Chapter 12
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 æternalle 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