Classic and Contemporary Poetry
POEM: 4, by LAURENCE MINOT 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONOMA FIRE by JANE HIRSHFIELD AS THE SPARKS FLY UPWARDS by JOHN HOLLANDER WHAT GREAT GRIEF HAS MADE THE EMPRESS MUTE by JUNE JORDAN CHAMBER MUSIC: 19 by JAMES JOYCE |
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