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