Hugeline of Pise.
OF the Erle Hugeline of Pise ye langoure
There may no tongue it tell for pite:
But a little out of Pise stont a toure,
In which toure in prison put was he,
And with him bene his little children three,
The eldest scarsely five yere of age:
Alas fortune, it was a great cruelte
Such birds for to put in such a cage.
Damned was he to die in that prison
For Roger, which that bishop was of Pise
Had on him made a false suggestion,
Through which ye people gan upon him rise,
And put him in prison, in such a wise,
As ye have heard, and meat & drinke he had
So small, that unneth it may suffice,
And therewithall it was full poore and bad.
And on a day befell, that in that houre,
Whan yt his meat wont was to be brought,
The geilour shette the doores of the toure,
He heard it well, but he spake right nought:
And in his heart anon there fill a thought,
That they for hunger would doe him dien,
Alas (qd. he) alas that I was wrought,
Therewithall the teares fill fro his eyen.
His yong sonne, that thre yere was of age,
Vnto him said, father, why doe ye wepe?
When will the geilour bring our potage,
Is there no morsell bread that ye do kepe?
I am so hungrie, that I may not sleepe,
Now would God that I might sleepe ever,
Then should not hunger in my wombe crepe.
There nis nothing but bread yt me were lever.
Thus day by day, this childe began to cry,
Till in his fathers arme adowne it lay,
And said, farewell father, I mote die,
And kist his father, and deide the same day.
And when the wofull father did it sey,
For wo, his armes two he gan to bite,
And said alas fortune, and well away,
Thy false whele my wo all may it wite.
His children wend, that it for hunger was
That he his armes gnewe, and not for wo,
And saied: father doe not so (alas)
But rather eat the flesh upon us two,
Our flesh you yaue us, take our flesh us fro
And eate inough: right thus they to him seid
And after that within a day or two
They laid hem in his lap adoun, and deid.
Thus ended is this mighty Earle of Pise.
Himselfe dispeired eke, for hunger starfe:
Of this tragedie, it ought inough suffice,
From high estate fortune away him carfe.
Who so woll heare it in a longer wise
Readeth he the great poete of Itaile
That hight Dante, for he can it all deuise
Fro point to point, not a word woll he faile.