All flasshet in a fire the firmament ouer; Was no light but a laite þat launchit aboue: 135 Hit skirmyt in the skewes with a skyre low, Thurgh the claterand clowdes clos to the heuyn, As the welkyn shuld walt for wodenes of hete; With blastes full bigge of the breme wyndes, Walt vp the waghes vpon wan hilles. 140 Stith was the storme, stird all the shippes, Hoppit on hegh with heste of the flodes. The sea was unsober, sondrit the nauy, Walt ouer waghes, and no way held, Depertid the pepull, pyne to behold, 145 In costes vnkowthe; cut down þere sailes, Ropis al torochit, rent vp the hacches, Topcastell ouerturnyt, takelles were lost. The night come onone, noye was the more! All the company cleane of the kyng Telamon, 150 With þere shippes full shene, and þe shire godis, Were brent in the bre with the breme lowe Of the leymonde laite þat launchit fro heuyn, And euyn drownet in the depe, dukes and other! Oelius Aiax, as aunter befelle, 155 Was stad in the storme with the stith windes, With his shippes full shene and the shire godes. Thrifty and þriuaund, thretty and two There were brent on the buerne with the breme low, And all the freikes in the flode floterand aboue. 160 Hymseluyn in the sea sonkyn belyue, Swalprit and swam with swyngyng of armys. Ȝet he launchet to londe, and his lyf hade, Bare of his body, bretfull of water, In the slober and the sluche slongyn to londe; 165 There he lay, if hym list, the long night ouer, Till the derke was done, and the day sprang; Þare sum of his sort, þat soght were to lond And than wonen of waghes, with wo as þai might, Laited þere lord on the laund-syde, 170 If hit fell h_y_m by fortune the flodes to passe. Þan found þai the freike in the fome lye, And comford hym kyndly, as þere kyd lord; With worchip and wordes wan hym to fote. Bothe failet hym the fode and the fyne clothes. 175 Thus þere goddes with gremy with þe Grekes fore, Mighty Myner<u>a, of malis full grete, For Telamon, in tene, tid for to pull Cassandra the clene out of hir cloise temple. Thus hit fell hom by fortune of a foule ende, 180 For greuyng þere goddes in hor gret yre. Oftsythes men sayn, and sene is of olde, Þat all a company is cumbrit for a cursed shrewe. [Foot-note: 168-9 _transposed in MS._] [Foot-note: 171 hym] hom _MS._] VIII PIERS PLOWMAN (1362-1400) BY WILLIAM LANGLAND