And yet, for all his pomp and all his might,
Judith, a woman, as he lay upright
Sleeping, his head off smote, and from his tent
Full privily she stole from every wight,
And with his head unto her town she went.
What needeth it of king Antiochus4160
To tell his high and royal majesty,
His great pride, and his workës venomous?
For such another was there none as he;
Readë what that he was in Maccabee.
And read the proudë wordës that he said,
And why he fell from his prosperity,
And in an hill how wretchedly he died.
Fortúne him had enhanced so in pride,
That verily he ween’d he might attain
Unto the starrës upon every side,
And in a balance weighen each mountáin,
And all the floodës of the sea restrain.
And Goddë’s people had he most in hate;
Them would he slay in torment and in pain,
Weening that God might not his pride abate.
And for that Nicanor and Timothee
With Jewës werë vanquish’d mightily,4161
Unto the Jewës such an hate had he,
That he bade graith his car4162 full hastily,
And swore and saidë full dispiteously,
Unto Jerusalem he would eftsoon,4163
To wreak his ire on it full cruelly
But of his purpose was he let4164 full soon.
God for his menace him so sorë smote,
With invisíble wound incurable,
That in his guttës carf it so and bote,4165
Till that his painës were importable;4166
And certainly the wreche4167 was reasonable,
For many a mannë’s guttës did he pain;
But from his purpose, curs’d4168 and damnable,
For all his smart he would him not restrain;
But bade anon apparailë4169 his host.
And suddenly, ere he was of it ware,
God daunted all his pride, and all his boast;
For he so sorë fell out of his chare,4170
That it his limbës and his skin to-tare,
So that he neither mightë go nor ride;
But in a chairë men about him bare,
Allë forbruised bothë back and side.
The wreche4171 of God him smote so cruelly,
That through his body wicked wormës crept,
And therewithal he stank so horribly
That none of all his meinie4172 that him kept,
Whether so that he woke or ellës slept,
Ne mightë not of him the stink endure.
In this mischíef he wailed and eke wept,
And knew God Lord of every creatúre.
To all his host, and to himself also,
Full wlatsom4173 was the stink of his carráin;4174
No mannë might him bearë to and fro.
And in this stink, and this horríble pain,
He starf4175 full wretchedly in a mountáin.
Thus hath this robber, and this homicide,
That many a mannë made to weep and plain,
Such guerdon4176 as belongeth unto pride.
The story of Alexander is so commúne,
That ev’ry wight that hath discretioún
Hath heard somewhat or all of his fortúne.
This widë world, as in conclusioún,4177
He won by strength; or, for his high renown,
They werë glad for peace to him to send.
The pride and boast of man he laid adown,
Whereso he came, unto the worldë’s end.
Comparison yet4178 never might be maked
Between him and another conqueroúr;
For all this world for dread of him had quaked;
He was of knighthood and of freedom flow’r:
Fortúne him made the heir of her honoúr.
Save wine and women, nothing might assuage
His high intent in armës and laboúr,
So was he full of leonine couráge.
What praise were it to him, though I you told
Of Darius, and a hundred thousand mo’,
Of kingës, princes, dukes, and earlës bold,
Which he conquér’d, and brought them into woe?
I say, as far as man may ride or go,
The world was his, why should I more devise?4179
For, though I wrote or told you evermo’,
Of his knighthood it mightë not suffice.
Twelve years he reigned, as saith Maccabee;
Philippe’s son of Macedon he was,
That first was king in Greecë the countrý.
O worthy gentle4180 Alexander, alas
That ever should thee fallë such a case!
Empoison’d of thine owen folk thou were;
Thy six4181 Fortúne hath turn’d into an ace,
And yet for thee she weptë never a tear.
Who shall me givë tearës to complain
The death of gentiléss, and of franchise,4182
That all this worldë had in his demaine,4183
And yet he thought it mightë not suffice,
So full was his coráge4184 of high emprise?
Alas! who shall me helpë to indite
Falsë Fortúne, and poison to despise?
The whichë two of all this woe I wite.4185
By wisdom, manhood, and by great laboúr,
From humbleness to royal majesty
Up rose he, Julius the Conqueroúr,
That won all th’ Occident,4186 by land and sea,
By strength of hand or ellës by treatý,
And unto Romë made them tributáry;
And since4187 of Rome the emperor was he,
Till that Fortúnë wax’d his adversáry.
O mighty Caesar, that in Thessaly
Against Pompeius, father thine in law,4188
That of th’ Oriént had all the chivalry,
As far as that the day begins to daw,
That through thy knighthood hast them take and slaw,4189
Save fewë folk that with Pompeius fled;
Through which thou put all th’ Orient in awe;
Thankë Fortúnë that so well thee sped.
But now a little while I will bewail
This Pompeius, this noble governór
Of Romë, which that fled at this battaile;
I say, one of his men, a false traitór,
His head off smote, to winnë him favór
Of Julius, and him the head he brought;
Alas! Pompey, of th’ Orient conquerór,
That Fortune unto such a fine4190 thee brought!
To Rome again repaired Julius,
With his triumphë laureate full high;
But on a time Brutus and Cassius,
That ever had of his estate envý,
Full privily have made conspiracý
Against this Julius in subtle wise
And cast4191 the place in which he shouldë die,
With bodëkins,4192 as I shall you devise.4193
This Julius to the Capitólë went
Upon a day, as he was wont to gon;
And in the Capitol anon him hent4194
This falsë Brutus, and his other fone,
And sticked him with bodëkins anon
With many
