Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, POEM: 4, by LAURENCE MINOT



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

POEM: 4, by                    
First Line: Edward our comely king
Last Line: And keþed him in þe berde.
Subject(s): Courts & Courtiers; Exiles; France; Grief; Sin; Sorrow; Sadness


EDWARD oure cumly king
In Braband has his woning,
With mani cumly knight;
And in þat land, trewly to tell,
Ordanis he still for to dwell,
To time he think to fight.

Now God þat es of mightes maste
Grant him grace of þe Haly Gaste
His heritage to win.
And Mari moder, of mercy fre,
Saue oure king and his men3e
Fro sorow, and schame and syn.

Pus in Braband has he bene,
Whare he bifore was seldom sene,
For to proue þaire iaþes;
Now no langer wil he spare,
Bot vnto Fraunce fast will he fare,
To confort him with graþes.

ffurth he ferd into France;
God saue him fro mischance,
And all his cumpany.
þe nobill duc of Braband
With him went into þat land,
Redy to lif or dy.

þan þe riche floure de lice
Wan pare ful litill prise;
Fast he fled for ferde.
þe right aire of þat cuntre
Es cumen, with all his knightes fre:
To schac him by þe berd.

Sir Philip þe Valayse,
Wit his men in po dayes,
To batale had he thoght:
He bad his men pam puruay,
With owten lenger delay,
Bot he ne held it noght.

He broght folk ful grete wone,
Ay seuyn oganis one,Þat ful wele wapnid were:
Bot sone when he herd ascry
þat king Edward was nere parby,Þan durst he noght cum nere.

In þat morning fell a myst,
And when oure Ingliss men it wist,
It changed all þaire chere;
Oure king vnto God made his bone,
And God sent him gude confort sone,Þe weder wex ful clere.

Oure king and his men held þe felde
Stalwortly, with sþere and schelde,
And thoght to win his right,
With lordes and with knightes kene
And oþer doghty men bydene,Þat war ful frek to fight.

When sir Philip of France herd tell
þat king Edward in feld walld dwell,Þan gayned him no gle;
He traisted of no better bote,
Bot both on hors and on fote
He hasted him to fle.

It semid he was ferd for strokes
When he did fell his grete okes
Obout his pauilyoune;
Abated was þan all his pride,
For langer pare durst he noght bide,
His bost was broght all doune.

þe king of Beme had cares colde,
þat was ful hardy and bolde
A stede to vmstride.
He and þe king als of Nauerne
War faire feld in þe fereneÞaire heuiddes for to hide.

And leues wele it es no lye,
þe felde hat fflemangryeÞat king Edward was in,
With princes þat war stif ande bolde
And dukes þat war doghty tolde
In batayle to bigin.

þe princes þat war riche on raw
Gert nakers strike, and trumþes blaw.
And made mirth at þaire might:
Both alblast and many a bow
War redy railed opon a row,
And ful frek for to fight.

Gladly þai gaf mete and drink
So þat þai suld þe better swinkÞe wight men þat par
ware.
Sir Philip of Fraunce fled for dout,
And hied him hame with all his rout:
Coward, God giff him care.

ffor pare þan had þe lely flowre
Lorn all halely his honowre,Þat sogat fled for ferd:
Bot oure king Edward come ful still,
When þat he trowed no harm him till,
And keþed him in þe berde.





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