Anonymous Olde English

Here you will find theLong PoemKnyghthode and Bataileof poet Anonymous Olde English

Knyghthode and Bataile

XVth世纪Flavius曾经Vegetiu的经文释义s Renatus' Treatise 'DE RE MILITARI' Proemium. Salue, festa dies i martis, Mauortis! auete Kalende. Qua Deus ad celum subleuat ire Dauid. Hail, halyday deuout! Alhail Kalende Of Marche, wheryn Dauid the Confessour Commaunded is his kyngis court ascende; Emanuel, Jhesus the Conquerour, This same day as a Tryumphatour, Sette in a Chaire & Throne of Maiestee, To London is comyn. O Saviour, Welcome a thousand fold to thi Citee! And she, thi modir Blessed mot she be That cometh eke, and angelys an ende, Wel wynged and wel horsed, hidir fle, Thousendys on this goode approche attende; And ordir aftir ordir thei commende, As Seraphin, as Cherubyn, as Throne, As Domynaunce, and Princys hidir sende; And, at o woord, right welcom euerychone! But Kyng Herry the Sexte, as Goddes Sone Or themperour or kyng Emanuel, To London, welcomer be noo persone; O souuerayn Lord, welcom! Now wel, Now wel! Te Deum to be songen, wil do wel, And Benedicta Sancta Trinitas! Now prosperaunce and peax perpetuel Shal growe,-and why? ffor here is Vnitas. Therof to the Vnitee 'Deo gracias' In Trinitee! The Clergys and Knyghthode And Comynaltee better accorded nas Neuer then now; Now nys ther noon abode, But out on hem that fordoon Goddes forbode, Periurous ar, Rebellovs and atteynte, So forfaytinge her lyif and lyvelode, Although Ypocrisie her faytys peynte. Now, person of Caleys, pray euery Seynte In hevenys & in erth of help Thavaile. It is, That in this werk nothing ne feynte, But that beforn good wynde it go ful sayle; And that not oonly prayer But travaile Heron be sette, Enserche & faste inquere. Thi litil book of knyghthode & bataile, What Chiualer is best, on it bewere. Whil Te Deum Laudamus vp goth there At Paulis, vp to Westmynster go thee; The Kyng comyng, Honor, Virtus the Quene, So glad goth vp that blisse it is to see. Thi bille vnto the Kyng is red, and He Content withal, and wil it not foryete. What seith my lord Beaumont? 'Preste, vnto me Welcom.' (here is tassay, entre to gete). 'Of knyghthode & Bataile, my lord, as trete The bookys olde, a werk is made now late, And if it please you, it may be gete.' 'What werk is it?' 'Vegetius translate Into Balade.' 'O preste, I pray the, late Me se that werk.' 'Therto wil I you wise. Lo, here it is!' Anon he gan therate To rede, thus: 'Sumtyme it was the gise'- And red therof a part. 'For my seruyse Heer wil I rede (he seith) as o psaultier.' 'It pleaseth you right wel; wil your aduyse Suppose that the kyng heryn pleasier May haue?' 'I wil considir the matier; I fynde it is right good and pertynente Vnto the kyng; his Celsitude is hier; I halde it wel doon, hym therwith presente. Almyghti Maker of the firmament, O mervailous in euery creature, So singuler in this most excellent Persone, our Souuerayn Lord! Of what stature Is he, what visagynge, how fair feture, How myghti mad, and how strong in travaile! In oonly God & hym it is tassure As in a might, that noo wight dar assaile. Lo, Souuerayn Lord, of Knyghthode & bataile This litil werk your humble oratour, Ye, therwithal your Chiualers, travaile, Inwith your hert to Crist the Conquerour Offreth for ye. Ther, yeueth him thonour; His true thought, accepte it, he besecheth, Accepte; it is to this Tryumphatour, That myghti werre exemplifying techeth. He redeth, and fro poynt to poynt he secheth, How hath be doon, and what is now to done; His prouidence on aftirward he strecheth, By see & lond; he wil provide sone To chace his aduersaryes euerychone; Thei hem by lond, thei hem by see asseyle;- The Kyng his Oratoure, God graunt his bone, Ay to prevaile in knyghthode & bataile. Amen. I. Sumtyme it was the gise among the wise To rede and write goode and myghti thingis, And have therof the dede in exercise; Pleasaunce heryn hadde Emperour and Kingis. O Jesse flour, whos swete odour our Kinge is, Do me to write of knyghthode and bataile To thin honour and Chiualers tavaile. Mankyndys lyfe is mylitatioun, And she, thi wife, is named Militaunce, Ecclesia; Jhesu, Saluatioun, My poore witte in thi richesse avaunce, Cast out therof the cloude of ignoraunce, Sette vp theryn thi self, the verrey light, Therby to se thi Militaunce aright. O Lady myn, Maria, Lode sterre, Condite it out of myst & nyght, that dark is, To write of al by see & lond the werre. Help, Angelys, of knyghthode ye Ierarkys In heven & here; o puissaunt Patriarkys, Your valiaunce and werre in see & londe Remembering, to this werk putte your honde. A