Classic and Contemporary Poetry
POEM: 6, by LAURENCE MINOT First Line: Towrenay, pow has tight Last Line: And fro all sins vs saue. Amen. Subject(s): Courts & Courtiers; France; Sin; War | ||||||||
TOWRENAY, pow has tight To timber trey and tene A bore, with brenis bright Es broght oþen powre grene: þat es a semely sight, With schilterouns faire and schene: Pi domes day es dight, Bot pou be war, I wene. When all yowre wele es went powre wo wakkins ful wide, To sighing er ge sent With sorow on ilka syde: Ful rewfull es gowre rent, All redles may ge ride; þe harmes þat ge haue hent Now may ge hele and hide. Hides and helis als hende, For ge er cast in care; Ful few find ge gowre frende For all gowre frankis fare. Sir Philip sall zow schende, Whi leue ge at his lare? No bowes now thar zow bende; Of blis ge er all bare. All bare er ge of blis, No bost may be gowre bote, All mirthes mun ge mis, Oure men sall with pow mote, Who sall zow clip and kys, And fall gowre folk to fote: A were es wroght, i-wis, Gowre walles with to wrote. Wrote þai sal gowre dene, Of dintes ge may pow dowt; Gowre biginges sall men brene, And breke gowre walles obout. Ful redles may ge ren, With all gowre rewful rout; With care men sall pow ken Edward gowre lord to lout. To lout powre lord in land With list men sall zow lere; Gowre harmes cumes at hand, Als ge sall hastly here. Now frendschip suld ge fande Of sir Philip gowre fere, To bring pow out of band, Or ge be broght on bere. On bere when ge er broght,Þan cumes Philip to late, He hetes, and haldes zow noght, With hert ge may him hate. A bare now has him soght Till Turnay þe right gate, þat es ful wele bithoght To stop Philip þe strate, Ful still. Philip was fain he moght Graunt sir Edward his will. If ge will trow my tale, A duke tuke leue þat tide, A Braban brwed þat bale, He bad no langer bide; Giftes grete and smale War sent him on his side; Gold gert all þat gale And made him raþely ride Till dede: In hert he was vnhale; He come pare moste for mede. King Edward, frely fode, In Fraunce he will noght blin. To mak his famen wodeÞat er wonand parein. God, þat rest on rode For sake of Adams syn, Strenkith him main & mode His reght in France to win And haue. God grante him graces gode, And fro all sins vs saue. Amen. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I AM YOUR WAITER TONIGHT AND MY NAME IS DIMITRI by ROBERT HASS MITRAILLIATRICE by ERNEST HEMINGWAY RIPARTO D'ASSALTO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY WAR VOYEURS by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA THE DREAM OF WAKING by RANDALL JARRELL THE SURVIVOR AMONG GRAVES by RANDALL JARRELL |
|