Bodleian MS. Vernon (about 1400), f. 4106.
A! dere God, what mai þis be,
Þat alle þing weres and wasteþ awai?
Frendschip is but a vanyté,
Vnneþe hit dures al a day.
Þei beo so sliper at assai, 5
So leof to han, and loþ to lete,
And so fikel in heore fai,
Þat selden iseiȝe is sone forȝete.
I sei hit not wiþouten a cause,
And þerfore takes riht good hede, 10
For ȝif ȝe construwe wel þis clause,
I puit ȝou holly out of drede
Þat for puire schame ȝor hertes wol blede
And ȝe þis matere wysli trete:
He þat was vr moste spede 15
Is selden iseye and sone forȝete.
Sum tyme an Englisch schip we had,
Nobel hit was and heih of tour,
Þorw al Cristendam hit was drad,
And stif wolde stande in vch a stour, 20
And best dorst byde a scharp schour,
And oþer stormes, smale and grete.
Now is þat schip, þat bar þe flour,
Selden seȝe and sone forȝete.
Into þat schip þer longed a rooþur 25
Þat steered þe schip and gouerned hit;
In al þis world nis such anoþur,
As me þinkeþ in my wit.
Whyl schip and roþur togeder was knit,
Þei dredde nouþer tempest, druyȝe nor wete; 30
Nou be þei boþe in synder flit,
Þat selden seyȝe is sone forȝete.
Scharpe wawes þat schip has sayled,
And sayed alle sees at auentur.
For wynt ne wederes neuer hit fayled 35
Whil þe roþur mihte enduir.
Þouȝ þe see were rouh or elles dimuir,
Gode hauenes þat schip wolde gete.
Nou is þat schip, I am wel suir,
Selde iseye and sone forȝete. 40
Þis goode schip I may remene
To þe chiualrye of þis londe;
Sum tyme þei counted nouȝt a bene
Beo al Fraunce, ich vnderstonde.
Þei tok and slouȝ hem with heore honde, 45
Þe power of Fraunce, boþ smal and grete,
And brouȝt þe king hider to byde her bonde:
And nou riht sone hit is forȝete.
Þat schip hadde a ful siker mast,
And a sayl strong and large, 50
Þat made þe gode schip neuer agast
To vndertake a þing of charge;
And to þat schip þer longed a barge
Of al Fraunce ȝaf nouȝt a clete;
To vs hit was a siker targe, 55
And now riht clene hit is forȝete.
Þe roþur was nouþer ok ne elm,—
Hit was Edward þe Þridde, þe noble kniht.
Þe Prince his sone bar vp his helm,
Þat neuer scoumfited was in fiht. 60
The Kyng him rod and rouwed ariht;
Þe Prince dredde nouþur stok nor strete.
Nou of hem we lete ful liht:
Þat selde is seȝe is sone forȝete.
Þe swifte barge was Duk Henri, 65
Þat noble kniht and wel assayed,
And in his leggaunce worþili
He abod mony a bitter brayd.
Ȝif þat his enemys ouȝt outrayed,
To chastis hem wolde he not lete. 70
Nou is þat lord ful lowe ileyd:
Þat selde is seȝe is sone forȝete.
Þis gode Comunes, bi þe rode!
I likne hem to the schipes mast,
Þat with heore catel and heore goode 75
Mayntened þe werre boþ furst and last,
Þe wynd þat bleuȝ þe schip wiþ blast
Hit was gode preȝers, I sei hit atrete.
Nou is deuoutnes out icast,
And mony gode dedes ben clen forȝete. 80
Þus ben þis lordes ileid ful lowe:
Þe stok is of þe same rote;
An ympe biginnes for to growe
And ȝit I hope schal ben vr bote,
To holde his fomen vnder fote, 85
And as a lord be set in sete.
Crist leue þat he so mote,
Þat selden iseȝe be not forȝete!
Weor þat impe fully growe,
Þat he had sarri sap and piþ, 90
I hope he schulde be kud and knowe
For conquerour of moni a kiþ.
He is ful lyflich in lyme and liþ
In armes to trauayle and to swete.
Crist leeue we so fare him wiþ 95
Þat selden seȝe be neuer forȝete!
And þerfore holliche I ou rede,
Til þat þis ympe beo fully growe,
Þat vch a mon vp wiþ þe hede
And mayntene him, boþe heiȝe and lowe. 100
Þe Frensche men cunne boþe boste and blowe,
And wiþ heore scornes vs toþrete,
And we beoþ boþe vnkuynde and slowe,
Þat selden seȝe is sone forȝete.
And þerfore, gode sires, takeþ reward 105
Of ȝor douhti kyng þat dyȝede in age,
And to his sone, Prince Edward,
Þat welle was of alle corage.
Suche two lordes of heiȝ parage
I not in eorþe whon we schal gete; 110
And nou heore los biginneþ to swage,
Þat selde iseȝe is sone forȝete.
[Foot-note: 42 chilualrye _MS._]
[Foot-note: 110 I] In _MS._]
D. JOHN BALL'S LETTER TO THE PEASANTS
OF ESSEX, 1381.
St. Albans MS. British Museum Royal 13. E. ix (about 1400), f. 287 a.
Iohon Schep, som tyme Seynte Marie prest of Ȝork, and now of
Colchestre, greteth wel Iohan Nameles, and Iohan þe Mullere, and Iohon
Cartere, and biddeþ hem þat þei bee war of gyle in borugh, and stondeth
togidre in Godes name, and biddeþ Peres Plouȝman go to his werk, and
chastise {5} wel Hobbe þe Robbere, and takeþ wiþ ȝow Iohan Trewman,
and alle hiis felawes, and no mo, and loke schappe ȝou to on heued,
and no mo.
Iohan þe Mullere haþ ygrounde smal, smal, smal;
Þe Kynges sone of heuene schal paye for al. 10
Be war or _y_e be wo;
Knoweþ ȝour freend fro ȝour foo;
Haueth ynow, and seith 'Hoo';
And do wel and bettre, and fleth synne,
And sekeþ pees, and hold ȝou þerinne; 15
and so biddeþ Iohan Trewman and alle his felawes.
[Foot-note: 4 togidre] togidedre _MS._]
[Foot-note: 11 ye] þe _MS._]