 | Guy of Warwick |  |
44
Now herken, & ȝe may hereIn gest, ȝif ȝe wil listen & lere,
Hou Gij as pilgrim ȝede.
He welke about wiþ glad chere
Þurch mani londes fer & nere,
Þer god him wald spede.
First he went to Jerusalem,
& seþþen he went to Bedlem
Þurch mani an vncouþe þede.
Ȝete he biþouȝt him seþþen þo
For to sechen halwen mo,
To winne him heuen mede.
45
Þo he went his pilgrimageToward þe court of Antiage,
Bi þis half þat cite
He mett a man of fair parage:
Y-comen he was of heyȝe linage,
& of kin fair & fre.
Michel he was of bodi y-piȝt,
A man he semed of michel miȝt
& of gret bounte,
Wiþ white-hore heued & berd y-blowe,
As white as ani driuen snowe:
Gret sorwe þan made he.
46
So gret sorwe þer he made,Sir Gij of him rewþe hade.
He gan to wepe so sare,
418
& curssed þe time þat he was bore:
Wel diolful was his fare.
More sorwe made neuer man.
Gij stode & loked on him þan,
& hadde of him gret care.
He seyd, ‘allas & walewo!
Al mi joie it is ago.
Of blis icham al bare.’
47
‘Gode man, what artow,’ seyd Gij,‘Þat makest þus þis reweful cri
& þus sorweful mone?
Meþenke, for þe icham sori,
For þat þine hert is þus drery,
Þi ioie is fro þe gon.
Telle me þe soþe, y pray þe
For godes loue in trinite,
Þat þis world haþ in won;
For Iesu is of so michel miȝt,
He may make þine hert liȝt,
& þou no[s]t neuer hou son.’
48
‘Gode man,’ seyd þe pilgrim,‘Þou hast me frained bi god þin
To telle þe of mi fare,
And alle þe soþ wiþ-outen les
Ichil þe telle, hou it wes,
Of blis hou icham bare.
So michel sorwe is on me steke,
Þat min hert it wil to-breke
Wiþ sorwe & sikeing sare.
Forlorn ich haue al mi blis:
Y no schal neuer haue joie, y-wis.
In erþe y wald y ware.
420
49
A man y was of state sum stounde,& holden a lord of gret mounde,
& erl of al Durras.
Fair sones ich hadde fiftene,
& alle were kniȝtes stout & kene.
Men cleped me þerl Ionas.
Y trowe in þis warld is man non,
Y-wis, þat is so wo-bi-gon,
Seþþen þe world made was;
For alle min sones ich haue forlorn:
Better berns were non born.
Þerfore y sing, “allas!”
50
For bliþe worþ y neuer more:Alle mi sones ich haue forlore
Þurch a batayl vnride,
Þurch Sarrazins þat fel wore:
To Ierusalem þai com ful ȝore
To rob & reue wiþ pride,
& we toke our ost anon,
Oȝaines hem we gun gon,
Bateyl of hem to abide.
Þe acountre of hem was so strong,
Þat mani dyed þer-among,
Or we wald rest þat tide.
51
Þurch mi fiftene soneWere þe geauntes ouer-come,
& driuen doun to grounde.
Fiftene amirals þer wer nome:
Þe king gan fle wiþ alle his trome
For drede of ous þat stounde.
Ich & mi sones, wiþouten lesing,
Out of þat lond we driuen þe king,
And his men ȝaf dedli wounde.
422
A lord he was of gret honour,
& man of michel mounde.
52
Þan dede we wel-gret foly:We suwed him wiþ maistrie
Into his owhen lond.
Into Alisaundre þai fleye owy:
Þe cuntre ros vp wiþ a cri,
To help her king anhond.
In a brom feld þer wer hidde
Þre hundred Sarrazins wele y-schridde
Wiþ helme & grimly brond.
Out of þat brom þai lepen anon,
& bilapped ous euer-ichon,
& drof ous alle to schond.
53
Þai hewen at ous wiþ michel hete,& we leyd on hem dintes grete,
& slouwen of her ferred.
& ar þat we were alle y-nome
Mani of hem were ouercome,
Ded wounded vnder wede.
Þai were to mani & we to fewe:
Al our armour þai to-hewe,
& stiked vnder ous our stede.
Ȝete we fouȝten afot long,
Til swerdes brosten þat were strong,
& þan ȝeld we ous for nede.
54
To þe king we ȝolden ous al & someÞat we miȝt to raunsom come,
To saue our liues ichon.
Into Alisaunder he ladde ous þo,
& into his prisoun dede ous do,
Was maked of lime & ston.
424
For hunger we wende our liues lete:
Wel wo was ous bigon.
So were we þer alle þat ȝer
Wiþ michel sorwe boþe y-fere,
Þat socour com ous non.
55
So it bifel þat riche SoudanMade a fest of mani a man,
Of þritti kinges bi tale.
King Triamour com to court þo,
& Fabour, his sone, dede also,
Wiþ kniȝtes mani & fale.
Þe þridde day of þat fest,
Þat was so riche & so honest,
So derlich diȝt in sale—
After þat fest, þat riche was,
Þer bifel a wonder cas,
Wher-þurch ros michel bale.
56
Þat riche Soudan hadde a soneÞat was y-hold a doughti gome:
Sadok was his name.
Þe kinges sone Fabour he cleped him to:
Into his chaumber þai gun go,
Þo knightes boþe y-same.
Sadok gan to Fabour sayn
Ȝif he wald ate ches playn,
& held oȝain him game;
& he answerd in gode maner
He wald play wiþ him y-fere,
Wiþ-outen ani blame.
57
Ate ches þai sett hem to playn,Þo hendy kniȝtes boþe tvayn,
Þat egre were of siȝt:
426
Wiþ strong wretþe þai gan to grame,
Þo gomes michel of miȝt.
Þurch a chek Fabour seyd, for soþ,
Sadok in hert wex wroþ,
& missayd him anon riȝt,
& clep[e]d him ‘fiz a putayn,’
& smot him wiþ miȝt and main,
Wher-þurch ros michel fiȝt.
58
Wiþ a roke he brac his heued þan,Þat þe blod biforn out span
In þat ich place.
‘Sadok,’ seyd þan Fabour,
‘Þou dost me gret deshonour
Þat þou me manace.
Nar þou mi lordes sone were,
Þou schuldest dye riȝt now here:
Schustow neuer hennes passe.’
Sadok stirt vp to Fabour,
& cleped him anon ‘vile traitour,’
& smot him in the face.
59
Wiþ his fest he smot him þore,Þat Fabour was agreued sore,
& stirt vp in þat stounde.
Þe cheker he hent vp fot hot,
And Sadok in þe heued he smot,
Þat he fel ded to grounde.
His fader sone he haþ y-teld
Þat he haþ the Soudan sone aqueld,
& ȝouen him deþes wounde.
428
Out of þe lond þai gun driue
For ferd þai were y-founde.
60
When it was þe Soudan teld,Þat his sone was aqueld,
& brouȝt of his liif dawe,
On al maner he him biþouȝt
Hou þat he him wreke mouȝt
Þurch iugement of lawe.
After þe king he sent an heyȝe,
To defende him of þat felonie,
Þat he his sone haþ y-slawe;
& bot he wald com anon
Wiþ strengþe he schuld on him gon,
Wiþ wilde hors don him drawe.
61
King Triamour com to court þo,& Fabour, his sone, dede also,
To þe Soudans parlement.
When þai bi-forn him comen beþ
Þai were adouted of her deþ:
Her liues þai wende haue spent;
For þe Soudan cleped hem fot hot,
& his sones deþ hem atwot,
& seyd þai were alle schent.
430
In strong perile he schuld hem diȝt
And to her iugement.
62
Þan dede he com forþ a Sarrazine,Haue he Cristes curs & mine
Wiþ boke & eke wiþ belle.
Out of Egypt he was y-come,
Michel & griselich was þat gome
Wiþ ani god man to duelle.
He is so michel & vnrede,
Of his siȝt a man may drede,
Wiþ tong as y þe telle.
As blac he is as brodes brend:
He semes as it were a fende,
Þat comen were out of helle.
63
For he is so michel of bodi y-piȝt,Oȝains him tvelue men haue no miȝt,
Ben þai neuer so strong;
For he is four fot, sikerly,
More þan ani man stont him bi:
So wonderliche he is long.
Ȝif king Triamour þat þer was
Miȝt fenden him in playn place
Of þat michel wrong,
Þan is þat vile glotoun
Made þe Soudans champioun,
Batayl of him to fong.
64
King Triamour answerd þanTo þat riche Soudan
In þat ich stounde
Þat he wald defende him wele y-nouȝ
Þat he neuer his sone slouȝ,
No ȝaf him dedli wounde.
432
(Þer durst no man fiȝt wiþ him:
So grille he was on grounde),
Þan asked he respite til a day,
To finde anoþer ȝif he may
Oȝaines him durst founde.
65
Þan hadde he respite al þat ȝere& fourti days: so was þe maner
Þurch lawe was þan in lond,
Ȝif him seluen durst nouȝt fiȝt
Finde anoþer ȝif he miȝt
Oȝaines him durst stond.
Þe king as swiþe hom is went,
Ouer alle his lond anon he sent
After erl, baroun, and bond,
& asked ȝif ani wer so bold:
Þriddendel his lond haue he schold
Þe batayl durst take an hond.
66
Ac for nouȝt þat he hot miȝtÞer was non durst take þe fiȝt
Wiþ þe geaunt for his sake.
Þan was ich out of prisoun nome,
Biforn him he dede me come,
Conseyl of me to take,
And asked me at worde fewe
Ȝif y wist oþer y-knewe
A man so miȝti of strake
Þat for him durst take þe fiȝt:
Were he buriays oþer kniȝt,
Riche prince he wald him make.
67
& ȝif y miȝt ani fendeHe wald make me riche & al mi kende,
& ȝif me gret honour,
434
To helden þriddendel his lond
Wiþ cite, toun, & tour.
Ac ichim answerd þan
In alle þis warld was þer [no] man
To fiȝt wiþ þat traitour,
Bot ȝif it Gij of Warwike were,
Or Herhaud of Ardern, his fere:
‘In warld þai bere þe flour.’
68
When þe king herd þoÞat y spac of þo kniȝtes to,
Ful bliþe he was of chere.
He kist me, so glad he was.
‘Merci,’ he seyd, ‘erl Ionas!
Þou art me leue & dere.
Ȝif ich hadde here sir Gij,
Or Herhaud, þat is so hardi,
Of þe maistri siker y were.
& þou miȝtest bring me her on,
Þe & thine sones y schal lete gon
Fram prisoun quite & skere.’
69
Bi mi lay he dede me swereÞat y schuld trewelich bode bere
To þo kniȝtes so hende,
& seyd to me as swiþe anon
Wiþ michel sorwe he schuld me slon
Bot ichem miȝt fende,
436
& ichim graunt in þat þrawe,
To bring hem out of bende.
Out of þis lond y went þo
Wiþ michel care & michel wo:
Y nist wider to wende.
70
Y souȝt hem into the lond of Coyne,Into Calaber, & into Sessoyne,
& fro þennes into Almayne,
In Tuskan & in Lombardye,
In Fraunce & in Normondye,
Into þe lond of Speyne,
In Braban, in Poil, & in Bars
& in-to kinges lond of Tars,
& þurch al Aquitayne,
In Cisil, in Hungri, & in Ragoun,
In Romayne, Borgoine, & Gascoine,
& þurch-out al Breteyne.
71
& into Inglond wenden y gan,& asked þer mani a man,
Boþe ȝong & old,
& in Warwike þat cite,
Þer he was lord of þat cuntre,
For to hauen in wold;
Ac y no fond non lite no miche
Þat couþe telle me sikerliche
Of þo to kniȝtes bold,
Wher y schold Gij no Herhaud fende
In no lond fer no hende:
Þerfore min hert is cold.
438
72
For ich haue þe king mi trewþe y-pliȝtÞat y schal bring Gij now riȝt
Ȝif ich oliues be.
& ȝiue y bring him nouȝt anon
Wele ich wot he wil me slon:
Þer-fore wel wo is me.
& min sones he schal don hong,
& to-drawe wiþ michel wrong,
Þo kniȝtes hende & fre.
& ȝif þai dye gret harm it is.
For hem ich haue swiche sorwe, y-wis;
Mine hert wil breken on þre.’
| Guy of Warwick | |