Sir Tristrem :: :: University of Virginia Library

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Beliagog com þat tide
And asked wat he is.
“An hunting þer y ride,
Tristrem ich hat, y wis.”
“O! þou slouȝ moraunt wiþ pride.
Tristrem artow þis?
And seþþen vrgan vnride—
Vnkinde were ous to kis
As kenne:
Mendi þou most þat mis,
Now þou mi lond art inne.”

“Y slouȝ vrgan, y þe telle.
So hope y þe to sla.
Þis forest wil y felle
And castel wil y ma;
Her is miri to duelle,
For þi þis lond y ta.”
Þe geaunt herd þat spelle,
For þi him was ful wa
Vn wise.
So bitven hem tva
Þe cuntek gan arise.

Dartes wel vn ride
Beliagog set gan.
Tristremes liif þat tide
Ferly neiȝe he wan.
Bitvene þe hauberk and side
Þe dart þurch out ran.
Tristrem bleynt bi side,
God he þonked þan
Almiȝt.
Tristrem, as aman
Fast he gan to fiȝt.

Beliagog þe bold,
As afende he fauȝt;
Tristrem liif neiȝe he sold,
As tomas haþ ous tauȝt;
Tristrem smot, as god wold,
His fot of at adrauȝt;
Adoun he fel y fold,
Þat man of michel mauȝt,
And cride:
“Tristrem, be we sauȝt,
And haue min londes wide.

Ouer comen hastow me
In bataile and in fiȝt.
Helden oȝaines þe

No wil y neuer wiþ riȝt.”
His tresour lete he se
Tristrem, þe noble kniȝt.
Tristrem knewe him fre;
Beliagog in hiȝt,
Nouȝt lain,
An halle to maken him briȝt
To ysonde and bringwain.

Þe geaunt him gan lede
Til he fond an hald;
Þe water about ȝede,
It was his eldren hald.
Þe geaunt bad tristrem belde
Wiþ masouns þat were bald.
Beliagog in þat nede
Fond him riche wald
To fine:
Ysonde haue þere he wald
Luffsum vnder line.

Þe geaunt him tauȝt þat tide
A ford þer it was ȝare,
Þere he miȝt wele ride
When his wille ware.
In þe hold he gan him hide,
Seyd he nouȝt he was þare;
Nold he nouȝt long abide,
Oȝain þo gan he fare,
Þat fre.
At þe castel forþer mare
His werkmen wald he se.

Oȝain went tristrem þan,
Beliagog had masouns souȝt.
Tristrem, þat michel can,
A werk hem haþ y brouȝt;
Nas þer neuer ȝete man
Þat wist what oþer wrouȝt;

Arere when þai bi gan,
Swiche awerk nas nouȝt
At nede;
Þei al men hadde it þouȝt,
It nas to large no gnede.

At his des in þe halle
Swete ysonde was wrouȝt;
Hodain and pencru, to calle;
Þe drink hou brengwain brouȝt;
Mark y clad in palle
And meriadok ful of þouȝt;
— So liifliche weren þai alle
Ymages semed it nouȝt,
To abide —
And tristrem, hou he fauȝt
Wiþ beliagog vnride.
So it bifel acas
In seyn matheus toun
Þat afair fest was
Of lordes of renoun.
A baroun, þat hiȝt bonifas,
Spoused aleuedi of lyoun.
Þer was miche solas
Of alle maner soun
And gle
Of minestrals vp and doun
Bifor þe folk so fre.

Þe riche douke florentin
To þat fest gan fare,
And his sone ganhardin,
Wiþ hem rode ysonde þare.
Her hors apolk stap in,
Þe water her wat ay whare;
It was a ferly gin,
So heye vnder hir gare
It fleiȝe.

Þe leuedi louȝ ful smare,
And ganhardin it seiȝe.

Ganhardin, vn bliþe
His soster þo cald he:
“Abide now, dame, and liþe.
What is þer tidde to þe?
Do now telle me swiþe,
Astow louest me,
Whi louȝ þou þat siþe.
For what þing may it be?
Wiþ outen oþ
Þi frendschip schal y fle,
Til y wite þat soþ.”

“Broþer, no wraþe þe nouȝt.
Þe soþe y wil þe say.
Mine hors þe water vp brouȝt
Of o polk in þe way.
So heiȝe it fleiȝe, me þouȝt,
Þat in mi sadel it lay.
Þer neuer man no souȝt
So neiȝe, for soþe to say,
In lede:
Broþer, wite þou ay
Þat y louȝ for þat dede.”

Quaþ ganhardin, “y finde
Þat schamely schent ar we;
To wiue on our kinde
Heþeliche holdeþ he.
Þer he gan treuþe binde,
Fain y wald it se;
For alle þe gold of ynde
Ybroken no schal it be
To bete.
His frende schip wil y fle;
Our on schal tine swete.”

Wroþ is ganhardin

And þat tristrem y ses;
What þouȝt he is in
Fast he askeþ, y wis:
“Þou hast bi ysonde lin,
While þi wille is.
Whi nas hye neuer þine?
Tristrem, tel me þis
In lede:
What haþ hye don amis?
What wites þou hir of dede?”

“Ȝif it hir wille ware,
For hole it miȝt haue be;
Sche haþ y told it ȝou ȝare,
Quite sche is of me.
Of hir kepe y namare,
A ȝift y ȝeue þe.
To a leuedi wil y fare,
Is fairer þan swiche þre,
To frain.”
Ganhardin longeþ to se
Þat leuedi, nauȝt to lain.

Ganhardin þe fest fles,
He bi com tristremes frende;
He seyd his liif he les,
Bot he wiþ tristrem wende;
Quaþ tristrem, “ȝif it so bes
In inglond þat we lende,
No say nouȝt what þou ses,
Bot hold, astow art hende
And hele:
Lay it al vnder hende,
To steuen ȝif þai it stele.”

Ganhardin his treuþe pliȝt,
To ben his broþer he bede,
To ben atrewe kniȝt
In al tristremes nede.

Boþe busked þat niȝt
To beliagog in lede.
Ganhardin seiȝe þat siȝt
And sore him gan adrede:
“To brink
To sle þou wilt me lede,
To beliagog, me þink.”

“Ganhardin, wrong haue þou alle.
Wel, whi seistow so?
Maugre on me falle
Ȝif y þe wold slo!
Þe geaunt is my þralle,
His liif þei y wil to.”
Tristrem þo gan him calle;
On astilt he com þo
Ful swiþe:
“Lord, þi wille to do
Þar to ar we blithe.”

“Beliagog, go þare
And loke it boun be;
Ganhardin and y wil fare
Þe leuedi for to se.”
Swiche castel fond he þare,
Was maked of ston and tre.
Ganhardin wist nou are,
Þer duelled tristrem and he,
To liþe,
Ysonde for to se
In halle briȝt and bliþe.

To ysonde briȝt so day
To halle gun þai go;
Ysonde þo seiȝe þai
And bringwain, boþe to,
Tristrem, for soþe to say,
And beliagog al blo.
As ganhardin stert oway,

His heued he brac þo,
As he fleiȝe.
Ganhardin was ful wo,
Þat he com ysonde so neiȝe.

Ganhardin schamed sore,
His heued ran on blod.
Ysonde he seiȝe þore
And brengwain fair and gode.
Brengwain þe coupe bore;
Him rewe þat frely fode,
He swore bi godes ore.
In her hond fast it stode
Al stille.
“Tristrem, we ar wode
To speken oȝain þi wille.

Nis it bot hert breke,
Þat swiþe wele finde we,
And foly ous to speke
Ani worde oȝaines þe.
Mi wille ȝif y miȝt gete,
Þat leuedi wold y se:
Mine hert hye haþ y steke,
Brengwain briȝt and fre,
Þat frende;
Bliþe no may ich be,
Til y se þat hende.”

Tristrem and ganhardin,
Treuþe pliȝten þay,
In wining and in tin
Trewe to ben ay,
In ioie and in pin,
In al þing, to say,
Til he wiþ brengwain haue lin,
Ȝif þat tristrem may,
In lede.
To inglond þai toke þe way,

Þo kniȝtes stiþe on stede.

Sir canados was þan
Constable, þe quen ful neiȝe;
For tristrem ysonde wan,
So weneþ he be ful sleiȝe
To make hir his leman
Wiþ broche and riche beiȝe.
For nouȝt þat he do can
Hir hert was euer heiȝe
To hold
Þat man hye neuer seiȝe
Þat bifor tristrem wold.

Tristrem made asong,
Þat song ysonde þe sleiȝe
And harped euer among;
Sir canados was neiȝe;
He seyd, “dame, þou hast wrong,
For soþe, who it seiȝe.
As oule and stormes strong,
So criestow on heye
In herd.
Þou louest tristrem dreiȝe,
To wrong þou art y lerd.

Tristrem, for þi sake
For soþe wiued haþ he.
Þis wil þe torn to wrake:
Of breteyne douke schal he be.
Oþer semblaunt þou make,
Þiseluen ȝif þou hir se:
Þi loue hir dede him take,
For hye hiȝt as do ȝe
In land:
Ysonde men calleþ þat fre,
Wiþ þe white hand.”

“Sir canados, þe waite.
Euer þou art mi fo.

Febli þou canst hayte,
Þere man schuld menske do.
Who wil lesinges layt,
Þarf him no ferþer go.
Falsly canestow fayt
Þat euer worþ þe wo.
For þi
Malisoun haue þou also
Of god and our leuedy!

A ȝift ich ȝiue þe:
Þi þrift mot þou tine!
Þat þou asked me,
No schal it neuer be þine.
Y hated al so þou be
Of alle þat drink wine!
Hennes ȝern þou fle
Out of siȝt mine
In lede.
Y pray to seyn katerine
Þat iuel mot þou spede.”

Þe quen was wratþed sore,
Wroþ to chaumber sche ȝede:
“Who may trowe man more,
Þan he haþ don þis dede?”
A palfray asked sche þere,
Þat wele was loued in lede;
Diȝt sche was ful ȝare,
Hir pauilouns wiþ hir þai lede
Ful fine.
Bifore was stef on stede
Tristrem and ganhardine.

Ful ner þe gat þai abade
Vnder afiger tre;
Þai seiȝe where ysonde rade
And bringwain, boþe seiȝe he
Wiþ tvo houndes mirie made,

Fairer miȝt non be.
Her blis was ful brade,
A tale told ysonde fre,
Þai duelle.
Tristrem þat herd he
And seyd þus in his spelle:

“Ganhardin, ride þou ay,
Mi ring of finger þou drawe,
Þou wende forþ in þi way
And gret hem al on rawe;
Her houndes praise þou ay,
Þi finger forþ þou schawe.
Þe quen, for soþe to say,
Þe ring wil sone knawe,
Þat fre.
Aski sche wil in plawe,
And say þou comest fro me.”

Þo rode ganhardin kene
And ouer takeþ hem now;
First he greteþ þe quen
And after brengwain, y trowe.
Þe kniȝt him self bi dene
Stroked þe hounde pencru;
Þe quen þe ring haþ sene
And knewe it wele ynouȝ,
Þat fre.
Hye seyd, “say me, hou
Com þis ring to þe?”

“He þat auȝt þis ring
To token sent it to þe.”
Þo seyd þat swete þing:
“Tristrem, þat is he!”
“Dame, wiþ outen lesing,
He sent it ȝou bi me.”
Sche sayd, “bi heuen king,
In longing haue we be,

Nauȝt lain:
Al niȝt duelle we,”
Seyd ysonde to bringwain.

Þai wende þe quen wald dye,
So sike sche was bi siȝt.
Þai sett pauilouns anheye
And duelled, clerk and kniȝt.
Ysonde bi held þat lye
Vndhr leues liȝt;
Tristrem hye þer seyȝe,
So dede brengwain þat niȝt
In feld.
Ganhardine treuþe pliȝt
Brengwain to wiue weld.

Tvo niȝt þer þai lye
In þat fair forest;
Canados hadde a spie,
Her pauilouns he tokest;
Þer come to canados crie
Þe cuntre est and west.
Gouernayl was for þi
Þer out, as it was best,
To abide.
He seyd tristrem prest,
“Now it were time to ride.”

Gouernayl, his man was he,
And ganhardine his kniȝt.
Armed kniȝtes þai se
To felle hem doun in fiȝt.
Gouernaile gan to fle,
He ran oway ful riȝt;
Þo folwed bond and fre
And lete þe loge vn liȝt
Þat tide.
Oway rode tristrem þat niȝt
And ganhardine biside.

Sir canados þe heiȝe,
He ladde þe quen oway;
Tristrem of loue so sleiȝe
No abade him nouȝt þat day.
Brengwain briȝt so beiȝe,
Wo was hir þo ay;
On canados sche gan crie
And made gret deray
And sede:
“Þis lond nis worþ anay,
When þou darst do swiche adede.”

Ganhardine gan fare
In to bretaine oway,
And tristrem duelled þare
To wite what men wald say;
Coppe and claper he bare
Til þe fiftenday,
As he amesel ware;
Vnder walles he lay,
To liþe;
So wo was ysonde, þat may,
Þat alle sche wald to wriþe.

Tristrem in sorwe lay,
For þi wald ysonde awede,
And brengwain þretned ay
To take hem in her dede.
Brengwain went oway,
To marke, þe king, sche ȝede
And redily gan to say
Hou þai faren in lede:
“Nouȝt lain,
Swiche kniȝt hastow to fede,
Þi schame he wald ful fain.

Sir king, take hede þer to:
Sir canados wil haue þi quen.
Bot þou depart hem to,

A schame þer worþ y sene.
Hye dredeþ of him so,
Þat wonder is to wene;
His wille forto do
Hye werneþ him bitvene
Ful sone.
Ȝete þai ben al clene;
Haue þai no dede y done.”

Marke, in al þing
Brengwain þanked he.
After him he sent an heiȝeing,
Fram court he dede him be.
“Þou deseruest for to hing,
Miseluen wele ich it se.”
So couþe brengwain bring
Canados for to fle,
Þat heiȝe.
Glad was ysonde þe fre
Þat bringwain couþe so liȝe.

Þan to hir seyd þe quen:
“Leue brengwain þe briȝt,
Þat art fair to sene.
Þou wost our wille bi siȝt.
Whare haþ tristrem bene?
Nis he no douhti kniȝt?
Þai leiȝen al bi dene
Þat sain he dar nouȝt fiȝt
Wiþ his fo.”
Brengwain bi held þat riȝt,
Tristrem to bour lete go.

Tristrem in bour is bliþe,
Wiþ ysonde playd he þare;
Brengwain badde he liþe:
“Who þer armes bare,
Ganhardin and þou þat siþe
Wiȝtly oway gun fare.”

Quaþ tristrem, “crieþ swiþe
A turnament ful ȝare
Wiþ miȝt:
Noiþer of ous nil spare
Erl, baroun no kniȝt.”