 | Guy of Warwick |  |
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Now herkeneþ a litel striif,Hou he saued þe pilgrims liif
Iesu, þat sitt in trone,
Wiþ a fischer þat was comand,
In þe se fische takeand
Bi himself al-on.
He seþ þat bed floter him by:
‘On godes half,’ he gan to cri,
‘What artow? say me son.’
Þe pilgrim his heued vp pliȝt,
& crid to him anon riȝt,
& made wel reweli mon.
199
‘Gode man,’ þan seyd he,‘Y leue on god in trinite:
Þe soþe þou schalt now sen.
Vnderstode þou ouȝt of þe batayl hard
Bitven þe pilgrim & sir Berard,
Hou þai fouȝten bitven?’
Þe fischer seyd, ‘y seiȝe þe fiȝt
Fro þe morwe to þe niȝt:
For noþing wald þai flen.
Þemperour comand þo
Þai schuld be kept boþe tvo,
Tomorwe bring hem oȝen.’
200
‘Icham,’ he seyd, ‘þe pilgrimÞat fauȝt wiþ þe douke Berardin
For Tirri, þe hendi kniȝt.
Ȝistreuen we wer deled ato;
In a chaumber y was do
Wiþ seriaunce wise & wiȝt:
Hou ich com her no wot y nouȝt.
For his loue þat þis warld haþ wrouȝt,
Saue me ȝif þou miȝt.’
Þe fischer tok him into his bot anon,
& to his hous he ladde him hom,
& saued his liif þat niȝt.
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201
Þemperour ros amorwe, y-wis,& at þe chirche he herd his messe
In þe first tide of þe day,
& into his halle he gan gon,
& after þe steward he axed anon
& þe pilgrim wiþ-outen delay.
Þe four barouns forȝat hem nouȝt,
Þe douke Berard þai han forþ brouȝt
Redy armed to play;
& þe pilgrims kepers com euerichon,
& seyd to þemperour, bi seyn Ion,
Þe pilgrim was oway.
202
Þemperour was wel wroþ:Bi his fader soule he swore his oþ,
Þai schuld ben hang & drawe.
‘For godes loue,’ he seyd, ‘merci!
Þis douke Berard of Paui
Haþ him brouȝt o dawe.’
Þemperour seyd, ‘bi seyn Martin,
Hastow don þis fals, Berardin,
To don þe pilgrim slawe?
Ȝeld him deþes or liues to me,
Or in mi court demp[t] þou schalt be
Þurch iugement of lawe.’
203
Þe douke Berard wex wroþ & wo;Þemperour he answerd þo
Wiþ wel michel hete:
‘Ichaue serued þe long, sir emperour,
552
& now þou ginnest me þrete.
Þerof ȝiue y nouȝt a chirston.
Hom to Lombardy ichil gon:
Wiþ alle þe ost y may gete
Y schal com in-to Almayn; for al þi tene
Of al þi lond, siker mot þou ben,
O fot y no schal þe lete.’
204
When þemperour herd þat,& of his þretening vnder-ȝat,
He bad wiþ wordes bold
Out of his court he schuld gon.
& he answerd sone anon
Þat sikerliche he nold.
Þer com þe fischer priueliche,
& puked þemperour softliche:
His tale to him he told.
‘Sir emperour,’ he seyd, ‘listen to me:
Of þe pilgrim ichil telle þe,
Ȝif þou me herken wold.’
205
‘Fischer,’ seyd þemperour fre,‘Of þe pilgrim telle þou me,
Ȝif þou þe soþe can sayn.’
‘For-soþe,’ he seyd, ‘y can ful wel:
Y schal þe leyȝen neuer a del;
Þerof icham ful fain.
Ȝistreuen, wiþ-outen lesing,
Y went to þe se of fischeing,
Mine nettes for to layn.
A bedde y fond þer floterand,
554
A man of michel mayn.
206
& ich him axed what he were:He told me þe soþe þere
Wiþ wordes fre & hende.
‘Icham,’ he seyd, ‘þe pilgrim
Þat fauȝt wiþ þe douke Berardin
Ȝisterday to þe nende.’
Y tok him into mi bot anon,
& to min hous y lad him hom,
& kept him as mi frende.
Ȝif þou leuest nouȝt he is þare,
Do sum seriaunt þider fare,
& þer ȝe may him fende.’
207
Þemperour sent after him þoWiþ þe fischer & other mo,
& brouȝt him, saunfayle.
Þai were don togider bliue
Wiþ hard strokes for to driue:
Þai gun hem to asayle.
Wel hard togider gun þai fiȝt:
Wiþ her brondes, þat wer briȝt,
Þai hewe hauberk of mayle.
Þus togider gun þai play,
Til it was þe heyȝe midday,
Wiþ wel strong batayle.
208
Þe douk Berard was egre of mode:He smot to Gij as he wer wode;
His liif he wende to winne.
He hit [him] on þe helm on hiȝt,
Þat alle þe floures feir & briȝt
He dede hem fleyȝe atvinne.
Þe nasel he carf atvo,
& þe venteyle he dede also
Riȝt to his bare chinne.
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Sir Gij was wroþ anon fot hot,& Berard on þe helme he smot:
To stond hadde he no space;
For boþe helmes he carf atvo,
& his heued he dede also
In midward of þe face.
Þurch al his bodi þe swerd bot
Into þe erþe wele half a fot,
Þat seiȝe men in þe place.
Þ[e s] oule went fro þe bodi þere:
Þ[e fol]k of þe cite wel glad were;
Þ[ai] þonked our lordes grace.
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210
Bifor þemperour þan com sir Gij:‘Ichaue wroken þerl Tirri
(Þe soþe þou miȝt now sen),
& defended him of þat felonie
Oȝain þe douke Berard of Paui,
Þat was so stout & ken.
Þerfore þe soþe ich ax þe,
Ȝif Tirri schal quitecleymed be,
& haue his lond oȝen.
& who so þer-oȝain wiþstond
He schal haue schame of min hond,
Wel siker may he ben.’
211
Þemperour seyd, ‘sikerly,Þou hast wroken þerl Tirri;
Gret honour þou hast him don.
Þerfore when he is come
His londes þan al & some
He schal haue euerichon.’
Þan was Gij glad & bliþe,
& kest of his armes also swiþe:
After him he thouȝt to gon.
Þemperour wald cloþe him in gold,
Ac, sikerliche, he seyd he nold:
His sclauain he axed anon.
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To toun he went in his wayTo finde Tirri ȝif he may
In sorwe & care ful bounde.
Into a chirche he him dede,
& fond him in a priue stede
Liand on knes to grounde.
‘Arise vp, Tirri,’ he seyd þo;
‘To court þou schalt wiþ me go,
Now ichaue þe founde.’
Tirri anon his heued vpbreyd,
& seyd, ‘pilgrim, hastow me treyd,
Allas þat ich stounde!
213
Allas, allas,’ þan seyd he,‘To what man may men trust be,
To chese to his make?
Þou þat semed so stedefast
To þemperour me wraied hast:
To sle me þou hast take.
In iuel time was it to me
Þat y mi name told to þe:
Allas þat ich sake!’
For sorwe þat he hadde þo
O word no miȝt he speke mo,
Bot stode & gan to quake.
214
‘Tirri,’ seyd Gij, ‘drede þe no-þing:Þou schalt to-day here gode tiding
Þurch grace of godes sond.
Þe schrewed douke Berard he is ded;
Under þe cite he is y-leyde:
Y slouȝ him wiþ min hond.’
Þo was Tirri glad & bliþe:
To court he went also swiþe;
For noþing wald he wond.
‘Sir emperour,’ seyd Gij anon,
‘Now is Tirri comen hom
To resceiue his lond.’
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Þemperour on him gan bihold,& seyd to him wiþ wordes bold,
‘Artow þerl Tirri?
Where is now þi bold chere
Þat whilom so douhti were,
& holden so hardi?’
‘Ȝa, sir,’ he seyd, ‘icham he.
Whilom y was of gret bounde,
& helden ful douhti;
& now ich haue al forlorn
Wiþ miche sorwe on euen & morn
To seke mi felawe sir Gij.
216
Ich haue him souȝt in mani lond,Ac neuer man ȝete ich fond
Can telle of him no sawe:
He is dede, ich wot full wel.
God almiȝti & seyn Miȝhel
To blis his soule drawe!
Ac now is it told me þis pilgrim
As slayn þe douke Berardin;
Þerof icham ful fawe.
Sir emperour, y bid merci:
For godes loue & our leuedi,
Þo[u] do me londes lawe.’
217
Þritti erls wel curteys,& alle þe lordinges of þe palais,
& mani baroun afine
Crid merci to þemperour bold.
Þemperour gan him bihold,
& seyd, ‘Tirri, frende min,
Here y sese þe in al þi lond,
Wiþ worþschip to held in þine hond,
Bi god & seyn Martine.
Bifor mi barouns y graunt þe,
Steward of mi lond þou schalt be
As was þe douke Berardine.’
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Þemperour kist him ful swete,Forȝaf him his wreþe & his hete
Bifor hem al þere.
When þemperour & þerl were at on,
Þe lordinges euerichon
Wele bliþe of hertes were.
‘Sir Tirri,’ seyd þemperour fre,
‘For þi fader soule, tel þou me,
Astow art me leue & dere,
Whennes is þis pilgrim?
Is he þi nem or þi cosyin
Þat fauȝt for þe here?’
219
‘Sir emperour,’ seyd sir Tirri,‘So god me help & our leuedi,
For-soþe wiþouten fayle,
Y no seiȝe neuer ere þis pilgrim,
Bot þis oþer day y met wiþ him,
& told him mi conseyl.
He swore astite bi seyn Ion
To þi court he wald gon
Þe douk Berard to asayle.
Ich wend wel litel þan, y pliȝt,
He hadde ben of michel miȝt,
To hold wiþ him batayle.’
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Þemperour dede as a gode man,& Tirri into his chaumber he nam,
& richeliche gan him schrede.
He fond him wepen, & armour briȝt,
& al þat schuld falle to kniȝt,
& feffed him wiþ prede;
& fond him hors & stedes gode,
Of al his lond þe best stode,
Hom wiþ him to lede.
Þemperour wald þe pilgrim at-hold,
Ac, sikerliche, he seyd he nold:
Wiþ Tirri hom he ȝede.
221
When Tirri was comen hom,Þe pilgrim he wald anon
Sesen in al his lond,
& he for-soke it al out-riȝt;
For riches loued he no-wiȝt
For to hold in hond.
Þerl as swiþe his sond he sent
Ouer al his lond, verrament,
Til þat his wiif he fond:
Þo was sche founden in an ile
In a nunri þat while
For doute of Berardes bond.
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Þo was Tirri a noble man,In al þat lond better nas nan,
As y ȝou tel may.
Destrud were al his enemis:
He liueþ in michel ioie & blis,
Al-so a prince in play.
Anon sir Gij him bi-þouȝt
Þat lenger wald he duelle nouȝt.
To sir Tirri on a day
He seyd to him in þat tide,
‘Here nil y no lenger abide:
Ich mot wende in mi way.
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O þing,’ he seyd, ‘y pray þe:Out of þe cite go wiþ me,
Astow art hendi kniȝt.
Alon we shul go boþe y-fere,
& swich tidinges þou schalt here,
Þou schalt haue wonder, apliȝt.’
Þerl him graunt wiþ hert fre,
& went wiþ him out of þat cite
In his way ful riȝt,
& when þai wer þennes half a mile
Þer þai duelled a litel while,
Þo gomes of michel miȝt.
224
‘Tirri,’ seyd Gij, ‘vnderstond þou þe:Þou art vnkinde, so þenkeþ me;
For Gij, þi gode fere,
Whi wiltow him knowe nouȝt?
Y-wis, þou art iuel biþouȝt.
No was he þe leue & dere?
Þenke he slouȝ þe douk Otoun,
& brouȝt þe out of his prisoun,
& made þe quite & skere,
& hou he fond þe ded almast
As he rode þurch a forest
Wiþ a rewely chere,
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& hou he socourd þi leman schene,& al þe fiften outlawes ken
He slouȝ hem al on rawe,
& slouȝ þe four kniȝtes radde,
& þi bodi to toun ladde,
To leche þi woundes ful fawe,
& he socourd þi fader in wer,
& halp þe boþe nere & fer
Þo þou was fallen ful lawe,
& now y slouȝ Berard þe strong.
Icham Gij; þou hast wrong:
Why wiltow me nouȝt knawe?’
226
When þerl herd him speke so,Wepen he gan wiþ eyȝen to,
& fel aswon to grounde.
‘For godes loue,’ he seyd, ‘merci!
Iuel at ese now am y,
In sorwe & care ful bounde.
Ful wele miȝt y knowe þe ar now:
In al þis warld was non bot þou
Oȝain Berard durst founde.
Merci, sir, par charite:
Þat ich haue misknowen þe,
Allas, allas þat stounde!’
227
Merci he crid on his kne:Boþe for sorwe & for pite
Wepen he bigan.
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Þat whilom wer y-hosed ful wel:
More sorwe made neuer man.
Sir Gij went to him þo:
In his hert him was wo,
& in his armes vp him nam.
Atvix hem was gret diol in þat stounde:
Boþe þai fel aswon to grounde:
For sorwe þai wex al wan.
228
‘Tirri,’ seyd sir Gij þo,‘Þou schalt bileue, & y schal go:
Y biteche þe heuen king.
Bot ich haue a sone, y-wis,
Y not wheþer he kniȝt is,
For he is bot a ȝongling:
Ȝif he haue ani nede to þe,
Help him for þe loue of me,
Y pray þe, in al þing.
Ich hope he schal be a gode kniȝt:
Y pray Iesu ful of miȝt
He graunt him his blisceing.’
229
‘Merci, sir,’ þan seyd he,‘For godes loue, leue her stil wiþ me:
Y pray þe par amour.
Mi treuþe y pliȝt in þine hond,
Y schal þe sese in al mi lond,
Boþe in toun & tour.
Þi man y wil be & serue þe ay
Þer while mi liif lest may,
To hold vp þin honour.
& ȝif þou no wilt ichil wiþ þe go:
Y-wis, ichaue wele leuer so
Þan bileue wiþ þemperour.’
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‘Do oway, sir Tirri: þer-of speke nouȝt;Al idel speche it is þi þouȝt.
Wende oȝain hom now riȝt,
& be nouȝt to prout, y þe rede:
To serue þi lord at al his nede
Þou proue wiþ þi miȝt.
Desirite no man of his lond:
Ȝif þou dost þou gos to schond;
Ful siker be þou, apliȝt.
For ȝiue þou reue a man his fe
Godes face schaltow neuer se,
No com in heuen liȝt.
231
Biþenke þe wele of douke Berard,Hou prout he was, for he was steward,
& flemed þe out of lond,
& he now desirite is,
Wiþ michel sorwe slayn, y-wis,
& schamelich driuen to schond.
Y schal gon, & þou bileue schalt:
Y biteche þe god, þat al þing walt,
& maked wiþ his hond.’
Þai kisten hem togider þo:
Oliue þai seyȝen hem neuer eft mo,
As þe gest doþ ous vnderstond.
232
Gret sorwe þai made at her parting,& kist hem wiþ eiȝe wepeing.
Þai wenten hem boþe atvo.
Als swiþe þerl Tirri went him hom,
Þre days he no ete mete non:
In hert him was ful wo;
& when þe countas, sikerly,
576
Þat þan was went hem fro,
Sche vpbreyd hir lord day & niȝt
Þat he no had holden him wiþ strengþe & miȝt,
& laten him nouȝt þennes go.
| Guy of Warwick | |