A. ON THE SCOTS (ABOUT 1333). BY LAURENCE MINOT. MS. Cotton Galba E. ix (about 1425), f. 52 a.
Now for to tell ȝou will I turn
Of batayl of Banocburn
Skottes out of Berwik and of Abirdene
At þe Bannokburn war ȝe to kene;
Þare slogh ȝe many sakles, als it was sene,
And now has King Edward wroken it, I wene.
It es wrokin, I wene, wele wurth þe while! 5
War ȝit with þe Skottes for þai er ful of gile!
Whare er ȝe Skottes of Saint Iohnes toune?
Þe boste of ȝowre baner es betin all doune.
When ȝe bosting will bede, Sir Edward es boune
For to kindel ȝow care, and crak ȝowre crowne. 10
He has crakked ȝowre croune, wele worth þe while
Schame bityde þe Skottes, for þai er full of gile!
Skottes of Striflin war steren and stout,
Of God ne of gude men had þai no dout.
Now haue þai, þe pelers, priked obout, 15
Bot at þe last Sir Edward rifild þaire rout.
He has rifild þaire rout, wele wurth þe while!
Bot euer er þai vnder bot gaudes and gile.
Rughfute riueling, now kindels þi care;
Berebag with þi boste, þi biging es bare; 20
Fals wretche and forsworn, whider wiltou fare?
Busk þe vnto Brig, and abide þare.
Þare, wretche, saltou won, and wery þe while;
Þi dwelling in Dondé es done for þi gile.
Þe Skottes gase in Burghes and betes þe stretes; 25
Al þise Inglis men harmes he hetes;
Fast makes he his mone to men þat he metes,
Bot fone frendes he findes þat his bale betes.
Fune betes his bale, wele wurth þe while!
He vses al threting with gaudes and gile. 30
Bot many man thretes and spekes ful ill
Þat sum tyme war better to be stane—still.
Þe Skot in his wordes has wind for to spill,
For at þe last Edward sall haue al his will.
He had his will at Berwik, wele wurth þe while! 35
Skottes broght him þe kayes,—bot get for þaire gile.
B. THE TAKING OF CALAIS (1347). BY LAURENCE MINOT. MS. Cotton Galba E. ix (about 1425), f. 55 b.
How Edward als þe romance sais
Held his sege bifor Calais.
Calays men, now mai ȝe care,
And murni<n>g mun ȝe haue to mede;
Sir Edward sall ken ȝow ȝowre crede.
Whilum war ȝe wight in wede 5
To robbing rathly for to ren;
Mend ȝow sone of ȝowre misdede:
Ȝowre care es cumen, will ȝe it ken.
Kend it es how ȝe war kene
Al Inglis men with dole to dere. 10
Þaire gudes toke ȝe al bidene,
No man born wald ȝe forbere.
Ȝe spared noght with swerd ne spere
To stik þam, and þaire gudes to stele.
With wapin and with ded of were 15
Þus haue ȝe wonnen werldes wele.
Weleful men war ȝe iwis,
Bot fer on fold sall ȝe noght fare:
A bare sal now abate ȝowre blis
And wirk ȝow bale on bankes bare. 20
He sall ȝow hunt, als hund dose hare,
Þat in no hole sall ȝe ȝow hide;
For all ȝowre speche will he noght spare,
Bot bigges him right by ȝowre side.
Biside ȝow here þe bare bigins 25
To big his boure in winter tyde,
And all bityme takes he his ines
With semly se<r>gantes him biside.
Þe word of him walkes ful wide—
Iesu saue him fro mischance! 30
In bataill dar he wele habide
Sir Philip and Sir Iohn of France.
Þe Franche men er fers and fell,
And mase grete dray when þai er dight;
Of þam men herd slike tales tell, 35
With Edward think þai for to fight,
Him for to hald out of his right,
And do him treson with þaire tales:
Þat was þaire purpos, day and night,
Bi counsail of þe Cardinales. 40
Cardinales with hattes rede
War fro Calays wele thre myle;
Þai toke þaire counsail in þat stede
How þai might Sir Edward bigile.
Þai lended þare bot litill while 45
Till Franche men to grante þaire grace:
Sir Philip was funden a file,
He fled and faght noght in þat place.
In þat place þe bare was blith,
For all was funden þat he had soght. 50
Philip þe Valas fled ful swith
With þe batail þat he had broght.
For to haue Calays had he thoght
All at his ledeing, loud or still;
Bot all þaire wiles war for noght: 55
Edward wan it at his will.
Lystens now, and ȝe may lere,
Als men þe suth may vnderstand,
Þe knightes þat in Calais were
Come to Sir Edward sare wepeand. 60
In kirtell one, and swerd in hand,
And cried, 'Sir Edward, þine <we> are.
Do now, lord, bi law of land
Þi will with vs for euermare'.
Þe nobill burgase and þe best 65
Come vnto him to haue þaire hire.
Þe comun puple war ful prest
Rapes to bring obout þaire swire.
Þai said all: 'Sir Philip, oure syre,
And his sun, Sir Iohn of France, 70
Has left vs ligand in þe mire,
And broght vs till þis doleful dance.
Our horses þat war faire and fat
Er etin vp ilkone bidene;
Haue we nowþer conig ne cat 75
Þat þai ne er etin, and hundes kene
Al er etin vp ful clene—
Es nowther leuid biche ne whelp—
Þat es wele on oure sembland sene,
And þai er fled þat suld vs help.' 80
A knight þat was of grete renowne—
Sir Iohn de Viene was his name—
He was wardaine of þe toune
And had done Ingland mekill schame.
For all þaire boste þai er to blame, 85
Ful stalworthly þare haue þai streuyn.
A bare es cumen to mak þam tame,
Kayes of þe toun to him er gifen.
Þe kaies er ȝolden him of þe ȝate,—
Lat him now kepe þam if he kun. 90
To Calais cum þai all to late,
Sir Philip, and Sir Iohn his sun.
Al war ful ferd þat þare ware fun,
Þaire leders may þai barely ban.
All on þis wise was Calais won: 95
God saue þam þat it sogat wan!
C. ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD III, A.D. 1377. Bodleian MS. Vernon (about 1400), f. 4106.
A! dere God, what mai þis be,
Þat alle þing weres and wasteþ awai?
Frendschip is but a vanyté,
Vnneþe hit dures al a day.
Þei beo so sliper at assai, 5
So leof to han, and loþ to lete,
And so fikel in heore fai,
Þat selden iseiȝe is sone forȝete.
I sei hit not wiþouten a cause,
And þerfore takes riht good hede, 10
For ȝif ȝe construwe wel þis clause,
I puit ȝou holly out of drede
Þat for puire schame ȝor hertes wol blede
And ȝe þis matere wysli trete:
He þat was vr moste spede 15
Is selden iseye and sone forȝete.
Sum tyme an Englisch schip we had,
Nobel hit was and heih of tour,
Þorw al Cristendam hit was drad,
And stif wolde stande in vch a stour, 20
And best dorst byde a scharp schour,
And oþer stormes, smale and grete.
Now is þat schip, þat bar þe flour,
Selden seȝe and sone forȝete.
Into þat schip þer longed a rooþur 25
Þat steered þe schip and gouerned hit;
In al þis world nis such anoþur,
As me þinkeþ in my wit.
Whyl schip and roþur togeder was knit,
Þei dredde nouþer tempest, druyȝe nor wete; 30
Nou be þei boþe in synder flit,
Þat selden seyȝe is sone forȝete.
Scharpe wawes þat schip has sayled,
And sayed alle sees at auentur.
For wynt ne wederes neuer hit fayled 35
Whil þe roþur mihte enduir.
Þouȝ þe see were rouh or elles dimuir,
Gode hauenes þat schip wolde gete.
Nou is þat schip, I am wel suir,
Selde iseye and sone forȝete. 40
Þis goode schip I may remene
To þe [chiualrye] of þis londe;
Sum tyme þei counted nouȝt a bene
Beo al Fraunce, ich vnderstonde.
Þei tok and slouȝ hem with heore honde, 45
Þe power of Fraunce, boþ smal and grete,
And brouȝt þe king hider to byde her bonde:
And nou riht sone hit is forȝete.
Þat schip hadde a ful siker mast,
And a sayl strong and large, 50
Þat made þe gode schip neuer agast
To vndertake a þing of charge;
And to þat schip þer longed a barge
Of al Fraunce ȝaf nouȝt a clete;
To vs hit was a siker targe, 55
And now riht clene hit is forȝete.
Þe roþur was nouþer ok ne elm,—
Hit was Edward þe Þridde, þe noble kniht.
Þe Prince his sone bar vp his helm,
Þat neuer scoumfited was in fiht. 60
The Kyng him rod and rouwed ariht;
Þe Prince dredde nouþur stok nor strete.
Nou of hem we lete ful liht:
Þat selde is seȝe is sone forȝete.
Þe swifte barge was Duk Henri, 65
Þat noble kniht and wel assayed,
And in his leggaunce worþili
He abod mony a bitter brayd.
Ȝif þat his enemys ouȝt outrayed,
To chastis hem wolde he not lete. 70
Nou is þat lord ful lowe ileyd:
Þat selde is seȝe is sone forȝete.
Þis gode Comunes, bi þe rode!
I likne hem to the schipes mast,
Þat with heore catel and heore goode 75
Mayntened þe werre boþ furst and last,
Þe wynd þat bleuȝ þe schip wiþ blast
Hit was gode preȝers, I sei hit atrete.
Nou is deuoutnes out icast,
And mony gode dedes ben clen forȝete. 80
Þus ben þis lordes ileid ful lowe:
Þe stok is of þe same rote;
An ympe biginnes for to growe
And ȝit I hope schal ben vr bote,
To holde his fomen vnder fote, 85
And as a lord be set in sete.
Crist leue þat he so mote,
Þat selden iseȝe be not forȝete!
Weor þat impe fully growe,
Þat he had sarri sap and piþ, 90
I hope he schulde be kud and knowe
For conquerour of moni a kiþ.
He is ful lyflich in lyme and liþ
In armes to trauayle and to swete.
Crist leeue we so fare him wiþ 95
Þat selden seȝe be neuer forȝete!
And þerfore holliche I ou rede,
Til þat þis ympe beo fully growe,
Þat vch a mon vp wiþ þe hede
And mayntene him, boþe heiȝe and lowe. 100
Þe Frensche men cunne boþe boste and blowe,
And wiþ heore scornes vs toþrete,
And we beoþ boþe vnkuynde and slowe,
Þat selden seȝe is sone forȝete.
And þerfore, gode sires, takeþ reward 105
Of ȝor douhti kyng þat dyȝede in age,
And to his sone, Prince Edward,
Þat welle was of alle corage.
Suche two lordes of heiȝ parage
[I] not in eorþe whon we schal gete; 110
And nou heore los biginneþ to swage,
Þat selde iseȝe is sone forȝete.
42 [chilualrye] MS.
110 [I]] In MS.
D. JOHN BALL'S LETTER TO THE PEASANTS OF ESSEX, 1381. St. Albans MS. British Museum Royal 13. E. ix (about 1400), f. 287 a.
Iohon Schep, som tyme Seynte Marie prest of Ȝork, and now of Colchestre, greteth wel Iohan Nameles, and Iohan þe Mullere, and Iohon Cartere, and biddeþ hem þat þei bee war of gyle in borugh, and stondeth [togidre] in Godes name, and biddeþ Peres Plouȝman go to his werk, and chastise
{05} wel Hobbe þe Robbere, and takeþ wiþ ȝow Iohan Trewman, and alle hiis felawes, and no mo, and loke schappe ȝou to on heued, and no mo.
Iohan þe Mullere haþ ygrounde smal, smal, smal;
Þe Kynges sone of heuene schal paye for al. 10
Be war or [ye] be wo;
Knoweþ ȝour freend fro ȝour foo;
Haueth ynow, and seith 'Hoo';
And do wel and bettre, and fleth synne,
And sekeþ pees, and hold ȝou þerinne; 15
and so biddeþ Iohan Trewman and alle his felawes.
4 [togidre]] togidedre MS.]
11 [ye]] þe MS.]