Here take my semecope[51], thou arte bare I see;
Tis thyne; the Seynctes will give me mie rewarde.
Tis thyne; the Seynctes will give me mie rewarde.
Thomas Chatterton - Rowley Poems
]
[Footnote 117: wet, moist. ]
[Footnote 118: fen, moor. ]
[Footnote 119: drained. ]
[Footnote 120: swelling. ]
[Footnote 121: waves. ]
[Footnote 122: grievance. ]
[Footnote 123: assemble. ]
[Footnote 124: broad. ]
[Footnote 125: Horned. ]
[Footnote 126: white. ]
[Footnote 127: decks. ]
[Footnote 128: mightiest, most valiant. ]
[Footnote 129: slain. ]
[Footnote 130: oversets. ]
[Footnote 131: a castle. ]
[Footnote 132: revenge. ]
[Footnote 133: cause. ]
[Footnote 134: at once. ]
[Footnote 135: One who takes up the cross in order to fight against
the Saracens. ]
[Footnote 136: holy. ]
[Footnote 137: rare, extraordinary, strange. ]
[Footnote 138: run, shot up. ]
[Footnote 139: assembling, gathering. ]
[Footnote 140: bursteth. ]
[Footnote 141: dry, barren. ]
[Footnote 142: Mighty. ]
[Footnote 143: slain. ]
[Footnote 144: help. ]
[Footnote 145: Lord. ]
[Footnote 146: embroidered; 'tis conjectured, embroidery was not used
in England till Hen. II. ]
[Footnote 147: throne. ]
[Footnote 148: person, body. ]
[Footnote 149: lodge. ]
[Footnote 150: Marks. ]
[Footnote 151: subjects. ]
[Footnote 152: much. ]
[Footnote 153: lamentation. ]
[Footnote 154: neglected, or passed by. ]
[Footnote 155: require, ask. ]
[Footnote 156: holy. ]
[Footnote 157: help. ]
[Footnote 158: will. ]
[Footnote 159: dead. ]
[Footnote 160: doubt. ]
[Footnote 161: waves. ]
[Footnote 162: heaven-ward, or God-ward. ]
[Footnote 163: Purse, used here probably as a treasury. ]
[Footnote 164: expence. ]
[Footnote 165: receipt. ]
[Footnote 166: soon. ]
[Footnote 167: expended. ]
[Footnote 168: a contradiction of mighty. ]
[Footnote 169: Divest. ]
[Footnote 170: embrace. ]
[Footnote 171: mightiness. ]
[Footnote 172: counsel. ]
[Footnote 173: Firmness, stedfastness. ]
[Footnote 174: doubt, suspense. ]
[Footnote 175: not knowing. ]
[Footnote 176: wonder. ]
[Footnote 177: homage, obeysance. ]
[Footnote 178: they. ]
[Footnote 179: frown. ]
[Footnote 180: kill. ]
[Footnote 181: curriedowe, flatterer. ]
[Footnote 182: reward. ]
[Footnote 183: holy. ]
[Footnote 184: help. ]
[Footnote 185: allow. ]
[Footnote 186: manors. ]
[Footnote 187: alone. ]
[Footnote 188: Endeavoured. ]
[Footnote 189: freeze. ]
[Footnote 190: undismayed. ]
[Footnote 191: armed, pointed. ]
[Footnote 192: hoisted on high, raised. ]
[Footnote 193: foes, enemies. ]
[Footnote 194: fly. ]
[Footnote 195: head. ]
[Footnote 196: stretched. ]
[Footnote 197: Like. ]
[Footnote 198: two. ]
[Footnote 199: flaming. ]
[Footnote 200: meteors. ]
[Footnote 201: beats, stamps. ]
[Footnote 202: closely. ]
[Footnote 203: mantled, covered. ]
[Footnote 204: guides. ]
[Footnote 205: armed. ]
[Footnote 206: arose. ]
[Footnote 207: helmet. ]
ENGLYSH METAMORPHOSIS:
Bie T. ROWLEIE.
BOOKE 1st[1].
Whanne Scythyannes, salvage as the wolves theie chacde,
Peyncted in horrowe[2] formes bie nature dyghte,
Heckled[3] yn beastskyns, slepte uponne the waste,
And wyth the morneynge rouzed the wolfe to fyghte,
Swefte as descendeynge lemes[4] of roddie lyghte 5
Plonged to the hulstred[5] bedde of laveynge seas,
Gerd[6] the blacke mountayn okes yn drybblets[7] twighte[8],
And ranne yn thoughte alonge the azure mees,
Whose eyne dyd feerie sheene, like blue-hayred defs[9],
That dreerie hange upon Dover's emblaunched[10] clefs. 10
Soft boundeynge over swelleynge azure reles[11]
The salvage natyves sawe a shyppe appere;
An uncouthe[12] denwere[13] to theire bosomme steles;
Theyre myghte ys knopped[14] ynne the froste of fere.
The headed javlyn lisseth[15] here and there; 15
Theie stonde, theie ronne, theie loke wyth eger eyne;
The shyppes sayle, boleynge[16] wythe the kyndelie ayre,
Ronneth to harbour from the beateynge bryne;
Theie dryve awaie aghaste, whanne to the stronde
A burled[17] Trojan lepes, wythe Morglaien sweerde yn honde. 20
Hymme followede eftsoones hys compheeres[18], whose swerdes
Glestred lyke gledeynge[19] starres ynne frostie nete,
Hayleynge theyre capytayne in chirckynge[20] wordes
Kynge of the lande, whereon theie set theyre fete.
The greete kynge Brutus thanne theie dyd hym greete, 25
Prepared for battle, mareschalled the syghte;
Theie urg'd the warre, the natyves fledde, as flete
As fleaynge cloudes that swymme before the syghte;
Tyll tyred with battles, for to ceese the fraie,
Theie uncted[21] Brutus kynge, and gave the Trojanns swaie. 30
Twayne of twelve years han lemed[22] up the myndes,
Leggende[23] the salvage unthewes[24] of theire breste,
Improved in mysterk[25] warre, and lymmed[26] theyre kyndes,
Whenne Brute from Brutons sonke to aeterne reste.
Eftsoons the gentle Locryne was possest 35
Of swaie, and vested yn the paramente[27];
Halceld[28] the bykrous[29] Huns, who dyd infeste
Hys wakeynge kyngdom wyth a foule intente;
As hys broade swerde oer Homberres heade was honge,
He tourned toe ryver wyde, and roarynge rolled alonge. 40
He wedded Gendolyne of roieal sede,
Upon whose countenance rodde healthe was spreade;
Bloushing, alyche[30] the scarlette of herr wede,
She sonke to pleasaunce on the marryage bedde.
Eftsoons her peaceful joie of mynde was fledde; 45
Elstrid ametten with the kynge Locryne;
Unnombered beauties were upon her shedde,
Moche fyne, moche fayrer thanne was Gendolyne;
The mornynge tynge, the rose, the lillie floure,
In ever ronneynge race on her dyd peyncte theyre powere. 50
The gentle suyte of Locryne gayned her love;
Theie lyved soft momentes to a swotie[31] age;
Eft[32] wandringe yn the coppyce, delle, and grove,
Where ne one eyne mote theyre disporte engage;
There dydde theie tell the merrie lovynge sage[33], 55
Croppe the prymrosen floure to decke theyre headde;
The feerie Gendolyne yn woman rage
Gemoted[34] warriours to bewrecke[35] her bedde;
Theie rose; ynne battle was greete Locryne sleene;
The faire Elstrida fledde from the enchased[36] queene. 60
A tye of love, a dawter fayre she hanne,
Whose boddeynge morneyng shewed a fayre daie,
Her fadre Locrynne, once an hailie manne.
Wyth the fayre dawterre dydde she haste awaie,
To where the Western mittee[37] pyles of claie 65
Arise ynto the cloudes, and doe them beere;
There dyd Elstrida and Sabryna staie;
The fyrste tryckde out a whyle yn warryours gratch[38] and gear;
Vyncente was she ycleped, butte fulle soone fate
Sente deathe, to telle the dame, she was notte yn regrate[39]. 70
The queene Gendolyne sente a gyaunte knyghte,
Whose doughtie heade swepte the emmertleynge[40] skies,
To slea her wheresoever she shulde be pyghte[41],
Eke everychone who shulde her ele[42] emprize[43].
Swefte as the roareynge wyndes the gyaunte flies, 75
Stayde the loude wyndes, and shaded reaulmes yn nyghte,
Stepte over cytties, on meint[44] acres lies,
Meeteynge the herehaughtes of morneynge lighte;
Tyll mooveynge to the Weste, myschaunce hys gye[45],
He thorowe warriours gratch fayre Elstrid did espie. 80
He tore a ragged mountayne from the grounde,
Harried[46] uppe noddynge forrests to the skie,
Thanne wythe a fuirie, mote the erthe astounde[47],
To meddle ayre he lette the mountayne flie.
The flying wolfynnes sente a yelleynge crie; 85
Onne Vyncente and Sabryna felle the mount;
To lyve aeternalle dyd theie eftsoones die;
Thorowe the sandie grave boiled up the pourple founte,
On a broade grassie playne was layde the hylle,
Staieynge the rounynge course of meint a limmed[48] rylle. 90
The goddes, who kenned the actyons of the wyghte,
To leggen[49] the sadde happe of twayne so fayre,
Houton[50] dyd make the mountaine bie theire mighte.
Forth from Sabryna ran a ryverre cleere,
Roarynge and rolleynge on yn course bysmare[51]; 95
From female Vyncente shotte a ridge of stones,
Eche syde the ryver rysynge heavenwere;
Sabrynas floode was helde ynne Elstryds bones.
So are theie cleped; gentle and the hynde
Can telle, that Severnes streeme bie Vyncentes rocke's ywrynde[52]. 100
The bawsyn[53] gyaunt, hee who dyd them slee,
To telle Gendolyne quycklie was ysped[54];
Whanne, as he strod alonge the shakeynge lee,
The roddie levynne[55] glesterrd on hys headde:
Into hys hearte the azure vapoures spreade; 105
He wrythde arounde yn drearie dernie[56] payne;
Whanne from his lyfe-bloode the rodde lemes[57] were fed,
He felle an hepe of ashes on the playne:
Stylle does hys ashes shoote ynto the lyghte,
A wondrous mountayne hie, and Snowdon ys ytte hyghte. 110
FINIS.
[Footnote 1: I will endeavour to get the remainder of these poems. ]
[Footnote 2: unseemly, disagreeable. ]
[Footnote 3: wrapped. ]
[Footnote 4: rays. ]
[Footnote 5: hidden, secret. ]
[Footnote 6: broke, rent. ]
[Footnote 7: small pieces. ]
[Footnote 8: pulled, rent. ]
[Footnote 9: vapours, meteors. ]
[Footnote 10: emblaunched. ]
[Editor's note: _Title: See Introduction_ p. xli]
[Footnote 11: Ridges, rising waves. ]
[Footnotes 12, 13: unknown tremour. ]
[Footnote 14: fastened, chained, congealed. ]
[Footnote 15: boundeth. ]
[Footnote 16: swelling. ]
[Footnote 17: armed. ]
[Footnote 18: companions. ]
[Footnote 19: livid. ]
[Footnote 20: a confused noise. ]
[Footnote 21: Anointed. ]
[Footnote 22: enlightened. ]
[Footnote 23: alloyed. ]
[Footnote 24: savage barbarity. ]
[Footnote 25: mystic. ]
[Footnote 26: polished. ]
[Footnote 27: a princely robe. ]
[Footnote 28: defeated. ]
[Footnote 29: warring. ]
[Footnote 30: Like. ]
[Footnote 31: sweet. ]
[Footnote 32: oft. ]
[Footnote 33: a tale. ]
[Footnote 34: assembled. ]
[Footnote 35: revenge. ]
[Footnote 36: heated, enraged. ]
[Footnote 37: Mighty. ]
[Footnote 38: apparel. ]
[Footnote 39: esteem, favour. ]
[Footnote 40: glittering. ]
[Footnote 41: settled. ]
[Footnote 42: help. ]
[Footnote 43: adventure. ]
[Footnote 44: Many. ]
[Footnote 45: guide. ]
[Footnote 46: tost. ]
[Footnote 47: astonish. ]
[Footnote 48: glassy, reflecting. ]
[Footnote 49: lessen, alloy. ]
[Footnote 50: hollow. ]
[Footnote 51: Bewildered, curious. ]
[Footnote 52: hid, covered. ]
[Footnote 53: huge, bulky. ]
[Footnote 54: dispatched. ]
[Footnote 55: red lightning. ]
[Footnote 56: cruel. ]
[Footnote 57: flames, rays. ]
AN EXCELENTE BALADE
OF CHARITIE:
As wroten bie the gode Prieste THOMAS ROWLEY[1],
1464.
In Virgyne the sweltrie sun gan sheene,
And hotte upon the mees[2] did caste his raie;
The apple rodded[3] from its palie greene,
And the mole[4] peare did bende the leafy spraie;
The peede chelandri[5] sunge the livelong daie; 5
'Twas nowe the pride, the manhode of the yeare,
And eke the grounde was dighte[6] in its mose defte[7] aumere[8].
The sun was glemeing in the midde of daie,
Deadde still the aire, and eke the welken[9] blue,
When from the sea arist[10] in drear arraie 10
A hepe of cloudes of sable sullen hue,
The which full fast unto the woodlande drewe,
Hiltring[11] attenes[12] the sunnis fetive[13] face,
And the blacke tempeste swolne and gatherd up apace.
Beneathe an holme, faste by a pathwaie side, 15
Which dide unto Seyncte Godwine's covent[14] lede,
A hapless pilgrim moneynge did abide,
Pore in his viewe, ungentle[15] in his weede,
Longe bretful[16] of the miseries of neede,
Where from the hail-stone coulde the almer[17] flie? 20
He had no housen theere, ne anie covent nie.
Look in his glommed[18] face, his sprighte there scanne;
Howe woe-be-gone, how withered, forwynd[19], deade!
Haste to thie church-glebe-house[20], asshrewed[21] manne!
Haste to thie kiste[22], thie onlie dortoure[23] bedde. 25
Cale, as the claie whiche will gre on thie hedde,
Is Charitie and Love aminge highe elves;
Knightis and Barons live for pleasure and themselves.
The gatherd storme is rype; the bigge drops falle;
The forswat[24] meadowes smethe[25], and drenche[26] the raine; 30
The comyng ghastness do the cattle pall[27],
And the full flockes are drivynge ore the plaine;
Dashde from the cloudes the waters flott[28] againe;
The welkin opes; the yellow levynne[29] flies;
And the hot fierie smothe[30] in the wide lowings[31] dies. 35
Liste! now the thunder's rattling clymmynge[32] sound
Cheves[33] slowlie on, and then embollen[34] clangs,
Shakes the hie spyre, and losst, dispended, drown'd,
Still on the gallard[35] eare of terroure hanges;
The windes are up; the lofty elmen swanges; 40
Again the levynne and the thunder poures,
And the full cloudes are braste[36] attenes in stonen showers.
Spurreynge his palfrie oere the watrie plaine.
The Abbote of Seyncte Godwynes convente came;
His chapournette[37] was drented with the reine, 45
And his pencte[38] gyrdle met with mickle shame;
He aynewarde tolde his bederoll[39] at the same;
The storme encreasen, and he drew aside,
With the mist[40] almes craver neere to the holme to bide.
His cope[41] was all of Lyncolne clothe so fyne, 50
With a gold button fasten'd neere his chynne;
His autremete[42] was edged with golden twynne,
And his shoone pyke a loverds[43] mighte have binne;
Full well it shewn he thoughten coste no sinne;
The trammels of the palfrye pleasde his sighte; 55
For the horse-millanare[44] his head with roses dighte.
An almes, sir prieste! the droppynge pilgrim saide,
O! let me waite within your covente dore,
Till the sunne sheneth hie above our heade,
And the loude tempeste of the aire is oer; 60
Helpless and ould am I alas! and poor;
No house, ne friend, ne moneie in my pouche;
All yatte I call my owne is this my silver crouche
Varlet, replyd the Abbatte, cease your dinne;
This is no season almes and prayers to give; 65
Mie porter never lets a faitour[45] in;
None touch mie rynge who not in honour live.
And now the sonne with the blacke cloudes did stryve,
And shettynge on the grounde his glairie raie,
The Abbatte spurrde his steede, and eftsoones roadde awaie. 70
Once moe the skie was blacke, the thounder rolde;
Faste reyneynge oer the plaine a prieste was seen;
Ne dighte full proude, ne buttoned up in golde;
His cope and jape[46] were graie, and eke were clene;
A Limitoure he was of order seene; 75
And from the pathwaie side then turned hee,
Where the pore almer laie binethe the holmen tree.
An almes, sir priest! the droppynge pilgrim sayde,
For sweete Seyncte Marie and your order sake.
The Limitoure then loosen'd his pouche threade, 80
And did thereoute a groate of silver take;
The mister pilgrim dyd for halline[47] shake.
Here take this silver, it maie eathe[48] thie care;
We are Goddes stewards all, nete[49] of oure owne we bare.
But ah! unhailie[50] pilgrim, lerne of me, 85
Scathe anie give a rentrolle to their Lorde.
Here take my semecope[51], thou arte bare I see;
Tis thyne; the Seynctes will give me mie rewarde.
He left the pilgrim, and his waie aborde.
Virgynne and hallie Seyncte, who sitte yn gloure[52], 90
Or give the mittee[53] will, or give the gode man power.
[Footnote 1: Thomas Rowley, the author, was born at Norton Mal-reward
in Somersetshire, educated at the Convent of St. Kenna at Keynesham,
and died at Westbury in Gloucestershire. ]
[Footnote 2: meads. ]
[Footnote 3: reddened, ripened. ]
[Footnote 4: soft. ]
[Footnote 5: pied goldfinch. ]
[Footnote 6: drest, arrayed. ]
[Footnote 7: neat, ornamental. ]
[Footnote 8: a loose robe or mantle. ]
[Footnote 9: the sky, the atmosphere. ]
[Footnote 10: Arose. ]
[Footnote 11: hiding, shrouding. ]
[Footnote 12: at once. ]
[Footnote 13: beauteous. ]
[Footnote 14: It would have been _charitable_, if the author had not
pointed at personal characters in this Ballad of Charity. The Abbot
of St. Godwin's at the time of the writing of this was Ralph de
Bellomont, a great stickler for the Lancastrian family. Rowley was a
Yorkist. ]
[Footnote 15: beggarly. ]
[Footnote 16: filled with. ]
[Footnote 17: beggar. ]
[Footnote 18: clouded, dejected. A person of some note in the literary
world is of opinion, that _glum_ and _glom_ are modern cant words;
and from this circumstance doubts the authenticity of Rowley's
Manuscripts. Glum-mong in the Saxon signifies twilight, a dark or
dubious light; and the modern word _gloomy_ is derived from the Saxon
_glum_. ]
[Footnote 19: dry, sapless. ]
[Footnote 20: The grave. ]
[Footnote 21: accursed, unfortunate. ]
[Footnote 22: coffin. ]
[Footnote 23: a sleeping room. ]
[Footnote 24: sun-burnt. ]
[Footnote 25: smoke. ]
[Footnote 26: drink. ]
[Footnote 27: _pall_, a contraction from _appall_, to fright. ]
[Footnote 28: fly. ]
[Footnote 29: lightning. ]
[Footnote 30: steam, or vapours. ]
[Footnote 31: flames. ]
[Footnote 32: noisy. ]
[Footnote 33: moves. ]
[Footnote 34: swelled, strengthened. ]
[Footnote 35: Frighted. ]
[Footnote 36: burst. ]
[Footnote 37: a small round hat, not unlike the shapournette in
heraldry, formerly worn by Ecclesiastics and Lawyers. ]
[Footnote 38: painted. ]
[Footnote 39: He told his beads backwards; a figurative expression to
signify cursing. ]
[Footnote 40: poor, needy. ]
[Footnote 41: a cloke. ]
[Footnote 42: a loose white robe, worn by Priests. ]
[Footnote 43: A lord. ]
[Footnote 44: I believe this trade is still in being, though but
seldom employed. ]
[Footnote 45: a beggar, or vagabond. ]
[Footnote 46: A short surplice, worn by Friars of an inferior class,
and secular priests. ]
[Footnote 47: joy. ]
[Footnote 48: ease. ]
[Footnote 49: nought. ]
[Footnote 50: unhappy. ]
[Footnote 51: a short under-cloke. ]
[Footnote 52: Glory. ]
[Footnote 53: mighty, rich. ]
BATTLE OF HASTINGS.
[No 1. ]
O Chryste, it is a grief for me to telle,
How manie a nobil erle and valrous knyghte
In fyghtynge for Kynge Harrold noblie fell,
Al sleyne in Hastyngs feeld in bloudie fyghte.
O sea-oerteeming Dovor! han thy floude, 5
Han anie fructuous entendement,
Thou wouldst have rose and sank wyth tydes of bloude.
Before Duke Wyllyam's knyghts han hither went;
Whose cowart arrows manie erles sleyne,
And brued the feeld wyth bloude as season rayne. 10
And of his knyghtes did eke full manie die,
All passyng hie, of mickle myghte echone,
Whose poygnant arrowes, typp'd with destynie,
Caus'd manie wydowes to make myckle mone.
Lordynges, avaunt, that chycken-harted are, 15
From out of hearynge quicklie now departe;
Full well I wote, to synge of bloudie warre
Will greeve your tenderlie and mayden harte.
Go, do the weaklie womman inn mann's geare,
And scond your mansion if grymm war come there. 20
Soone as the erlie maten belle was tolde,
And sonne was come to byd us all good daie,
Bothe armies on the feeld, both brave and bolde,
Prepar'd for fyghte in champyon arraie.
As when two bulles, destynde for Hocktide fyghte, 25
Are yoked bie the necke within a sparre,
Theie rend the erthe, and travellyrs affryghte,
Lackynge to gage the sportive bloudie warre;
Soe lacked Harroldes menne to come to blowes,
The Normans lacked for to wielde their bowes. 30
Kynge Harrolde turnynge to hys leegemen spake;
My merrie men, be not caste downe in mynde;
Your onlie lode for aye to mar or make,
Before yon sunne has donde his welke, you'll fynde.
Your lovyng wife, who erst dyd rid the londe 35
Of Lurdanes, and the treasure that you han,
Wyll falle into the Normanne robber's honde,
Unlesse with honde and harte you plaie the manne.
Cheer up youre hartes, chase sorrowe farre awaie,
Godde and Seyncte Cuthbert be the worde to daie. 40
And thenne Duke Wyllyam to his knyghtes did saie;
My merrie menne, be bravelie everiche;
Gif I do gayn the honore of the daie,
Ech one of you I will make myckle riche.
Beer you in mynde, we for a kyngdomm fyghte; 45
Lordshippes and honores echone shall possesse;
Be this the worde to daie, God and my Ryghte;
Ne doubte but God will oure true cause blesse.
The clarions then sounded sharpe and shrille;
Deathdoeynge blades were out intent to kille. 50
And brave Kyng Harrolde had nowe donde hys saie;
He threwe wythe myghte amayne hys shorte horse-spear.
The noise it made the duke to turn awaie,
And hytt his knyghte, de Beque, upon the ear.
His cristede beaver dyd him smalle abounde; 55
The cruel spear went thorough all his hede;
The purpel bloude came goushynge to the grounde,
And at Duke Wyllyam's feet he tumbled deade:
So fell the myghtie tower of Standrip, whenne
It felte the furie of the Danish menne. 60
O Afflem, son of Cuthbert, holie Sayncte,
Come ayde thy freend, and shewe Duke Wyllyams payne;
Take up thy pencyl, all hys features paincte;
Thy coloryng excells a synger strayne.
Duke Wyllyam sawe hys freende sleyne piteouslie, 65
Hys lovynge freende whome he muche honored,
For he han lovd hym from puerilitie,
And theie together bothe han bin ybred:
O! in Duke Wyllyam's harte it raysde a flame,
To whiche the rage of emptie wolves is tame. 70
He tooke a brasen crosse-bowe in his honde,
And drewe it harde with all hys myghte amein,
Ne doubtyng but the bravest in the londe
Han by his soundynge arrowe-lede bene sleyne.
Alured's stede, the fynest stede alive, 75
Bye comelie forme knowlached from the rest;
But nowe his destind howre did aryve,
The arrowe hyt upon his milkwhite breste:
So have I seen a ladie-smock soe white,
Blown in the mornynge, and mowd downe at night. 80
With thilk a force it dyd his bodie gore,
That in his tender guttes it entered,
In veritee a fulle clothe yarde or more,
And downe with flaiten noyse he sunken dede.
Brave Alured, benethe his faithfull horse, 85
Was smeerd all over withe the gorie duste,
And on hym laie the recer's lukewarme corse,
That Alured coulde not hymself aluste.
The standyng Normans drew theyr bowe echone,
And broght full manie Englysh champyons downe. 90
The Normans kept aloofe, at distaunce stylle,
The Englysh nete but short horse-spears could welde;
The Englysh manie dethe-sure dartes did kille,
And manie arrowes twang'd upon the sheelde.
Kynge Haroldes knyghts desir'de for hendie stroke, 95
And marched furious o'er the bloudie pleyne,
In bodie close, and made the pleyne to smoke;
Theire sheelds rebounded arrowes back agayne.
The Normans stode aloofe, nor hede the same,
Their arrowes woulde do dethe, tho' from far of they came. 100
Duke Wyllyam drewe agen hys arrowe strynge,
An arrowe withe a sylver-hede drewe he;
The arrowe dauncynge in the ayre dyd synge,
And hytt the horse of Tosselyn on the knee.
At this brave Tosslyn threwe his short horse-speare; 105
Duke Wyllyam stooped to avoyde the blowe;
The yrone weapon hummed in his eare,
And hitte Sir Doullie Naibor on the prowe;
Upon his helme soe furious was the stroke,
It splete his bever, and the ryvets broke. 110
Downe fell the beaver by Tosslyn splete in tweine,
And onn his hede expos'd a punie wounde,
But on Destoutvilles sholder came ameine,
And fell'd the champyon to the bloudie grounde.
Then Doullie myghte his bowestrynge drewe, 115
Enthoughte to gyve brave Tosslyn bloudie wounde,
But Harolde's asenglave stopp'd it as it slewe,
And it fell bootless on the bloudie grounde.
Siere Doullie, when he sawe hys venge thus broke,
Death-doynge blade from out the scabard toke. 120
And now the battail closde on everych syde,
And face to face appeard the knyghts full brave;
They lifted up theire bylles with myckle pryde,
And manie woundes unto the Normans gave.
So have I sene two weirs at once give grounde, 125
White fomyng hygh to rorynge combat runne;
In roaryng dyn and heaven-breaking sounde,
Burste waves on waves, and spangle in the sunne;
And when their myghte in burstynge waves is fled,
Like cowards, stele alonge their ozy bede. 130
Yonge Egelrede, a knyghte of comelie mien,
Affynd unto the kynge of Dynefarre,
At echone tylte and tourney he was seene,
And lov'd to be amonge the bloudie warre;
He couch'd hys launce, and ran wyth mickle myghte 135
Ageinste the brest of Sieur de Bonoboe;
He grond and sunken on the place of fyghte,
O Chryste! to fele his wounde, his harte was woe.
Ten thousand thoughtes push'd in upon his mynde,
Not for hymselfe, but those he left behynde. 140
He dy'd and leffed wyfe and chyldren tweine,
Whom he wyth cheryshment did dearlie love;
In England's court, in goode Kynge Edwarde's regne,
He wonne the tylte, and ware her crymson glove;
And thence unto the place where he was borne, 145
Together with hys welthe & better wyfe,
To Normandie he dyd perdie returne,
In peace and quietnesse to lead his lyfe;
And now with sovrayn Wyllyam he came,
To die in battel, or get welthe and fame. 150
Then, swefte as lyghtnynge, Egelredus set
Agaynst du Barlie of the mounten head;
In his dere hartes bloude his longe launce was wett,
And from his courser down he tumbled dede.
So have I sene a mountayne oak, that longe 155
Has caste his shadowe to the mountayne syde,
Brave all the wyndes, tho' ever they so stronge,
And view the briers belowe with self-taught pride;
But, whan throwne downe by mightie thunder stroke,
He'de rather bee a bryer than an oke. 160
Then Egelred dyd in a declynie
Hys launce uprere with all hys myghte ameine,
And strok Fitzport upon the dexter eye,
And at his pole the spear came out agayne.
Butt as he drewe it forthe, an arrowe fledde 165
Wyth mickle myght sent from de Tracy's bowe,
And at hys syde the arrowe entered,
And oute the crymson streme of bloude gan flowe;
In purple strekes it dyd his armer staine,
And smok'd in puddles on the dustie plaine. 170
But Egelred, before he sunken downe,
With all his myghte amein his spear besped,
It hytte Bertrammil Manne upon the crowne,
And bothe together quicklie sunken dede.
So have I seen a rocke o'er others hange, 175
Who stronglie plac'd laughde at his slippry state,
But when he falls with heaven-peercynge bange
That he the sleeve unravels all theire fate,
And broken onn the beech thys lesson speak,
The stronge and firme should not defame the weake. 180
Howel ap Jevah came from Matraval,
Where he by chaunce han slayne a noble's son,
And now was come to fyghte at Harold's call,
And in the battel he much goode han done;
Unto Kyng Harold he foughte mickle near, 185
For he was yeoman of the bodie guard;
And with a targyt and a fyghtyng spear,
He of his boddie han kepte watch and ward;
True as a shadow to a substant thynge,
So true he guarded Harold hys good kynge. 190
But when Egelred tumbled to the grounde,
He from Kynge Harolde quicklie dyd advaunce,
And strooke de Tracie thilk a crewel wounde,
Hys harte and lever came out on the launce.
And then retreted for to guarde his kynge, 195
On dented launce he bore the harte awaie;
An arrowe came from Auffroie Griel's strynge,
Into hys heele betwyxt hys yron staie;
The grey-goose pynion, that thereon was sett,
Eftsoons wyth smokyng crymson bloud was wett. 200
His bloude at this was waxen flaminge hotte,
Without adoe he turned once agayne,
And hytt de Griel thilk a blowe, God wote,
Maugre hys helme, he splete his hede in twayne.
This Auffroie was a manne of mickle pryde, 205
Whose featliest bewty ladden in his face;
His chaunce in warr he ne before han tryde,
But lyv'd in love and Rosaline's embrace;
And like a useless weede amonge the haie
Amonge the sleine warriours Griel laie. 210
Kynge Harolde then he putt his yeomen bie,
And ferslie ryd into the bloudie fyghte;
Erle Ethelwolf, and Goodrick, and Alsie,
Cuthbert, and Goddard, mical menne of myghte,
Ethelwin, Ethelbert, and Edwyn too, 215
Effred the famous, and Erle Ethelwarde,
Kynge Harolde's leegemenn, erlies hie and true,
Rode after hym, his bodie for to guarde;
The reste of erlies, fyghtynge other wheres,
Stained with Norman bloude theire fyghtynge speres. 220
As when some ryver with the season raynes
White fomynge hie doth breke the bridges oft,
Oerturns the hamelet and all conteins.
And layeth oer the hylls a muddie soft;
So Harold ranne upon his Normanne foes. 225
And layde the greate and small upon the grounde,
And delte among them thilke a store of blowes,
Full manie a Normanne fell by him dede wounde;
So who he be that ouphant faieries strike,
Their soules will wander to Kynge Offa's dyke. 230
Fitz Salnarville, Duke William's favourite knyghte,
To noble Edelwarde his life dyd yielde;
Withe hys tylte launce hee stroke with thilk a myghte,
The Norman's bowels steemde upon the feeld.
Old Salnarville beheld hys son lie ded, 235
Against Erie Edelward his bowe-strynge drewe;
But Harold at one blowe made tweine his head;
He dy'd before the poignant arrowe flew.
So was the hope of all the issue gone,
And in one battle fell the sire and son. 240
De Aubignee rod fercely thro' the fyghte,
To where the boddie of Salnarville laie;
Quod he; And art thou ded, thou manne of myghte?
I'll be revengd, or die for thee this daie.
Die then thou shalt, Erie Ethelwarde he said; 245
I am a cunnynge erle, and that can tell;
Then drewe hys swerde, and ghastlie cut hys hede,
And on his freend eftsoons he lifeless fell,
Stretch'd on the bloudie pleyne; great God forefend,
It be the fate of no such trustie freende! 250
Then Egwin Sieur Pikeny did attaque;
He turned aboute and vilely souten flie;
But Egwyn cutt so deepe into his backe,
He rolled on the grounde and soon dyd die.
His distant sonne, Sire Romara de Biere, 255
Soughte to revenge his fallen kynsman's lote,
But soone Erie Cuthbert's dented fyghtyng spear
Stucke in his harte, and stayd his speed, God wote.
He tumbled downe close by hys kynsman's syde,
Myngle their stremes of pourple bloude, and dy'd. 260
And now an arrowe from a bowe unwote
Into Erle Cuthbert's harte eftsoons dyd flee;
Who dying sayd; ah me! how hard my lote!
Now slayne, mayhap, of one of lowe degree.
So have I seen a leafic elm of yore 265
Have been the pride and glorie of the pleine;
But, when the spendyng landlord is growne poore.
It falls benethe the axe of some rude sweine;
And like the oke, the sovran of the woode,
It's fallen boddie tells you how it stoode. 270
When Edelward perceevd Erle Cuthbert die,
On Hubert strongest of the Normanne crewe,
As wolfs when hungred on the cattel flie,
So Edelward amaine upon him flewe.
With thilk a force he hyt hym to the grounde; 275
And was demasing howe to take his life,
When he behynde received a ghastlie wounde
Gyven by de Torcie, with a stabbyng knyfe;
Base trecherous Normannes, if such actes you doe,
The conquer'd maie clame victorie of you. 280
The erlie felt de Torcie's trecherous knyfe
Han made his crymson bloude and spirits floe;
And knowlachyng he soon must quyt this lyfe,
Resolved Hubert should too with hym goe.
He held hys trustie swerd against his breste, 285
And down he fell, and peerc'd him to the harte;
And both together then did take their reste,
Their soules from corpses unaknell'd depart;
And both together soughte the unknown shore,
Where we shall goe, where manie's gon before. 290
Kynge Harolde Torcie's trechery dyd spie,
And hie alofe his temper'd swerde dyd welde,
Cut offe his arme, and made the bloude to flie,
His proofe steel armoure did him littel sheelde;
And not contente, he splete his hede in twaine, 295
And down he tumbled on the bloudie grounde;
Mean while the other erlies on the playne
Gave and received manie a bloudie wounde,
Such as the arts in warre han learnt with care,
But manie knyghtes were women in men's geer. 300
Herrewald, borne on Sarim's spreddyng plaine,
Where Thor's fam'd temple manie ages stoode;
Where Druids, auncient preests, did ryghtes ordaine,
And in the middle shed the victyms bloude;
Where auncient Bardi dyd their verses synge 305
Of Caesar conquer'd, and his mighty hoste,
And how old Tynyan, necromancing kynge,
Wreck'd all hys shyppyng on the Brittish coaste,
And made hym in his tatter'd barks to flie,
'Till Tynyan's dethe and opportunity. 310
To make it more renomed than before,
(I, tho a Saxon, yet the truthe will telle)
The Saxonnes steynd the place wyth Brittish gore,
Where nete but bloud of sacrifices felle.
Tho' Chrystians, stylle they thoghte mouche of the pile, 315
And here theie mett when causes dyd it neede;
'Twas here the auncient Elders of the Isle
Dyd by the trecherie of Hengist bleede;
O Hengist! han thy cause bin good and true,
Thou wouldst such murdrous acts as these eschew. 320
The erlie was a manne of hie degree,
And han that daie full manie Normannes sleine;
Three Norman Champyons of hie degree
He lefte to smoke upon the bloudie pleine:
The Sier Fitzbotevilleine did then advaunce, 325
And with his bowe he smote the erlies hede;
Who eftsoons gored hym with his tylting launce,
And at his horses feet he tumbled dede:
His partyng spirit hovered o'er the floude
Of soddayne roushynge mouche lov'd pourple bloude. 330
De Viponte then, a squier of low degree,
An arrowe drewe with all his myghte ameine;
The arrowe graz'd upon the erlies knee,
A punie wounde, that causd but littel peine.
So have I seene a Dolthead place a stone, 335
Enthoghte to staie a driving rivers course;
But better han it bin to lett alone,
It onlie drives it on with mickle force;
The erlie, wounded by so base a hynde,
Rays'd furyous doyngs in his noble mynde. 340
The Siere Chatillion, yonger of that name,
Advaunced next before the erlie's syghte;
His fader was a manne of mickle fame,
And he renomde and valorous in fyghte.
Chatillion his trustie swerd forth drewe. 345
The erle drawes his, menne both of mickle myghte;
And at eche other vengouslie they flewe,
As mastie dogs at Hocktide set to fyghte;
Bothe scornd to yeelde, and bothe abhor'de to flie,
Resolv'd to vanquishe, or resolv'd to die. 350
Chatillion hyt the erlie on the hede,
Thatt splytte eftsoons his cristed helm in twayne;
Whiche he perforce withe target covered,
And to the battel went with myghte ameine.
The erlie hytte Chatillion thilke a blowe 355
Upon his breste, his harte was plein to see;
He tumbled at the horses feet alsoe,
And in dethe panges he seez'd the recer's knee:
Faste as the ivy rounde the oke doth clymbe,
So faste he dying gryp'd the recer's lymbe. 360
The recer then beganne to flynge and kicke,
And toste the erlie farr off to the grounde;
The erlie's squier then a swerde did sticke
Into his harte, a dedlie ghastlie wounde;
And downe he felle upon the crymson pleine, 365
Upon Chatillion's soulless corse of claie;
A puddlie streme of bloude flow'd oute ameine;
Stretch'd out at length besmer'd with gore he laie;
As some tall oke fell'd from the greenie plaine,
To live a second time upon the main. 370
The erlie nowe an horse and beaver han,
And nowe agayne appered on the feeld;
And manie a mickle knyghte and mightie manne
To his dethe-doyng swerd his life did yeeld;
When Siere de Broque an arrowe longe lett flie, 375
Intending Herewaldus to have sleyne;
It miss'd; butt hytte Edardus on the eye,
And at his pole came out with horrid payne.
Edardus felle upon the bloudie grounde,
His noble soule came roushyng from the wounde. 380
Thys Herewald perceevd, and full of ire
He on the Siere de Broque with furie came;
Quod he; thou'st slaughtred my beloved squier,
But I will be revenged for the same.
Into his bowels then his launce he thruste, 385
And drew thereout a steemie drerie lode;
Quod he; these offals are for ever curst,
Shall serve the coughs, and rooks, and dawes, for foode.
Then on the pleine the steemie lode hee throwde,
Smokynge wyth lyfe, and dy'd with crymson bloude. 390
Fitz Broque, who saw his father killen lie,
Ah me! sayde he; what woeful syghte I see!
But now I must do somethyng more than sighe;
And then an arrowe from the bowe drew he.
Beneth the erlie's navil came the darte; 395
Fitz Broque on foote han drawne it from the bowe;
And upwards went into the erlie's harte,
And out the crymson streme of bloude 'gan flowe.
As fromm a hatch, drawne with a vehement geir,
White rushe the burstynge waves, and roar along the weir. 400
The erle with one honde grasp'd the recer's mayne,
And with the other he his launce besped;
And then felle bleedyng on the bloudie plaine.
His launce it hytte Fitz Broque upon the hede;
Upon his hede it made a wounde full slyghte, 405
But peerc'd his shoulder, ghastlie wounde inferne,
Before his optics daunced a shade of nyghte,
Whyche soone were closed ynn a sleepe eterne.
The noble erlie than, withote a grone,
Took flyghte, to fynde the regyons unknowne. 410
Brave Alured from binethe his noble horse
Was gotten on his leggs, with bloude all smore;
And now eletten on another horse,
Eftsoons he withe his launce did manie gore.
The cowart Norman knyghtes before hym fledde, 415
And from a distaunce sent their arrowes keene;
But noe such destinie awaits his hedde,
As to be sleyen by a wighte so meene.
Tho oft the oke falls by the villen's shock,
'Tys moe than hyndes can do, to move the rock. 420
Upon du Chatelet he ferselie sett,
And peerc'd his bodie with a force full grete;
The asenglave of his tylt-launce was wett,
The rollynge bloude alonge the launce did fleet.
Advauncynge, as a mastie at a bull, 425
He rann his launce into Fitz Warren's harte;
From Partaies bowe, a wight unmercifull,
Within his owne he felt a cruel darte;
Close by the Norman champyons he han sleine,
He fell; and mixd his bloude with theirs upon the pleine. 430
Erie Ethelbert then hove, with clinie just,
A launce, that stroke Partaie upon the thighe,
And pinn'd him downe unto the gorie duste;
Cruel, quod he, thou cruellie shalt die.
With that his launce he enterd at his throte; 435
He scritch'd and screem'd in melancholie mood;
And at his backe eftsoons came out, God wote,
And after it a crymson streme of bloude:
In agonie and peine he there dyd lie,
While life and dethe strove for the masterrie, 440
He gryped hard the bloudie murdring launce,
And in a grone he left this mortel lyfe.
Behynde the erlie Fiscampe did advaunce,
Bethoghte to kill him with a stabbynge knife;
But Egward, who perceevd his fowle intent, 445
Eftsoons his trustie swerde he forthwyth drewe,
And thilke a cruel blowe to Fiscampe sent,
That soule and bodie's bloude at one gate flewe.
Thilk deeds do all deserve, whose deeds so fowle
Will black theire earthlie name, if not their soule. 450
When lo! an arrowe from Walleris honde,
Winged with fate and dethe daunced alonge;
And slewe the noble flower of Powyslonde,
Howel ap Jevah, who yclepd the stronge.
Whan he the first mischaunce received han, 455
With horsemans haste he from the armie rodde;
And did repaire unto the cunnynge manne,
Who sange a charme, that dyd it mickle goode;
Then praid Seyncte Cuthbert, and our holie Dame,
To blesse his labour, and to heal the same. 460
Then drewe the arrowe, and the wounde did seck,
And putt the teint of holie herbies on;
And putt a rowe of bloude-stones round his neck;
And then did say; go, champyon, get agone.
And now was comynge Harrolde to defend, 465
And metten with Walleris cruel darte;
His sheelde of wolf-skinn did him not attend,
The arrow peerced into his noble harte;
As some tall oke, hewn from the mountayne hed,
Falls to the pleine; so fell the warriour dede. 470
His countryman, brave Mervyn ap Teudor,
Who love of hym han from his country gone,
When he perceevd his friend lie in his gore,
As furious as a mountayne wolf he ranne.
As ouphant faieries, whan the moone sheenes bryghte, 475
In littel circles daunce upon the greene,
All living creatures flie far from their syghte,
Ne by the race of destinie be seen;
For what he be that ouphant faieries stryke,
Their soules will wander to Kyng Offa's dyke. 480
So from the face of Mervyn Tewdor brave
The Normans eftsoons fled awaie aghaste;
And lefte behynde their bowe and asenglave.
For fear of hym, in thilk a cowart haste.
His garb sufficient were to move affryghte; 485
A wolf skin girded round his myddle was;
A bear skyn, from Norwegians wan in fyghte,
Was tytend round his shoulders by the claws:
So Hercules, 'tis sunge, much like to him,
Upon his sholder wore a lyon's skin. 490
Upon his thyghes and harte-swefte legges he wore
A hugie goat skyn, all of one grete peice;
A boar skyn sheelde on his bare armes he bore;
His gauntletts were the skynn of harte of greece.
They fledde; he followed close upon their heels, 495
Vowynge vengeance for his deare countrymanne;
And Siere de Sancelotte his vengeance feels;
He peerc'd hys backe, and out the bloude ytt ranne.
His bloude went downe the swerde unto his arme,
In springing rivulet, alive and warme. 500
His swerde was shorte, and broade, and myckle keene,
And no mann's bone could stonde to stoppe itts waie;
The Normann's harte in partes two cutt cleane,
He clos'd his eyne, and clos'd hys eyne for aie.
Then with his swerde he sett on Fitz du Valle, 505
A knyghte mouch famous for to runne at tylte;
With thilk a furie on hym he dyd falle,
Into his neck he ranne the swerde and hylte;
As myghtie lyghtenynge often has been founde,
To drive an oke into unfallow'd grounde. 510
And with the swerde, that in his neck yet stoke,
The Norman fell unto the bloudie grounde;
And with the fall ap Tewdore's swerde he broke,
And bloude afreshe came trickling from the wounde.
As whan the hyndes, before a mountayne wolfe, 515
Flie from his paws, and angrie vysage grym;
But when he falls into the pittie golphe,
They dare hym to his bearde, and battone hym;
And cause he fryghted them so muche before,
Lyke cowart hyndes, they battone hym the more. 520
So, whan they sawe ap Tewdore was bereft
Of his keen swerde, thatt wroghte thilke great dismaie,
They turned about, eftsoons upon hym lept,
And full a score engaged in the fraie.
Mervyn ap Tewdore, ragyng as a bear, 525
Seiz'd on the beaver of the Sier de Laque;
And wring'd his hedde with such a vehement gier,
His visage was turned round unto his backe.
Backe to his harte retyr'd the useless gore,
And felle upon the pleine to rise no more. 530
Then on the mightie Siere Fitz Pierce he flew,
And broke his helm and seiz'd hym bie the throte:
Then manie Normann knyghtes their arrowes drew,
That enter'd into Mervyn's harte, God wote.
In dying panges he gryp'd his throte more stronge, 535
And from their sockets started out his eyes;
And from his mouthe came out his blameless tonge;
And bothe in peyne and anguishe eftsoon dies.
As some rude rocke torne from his bed of claie,
Stretch'd onn the pleyne the brave ap Tewdore laie. 540
And now Erle Ethelbert and Egward came
Brave Mervyn from the Normannes to assist;
A myghtie siere, Fitz Chatulet bie name,
An arrowe drew, that dyd them littel list.
Erle Egward points his launce at Chatulet, 545
And Ethelbert at Walleris set his;
And Egwald dyd the siere a hard blowe hytt,
But Ethelbert by a myschaunce dyd miss:
Fear laide Walleris flat upon the strande,
He ne deserved a death from erlies hande. 550
Betwyxt the ribbes of Sire Fitz Chatelet
The poynted launce of Egward did ypass;
The distaunt syde thereof was ruddie wet,
And he fell breathless on the bloudie grass.
As cowart Walleris laie on the grounde, 555
The dreaded weapon hummed oer his heade.
And hytt the squier thylke a lethal wounde,
Upon his fallen lorde he tumbled dead:
Oh shame to Norman armes!
[Footnote 117: wet, moist. ]
[Footnote 118: fen, moor. ]
[Footnote 119: drained. ]
[Footnote 120: swelling. ]
[Footnote 121: waves. ]
[Footnote 122: grievance. ]
[Footnote 123: assemble. ]
[Footnote 124: broad. ]
[Footnote 125: Horned. ]
[Footnote 126: white. ]
[Footnote 127: decks. ]
[Footnote 128: mightiest, most valiant. ]
[Footnote 129: slain. ]
[Footnote 130: oversets. ]
[Footnote 131: a castle. ]
[Footnote 132: revenge. ]
[Footnote 133: cause. ]
[Footnote 134: at once. ]
[Footnote 135: One who takes up the cross in order to fight against
the Saracens. ]
[Footnote 136: holy. ]
[Footnote 137: rare, extraordinary, strange. ]
[Footnote 138: run, shot up. ]
[Footnote 139: assembling, gathering. ]
[Footnote 140: bursteth. ]
[Footnote 141: dry, barren. ]
[Footnote 142: Mighty. ]
[Footnote 143: slain. ]
[Footnote 144: help. ]
[Footnote 145: Lord. ]
[Footnote 146: embroidered; 'tis conjectured, embroidery was not used
in England till Hen. II. ]
[Footnote 147: throne. ]
[Footnote 148: person, body. ]
[Footnote 149: lodge. ]
[Footnote 150: Marks. ]
[Footnote 151: subjects. ]
[Footnote 152: much. ]
[Footnote 153: lamentation. ]
[Footnote 154: neglected, or passed by. ]
[Footnote 155: require, ask. ]
[Footnote 156: holy. ]
[Footnote 157: help. ]
[Footnote 158: will. ]
[Footnote 159: dead. ]
[Footnote 160: doubt. ]
[Footnote 161: waves. ]
[Footnote 162: heaven-ward, or God-ward. ]
[Footnote 163: Purse, used here probably as a treasury. ]
[Footnote 164: expence. ]
[Footnote 165: receipt. ]
[Footnote 166: soon. ]
[Footnote 167: expended. ]
[Footnote 168: a contradiction of mighty. ]
[Footnote 169: Divest. ]
[Footnote 170: embrace. ]
[Footnote 171: mightiness. ]
[Footnote 172: counsel. ]
[Footnote 173: Firmness, stedfastness. ]
[Footnote 174: doubt, suspense. ]
[Footnote 175: not knowing. ]
[Footnote 176: wonder. ]
[Footnote 177: homage, obeysance. ]
[Footnote 178: they. ]
[Footnote 179: frown. ]
[Footnote 180: kill. ]
[Footnote 181: curriedowe, flatterer. ]
[Footnote 182: reward. ]
[Footnote 183: holy. ]
[Footnote 184: help. ]
[Footnote 185: allow. ]
[Footnote 186: manors. ]
[Footnote 187: alone. ]
[Footnote 188: Endeavoured. ]
[Footnote 189: freeze. ]
[Footnote 190: undismayed. ]
[Footnote 191: armed, pointed. ]
[Footnote 192: hoisted on high, raised. ]
[Footnote 193: foes, enemies. ]
[Footnote 194: fly. ]
[Footnote 195: head. ]
[Footnote 196: stretched. ]
[Footnote 197: Like. ]
[Footnote 198: two. ]
[Footnote 199: flaming. ]
[Footnote 200: meteors. ]
[Footnote 201: beats, stamps. ]
[Footnote 202: closely. ]
[Footnote 203: mantled, covered. ]
[Footnote 204: guides. ]
[Footnote 205: armed. ]
[Footnote 206: arose. ]
[Footnote 207: helmet. ]
ENGLYSH METAMORPHOSIS:
Bie T. ROWLEIE.
BOOKE 1st[1].
Whanne Scythyannes, salvage as the wolves theie chacde,
Peyncted in horrowe[2] formes bie nature dyghte,
Heckled[3] yn beastskyns, slepte uponne the waste,
And wyth the morneynge rouzed the wolfe to fyghte,
Swefte as descendeynge lemes[4] of roddie lyghte 5
Plonged to the hulstred[5] bedde of laveynge seas,
Gerd[6] the blacke mountayn okes yn drybblets[7] twighte[8],
And ranne yn thoughte alonge the azure mees,
Whose eyne dyd feerie sheene, like blue-hayred defs[9],
That dreerie hange upon Dover's emblaunched[10] clefs. 10
Soft boundeynge over swelleynge azure reles[11]
The salvage natyves sawe a shyppe appere;
An uncouthe[12] denwere[13] to theire bosomme steles;
Theyre myghte ys knopped[14] ynne the froste of fere.
The headed javlyn lisseth[15] here and there; 15
Theie stonde, theie ronne, theie loke wyth eger eyne;
The shyppes sayle, boleynge[16] wythe the kyndelie ayre,
Ronneth to harbour from the beateynge bryne;
Theie dryve awaie aghaste, whanne to the stronde
A burled[17] Trojan lepes, wythe Morglaien sweerde yn honde. 20
Hymme followede eftsoones hys compheeres[18], whose swerdes
Glestred lyke gledeynge[19] starres ynne frostie nete,
Hayleynge theyre capytayne in chirckynge[20] wordes
Kynge of the lande, whereon theie set theyre fete.
The greete kynge Brutus thanne theie dyd hym greete, 25
Prepared for battle, mareschalled the syghte;
Theie urg'd the warre, the natyves fledde, as flete
As fleaynge cloudes that swymme before the syghte;
Tyll tyred with battles, for to ceese the fraie,
Theie uncted[21] Brutus kynge, and gave the Trojanns swaie. 30
Twayne of twelve years han lemed[22] up the myndes,
Leggende[23] the salvage unthewes[24] of theire breste,
Improved in mysterk[25] warre, and lymmed[26] theyre kyndes,
Whenne Brute from Brutons sonke to aeterne reste.
Eftsoons the gentle Locryne was possest 35
Of swaie, and vested yn the paramente[27];
Halceld[28] the bykrous[29] Huns, who dyd infeste
Hys wakeynge kyngdom wyth a foule intente;
As hys broade swerde oer Homberres heade was honge,
He tourned toe ryver wyde, and roarynge rolled alonge. 40
He wedded Gendolyne of roieal sede,
Upon whose countenance rodde healthe was spreade;
Bloushing, alyche[30] the scarlette of herr wede,
She sonke to pleasaunce on the marryage bedde.
Eftsoons her peaceful joie of mynde was fledde; 45
Elstrid ametten with the kynge Locryne;
Unnombered beauties were upon her shedde,
Moche fyne, moche fayrer thanne was Gendolyne;
The mornynge tynge, the rose, the lillie floure,
In ever ronneynge race on her dyd peyncte theyre powere. 50
The gentle suyte of Locryne gayned her love;
Theie lyved soft momentes to a swotie[31] age;
Eft[32] wandringe yn the coppyce, delle, and grove,
Where ne one eyne mote theyre disporte engage;
There dydde theie tell the merrie lovynge sage[33], 55
Croppe the prymrosen floure to decke theyre headde;
The feerie Gendolyne yn woman rage
Gemoted[34] warriours to bewrecke[35] her bedde;
Theie rose; ynne battle was greete Locryne sleene;
The faire Elstrida fledde from the enchased[36] queene. 60
A tye of love, a dawter fayre she hanne,
Whose boddeynge morneyng shewed a fayre daie,
Her fadre Locrynne, once an hailie manne.
Wyth the fayre dawterre dydde she haste awaie,
To where the Western mittee[37] pyles of claie 65
Arise ynto the cloudes, and doe them beere;
There dyd Elstrida and Sabryna staie;
The fyrste tryckde out a whyle yn warryours gratch[38] and gear;
Vyncente was she ycleped, butte fulle soone fate
Sente deathe, to telle the dame, she was notte yn regrate[39]. 70
The queene Gendolyne sente a gyaunte knyghte,
Whose doughtie heade swepte the emmertleynge[40] skies,
To slea her wheresoever she shulde be pyghte[41],
Eke everychone who shulde her ele[42] emprize[43].
Swefte as the roareynge wyndes the gyaunte flies, 75
Stayde the loude wyndes, and shaded reaulmes yn nyghte,
Stepte over cytties, on meint[44] acres lies,
Meeteynge the herehaughtes of morneynge lighte;
Tyll mooveynge to the Weste, myschaunce hys gye[45],
He thorowe warriours gratch fayre Elstrid did espie. 80
He tore a ragged mountayne from the grounde,
Harried[46] uppe noddynge forrests to the skie,
Thanne wythe a fuirie, mote the erthe astounde[47],
To meddle ayre he lette the mountayne flie.
The flying wolfynnes sente a yelleynge crie; 85
Onne Vyncente and Sabryna felle the mount;
To lyve aeternalle dyd theie eftsoones die;
Thorowe the sandie grave boiled up the pourple founte,
On a broade grassie playne was layde the hylle,
Staieynge the rounynge course of meint a limmed[48] rylle. 90
The goddes, who kenned the actyons of the wyghte,
To leggen[49] the sadde happe of twayne so fayre,
Houton[50] dyd make the mountaine bie theire mighte.
Forth from Sabryna ran a ryverre cleere,
Roarynge and rolleynge on yn course bysmare[51]; 95
From female Vyncente shotte a ridge of stones,
Eche syde the ryver rysynge heavenwere;
Sabrynas floode was helde ynne Elstryds bones.
So are theie cleped; gentle and the hynde
Can telle, that Severnes streeme bie Vyncentes rocke's ywrynde[52]. 100
The bawsyn[53] gyaunt, hee who dyd them slee,
To telle Gendolyne quycklie was ysped[54];
Whanne, as he strod alonge the shakeynge lee,
The roddie levynne[55] glesterrd on hys headde:
Into hys hearte the azure vapoures spreade; 105
He wrythde arounde yn drearie dernie[56] payne;
Whanne from his lyfe-bloode the rodde lemes[57] were fed,
He felle an hepe of ashes on the playne:
Stylle does hys ashes shoote ynto the lyghte,
A wondrous mountayne hie, and Snowdon ys ytte hyghte. 110
FINIS.
[Footnote 1: I will endeavour to get the remainder of these poems. ]
[Footnote 2: unseemly, disagreeable. ]
[Footnote 3: wrapped. ]
[Footnote 4: rays. ]
[Footnote 5: hidden, secret. ]
[Footnote 6: broke, rent. ]
[Footnote 7: small pieces. ]
[Footnote 8: pulled, rent. ]
[Footnote 9: vapours, meteors. ]
[Footnote 10: emblaunched. ]
[Editor's note: _Title: See Introduction_ p. xli]
[Footnote 11: Ridges, rising waves. ]
[Footnotes 12, 13: unknown tremour. ]
[Footnote 14: fastened, chained, congealed. ]
[Footnote 15: boundeth. ]
[Footnote 16: swelling. ]
[Footnote 17: armed. ]
[Footnote 18: companions. ]
[Footnote 19: livid. ]
[Footnote 20: a confused noise. ]
[Footnote 21: Anointed. ]
[Footnote 22: enlightened. ]
[Footnote 23: alloyed. ]
[Footnote 24: savage barbarity. ]
[Footnote 25: mystic. ]
[Footnote 26: polished. ]
[Footnote 27: a princely robe. ]
[Footnote 28: defeated. ]
[Footnote 29: warring. ]
[Footnote 30: Like. ]
[Footnote 31: sweet. ]
[Footnote 32: oft. ]
[Footnote 33: a tale. ]
[Footnote 34: assembled. ]
[Footnote 35: revenge. ]
[Footnote 36: heated, enraged. ]
[Footnote 37: Mighty. ]
[Footnote 38: apparel. ]
[Footnote 39: esteem, favour. ]
[Footnote 40: glittering. ]
[Footnote 41: settled. ]
[Footnote 42: help. ]
[Footnote 43: adventure. ]
[Footnote 44: Many. ]
[Footnote 45: guide. ]
[Footnote 46: tost. ]
[Footnote 47: astonish. ]
[Footnote 48: glassy, reflecting. ]
[Footnote 49: lessen, alloy. ]
[Footnote 50: hollow. ]
[Footnote 51: Bewildered, curious. ]
[Footnote 52: hid, covered. ]
[Footnote 53: huge, bulky. ]
[Footnote 54: dispatched. ]
[Footnote 55: red lightning. ]
[Footnote 56: cruel. ]
[Footnote 57: flames, rays. ]
AN EXCELENTE BALADE
OF CHARITIE:
As wroten bie the gode Prieste THOMAS ROWLEY[1],
1464.
In Virgyne the sweltrie sun gan sheene,
And hotte upon the mees[2] did caste his raie;
The apple rodded[3] from its palie greene,
And the mole[4] peare did bende the leafy spraie;
The peede chelandri[5] sunge the livelong daie; 5
'Twas nowe the pride, the manhode of the yeare,
And eke the grounde was dighte[6] in its mose defte[7] aumere[8].
The sun was glemeing in the midde of daie,
Deadde still the aire, and eke the welken[9] blue,
When from the sea arist[10] in drear arraie 10
A hepe of cloudes of sable sullen hue,
The which full fast unto the woodlande drewe,
Hiltring[11] attenes[12] the sunnis fetive[13] face,
And the blacke tempeste swolne and gatherd up apace.
Beneathe an holme, faste by a pathwaie side, 15
Which dide unto Seyncte Godwine's covent[14] lede,
A hapless pilgrim moneynge did abide,
Pore in his viewe, ungentle[15] in his weede,
Longe bretful[16] of the miseries of neede,
Where from the hail-stone coulde the almer[17] flie? 20
He had no housen theere, ne anie covent nie.
Look in his glommed[18] face, his sprighte there scanne;
Howe woe-be-gone, how withered, forwynd[19], deade!
Haste to thie church-glebe-house[20], asshrewed[21] manne!
Haste to thie kiste[22], thie onlie dortoure[23] bedde. 25
Cale, as the claie whiche will gre on thie hedde,
Is Charitie and Love aminge highe elves;
Knightis and Barons live for pleasure and themselves.
The gatherd storme is rype; the bigge drops falle;
The forswat[24] meadowes smethe[25], and drenche[26] the raine; 30
The comyng ghastness do the cattle pall[27],
And the full flockes are drivynge ore the plaine;
Dashde from the cloudes the waters flott[28] againe;
The welkin opes; the yellow levynne[29] flies;
And the hot fierie smothe[30] in the wide lowings[31] dies. 35
Liste! now the thunder's rattling clymmynge[32] sound
Cheves[33] slowlie on, and then embollen[34] clangs,
Shakes the hie spyre, and losst, dispended, drown'd,
Still on the gallard[35] eare of terroure hanges;
The windes are up; the lofty elmen swanges; 40
Again the levynne and the thunder poures,
And the full cloudes are braste[36] attenes in stonen showers.
Spurreynge his palfrie oere the watrie plaine.
The Abbote of Seyncte Godwynes convente came;
His chapournette[37] was drented with the reine, 45
And his pencte[38] gyrdle met with mickle shame;
He aynewarde tolde his bederoll[39] at the same;
The storme encreasen, and he drew aside,
With the mist[40] almes craver neere to the holme to bide.
His cope[41] was all of Lyncolne clothe so fyne, 50
With a gold button fasten'd neere his chynne;
His autremete[42] was edged with golden twynne,
And his shoone pyke a loverds[43] mighte have binne;
Full well it shewn he thoughten coste no sinne;
The trammels of the palfrye pleasde his sighte; 55
For the horse-millanare[44] his head with roses dighte.
An almes, sir prieste! the droppynge pilgrim saide,
O! let me waite within your covente dore,
Till the sunne sheneth hie above our heade,
And the loude tempeste of the aire is oer; 60
Helpless and ould am I alas! and poor;
No house, ne friend, ne moneie in my pouche;
All yatte I call my owne is this my silver crouche
Varlet, replyd the Abbatte, cease your dinne;
This is no season almes and prayers to give; 65
Mie porter never lets a faitour[45] in;
None touch mie rynge who not in honour live.
And now the sonne with the blacke cloudes did stryve,
And shettynge on the grounde his glairie raie,
The Abbatte spurrde his steede, and eftsoones roadde awaie. 70
Once moe the skie was blacke, the thounder rolde;
Faste reyneynge oer the plaine a prieste was seen;
Ne dighte full proude, ne buttoned up in golde;
His cope and jape[46] were graie, and eke were clene;
A Limitoure he was of order seene; 75
And from the pathwaie side then turned hee,
Where the pore almer laie binethe the holmen tree.
An almes, sir priest! the droppynge pilgrim sayde,
For sweete Seyncte Marie and your order sake.
The Limitoure then loosen'd his pouche threade, 80
And did thereoute a groate of silver take;
The mister pilgrim dyd for halline[47] shake.
Here take this silver, it maie eathe[48] thie care;
We are Goddes stewards all, nete[49] of oure owne we bare.
But ah! unhailie[50] pilgrim, lerne of me, 85
Scathe anie give a rentrolle to their Lorde.
Here take my semecope[51], thou arte bare I see;
Tis thyne; the Seynctes will give me mie rewarde.
He left the pilgrim, and his waie aborde.
Virgynne and hallie Seyncte, who sitte yn gloure[52], 90
Or give the mittee[53] will, or give the gode man power.
[Footnote 1: Thomas Rowley, the author, was born at Norton Mal-reward
in Somersetshire, educated at the Convent of St. Kenna at Keynesham,
and died at Westbury in Gloucestershire. ]
[Footnote 2: meads. ]
[Footnote 3: reddened, ripened. ]
[Footnote 4: soft. ]
[Footnote 5: pied goldfinch. ]
[Footnote 6: drest, arrayed. ]
[Footnote 7: neat, ornamental. ]
[Footnote 8: a loose robe or mantle. ]
[Footnote 9: the sky, the atmosphere. ]
[Footnote 10: Arose. ]
[Footnote 11: hiding, shrouding. ]
[Footnote 12: at once. ]
[Footnote 13: beauteous. ]
[Footnote 14: It would have been _charitable_, if the author had not
pointed at personal characters in this Ballad of Charity. The Abbot
of St. Godwin's at the time of the writing of this was Ralph de
Bellomont, a great stickler for the Lancastrian family. Rowley was a
Yorkist. ]
[Footnote 15: beggarly. ]
[Footnote 16: filled with. ]
[Footnote 17: beggar. ]
[Footnote 18: clouded, dejected. A person of some note in the literary
world is of opinion, that _glum_ and _glom_ are modern cant words;
and from this circumstance doubts the authenticity of Rowley's
Manuscripts. Glum-mong in the Saxon signifies twilight, a dark or
dubious light; and the modern word _gloomy_ is derived from the Saxon
_glum_. ]
[Footnote 19: dry, sapless. ]
[Footnote 20: The grave. ]
[Footnote 21: accursed, unfortunate. ]
[Footnote 22: coffin. ]
[Footnote 23: a sleeping room. ]
[Footnote 24: sun-burnt. ]
[Footnote 25: smoke. ]
[Footnote 26: drink. ]
[Footnote 27: _pall_, a contraction from _appall_, to fright. ]
[Footnote 28: fly. ]
[Footnote 29: lightning. ]
[Footnote 30: steam, or vapours. ]
[Footnote 31: flames. ]
[Footnote 32: noisy. ]
[Footnote 33: moves. ]
[Footnote 34: swelled, strengthened. ]
[Footnote 35: Frighted. ]
[Footnote 36: burst. ]
[Footnote 37: a small round hat, not unlike the shapournette in
heraldry, formerly worn by Ecclesiastics and Lawyers. ]
[Footnote 38: painted. ]
[Footnote 39: He told his beads backwards; a figurative expression to
signify cursing. ]
[Footnote 40: poor, needy. ]
[Footnote 41: a cloke. ]
[Footnote 42: a loose white robe, worn by Priests. ]
[Footnote 43: A lord. ]
[Footnote 44: I believe this trade is still in being, though but
seldom employed. ]
[Footnote 45: a beggar, or vagabond. ]
[Footnote 46: A short surplice, worn by Friars of an inferior class,
and secular priests. ]
[Footnote 47: joy. ]
[Footnote 48: ease. ]
[Footnote 49: nought. ]
[Footnote 50: unhappy. ]
[Footnote 51: a short under-cloke. ]
[Footnote 52: Glory. ]
[Footnote 53: mighty, rich. ]
BATTLE OF HASTINGS.
[No 1. ]
O Chryste, it is a grief for me to telle,
How manie a nobil erle and valrous knyghte
In fyghtynge for Kynge Harrold noblie fell,
Al sleyne in Hastyngs feeld in bloudie fyghte.
O sea-oerteeming Dovor! han thy floude, 5
Han anie fructuous entendement,
Thou wouldst have rose and sank wyth tydes of bloude.
Before Duke Wyllyam's knyghts han hither went;
Whose cowart arrows manie erles sleyne,
And brued the feeld wyth bloude as season rayne. 10
And of his knyghtes did eke full manie die,
All passyng hie, of mickle myghte echone,
Whose poygnant arrowes, typp'd with destynie,
Caus'd manie wydowes to make myckle mone.
Lordynges, avaunt, that chycken-harted are, 15
From out of hearynge quicklie now departe;
Full well I wote, to synge of bloudie warre
Will greeve your tenderlie and mayden harte.
Go, do the weaklie womman inn mann's geare,
And scond your mansion if grymm war come there. 20
Soone as the erlie maten belle was tolde,
And sonne was come to byd us all good daie,
Bothe armies on the feeld, both brave and bolde,
Prepar'd for fyghte in champyon arraie.
As when two bulles, destynde for Hocktide fyghte, 25
Are yoked bie the necke within a sparre,
Theie rend the erthe, and travellyrs affryghte,
Lackynge to gage the sportive bloudie warre;
Soe lacked Harroldes menne to come to blowes,
The Normans lacked for to wielde their bowes. 30
Kynge Harrolde turnynge to hys leegemen spake;
My merrie men, be not caste downe in mynde;
Your onlie lode for aye to mar or make,
Before yon sunne has donde his welke, you'll fynde.
Your lovyng wife, who erst dyd rid the londe 35
Of Lurdanes, and the treasure that you han,
Wyll falle into the Normanne robber's honde,
Unlesse with honde and harte you plaie the manne.
Cheer up youre hartes, chase sorrowe farre awaie,
Godde and Seyncte Cuthbert be the worde to daie. 40
And thenne Duke Wyllyam to his knyghtes did saie;
My merrie menne, be bravelie everiche;
Gif I do gayn the honore of the daie,
Ech one of you I will make myckle riche.
Beer you in mynde, we for a kyngdomm fyghte; 45
Lordshippes and honores echone shall possesse;
Be this the worde to daie, God and my Ryghte;
Ne doubte but God will oure true cause blesse.
The clarions then sounded sharpe and shrille;
Deathdoeynge blades were out intent to kille. 50
And brave Kyng Harrolde had nowe donde hys saie;
He threwe wythe myghte amayne hys shorte horse-spear.
The noise it made the duke to turn awaie,
And hytt his knyghte, de Beque, upon the ear.
His cristede beaver dyd him smalle abounde; 55
The cruel spear went thorough all his hede;
The purpel bloude came goushynge to the grounde,
And at Duke Wyllyam's feet he tumbled deade:
So fell the myghtie tower of Standrip, whenne
It felte the furie of the Danish menne. 60
O Afflem, son of Cuthbert, holie Sayncte,
Come ayde thy freend, and shewe Duke Wyllyams payne;
Take up thy pencyl, all hys features paincte;
Thy coloryng excells a synger strayne.
Duke Wyllyam sawe hys freende sleyne piteouslie, 65
Hys lovynge freende whome he muche honored,
For he han lovd hym from puerilitie,
And theie together bothe han bin ybred:
O! in Duke Wyllyam's harte it raysde a flame,
To whiche the rage of emptie wolves is tame. 70
He tooke a brasen crosse-bowe in his honde,
And drewe it harde with all hys myghte amein,
Ne doubtyng but the bravest in the londe
Han by his soundynge arrowe-lede bene sleyne.
Alured's stede, the fynest stede alive, 75
Bye comelie forme knowlached from the rest;
But nowe his destind howre did aryve,
The arrowe hyt upon his milkwhite breste:
So have I seen a ladie-smock soe white,
Blown in the mornynge, and mowd downe at night. 80
With thilk a force it dyd his bodie gore,
That in his tender guttes it entered,
In veritee a fulle clothe yarde or more,
And downe with flaiten noyse he sunken dede.
Brave Alured, benethe his faithfull horse, 85
Was smeerd all over withe the gorie duste,
And on hym laie the recer's lukewarme corse,
That Alured coulde not hymself aluste.
The standyng Normans drew theyr bowe echone,
And broght full manie Englysh champyons downe. 90
The Normans kept aloofe, at distaunce stylle,
The Englysh nete but short horse-spears could welde;
The Englysh manie dethe-sure dartes did kille,
And manie arrowes twang'd upon the sheelde.
Kynge Haroldes knyghts desir'de for hendie stroke, 95
And marched furious o'er the bloudie pleyne,
In bodie close, and made the pleyne to smoke;
Theire sheelds rebounded arrowes back agayne.
The Normans stode aloofe, nor hede the same,
Their arrowes woulde do dethe, tho' from far of they came. 100
Duke Wyllyam drewe agen hys arrowe strynge,
An arrowe withe a sylver-hede drewe he;
The arrowe dauncynge in the ayre dyd synge,
And hytt the horse of Tosselyn on the knee.
At this brave Tosslyn threwe his short horse-speare; 105
Duke Wyllyam stooped to avoyde the blowe;
The yrone weapon hummed in his eare,
And hitte Sir Doullie Naibor on the prowe;
Upon his helme soe furious was the stroke,
It splete his bever, and the ryvets broke. 110
Downe fell the beaver by Tosslyn splete in tweine,
And onn his hede expos'd a punie wounde,
But on Destoutvilles sholder came ameine,
And fell'd the champyon to the bloudie grounde.
Then Doullie myghte his bowestrynge drewe, 115
Enthoughte to gyve brave Tosslyn bloudie wounde,
But Harolde's asenglave stopp'd it as it slewe,
And it fell bootless on the bloudie grounde.
Siere Doullie, when he sawe hys venge thus broke,
Death-doynge blade from out the scabard toke. 120
And now the battail closde on everych syde,
And face to face appeard the knyghts full brave;
They lifted up theire bylles with myckle pryde,
And manie woundes unto the Normans gave.
So have I sene two weirs at once give grounde, 125
White fomyng hygh to rorynge combat runne;
In roaryng dyn and heaven-breaking sounde,
Burste waves on waves, and spangle in the sunne;
And when their myghte in burstynge waves is fled,
Like cowards, stele alonge their ozy bede. 130
Yonge Egelrede, a knyghte of comelie mien,
Affynd unto the kynge of Dynefarre,
At echone tylte and tourney he was seene,
And lov'd to be amonge the bloudie warre;
He couch'd hys launce, and ran wyth mickle myghte 135
Ageinste the brest of Sieur de Bonoboe;
He grond and sunken on the place of fyghte,
O Chryste! to fele his wounde, his harte was woe.
Ten thousand thoughtes push'd in upon his mynde,
Not for hymselfe, but those he left behynde. 140
He dy'd and leffed wyfe and chyldren tweine,
Whom he wyth cheryshment did dearlie love;
In England's court, in goode Kynge Edwarde's regne,
He wonne the tylte, and ware her crymson glove;
And thence unto the place where he was borne, 145
Together with hys welthe & better wyfe,
To Normandie he dyd perdie returne,
In peace and quietnesse to lead his lyfe;
And now with sovrayn Wyllyam he came,
To die in battel, or get welthe and fame. 150
Then, swefte as lyghtnynge, Egelredus set
Agaynst du Barlie of the mounten head;
In his dere hartes bloude his longe launce was wett,
And from his courser down he tumbled dede.
So have I sene a mountayne oak, that longe 155
Has caste his shadowe to the mountayne syde,
Brave all the wyndes, tho' ever they so stronge,
And view the briers belowe with self-taught pride;
But, whan throwne downe by mightie thunder stroke,
He'de rather bee a bryer than an oke. 160
Then Egelred dyd in a declynie
Hys launce uprere with all hys myghte ameine,
And strok Fitzport upon the dexter eye,
And at his pole the spear came out agayne.
Butt as he drewe it forthe, an arrowe fledde 165
Wyth mickle myght sent from de Tracy's bowe,
And at hys syde the arrowe entered,
And oute the crymson streme of bloude gan flowe;
In purple strekes it dyd his armer staine,
And smok'd in puddles on the dustie plaine. 170
But Egelred, before he sunken downe,
With all his myghte amein his spear besped,
It hytte Bertrammil Manne upon the crowne,
And bothe together quicklie sunken dede.
So have I seen a rocke o'er others hange, 175
Who stronglie plac'd laughde at his slippry state,
But when he falls with heaven-peercynge bange
That he the sleeve unravels all theire fate,
And broken onn the beech thys lesson speak,
The stronge and firme should not defame the weake. 180
Howel ap Jevah came from Matraval,
Where he by chaunce han slayne a noble's son,
And now was come to fyghte at Harold's call,
And in the battel he much goode han done;
Unto Kyng Harold he foughte mickle near, 185
For he was yeoman of the bodie guard;
And with a targyt and a fyghtyng spear,
He of his boddie han kepte watch and ward;
True as a shadow to a substant thynge,
So true he guarded Harold hys good kynge. 190
But when Egelred tumbled to the grounde,
He from Kynge Harolde quicklie dyd advaunce,
And strooke de Tracie thilk a crewel wounde,
Hys harte and lever came out on the launce.
And then retreted for to guarde his kynge, 195
On dented launce he bore the harte awaie;
An arrowe came from Auffroie Griel's strynge,
Into hys heele betwyxt hys yron staie;
The grey-goose pynion, that thereon was sett,
Eftsoons wyth smokyng crymson bloud was wett. 200
His bloude at this was waxen flaminge hotte,
Without adoe he turned once agayne,
And hytt de Griel thilk a blowe, God wote,
Maugre hys helme, he splete his hede in twayne.
This Auffroie was a manne of mickle pryde, 205
Whose featliest bewty ladden in his face;
His chaunce in warr he ne before han tryde,
But lyv'd in love and Rosaline's embrace;
And like a useless weede amonge the haie
Amonge the sleine warriours Griel laie. 210
Kynge Harolde then he putt his yeomen bie,
And ferslie ryd into the bloudie fyghte;
Erle Ethelwolf, and Goodrick, and Alsie,
Cuthbert, and Goddard, mical menne of myghte,
Ethelwin, Ethelbert, and Edwyn too, 215
Effred the famous, and Erle Ethelwarde,
Kynge Harolde's leegemenn, erlies hie and true,
Rode after hym, his bodie for to guarde;
The reste of erlies, fyghtynge other wheres,
Stained with Norman bloude theire fyghtynge speres. 220
As when some ryver with the season raynes
White fomynge hie doth breke the bridges oft,
Oerturns the hamelet and all conteins.
And layeth oer the hylls a muddie soft;
So Harold ranne upon his Normanne foes. 225
And layde the greate and small upon the grounde,
And delte among them thilke a store of blowes,
Full manie a Normanne fell by him dede wounde;
So who he be that ouphant faieries strike,
Their soules will wander to Kynge Offa's dyke. 230
Fitz Salnarville, Duke William's favourite knyghte,
To noble Edelwarde his life dyd yielde;
Withe hys tylte launce hee stroke with thilk a myghte,
The Norman's bowels steemde upon the feeld.
Old Salnarville beheld hys son lie ded, 235
Against Erie Edelward his bowe-strynge drewe;
But Harold at one blowe made tweine his head;
He dy'd before the poignant arrowe flew.
So was the hope of all the issue gone,
And in one battle fell the sire and son. 240
De Aubignee rod fercely thro' the fyghte,
To where the boddie of Salnarville laie;
Quod he; And art thou ded, thou manne of myghte?
I'll be revengd, or die for thee this daie.
Die then thou shalt, Erie Ethelwarde he said; 245
I am a cunnynge erle, and that can tell;
Then drewe hys swerde, and ghastlie cut hys hede,
And on his freend eftsoons he lifeless fell,
Stretch'd on the bloudie pleyne; great God forefend,
It be the fate of no such trustie freende! 250
Then Egwin Sieur Pikeny did attaque;
He turned aboute and vilely souten flie;
But Egwyn cutt so deepe into his backe,
He rolled on the grounde and soon dyd die.
His distant sonne, Sire Romara de Biere, 255
Soughte to revenge his fallen kynsman's lote,
But soone Erie Cuthbert's dented fyghtyng spear
Stucke in his harte, and stayd his speed, God wote.
He tumbled downe close by hys kynsman's syde,
Myngle their stremes of pourple bloude, and dy'd. 260
And now an arrowe from a bowe unwote
Into Erle Cuthbert's harte eftsoons dyd flee;
Who dying sayd; ah me! how hard my lote!
Now slayne, mayhap, of one of lowe degree.
So have I seen a leafic elm of yore 265
Have been the pride and glorie of the pleine;
But, when the spendyng landlord is growne poore.
It falls benethe the axe of some rude sweine;
And like the oke, the sovran of the woode,
It's fallen boddie tells you how it stoode. 270
When Edelward perceevd Erle Cuthbert die,
On Hubert strongest of the Normanne crewe,
As wolfs when hungred on the cattel flie,
So Edelward amaine upon him flewe.
With thilk a force he hyt hym to the grounde; 275
And was demasing howe to take his life,
When he behynde received a ghastlie wounde
Gyven by de Torcie, with a stabbyng knyfe;
Base trecherous Normannes, if such actes you doe,
The conquer'd maie clame victorie of you. 280
The erlie felt de Torcie's trecherous knyfe
Han made his crymson bloude and spirits floe;
And knowlachyng he soon must quyt this lyfe,
Resolved Hubert should too with hym goe.
He held hys trustie swerd against his breste, 285
And down he fell, and peerc'd him to the harte;
And both together then did take their reste,
Their soules from corpses unaknell'd depart;
And both together soughte the unknown shore,
Where we shall goe, where manie's gon before. 290
Kynge Harolde Torcie's trechery dyd spie,
And hie alofe his temper'd swerde dyd welde,
Cut offe his arme, and made the bloude to flie,
His proofe steel armoure did him littel sheelde;
And not contente, he splete his hede in twaine, 295
And down he tumbled on the bloudie grounde;
Mean while the other erlies on the playne
Gave and received manie a bloudie wounde,
Such as the arts in warre han learnt with care,
But manie knyghtes were women in men's geer. 300
Herrewald, borne on Sarim's spreddyng plaine,
Where Thor's fam'd temple manie ages stoode;
Where Druids, auncient preests, did ryghtes ordaine,
And in the middle shed the victyms bloude;
Where auncient Bardi dyd their verses synge 305
Of Caesar conquer'd, and his mighty hoste,
And how old Tynyan, necromancing kynge,
Wreck'd all hys shyppyng on the Brittish coaste,
And made hym in his tatter'd barks to flie,
'Till Tynyan's dethe and opportunity. 310
To make it more renomed than before,
(I, tho a Saxon, yet the truthe will telle)
The Saxonnes steynd the place wyth Brittish gore,
Where nete but bloud of sacrifices felle.
Tho' Chrystians, stylle they thoghte mouche of the pile, 315
And here theie mett when causes dyd it neede;
'Twas here the auncient Elders of the Isle
Dyd by the trecherie of Hengist bleede;
O Hengist! han thy cause bin good and true,
Thou wouldst such murdrous acts as these eschew. 320
The erlie was a manne of hie degree,
And han that daie full manie Normannes sleine;
Three Norman Champyons of hie degree
He lefte to smoke upon the bloudie pleine:
The Sier Fitzbotevilleine did then advaunce, 325
And with his bowe he smote the erlies hede;
Who eftsoons gored hym with his tylting launce,
And at his horses feet he tumbled dede:
His partyng spirit hovered o'er the floude
Of soddayne roushynge mouche lov'd pourple bloude. 330
De Viponte then, a squier of low degree,
An arrowe drewe with all his myghte ameine;
The arrowe graz'd upon the erlies knee,
A punie wounde, that causd but littel peine.
So have I seene a Dolthead place a stone, 335
Enthoghte to staie a driving rivers course;
But better han it bin to lett alone,
It onlie drives it on with mickle force;
The erlie, wounded by so base a hynde,
Rays'd furyous doyngs in his noble mynde. 340
The Siere Chatillion, yonger of that name,
Advaunced next before the erlie's syghte;
His fader was a manne of mickle fame,
And he renomde and valorous in fyghte.
Chatillion his trustie swerd forth drewe. 345
The erle drawes his, menne both of mickle myghte;
And at eche other vengouslie they flewe,
As mastie dogs at Hocktide set to fyghte;
Bothe scornd to yeelde, and bothe abhor'de to flie,
Resolv'd to vanquishe, or resolv'd to die. 350
Chatillion hyt the erlie on the hede,
Thatt splytte eftsoons his cristed helm in twayne;
Whiche he perforce withe target covered,
And to the battel went with myghte ameine.
The erlie hytte Chatillion thilke a blowe 355
Upon his breste, his harte was plein to see;
He tumbled at the horses feet alsoe,
And in dethe panges he seez'd the recer's knee:
Faste as the ivy rounde the oke doth clymbe,
So faste he dying gryp'd the recer's lymbe. 360
The recer then beganne to flynge and kicke,
And toste the erlie farr off to the grounde;
The erlie's squier then a swerde did sticke
Into his harte, a dedlie ghastlie wounde;
And downe he felle upon the crymson pleine, 365
Upon Chatillion's soulless corse of claie;
A puddlie streme of bloude flow'd oute ameine;
Stretch'd out at length besmer'd with gore he laie;
As some tall oke fell'd from the greenie plaine,
To live a second time upon the main. 370
The erlie nowe an horse and beaver han,
And nowe agayne appered on the feeld;
And manie a mickle knyghte and mightie manne
To his dethe-doyng swerd his life did yeeld;
When Siere de Broque an arrowe longe lett flie, 375
Intending Herewaldus to have sleyne;
It miss'd; butt hytte Edardus on the eye,
And at his pole came out with horrid payne.
Edardus felle upon the bloudie grounde,
His noble soule came roushyng from the wounde. 380
Thys Herewald perceevd, and full of ire
He on the Siere de Broque with furie came;
Quod he; thou'st slaughtred my beloved squier,
But I will be revenged for the same.
Into his bowels then his launce he thruste, 385
And drew thereout a steemie drerie lode;
Quod he; these offals are for ever curst,
Shall serve the coughs, and rooks, and dawes, for foode.
Then on the pleine the steemie lode hee throwde,
Smokynge wyth lyfe, and dy'd with crymson bloude. 390
Fitz Broque, who saw his father killen lie,
Ah me! sayde he; what woeful syghte I see!
But now I must do somethyng more than sighe;
And then an arrowe from the bowe drew he.
Beneth the erlie's navil came the darte; 395
Fitz Broque on foote han drawne it from the bowe;
And upwards went into the erlie's harte,
And out the crymson streme of bloude 'gan flowe.
As fromm a hatch, drawne with a vehement geir,
White rushe the burstynge waves, and roar along the weir. 400
The erle with one honde grasp'd the recer's mayne,
And with the other he his launce besped;
And then felle bleedyng on the bloudie plaine.
His launce it hytte Fitz Broque upon the hede;
Upon his hede it made a wounde full slyghte, 405
But peerc'd his shoulder, ghastlie wounde inferne,
Before his optics daunced a shade of nyghte,
Whyche soone were closed ynn a sleepe eterne.
The noble erlie than, withote a grone,
Took flyghte, to fynde the regyons unknowne. 410
Brave Alured from binethe his noble horse
Was gotten on his leggs, with bloude all smore;
And now eletten on another horse,
Eftsoons he withe his launce did manie gore.
The cowart Norman knyghtes before hym fledde, 415
And from a distaunce sent their arrowes keene;
But noe such destinie awaits his hedde,
As to be sleyen by a wighte so meene.
Tho oft the oke falls by the villen's shock,
'Tys moe than hyndes can do, to move the rock. 420
Upon du Chatelet he ferselie sett,
And peerc'd his bodie with a force full grete;
The asenglave of his tylt-launce was wett,
The rollynge bloude alonge the launce did fleet.
Advauncynge, as a mastie at a bull, 425
He rann his launce into Fitz Warren's harte;
From Partaies bowe, a wight unmercifull,
Within his owne he felt a cruel darte;
Close by the Norman champyons he han sleine,
He fell; and mixd his bloude with theirs upon the pleine. 430
Erie Ethelbert then hove, with clinie just,
A launce, that stroke Partaie upon the thighe,
And pinn'd him downe unto the gorie duste;
Cruel, quod he, thou cruellie shalt die.
With that his launce he enterd at his throte; 435
He scritch'd and screem'd in melancholie mood;
And at his backe eftsoons came out, God wote,
And after it a crymson streme of bloude:
In agonie and peine he there dyd lie,
While life and dethe strove for the masterrie, 440
He gryped hard the bloudie murdring launce,
And in a grone he left this mortel lyfe.
Behynde the erlie Fiscampe did advaunce,
Bethoghte to kill him with a stabbynge knife;
But Egward, who perceevd his fowle intent, 445
Eftsoons his trustie swerde he forthwyth drewe,
And thilke a cruel blowe to Fiscampe sent,
That soule and bodie's bloude at one gate flewe.
Thilk deeds do all deserve, whose deeds so fowle
Will black theire earthlie name, if not their soule. 450
When lo! an arrowe from Walleris honde,
Winged with fate and dethe daunced alonge;
And slewe the noble flower of Powyslonde,
Howel ap Jevah, who yclepd the stronge.
Whan he the first mischaunce received han, 455
With horsemans haste he from the armie rodde;
And did repaire unto the cunnynge manne,
Who sange a charme, that dyd it mickle goode;
Then praid Seyncte Cuthbert, and our holie Dame,
To blesse his labour, and to heal the same. 460
Then drewe the arrowe, and the wounde did seck,
And putt the teint of holie herbies on;
And putt a rowe of bloude-stones round his neck;
And then did say; go, champyon, get agone.
And now was comynge Harrolde to defend, 465
And metten with Walleris cruel darte;
His sheelde of wolf-skinn did him not attend,
The arrow peerced into his noble harte;
As some tall oke, hewn from the mountayne hed,
Falls to the pleine; so fell the warriour dede. 470
His countryman, brave Mervyn ap Teudor,
Who love of hym han from his country gone,
When he perceevd his friend lie in his gore,
As furious as a mountayne wolf he ranne.
As ouphant faieries, whan the moone sheenes bryghte, 475
In littel circles daunce upon the greene,
All living creatures flie far from their syghte,
Ne by the race of destinie be seen;
For what he be that ouphant faieries stryke,
Their soules will wander to Kyng Offa's dyke. 480
So from the face of Mervyn Tewdor brave
The Normans eftsoons fled awaie aghaste;
And lefte behynde their bowe and asenglave.
For fear of hym, in thilk a cowart haste.
His garb sufficient were to move affryghte; 485
A wolf skin girded round his myddle was;
A bear skyn, from Norwegians wan in fyghte,
Was tytend round his shoulders by the claws:
So Hercules, 'tis sunge, much like to him,
Upon his sholder wore a lyon's skin. 490
Upon his thyghes and harte-swefte legges he wore
A hugie goat skyn, all of one grete peice;
A boar skyn sheelde on his bare armes he bore;
His gauntletts were the skynn of harte of greece.
They fledde; he followed close upon their heels, 495
Vowynge vengeance for his deare countrymanne;
And Siere de Sancelotte his vengeance feels;
He peerc'd hys backe, and out the bloude ytt ranne.
His bloude went downe the swerde unto his arme,
In springing rivulet, alive and warme. 500
His swerde was shorte, and broade, and myckle keene,
And no mann's bone could stonde to stoppe itts waie;
The Normann's harte in partes two cutt cleane,
He clos'd his eyne, and clos'd hys eyne for aie.
Then with his swerde he sett on Fitz du Valle, 505
A knyghte mouch famous for to runne at tylte;
With thilk a furie on hym he dyd falle,
Into his neck he ranne the swerde and hylte;
As myghtie lyghtenynge often has been founde,
To drive an oke into unfallow'd grounde. 510
And with the swerde, that in his neck yet stoke,
The Norman fell unto the bloudie grounde;
And with the fall ap Tewdore's swerde he broke,
And bloude afreshe came trickling from the wounde.
As whan the hyndes, before a mountayne wolfe, 515
Flie from his paws, and angrie vysage grym;
But when he falls into the pittie golphe,
They dare hym to his bearde, and battone hym;
And cause he fryghted them so muche before,
Lyke cowart hyndes, they battone hym the more. 520
So, whan they sawe ap Tewdore was bereft
Of his keen swerde, thatt wroghte thilke great dismaie,
They turned about, eftsoons upon hym lept,
And full a score engaged in the fraie.
Mervyn ap Tewdore, ragyng as a bear, 525
Seiz'd on the beaver of the Sier de Laque;
And wring'd his hedde with such a vehement gier,
His visage was turned round unto his backe.
Backe to his harte retyr'd the useless gore,
And felle upon the pleine to rise no more. 530
Then on the mightie Siere Fitz Pierce he flew,
And broke his helm and seiz'd hym bie the throte:
Then manie Normann knyghtes their arrowes drew,
That enter'd into Mervyn's harte, God wote.
In dying panges he gryp'd his throte more stronge, 535
And from their sockets started out his eyes;
And from his mouthe came out his blameless tonge;
And bothe in peyne and anguishe eftsoon dies.
As some rude rocke torne from his bed of claie,
Stretch'd onn the pleyne the brave ap Tewdore laie. 540
And now Erle Ethelbert and Egward came
Brave Mervyn from the Normannes to assist;
A myghtie siere, Fitz Chatulet bie name,
An arrowe drew, that dyd them littel list.
Erle Egward points his launce at Chatulet, 545
And Ethelbert at Walleris set his;
And Egwald dyd the siere a hard blowe hytt,
But Ethelbert by a myschaunce dyd miss:
Fear laide Walleris flat upon the strande,
He ne deserved a death from erlies hande. 550
Betwyxt the ribbes of Sire Fitz Chatelet
The poynted launce of Egward did ypass;
The distaunt syde thereof was ruddie wet,
And he fell breathless on the bloudie grass.
As cowart Walleris laie on the grounde, 555
The dreaded weapon hummed oer his heade.
And hytt the squier thylke a lethal wounde,
Upon his fallen lorde he tumbled dead:
Oh shame to Norman armes!
