The Siege of Jerusalem: Passus 3

By Unknown
The Jewes assembled were sone    and of the cité come
An hundred thousand on hors    with hamberkes atired,
Without folke upon fot    at the foure gates
That preset to the place    with pauyes on hande.
 
Fyf and twenti olyfauntes,    defensable bestes,
With brode castels on bak    out of burwe come;
And on eche olyfaunte    armed men manye,
Ay an hundred an hey,    an hundred withyn.
 
Tho drowen dromedarius doun    develich thicke,
An hundred and y-heled    with harnays of mayle,
Eche beste with a big tour    ther bold men were ynne,
Twenty, told by tale,    in eche tour evene.
 
Cameles closed in stele    comen out thanne
Faste toward the feld;    a ferlich nonbre
Busked to batail,    and on bak hadde
Ech on a toret of tre    with ten men of armes.
 
Chares ful of chosen,    charged with wepne
A wondere nonbre ther was,    whoso wite lyste.
Many doughti that day,    that was adradde nevere,
Were fond fey in the feld    er that fight endid.
 
An olyfaunt y-armed    came out at the laste,
Kevered myd a castel,    was craftily y-wroght,
A tabernacle in the tour    atyred was riche,
Pight as a paveloun    on pileres of selvere.
 
A which of white selvere    was sett therynne
On foure goions of gold    that hit fram grounde bare;
A chosen chayre therby    on charbokeles twelfe,
Betyn al with bright gold    with brennande sergis.
 
The chekes of the chayre    were charbokles fyne,
Covered myd a riche clothe,    ther Cayphas was sette.
A plate of pulsched gold    was pight on his breste
With many preciose perle    and pured stones.
 
Lered men of the lawe    that loude couthe synge
With sawters seten hym by    and the psalmys tolde
Of doughty David the kyng    and other dere storijs:
Of Josue, the noble Jewe,    and Judas the knyght.
 
Cayphas of the kyst   kyppid a rolle
And radde how the folke ran   throgh the rede water
Whan Pharao and his ferde   were in the floode drouned;
And myche of Moyses lawe   he mynned that tyme.
 
Whan this faithles folke   to the feld comen
And batayled after the bent   with many burne kene,
For baneres that blased   and bestes y-armed
Myght no man se throw the sonne   ne uneth the cité knowe.
 
Waspasian dyvyseth   the vale alle aboute,
That was with baneres overbrad    o the borwe wallis,
To barouns and bold men   that hym aboute were
Seith: "Lordlynges a londe,   lestenyth my speche:
 
"Here nys king nother knyght   comen to this place,
Baroun ne bachelere   ne burne that me folweth,
That the cause of his come   nys Crist forto venge
Upon the faithles folke   that Hym fayntly slowen.
 
"Byholdeth the hethyng   and the harde woundes,
The byndyng and the betyng,   that He on body hadde:
Lat never this lawles ledis   laugh at His harmys
That bought us fram bale   with blod of His herte.
 
"Y quycke-clayme the querels   of alle quyk burnes
And clayme of evereche kyng   - save of Crist one -
That this peple to pyne,   no pité ne hadde:
That preveth His Passioun,   whoso the Paas redeth.
 
"Hit nedith noght at this note   of Nero to mynde,
Ne to trete of no trewe   for tribute that he asketh:
That querel Y quik-cleyme   whether he wilneth
Of this rebel to Rome   bot resoun to have.
 
"Bot more thing in our mynde   myneth us today:
That by resoun to Rome   the realté fallyth,
Bothe the myght and the mayn,   maistre or ellys,
And lordschip of eche londe   that lithe under Heven.
 
"Lat never this faithles folke with fight of us wynne
Hors ne harnays, bot they hit hard byen,
Plate, ne pesan, ne pendauntes ende,
While any lyme may laste, or we the lif have.
 
"For thei ben feynt at the fight,   fals of byleve,
And wel wenen at a wap   alle they wold quelle.
Nother grounded on God   ne on no grace tristen,
Bot alle in storijs of stoure   and in strength one.
 
"And we ben dight today   Drighten to serve:
Hey Heven kyng   hede to His owne!"
The ledes louten hym alle   and aloude sayde:
"Today, that flethe any fote,   the Fende have his soule!"
 
Bemes blowen anon,   blonkes to neye,
Stedis stampen in the felde   undere stele wedes.
Stithe men in stiropys   striden alofte;
Knyghtes croysen hemself,   cacchen here helmys,
 
With loude clarioun cry   and alle kyn pypys,
Tymbris and tabourris   tonelande loude,
Geven a schillande schout.   Schrynken the Jewes,
As womman wepith and   waylith whan hire the water neyeth.74
 
Lacchen launces anon,   lepyn togedris,
As fure out of flynt-ston   ferde hem bytwene.
Doust drof upon lofte,   dymedyn alle aboute
As thonder and thicke rayn   throbolande in skyes.
 
Beren burnes throw,   brosten here launces;
Knyghtes crosschen doun   to the cold erthe;
Fought faste in the felde,   and ay the fals undere
Doun swowande to swelt   without swar more.
 
Tytus tourneth hym to,   tolles of the beste,
For-justes the jolieste   with joynyng of werre.
Suth with a bright bronde   he betith on harde
Tille the brayn and the blod   on the bent ornen.
 
Sought throgh another side   with a sore wepne,
Bet on the broun stele   while the bladde laste,
An hey breydeth the brond   and as a bore loketh,
How hetterly doun,   hente whoso wolde!
 
Alle brightned the bent   as bemys of sonne
Of the gilden gere   and the goode stones;
For schyveryng of scheldes   and schynyng of helmes
Hit ferde, as alle the firmament   upon fure were.
 
Waspasian in the vale   the fanward byholdeth,
How the hethyn here   heldith to grounde;
Cam with a fair ferde   the fals forto mete.
As greved griffouns   girden in samen.
 
Spakly here speres   on sprotes they yeden,
Scheldes as schidwod   on scholdres to-cleven,
Schoken out of schethes   that scharpe was y-grounde,
And mallen metel   throgh unmylt hertes.
 
Hewen on the hethen,   hurtlen togedre,
For-schorne gild schroud,   schedered burnee.
Baches woxen ablode   aboute in the vale,
And goutes fram gold wede   as goteres they runne.
 
Sire Sabyn setteth hym up   whan hit so yede,
Rideth myd the rereward   and alle the route folweth,
Kenely the castels   came to assayle
That the bestes on here bake   out of burwe ladden.
 
Atles on the olyfauntes   that orible were,
Girdith out the guttes   with grounden speres:
Rappis rispen forth   that rydders an hundred
Scholde be busy to burie   that on a bent lafte.
 
Castels clateren doun,   cameles brosten,
Dromedaries to the deth   drowen ful swythe;
The blode fomed hem fro   in flasches aboute
That kne-depe in the dale   dascheden stedes.
 
The burnes in the bretages   that above were
For the doust and the dyn   - as alle doun yede
Al for-stoppette in stele -   starke-blynde wexen
Whan hurdighs and hard erthe   hurtled togedre,
 
And under dromedaries   dyed in that stounde.
Was non left upon lyve   that alofte standeth -
Save an anlepy olyfaunt   at the grete gate
Ther as Cayphas the clerke   in a castel rideth.
 
He say the wrake on hem wende   and away tourneth
With twelf maystres made   of Moyses lawe.
An hundred helmed men   hien hem after,
Er they of castel myght come,   caughten hem alle,
 
Bounden the bischup   on a bycchyd wyse
That the blode out barst   ilka band undere,
And broghten to the berfray,   and alle the bew-clerkes
Ther the standard stode,   and stadded hem ther.
 
The beste and the britage   and alle the bright gere -
Chaire and chaundelers   and charbokel stones,
The rolles that they redde on,   and alle the riche bokes -
They broghte myd the bischup,   thou hym bale thoughte.
 
Anon the feythles folke   fayleden herte,
Tourned toward the toun   and Tytus hem after:
Fele of the fals ferde   in the felde lefte,
An hundred in here helmes   myd his honde one.
 
The fals Jewes in the felde   fallen so thicke
As hail froward Heven,   hepe over other;
So was the bent over-brad,   blody by-runne,
With ded bodies aboute   alle the brod vale.
 
Myght no stede doun stap   bot on stele wede,
Or on burne, other on beste,   or on bright scheldes;
So myche was the multitude   that on the molde lafte
Ther so many were mart;   merevail were ellis.
 
Yit were the Romayns as rest   as they fram Rome come,
Unriven eche a renk   and noght a ryng brosten;
Was no poynt perschid   of alle here pris armure:
So Crist His knyghtes gan kepe   tille complyn tyme.
 
An hundred thousand helmes   of the hethen syde
Were fey fallen in the felde   or the fight ended,
Save seven thousand of the somme,   that to the cité flowen,
And wynnen with mychel wo   the walles withynne.
 
Ledes lepen to anon,   louken the gates,
Barren hem bigly   with boltes of yren,
Brayden up brigges   with brouden chaynes
And portecolis with pile   picchen to grounde.
 
Thei wynnen up whyghtly   the walles to kepe,
Frasche, unfounded folke,   and grete defence made;
Tyeth into tourres   tonnes ful manye
With grete stones of gret   and of gray marble.
 
Kepten kenly with caste   the kernels alofte,
Quarten out querels   with quarters attonys.
That other folke at the fote   freschly assayled
Tille eche dale with dewe   was donked aboute.
 
Withdrowen hem fro the diche, dukes and other -
The caste was so kene   that come fram the walles -
Comen forthe with the kyng   clene as they yede,
Wanted noght o wye,   ne non that wem hadde.
 
Princes to here pavelouns   passen on swythe,
Unarmen hem as tyt   and alle the nyght resten
With wacche umbe the walles   to many wyes sorowe;
They wolle noght the hethen here   thus harmeles be lafte.

Notes:

Original text dates to the late 14th century, by an unknown medieval author. Source language text is public domain.

Copyright Credit: "Passus 3” from The Siege of Jerusalem, edited by Michael Livingston. Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 2004.