981–82 The salvature . . . every regioun. D&A attempt to tie religioun and regioun to “the oaths of allegiance” that Vegetius presents as necessary to membership in the Roman armies (p. 130n981–2). More likely, especially in light of the subsequent digression on a battle from the Wars of the Roses, the poet is here speaking of contemporary applications of his translation of Vegetius.↩back to note source

984 by the werre His reste to purchase. See note to line 431, above.↩back to note source

986 Summe are in Irelonde. Richard, duke of York, after his defeat at Ludford Bridge, fled to Ireland with his second son, Edmund, earl of Rutland. York and his son had previously held the titles of Lord Lieutenant and Lord Chancellor of Ireland, respectively, and the parliament there remained loyal to their interests.↩back to note source

987–88 In Walys other are, in myghti place / And other han Caleys with hem to stonde. After the battle, Richard Neville, earl of Salisbury, and his son, the earl of Warwick, joined by York’s son, Edward, earl of March, initially fled to Warwick’s estates in South Wales. From there, the party journeyed south, and on November 2 arrived in Calais, which had held loyal to Warwick’s position as captain of Calais under the leadership of Warwick’s uncle, Lord Fauconberg. They arrived just ahead of the duke of Somerset, newly appointed by Henry VI to replace Warwick as captain, setting off a lengthy stand-off. On the question of whether the journey of Edward and the Nevilles to Calais was a storm-driven accident or a dynastic strategem — surviving chronicles differ — see Jones, “Edward IV, the Earl of Warwick,” pp. 343–44.↩back to note source

989–91 Thei robbeth . . . sle withoute pitee. Between November 1459 and January 1460 two fleets carrying men, supplies, and arms intended to support Somerset’s attempt to wrest control of Calais from Warwick were captured by the Yorkists. These comments about the Yorkists raiding and killing, in a rather unethical fashion, engage with the greater debates on the role of military forces on either side in protecting, or undermining, the common wealth (see Nall, Reading and War, pp. 160–61).↩back to note source

992–93 The Goldon Eagle and his Briddys III, / Her bellys ha they broke, and jessys lorne. The Eagle, as it does in Shakespeare (Henry VI, part III, ed. Evans, Tobin, and Baker, 1.1.268, 2.1.91, and 5.2.12), represents Richard of York. The three Birds must then be his three eldest sons, Edward, Richard, and Clarence. The poet here conflates falconry — the three birds have the requisite bells (bellys) and fetters (jessys) — with this popular imagery.↩back to note source

994 The Silver Bere. Richard, earl of Warwick.↩back to note source

995 bare is he behinde and eke beforne. In describing the earl of Warwick as bare behind and in front, the poet makes his dislike of the man abundantly clear by conflating a number of provocative images and statements. The earl, in his view, could be construed as bare in a moral sense (for having worked against the king) and bare in a financial and political sense: parliament had responded by stripping the earl of his lands and title.↩back to note source

996 The Lily-whit Lyoun. As D&A note (p. 132n996), this iconography would fit Edward, earl of March, but he was already accorded a place in this heraldic allegory as one of the three Birds with York’s “Golden Eagle” (line 992). The next likely candidate, then, would be John Mowbray, duke of Norfolk. Mowbray had been an early Yorkist but moved toward the Lancastrian position as the Nevilles gained in influence and took no part in the events at Ludford Bridge on October 12. A member of the so-called Parliament of Devils that began in Coventry on November 20 and passed bills of attainder for high treason against the Yorkist leaders, Mowbray joined the other attending lords in swearing an oath to the Lancastrian succession on December 11. If, as seems likely, Mowbray is indeed meant, then the composition of this part of the poem might be further constrained to the immediate weeks following October 12, before Mowbray was clearly sworn to the Lancastrian cause. Alternatively, it could be that the poem was composed subsequent to Mowbray’s oath and marked continued suspicions regarding the duke’s loyalties. If so, the suspicions were well-founded: after the Yorkist victory at Northampton on July 10, 1460 Mowbray once more turned to open support of their cause.↩back to note source

1000 Antilope. That the poet observes how the good nobles properly attend on the Antelope — that is, King Henry VI — might also point to composition related to the Coventry Parliament of 1459. See note to lines 1014–19, below.↩back to note source

1014–19 Goode Antilop . . . fild with galle. Within the allegory here presented, Henry VI is presented, through one of the king’s heraldic badges, first as the Antelope, who desires only peace. The poet next allies the king to Christ via the Panther, another of the king’s heraldic badges: medieval bestiaries often record that the panther’s sweet breath entrances all animals but the dragon (Ed. Morris, A Bestiary, pp. 24–25); due to the latter beast’s obvious association with Satan, the panther became a symbol for Christ in the Middle Ages. Those who oppose the Antelope and Panther are thereby likened to the Dragon. Beyond the dragon’s likeness to Satan — and imagery of its defeat at the hands of Saint George, the patron saint of England — it could less obviously point to the Welsh who supported the Yorkist earl of Warwick and had harbored him for a time after his flight from Ludford Bridge (see note to lines 987–88, above). Similarly, the dragon being filled with galle points to its bitterness, while also potentially incorporating wordplay with Gaul (i.e., France), where the Yorkist stronghold of Calais was found. Here, as elsewhere (see note to lines 17–20, above), Nall goes further in more fully conflating Henry VI with Christ (Reading and War, pp. 128–30). Regardless of that possible association, it should be noted that, since the poet has consistently suppressed any discussion of retreat in his source text of Vegetius, the fleeing of the Dragon (the king’s enemies) from the Panther (Christ) is made all the more condemnable.↩back to note source

985–1026 O gracious . . . knyghthode and bataile. This account of the present status of the Yorkists relative to the poet’s own Lancastrian cause may well indicate the date of its composition: it clearly references the aftermath of the Battle of Ludford Bridge, a Lancastrian victory over Yorkist forces that took place on October 12, 1459. The fact that the poet does not take the opportunity here to laud his king for an even greater victory against the Yorkists at Wakefield on December 30, 1460 indicates to D&A that “the date of this part of the poem appears fixed between October, 1459, and December, 1460” (p. 130n984–1026). In point of fact, the poet’s apparent ignorance of the Yorkist victory in the Battle of Northampton on July 10, 1460 — in which his addressee, King Henry VI, was captured — may further narrow this likely date of composition.↩back to note source

992–1026 The Goldon Eagle . . . knyghthode and bataile. The use of animals to represent different important persons, especially kings, is particularly common in medieval political prophecies. Some of the more popular examples of these are the versions of the Prophecy of the Six Kings to Follow John, ultimately based on the prophecies included in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s De gestis Britonum (ca. 1095–ca. 1155), and the Bridlington Prophecies (1349–50). The use of animals rather than names or titles added character and imagery to what might otherwise be terse descriptions, while also giving the texts further authority by remaining a bit inscrutable and, maybe, “magical.” Their peculiarly imprecise descriptions also allowed these prophecies to be adapted to suit later events and attitudes. Here, the poet doubles this prophetic practice with the heraldic practice of identifying nobility by the animals on their coats-of-arms.↩back to note source

1055 princys wel appreved. Vegetius specifically lists Xerxes, Darius, and Mithridates as examples of kings with extremely large armies. Persian emperor Xerxes I (r. 486–65 BCE) led an invasion of Greece that failed, in no small part, due to the large size of his army. Persian emperor Darius III (r. 336–30 BCE) lost his empire to Alexander the Great, who defeated him with a smaller army. After being defeated by Pompey, King Mithridates VI of Pontus (r. 120–63 BCE) faced rebellion trying to force a populace into armed service and committed suicide. Our poet, no doubt, suspects these examples will be less familiar to his audience.↩back to note source

1092 affrayeth. MED affraien (v.1), sense1b cites this line with the sense “harasses.” We think it unlikely that the wind is harassing the flowers here, however. More likely, the winter wind is physically wearing them away, from MED affraien (v.2).↩back to note source

1098–1100 First . . . every welth. D&A suggest that it is “by misunderstanding” (p. 135n1094) that our poet-translator omits Vegetius’s notes on the need of the generals and officers to maintain the health of the ordinary soldiers in their army, instead replacing it with this passage on the health of the leadership being of primary importance. It is hardly a mistake, however. The late Middle Ages viewed the head of a body politic as being akin to the head of a body physic: the health of the head dictated the health of the body. For an introduction to the concept within the late fourteenth-century work of John Gower, for instance, see Peck, Kingship and Common Profit. As a political model, the association was notable within the Wars of the Roses, wherein each side could argue that the head of the opposition was unhealthy — physically or morally — and thus detrimental to the health of the realm.↩back to note source

1121–24 The moneyles . . . prince is lent. The poet’s advice here has no correspondence in Vegetius. Instead, his admonition against usury, his advice that re-payment should be made as soon as possible, and his assurance that money lent to the king is money that cannot be lost, all appear aimed at his contemporary audience. The late Lancastrian government held enormous amounts of debt from the Hundred Years War, a reluctance to raise taxes, and a stagnating economy. So well-known was the crown’s despondency that it was a complaint of the rioters during Cade’s Rebellion in 1450: “the king himself is so beset that he may not pay for his meat and drink, and he owes more than ever any King of England ought” (Ed. Myers, English Historical Documents, p. 267). As magnates pulled away to the Yorkist cause, the Lancastrian government was increasingly dependent on the good will and open purses of its supporters, who were increasingly in need of reassurances that they would be repaid.↩back to note source

1160–73 And best bewar . . . an hevy cas. The poet goes considerably beyond the far more simple admonition in Vegetius that commoners, deceived by the false oaths of the enemy, can introduce strategic issues. It may be, as D&A suggest, that this is due to “the impression of sundry glaring acts of perjury in the course of the wars of the Roses” (p. 136n1160 ff.).↩back to note source

1170–73 Judas . . . an hevy case. Judas’s suicide by hanging after his betrayal of Jesus is related in Matthew 27:3–5. The poet’s conclusion that this is a hevy cas (line 1173) can be read either to indicate the sorrowful nature of the allusion or to reconfirm the heaviness of the sinner’s body weighed down by sins.↩back to note source

1202–08 To falle . . . undirtake. The previous list of reasonable ways to occupy an idle army’s time — military and physical training — parallels that given by Vegetius. Here, the poet adds a second list of rather more difficult tasks: reducing prominences, leveling broad fields, and tunneling through the earth.↩back to note source

1266–67 trompe and clarioun / And pipe or horn. On the uncertain identity of these various instruments, see note to lines 782–88, above.↩back to note source

1279–92 Semy-vocals . . . declareth cleer. On these instruments, see note to lines 782–88, above.↩back to note source

1296–97 The sugnys mute . . . not erre. Stars, portcullises, and suns are among the many symbols that make an appearance in heraldry during the Wars of the Roses. Whether the poet has specific livery in mind beyond this general usage is not known.↩back to note source

1335–41 Tak gidis . . . hope and drede. It was common for military leaders to seek out local guides while out campaigning, as detailed knowledge was not transmitted in any form beyond hearsay, with few exceptions. See, for example, Boardman, Medieval Soldier, p. 114.↩back to note source

1350–55 Mynotaurys mase . . . is sureste. In Greek mythology, the Minotaur was a half-man, half-bull creature who lived in the Labyrinth, a maze so elaborate that those who went in could not find their way out before the Minotaur devoured them. The Minotaur was indeed an early Roman standard (Dušanić and Petković, “Five Standards”), and it was, as referenced here, symbolic of the need for plans of the generals to be kept as secret as the way through the beast’s fabled maze.↩back to note source

1389 helmettis. Vegetius says nothing of helmets being given to those in charge of the baggage-train: instead, he emphasizes that officers were assigned the task of marshaling the baggage-train, utilizing a series of signals to coordinate its control in the event of an attack. It may be, as D&A assume, that helmettis here is meant to indicate these officers, “distinguished by the helmet from the camp-followers placed under their command” (p. 140n1389), but this is not certain.↩back to note source

1570 wynne her shoon. This echoes Froissart’s famous claim that Edward III, upon hearing that his son, Edward of Woodstock (later called the Black Prince), was in danger at Crécy, told his men to “let the young man earn his spurs!” (Ed. Livingston and DeVries, Battle of Crécy, Item 81.540). This meant that the young Woodstock should be allowed to fight his way out of trouble himself, and so be deserving of spurs, which were heavily associated with knighthood and chivalry. When a knight was found to be treasonous his symbols were inverted or destroyed, including his spurs, which were chopped off.↩back to note source

1588–89 That olde . . . tary. Instructive writings commonly assert that those in power, often the recipients of such volumes, should listen to the wise counsel of others, to better assert the value of the text in question. This is in a similar vein to the claims that good leaders read books, as mentioned in the note to lines 89–92, above.↩back to note source

1612 if thin ooste is ace, and his is syis. The poet’s use of dice as an analogy cleverly relates both to the relative size of the armies — a single pip on a die (ace) being the smallest number possible and six pips being the largest — and to the likely outcome of battle between them. As noted in Chaucer’s Prologue to the Man of Law’s Tale, and likely alluded to in line 1619 here, higher numbers win in a typical game of chance (CT II[B1]124–25).↩back to note source

1633–41 The chivalers . . . in feithful diligence. See note to lines 572–78, above.↩back to note source

1664–70 Thus hardy hem . . . a fyne corage. Vegetius observes only that inexperienced men might think of flight on their first sight of battle. Perhaps with an eye toward reality, the poet accepts the likelihood that some of these men will indeed flee, and that they will need to be harshly rehabilitated back into the army.↩back to note source

1674–77 The traditour Judas . . . lyve and deye. As in lines 1170–73 (see note above), the poet uses Judas’s suicide as a symbol of the fate of traitors whose greed will defeat their own cause. While he is speaking here most directly to the general principles of instilling confusion in the enemy’s ranks via Rebellioun or ellis heresie (line 1676), the poet no doubt recognized the specific occasions of such confusion in his own time: the Yorkist rebellion and, to a lesser extent, the Lollard heresy.↩back to note source

1680 As hath be doon, it may be doon ayeyn. In the course of translating Vegetius’s principle of learning from the past, the poet is moved to paraphrase Ecclesiastes 1:9: “What is it that hath been? The same thing that shall be. What is it that hath been done? The same that shall be done.”↩back to note source

1682–83 In wynter colde, in somer dayis fayre / Is good to se. D&A, missing the poet’s analogy, posit the meaning “In winter, it is a good thing to experience cold weather, in summer — fine weather” (p. 149n1683). The lines instead refer to a human response to the passage of time, as in his example of the castle that falls into ruin from disuse and must be fixed (line 1681). Here, one should see in winter’s chill the inevitable fair sun of summer that will come again. More than that, one should prepare for that summer, since actions taken in good months will bring about survival through the bad months. So it is with war and peace, as he goes on to explain.↩back to note source

1678–84 Oon thinge . . . seyn the wise. D&A suggest that this stanza “interrupts the flow of the English poet’s thoughts” on “the effects of dissension as witnessed by himself in contemporary history” (p. 149 stanza 1678–1684). This is mistaken, likely due to D&A gravely misreading the source text in Vegetius. It is true that dissension was the topic of the preceding stanza of the poet’s translation (lines 1671–77), and that his contemporary reflections upon dissension will be the topic of the next stanza (lines 1685–91), but these two thoughts are properly bridged by this intervening stanza. Continuing his close translation of Vegetius, the overall goal of the entirety of his book is recalled: that what has been done in the past can be recreated in the present. Contrary to D&A, for Vegetius (and thus for our poet) these comments are not pertinent to only “the task of reducing an undisciplined soldiery to military discipline, this being the subject-matter of the chapter”; they are, rather, foundational to the reformative goals of the entirety of the work at hand. This stanza, then, is no interruption of the “poet’s thoughts,” but it is instead a continuation of the translation of Vegetius’s words, which serves to introduce the topic of the following stanza.↩back to note source

1687 oon bataile aftir the blasing sterre. Any of several comets from the period, including Halley’s comet in June 1456, could be meant. Regardless, D&A note that “the author’s sweeping assertion evidently disregarding all minor skirmishes, this . . . points to the Yorkist defeat” at Ludford Bridge on October 12, 1459 (pp. xx–xi), which is also referenced at lines 985–1026.↩back to note source

1688 hem that whirleth as the fane. That is, the Yorkists who, in the poet’s view, continually promise peace — as they had at the Loveday of 1458 — only to “turn with the wind” and return to rebellion and conflict.↩back to note source

1685–91 In Engelond . . . revyve and rise. The reflections Vegetius made upon his past and present are swapped out for the poet’s own. The idea that the English people in the 60 years prior to the First Battle of St. Alban’s on May 22, 1455 had seen no war is hyperbole that neglects bloody engagements at Bryn Glas (1402), Shrewsbury (1403), Bramham Moor (1408), Agincourt (1415), and Orléans (1428), to name only a few. At best, a scribal error has made XL into LX, followed in C and R (leaf missing in A), and the poet intended to say that English lands had not seen major conflicts in roughly 40 years.↩back to note source

1690–91 See note to line 431, above.↩back to note source

1692 the wepon bodeth peax. Proverbial; see Whiting W152.↩back to note source

1709 make us of this grete ernest a game. An interesting inversion on Chaucer’s warning that “men shal nat maken ernest of game” in the Prologue to the Miller’s Tale (CT I[A]3186).↩back to note source

1706–12 Here is . . . us recommende. This stanza is meant to mimic the commonly employed pre-battle sermons. One of the more famous examples of these is that given before the Battle of Agincourt (1415), which is found in the contemporary Gesta Henrici Quinti (Ed. and trans. F. Taylor and Roskell, pp. 78–79, 84–87). In these writings English piety is typically contrasted with the enemy’s overconfidence and revelry the night before battle, often to make a direct allusion to the first-century-BCE Roman writer Gaius Sallustius Crispus’s widely read De bello iugurthino (trans. Batstone, 98.6–99.1).↩back to note source

1734–40 It is . . . shal prevaile. D&A here propose that the poet has given “exactly the contrary” advice of Vegetius, who suggests that if the most experienced fighters are afraid the general should postpone the fight: “This divergence reveals a fundamental difference in the attitude of the two writers. With Veg., the clear-headed, unemotional expert, it is a question of trusting the experience of soldiers, with the contemporary of feudalism, whose head is crammed with untechnical notions of chivalry and piety, it is a question of trusting the courage of ‘knights’” (p. 151n1738). This reading is highly suspect. One, Vegetius is hardly as rationally objective as they claim. Two, the notion of “experience” is equally (if not greater) as “untechnical” as “chivalry and piety.” Three, there is no “divergence” between the two writers, as their advice is the same: a leader should understand the fere or confidence (line 1736) of the men who are to fight. Veteran men who are fearful of the fight, as Vegetius recommends, ought not to be trusted to perform well in it. Likewise untrustworthy are inexperienced men who are over-boastful about the fight.↩back to note source

1748–49 The first sight . . . in fight. Once again, D&A wrongly condemn the poet for differing “from Veg. in a characteristic way. For Veg. says that all men experience terror when a battle approaches. The English priest [i.e., the poet], and admirer of feudal chivalry, restricts this statement to those ‘that neuer were in fight’” (p. 151n1748 f.). However, the poet says only that the inexperienced men are likely to be the ferdfullest: for these to be the “most fearful” requires that other men, in accordance with Vegetius, be fearful, too.↩back to note source

1790–91 This ege in dayis olde a principaunt / Of wurthi men, as princys, had his name. The poet somewhat mis-renders Vegetius here, who speaks of the first line being made up of the most experienced men, who were thereby called the principes.↩back to note source

1803 DC. D&A follow MS in printing CC (wrongly implying all MSS follow this reading), but C, R, presumably A (R is copied from it), and Vegetius (as well as simple mathematics) shows that this is an early scribal error for DC, rendering the number of infantrymen as 1,666 instead of 1,266. The poet gets the number correct in line 1870.↩back to note source

1821 Until thei yeve her coors to seyntewary. D&A inexplicably suggest this to mean “surrender,” which is noted as being “not in Veg.” (p. 154n1821). MED seintuarie, sense 3b, follows suit, citing this line. This would require a rather cumbersome reading in which the enemy will fight “until they give their bodies into the claim of immunity from arrest,” with the implicit understanding that this means immunity from being killed. To the contrary, MED seintuarie, sense 4a allows for a far more straight-forward sense that the enemy will fight to the death, “until they give their bodies to sanctuary (i.e., burial ground).”↩back to note source

1838 on hem reyse a smoke. Proverbial; see Whiting S413.↩back to note source

1839 foomen. It is possible, perhaps likely, that the scribe has here miscopied foomen for footmen: men on horse chase down the men on foot. The line is also readable, however, as it stands: the horsemen chase down the men who are their foes (see MED fo-man, n.). Given the consistency of the word across the surviving manuscripts, we have opted to let foomen stand.↩back to note source

1846–52 The fifthe cours . . . VIII or IXne. This fascinating passage on ranged artillery moves from the technical terms for specific Roman ballistic weapons to those for a range of contemporary artillery pieces. In doing so, it neatly summarizes the movement not just from ancient to medieval warfare, but also the remarkable impact of gunpowder weaponry. The carrobaliste (Latin: carroballista; line 1846) is usually understood to have been a cart-mounted ballista in the Roman army, although some scholars think it could mean a ballista that is transported by (but not shot from) a cart. The manubalistys (Latin: manuballistae; line 1847) were hand-carried ballistae, not unlike crossbows. The poet’s fundibulary refers to Roman staff-slingers (Latin: fundibulatores; line 1847), who used a staff sling (Latin: fustibalus) to hurl stones at the enemy. The funditours (line 1848), by contrast, used a more basic hand sling to do so. Much of this Roman war-machinery is in the poet’s opinion now unwiste (line 1848) with the advent of gunpower weaponry. The largest of this new artillery is the bombard (line 1849), which could fire stones of enormous sizes (5–10 tons was common). The serpentine (line 1850) was smaller (firing 500 lb. balls) and often found in naval usage. The even smaller veuglaire (fowler; line 1851) had a wide range of sizes, and it seems to have been differentiated from the crapadeau (line 1851) by the ratio of its length to its bore. The coulovrine (line 1851) would have been smaller still, and meant to be carried by hand. The poet’s covey (line 1851) is unidentified, but descriptions of the rest of the guns mentioned here can be found in R. Smith and DeVries’s Artillery of the Dukes of Burgundy, pp. 204–36. Interestingly, this appears to be the only reference to a crapaudeau in English, which may well point to the poet’s familiarity with Burgundian and other continental artilleries, a familiarity he no doubt would have gained from his time in Calais. These artillery pieces appear once again in lines 2854–67.↩back to note source

1853–54 that hadde as yet no sheeld / As bachelers. The shield was the traditional location to display one’s coat of arms. The poet here further explains that the knight bachelor was a knight who had yet to earn the right to fight under (or behind) his own banner by stating that he hadde as yet no sheelde. See also note to lines 292–93, above.↩back to note source

1859 In theym, as in the thridde, al to repayre is. The poet’s sense is unclear, but it seems to be some attempt to render an etymology for the Latin term triarii.↩back to note source

1887 Untaught in Doctrinal or in Grecisme. The poet refers here to two widely read Latin grammars of the Middle Ages: Alexander of Villedieu’s Doctrinale puerum (written ca. 1200) and Eberhard of Béthune’s Graecismus (ca. 1212).↩back to note source

1926–34 if the boorys hed . . . as beforn. This remarkable image, not found in Vegetius, likens an attacking wedge of men to a boar’s head, just as the boar uses its pointed snout and tusks to dig around the tree-roots in a forest; the wedge uses its pointed formation and sharpened weapons to charge into a line of armed men. The proper leader will respond, the poet says, by reinforcing the line and thus cutting off the boar’s snout — the point of the attacking wedge — at its root.↩back to note source

1935 yawe. A “saw” is the formation that a reserve unit takes when part of the main line grows disorganized: the reserve unit rushes to the front and forms a temporary advanced line against the enemy, behind which the main line can reorganize.↩back to note source

1986–92 A clamour . . . not incredibil. There are countless descriptions of combatants yelling their battle cries, often the names of their leaders or their cause, right before clashing with their enemies. These reinforce the importance of identity to medieval warriors, also commonly expressed through heraldry.↩back to note source

1995–96 With myghti countynaunce, that is the mon / That mornynge is to have a ful fayr day. Vegetius emphasizes the benefits of being the first to draw up lines and attack, but this further comparison, original to the poet, shows the translator’s distinct flair for welding his personal knowledge to his task. Acting first in battle, he says, is like the moon that presages a fair day. This simile is, first, nautical in its background. A saying among sailors even today is that “A ring around the sun or moon means rain is coming soon” — that is, a halo around sun or moon is caused by light refracting through cirrostratus clouds, a strong indication that storm clouds are on the way — and, vice-versa, a clear moon at morning indicates a clear day. In addition, the simile is theological. God, according to the prophet Isaiah, will bring ultimate victory to the people of Zion: “there shall be upon every high mountain, and upon every elevated hill, rivers of running waters in the day of the slaughter of many, when the tower shall fall. And the light of the moon shall be as the light of the sun” (Isaias 30:25–26).

It is possible, too, that the poet has introduced a further level of word-play here, as the mon could refer to a moan and the mornynge could refer to mourning. Thus, attacking first induces the moan that causes mourning in the enemy host, a fair day for the attackers!

1999 palme of victory. Though Vegetius does not use the image here, the palm of victory is a classical symbol: victorious Roman leaders and fighters could be presented with them. For the poet, the image carries additional weight: during Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem, as described in John 12:13, believers “took branches of palm trees and went forth to meet him,” giving rise to the Christian tradition of Palm Sunday. In Apocalypse 7:9, these symbolisms are fused: those marked for salvation stand before the throne of God with “palms in their hands.”↩back to note source

2017 A legioun attaynte. During the 1459 Parliament, which was held in Coventry between November 20 and December 20, bills of attainder were passed against twenty-nine leading Yorkists.↩back to note source

2019–20 Her lord . . . his side. Lucifer has long been seen as a figure of pride in Christian thought, ultimately building out of Isaias 14:13–14.↩back to note source

2007–48 Here angelike valiaunce . . . in eyther horn. Perhaps inspired by the account of counter-actions in Vegetius, the poet digresses into a discussion that appears to juxtapose the celestial glory of King Henry VI and his army — recalling the poem’s opening stanzas — with the cursed nature of his Yorkist enemies.↩back to note source

2088 bak and breeste. By careful word choice, the poet manages to create an image that perhaps works in both the macrocosm and microcosm of combat. The direct meaning is that as the opposing formation is caught between battle-lines, each man in it suffers attacks to both his breast (MED brest [n.1], sense 2a) and back (MED bak [n.], sense 1a). At the same time, the larger formation itself might be said to be attacked from both front (MED brest [n.1], sense 6a) and rear (MED bak [n.], sense 9a).↩back to note source

2128 But fro behinde aboute is beste it brynge. D&A pronounce that the line “is not clear” and suggest that it means that the commander, having freed one wing of his army by fixing his position upon flanking terrain, ought to send the free wing to attack the enemy from the rear (p. 162n2128). While such a maneuver would be of clear advantage, it is not what the poet means to convey here. To the contrary, the poet is instead observing that the commander ought to move the free wing — the referent of it — behind his own established lines rather than moving it across their face. Following this advice would both minimize the enemy’s awareness of it and minimize any potential confusion in the commander’s own lines.↩back to note source

2140–60 Yet heer . . . of victory resoun. Vegetius writes about the advantages and dangers of ambush that exist whether an army is on the attack or in retreat. The poet, as D&A observe, “resolutely refuses to admit the possibility of ‘his’ side being forced to retreat at all,” and so greatly condenses Vegetius’s advice (pp. 162–63n2151–3) and reflects some extreme chivalric ideals in the later Middle Ages. See also note to lines 275–77, above.↩back to note source

2165–66 Al suffisaunce / Hath he that is content. Proverbial; see Whiting S867.↩back to note source

2166–67 Al may be born / Save wele. The poet’s advice here is difficult to discern. It is possible that he is hinting at something like the oft-repeated wisdom of Ecclesiastes 5:5 (see also Job 1:21, Psalm 49:17, 1 Timothy 6:7) that riches cannot be carried into the next life. Alternatively, the poet is commenting on the need to focus on winning the encounter before engaging in the division of loot or the taking of prisoners for profit.↩back to note source

2167 scorned is that useth scorn. Proverbial; see Whiting S92.↩back to note source

2168–69 Thi disavaile availe is to thi foo, / His hurt availeth thee. Though the poet here has returned to his source, the maxim is essentially proverbial; see Whiting H653.↩back to note source

2177 Lerne of thi self disgised. D&A suggest that the sense is to “learn of your own will, keeping your intentions secret” (p. 163n2177). Another possibility is that the sense is to “learn from questioning yourself.”↩back to note source