VITHE PEARLABOUT1375.

34Hector] HestorMS.37dyngeȝ] dynneȝMS.63not] motMS.69and] & &MS.137as] atMS.172welcom] welconMS.179þy(1st)] þy þyMS.237he] he heMS.322hardily] hardilylyMS.331at... of(2nd)]transposed in MS.358With] With wythMS.

34Hector] HestorMS.

37dyngeȝ] dynneȝMS.

63not] motMS.

69and] & &MS.

137as] atMS.

172welcom] welconMS.

179þy(1st)] þy þyMS.

237he] he heMS.

322hardily] hardilylyMS.

331at... of(2nd)]transposed in MS.

358With] With wythMS.

The facts leading to the presumption thatPearlandSir Gawayneare by the same author have been mentioned in the prefatory note toSir Gawayne. But the poems are markedly different in subject and tone.Pearl, like Chaucer'sDeath of Blanche the Duchess, is an elegy cast in the vision form made popular by theRoman de la Rose. The subject is a little girl, who died before she was two years old, and the treatment is deeply religious. Her death is symbolized as the loss of a pearl without spot, that slipped from its owner's hand through the grass into the earth.

On a festival day in August, the poet, while mourning his loss, falls asleep on his child's grave. His spirit passes to a land of flowers and rich fruits, where birds of flaming hues sing incomparably, where the cliffs are of crystal and beryl, and a river runs in a bed of gleaming jewels. On the other side of the river, which is lovelier still, sits a maiden dressed all in white, with coronet and ornaments of pearl. The poet recognizes his lost child, but cannot call to her for wonder and dread, until she rises and salutes him. He complains that since her loss he has been a joyless jeweller. She rebukes him gently; she is not lost, but made safe and beautiful for ever. Overjoyed, he says he will cross the river and live with her in this paradise; but she warns him against such presumption, for since Adam's fall the river may be crossed only by the way of death. He is in despair to think that now that his Pearl is found, he must still live joyless, apart from her; but he is bidden to resign himself to God's will and mercy, because rebellion will avail him nothing.

Atthis point begins the argument on salvation by grace or salvation by works which is here reprinted.

The maiden then continues the discussion, explaining that 'the innocent are ay safe by right', and that only those who come as little children can win the bliss sought by the man who sold his all for a matchless pearl.

Next the poet asks whence her beauty comes, and what her office is. She replies that she is one of the brides of Christ, whom St. John in the Apocalypse saw arrayed for the bridal in the New Jerusalem. He asks to see their mansions, and by special grace is allowed to view the holy city from without. He sees it as St. John saw it, gleaming with gold, with its pillars of precious stone, its gates of pearl; its streets lighted by a divine radiance, so that there is no need of moon or sun. There is no church or chapel or temple there: God himself is the minister, and Christ is the sacrifice. Mortal eye could not bear the splendour, and he stood 'as stylle as dased quayle'. At evening came the procession of the virgin brides of Christ, each bearing on her breast the pearl of perfect happiness. The Lamb leads them, in pearl-white robes, his side bleeding, his face rapt; while elders make obeisance, and angels sing songs of joy as He nears the throne of God.

Suddenly the poet sees his Pearl among her companions. Overcome with longing and delight, he tries to cross the river, only to wake in the garden where he fell asleep. Henceforth he is resigned to the pleasure of the Prince of Heaven.

The reader will be able to judge the author's poetical gift from the selection, which has been chosen as one of the less ornate passages. Even here the form distracts attention from the matter by its elaborateness. A difficult rime scheme is superimposed on the alliterative line; stanza is interlinked with stanza; each group of five stanzas is distinguished by a similar refrain, and bound to the preceding and following groups by repetition in the first and last lines. So too the close of the poem echoes the beginning. With such intricacy of plan, it is not surprising that the rime is sometimes forced, and the sense strained or obscure. It is rather a matter for wonder that, in so long a work, the author was able to maintain his marvellous technique without completely sacrificing poetry to metrical gymnastics.

Thehighly wrought, almost overwrought, effect is heightened when the poem is read as a whole. IfPiers Plowmangives a realistic picture of the drabness of mediaeval life,Pearl, more especially in the early stanzas, shows a richness of imagery and a luxuriance in light and colour that seem scarcely English. Yet they have their parallels in the decorative art of the time—the elaborate carving in wood and stone; the rich colouring of tapestries, of illuminated books and painted glass; the designs of the jewellers, goldsmiths, and silversmiths, which even the notaries who made the old inventories cannot pass without a word of admiration. ThePearlreminds us of the tribute due to the artists and craftsmen of the fourteenth century.

The edition by C. G. Osgood, Boston 1906, is the handiest.

Thenne demed I to þat damyselle:'Ne worþe no wrathþe vnto my Lorde,If rapely raue, spornande in spelle;My herte watȝ al wyth mysse remorde,As wallande water gotȝ out of welle.5I do me ay in Hys myserecorde;Rebuke me neuer wyth wordeȝ felle,Þaȝ I forloyne, my dere endorde,Botkyþeȝme kyndely your coumforde,Pytosly þenkande vpon þysse:10Of care and me ȝe made acorde,Þat er watȝ grounde of alle my blysse.

Thenne demed I to þat damyselle:

'Ne worþe no wrathþe vnto my Lorde,

If rapely raue, spornande in spelle;

My herte watȝ al wyth mysse remorde,

As wallande water gotȝ out of welle.5

I do me ay in Hys myserecorde;

Rebuke me neuer wyth wordeȝ felle,

Þaȝ I forloyne, my dere endorde,

Botkyþeȝme kyndely your coumforde,

Pytosly þenkande vpon þysse:10

Of care and me ȝe made acorde,

Þat er watȝ grounde of alle my blysse.

My blysse, my bale, ȝe han ben boþe,Bot much þe bygger ȝet watȝ my mon;Fro þou watȝ wroken fro vch a woþe,15I wyste neuer quere my perle watȝ gon.Now I hit se, now leþeȝ my loþe;And, quen we departed, we wern at on;God forbede we be now wroþe,We meten so selden by stok oþer ston.20Þaȝ cortaysly ȝe carp con,I am bot mol andmanereȝmysse;Bot Crystes mersy, and Mary, and Ion,Þise arn þe grounde of alle my blysse.

My blysse, my bale, ȝe han ben boþe,

Bot much þe bygger ȝet watȝ my mon;

Fro þou watȝ wroken fro vch a woþe,15

I wyste neuer quere my perle watȝ gon.

Now I hit se, now leþeȝ my loþe;

And, quen we departed, we wern at on;

God forbede we be now wroþe,

We meten so selden by stok oþer ston.20

Þaȝ cortaysly ȝe carp con,

I am bot mol andmanereȝmysse;

Bot Crystes mersy, and Mary, and Ion,

Þise arn þe grounde of alle my blysse.

'In blysse I se þe blyþely blent,25And I a man al mornyf mate;Ȝe take þeron ful lyttel tente,Þaȝ I hente ofte harmeȝ hate.Bot now I am here in your presente,I wolde bysech, wythouten debate,30Ȝe wolde me say in sobre asenteWhat lyf ȝe lede erly and late.For I am ful fayn þat your astateIs worþen to worschyp and wele, iwysse;Of alle my ioy þe hyȝe gate35Hit is,andgrounde of alle my blysse.'

'In blysse I se þe blyþely blent,25

And I a man al mornyf mate;

Ȝe take þeron ful lyttel tente,

Þaȝ I hente ofte harmeȝ hate.

Bot now I am here in your presente,

I wolde bysech, wythouten debate,30

Ȝe wolde me say in sobre asente

What lyf ȝe lede erly and late.

For I am ful fayn þat your astate

Is worþen to worschyp and wele, iwysse;

Of alle my ioy þe hyȝe gate35

Hit is,andgrounde of alle my blysse.'

'Now blysse, burne, mot þe bytyde,'Þen sayde þat lufsoum of lyth and lere,'And welcum here to walk and byde,For now þy speche is to me dere.40Maysterful mod and hyȝe pryde,I hete þe, arn heterly hated here.My Lorde ne loueȝ not for to chyde,For meke arn alle þat woneȝ Hym nere;And when in Hys place þou schal apere,45Be dep deuote in hol mekenesse;My Lorde þe Lamb loueȝ ay such chere,Þat is þe grounde of alle my blysse.

'Now blysse, burne, mot þe bytyde,'

Þen sayde þat lufsoum of lyth and lere,

'And welcum here to walk and byde,

For now þy speche is to me dere.40

Maysterful mod and hyȝe pryde,

I hete þe, arn heterly hated here.

My Lorde ne loueȝ not for to chyde,

For meke arn alle þat woneȝ Hym nere;

And when in Hys place þou schal apere,45

Be dep deuote in hol mekenesse;

My Lorde þe Lamb loueȝ ay such chere,

Þat is þe grounde of alle my blysse.

'Ablysful lyf þou says I lede;Þou woldeȝ knaw þerof þe stage.50Þow wost wel when þy perle con schedeI watȝ ful ȝong and tender of age;Bot my Lorde þe Lombe, þurȝ Hys Godhede,He toke myself to Hys maryage,Corounde me quene in blysse to brede55In lenghe of dayeȝ þat euer schal wage;And sesed in alle Hys herytageHys lef is, I am holy Hysse;Hys prese, Hys prys, and Hys parageIs rote and grounde of alle my blysse.'60

'Ablysful lyf þou says I lede;

Þou woldeȝ knaw þerof þe stage.50

Þow wost wel when þy perle con schede

I watȝ ful ȝong and tender of age;

Bot my Lorde þe Lombe, þurȝ Hys Godhede,

He toke myself to Hys maryage,

Corounde me quene in blysse to brede55

In lenghe of dayeȝ þat euer schal wage;

And sesed in alle Hys herytage

Hys lef is, I am holy Hysse;

Hys prese, Hys prys, and Hys parage

Is rote and grounde of alle my blysse.'60

'Blysful,' quod I, 'may þys be trwe?—Dyspleseȝ not if I speke errour—Art þou þe quene of heueneȝ blwe,Þat al þys worlde schal do honour?We leuen on Marye þat grace of grewe,65Þat ber a barne of vyrgynflour;Þe croune fro hyr quo moȝt remweBot ho hir passed in sum fauour?Now, for synglerty o hyr dousour,We calle hyr Fenyx of Arraby,70Þat freles fleȝe of hyr fasor,Lyk to þe quen of cortaysye.'

'Blysful,' quod I, 'may þys be trwe?—

Dyspleseȝ not if I speke errour—

Art þou þe quene of heueneȝ blwe,

Þat al þys worlde schal do honour?

We leuen on Marye þat grace of grewe,65

Þat ber a barne of vyrgynflour;

Þe croune fro hyr quo moȝt remwe

Bot ho hir passed in sum fauour?

Now, for synglerty o hyr dousour,

We calle hyr Fenyx of Arraby,70

Þat freles fleȝe of hyr fasor,

Lyk to þe quen of cortaysye.'
'Cortayse Quen,' þenne s yde þat gaye,Knelande to grounde, folde vp hyr face,'Makeleȝ Moder and myryest May,75Blessed Bygynner of vch a grace!'Þenne ros ho vp and con restay,And speke me towarde in þat space:'Sir, fele here porchaseȝ and fongeȝ pray,Bot supplantoreȝ none wythinne þys place.80Þat emperise al heueneȝ hatȝ,Andvrþe and helle in her bayly;Of erytage ȝet non wyl ho chace,For ho is quen of cortaysye.

'Cortayse Quen,' þenne s yde þat gaye,

Knelande to grounde, folde vp hyr face,

'Makeleȝ Moder and myryest May,75

Blessed Bygynner of vch a grace!'

Þenne ros ho vp and con restay,

And speke me towarde in þat space:

'Sir, fele here porchaseȝ and fongeȝ pray,

Bot supplantoreȝ none wythinne þys place.80

Þat emperise al heueneȝ hatȝ,

Andvrþe and helle in her bayly;

Of erytage ȝet non wyl ho chace,

For ho is quen of cortaysye.

'The court of þe kyndom of God alyue85Hatȝ a property in hytself beyng:Alle þat may þerinne aryueOf alle þe reme is quen oþer kyng,And neuer oþer ȝet schal depryue,Bot vchon fayn of oþereȝ hafyng,90And wolde her corouneȝ wern worþe þo fyue,If possyble were her mendyng.Bot my Lady, of quom Iesu con spryng,Ho haldeȝ þe empyre ouer vus ful hyȝe;And þat dyspleseȝ non of oure gyng,95For ho is quene of cortaysye.

'The court of þe kyndom of God alyue85

Hatȝ a property in hytself beyng:

Alle þat may þerinne aryue

Of alle þe reme is quen oþer kyng,

And neuer oþer ȝet schal depryue,

Bot vchon fayn of oþereȝ hafyng,90

And wolde her corouneȝ wern worþe þo fyue,

If possyble were her mendyng.

Bot my Lady, of quom Iesu con spryng,

Ho haldeȝ þe empyre ouer vus ful hyȝe;

And þat dyspleseȝ non of oure gyng,95

For ho is quene of cortaysye.

'Of courtaysye, as saytȝ Saynt Poule,Al arn we membreȝ of Iesu Kryst;As heued and arme and legg and nauleTemen to hys body ful trwe and tyste,100Ryȝt so is vch a Krysten sawleA longande lym to þe Mayster of myste.Þenne loke what hate oþer any gawleIs tached oþer tyȝed þy lymmeȝ bytwyste:Þy heued hatȝ nauþer greme ne gryste105On arme oþer fynger þaȝ þou ber byȝe:So fare we alle wyth luf and lysteTo kyng and quene by cortaysye.'

'Of courtaysye, as saytȝ Saynt Poule,

Al arn we membreȝ of Iesu Kryst;

As heued and arme and legg and naule

Temen to hys body ful trwe and tyste,100

Ryȝt so is vch a Krysten sawle

A longande lym to þe Mayster of myste.

Þenne loke what hate oþer any gawle

Is tached oþer tyȝed þy lymmeȝ bytwyste:

Þy heued hatȝ nauþer greme ne gryste105

On arme oþer fynger þaȝ þou ber byȝe:

So fare we alle wyth luf and lyste

To kyng and quene by cortaysye.'

'Cortaysé,' quod I, 'I leue,And charyté grete, be yow among,110Bot my speche þat yow ne greue,——————————————————Þyself in heuen ouer hyȝ þou heue,Tomake þe quen þat watȝ so ȝonge.What more honour moȝte he acheue115Þat hade endured in worlde stronge,And lyued in penaunce hys lyueȝ longe,Wyth bodyly bale hym blysse to byye?What more worschyp moȝthefonge,Þen corounde be kyng by cortaysé?120

'Cortaysé,' quod I, 'I leue,

And charyté grete, be yow among,110

Bot my speche þat yow ne greue,

——————————————————

Þyself in heuen ouer hyȝ þou heue,

Tomake þe quen þat watȝ so ȝonge.

What more honour moȝte he acheue115

Þat hade endured in worlde stronge,

And lyued in penaunce hys lyueȝ longe,

Wyth bodyly bale hym blysse to byye?

What more worschyp moȝthefonge,

Þen corounde be kyng by cortaysé?120

'That cortaysé is to fre of dede,Ȝyf hyt be soth þat þou coneȝ saye;Þou lyfed not two ȝer in oure þede;Þou cowþeȝ neuer God nauþer plese ne pray,Ne neuer nawþer Pater ne Crede;125And quen mad on þe fyrst day!I may not traw, so God me spede,Þat God wolde wryþe so wrange away;Of countes, damysel, par ma fay!Wer fayr in heuen to halde asstate,130Aþer elleȝ a lady of lasse aray;Bot a quene!—hit is to dere a date.'

'That cortaysé is to fre of dede,

Ȝyf hyt be soth þat þou coneȝ saye;

Þou lyfed not two ȝer in oure þede;

Þou cowþeȝ neuer God nauþer plese ne pray,

Ne neuer nawþer Pater ne Crede;125

And quen mad on þe fyrst day!

I may not traw, so God me spede,

Þat God wolde wryþe so wrange away;

Of countes, damysel, par ma fay!

Wer fayr in heuen to halde asstate,130

Aþer elleȝ a lady of lasse aray;

Bot a quene!—hit is to dere a date.'

'Þer is no date of Hys godnesse,'Þen sayde to me þat worþy wyȝte,'For al is trawþe þat He con dresse,135And He may do no þynk bot ryȝt,As Mathew meleȝ in your messe,In sothful Gospel of God Almyȝt,In sample he can ful grayþely gesse,And lykneȝ hit to heuen lyȝte:140"My regne," He saytȝ, "is lyk on hyȝtTo a lorde þat hade a uyne, I wate.Of tyme of ȝere þe terme watȝ tyȝt,To labor vyne watȝ dere þe date.

'Þer is no date of Hys godnesse,'

Þen sayde to me þat worþy wyȝte,

'For al is trawþe þat He con dresse,135

And He may do no þynk bot ryȝt,

As Mathew meleȝ in your messe,

In sothful Gospel of God Almyȝt,

In sample he can ful grayþely gesse,

And lykneȝ hit to heuen lyȝte:140

"My regne," He saytȝ, "is lyk on hyȝt

To a lorde þat hade a uyne, I wate.

Of tyme of ȝere þe terme watȝ tyȝt,

To labor vyne watȝ dere þe date.

'"Þatdate of ȝere wel knawe þys hyne.145Þe lorde ful erly vp he ros,To hyre werkmen to hys vyne,And fyndeȝ þer summe to hys porpos.Into acorde þay con declyneFor a pené on a day, and forth þay gotȝ,150Wryþen and worchen and don gret pyne,Keruen and caggen and man hit clos.Aboute vnder, þe lorde to marked totȝ,And ydel men stande he fyndeȝ þerate.'Why stande ȝe ydel?' he sayde to þos;155'Ne knawe ȝe of þis day no date?'

'"Þatdate of ȝere wel knawe þys hyne.145

Þe lorde ful erly vp he ros,

To hyre werkmen to hys vyne,

And fyndeȝ þer summe to hys porpos.

Into acorde þay con declyne

For a pené on a day, and forth þay gotȝ,150

Wryþen and worchen and don gret pyne,

Keruen and caggen and man hit clos.

Aboute vnder, þe lorde to marked totȝ,

And ydel men stande he fyndeȝ þerate.

'Why stande ȝe ydel?' he sayde to þos;155

'Ne knawe ȝe of þis day no date?'

'"'Er date of daye hider arn we wonne;'So watȝ al samen her answar soȝt;'We haf standen her syn ros þe sunne,And no mon byddeȝ vus do ryȝt noȝt.'160'Gos into my vyne, dotȝ þat ȝe conne,'So sayde þe lorde, and made hit toȝt;'What resonabele hyre be naȝt be runneI yowpayin dede and þoȝte.'Þay wente into þe vyne and wroȝte,165And al day þe lorde þus ȝede his gate,And nw men to hys vyne he broȝte,Welneȝ wyl day watȝ passed date.

'"'Er date of daye hider arn we wonne;'

So watȝ al samen her answar soȝt;

'We haf standen her syn ros þe sunne,

And no mon byddeȝ vus do ryȝt noȝt.'160

'Gos into my vyne, dotȝ þat ȝe conne,'

So sayde þe lorde, and made hit toȝt;

'What resonabele hyre be naȝt be runne

I yowpayin dede and þoȝte.'

Þay wente into þe vyne and wroȝte,165

And al day þe lorde þus ȝede his gate,

And nw men to hys vyne he broȝte,

Welneȝ wyl day watȝ passed date.

'"At þedate of dayof euensonge,On oure byfore þe sonne go doun,170He seȝ þer ydel men ful stronge,And sade tohemwyth sobre soun:'Wy stonde ȝe ydel þise dayeȝ longe?'Þay sayden her hyre watȝ nawhere boun.'Gotȝ to my vyne, ȝemen ȝonge,175And wyrkeȝ and dotȝ þat at ȝe moun.'Soneþe worlde bycom wel broun,Þe sunne watȝ doun,andhit wex late;To take her hyre he mad sumoun;Þe day watȝ al apassed date.180

'"At þedate of dayof euensonge,

On oure byfore þe sonne go doun,170

He seȝ þer ydel men ful stronge,

And sade tohemwyth sobre soun:

'Wy stonde ȝe ydel þise dayeȝ longe?'

Þay sayden her hyre watȝ nawhere boun.

'Gotȝ to my vyne, ȝemen ȝonge,175

And wyrkeȝ and dotȝ þat at ȝe moun.'

Soneþe worlde bycom wel broun,

Þe sunne watȝ doun,andhit wex late;

To take her hyre he mad sumoun;

Þe day watȝ al apassed date.180

'"The date of þe daye þe lorde con knaw,Called to þe reue: 'Lede, pay þe meyny;Gyf hem þe hyre þat I hem owe;And fyrre, þat non me may reprené,Set hem alle vpon a rawe,185And gyf vchonilychea peny;Bygyn at þe laste þat standeȝ lowe,Tyl to þe fyrste þat þou atteny.'And þenne þe fyrst bygonne to pleny,And sayden þat þay hade trauayled sore:190'Þese bot on oure hem con streny;Vus þynk vus oȝe to take more.

'"The date of þe daye þe lorde con knaw,

Called to þe reue: 'Lede, pay þe meyny;

Gyf hem þe hyre þat I hem owe;

And fyrre, þat non me may reprené,

Set hem alle vpon a rawe,185

And gyf vchonilychea peny;

Bygyn at þe laste þat standeȝ lowe,

Tyl to þe fyrste þat þou atteny.'

And þenne þe fyrst bygonne to pleny,

And sayden þat þay hade trauayled sore:190

'Þese bot on oure hem con streny;

Vus þynk vus oȝe to take more.

'"'More haf we serued, vus þynk so,Þat suffred han þe dayeȝ hete,Þenn þyse þat wroȝt not houreȝ two,195And þou dotȝ hem vus to counterfete.'Þenne sayde þe lorde to on of þo:'Frende no waning I wyl þe ȝete;Take þat is þyn owne and go.And I hyred þe for a peny agrete,200Quy bygynneȝ þou now to þrete?Watȝ not a pené þy couenaunt þore?Fyrre þen couenaunde is noȝt to plete.Wy schalte þou þenne ask more?

'"'More haf we serued, vus þynk so,

Þat suffred han þe dayeȝ hete,

Þenn þyse þat wroȝt not houreȝ two,195

And þou dotȝ hem vus to counterfete.'

Þenne sayde þe lorde to on of þo:

'Frende no waning I wyl þe ȝete;

Take þat is þyn owne and go.

And I hyred þe for a peny agrete,200

Quy bygynneȝ þou now to þrete?

Watȝ not a pené þy couenaunt þore?

Fyrre þen couenaunde is noȝt to plete.

Wy schalte þou þenne ask more?

'"'More weþer †louyly† is me my gyfte205To do wyth myn quat so me lykeȝ?Oþer elleȝ þyn yȝe to lyþer is lyfteFor I am goude and non byswykeȝ?''Þusschal I,' quod Kryste, 'hit skyfte:Þe laste schal be þe fyrst þat strykeȝ,210And þe fyrst be laste, be he neuer so swyft;For mony ben calle, þaȝ fewe be mykeȝ.'"Þus pore men her part ay pykeȝ,Þaȝ þay com late and lyttel wore;And þaȝ her sweng wyth lyttel atslykeȝ,215Þe merci of God is much þe more.

'"'More weþer †louyly† is me my gyfte205

To do wyth myn quat so me lykeȝ?

Oþer elleȝ þyn yȝe to lyþer is lyfte

For I am goude and non byswykeȝ?'

'Þusschal I,' quod Kryste, 'hit skyfte:

Þe laste schal be þe fyrst þat strykeȝ,210

And þe fyrst be laste, be he neuer so swyft;

For mony ben calle, þaȝ fewe be mykeȝ.'"

Þus pore men her part ay pykeȝ,

Þaȝ þay com late and lyttel wore;

And þaȝ her sweng wyth lyttel atslykeȝ,215

Þe merci of God is much þe more.

'More haf I of ioye and blysse hereinne,Of ladyschyp gret and lyueȝ blom,Þen alle þe wyȝeȝ in þe worlde myȝt wynneBy þe way of ryȝt to aske dome.220Wheþer welnygh now I con bygynne—In euentyde into þe vyne I come—Fyrst of my hyre my Lorde con mynne,I watȝ payed anon of al and sum.Ȝet oþer þer werne þat toke more tom,225Þat swange and swat for long ȝore,Þat ȝet of hyre no þynk þay nom,Paraunter noȝt schal toȝere more.'

'More haf I of ioye and blysse hereinne,

Of ladyschyp gret and lyueȝ blom,

Þen alle þe wyȝeȝ in þe worlde myȝt wynne

By þe way of ryȝt to aske dome.220

Wheþer welnygh now I con bygynne—

In euentyde into þe vyne I come—

Fyrst of my hyre my Lorde con mynne,

I watȝ payed anon of al and sum.

Ȝet oþer þer werne þat toke more tom,225

Þat swange and swat for long ȝore,

Þat ȝet of hyre no þynk þay nom,

Paraunter noȝt schal toȝere more.'

Then more I meled and sayde apert:'Me þynk þy tale vnresounable;230Goddeȝ ryȝt is redy and euermore rert,Oþer Holy Wryt is bot a fable;In Sauter is sayd a verce ouerteÞat spekeȝ a poynt determynable:"Þou quyteȝ vchon as hys desserte,235Þou hyȝe Kyng ay pretermynable."Now he þat stod þe long day stable,And þou to payment com hym byfore,Þenne þe lasse in werke to take more able,And euer þe lenger þe lasse þe more.'240

Then more I meled and sayde apert:

'Me þynk þy tale vnresounable;230

Goddeȝ ryȝt is redy and euermore rert,

Oþer Holy Wryt is bot a fable;

In Sauter is sayd a verce ouerte

Þat spekeȝ a poynt determynable:

"Þou quyteȝ vchon as hys desserte,235

Þou hyȝe Kyng ay pretermynable."

Now he þat stod þe long day stable,

And þou to payment com hym byfore,

Þenne þe lasse in werke to take more able,

And euer þe lenger þe lasse þe more.'240

'Ofmore and lasse in Godeȝ ryche,'Þat gentyl sayde, 'lys no ioparde,For þer is vch mon payedilyche,Wheþer lyttel oþer much be hys rewarde,For þe gentyl Cheuentayn is no chyche;245Queþersoeuer He dele nesch oþer harde,He laueȝ Hys gyfteȝ as water of dyche,Oþer goteȝ of golf þat neuer charde.Hys fraunchyse is large þat euer dardTo Hym þat matȝ in synne rescoghe;250No blysse betȝ fro hem reparde,For þe grace of God is gret inoghe.

'Ofmore and lasse in Godeȝ ryche,'

Þat gentyl sayde, 'lys no ioparde,

For þer is vch mon payedilyche,

Wheþer lyttel oþer much be hys rewarde,

For þe gentyl Cheuentayn is no chyche;245

Queþersoeuer He dele nesch oþer harde,

He laueȝ Hys gyfteȝ as water of dyche,

Oþer goteȝ of golf þat neuer charde.

Hys fraunchyse is large þat euer dard

To Hym þat matȝ in synne rescoghe;250

No blysse betȝ fro hem reparde,

For þe grace of God is gret inoghe.

9kyþeȝ] lyþeȝMS.22manereȝ] marereȝMS.36and] inMS.112a line omitted in MS.119he] hoMS.164pay] prayMS.169date of day] day of dateMS.172hem] henMS.178and] & &MS.186ilyche] īlycheMS.243ilyche] inlycheMS.

9kyþeȝ] lyþeȝMS.

22manereȝ] marereȝMS.

36and] inMS.

112a line omitted in MS.

119he] hoMS.

164pay] prayMS.

169date of day] day of dateMS.

172hem] henMS.

178and] & &MS.

186ilyche] īlycheMS.

243ilyche] inlycheMS.

The Fall of Troy was one of the most popular subjects of mediaeval story. Lydgate wrote aTroy Bookabout 1420; fragments of another are attributed to 'Barbour', whose identity with the author ofThe Brucehas been questioned; a third version, anonymous, is known as theLaud Troy Book; and Caxton chose as the first work to be printed in English theRecuyell of the Historyes of Troye(about 1474). More famous than any of these full histories are two single stories detached from the cycle: Jason's Quest of the Golden Fleece, which is admirably told by Gower in the fifth book of hisConfessio Amantis; and the Love of Troilus and Cressida, which gave a theme both to Chaucer and to Shakespeare.

TheGest Hystoriale of the Destruction of Troy, from which our extracts are taken, is a free rendering of the proseHistoria Troianafinished in 1287 by Guido de Columna (most probably the modern Terranova in Sicily). The translation, which appears to have been made in the North or North-West Midlands in the second half of the fourteenth century, is preserved only in an imperfect fifteenth-century MS. at the Hunterian Museum, Glasgow. In the Early English Text Society's print, edited by Panton and Donaldson, the text extends to over 14,000 lines.

The table of contents prefixed to the MS. promises 'the nome of the knight þat causet it[sc.the story]to be made, and the nome of hym that translatid it out of Latyn into Englysshe'; but the extant MS. does not fulfil the promise. The execution suggests a settask and a journeyman poet. Phrases are repeated carelessly; there is a great deal of padding; the versification is monotonous; and the writer is too often at the mercy of the alliteration to maintain a serious level. Yet he is not a slavish or a dull translator. The more romantic elements of the story, such as the matter of theOdyssey, had already been whittled away in his original, and he shows little desire or capacity to restore them. But he knew as well as the Old English poets the forcefulness of alliterative verse in scenes of violence, and describes with unflagging zest and vigour the interminable battles of the siege, and storms such as that which wrecked the fleet of Ajax.

The Prologue is a curious example of the pseudo-critical attitude of the Middle Ages. Homer is despised as a teller of impossible tales, and a partisan of the Greeks,—for Hector is the popular hero of the mediaeval versions. The narratives of Dares Phrygius and Dictys Cretensis, products of the taste for fictitious history that spread westward from Greek-speaking lands in the fourth and following centuries, are accepted as reliable documents; and Guido de Columna as their authoritative literary interpreter. No mention is made of Benoît de Sainte-Maure, whoseRoman de Troie, written in French about 1184, served as source to Guido, and, directly or indirectly, as inspiration to the whole body of Western writers who dealt with the 'Matter of Troy'. For these lapses the English translator need not be held responsible. On the merits of Homer, Dares, Dictys, and Guido de Columna, he probably accepted without question the word of his master Guido.

Maistur in magesté, Maker of alle,Endles and on, euer to last!Now, God, of þi grace, graunt me þi helpe,And wysshe me with wyt þis werke for to endeOff aunters ben olde of aunsetris nobill,5And slydyn vppon shlepe by slomeryng of age;Ofstithe men in stoure, strongest in armes,And wisest in wer, to wale in hor tyme,Þat ben drepit with deth, and þere day paste,And most out of mynd for þere mecull age.10Sothe stories ben stoken vp, and straught out of mynde,And swolowet into swym by swiftenes of yeres,For new þat ben now next at our hond,Breuyt into bokes for boldyng of hertes,On lusti to loke with lightnes of wille,15Cheuyt throughe chaunce and chaungyng of peopull;Sum tru for to traist, triet in þe ende,Sum feynit o fere and ay false vnder.Yche wegh as he will warys his tyme,And has lykyng to lerne þat hym list after.20But olde stories of stithe þat astate heldeMay be solas to sum þat it segh neuer,Be writyng of wees þat wist it in dede,With sight for to serche of hom þat suet after,To ken all the crafte how þe case felle25By lokyng of letturs þat lefte were of olde.Now of Troy for to telle is myn entent euyn,Of the stoure and þe stryffe when it distroyet was.Þof fele yeres ben faren syn þe fight endid,And it meuyt out of mynd, myn hit I thinke,30Alss wise men haue writen the wordes before,Left it in Latyn for lernyng of us.But sum poyetis full prist þat put hom þertoWith fablis and falshed fayned þere speche,And made more of þat mater þan hom maister were.35Sum lokyt ouer litle, and lympit of the sothe.Amonges þat menye, to myn hym be nome,Homer was holden haithill of dedisQwiles his dayes enduret, derrist of other,Þatwith the Grekys was gret, and of Grice comyn.40He feynet myche fals was neuer before wroght,And turnet þe truth, trust ye non other.Of his trifuls to telle I haue no tome nowe,Ne of his feynit fare þat he fore with:How goddes foght in the filde, folke as þai were!45And other errours vnable, þat after were knowen,That poyetis of prise have preuyt vntrew:Ouyde and othir þat onest were ay,Virgille þe virtuus, verrit for nobill,Thes dampnet his dedys, and for dull holdyn.50But þe truth for to telle, and þe text euyn,Of þat fight, how it felle in a few yeres,Þat was clanly compilet with a clerk wise,On Gydo, a gome þat graidly hade soght,And wist all þe werks by weghes he hade,55That bothe were in batell while the batell last,And euþer sawte and assembly see with þere een.Thai wrote all þe werkes wroght at þat tymeIn letturs of þere langage, as þai lernede hade:Dares and Dytes were duly þere namys.60Dites full dere was dew to the Grekys,A lede of þat lond, and logede hom with.The tother was a tulke out of Troy selfe,Dares, þat duly the dedys behelde.Aither breuyt in a boke on þere best wise,65That sithen at a sité somyn were founden,After, at Atthenes, as aunter befell.The whiche bokes barely, bothe as þai were,A Romayn ouerraght, and right hom hymseluyn,That Cornelius was cald to his kynde name.70He translated it into Latyn for likyng to here,But he shope it so short þat no shalke mightHaue knowlage by course how þe case felle;Forhe brought it so breff, and so bare leuyt,Þat no lede might have likyng to loke þerappon;75Till þis Gydo it gate, as hym grace felle,And declaret it more clere, and on clene wise.In this shall faithfully be founden, to the fer ende,All þe dedis bydene as þai done were:How þe groundes first grew, and þe grete hate,80Bothe of torfer and tene þat hom tide aftur.And here fynde shall ye faire of þe felle peopull:What kynges þere come of costes aboute;Of dukes full doughty, and of derffe erles,That assemblid to þe citie þat sawte to defend;85Of þe Grekys þat were gedret how gret was þe nowmber,How mony knightes þere come, and kynges enarmede,And what dukes thedur droghe for dedis of were;What shippes þere were shene, and shalkes within,Bothe of barges and buernes þat broght were fro Grese;90And all the batels on bent þe buernes betwene;What duke þat was dede throughe dyntes of hond,Who fallen was in fylde, and how it fore after.Bothe of truse and trayne þe truthe shalt þu here,And all the ferlies þat fell, vnto the ferre ende.95Fro this prologe I passe, and part me þerwith.Frayne will I fer, and fraist of þere werkes,Meue to my mater, and make here an ende.EXPLICITPROLOGUE.

Maistur in magesté, Maker of alle,Endles and on, euer to last!Now, God, of þi grace, graunt me þi helpe,And wysshe me with wyt þis werke for to endeOff aunters ben olde of aunsetris nobill,5And slydyn vppon shlepe by slomeryng of age;Ofstithe men in stoure, strongest in armes,And wisest in wer, to wale in hor tyme,Þat ben drepit with deth, and þere day paste,And most out of mynd for þere mecull age.10Sothe stories ben stoken vp, and straught out of mynde,And swolowet into swym by swiftenes of yeres,For new þat ben now next at our hond,Breuyt into bokes for boldyng of hertes,On lusti to loke with lightnes of wille,15Cheuyt throughe chaunce and chaungyng of peopull;Sum tru for to traist, triet in þe ende,Sum feynit o fere and ay false vnder.Yche wegh as he will warys his tyme,And has lykyng to lerne þat hym list after.20But olde stories of stithe þat astate heldeMay be solas to sum þat it segh neuer,Be writyng of wees þat wist it in dede,With sight for to serche of hom þat suet after,To ken all the crafte how þe case felle25By lokyng of letturs þat lefte were of olde.

Maistur in magesté, Maker of alle,

Endles and on, euer to last!

Now, God, of þi grace, graunt me þi helpe,

And wysshe me with wyt þis werke for to ende

Off aunters ben olde of aunsetris nobill,5

And slydyn vppon shlepe by slomeryng of age;

Ofstithe men in stoure, strongest in armes,

And wisest in wer, to wale in hor tyme,

Þat ben drepit with deth, and þere day paste,

And most out of mynd for þere mecull age.10

Sothe stories ben stoken vp, and straught out of mynde,

And swolowet into swym by swiftenes of yeres,

For new þat ben now next at our hond,

Breuyt into bokes for boldyng of hertes,

On lusti to loke with lightnes of wille,15

Cheuyt throughe chaunce and chaungyng of peopull;

Sum tru for to traist, triet in þe ende,

Sum feynit o fere and ay false vnder.

Yche wegh as he will warys his tyme,

And has lykyng to lerne þat hym list after.20

But olde stories of stithe þat astate helde

May be solas to sum þat it segh neuer,

Be writyng of wees þat wist it in dede,

With sight for to serche of hom þat suet after,

To ken all the crafte how þe case felle25

By lokyng of letturs þat lefte were of olde.

Now of Troy for to telle is myn entent euyn,Of the stoure and þe stryffe when it distroyet was.Þof fele yeres ben faren syn þe fight endid,And it meuyt out of mynd, myn hit I thinke,30Alss wise men haue writen the wordes before,Left it in Latyn for lernyng of us.But sum poyetis full prist þat put hom þertoWith fablis and falshed fayned þere speche,And made more of þat mater þan hom maister were.35Sum lokyt ouer litle, and lympit of the sothe.Amonges þat menye, to myn hym be nome,Homer was holden haithill of dedisQwiles his dayes enduret, derrist of other,Þatwith the Grekys was gret, and of Grice comyn.40He feynet myche fals was neuer before wroght,And turnet þe truth, trust ye non other.Of his trifuls to telle I haue no tome nowe,Ne of his feynit fare þat he fore with:How goddes foght in the filde, folke as þai were!45And other errours vnable, þat after were knowen,That poyetis of prise have preuyt vntrew:Ouyde and othir þat onest were ay,Virgille þe virtuus, verrit for nobill,Thes dampnet his dedys, and for dull holdyn.50But þe truth for to telle, and þe text euyn,Of þat fight, how it felle in a few yeres,Þat was clanly compilet with a clerk wise,On Gydo, a gome þat graidly hade soght,And wist all þe werks by weghes he hade,55That bothe were in batell while the batell last,And euþer sawte and assembly see with þere een.Thai wrote all þe werkes wroght at þat tymeIn letturs of þere langage, as þai lernede hade:Dares and Dytes were duly þere namys.60Dites full dere was dew to the Grekys,A lede of þat lond, and logede hom with.The tother was a tulke out of Troy selfe,Dares, þat duly the dedys behelde.Aither breuyt in a boke on þere best wise,65That sithen at a sité somyn were founden,After, at Atthenes, as aunter befell.The whiche bokes barely, bothe as þai were,A Romayn ouerraght, and right hom hymseluyn,That Cornelius was cald to his kynde name.70He translated it into Latyn for likyng to here,But he shope it so short þat no shalke mightHaue knowlage by course how þe case felle;Forhe brought it so breff, and so bare leuyt,Þat no lede might have likyng to loke þerappon;75Till þis Gydo it gate, as hym grace felle,And declaret it more clere, and on clene wise.In this shall faithfully be founden, to the fer ende,All þe dedis bydene as þai done were:How þe groundes first grew, and þe grete hate,80Bothe of torfer and tene þat hom tide aftur.And here fynde shall ye faire of þe felle peopull:What kynges þere come of costes aboute;Of dukes full doughty, and of derffe erles,That assemblid to þe citie þat sawte to defend;85Of þe Grekys þat were gedret how gret was þe nowmber,How mony knightes þere come, and kynges enarmede,And what dukes thedur droghe for dedis of were;What shippes þere were shene, and shalkes within,Bothe of barges and buernes þat broght were fro Grese;90And all the batels on bent þe buernes betwene;What duke þat was dede throughe dyntes of hond,Who fallen was in fylde, and how it fore after.Bothe of truse and trayne þe truthe shalt þu here,And all the ferlies þat fell, vnto the ferre ende.95Fro this prologe I passe, and part me þerwith.Frayne will I fer, and fraist of þere werkes,Meue to my mater, and make here an ende.

Now of Troy for to telle is myn entent euyn,

Of the stoure and þe stryffe when it distroyet was.

Þof fele yeres ben faren syn þe fight endid,

And it meuyt out of mynd, myn hit I thinke,30

Alss wise men haue writen the wordes before,

Left it in Latyn for lernyng of us.

But sum poyetis full prist þat put hom þerto

With fablis and falshed fayned þere speche,

And made more of þat mater þan hom maister were.35

Sum lokyt ouer litle, and lympit of the sothe.

Amonges þat menye, to myn hym be nome,

Homer was holden haithill of dedis

Qwiles his dayes enduret, derrist of other,

Þatwith the Grekys was gret, and of Grice comyn.40

He feynet myche fals was neuer before wroght,

And turnet þe truth, trust ye non other.

Of his trifuls to telle I haue no tome nowe,

Ne of his feynit fare þat he fore with:

How goddes foght in the filde, folke as þai were!45

And other errours vnable, þat after were knowen,

That poyetis of prise have preuyt vntrew:

Ouyde and othir þat onest were ay,

Virgille þe virtuus, verrit for nobill,

Thes dampnet his dedys, and for dull holdyn.50

But þe truth for to telle, and þe text euyn,

Of þat fight, how it felle in a few yeres,

Þat was clanly compilet with a clerk wise,

On Gydo, a gome þat graidly hade soght,

And wist all þe werks by weghes he hade,55

That bothe were in batell while the batell last,

And euþer sawte and assembly see with þere een.

Thai wrote all þe werkes wroght at þat tyme

In letturs of þere langage, as þai lernede hade:

Dares and Dytes were duly þere namys.60

Dites full dere was dew to the Grekys,

A lede of þat lond, and logede hom with.

The tother was a tulke out of Troy selfe,

Dares, þat duly the dedys behelde.

Aither breuyt in a boke on þere best wise,65

That sithen at a sité somyn were founden,

After, at Atthenes, as aunter befell.

The whiche bokes barely, bothe as þai were,

A Romayn ouerraght, and right hom hymseluyn,

That Cornelius was cald to his kynde name.70

He translated it into Latyn for likyng to here,

But he shope it so short þat no shalke might

Haue knowlage by course how þe case felle;

Forhe brought it so breff, and so bare leuyt,

Þat no lede might have likyng to loke þerappon;75

Till þis Gydo it gate, as hym grace felle,

And declaret it more clere, and on clene wise.

In this shall faithfully be founden, to the fer ende,

All þe dedis bydene as þai done were:

How þe groundes first grew, and þe grete hate,80

Bothe of torfer and tene þat hom tide aftur.

And here fynde shall ye faire of þe felle peopull:

What kynges þere come of costes aboute;

Of dukes full doughty, and of derffe erles,

That assemblid to þe citie þat sawte to defend;85

Of þe Grekys þat were gedret how gret was þe nowmber,

How mony knightes þere come, and kynges enarmede,

And what dukes thedur droghe for dedis of were;

What shippes þere were shene, and shalkes within,

Bothe of barges and buernes þat broght were fro Grese;90

And all the batels on bent þe buernes betwene;

What duke þat was dede throughe dyntes of hond,

Who fallen was in fylde, and how it fore after.

Bothe of truse and trayne þe truthe shalt þu here,

And all the ferlies þat fell, vnto the ferre ende.95

Fro this prologe I passe, and part me þerwith.

Frayne will I fer, and fraist of þere werkes,

Meue to my mater, and make here an ende.

EXPLICITPROLOGUE.

Hyt fell thus, by fortune, þe fairest of þe yereWas past to the point of the pale wintur.100Heruest, with the heite and the high sun,Was comyn into colde, with a course low.Trees,thurgh tempestes, tynde hade þere leues,And briddes abatid of hor brem songe;The wynde of the west wackenet aboue,105Blowyng full bremly o the brode ythes;The clere aire ouercast with cloudys full thicke,With mystes full merke mynget with showres.Flodes were felle thurgh fallyng of rayne,And wintur vp wacknet with his wete aire.110The gret nauy of the Grekes and the gay kyngesWere put in a purpos to pas fro the toune.Sore longit þo lordis hor londys to se,And dissiret full depely, doutyng no wedur.Þai counted no course of the cold stormys,115Ne the perellis to passe of the pale windes.Hit happit hom full hard in a hondqwile,And mony of þo mighty to misse of hor purpos.Thus tho lordes in hor longyng laghton þe watur,Shotton into ship mong shene knightes,120With the tresowre of þe toune þai token before,Relikes full rife, and miche ranke godes.Clere was the course of the cold flodis,And the firmament faire, as fell for the wintur.Thai past on the pale se, puld vp hor sailes,125Hadyn bir at þere backe, and the bonke leuyt.Foure dayes bydene, and hor du nyghtis,Ful soundly þai sailed with seasonable windes.The fyft day fuersly fell at the none,Sodonly the softe winde vnsoberly blew;130A myste and a merkenes myngit togedur;A thoner and a thicke rayne þrublet in the skewes,With an ugsom noise, noy for to here;All flasshet in a fire the firmament ouer;Was no light but a laite þat launchit aboue:135Hit skirmyt in the skewes with a skyre low,Thurghthe claterand clowdes clos to the heuyn,As the welkyn shuld walt for wodenes of hete;With blastes full bigge of the breme wyndes,Walt vp the waghes vpon wan hilles.140Stith was the storme, stird all the shippes,Hoppit on hegh with heste of the flodes.The sea was unsober, sondrit the nauy,Walt ouer waghes, and no way held,Depertid the pepull, pyne to behold,145In costes vnkowthe; cut down þere sailes,Ropis al torochit, rent vp the hacches,Topcastell ouerturnyt, takelles were lost.The night come onone, noye was the more!All the company cleane of the kyng Telamon,150With þere shippes full shene, and þe shire godis,Were brent in the bre with the breme loweOf the leymonde laite þat launchit fro heuyn,And euyn drownet in the depe, dukes and other!Oelius Aiax, as aunter befelle,155Was stad in the storme with the stith windes,With his shippes full shene and the shire godes.Thrifty and þriuaund, thretty and twoThere were brent on the buerne with the breme low,And all the freikes in the flode floterand aboue.160Hymseluyn in the sea sonkyn belyue,Swalprit and swam with swyngyng of armys.Ȝet he launchet to londe, and his lyf hade,Bare of his body, bretfull of water,In the slober and the sluche slongyn to londe;165There he lay, if hym list, the long night ouer,Till the derke was done, and the day sprang;Þaresum of his sort, þat soght were to londAnd than wonen of waghes, with wo as þai might,Laitedþere lord on the laund-syde,170If hit fellhymby fortune the flodes to passe.Þan found þai the freike in the fome lye,And comford hym kyndly, as þere kyd lord;With worchip and wordes wan hym to fote.Bothe failet hym the fode and the fyne clothes.175Thus þere goddes with gremy with þe Grekes fore,Mighty Mynera, of malis full grete,For Telamon, in tene, tid for to pullCassandra the clene out of hir cloise temple.Thus hit fell hom by fortune of a foule ende,180For greuyng þere goddes in hor gret yre.Oftsythes men sayn, and sene is of olde,Þat all a company is cumbrit for a cursed shrewe.

Hyt fell thus, by fortune, þe fairest of þe yereWas past to the point of the pale wintur.100Heruest, with the heite and the high sun,Was comyn into colde, with a course low.Trees,thurgh tempestes, tynde hade þere leues,And briddes abatid of hor brem songe;The wynde of the west wackenet aboue,105Blowyng full bremly o the brode ythes;The clere aire ouercast with cloudys full thicke,With mystes full merke mynget with showres.Flodes were felle thurgh fallyng of rayne,And wintur vp wacknet with his wete aire.110The gret nauy of the Grekes and the gay kyngesWere put in a purpos to pas fro the toune.Sore longit þo lordis hor londys to se,And dissiret full depely, doutyng no wedur.Þai counted no course of the cold stormys,115Ne the perellis to passe of the pale windes.Hit happit hom full hard in a hondqwile,And mony of þo mighty to misse of hor purpos.Thus tho lordes in hor longyng laghton þe watur,Shotton into ship mong shene knightes,120With the tresowre of þe toune þai token before,Relikes full rife, and miche ranke godes.Clere was the course of the cold flodis,And the firmament faire, as fell for the wintur.Thai past on the pale se, puld vp hor sailes,125Hadyn bir at þere backe, and the bonke leuyt.Foure dayes bydene, and hor du nyghtis,Ful soundly þai sailed with seasonable windes.The fyft day fuersly fell at the none,Sodonly the softe winde vnsoberly blew;130A myste and a merkenes myngit togedur;A thoner and a thicke rayne þrublet in the skewes,With an ugsom noise, noy for to here;All flasshet in a fire the firmament ouer;Was no light but a laite þat launchit aboue:135Hit skirmyt in the skewes with a skyre low,Thurghthe claterand clowdes clos to the heuyn,As the welkyn shuld walt for wodenes of hete;With blastes full bigge of the breme wyndes,Walt vp the waghes vpon wan hilles.140Stith was the storme, stird all the shippes,Hoppit on hegh with heste of the flodes.The sea was unsober, sondrit the nauy,Walt ouer waghes, and no way held,Depertid the pepull, pyne to behold,145In costes vnkowthe; cut down þere sailes,Ropis al torochit, rent vp the hacches,Topcastell ouerturnyt, takelles were lost.The night come onone, noye was the more!All the company cleane of the kyng Telamon,150With þere shippes full shene, and þe shire godis,Were brent in the bre with the breme loweOf the leymonde laite þat launchit fro heuyn,And euyn drownet in the depe, dukes and other!Oelius Aiax, as aunter befelle,155Was stad in the storme with the stith windes,With his shippes full shene and the shire godes.Thrifty and þriuaund, thretty and twoThere were brent on the buerne with the breme low,And all the freikes in the flode floterand aboue.160Hymseluyn in the sea sonkyn belyue,Swalprit and swam with swyngyng of armys.Ȝet he launchet to londe, and his lyf hade,Bare of his body, bretfull of water,In the slober and the sluche slongyn to londe;165There he lay, if hym list, the long night ouer,Till the derke was done, and the day sprang;Þaresum of his sort, þat soght were to londAnd than wonen of waghes, with wo as þai might,Laitedþere lord on the laund-syde,170If hit fellhymby fortune the flodes to passe.Þan found þai the freike in the fome lye,And comford hym kyndly, as þere kyd lord;With worchip and wordes wan hym to fote.Bothe failet hym the fode and the fyne clothes.175Thus þere goddes with gremy with þe Grekes fore,Mighty Mynera, of malis full grete,For Telamon, in tene, tid for to pullCassandra the clene out of hir cloise temple.Thus hit fell hom by fortune of a foule ende,180For greuyng þere goddes in hor gret yre.Oftsythes men sayn, and sene is of olde,Þat all a company is cumbrit for a cursed shrewe.

Hyt fell thus, by fortune, þe fairest of þe yere

Was past to the point of the pale wintur.100

Heruest, with the heite and the high sun,

Was comyn into colde, with a course low.

Trees,thurgh tempestes, tynde hade þere leues,

And briddes abatid of hor brem songe;

The wynde of the west wackenet aboue,105

Blowyng full bremly o the brode ythes;

The clere aire ouercast with cloudys full thicke,

With mystes full merke mynget with showres.

Flodes were felle thurgh fallyng of rayne,

And wintur vp wacknet with his wete aire.110

The gret nauy of the Grekes and the gay kynges

Were put in a purpos to pas fro the toune.

Sore longit þo lordis hor londys to se,

And dissiret full depely, doutyng no wedur.

Þai counted no course of the cold stormys,115

Ne the perellis to passe of the pale windes.

Hit happit hom full hard in a hondqwile,

And mony of þo mighty to misse of hor purpos.

Thus tho lordes in hor longyng laghton þe watur,

Shotton into ship mong shene knightes,120

With the tresowre of þe toune þai token before,

Relikes full rife, and miche ranke godes.

Clere was the course of the cold flodis,

And the firmament faire, as fell for the wintur.

Thai past on the pale se, puld vp hor sailes,125

Hadyn bir at þere backe, and the bonke leuyt.

Foure dayes bydene, and hor du nyghtis,

Ful soundly þai sailed with seasonable windes.

The fyft day fuersly fell at the none,

Sodonly the softe winde vnsoberly blew;130

A myste and a merkenes myngit togedur;

A thoner and a thicke rayne þrublet in the skewes,

With an ugsom noise, noy for to here;

All flasshet in a fire the firmament ouer;

Was no light but a laite þat launchit aboue:135

Hit skirmyt in the skewes with a skyre low,

Thurghthe claterand clowdes clos to the heuyn,

As the welkyn shuld walt for wodenes of hete;

With blastes full bigge of the breme wyndes,

Walt vp the waghes vpon wan hilles.140

Stith was the storme, stird all the shippes,

Hoppit on hegh with heste of the flodes.

The sea was unsober, sondrit the nauy,

Walt ouer waghes, and no way held,

Depertid the pepull, pyne to behold,145

In costes vnkowthe; cut down þere sailes,

Ropis al torochit, rent vp the hacches,

Topcastell ouerturnyt, takelles were lost.

The night come onone, noye was the more!

All the company cleane of the kyng Telamon,150

With þere shippes full shene, and þe shire godis,

Were brent in the bre with the breme lowe

Of the leymonde laite þat launchit fro heuyn,

And euyn drownet in the depe, dukes and other!

Oelius Aiax, as aunter befelle,155

Was stad in the storme with the stith windes,

With his shippes full shene and the shire godes.

Thrifty and þriuaund, thretty and two

There were brent on the buerne with the breme low,

And all the freikes in the flode floterand aboue.160

Hymseluyn in the sea sonkyn belyue,

Swalprit and swam with swyngyng of armys.

Ȝet he launchet to londe, and his lyf hade,

Bare of his body, bretfull of water,

In the slober and the sluche slongyn to londe;165

There he lay, if hym list, the long night ouer,

Till the derke was done, and the day sprang;

Þaresum of his sort, þat soght were to lond

And than wonen of waghes, with wo as þai might,

Laitedþere lord on the laund-syde,170

If hit fellhymby fortune the flodes to passe.

Þan found þai the freike in the fome lye,

And comford hym kyndly, as þere kyd lord;

With worchip and wordes wan hym to fote.

Bothe failet hym the fode and the fyne clothes.175

Thus þere goddes with gremy with þe Grekes fore,

Mighty Mynera, of malis full grete,

For Telamon, in tene, tid for to pull

Cassandra the clene out of hir cloise temple.

Thus hit fell hom by fortune of a foule ende,180

For greuyng þere goddes in hor gret yre.

Oftsythes men sayn, and sene is of olde,

Þat all a company is cumbrit for a cursed shrewe.

168-9transposed in MS.171hym] homMS.

168-9transposed in MS.

171hym] homMS.

Recent criticism ofPiers Plowmanhas done more to weaken the hold of opinions once generally accepted than to replace them by others better founded. It is still most probable that 'Long Will', who is more than once mentioned in the text as the poet, was William Langland. The earliest external evidence of his home and parentage is given in a fifteenth-century note in MS. Dublin D 4. 1, of which both the matter and the vile Latinity bear the stamp of genuineness: 'Memorandum quod Stacy de Rokayle, pater Willielmi de Langlond, qui Stacius fuit generosus, et morabatur in Schiptone under Whicwode, tenens domini le Spenser in comitatu Oxon., qui praedictus Willielmus fecit librum qui vocatur Perys Ploughman.' Shipton-under-Wychwood is near Burford in Oxfordshire. The poem shows familiarity with the Malvern Hills and the streets of London; but it is hard to say how much is fact and how much is fiction in the references to Long Will in the text itself, more especially the description of his London life added as the Sixth Passus in Version C, and reproduced here as the second extract.

Since Skeat's edition for the Early English Text Society, the many manuscripts have been grouped into three main types. The shortest, or A-text, appears from internal evidence to have been written about 1362. The B-text (about 1377) has the most compact manuscript tradition. It is distinguished by considerable additions throughout, and by the reconstruction and expansion of the visions of Dowel, Dobet, Dobest, which make up the second half of the poem. The C-text, the latest and fullest form, appearsto have been completed in the last decade of the fourteenth century.

Until recently it has been assumed that these three versions represent progressive revisions by the author. But Professor Manly has found considerable support for his view that more than one writer—perhaps as many as five—had a share in the work. For the present, judgement on this question, and on the intricate problem of the relations of the different versions, is suspended until the results of a complete re-examination of all the MSS. are available. It would not be surprising to find that even when this necessary work is done differences of opinion on the larger questions remain as acute as ever.

It is impossible in short space to give an outline of the whole work, which describes no less than eleven visions. The structure is loose, and allegory is developed or dropped with disconcerting abruptness, for the writer does not curb his vigorous imagination in the interests of formal correctness.

The first part is the best known. On a May morning the poet falls asleep on the Malvern Hills and sees a 'Field full of Folk', where all classes of men are busy about their occupations, more particularly the nefarious occupations that engage the attention of the moralist. Holy Church explains that a high tower in the Field is the home of Truth; and that a 'deep dale' is the Castle of Care, where Wrong dwells with the wicked. She points out Falseness, who is about to marry Lady Meed (i.e. Reward, whether deserved reward or bribe). Lady Meed and her company are haled before the King, who, with Reason and Conscience as his guides, decides her case, and upholds the plea of Peace against Wrong.

The second vision is prefaced (in the C-text only) by the passage printed as the second selection. The poet falls asleep again, and sees Conscience preaching to the people in the Field. Representatives of the Seven Deadly Sins are vividly described. They are brought to penitence, and all set out in search of Truth. But no one knows the way. A palmer who wears the trophies of many pilgrimages to distant saints is puzzled by their inquiries, for he has never heard of pilgrims seeking Truth. Then Peter the Plowman comes forward and explains the way in allegoricalterms. Here the first extract begins. The second vision closes with a general pardon given by Truth to Piers Plowman in this simple form:

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