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Epilogus

Epilogue

The History of King Sweyn Estridsson and His Sons and of the Martyrdom of King Canute the Holy

These things I, Ælnoth, the least of priests — born in the land of the English but long a pilgrim in the regions of Denmark — have written for you, most noble king and precious martyr. I have composed an account of your struggles to hand down the conflicts of your trials to the memory of future generations; and though I, like a poor painter, may have depicted a beautiful man imperfectly, I have nonetheless raised a monument more lasting than bronze — one that neither the force of waves nor devouring fire shall destroy, but which will endure until the end of all things and preserve the memory of your praise through the ages.

Come then to my aid in my misfortune through your prayers before Jesus; have mercy on my afflictions, relieve the miseries of my distress, support my weakness, and lighten my frailty. Enveloped in the thick darkness of my sins, enlighten me with the splendor of your virtues. Lift me up as I sink beneath the burden of my offenses; raise me when crushed by the weight of my sins. Like the wounded man left half-dead by the robbers of the Gospel, admit me to the help of mercy; heal the wounds of my scars with the balm of your intercession, cleanse the rot of my vices, and lead me into the shelter of divine reconciliation.

So may I, even if only for a little while, be admitted into the eternal dwellings to behold you among your companions and at least stand at the threshold of the kingdom. And since I, dark and impure, have dared to speak of what is bright and holy, pardon the boldness of my tongue and forgive my audacious lips. Reconcile all the faithful to the Word by whom all things were made, whose majestic power does not cease forever.

To him, with the Father and the co-eternal Spirit, be blessing, honor, praise, and thanksgiving, now and for all ages.

Amen.