 |
|
 | Guy of Warwick |  |
259
Sir Gij lepe on his stede fot hot,& wiþ a spere, þat wele bot,
To him he gan to ride.
& he schet to Gij dartes þre:
Of þe tvay þan failed he,
Þe þridde he lete to him glide.
Þurch Gyes scheld it glod
& þurch his armour wiþouten abod
Bitvene his arme & side,
& quitelich into þe feld it ȝede
Þe mountaunce of an acre brede
Er þat it wald abide.
598
260
Sir Gij to him gan to driue,Þat his spere brast afiue
On his scheld þat was so bounde.
& Colbrond wiþ michel hete
On Gyes helme he wald haue smite,
& failed of him þat stounde:
Bitvix þe sadel & þe arsoun
Þe strok of þat feloun glod adoun
Wiþouten wem or wounde,
Þat sadel & hors atvo he smot,
Into þe erþe wele half a fot,
& Gij fel doun to grounde.
261
Sir Gij astite vp stirtAs man þat was agremed in hert:
His stede he hadde for-lore.
On his helme he wald hit him þo,
Ac he no miȝt nouȝt reche þerto
Bi to fot & ȝete more,
Bot on his schulder þe swerd fel doun,
& carf boþe plates & hauberioun
Wiþ his grimli gore.
Þurch al his armour stern & strong
He made him a wounde a spanne long,
Þat greued him ful sore.
262
Colbrond was sore aschame,& smot Gij wiþ michel grame:
On his helm he hit him þo,
Þat his floures euer-ichon
& his gode charbukel ston
Wel euen he carf atvo:
600
Þat it fleyȝe into þe feld.
When Gij seyȝe it was so,
Þat he hadde his scheld forlorn,
Half bihinde & half biforn,
In hert him was wel wo.
263
& Gij hent his swerd an hond,& heteliche smot to Colbrond:
As a child he stode him vnder.
Opon þe scheld he ȝaue him swiche a dent,
Bifor þe stroke þe fiir out went,
As it were liȝt of þonder.
Þe bondes of stiel he carf ichon,
& in-to þe scheld a fot & half on
Wiþ his swerd he smot asunder.
& wiþ þe out-braiding his swerd brast:
Þei Gij were þan sore agast
It was litel wonder.
264
Þo was Gij sore desmayd,& in his hert wel iuel y-payd,
For þe chaunce him was bifalle,
& for he hadde lorn his gode brond
& his stede opon þe sond.
To our leuedi he gan calle.
Þan gun þe Danis ost
Ich puken oþer & make bost,
& seyd among hem alle,
‘Now schal þe Inglis be slain in feld.
Gret trouage Inglond schal ous ȝeld,
& euermore ben our þral.’
265
‘Now, sir kniȝt,’ seyd Colbrond,‘Þou hast lorn þi swerd in þine hond,
Þi scheld, & eke þi stede.
Do now wele, ȝeld þe to me,
& smertlich vnarme þe:
Cri merci, y þe rede;
602
Þou durst oȝain me held fiȝt,
To mi lord y schal þe lede,
& wiþ him þou schalt acorded be:
In his court he wil hold þe,
& finde þat þe is nede.’
266
‘Do way,’ seyd Gij, ‘þerof speke nouȝt.Bi him þat al þis world haþ wrouȝt,
Ich hadde leuer þou were an-hong!
Ac þou hast armes gret plente:
Y-wis, þou most lene me
On of þine axes strong.’
Colbrond swore bi Apolin,
‘Of al þe wepen þat is min
Her schaltow non afong.
Now þou wilt nouȝt do bi mi rede,
Þou schalt dye on iuel dede,
Er þat it be ouȝt long.’
267
When Gij herd him speke so,Al sone he gan him turn þo,
& to his wepen he geþ.
Þer his axes stoden bi hem-selue,
He kept on wiþ a wel gode helue,
Þe best him þouȝt he seþ.
To Colbron[d] oȝain he ran,
& seyd, ‘traitour,’ to him þan,
‘Þou schalt han iuel deþ.
Now ich haue of þi wepen plente,
Where-wiþ þat y may were me
Riȝt maugre al þin teþ.’
604
268
Colbrond þan wiþ michel heteOn Gyes helme he wald haue smite
Wiþ wel gret hert tene,
Ac he failed of his dint,
& þe swerd into þe erþe went
A fot & more, y wene,
& wiþ Colbrondes out-drauȝt
Sir Gij wiþ ax a strok him rauȝt,
A wounde þat was wele sene.
So smertliche he smot to Colbrond,
Þat his riȝt arme wiþ alle þe hond
He strok of quite & clene.
269
When Colbrond feld him so smite,He was wel wroþ, ȝe may wel wite:
He gan his swerd vp fond,
& in his left hond op it haf,
& Gij in þe nek a strok him ȝaf
As he [gan] stoupe for þe brond,
Þat his heued fro þe bodi he smot,
& into þe erþe half a fot:
Þurch grace of godes sond
Ded he feld þe glotoun þare.
Þe Denis wiþ sorwe & care
Þai diȝt hem out of lond.
270
Bliþe were þe Inglis men ichon:Erls, barouns, & king Aþelston
Þai toke sir Gij þat tide,
& ladde him to Winchester toun
606
Ouer al bi ich a side.
For ioie belles þai gun ring,
‘Te deum laudamus’ þai gun sing,
& play, & michel pride.
Sir Gij vnarmed him, & was ful bliþe:
His sclauain he axed also swiþe:
No lenger he nold abide.
271
‘Sir pilgrim,’ þan seyd þe king,‘Whennes þou art, wiþouten lesing,
Þou art douhti of dede;
For þurch douhtines of þin hond
Þou hast saued al Inglond:
God quite þe þi mede,
& mi treuþe y schal pliȝt þe,
So wele y schal feffe þe
Boþe in lond & lede,
Þat of riches in toun & tour
Þou schalt be man of mest honour
Þat woneþ in al mi þede.’
272
‘Sir king,’ seyd þe pilgrim,‘Of alle þe lond þat is tin
Y no kepe þerof na mare;
Bot, now ichaue þe geant slain
(Þerof, y-wis, icham ful fain),
Mi way ichil forþ fare.’
‘Merci, sir,’ þe king seyd þan,
‘Tel me, for him þat made man
(For noþing þou ne spare),
Tel me what þi name it be,
Whennes þou art, & of what cuntre,
Or y schal dye for care.’
608
273
‘Sir king,’ he seyd, ‘y schal tel it þe:What mi riȝt name it be
Þou schalt witen anon,
Ac þou schalt go wiþ me y-fere,
Þat noman of our conseyl here,
Bot þou & y alon.’
Þe king him graunted & was bliþe:
He comand his folk al so swiþe
No wiȝt wiþ him to gon.
Out of þe toun þan went he
Wele half a mile fram þat cite,
& þer made Gij his mon.
274
‘Sir king,’ seyd Gij, ‘vnderstond to me:O þing y schal now pray þe,
Astow art curteys and hende,
Ȝif y mi name schal þe sayn,
Þat to noman þou no schalt me wrayn,
To þis ȝere com to þende.
Gij of Warwike mi nam is riȝt:
Whilom y was þine owhen kniȝt,
& held me for þi frende;
& now icham swiche astow may see.
God of heuen biteche y þe:
Mi way y wil forþ wende.’
275
When þe king seiȝe, sikerly,Þat it was þe gode Gij
Þat fro him wald his way,
On knes he fel adoun to grounde:
‘Leue sir Gij,’ in þat stounde,
‘Merci,’ he gan to say.
‘For godes loue, bi-leue wiþ me,
& mi treuthe y schal pliȝt þe,
Þat y schal þis day
Sese & ȝiue in-to þine hond
Half þe reme of Inglond.
For godes loue, say nouȝt nay.’
610
276
‘Sir king,’ seyd Gij, ‘y nil nouȝt so.Haue þou þi lond for euer-mo,
& god y þe bi-teche.
Ac, ȝif Herhaud to þis lond com,
& bring wiþ him Reynbroun, mi sone,
Help him, y þe biseche;
For þai er boþe hende & fre.
On Herhaud þou miȝt trust þe
To take of þine fon wreche.’
Þai kisten hem togider þo:
Al wepeand þai wenten ato
Wiþouten ani more speche.
277
Þe king wel sore wepe for pite,& went him hom to his meyne
Wiþ a mournand chere.
His folk oȝaines him gan gon,
& asked þe king sone anon
What man þe pilgrim were.
Þai seyd, ‘he is a douhti kniȝt:
Wald Iesu ful of miȝt
He wald leue wiþ ous here.’
Þe king seyd, ‘al stille ȝe be:
What he is ȝour non schal wite for me,
I-wis, of al þis ȝere.’
| Guy of Warwick | |