Classic Poem

Maistur in mageste, Maker of alle
Endles and on, ever to laste!
Now, God, of this grace, graunt me Thi helpe,
And wysshe me with wyt this werke for to ende
Of aunters ben olde of aunsetris nobill,
And slydyn uppon shlepe by slomeryng of age;
Of stithe men in stoure, strongest in armes,
And wisest in wer, to wale in hor tyme,
That ben drepit with deth, and there day paste,
And most out of mynd for there mecull age.
Soth stories ben stoken up, and straught out of mynde,
And swolowet into swym by swiftenes of yeres,
For new that ben now next at our hond,
Brevyt into bokes for boldyng of hertes,
On lusti to loke with lightnes of wille,
Chevyt throughe chaunce and chaungyng of peopull;
Sum tru for to traist, triet in the ende,
Sum feynit o fere and ay false under.
Yche wegh as he will warys his tyme,
And has lykyng to lerne that him list after.
But olde stories of stithe that astate helde
May be solas to sum that it segh never,
Be writyng of wees that wist it in dede,
With sight for to serche of hom that suet after,
To ken all the crafte how the case felle
By lokyng of letturs that lefte were of olde.

Now of Troy for to telle is myn entent evyn,
Of the stoure and the stryffe when it distroyet was.
Thof fele yeres bene faren syn the fight endid,
And it mevyt out of mynd, myn hit I thinke,
Alss wise men have writen the wordes before,
Left it in Latyn for lernyng of us.
But sum poyetis full prist that put hom therto
With fablis and falshed fayned there speche,
And made more of that mater than hom maister were.
Sum lokyt over little, and limpit of the sothe.
Amonges that menye, to myn hym be nome,
Homer was holden haithhill of dedis
Qwiles his dayes enduret, derrist of other,
That with the Grekys was gret, and of Grice comyn.
He feynet myche fals was never before wroght,
And turnet the truth, trust ye non other.
Of his trifuls to telle I have no tome nowe,
Ne of his feynit fare that he fore with:
How goddes foght in the filde, folke as thai were!
And other errours unable, that after were knowen,
That poyetis of prise have prevyt untrew;
Ovyde and othir that onest were ay,
Virgille the virtuus, verrit for nobill,
Thes dampnet his dedys, and for dull holdyn.
But the truth for to telle, and the text evyn,
Of that fight, how it felle in a few yeres,
That was clanly compilet with a clerke wise,
On Gydo, a gome that graidly hade soght,
And wist all the werkes by weghes he hade,
That bothe were in batell while the batell last,
And euther sawte and assembly see with there een.
Thai wrote all the werkes wroght at that tyme
In letturs of there langage, as thai lernede hade:
Dares and Dytes were duly there namys.
Dites full dere was dew to the Grekys,
A lede of that lond, and logede hom with.
The tother was a tulke out of Troy selfe,
Dares, that duly the dedys behelde.
Aither brevyt in a boke on there best wise,
That sithen at a site somyn were founden,
After, at Atthenes, as aunter befell.
The whiche bokes barely, bothe as thai were,
A Romayn overraght, and right hom hymselvyn,
That Cornelius was cald to his kynde nome.
He translated it into Latyn for lyking to here,
But he shope it so short that no shalke might
Have knowlage by course how the case felle;
For he brought it so breff, and so bare levyt,
That no lede might have likyng to loke therappon,
Til this Gydo it gate, as hym grace felle,
And declaret it more clere, and on clene wise.
In this shall faithfully be founden, to the fer ende,
All the dedis bydene as thai done were:
How the groundes first grew, and the grete hate,
Bothe of torfer and tene that hom tide aftur,
And here fynde shall ye faire of the felle peopull:
What kynges ther come of costes aboute;
Of dukes full doughty, and of derffe erles,
That assemblid to the citie that sawte to defend;
Of the Grekys that were gedret, how gret was the nowmber,
How mony knightes there come, and kynges enarmede,
And what dukes thedur droghe for dedis of were;
What shippes there were shene, and shalkes within,
Bothe of barges and buernes that broght were fro Grese:
And all the batels on bent the buernes betwene;
What duke that was dede through dyntes of hond,
Who fallen was in fylde, and how it fore after.
Bothe of truse and of trayne the truth shalt thu here,
And all the ferlies that fell, unto the ferre ende.
Fro this prologue I passe, and part me therwith.
Frayne will I fer, and fraist of there werkes,
Meve to my mater, and make here an ende.