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with great spears:
(fol. 132 b.)
and would have
killed each other
Then the batell was brem in the brode feld,
With all the bir in hor brest and hor byg horses,
had not Menelaus 8548 The ton hade doutles ben dede, & drepit for ay, Hade not Menelay mightyly met hom betwene, With a batell full big bere hom in sonder.
Menelaus unhorses, and
Polydamas rescues him.
The Greeks again take him, and
but Troilus rescues him.
drive the Trojans towards the city.
Megaron, son of
He frunt to a fuerse kyng of frigies lond,
With a folke þat was felle, & the fight entrid.
And myche baret on bent to the buernes dyd :
With pre thowsaund pro men prang into batell; Gird in with the grekes, & myche grym wroght, 8568 And mony tulke out of Troy tyrnit to ground. ben þurghe chaunse of Achilles & his choise helpe,
bai bere the burgh-men abacke to the bare
bai bounet fro batell, & the bent leuyt,
filed all in fere frikly to toune!
Mageron the mighty macchet with Achilles,
HECTOR RALLIES THEM.
Wold haue takon the talle kyng, & to toun led: Book XXI. He was a proude son of Priam, & a prise knight, Priam, attacks 8576 And a wight man in wer, pof hym woo happnit. Achilles were hym full wightly, & the wegh and is slain; slogh;
Bare hym bak to pe bent, & the buerne deghit.
þen was clomour & crye for care of hym one, 8580 And myche dole for his dethe, pat derit hom all! Telamon, the toure kyng, pe Troiens pursuet; Paris hym put of, & preset hym sore,
With other kynges & knightes, and the kyde
(fol. 133 a.) Telamon pursues the Trojans :
8584 But hom worthe to be worse, wete ye for sothe, Paris and his And soghtyn to the Citie in a sad hast!
Than kaght þai the corse of pe kynges son,
8588 When Ector herd of pat hynde vnhappely was
pan fraynit þat fre, who pe freike sloghe. "Achilles the choise kyng," oon chaunsit to say, "ffell hym in fight & fele of oure knightes!" 8592 Ector, wode of his wit for woo of his brother, Haspit on his helme, & his horse toke; Went out wightly, vnwetyng his fader. Two Dukes full derne, he to dethe broght, 8596 And manly with mayn mellit with other; Kyld downe knightes, karve hom in sonder. Mony wondet the weghe, & to woo caste;
Britnet hom on bent, and on bake put.
8600 The grekes, for his greffe, girdyn hym fro,
brothers protect the rear,
and carry off the body of their brother.
by his brother's death, rushes to the fight unknown to his father:
the Greeks in terror give way
Thay knew hym full kyndly be caupe of his before him.
Then the Troiens full tyte to the toune floghen,
8604 Gird evyn to the grekes, and hor ground toke;
come to his aid,
and recover their ground.
down a guard of 200 Greeks, and
Leocides attacks Hector, and is felled to the
(fol. 133 b.)
Polidamas, the pert, was presset so fast,
hat he was wonen in wer, & away
8608 Than Ector in yre Egerly faght,
And the grekes in his grem gird he to dethe,—
And deliuert the lede with his lyfe hole!
He wend, the prinse in the prese haue put out
8616 Ector wrathit hym with, and the wegh hit,
Achilles, this chaunse choisly beheld,
bat so mony of þaire men were marrid by hym,
Achilles perceives 8620 He hopit but if happely þat hardy were slayne,
that the Greeks
Hector be slain:
and plans how to accomplish that end.
þat neuer greke shuld haue grace the ground for
Ne neuer Troye for to take, terme of hor lyue. He bethoght hym full thicke in his thro hert, 8624 And all soteltie soght, serchit his wit,
On all wise in this world, þat werke for to end,
hat was chere to Achilles, cherisit with loue,
A mon he was of More Ynde, mighty of godes, 8632 pere hit auntrid full euyn, þat Ector hym met, And the lede with a launse out of lyue broght. Achilles the chaunse cheuit for to se :
Vne wode of his wit, walt into angur.
8636 The dethe of þat Duke he dight hym to venge. To Ector full egurly he etlit anon:
Ector keppit the kyng er he caupe might,
TREACHEROUSLY SLAYS HIM.
Drof at hym with a dart, & pe Duke hit. 8640 Hit was keruond & kene, & the kyng hurt, And woundit hym wickedly thurght the waist
hat he sesit of his sute, soght he no ferre.
Achilles with a dart.
THE DETHE OF ECTOR, BY ACHILLES TRAYTURLY SLAYN.
Achilles for the chop cherit hym not litle, 8644 Braid out of batell, bound vp his wounde,
Stoppit the stremys stithly agayne;
Lep vp full lyuely, launchit on swithe,
To pat entent, truly, as the trety sais,
8648 To deire Ector with dethe, or degh pere hym
As Ector faght in the fild fell of the grekes,
He caupit with a kyng, caght hym anon;
8652 With strenght thurgh the stoure, as the story
His sheld on his shulders shot was behynd,
To weld hym more winly þat worthy to lede.
Achilles binds up his wound,
and goes to
(fol. 134 a.)
Hector, with his shield shot behind, is leading a noble prisoner to his tent,
8656 Achilles grippit a gret speire with a grym wille, when Achilles
Vnpersayuit of the prince prikit hym to,
8660 That he gird to pe ground, & the gost yald.
This Sedymon segh, þat soght out of Troy :
steals upon him, and strikes him dead with a spear.
Achilles is struck
down, and carried
8664 þat he braid to the bent with a brem wound;
8668 There left hym as lyueles, laid hym besyde:
But yet deghit not the Duke, pof hym dere tholit.
The Trojans lose heart, and flee to the city.
The body of
Hector is brought
The grief and despair of the people.
(fol. 134 b.)
Some, even, lose their reason.
Then the Troiens with tene turnyt them backe,
8672 Entrid all somyn angardly fast,
And the body of the bold prinse broghtyn hom with.
When the corse of pat comly comyn was to
Miche dole & dyn was dole [for] to here,
8676 With Sobbyng pro the Cité, & Syling of teris, With gawlyng & grete the grettist among.
All the Citiesyns, for sothe, for sorow of the prinse,
Miche water pai weppit, wringyng of hond: The dit & the dyn was dole to be-hold! All the wemen of wit thurgh the wale toune, Wyfes, & wedowes, & worshipfull maidnes, Within houses & hallis hard was pere chere. 8684 Wyth myche dole vppon dayes & on derke nightes,
Sum walt into wodenes, & of wit past:
The petie & the playnt was pyn for to here!
8688 þai had no hope of pere heale, ne pere hede
All hor trust þan was tynt, truly þai said,
Thurgh the dethe of pat dere, & done out of hope!
Alasse, the losse and the lure of oure lefe
8692 Now sesit be oure Citie with oure sad fos;