Sir Tristrem :: :: University of Virginia Library

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Gold þai ȝouen him þare,
Þe constori þai bi gan.
Swete ysonde sware
Sche was giltles woman:
“Bot on to schip me bare,
Þe kniȝtes seiȝe wele þan;
What so his wille ware,
Ferli neiȝe he wan,
Soþe þing;
So neiȝe com neuer man
Bot mi lord þe king.”

Swete ysonde haþ sworn
Hir clene, þat miri may;
To hir þai had y corn
Hot yren, y say.
Þe kniȝtes were bi forn,
For hir þo praiden þai.
Þe yren sche hadde y born,
Ac mark forȝaue þat day
And dede:
Meriadok held þai
For fole in his falshede.

Ysonde is graunted clene
Meriadok, maugre his;
Neuer er nas þe quen
So wele wiþ mark, y wis.
Tristrem, wiþ outen wene,

Into wales he is;
In bataile he haþ ben
And fast he fraines þis
Riȝt þare:
For he ne may ysonde kisse,
Fiȝt he souȝt ay whare.

In wales þo was aking
Þat hiȝt triamour,
He hadde adouhter ȝing,
Was hoten blauncheflour.
Vrgan wiþ gret wering
Biseged him in his tour
To winne þat swete þing
And bring hir to his bour
Wiþ fiȝt.
Tristrem wiþ gret honour
Bicom þe kinges kniȝt.

Vrgan gan wales held
Wiþ wrong, for soþe to say;
Oft and vnselde
Of triamour tok he pray.
Triamour to tristrem teld
Opon asomersday,
Wales he wald him ȝeld,
Ȝif he it winne may
Riȝt þan.
Tristrem, wiþ outen nay,
Wiþ were wales wan.

Tristrem mett vrgan
In þat feld to fiȝt;
To him seyd he þan
As adouhti kniȝt:
“Þou slouȝ mi broþer morgan
At þe mete ful riȝt.
As y am douhti man,
His deþ þou bist to niȝt,

Mi fo.”
Tristrem seyd: “apliȝt!
So kepe y þe to slo.”

Tvelue fete was þe wand
Þat vrgan wald wiþ play,
His strok may no man stand,
Ferly ȝif tristrem may!
Tristrem vantage fand,
His clobbe fel oway,
And of þe geauntes hand
Tristrem smot þat day
In lede;
Tristrem, for soþe to say,
Þe geaunt gert he blede.

Vrgan, al in tene,
Fauȝt wiþ his left hand
Oȝain tristrem kene;
A stern stroke he fand
Opon his helme so schene,
Þat to þe grounde he wand;
Bot vp he stirt bidene
And heried godes sand
Almiȝt;
Tristrem wiþ his brand
Fast gan to fiȝt.

Þe geaunt aroume he stode,
His hond he tint, y wis;
He fleiȝe as he were wode,
Þer þat þe castel is.
Tristrem trad in þe blod
And fond þe hond þat was his;
Oway sir tristrem ȝode.
Þe geaunt com wiþ þis
And souȝt
To hele his honde þat was his;
Salues hadde he brouȝt.

Vrgan, þe geaunt vnride,
After sir tristrem wan;
Þe cuntre fer and wide
Ygadred was bi þan;
Tristrem þouȝt þat tide:
“Y take þat me gode an.”
On abrigge he gan abide,
Biheld þer mani aman;
Þai mett:
Vrgan to tristrem ran,
And grimli þere þai gret.

Strokes of michel miȝt
Þai delten hem bi tvene,
Þat þurch her brinies briȝt
Her boþer blod was sene;
Tristrem fauȝt as akniȝt,
And vrgan, al in tene,
Ȝaf him astroke vnliȝt;
His scheld he clef bi tvene
A tvo;
Tristrem, wiþ outen wene,
Nas neuer are so wo.

Eft vrgan smot wiþ main
And of þat stroke he miste;
Tristrem smot ogayn
And þurch his body he þreste;
Vrgan lepe vnfain,
Ouer þe bregge he deste.
Tristrem haþ vrgan slain,
Þat alle þe cuntre wist
Wiþ wille;
Þe king þo tristrem kist
And wales þo ȝeld him tille.

Þe king, a welp he brouȝt
Bifor tristrem þe trewe;
What colour he was wrouȝt

Now ichil ȝou schewe.
Silke nas non so soft,
He was rede, grene and blewe.
Þai þat him seiȝen oft
Of him hadde gamen and glewe,
Y wis.
His name was peti crewe,
Of him was michel priis.

Þe king triamour
Ȝaf him tristrem þe hende,
For he brouȝt out of dolour
Him and al his kende
Tristrem wiþ gret honour
Kidde þat he was hende:
He ȝaf to blauncheflour
Wales wiþ outen end
Bidene,
And peticrowe he gan sende
To dame ysonde þe quene.

Ysonde, wiþ outen les,
Þo hye þe welp had sain,
Þat sche had made his pes
Sche sent word ogayn.
Mark herd hou it wes
Þat vrgan had he slain;
Messangers he ches
Tristrem for to frain,
Þat fre.
Mark was ferly fain,
And tristrem kist he.

Mark gan tristrem calle
And toke him al bidene
Cites, castels alle,
Steward as he hadde bene.
Who was bliþe in halle
Bot ysonde þe quene?

Hou so it schuld bi falle,
Þai playden ai bitvene,
Þo tvo;
So long of loue þai mene
Þat mark seiȝe it was so.

Mark seiȝe hou it is,
What loue was hem bitvene;
Certes, þis þouȝt was his,
Ful wele awreken to ben;
He cleped tristrem wiþ þis
And bi toke him þe quene,
And flemed hem boþe, y wis,
Out of his eiȝe sene
Away.
Bliþer, wiþ outen wene,
Neuer ere nar þay.

A forest fled þai tille,
Tristrem and ysonde þe schene.
No hadde þai no won to wille
Bot þe wode so grene.
Bi holtes and bi hille
Fore tristrem and þe quene;
Ysonde of ioie haþ her fille
And tristrem, wiþ outen wene,
As þare:
So bliþe al bi dene
Nar þai neuer are.

Tristrem and þat may
Wer flemed for her dede;
Hodain, soþ to say,
And peti crowe wiþ hem ȝede.
In on erþe hous þai lay,
Þo raches wiþ hem þai lede.
Tristrem hem tauȝt o day
Bestes to take at nede
An hast.

In þat forest fede
Tristrem hodain gan chast.

Tristrem wiþ hodain
A wilde best he slouȝ;
In on erþe house þai layn,
Þer hadde þai ioie y nouȝ.
Etenes bi old dayn
Had wrouȝt it, wiþ outen wouȝ.
Ich niȝt, soþ to sain,
Þer til þai boþe drouȝ
Wiþ miȝt.
Vnder wode bouȝ
Þai knewen day and niȝt.

In winter it was hate,
In somer it was cold;
Þai hadden adern gat,
Þat þai no man told.
No hadde þai no wines wat,
No ale þat was old,
No no gode mete þai at:
Þai hadden al þat þai wold
Wiþ wille.
For loue ich oþer bi halt,
Her non miȝt of oþer fille.

Tristrem on an hille stode,
As he biforn hadde mett;
He fond awele ful gode,
Al white it was, þe grete;
Þer to tristrem ȝode
And hende ysonde þe swete.
Þat was al her fode,
And wilde flesche þai ete
And gras:
Swiche ioie hadde þai neuer ȝete
Tvelmoneth þre woukes las.

Tristrem on aday

Tok hodain wel erly,
A best he tok to pray
Bi adern sty;
He diȝt it, wiþ outen nay,
And hom it brouȝt an heiȝe.
A slepe ysonde lay,
Tristrem him layd hir bi,
Þe quen.
His swerd he drouȝ titly
And laid it hem bi tvene.

An hert mark at ran
Opon þat ilke day;
His hunters after wan,
A paþ þo founden þai.
Tristrem seiȝen hye þan
And ysonde, soþe to say.
Seiȝe þai neuer swiche man
No non so fair a may
Wiþ siȝt;
Bitven hem þer lay
A drawen swerd wel briȝt.

Þe huntes wenten riȝt
And teld mark bi dene.
Þe leuedi and þe kniȝt
Boþe mark haþ sene;
He knewe hem wele bi siȝt,
Þe swerd lay hem bi tvene;
A sonne bem ful briȝt
Schon opon þe quen
At a bore
On her face so schene,
And mark rewed þer fore.

His gloue he put þer inne
Þe sonne to were oway,
Wreþe mark gan winne,
Þan seyd he, “wel ay!

Ȝif þai weren in sinne,
Nouȝt so þai no lay.
Lo hou þai liue atvinne!
Þai no hede nouȝt of swiche play,
Y wis.”
Þe kniȝtes seyden ay,
“For trewe loue it is.”

Þo waked tristrem þe trewe
And swete ysonde þe schene
Þe gloue o way þai drewe
And seyden hem bi tvene;
For markes þai it knewe,
Þai wist he had þer bene.
Þo was her ioie al newe,
Þat he hem hadde y sene
Wiþ siȝt;
Wiþ þat com kniȝtes kene
To feche þo to ful riȝt.

To court were comen þo to
Þat in þe forest were,
Mark kist ysonde þo
And tristrem trewe fere.
Forȝeuen hem was her wo,
No were þai neuer so dere.
Tristrem þe bailif gan to
Swiftly for to stere
A stounde.
Of loue who wil lere,
Listen now þe grounde.

So bi fel bi dene
Opon asomers day
Tristrem and þe quen
Stalked to her play.
Þe duerwe hem haþ sene,
To mark gan he say,
“Sir king, wiþ outen wene,

Þi wiif is now oway
And þi kniȝt:
Wende fast as þou may,
Of take hem, ȝif þou miȝt.”

Mark king after ran,
Þat þai boþe y se.
Tristrem seyd þan,
“Ysonde, schent er we.
For þouȝtes þat we can
For hole no may it be.”
Nas neuer so sori man,
Tristrem, þan was he,
Þat hende:
“For dout of deþ y fle,
In sorwe and wo y wende.

Y fle for dout of deþ,
Y dar no leng abide
In wo mi liif to lede
Bi þis forestes side.”
A ring ysonde him bede
To tokening at þat tide.
He fleiȝe forþ in gret drede
In wode him for to hide
Bidene;
To seken him fast þai ride,
Þai founden bot þe quene.

Tristrem is went oway,
As it nouȝt hadde y bene;
For þi þe kniȝtes gan say
Þat wrong markes had sen.
For her þan prayd þai
Þat mark for ȝaf þe quene.
Tristrem wiþ ysonde lay
Þat niȝt, wiþ outen wene,
And wok
And plaiden ay bitvene.

His leue of hir he tok.

Tristrem is went oway
Wiþ outen coming oȝain,
And sikeþ, for soþe to sain,
Wiþ sorwe and michel pain.
Tristrem fareþ ay
As man þat wald be slain,
Boþe niȝt and day,
Fiȝtes for to frain,
Þat fre;
Spaine he haþ þurch sayn,
Geauntes he slouȝ þre,

Out of spaine he rade
Rohande sones to se,
Gamen and ioie þai made,
Welcom to hem was he;
As lord he þer abade,
As gode skil wald be.
Þai boden him landes brade
Þat he wan hem fre.
He þouȝt;
He seyd, “þank haue ȝe.
Ȝour londes kepe y nouȝt.”

Into bretein he ches,
Bi come þe doukes kniȝt;
He set his lond in pes,
Þat arst was ful of fiȝt.
Al þat þe doukes wes
He wan oȝain wiþ riȝt.
He bede him, wiþ outen les,
His douhter þat was briȝt
In land.
Þat maiden ysonde hiȝt
Wiþ þe white hand.

Tristremes loue was strong
On swete ysonde þe quene;

Of ysonde he made a song,
Þat song ysonde bi dene.
Þe maiden wende al wrong
Of hir it hadde y bene.
Hir wening was so long,
To hir fader hye gan mene
For nede.
Ysonde wiþ hand schene
Tristrem to wiue þai bede.

Tristrem a wil is inne,
Has founden in his þouȝt:
“Mark, mi nem, haþ sinne,
Wrong he haþ wrouȝt;
Icham in sorwe and pine,
Þer to hye haþ me brouȝt.
Hir loue, y say, is mine,
Þe boke seyt it is nouȝt
Wiþ riȝt.”
Þe maiden more he souȝt,
For sche ysonde hiȝt.

Þat in his hert he fand,
And trewely þouȝt he ay;
Þe forward fast he band
Wiþ ysonde, þat may
Wiþ þe white hand,
He spoused þat day.
O niȝt, ich vnder stand,
To boure wenten þai
On bedde.
Tristrem ring fel oway,
As men to chaumber him ledde.

Tristrem bi held þat ring,
Þo was his hert ful wo:
“Oȝain me swiche aþing
Dede neuer ysonde so;
Mark, her lord, þe king,

Wiþ tresoun may hir to.
Mine hert may no man bring
For no þing hir fro,
Þat fre.
Ich haue tvinned ous to,
Þe wrong is al in me.”

Tristrem to bedde ȝede
Wiþ hert ful of care.
He seyd, “þe dern dede,
Do it y no dare.”
Þe maiden he for bede,
Ȝif it hir wille ware.
Þe maide answerd in lede,
“Þer of haue þou no care.
Al stille
Y nil desiri na mare
Bot at þine owen wille.”

Her fader on aday
Ȝaf hem londes wide
Fer in þat cuntray
Markes were set bi side.
Bitvene þe douke þai had ben ay
And a geaunt vn ride;
No most þer no man play,
Þat he no dede him abide
And fiȝt;
Lesen he schuld his pride,
Were he king or kniȝt.

“Tristrem, y þe for bede
For þe loue of me,
No hunte þou for no nede
Biȝond þe arm of þe se.
Beliagog is vn rede,
A stern geaunt is he;
Of him þou owest to drede,
Þou slouȝ his breþer þre

In fiȝt:
Vrgan and morgan vn fre
And moraunt, þe noble kniȝt.

Ȝif þine houndes an hare wele hayre
And comen oȝain to þe fre,
Al so be þou bonaire,
When his houndes comen to þe.”
Þe forest was wel faire
Wiþ mani aselly tre.
Tristrem þouȝt repaire,
Hou so it euer be,
To bide:
“Þat cuntre will y se,
What auentour so bi tide.”

Tristrem on huntinge rade,
An hert chaci bigan;
Þer þe merkes were made
His houndes, ouer þai ran;
Þe water was blalc and brade,
Tristrem com as aman;
Þer þe douke was fade
Fast he folwed þan,
Riȝt þare;
He blewe priis as he can
Þre mot oþer mare.