The buik of Alexander Or the buik of the most noble and valiant conquerour Alexander the Grit: By John Barbour ... Edited in four volumes, from the unique printed copy in the possession of the Earl of Dalhousie, with introductions, notes and glossary, together with the French originals (Li Fuerres de Gadres and Les Voeux du Paon) collated with numerous mss.: By R. L. Graeme Ritchie |
 | I, II. |
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| 2. |
 | The buik of Alexander |  |
Abovt the standart, quhare the pittall
Kepit the wyne and the vittall,
Was sa cruell occisioun
And of battel sa great fusioun
That the slane men in hepes lay.
Gaudefeir him traualed ay
For to fulfill the avow he hecht,
Armit in harnes gude and lycht,
Haldand ane hand-ax in his hand
Of steill richt sharpe and wele sherand.
With the spurris the steid straik he
And assembled with the communte.
Disconfit sall thay be, I hecht,
And men thame sailȝe with hart and mycht.
Thare he hewit, dang and dushit,
The pepill he scalit and all to-frushit,
For thay war pure, small mardale.
Thay fled and thare hartis can faill,
Durst nane abyde to mak debait;
Thay left the standart and ȝeid thare gait.
To the standart come Gaudefere,
Arrayit gayly in his gere;
He lichtit betuix the limmounis tua,
He slew all that he micht ouerta,
And thay that in the bretes ware
Kest stanes with slungis and hurt him sare.
Thay feld him mony ane tyme that day,
Bot euer he rais and clam vp ay;
Bot maugre thairis, baith great and small,
He hes recouered the steppes all.
Quhen he come in the bretes hie,
The first he met, he gart him de,
The secound, the third, the ferd alsua.
He faucht allane, forouttin ma,
Aganis xx that armit ware.
Gaudefere was wele dungin thare;
Had he nocht all the better bene,
He had bene deid forouttin wene.
Bot his mycht and his hardement,
His wit and his auysement,
And the great ȝarnyng for to fulfill
His avow, hes hetit sa mekill his will
That he na prasit thame all ane stra.
Thay xx. hes he skalit sua
That seuin war slane richt in that place,
The laif war fechtand face to face.
Welanisly was he woundit thare,
The blude breist of his body bare
That he feld it nocht Ischit,
(He was sa chaiffit in that fecht)
Bot ay dang on with all his mane.
At thre straikis four hes he slane,
“Certis,” said [ane] of Inde, “shir knicht,
Foully hes thow my fallowis dicht,
For of tuenty ten ar slane!”
And Gaudefere to him is gane,
The ax in hand than lyfted he.
That saw he, that was red to de,
And of him stude sa mekill aw
That of the standart doun he flaw.
Gaudefere cryit, “doggis, ȝe sall de!”
With that, till ane than leit he fle,
That standart, maugre quha wald it warne,
That it to keip had rusit ȝarne;
The hede he claue, the body fell.
The laif fled; quhat is mare to tell?
Thare gait haly ar thay gane;
And Gaudefere is left allane!
Gaudefere ioyfull was, I wene,
Quhen he had sik ane menȝe sene
That fled and left all voyd the plas;
Of xx. xiii slane thare was,
The perk he hewit euin in tua,
Quhen he it saw to erd ga,
For ioy cryit he heyly heir,
“Tortoun, on Tortoun Gaudefere!
I haue fulfilled all my foly
And all my avow halely.
Now fall to-day may richt wele
Be quyt the outtrage ilka dele
That Clarus hes vs done, I wis!”
Out of the standart he lap with this;
In all this warld thare is na man
That redly had behaldin him than
That him bird till haue great dreding,
Gif he had greued him ony thing.
With that, the battellis begoud of new.
Clarus thocht bot lytill glew
Quhen he his standart saw doun fall.
With that, he called his childer all,
He said, “my standart doun is fellit!
Releif it sone or all be quellit!
Quhen thay it hard, thay war vnblyth.
Marciane straucht his spere alssuyth
And slew ane Grecian haistelly;
Sory was all thare cumpany.
Fra the standart was hewin doun
Throw Gaudefeir, Lord of Tortoun,
Into the mekill oist of Inde
Sa great disconfort micht men finde
That in ane hundreth places and mare
Thair battellis brokin and scalit ware.
The couartis fled all halely,
Baith in apart and preuelly,
Bot the gude, in quhom bounte
Wes harbreid and warnist in plente
And inuyroned with sueitnes,
Eschewit thare thair hardynes,
That in the renkis sic noyes ware,
Sic blasts of trumpetis heir and thare,
And of woundit sic crying,
Sic dyn, sic dintes, sic barganing,
That sic ane vther was neuer sene.
For thar war lyand on the grene
Mony a persone ill hewit and pale,
Stark deid in thair harnes hale;
The grene gras vox of blude all rede,
And couered with wondit men and dede,
Clarus, that saw his men sa,
Great disconfort can he ta;
Amang his faes with all his micht
He plungit quhair forsyest was the fecht,
And with him of his trew men,
Of quhilk was nane na he had then
Sword or dart, faucoun or spere,
Or hand-ax that was sharpe to shere.
At thair meting inforsit the fecht;
Thair men micht here of seinȝeis, I hecht,
And mony ane knicht to erd borne,
That thair lyues had forlorne,
And folk fleand here and thare.
Thay of Effesoun rushit ware;
Clarus and his than rushit sua
That to thare dykes he gart thame ga.
That battell had all vtterly
Bene discomfist velanusly
That thare had bene no recouering,
Na war Cassamus with great strakes geuing,
He confort thare his menȝe,
And shewit thare his bounte
Sa perfytely, withouttin wene,
That thare is nane that had him sene
And knew quhat he had wrocht that day,
Than he bird lufe him for euer and ay.
Into the planes of Ephesoun,
Quhair thay arrestit thame of the toun,
Ferlyfull and fell was the fecht,
With straikes of thair brandis bricht.
Cassamus his men hes sene
Leuand the place; than was he tene,
And sa fulfilled of shame eik,
That he countit nocht his lyfe ane leik.
The gyssarne in his hand he tais,
And plungit richt amang his faes
That thikkest war and maist of mane,
And cryit syne “Tortoun, [turn] agane,
For thay salbe discomfeist sone!”
Sic routtis he raucht forouttin hone
Till ane of Inde, that brane and blude
Out brist, and to the erd he ȝude;
Ane vther he slew or he wald rest.
Than Gaudefeir, forouttin frest,
Come with fyue thousand armit men,
And thare begouth the bargan than,
Sa fell ane fecht and sik stryking,
Thare men micht se sik hurkling
That baith helmes and basnettis brest,
Thay lashit on quhill thay micht lest;
Thare mony woundit war and slane.
The folke of Inde tynt the feild agane,
Thay dang thame fra thare dykes than,
Thare was of Inde slane mony man.
The battell hard and greuous was
Quhen Cassamus recouered place
And his men, that was baith crous and kene,
That to thare dykes had dungin bene.
Alexander, that all men prysis,
And dantis all that agane him rysis,
The Bauderanes men he coniured sua
That sum war fleand and fled him fra
And sum war deid and sum war tane;
Discomfit war thay euerilk ane.
He luked and saw besyde him than
Antygorus, quhom on Salphadan
And thay that war in his leding
Had won the feild ane weill gude thing.
The nobill King than stered thidder,
And releued his men all togidder,
And sweitly prayit he thame, I wis,
To help Antigorus and his.
Thare was mony helme of steill
That with gold was circuled weill;
Mony acquentances thare was sene,
Quhyte, rede, ȝallow, blak and grene,
Mony sheild and mony fare steid,
And mony gude knicht douchty of deid,
That war fulfilled of vassalage.
Thare was na speich of mariage,
Na marchandyce, at speiris streking,
Bot rushit togidder all in ane ling.
Thare was sic noyes and affray
That sic beis nocht quhill domesday.
Endlang the feild outwith the toun,
The battell fers was and felloun.
Gude Alexander and sum of his
Assailȝeit Salphadin with this,
That thay fand baith hardy and wicht,
And wonder wilfull for to fecht,
Sa vndertakand and proud in thocht
That it semed he dred thame nocht.
Thare hapned oft, quhare he was raith,
Scheildis be hewin and helmes baith,
And thyrled habersouns and visantis,
Woundit hors in sydes and flankis;
Baith erd and gers of blude vox red,
That stremand fra thare wondis ȝed.
Thare men micht heir sic noyes and cry
Quhen thay that wicht war and hardy
Rushit thare fais with stout effere,
Strykand with waponis on sindre gere,
And thay that doutand war to de
Gaif straikis sa horrible and sa he
That erd and lyft all dynted agane.
Grecianis thairof war full fane
That the renk deuoyded was,
Thare fais the flicht vpone thame tais.
Quhen Salphadyne saw his men fleand
And Grecians hardely fechtand,
Ȝarnand to destroy him and his,
Sic angre was at his hart, I wis,
That out of wit he went wele nere;
He streinȝeit his steid, that wele couth stere,
And plunged in amang his fais,
And in armes great melle mais,
Sic slauchter and sic ferly fare,
That the best abased ware.
In the renk quhare Salphadyne
Raid and maid sic disciplyne
For to rely his folk that fled,
That he baith blude and harnes sched,
Was Alexander the douchty King,
That for na dreid had abasing,
Armit weill and richely;
Beheld him that sa velanusly
Defoulit and slew his nobill men.
His gude steid steirit he to him then,
And Salphadyne to him raid;
Togidder thay come but langer baid,
Sic routtis thay raucht on helmes bricht,
Sa laid thay on with all thare micht,
That the best and maist of renoun
Was oft tymes feld on his arsoun.
The King lyfted his bludy brand,
Quhare-with he had slane in sindre land
Ane hundreth and fiftie Kingis nere
Sen first he was maid [first] bachlere,
And sa hard on helmes he duschit
Throw fyne force thame all to-fruschit.
The visage that was fare and fyne,
He claif it euin doun to the chyn,
With-drew his dynt; and he, stane-dede,
Fell of his hors into that stede!
Kepit the wyne and the vittall,
Was sa cruell occisioun
379
That the slane men in hepes lay.
Gaudefeir him traualed ay
For to fulfill the avow he hecht,
Armit in harnes gude and lycht,
Haldand ane hand-ax in his hand
Of steill richt sharpe and wele sherand.
With the spurris the steid straik he
And assembled with the communte.
Disconfit sall thay be, I hecht,
And men thame sailȝe with hart and mycht.
Thare he hewit, dang and dushit,
The pepill he scalit and all to-frushit,
For thay war pure, small mardale.
Thay fled and thare hartis can faill,
Durst nane abyde to mak debait;
Thay left the standart and ȝeid thare gait.
To the standart come Gaudefere,
Arrayit gayly in his gere;
He lichtit betuix the limmounis tua,
He slew all that he micht ouerta,
And thay that in the bretes ware
Kest stanes with slungis and hurt him sare.
Thay feld him mony ane tyme that day,
Bot euer he rais and clam vp ay;
Bot maugre thairis, baith great and small,
He hes recouered the steppes all.
Quhen he come in the bretes hie,
The first he met, he gart him de,
The secound, the third, the ferd alsua.
He faucht allane, forouttin ma,
Aganis xx that armit ware.
380
Had he nocht all the better bene,
He had bene deid forouttin wene.
Bot his mycht and his hardement,
His wit and his auysement,
And the great ȝarnyng for to fulfill
His avow, hes hetit sa mekill his will
That he na prasit thame all ane stra.
Thay xx. hes he skalit sua
That seuin war slane richt in that place,
The laif war fechtand face to face.
Welanisly was he woundit thare,
The blude breist of his body bare
That he feld it nocht Ischit,
(He was sa chaiffit in that fecht)
Bot ay dang on with all his mane.
At thre straikis four hes he slane,
“Certis,” said [ane] of Inde, “shir knicht,
Foully hes thow my fallowis dicht,
For of tuenty ten ar slane!”
And Gaudefere to him is gane,
The ax in hand than lyfted he.
That saw he, that was red to de,
And of him stude sa mekill aw
That of the standart doun he flaw.
Gaudefere cryit, “doggis, ȝe sall de!”
With that, till ane than leit he fle,
That standart, maugre quha wald it warne,
That it to keip had rusit ȝarne;
The hede he claue, the body fell.
The laif fled; quhat is mare to tell?
Thare gait haly ar thay gane;
381
Gaudefere ioyfull was, I wene,
Quhen he had sik ane menȝe sene
That fled and left all voyd the plas;
Of xx. xiii slane thare was,
The perk he hewit euin in tua,
Quhen he it saw to erd ga,
For ioy cryit he heyly heir,
“Tortoun, on Tortoun Gaudefere!
I haue fulfilled all my foly
And all my avow halely.
Now fall to-day may richt wele
Be quyt the outtrage ilka dele
That Clarus hes vs done, I wis!”
Out of the standart he lap with this;
In all this warld thare is na man
That redly had behaldin him than
That him bird till haue great dreding,
Gif he had greued him ony thing.
With that, the battellis begoud of new.
Clarus thocht bot lytill glew
Quhen he his standart saw doun fall.
With that, he called his childer all,
He said, “my standart doun is fellit!
Releif it sone or all be quellit!
Quhen thay it hard, thay war vnblyth.
Marciane straucht his spere alssuyth
And slew ane Grecian haistelly;
Sory was all thare cumpany.
Fra the standart was hewin doun
Throw Gaudefeir, Lord of Tortoun,
Into the mekill oist of Inde
382
That in ane hundreth places and mare
Thair battellis brokin and scalit ware.
The couartis fled all halely,
Baith in apart and preuelly,
Bot the gude, in quhom bounte
Wes harbreid and warnist in plente
And inuyroned with sueitnes,
Eschewit thare thair hardynes,
That in the renkis sic noyes ware,
Sic blasts of trumpetis heir and thare,
And of woundit sic crying,
Sic dyn, sic dintes, sic barganing,
That sic ane vther was neuer sene.
For thar war lyand on the grene
Mony a persone ill hewit and pale,
Stark deid in thair harnes hale;
The grene gras vox of blude all rede,
And couered with wondit men and dede,
Clarus, that saw his men sa,
Great disconfort can he ta;
Amang his faes with all his micht
He plungit quhair forsyest was the fecht,
And with him of his trew men,
Of quhilk was nane na he had then
Sword or dart, faucoun or spere,
Or hand-ax that was sharpe to shere.
At thair meting inforsit the fecht;
Thair men micht here of seinȝeis, I hecht,
And mony ane knicht to erd borne,
That thair lyues had forlorne,
And folk fleand here and thare.
383
Clarus and his than rushit sua
That to thare dykes he gart thame ga.
That battell had all vtterly
Bene discomfist velanusly
That thare had bene no recouering,
Na war Cassamus with great strakes geuing,
He confort thare his menȝe,
And shewit thare his bounte
Sa perfytely, withouttin wene,
That thare is nane that had him sene
And knew quhat he had wrocht that day,
Than he bird lufe him for euer and ay.
Into the planes of Ephesoun,
Quhair thay arrestit thame of the toun,
Ferlyfull and fell was the fecht,
With straikes of thair brandis bricht.
Cassamus his men hes sene
Leuand the place; than was he tene,
And sa fulfilled of shame eik,
That he countit nocht his lyfe ane leik.
The gyssarne in his hand he tais,
And plungit richt amang his faes
That thikkest war and maist of mane,
And cryit syne “Tortoun, [turn] agane,
For thay salbe discomfeist sone!”
Sic routtis he raucht forouttin hone
Till ane of Inde, that brane and blude
Out brist, and to the erd he ȝude;
Ane vther he slew or he wald rest.
Than Gaudefeir, forouttin frest,
Come with fyue thousand armit men,
384
Sa fell ane fecht and sik stryking,
Thare men micht se sik hurkling
That baith helmes and basnettis brest,
Thay lashit on quhill thay micht lest;
Thare mony woundit war and slane.
The folke of Inde tynt the feild agane,
Thay dang thame fra thare dykes than,
Thare was of Inde slane mony man.
The battell hard and greuous was
Quhen Cassamus recouered place
And his men, that was baith crous and kene,
That to thare dykes had dungin bene.
Alexander, that all men prysis,
And dantis all that agane him rysis,
The Bauderanes men he coniured sua
That sum war fleand and fled him fra
And sum war deid and sum war tane;
Discomfit war thay euerilk ane.
[384a]
Antygorus, quhom on Salphadan
And thay that war in his leding
Had won the feild ane weill gude thing.
The nobill King than stered thidder,
And releued his men all togidder,
And sweitly prayit he thame, I wis,
To help Antigorus and his.
Thare was mony helme of steill
That with gold was circuled weill;
Mony acquentances thare was sene,
Quhyte, rede, ȝallow, blak and grene,
Mony sheild and mony fare steid,
385
That war fulfilled of vassalage.
Thare was na speich of mariage,
Na marchandyce, at speiris streking,
Bot rushit togidder all in ane ling.
Thare was sic noyes and affray
That sic beis nocht quhill domesday.
Endlang the feild outwith the toun,
The battell fers was and felloun.
Gude Alexander and sum of his
[385a]
That thay fand baith hardy and wicht,
And wonder wilfull for to fecht,
Sa vndertakand and proud in thocht
That it semed he dred thame nocht.
Thare hapned oft, quhare he was raith,
Scheildis be hewin and helmes baith,
And thyrled habersouns and visantis,
Woundit hors in sydes and flankis;
Baith erd and gers of blude vox red,
That stremand fra thare wondis ȝed.
Thare men micht heir sic noyes and cry
Quhen thay that wicht war and hardy
Rushit thare fais with stout effere,
Strykand with waponis on sindre gere,
And thay that doutand war to de
Gaif straikis sa horrible and sa he
That erd and lyft all dynted agane.
Grecianis thairof war full fane
That the renk deuoyded was,
Thare fais the flicht vpone thame tais.
Quhen Salphadyne saw his men fleand
386
Ȝarnand to destroy him and his,
Sic angre was at his hart, I wis,
That out of wit he went wele nere;
He streinȝeit his steid, that wele couth stere,
And plunged in amang his fais,
And in armes great melle mais,
Sic slauchter and sic ferly fare,
That the best abased ware.
In the renk quhare Salphadyne
Raid and maid sic disciplyne
For to rely his folk that fled,
That he baith blude and harnes sched,
Was Alexander the douchty King,
That for na dreid had abasing,
Armit weill and richely;
Beheld him that sa velanusly
Defoulit and slew his nobill men.
His gude steid steirit he to him then,
And Salphadyne to him raid;
Togidder thay come but langer baid,
Sic routtis thay raucht on helmes bricht,
Sa laid thay on with all thare micht,
That the best and maist of renoun
Was oft tymes feld on his arsoun.
The King lyfted his bludy brand,
Quhare-with he had slane in sindre land
Ane hundreth and fiftie Kingis nere
Sen first he was maid [first] bachlere,
And sa hard on helmes he duschit
Throw fyne force thame all to-fruschit.
The visage that was fare and fyne,
387
With-drew his dynt; and he, stane-dede,
Fell of his hors into that stede!
| The buik of Alexander | |