kynges heued set ne born.
He stabled swylk pes & gryth,
& wyþ his sel confermed wyþ,
Þat ylka temple & ilk cite
Schold haue & holde þys dignite,
Þat ȝif a man had don trespas,
Robbed, or slayn, or oþer cas,
Ȝyf he tyl a temple cam
Er men hym wiþ handes nam,
Or to a cite go þan his weye,
Non yuel scholde men til hym eft seye;
& also to hem þat at plowes ȝede,
Ȝyf any man dede hem yuel dede,—
Oþer til market ȝyf on schold go,
Ȝyf men dide hem any wo,
Hit was teld for felonye,
& worþy was þer-fore to deye.
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At London̄ he made his endyng;
A temple þere dide he make
ffor þe pes & concordes sake;
In þat temple mad for þat pes
Was he leyd, & þere he ches.
Of hym were two noble sones,
Als þe story of þem mones:
Belyn þe eldest, þat oþer Brenne;
Donewal þer fader, God y bykenne.
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