Chapter 15

Then Addhelm hurld a croched javlyn stronge, With mighte that none but such grete championes know; Swifter than thoughte the javlyn past alonge, Ande hytte the Scot most feirclie on the prowe; His helmet brasted at the thondring blowe, 515 Into his brain the tremblyn javlyn steck; From eyther syde the bloude began to flow, And run in circling ringlets rounde his neck; Down fell the warriour on the lethal strande, Lyke some tall vessel wreckt upon the tragick sande. 520

CONTINUED.

Where fruytlefs heathes and meadowes cladde in greie, Save where derne hawthornes reare theyr humble heade, The hungrie traveller upon his waie Sees a huge desarte alle arounde hym spredde, The distaunte citie scantlie to be spedde, 525 The curlynge force of smoke he sees in vayne, Tis too far distaunte, and hys onlie bedde Iwimpled in hys cloke ys on the playne, Whylste rattlynge thonder forrey oer his hedde, And raines come down to wette hys harde uncouthlie bedde. 530

A wondrous pyle of rugged mountaynes standes, Placd on eche other in a dreare arraie, It ne could be the worke of human handes, It ne was reared up bie menne of claie. Here did the Brutons adoration paye 535 To the false god whom they did Tauran name, Dightynge hys altarre with greete fyres in Maie, Roastynge theyr vyctimes round aboute the flame, 'Twas here that Hengyst did the Brytons slee, As they were mette in council for to bee. 540

Neere on a loftie hylle a citie standes, That lyftes yts scheafted heade ynto the skies, And kynglie lookes arounde on lower landes, And the longe browne playne that before itte lies. Herewarde, borne of parentes brave and wyse, 545 Within this vylle fyrste adrewe the ayre, A blessynge to the erthe sente from the skies, In anie kyngdom nee coulde fynde his pheer; Now rybbd in steele he rages yn the fyghte, And sweeps whole armies to the reaulmes of nyghte. 550

So when derne Autumne wyth hys sallowe hande Tares the green mantle from the lymed trees, The leaves besprenged on the yellow strande Flie in whole armies from the blataunte breeze; Alle the whole fielde a carnage-howse he sees, 555 And sowles unknelled hover'd oer the bloude; From place to place on either hand he slees, And sweepes alle neere hym lyke a bronded floude; Dethe honge upon his arme; he sleed so maynt, 'Tis paste the pointel of a man to paynte. 560

Bryghte sonne in haste han drove hys fierie wayne A three howres course alonge the whited skyen, Vewynge the swarthless bodies on the playne, And longed greetlie to plonce in the bryne. For as hys beemes and far-stretchynge eyne 565 Did view the pooles of gore yn purple sheene, The wolsomme vapours rounde hys lockes dyd twyne, And dyd disfygure all hys femmlikeen; Then to harde actyon he hys wayne dyd rowse, In hyssynge ocean to make glair hys browes. 570

Duke Wyllyam gave commaunde, eche Norman knyghte, That been war-token in a shielde so fyne, Shoulde onward goe, and dare to closer fyghte The Saxonne warryor, that dyd so entwyne, Lyke the neshe bryon and the eglantine, 575 Orre Cornysh wrastlers at a Hocktyde game. The Normannes, all emarchialld in a lyne, To the ourt arraie of the thight Saxonnes came; There 'twas the whaped Normannes on a parre Dyd know that Saxonnes were the sonnes of warre. 580

Oh Turgotte, wheresoeer thie spryte dothe haunte, Whither wyth thie lovd Adhelme by thie syde, Where thou mayste heare the swotie nyghte larke chaunte, Orre wyth some mokynge brooklette swetelie glide, Or rowle in ferselie wythe ferse Severnes tyde, 585 Whereer thou art, come and my mynde enleme Wyth such greete thoughtes as dyd with thee abyde, Thou sonne, of whom I ofte have caught a beeme, Send mee agayne a drybblette of thie lyghte, That I the deeds of Englyshmenne maie wryte. 590

Harold, who saw the Normannes to advaunce, Seizd a huge byll, and layd hym down hys spere; Soe dyd ech wite laie downe the broched launce, And groves of bylles did glitter in the ayre. Wyth showtes the Normannes did to battel steere; 595 Campynon famous for his stature highe, Fyrey wythe brasse, benethe a shyrte of lere, In cloudie daie he reechd into the skie; Neere to Kyng Harolde dyd he come alonge, And drewe hys steele Morglaien sworde so stronge. 600

Thryce rounde hys heade hee swung hys anlace wyde, On whyche the sunne his visage did agleeme, Then straynynge, as hys membres would dyvyde, Hee stroke on Haroldes sheelde yn manner breme; Alonge the field it made an horrid cleembe, 605 Coupeynge Kyng Harolds payncted sheeld in twayne, Then yn the bloude the fierie swerde dyd steeme, And then dyd drive ynto the bloudie playne; So when in ayre the vapours do abounde, Some thunderbolte tares trees and dryves ynto the grounde. 610

Harolde upreer'd hys bylle, and furious sente A stroke, lyke thondre, at the Normannes syde; Upon the playne the broken brasse besprente Dyd ne hys bodie from dethe-doeynge hyde; He tournyd backe, and dyd not there abyde; 615 With straught oute sheelde hee ayenwarde did goe, Threwe downe the Normannes, did their rankes divide, To save himselfe lefte them unto the foe; So olyphauntes, in kingdomme of the sunne, When once provok'd doth throwe theyr owne troopes runne. 620

Harolde, who ken'd hee was his armies staie, Nedeynge the rede of generaul so wyse, Byd Alfwoulde to Campynon haste awaie, As thro the armie ayenwarde he hies, Swyfte as a feether'd takel Alfwoulde flies, 625 The steele bylle blushynge oer wyth lukewarm bloude; Ten Kenters, ten Bristowans for th' emprize Hasted wyth Alfwoulde where Campynon stood, Who aynewarde went, whylste everie Normanne knyghte Dyd blush to see their champyon put to flyghte. 630

As painctyd Bruton, when a wolfyn wylde, When yt is cale and blustrynge wyndes do blowe, Enters hys bordelle, taketh hys yonge chylde, And wyth his bloude bestreynts the lillie snowe, He thoroughe mountayne hie and dale doth goe, 635 Throwe the quyck torrent of the bollen ave, Throwe Severne rollynge oer the sandes belowe He skyms alofe, and blents the beatynge wave, Ne stynts, ne lagges the chace, tylle for hys eyne In peecies hee the morthering theef doth chyne. 640

So Alfwoulde he dyd to Campynon haste; Hys bloudie bylle awhap'd the Normannes eyne; Hee fled, as wolfes when bie the talbots chac'd, To bloudie byker he dyd ne enclyne. Duke Wyllyam stroke hym on hys brigandyne, 645 And sayd; Campynon, is it thee I see? Thee? who dydst actes of glorie so bewryen, Now poorlie come to hyde thieselfe bie mee? Awaie! thou dogge, and acte a warriors parte. Or with mie swerde I'll perce thee to the harte. 650

Betweene Erie Alfwoulde and Duke Wyllyam's bronde Campynon thoughte that nete but deathe coulde bee, Seezed a huge swerde Morglaien yn his honde, Mottrynge a praier to the Vyrgyne: So hunted deere the dryvynge hounds will flee, 655 When theie dyscover they cannot escape; And feerful lambkyns, when theie hunted bee, Theyre ynfante hunters doe theie oft awhape; Thus stoode Campynon, greete but hertlesse knyghte, When feere of dethe made hym for deathe to fyghte. 660

Alfwoulde began to dyghte hymselfe for fyghte, Meanewhyle hys menne on everie syde dyd slee, Whan on hys lyfted sheelde withe alle hys myghte Campynon's swerde in burlie-brande dyd dree; Bewopen Alfwoulde fellen on his knee; 665 Hys Brystowe menne came in hym for to save; Eftsoons upgotten from the grounde was hee, And dyd agayne the touring Norman brave; Hee graspd hys bylle in syke a drear arraie, Hee seem'd a lyon catchynge at hys preie. 670

Upon the Normannes brazen adventayle The thondrynge bill of myghtie Alfwould came; It made a dentful bruse, and then dyd fayle; Fromme rattlynge weepons shotte a sparklynge flame; Eftsoons agayne the thondrynge bill ycame, 675 Peers'd thro hys adventayle and skyrts of lare; A tyde of purple gore came wyth the same, As out hys bowells on the feelde it tare; Campynon felle, as when some cittie-walle Inne dolefulle terrours on its mynours falle. 680

He felle, and dyd the Norman rankes dyvide; So when an oke, that shotte ynto the skie, Feeles the broad axes peersynge his broade syde, Slowlie hee falls and on the grounde doth lie, Pressynge all downe that is wyth hym anighe, 685 And stoppynge wearie travellers on the waie; So straught upon the playne the Norman hie

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Bled, gron'd, and dyed; the Normanne knyghtes astound To see the bawsin champyon preste upon the grounde. 690

As when the hygra of the Severne roars, And thunders ugsom on the sandes below, The cleembe reboundes to Wedecesters shore, And sweeps the black sande rounde its horie prowe; So bremie Alfwoulde thro the warre dyd goe; 695 Hys Kenters and Brystowans slew ech syde, Betreinted all alonge with bloudless foe, And seemd to swymm alonge with bloudie tyde; Fromme place to place besmeard with bloud they went, And rounde aboute them swarthless corse besprente. 700

A famous Normanne who yclepd Aubene, Of skyll in bow, in tylte, and handesworde fyghte That daie yn feelde han manie Saxons sleene, Forre hee in sothen was a manne of myghte; Fyrste dyd his swerde on Adelgar alyghte, 705 As hee on horseback was, and peersd hys gryne, Then upwarde wente: in everlastynge nyghte Hee closd hys rollyng and dymsyghted eyne. Next Eadlyn, Tatwyn, and fam'd Adelred, Bie various causes sunken to the dead. 710

But now to Alfwoulde he opposynge went, To whom compar'd hee was a man of stre, And wyth bothe hondes a myghtie blowe he sente At Alfwouldes head, as hard as hee could dree; But on hys payncted sheelde so bismarlie 715 Aslaunte his swerde did go ynto the grounde; Then Alfwould him attack'd most furyouslie, Athrowe hys gaberdyne hee dyd him wounde, Then soone agayne hys swerde hee dyd upryne, And clove his creste and split hym to the eyne. 720

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[Footnote 1: In Turgott's tyme Holenwell braste of erthe so fierce that it threw a stone-mell carrying the same awaie. J. Lydgate ne knowynge this lefte out o line.]

[Editor's note: l. 578 _see Introduction_ p. xlij]

ONN OURE LADIES CHYRCHE.

As onn a hylle one eve sittynge, At oure Ladie's Chyrche mouche wonderynge, The counynge handieworke so fyne, Han well nighe dazeled mine eyne; Quod I; some counynge fairie hande 5 Yreer'd this chapelle in this lande; Full well I wote so fine a syghte Was ne yreer'd of mortall wighte. Quod Trouthe; thou lackest knowlachynge; Thou forsoth ne wotteth of the thynge. 10 A Rev'rend Fadre, William Canynge hight, Yreered uppe this chapelle brighte; And eke another in the Towne, Where glassie bubblynge Trymme doth roun. Quod I; ne doubte for all he's given 15 His sowle will certes goe to heaven. Yea, quod Trouthe; than goe thou home, And see thou doe as hee hath donne. Quod I; I doubte, that can ne bee; I have ne gotten markes three. 20 Quod Trouthe; as thou hast got, give almes-dedes soe; Canynges and Gaunts culde doe ne moe.

T.R.

ON THE SAME.

Stay, curyous traveller, and pass not bye, Until this fetive pile astounde thine eye. Whole rocks on rocks with yron joynd surveie, And okes with okes entremed disponed lie. This mightie pile, that keeps the wyndes at baie, 5 Fyre-levyn and the mokie storme defie, That shootes aloofe into the reaulmes of daie, Shall be the record of the Buylders fame for aie.

Thou seest this maystrie of a human hand, The pride of Brystowe and the Westerne lande, 10 Yet is the Buylders vertues much moe greete, Greeter than can bie Rowlies pen be scande. Thou seest the saynctes and kynges in stonen state, That seemd with breath and human soule dispande, As payrde to us enseem these men of slate, 15 Such is greete Canynge's mynde when payrd to God elate.

Well maiest thou be astound, but view it well; Go not from hence before thou see thy fill, And learn the Builder's vertues and his name; Of this tall spyre in every countye telle, 20 And with thy tale the lazing rych men shame; Showe howe the glorious Canynge did excelle; How hee good man a friend for kynges became, And gloryous paved at once the way to heaven and fame.

EPITAPH ON ROBERT CANYNGE.

Thys mornynge starre of Radcleves rysynge raie, A true manne good of mynde and Canynge hyghte, Benethe thys stone lies moltrynge ynto claie, Untylle the darke tombe sheene an eterne lyghte. Thyrde fromme hys loynes the present Canynge came; Houton are wordes for to telle hys doe; For aye shall lyve hys heaven-recorded name, Ne shall yt dye whanne tyme shalle bee no moe; Whanne Mychael's trumpe shall sounde to rise the solle, He'll wynge to heavn wyth kynne, and happie bee hys dolle.

THE STORIE OF WILLIAM CANYNGE.

Anent a brooklette as I laie reclynd, Listeynge to heare the water glyde alonge, Myndeynge how thorowe the grene mees yt twynd, Awhilst the cavys respons'd yts mottring songe, At dystaunt rysyng Avonne to be sped, 5 Amenged wyth rysyng hylles dyd shewe yts head;

Engarlanded wyth crownes of osyer weedes And wraytes of alders of a bercie scent, And stickeynge out wyth clowde agested reedes, The hoarie Avonne show'd dyre semblamente, 10 Whylest blataunt Severne, from Sabryna clepde, Rores flemie o'er the sandes that she hepde.

These eynegears swythyn bringethe to mie thowghte Of hardie champyons knowen to the floude, How onne the bankes thereof brave Ælle foughte, 15 Ælle descended from Merce kynglie bloude, Warden of Brystowe towne and castel stede, Who ever and anon made Danes to blede.

Methoughte such doughtie menn must have a sprighte Dote yn the armour brace that Mychael bore, 20 Whan he wyth Satan kynge of helle dyd fyghte, And earthe was drented yn a mere of gore; Orr, soone as theie dyd see the worldis lyghte, Fate had wrott downe, thys mann ys borne to fyghte.

Ælle, I sayd, or els my mynde dyd saie, 25 Whie ys thy actyons left so spare yn storie? Were I toe dispone, there should lyvven aie In erthe and hevenis rolles thie tale of glorie; Thie actes soe doughtie should for aie abyde, And bie theyre teste all after actes be tryde. 30

Next holie Wareburghus fylld mie mynde, As fayre a sayncte as anie towne can boaste, Or bee the erthe wyth lyghte or merke ywrynde, I see hys ymage waulkeyng throwe the coaste: Fitz Hardynge, Bithrickus, and twentie moe 35 Ynn visyonn fore mie phantasie dyd goe.

Thus all mie wandrynge faytour thynkeynge strayde, And eche dygne buylder dequac'd onn mie mynde, Whan from the distaunt streeme arose a mayde, Whose gentle tresses mov'd not to the wynde; 40 Lyche to the sylver moone yn frostie neete, The damoiselle dyd come soe blythe and sweete.

Ne browded mantell of a scarlette hue, Ne shoone pykes plaited o'er wyth ribbande geere, Ne costlie paraments of woden blue, 45 Noughte of a dresse, but bewtie dyd shee weere; Naked shee was, and loked swete of youthe, All dyd bewryen that her name was Trouthe.

The ethie ringletts of her notte-browne hayre What ne a manne should see dyd swotelie hyde, 50 Whych on her milk-white bodykin so fayre Dyd showe lyke browne streemes fowlyng the white tyde, Or veynes of brown hue yn a marble cuarr, Whyche by the traveller ys kenn'd from farr.

Astounded mickle there I sylente laie, 55 Still scauncing wondrous at the walkynge syghte; Mie senses forgarde ne coulde reyn awaie; But was ne forstraughte whan shee dyd alyghte Anie to mee, dreste up yn naked viewe, Whych mote yn some ewbrycious thoughtes abrewe. 60

But I ne dyd once thynke of wanton thoughte; For well I mynded what bie vowe I hete, And yn mie pockate han a crouchee broughte, Whych yn the blosom woulde such sins anete; I lok'd wyth eyne as pure as angelles doe, 65 And dyd the everie thoughte of foule eschewe.

Wyth sweet semblate and an angel's grace Shee 'gan to lecture from her gentle breste; For Trouthis wordes ys her myndes face, False oratoryes she dyd aie deteste: 70 Sweetnesse was yn eche worde she dyd ywreene, Tho shee strove not to make that sweetnesse sheene.

Shee sayd; mie manner of appereynge here Mie name and sleyghted myndbruch maie thee telle; I'm Trouthe, that dyd descende fromm heavenwere, 75 Goulers and courtiers doe not kenne mee welle; Thie inmoste thoughtes, thie labrynge brayne I sawe, And from thie gentle dreeme will thee adawe.

Full manie champyons and menne of lore, Payncters and carvellers have gaind good name, 80 But there's a Canynge, to encrease the store, A Canynge, who shall buie uppe all theyre fame. Take thou mie power, and see yn chylde and manne What troulie noblenesse yn Canynge ranne.

As when a bordelier onn ethie bedde, 85 Tyr'd wyth the laboures maynt of sweltrie daie, Yn slepeis bosom laieth hys deft headde, So, senses sonke to reste, mie boddie laie; Eftsoons mie sprighte, from erthlie bandes untyde, Immengde yn flanched ayre wyth Trouthe asyde. 90

Strayte was I carryd back to tymes of yore, Whylst Canynge swathed yet yn fleshlie bedde, And saw all actyons whych han been before, And all the scroll of Fate unravelled; And when the fate-mark'd babe acome to syghte, 95 I saw hym eager gaspynge after lyghte.

In all hys shepen gambols and chyldes plaie. In everie merriemakeyng, fayre or wake, I kenn'd a perpled lyghte of Wysdom's raie; He eate downe learnynge wyth the wastle cake. 100 As wise as anie of the eldermenne, He'd wytte enowe toe make a mayre at tenne.

As the dulce downie barbe beganne to gre, So was the well thyghte texture of hys lore; Eche daie enhedeynge mockler for to bee, 105 Greete yn hys councel for the daies he bore. All tongues, all carrols dyd unto hym synge, Wondryng at one soe wyse, and yet soe yinge.

Encreaseynge yn the yeares of mortal lyfe, And hasteynge to hys journie ynto heaven, 110 Hee thoughte ytt proper for to cheese a wyfe, And use the sexes for the purpose gevene. Hee then was yothe of comelie semelikeede, And hee had made a mayden's herte to blede.

He had a fader, (Jesus rest hys soule!) 115 Who loved money, as hys charie joie; Hee had a broder (happie manne be's dole!) Yn mynde and boddie, hys owne fadre's boie; What then could Canynge wissen as a parte To gyve to her whoe had made chop of hearte? 120

But landes and castle tenures, golde and bighes, And hoardes of sylver rousted yn the ent, Canynge and hys fayre sweete dyd that despyse, To change of troulie love was theyr content; Theie lyv'd togeder yn a house adygne, 125 Of goode fendaument commilie and fyne.

But soone hys broder and hys syre dyd die, And lefte to Willyam states and renteynge rolles, And at hys wyll hys broder Johne supplie. Hee gave a chauntrie to redeeme theyre soules; 130 And put hys broder ynto syke a trade, That he lorde mayor of Londonne towne was made.

Eftsoons hys mornynge tournd to gloomie nyghte; Hys dame, hys seconde selfe, gyve upp her brethe, Seekeynge for eterne lyfe and endless lyghte, 135 And sleed good Canynge; sad mystake of dethe! Soe have I seen a flower ynn Sommer tyme Trodde downe and broke and widder ynn ytts pryme.

Next Radeleeve chyrche (oh worke of hande of heav'n, Whare Canynge sheweth as an instrumente.) 140 Was to my bismarde eyne-syghte newlie giv'n; 'Tis past to blazonne ytt to good contente. You that woulde faygn the fetyve buyldynge see Repayre to Radcleve, and contented bee.

I sawe the myndbruch of hys nobille soule 145 Whan Edwarde meniced a seconde wyfe; I saw what Pheryons yn hys mynde dyd rolle; Nowe fyx'd fromm seconde dames a preeste for lyfe. Thys ys the manne of menne, the vision spoke; Then belle for even-songe mie senses woke. 150

ON HAPPIENESSE, by WILLIAM CANYNGE.

Maie Selynesse on erthes boundes bee hadde? Maie yt adyghte yn human shape bee founde? Wote yee, ytt was wyth Edin's bower bestadde, Or quite eraced from the scaunce-layd grounde, Whan from the secret fontes the waterres dyd abounde? Does yt agrosed shun the bodyed waulke, Lyve to ytself and to yttes ecchoe taulke?

All hayle, Contente, thou mayde of turtle-eyne, As thie behoulders thynke thou arte iwreene, To ope the dore to Selynesse ys thyne, And Chrystis glorie doth upponne thee sheene. Doer of the foule thynge ne hath thee seene; In caves, ynn wodes, ynn woe, and dole distresse, Whoere hath thee hath gotten Selynesse.

ONN JOHNE A DALBENIE, by the same.

Johne makes a jarre boute Lancaster and Yorke; Bee stille, gode manne, and learne to mynde thie worke.

THE GOULER'S REQUIEM, by the same.