A Briefe Treatise Touchyng on the Corrupcioun of Chaös

A Briefe Treatise touchyng on the Corrupcioun of Chaös

Wrytten by L. Mertzig, Scrybe of Schwanzfurt, Anno 2505 After Sigmar

 

Harke, good Sirs, and marke my sorowfull song,
For Chaös creepeth when the night groweth longe.
It stealeth softlie, as a serpent under brake,
And soyl’d be all thinges that honest men do make.

 

First falleth Vermin’s blight upon the ploughman’s field,
The kyne waxe leane, their milke to nought conceal’d;
Trees turn darke, as yf scorch’d by hell-fyre’s brethe,
And chyldren starte from sleep as ones half-touche’d by deathe.

 

Men once of courage, stedfast in their way,
Fall now to mumbling woordes they dare not saye;
Their dreames be fill’d with sinfull shapes unblessed of light,
That whisper’d in their eares foule secrets in the night.

 

One fellow of mine, a man both stout & true,
(I sorrow yet to sett his tale in viewe)
I saw his flesh wax pale and sicklye blew;
His eyen burnt with a wyld & balefull gleame,
I sweare no parte of hym remain’d but Chaös’ dreame.

O Sigmar strong, defende us in this our houre,
For Ruin seeks still our soules to devour;
Fayre thinges turn foule, the righteous brought to woe,
And all we wrought to dust & shadow doth go.

Yet still it spreadeth, hung’ring to command,
Throughe hearth & halle, through forest, forge, and lond;
What sad strength may holde save fayth & holy flame,
’Gainst Chaös’ touch, which seeketh our souls to claime?