An preost wes on leoden; La3amon wes ihoten.
he wes Leouenaðes sone; liðe him beo Drihten.
He wonede at Ernle3e; at æðelen are chirechen.
vppen Seuarne staþe; sel þar him þuhte.
on-fest Radestone; þer he bock radde.
Hit com him on mode; & on his mern þonke.
þet he wolde of Engle; þa æðelæn tellen.
wat heo ihoten weoren; & wonene heo comen.
þa Englene londe; ærest ahten.
æfter þan flode; þe from Drihtene com.
þe al her a-quelde; quic þat he funde.
buten Noe.& Sem; Iaphet & Cham.
& heore four wiues; þe mid heom weren on archen.
La3amon gon liðen; wide 3ond þas leode.
& bi-won þa æðela boc; þa he to bisne nom.
He nom þa Englisca boc; þa makede Seint Beda.
An-oþer he nom on Latin; þe makede Seinte Albin.
& þe feire Austin; pe fulluht broute hider in.
Boc he nom þe þridde; leide þer amidden.
þa makede a Frenchis clerc;
Wace wes ihoten; þe wel couþe writen.
& he hoe 3ef þare æðelen; Ælienor
þe wes Henries quene; þes he3es kinges.
La3amon leide þeos boc; & þa leaf wende.
he heom leofliche bi-heold. liþe him beo Drihten.
Feþeren he nom mid fingren; & fiede on boc-felle.
& þa soþere word; sette to-gadere.
& þa þre boc; þrumde to are.
(Vv. 1-28)

Layamon's Brut

Ich em nu elder þene ich wes, a wintre ent a lore,
Ich  welde mare þene ich dede, mot wit ahte bon mare.
Wel longe ich habbe child i-bon a worde ent a dede,
Þah ich bo wintre ald, to 3ung ich em on rede.
Unnet lif ich habbe i-led ent 3et , me þingþ, I lede;
Þenne ich me biþenche wel, ful sare ich me adrede.
Mest al þet ich habbe i-don bifealt to childhade;
Wel late ich habbe me biþocht; bute God me nu rede!
Fol idel word ich habbe i-queðen, soððen ich speke kuðe,
Fole 3ung dede i-don, þe me of þinchet nuðe.
Mest al þet me likede er, nu hit me mislikeð;
Þa muchel fulieð his wil, hinesolf he biswikeð.
Ich mihte habbe bet i-don, hefde ich þen i-selðe;
Nu ich walde, ah ich ne mei, for elde ent for unhelðe.
Elde me bestolen on, er ich hit wiste;
Ne michte ich seon bifore me for smike ne for miste.
Er3e we beoð to done god, ent to ufele al to þriste;
Mare eie stondeð men of monne þanne hom do of Criste.
Þe wel ne doð, þe hwile þe ho mu3en, wel oft hit schal rowen.
Þenne ho mawen sculen ent repen þet ho er sowen.
Do he to Gode þet he mu3e, þe hwile þet he bo alive.
Ne lipnie namon to muchel to childe ne to wive;
Þe himsolve for3et for wive ne for childe,
Þe himsolve for3et for wive ne for childe,
Ne scal cumen in uvel stude, bute him God bo milde.
Vv. 1-25

Poema Morale

Wynnere and Wastoure

I hatt Wynnere, a wy that alle this werlde helpis
For I lordes cane lere thurgh ledyng of witt.
Thoo at spedfully will spare and spende not to grete,
Lyve appon littill-whattes I lufe hym the bettir.
Witt wiendes me with and wysses me faire,
Aye when gadir my gudes  than glades myn hert
Bot this felle false thefe at byfore owe standes
Thynkes to strike or he styntt and stroye me for euer.
Alle at I wynn thurgh witt he wastes thurgh pryde.
I gedir, I glene and he lattys goo sone,
I pryke and I pryne  and he the purse opynes.
(Vv. 222-232)

The Vision of Piers Plowman

In a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne,
I shoop me into shroudes as I a sheep were,
In habite as an heremite unholy of werkes,
Wente wide in this world wondres to here.
Ac on a May morwenynge on Malverne hilles
Me bifel a ferly, of Fairye me thoghte.
I was wery [of]wandred and wente me to reste
Under a brood bank by a bournes syde;
And as I lay and lenede and loked on the watres,
I slombred into a slepyng, it sweyed so murye.
Thanne gan [me] to meten a merveillous swevene
That I was in a wildernesse, wiste I nevere where.
As I biheeld into the eest an heigh to the sonne,
I seigh a tour on a toft trieliche ymaked,
a deep dale bynethe, a dongeon therinne,
With depe diches and derke and dredfulle of sighte.
A fair feeld full of folk fond I ther bitwene -
Of alle manere of men, the meene and the riche,
Werchynge and wandrynge as the world asketh.
The B-Text
(The Prologue, Vv. 1-19)

Pearl

Perle plesaunte, to prynces paye
To clanly clos in golde so clere:
Oute of oryent, I hardyly saye,
Ne proued I neuer her precios pere.
So rounde, so reken in vche araye,
So smal, so smoþe her sydez were;
Queresoeuer I jugged gemmez gaye
I sette hyr sengeley in singlure.
Allas! I leste hyr in on erbere;
Þurh gresse to grounde hit fro me yot.
I dewyne, fordolked of luf-daungere,
Of þat pryuy perle wythouten spot.
(Vv. 1-12)

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Here beginnes Morte Arthure.
In Nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.
Amen pur Charite. Amen.

       Now grete glorious God through grace of Himselven
       And the precious prayer  of his pris Moder
       Sheld us fro shamesdeede and sinful workes
       And give us grace to guie  and govern us here
In this wretched world,  through virtuous living
       That we may kaire til his court, the kingdom of heve
       When our soules shall part and sunder fro the body
       Ever to beld and to bide in bliss with Himselven;
       And wisse me to warp out some word at this time
That nother void be ne vain  but worship til Himselven
       Plesand and profitable to the pople that them heres.

         Ye that lust has to lithe  or loves for to here
       Of elders of olde time and of their awke deedes,
       How they were lele in their law  and loved God Almighty
Herkenes me hendely  and holdes you stille,
       And I shall tell you a tale  that trew is and noble
       Of the real renkes of the Round Table
       That chef were of chivalry and cheftains noble
       Both wary in their workes  and wise men of armes,
Doughty in their doings  and dredde ay shame,
       Kind men and courtais  and couth of court thewes,
       How they won with war  worshippes many,
       Slogh Lucius the lithere that lord was of Rome,
       And conquered that kingrik through craftes of armes;
Herkenes now hiderward and heres this story!
 

The Alliterative Morte Arthure