Book 12
Sum made the altars smoke, and sum the brydale carrolls soong.
210
Anon commes in the mayden bryde, a goodly wench of face,
With wyves and maydens following her with comly gate and grace.
Wee sayd that sir Pirithous was happy in his wyfe:
Which handsell had deceyved us wellneere through soodeine stryfe.
For of the cruell Centawres thou most cruell Ewryt, tho
Like as thy stomacke was with wyne farre over charged: so
As soone as thou behilldst the bryde, thy hart began to frayne,
And doubled with thy droonkennesse thy raging lust did reigne.
The feast was troubled by and by with tables overthrowen.
The bryde was hayled by the head, so farre was furye growen.
Feerce Ewryt caught Hippodame, and every of the rest
Caught such as commed next to hand, or such as likte him best.
It was the lively image of a Citie tane by foes.
The house did ring of womens shreekes. We all up quickly rose.
And first sayd Theseus thus: What aylst? art mad, O Ewrytus?
That darest (seeing mee alive) misuse Pirithous?
Not knowing that in one thou doost abuse us both? And least
He myght have seemd to speake in vayne, he thrust way such as preast
About the bryde, and tooke her from them freating sore thereat.
No answere made him Ewrytus: (for such a deede as that
Defended could not bee with woordes) but with his sawcye fist
He flew at gentle Theseus face, and bobd him on the brist.
By chaunce hard by, an auncient cuppe of image woork did stand,
Which being huge, himself more huge sir Theseus tooke in hand,
And threw't at Ewryts head. He spewd as well at mouth as wound
Mixt cloddes of blood, and brayne and wyne, and on the soyled ground
Lay sprawling bolt upryght. The death of him did set the rest,
His dowblelimbed brothers, so on fyre, that all the quest
With one voyce cryed out, Kill, kill. The wyne had given them hart.
Theyr first encounter was with cuppes and cannes throwen overthwart,
And brittle tankerds, and with boawles, pannes, dishes, potts, and trayes,
Things serving late for meate and drinke, and then for bluddy frayes.
First Amycus, Ophions sonne, without remorse began
To reeve and rob the brydehouse of his furniture. He ran
And pulled downe a Lampbeame full of lyghtes, and lifting it
Aloft like one that with an Ax dooth fetch his blowe to slit
An Oxis necke in sacrifyse, he on the forehead hit
A Lapith named Celadon, and crusshed so his bones
That none could know him by the face: both eyes flew out at ones.
