 | Wynnere and Wastoure |  |
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Here begynnes a tretys and god schorte refreyte bytwixe Wynnere and Wastoure.
Sythen that Bretayne was biggede and Bruyttus it aughte
Thurgh the takynge of Troye with tresone withinn
There hathe selcouthes bene sene in seere kynges tymes
Bot neuer so many as nowe by the nyne dele.
For nowe alle es witt and wyles that we with delyn,
Wyse wordes and slee and icheon wryeth othere.
Dare neuer no westren wy while this werlde lasteth
Send his sone southewarde to see ne to here
That he ne schall holden byhynde when he hore eldes.
Forthi sayde was a sawe of Salomon the wyse,
It hyeghte harde appone honde, hope I no noþer,
When wawes waxen schall wilde and walles bene doun
And hares appon herthe-stones schall hurcle in hire fourme
And eke boyes of blode with boste and with pryde
Schall wedde ladyes in londe and lede h[em] at will,
Thene dredfull domesdaye it draweth neghe aftir.
Bot whoso sadly will see and the sothe telle
Say it newely will neghe or es neghe here.
Whylome were lordes in londe þat loued in thaire hertis
To here makers of myrthes þat matirs couthe fynde
And now es no frenchipe in fere bot fayntnesse of hert,
Wyse wordes withinn þat wroghte were neuer
Ne redde in no romance þat euer renke herde.
Bot now a childe appon chere withowtten chyn-wedys
Þat neuer wroghte thurgh witt thies wordes togedire
Fro he can jangle als a jaye and japes telle
He schall be lenede and louede and lett of a while
Wele more þan þe man that made it hymseluen.
Bot neuer þe lattere at the laste when ledys bene knawen;
Werke wittnesse will bere who wirche kane beste.
Thurgh the takynge of Troye with tresone withinn
There hathe selcouthes bene sene in seere kynges tymes
Bot neuer so many as nowe by the nyne dele.
For nowe alle es witt and wyles that we with delyn,
Wyse wordes and slee and icheon wryeth othere.
Dare neuer no westren wy while this werlde lasteth
Send his sone southewarde to see ne to here
That he ne schall holden byhynde when he hore eldes.
Forthi sayde was a sawe of Salomon the wyse,
It hyeghte harde appone honde, hope I no noþer,
When wawes waxen schall wilde and walles bene doun
And hares appon herthe-stones schall hurcle in hire fourme
And eke boyes of blode with boste and with pryde
Schall wedde ladyes in londe and lede h[em] at will,
Thene dredfull domesdaye it draweth neghe aftir.
Bot whoso sadly will see and the sothe telle
Say it newely will neghe or es neghe here.
Whylome were lordes in londe þat loued in thaire hertis
To here makers of myrthes þat matirs couthe fynde
And now es no frenchipe in fere bot fayntnesse of hert,
Wyse wordes withinn þat wroghte were neuer
Ne redde in no romance þat euer renke herde.
Bot now a childe appon chere withowtten chyn-wedys
Þat neuer wroghte thurgh witt thies wordes togedire
Fro he can jangle als a jaye and japes telle
He schall be lenede and louede and lett of a while
Wele more þan þe man that made it hymseluen.
Bot neuer þe lattere at the laste when ledys bene knawen;
Werke wittnesse will bere who wirche kane beste.
Bot I schall tell ȝow a tale þat me bytyde ones,
Als I went in the weste wandrynge myn one.
Bi a bonke of a bourne bryghte was the sonne,
Vndir a worthiliche wodde by a wale medewe
Fele floures gan folde ther my fote steppede.
I layde myn hede one ane hill ane hawthorne besyde
The throstills full throly they threpen togedire
Hipped vp heghwalles fro heselis tyll othire
Bernacles with thayre billes one barkes þay roungen
Þe jay janglede one heghe, jarmede the foles,
Þe bourne full bremly rane þe bankes bytwene.
So ruyde were þe roughe stremys and raughten so heghe
That it was neghande nyghte or I nappe myghte
For dyn of the depe watir and dadillyng of fewllys.
Bot as I laye at the laste þan lowked myn eghne
And I was swythe in a sweuen sweped belyue.
Me thoghte I was in the werlde, I ne wiste in whate ende,
One a loueliche lande þat was ylike grene
Þat laye loken by a lawe the lengthe of a myle.
In aythere holte was ane here in hawberkes full brighte,
Harde hattes appon hedes and helmys with crestys;
Brayden owte thaire baners bown for to mete;
Schowen owte of the schawes in schiltrons þay felle
And bot the lengthe of a launde thies lordes bytwene.
And alle prayed for the pese till the prynce come
For he was worthiere in witt than any wy ells
For to ridde and to rede and to rewlyn the wrothe
That aythere here appon h[eth]e had vntill othere.
At the creste of a clyffe a caban was rerede
Alle raylede with rede the rofe and the sydes
With Ynglysse besantes full brighte betyn of golde
And ichone gayly vmbygone with garters of inde
And iche a gartare of golde gerede full riche.
Then were th[er] wordes in þe webbe werped of he[u],
Payntted of plunket and poyntes bytwene
Þat were fourmed full fayre appon fresche lettres
And alle was it one sawe appon Ynglysse tonge,
‘Hethyng haue the hathell þat any harme thynkes,
Als I went in the weste wandrynge myn one.
Bi a bonke of a bourne bryghte was the sonne,
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Fele floures gan folde ther my fote steppede.
I layde myn hede one ane hill ane hawthorne besyde
The throstills full throly they threpen togedire
Hipped vp heghwalles fro heselis tyll othire
Bernacles with thayre billes one barkes þay roungen
Þe jay janglede one heghe, jarmede the foles,
Þe bourne full bremly rane þe bankes bytwene.
So ruyde were þe roughe stremys and raughten so heghe
That it was neghande nyghte or I nappe myghte
For dyn of the depe watir and dadillyng of fewllys.
Bot as I laye at the laste þan lowked myn eghne
And I was swythe in a sweuen sweped belyue.
Me thoghte I was in the werlde, I ne wiste in whate ende,
One a loueliche lande þat was ylike grene
Þat laye loken by a lawe the lengthe of a myle.
In aythere holte was ane here in hawberkes full brighte,
Harde hattes appon hedes and helmys with crestys;
Brayden owte thaire baners bown for to mete;
Schowen owte of the schawes in schiltrons þay felle
And bot the lengthe of a launde thies lordes bytwene.
And alle prayed for the pese till the prynce come
For he was worthiere in witt than any wy ells
For to ridde and to rede and to rewlyn the wrothe
That aythere here appon h[eth]e had vntill othere.
At the creste of a clyffe a caban was rerede
Alle raylede with rede the rofe and the sydes
With Ynglysse besantes full brighte betyn of golde
And ichone gayly vmbygone with garters of inde
And iche a gartare of golde gerede full riche.
Then were th[er] wordes in þe webbe werped of he[u],
Payntted of plunket and poyntes bytwene
Þat were fourmed full fayre appon fresche lettres
And alle was it one sawe appon Ynglysse tonge,
‘Hethyng haue the hathell þat any harme thynkes,
Now the kyng of this kythe kepe hym oure lorde!’
Vpon heghe one the holt ane hathell vp stondes
Wroghte als a wodwyse alle in wrethyn lokkes
With ane helme one his hede ane hatte appon lofte
And one heghe one þe hatte ane hattfull beste,
A lighte lebarde and a longe lokande full kene
Ȝarked alle of ȝalowe golde in full ȝape wyse.
Bot that þat hillede the helme byhynde in the nekke
Was casten full clenly in quarters foure;
Two with flowres of Fraunse before and behynde
And two out of Ynglonde with [orfraied] bestes,
Thre leberdes one lofte and thre on lowe vndir.
At iche a cornere a knoppe of full clene perle
Tasselde of tuly silke tuttynge out fayre.
And by þe cabane I knewe the k[nyght]e that I see
And thoghte to wiete or I went wondres ynewe.
And als I waytted withinn I was warre sone
Of a comliche kynge crowned with golde
Sett one a silken bynche with septure in honde,
One of the louelyeste ledis whoso loueth hym in hert
That euer segge vnder sonn sawe with his eghne.
This kynge was comliche clade in kirtill and mantill,
Bery-brown was [the bleaunt] brouderde with fewlys,
Fawkons of fyne golde flakerande with wynges
And ichone bare in ble blewe als me thoghte
A grete gartare of ynde [gerede full riche].
Full gayly was that grete lorde girde in the myddis
A brighte belte of ble broudirde with fewles
With drakes and with dukkes daderande þam semede
For ferdnes of fawkons fete lesse fawked þay were.
And euer I sayd to myselfe, ‘full selly me thynke
Bot if this renke to the reuere ryde vmbestounde.’
The kyng biddith a beryn by hym þat stondeth
One of the ferlyeste frekes þat faylede hym neuer,
‘Thynke I dubbede the knyghte with dynttis to dele
Wende wightly thy waye my willes to kythe
Go bidd þou ȝondere bolde batell þat one þe bent houes
That they neuer neghe nerre togedirs
For if thay strike one stroke stynte þay ne thynken.’
‘Ȝis lorde,’ said þe lede, ‘while my life dures.’
He dothe hym doun one þe bonke and dwellys a while
Whils he busked and bown was one his beste wyse.
He laped his legges in yren to the lawe bones
With pysayne and with pawnce polischede full clene
With brases of broun stele brauden full thikke
With plates buklede at þe bakke þe body to ȝeme
With a jupown full juste joynede by the sydes,
A brod chechun at þe bakke, þe breste had anoþer,
Thre wynges inwith wroghte in the kynde
Vmbygon with a gold wyre. When I þat gome knewe
What! he was ȝongeste of ȝeris and ȝapeste of witt
Þat any wy in this werlde wiste of his age.
He brake a braunche in his hande and [brayde] it swythe,
Trynes one a grete trotte and takes his waye
There bothe thies ferdes folke in the felde houes,
Vpon heghe one the holt ane hathell vp stondes
Wroghte als a wodwyse alle in wrethyn lokkes
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And one heghe one þe hatte ane hattfull beste,
A lighte lebarde and a longe lokande full kene
Ȝarked alle of ȝalowe golde in full ȝape wyse.
Bot that þat hillede the helme byhynde in the nekke
Was casten full clenly in quarters foure;
Two with flowres of Fraunse before and behynde
And two out of Ynglonde with [orfraied] bestes,
Thre leberdes one lofte and thre on lowe vndir.
At iche a cornere a knoppe of full clene perle
Tasselde of tuly silke tuttynge out fayre.
And by þe cabane I knewe the k[nyght]e that I see
And thoghte to wiete or I went wondres ynewe.
And als I waytted withinn I was warre sone
Of a comliche kynge crowned with golde
Sett one a silken bynche with septure in honde,
One of the louelyeste ledis whoso loueth hym in hert
That euer segge vnder sonn sawe with his eghne.
This kynge was comliche clade in kirtill and mantill,
Bery-brown was [the bleaunt] brouderde with fewlys,
Fawkons of fyne golde flakerande with wynges
And ichone bare in ble blewe als me thoghte
A grete gartare of ynde [gerede full riche].
Full gayly was that grete lorde girde in the myddis
A brighte belte of ble broudirde with fewles
With drakes and with dukkes daderande þam semede
For ferdnes of fawkons fete lesse fawked þay were.
And euer I sayd to myselfe, ‘full selly me thynke
Bot if this renke to the reuere ryde vmbestounde.’
The kyng biddith a beryn by hym þat stondeth
One of the ferlyeste frekes þat faylede hym neuer,
‘Thynke I dubbede the knyghte with dynttis to dele
Wende wightly thy waye my willes to kythe
Go bidd þou ȝondere bolde batell þat one þe bent houes
That they neuer neghe nerre togedirs
For if thay strike one stroke stynte þay ne thynken.’
‘Ȝis lorde,’ said þe lede, ‘while my life dures.’
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Whils he busked and bown was one his beste wyse.
He laped his legges in yren to the lawe bones
With pysayne and with pawnce polischede full clene
With brases of broun stele brauden full thikke
With plates buklede at þe bakke þe body to ȝeme
With a jupown full juste joynede by the sydes,
A brod chechun at þe bakke, þe breste had anoþer,
Thre wynges inwith wroghte in the kynde
Vmbygon with a gold wyre. When I þat gome knewe
What! he was ȝongeste of ȝeris and ȝapeste of witt
Þat any wy in this werlde wiste of his age.
He brake a braunche in his hande and [brayde] it swythe,
Trynes one a grete trotte and takes his waye
There bothe thies ferdes folke in the felde houes,
Sayd, ‘loo! the kyng of this kyth þer kepe hym oure lorde
Send[es] erande by me als hym beste lyketh
That no beryn be so bolde one bothe his two eghne
Ones to strike one stroke n[e] stirre none nerre
To lede rowte in his rewme so ryall to thynke,
Pertly with ȝoure powers his pese to disturbe.
For this es the vsage here and euer schall worthe
If any beryn be so bolde with banere for to ryde
Withinn þe kyngdome riche bot the kynge one
That he schall losse the londe and his lyfe aftir.
Bot sen ȝe knowe noghte this kythe ne the kynge ryche
He will forgiffe ȝow this gilt of his grace one.
Full wyde hafe I walked [thies wyes amonges]
Bot sawe I neuer siche a syghte, segge, with myn eghne
For here es alle þe folke of Fraunce ferdede besyde
Of Lorreyne, of Lumbardye and of Lawe Spayne,
Wyes of Westwale þat in were duellen,
Of Ynglonde, of Yrlonde, Estirlynges full many
Þat are stuffede in stele strokes to dele.
And ȝondere ‘a baner’ of blake þat one þe bent houes
With thre bulles of ble white brouden withinn
And iche one hase of henppe hynged a corde
Seled with a sade lede, I say als me thynkes;
That hede es of holy kirke I hope he be there
Alle ferse to the fighte with the folke þat he ledis.
Anoþer banere es vpbrayde with a bende of grene
With thre hedis white-herede with howes one lofte,
Croked full craftyly and kembid in the nekke.
Thies are ledis of this londe þat schold oure lawes ȝeme
That thynken to dele this daye with dynttis full many.
I holde hym bot a fole þat fightis whils flyttynge may helpe
When he hase founden his frende þat fayled hym neuer.
Send[es] erande by me als hym beste lyketh
That no beryn be so bolde one bothe his two eghne
Ones to strike one stroke n[e] stirre none nerre
To lede rowte in his rewme so ryall to thynke,
Pertly with ȝoure powers his pese to disturbe.
For this es the vsage here and euer schall worthe
If any beryn be so bolde with banere for to ryde
Withinn þe kyngdome riche bot the kynge one
That he schall losse the londe and his lyfe aftir.
Bot sen ȝe knowe noghte this kythe ne the kynge ryche
He will forgiffe ȝow this gilt of his grace one.
Full wyde hafe I walked [thies wyes amonges]
Bot sawe I neuer siche a syghte, segge, with myn eghne
For here es alle þe folke of Fraunce ferdede besyde
Of Lorreyne, of Lumbardye and of Lawe Spayne,
Wyes of Westwale þat in were duellen,
Of Ynglonde, of Yrlonde, Estirlynges full many
Þat are stuffede in stele strokes to dele.
And ȝondere ‘a baner’ of blake þat one þe bent houes
With thre bulles of ble white brouden withinn
And iche one hase of henppe hynged a corde
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That hede es of holy kirke I hope he be there
Alle ferse to the fighte with the folke þat he ledis.
Anoþer banere es vpbrayde with a bende of grene
With thre hedis white-herede with howes one lofte,
Croked full craftyly and kembid in the nekke.
Thies are ledis of this londe þat schold oure lawes ȝeme
That thynken to dele this daye with dynttis full many.
I holde hym bot a fole þat fightis whils flyttynge may helpe
When he hase founden his frende þat fayled hym neuer.
The thirde banere one bent es of blee whitte
With sexe gale[g]s, I see, of sable withinn
And iche one has a brown brase with bokels twayne.
Thies are Sayn Franceys folke þat sayen alle schall fey worthe.
They aren so ferse and so fresche þay feghtyn bot seldom.
I wote wele for wynnynge thay wentten fro home,
His purse weghethe full wele that wanne thaym all hedire.
With sexe gale[g]s, I see, of sable withinn
And iche one has a brown brase with bokels twayne.
Thies are Sayn Franceys folke þat sayen alle schall fey worthe.
They aren so ferse and so fresche þay feghtyn bot seldom.
I wote wele for wynnynge thay wentten fro home,
His purse weghethe full wele that wanne thaym all hedire.
The fourte banere one the bent was brayde appon lofte
With bothe the brerdes of blake, a bal[l]e in the myddes
Reghte siche as the sonne es in the someris tyde
When it hase moste of þe may[n]e one Missomer euen.
That was Domynyke this daye with dynttis to dele,
With many a blesenande beryn his banere es stuffede,
And sythen the pope es so priste thies prechours to helpe
And Fraunceys with his folke es forced besyde
And alle the ledis of the lande ledith thurgh witt
There es no man appon molde to machen þaym agayne
Ne gete no grace appon grounde vndir God hymseluen.
With bothe the brerdes of blake, a bal[l]e in the myddes
Reghte siche as the sonne es in the someris tyde
When it hase moste of þe may[n]e one Missomer euen.
That was Domynyke this daye with dynttis to dele,
With many a blesenande beryn his banere es stuffede,
And sythen the pope es so priste thies prechours to helpe
And Fraunceys with his folke es forced besyde
And alle the ledis of the lande ledith thurgh witt
There es no man appon molde to machen þaym agayne
Ne gete no grace appon grounde vndir God hymseluen.
And ȝitt es the fyfte appon þe felde þe faireste of þam alle,
A brighte banere of blee whitte with three bore hedis.
Be any crafte þat I kan Carmes thaym semyde
For þay are the [ledis] þat louen oure lady to serue.
If I scholde say þe sothe it semys no nothire
Bot þat the freris with othere folke shall þe felde wynn.
A brighte banere of blee whitte with three bore hedis.
Be any crafte þat I kan Carmes thaym semyde
For þay are the [ledis] þat louen oure lady to serue.
If I scholde say þe sothe it semys no nothire
Bot þat the freris with othere folke shall þe felde wynn.
The sexte es of sendell and so are þay alle,
Whitte als the whalles bone whoso the sothe tellys
With beltys of blake bocled togedir,
The poyntes pared off rownde, þe pendant awaye
And alle the lethire appon lofte þat one lowe hengeth
Schynethe alle for scharpynynge of the schauynge iren.
The ordire of þe Austyns for oughte þat I wene,
For by the blussche of the belte the banere I knewe.
And other synes I seghe sett appon lofte,
Some wittnesse of wolle and some of wyne tounnes,
Some of merchandes merke[s] so many and so thikke
That I ne wote in my witt for alle this werlde riche
Whatt segge vnder the sonne can the sowne rekken.
And sekere one þat other syde are sadde men of armes,
Bolde sqwyeres of blode, bowmen many,
Þat if thay strike one stroke stynt þay ne thynken
Till owthir here appon hethe be hewen to dethe.
Whitte als the whalles bone whoso the sothe tellys
With beltys of blake bocled togedir,
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And alle the lethire appon lofte þat one lowe hengeth
Schynethe alle for scharpynynge of the schauynge iren.
The ordire of þe Austyns for oughte þat I wene,
For by the blussche of the belte the banere I knewe.
And other synes I seghe sett appon lofte,
Some wittnesse of wolle and some of wyne tounnes,
Some of merchandes merke[s] so many and so thikke
That I ne wote in my witt for alle this werlde riche
Whatt segge vnder the sonne can the sowne rekken.
And sekere one þat other syde are sadde men of armes,
Bolde sqwyeres of blode, bowmen many,
Þat if thay strike one stroke stynt þay ne thynken
Till owthir here appon hethe be hewen to dethe.
Forthi I bid ȝow bothe that thaym hedir broghte
That ȝe wend with me are any wrake falle
To oure comely kyng that this kythe owethe,
And fro he wiete wittirly where þe wronge ristyth
Thare nowthir wye be wrothe to wirche als he d[em]eth.’
Off ayther rowte ther rode owte a renke als me thoghte,
Knyghtis full comly one coursers attyred
And sayden, ‘Sir sandisman sele the betyde!
Wele knowe we the kyng, he clothes vs bothe
And hase vs fosterde and fedde this fyve and twenty wyntere.
Now fare þou byfore and we schall folowe aftire.’
And now are þaire brydells vpbrayde and bown one þaire wayes,
Thay lighten doun at þe launde and leued thaire stedis,
Kayren vp at the clyffe and one knees fallyn.
The kynge henttis by þe handes and hetys þam to ryse
And sayde, ‘welcomes, heres, as hyne of oure house bothen.’
The kynge waytted one wyde and the wyne askes,
Beryns broghte it anone in bolles of siluere.
Me thoghte I sowpped so sadly it sowrede bothe myn eghne
And he þat wilnes of this werke to wete any forthire
Full freschely and faste for here a fitt endes.
That ȝe wend with me are any wrake falle
To oure comely kyng that this kythe owethe,
And fro he wiete wittirly where þe wronge ristyth
Thare nowthir wye be wrothe to wirche als he d[em]eth.’
Off ayther rowte ther rode owte a renke als me thoghte,
Knyghtis full comly one coursers attyred
And sayden, ‘Sir sandisman sele the betyde!
Wele knowe we the kyng, he clothes vs bothe
And hase vs fosterde and fedde this fyve and twenty wyntere.
Now fare þou byfore and we schall folowe aftire.’
And now are þaire brydells vpbrayde and bown one þaire wayes,
Thay lighten doun at þe launde and leued thaire stedis,
Kayren vp at the clyffe and one knees fallyn.
The kynge henttis by þe handes and hetys þam to ryse
And sayde, ‘welcomes, heres, as hyne of oure house bothen.’
The kynge waytted one wyde and the wyne askes,
Beryns broghte it anone in bolles of siluere.
Me thoghte I sowpped so sadly it sowrede bothe myn eghne
And he þat wilnes of this werke to wete any forthire
Full freschely and faste for here a fitt endes.
Bot than kerpede the kynge, sayd, ‘kythe what ȝe hatten
And whi the hates aren so hote ȝoure hertis bytwene
If I schall deme ȝow this day dothe me to here.’
‘Now certys lorde,’ sayde þat one, ‘the sothe for to telle,
I hatt Wynnere, a wy that alle this werlde helpis
For I lordes cane lere thurgh ledyng of witt.
Thoo þat spedfully will spare and spende not to grete,
Lyve appon littill-whattes I lufe hym the bettir.
Witt wiendes me with and wysses me faire,
Aye when gadir my gudes than glades myn hert
Bot this felle false thefe þat byfore ȝowe standes
Thynkes to strike or he styntt and stroye me for euer.
Alle þat I wynn thurgh witt he wastes thurgh pryde,
I gedir, I glene and he lattys goo sone,
I pryke and I pryne and he the purse opynes.
Why hase this cayteffe no care how men corne sellen?
His londes liggen alle ley, his lomes aren solde,
Downn bene his dowfehowses, drye bene his poles.
The deuyll wounder the wele he weldys at home
Bot hungere and heghe howses and howndes full kene.
Safe a sparthe and a spere sparrede in ane hyrne,
A bronde at his bede-hede biddes he no noþer
Bot a cuttede capill to cayre with to his frendes.
Then will he boste with his brande and braundesche hym ofte,
This wikkede weryed thefe that Wastoure men calles,
That if he life may longe this lande will he stroye.
Forthi deme vs this daye for Drightyns loue in heuen
To fighte furthe with oure folke to owthire fey worthe.’
And whi the hates aren so hote ȝoure hertis bytwene
9
‘Now certys lorde,’ sayde þat one, ‘the sothe for to telle,
I hatt Wynnere, a wy that alle this werlde helpis
For I lordes cane lere thurgh ledyng of witt.
Thoo þat spedfully will spare and spende not to grete,
Lyve appon littill-whattes I lufe hym the bettir.
Witt wiendes me with and wysses me faire,
Aye when gadir my gudes than glades myn hert
Bot this felle false thefe þat byfore ȝowe standes
Thynkes to strike or he styntt and stroye me for euer.
Alle þat I wynn thurgh witt he wastes thurgh pryde,
I gedir, I glene and he lattys goo sone,
I pryke and I pryne and he the purse opynes.
Why hase this cayteffe no care how men corne sellen?
His londes liggen alle ley, his lomes aren solde,
Downn bene his dowfehowses, drye bene his poles.
The deuyll wounder the wele he weldys at home
Bot hungere and heghe howses and howndes full kene.
Safe a sparthe and a spere sparrede in ane hyrne,
A bronde at his bede-hede biddes he no noþer
Bot a cuttede capill to cayre with to his frendes.
Then will he boste with his brande and braundesche hym ofte,
This wikkede weryed thefe that Wastoure men calles,
That if he life may longe this lande will he stroye.
Forthi deme vs this daye for Drightyns loue in heuen
To fighte furthe with oure folke to owthire fey worthe.’
‘Ȝee Wynnere,’ quod Wastoure, ‘thi wordes are hye
Bot I schall tell the a tale that tene schall the better
When thou haste waltered and went and wakede alle þe nyghte,
And iche a wy in this werlde that wonnes the abowte,
And hase werpede thy wyde howses full of wolle sakkes,
The bemys benden at the rofe, siche bakone there hynges,
Stuffed are sterlynges vndere stelen bowndes.
What scholde worthe of that wele if no waste come?
Some rote, some ruste some ratouns fede.
Let be thy cramynge of thi kystes for Cristis lufe of heuen,
Late the peple and the pore hafe parte of thi siluere,
For if thou wydwhare scholde walke and waytten the sothe
Thou scholdeste reme for rewthe in siche ryfe bene the pore.
For and thou lengare thus lyfe, leue thou noþer,
Thou schall be hanged in helle for that thou here spareste.
For siche a synn haste þou solde thi soule into helle
And there es euer wellande woo worlde withowtten ende.’
Bot I schall tell the a tale that tene schall the better
When thou haste waltered and went and wakede alle þe nyghte,
And iche a wy in this werlde that wonnes the abowte,
And hase werpede thy wyde howses full of wolle sakkes,
The bemys benden at the rofe, siche bakone there hynges,
Stuffed are sterlynges vndere stelen bowndes.
What scholde worthe of that wele if no waste come?
Some rote, some ruste some ratouns fede.
Let be thy cramynge of thi kystes for Cristis lufe of heuen,
Late the peple and the pore hafe parte of thi siluere,
For if thou wydwhare scholde walke and waytten the sothe
10
For and thou lengare thus lyfe, leue thou noþer,
Thou schall be hanged in helle for that thou here spareste.
For siche a synn haste þou solde thi soule into helle
And there es euer wellande woo worlde withowtten ende.’
‘Late be thi worde, Wastoure,’ quod Wynnere the riche,
‘Thou melleste of a mater tho[u] madiste it thiseluen.
With thi sturte and thy stryffe thou stroyeste vp my gudes
In [waytt]inge and in wakynge in wynttres nyghttis,
In owttrage, in vnthrifte in angarte pryde.
There es no wele in this werlde to wasschen thyn handes
That ne es gyffen and grounden are þou it getyn haue.
Thou ledis renkes in thy rowte wele ry[c]hely attyrede,
Some hafe girdills of golde þat more gude coste
Than alle þe faire fre londe that ȝe byfore haden.
Ȝe folowe noghte ȝoure fadirs þat fosterde ȝow alle
A kynde herueste to cache and cornes to wynn
For þe colde wyntter and þe kene with gleterand frostes
Sythen dropeles drye in the dede monethe.
And thou wolle to the tauerne byfore þe tonne-hede
Iche beryne redy with a bolle to blerren thyn eghne
Hete the whatte thou haue schalte and whatt thyn hert lykes
Wyfe, wedowe or wenche þat wonnes there aboute.
Then es there bott “fille in” and “feche forthe” florence to schewe
“Wee hee” and “worthe vp” wordes ynewe.
Bot when this wele es awaye the wyne moste be payede fore.
Than lympis ȝowe weddis to laye or ȝoure londe selle,
For siche wikked werkes wery the oure lorde.
And forthi God laughte that he louede and leuede þat oþer
Iche freke one felde ogh þe ferdere be to wirche.
Teche thy men for to tille and ty[n]en thyn feldes,
Rayse vp thi renthowses, ryme vp thi ȝerdes
Owthere hafe as þou haste done and hope aftir werse
Þat es firste þe faylynge of fode and than the fire aftir
To brene the alle at a birre for thi bale dedis.
The more colde es to come als me a clerke tolde.’
‘Thou melleste of a mater tho[u] madiste it thiseluen.
With thi sturte and thy stryffe thou stroyeste vp my gudes
In [waytt]inge and in wakynge in wynttres nyghttis,
In owttrage, in vnthrifte in angarte pryde.
There es no wele in this werlde to wasschen thyn handes
That ne es gyffen and grounden are þou it getyn haue.
Thou ledis renkes in thy rowte wele ry[c]hely attyrede,
Some hafe girdills of golde þat more gude coste
Than alle þe faire fre londe that ȝe byfore haden.
Ȝe folowe noghte ȝoure fadirs þat fosterde ȝow alle
A kynde herueste to cache and cornes to wynn
For þe colde wyntter and þe kene with gleterand frostes
Sythen dropeles drye in the dede monethe.
And thou wolle to the tauerne byfore þe tonne-hede
Iche beryne redy with a bolle to blerren thyn eghne
Hete the whatte thou haue schalte and whatt thyn hert lykes
Wyfe, wedowe or wenche þat wonnes there aboute.
Then es there bott “fille in” and “feche forthe” florence to schewe
“Wee hee” and “worthe vp” wordes ynewe.
Bot when this wele es awaye the wyne moste be payede fore.
Than lympis ȝowe weddis to laye or ȝoure londe selle,
For siche wikked werkes wery the oure lorde.
And forthi God laughte that he louede and leuede þat oþer
Iche freke one felde ogh þe ferdere be to wirche.
Teche thy men for to tille and ty[n]en thyn feldes,
Rayse vp thi renthowses, ryme vp thi ȝerdes
Owthere hafe as þou haste done and hope aftir werse
Þat es firste þe faylynge of fode and than the fire aftir
To brene the alle at a birre for thi bale dedis.
The more colde es to come als me a clerke tolde.’
‘Ȝee Wynnere,’ quod Wastoure, ‘thi wordes are vayne,
With oure festes and oure fare we feden the pore.
It es plesynge to the prynce þat paradyse wroghte,
When Cristes peple hath parte hym payes alle the better
Then here ben hodirde and hidde and happede in cofers
That it no sonn may see thurgh seuen wyntter ones,
Owthir freres it feche when thou fey worthes
To payntten with thaire pelers or pergett with thaire walles.
Thi sone and thi sektours ichone slees othere,
Maken dale aftir thi daye for thou durste neuer,
Mawngery ne myndale ne neuer myrthe louediste.
A dale aftir thi daye dose the no mare
Þan a lighte lanterne late appone nyghte
When it es borne at thi bakke, beryn, be my trouthe.
Now wolde God that it were als I wisse couthe
That thou Wynnere, thou wriche and Wanhope thi brothir
And eke ymbryne dayes and euenes of sayntes,
The Frydaye and his fere one the ferrere syde
Were drownede in the depe see there neuer droghte come,
And dedly synn for thayre dede were endityde with twelue,
And thies beryns one the bynches with [bonets] one lofte
That bene knowen and kydde for clerkes of the beste,
Als gude als Arestotle or Austyn the wyse,
That alle schent were those schalkes and Scharshull itwiste
Þat saide I prikkede with powere his pese to distourbe.
Forthi, comely kynge that oure case heris,
Late vs swythe with oure swerdes swyngen togedirs
For nowe I ‘se’ it es full sothe þat sayde es full ȝore
“The richere of ranke wele the rathere will drede,
The more hauande þat he hathe the more of hert feble”.’
With oure festes and oure fare we feden the pore.
11
When Cristes peple hath parte hym payes alle the better
Then here ben hodirde and hidde and happede in cofers
That it no sonn may see thurgh seuen wyntter ones,
Owthir freres it feche when thou fey worthes
To payntten with thaire pelers or pergett with thaire walles.
Thi sone and thi sektours ichone slees othere,
Maken dale aftir thi daye for thou durste neuer,
Mawngery ne myndale ne neuer myrthe louediste.
A dale aftir thi daye dose the no mare
Þan a lighte lanterne late appone nyghte
When it es borne at thi bakke, beryn, be my trouthe.
Now wolde God that it were als I wisse couthe
That thou Wynnere, thou wriche and Wanhope thi brothir
And eke ymbryne dayes and euenes of sayntes,
The Frydaye and his fere one the ferrere syde
Were drownede in the depe see there neuer droghte come,
And dedly synn for thayre dede were endityde with twelue,
And thies beryns one the bynches with [bonets] one lofte
That bene knowen and kydde for clerkes of the beste,
Als gude als Arestotle or Austyn the wyse,
That alle schent were those schalkes and Scharshull itwiste
Þat saide I prikkede with powere his pese to distourbe.
Forthi, comely kynge that oure case heris,
Late vs swythe with oure swerdes swyngen togedirs
For nowe I ‘se’ it es full sothe þat sayde es full ȝore
“The richere of ranke wele the rathere will drede,
The more hauande þat he hathe the more of hert feble”.’
Bot than this wrechede Wynnere full wrothely he lukes,
Sayse, ‘þis es spedles speche to speken thies wordes.
Loo! this wrechide Wastoure that wydewhare es knawenn.
Ne es nothir kaysser ne kynge ne knyghte þat the folowes,
Barone ne bachelere ne beryn that thou loueste
Bot foure felawes or fyve that the fayth owthe.
And he schall dighte thaym to dyne with dayntethes so many
Þat iche a wy in this werlde may wepyn for sorowe.
The bores hede schall be broghte with plontes appon lofte
Buktayles full brode in brothes there besyde
Venyson with the frumentee and fesanttes full riche
Baken mete therby one the burde sett
Chewettes of choppede flesche charbi[na]de fewlis
And iche a segge þat I see has sexe mens do[l]e.
If this were nedles note anothir comes aftir,
Roste with the riche sewes and the ryalle spyces
Kiddes clouen by þe rigge, quarterd swannes,
Tartes of ten ynche þat tenys myn hert
To see þe borde ouerbrade with blasande disches
Als it were a rayled rode with rynges and stones.
The thirde mese to me were meruelle to rekken
For alle es Martynmesse mete þat I with moste dele,
Noghte bot worttes with the flesche withowt wilde fowle
Saue ane hene to hym that the howse owethe.
And he will hafe birdes bownn one a broche riche
Barnakes and buturs and many billed snyppes
Larkes and lyngwhittes lapped in sogoure
Wodcokkes and wodwales full wellande hote
Teeles and titmoyses to take what hym lykes
[Caud]ils of connynges and custadis swete
[Dario]ls and dische-metis þat ful dere coste
[Maw]mene þat men clepen ȝour mawes to fill,
[Ich]e a mese at a merke bytwen twa men
[Þat s]othe bot brynneth for bale ȝour bowells within.
[Me t]enyth at ȝour trompers, þay tounen so heghe
[Þat ic]he a gome in þe gate goullyng may here.
Þen wil þay say to þamselfe as þay samen ryden,
Ȝe hafe no myster of the helpe of þe heuen kyng.
Þus are ȝe scorned by skyll and schathed þeraftir
Þat rechen for a repaste a rawnsom of siluer.
Bot one[s] I herd in a haule of a herdmans tong,
“Better were meles many þan a mery nyghte”.’
And he þat wilnes of þis werke for to wete forthe
Full freschely and faste for here a fit endes.
Sayse, ‘þis es spedles speche to speken thies wordes.
Loo! this wrechide Wastoure that wydewhare es knawenn.
Ne es nothir kaysser ne kynge ne knyghte þat the folowes,
Barone ne bachelere ne beryn that thou loueste
Bot foure felawes or fyve that the fayth owthe.
And he schall dighte thaym to dyne with dayntethes so many
Þat iche a wy in this werlde may wepyn for sorowe.
The bores hede schall be broghte with plontes appon lofte
Buktayles full brode in brothes there besyde
12
Baken mete therby one the burde sett
Chewettes of choppede flesche charbi[na]de fewlis
And iche a segge þat I see has sexe mens do[l]e.
If this were nedles note anothir comes aftir,
Roste with the riche sewes and the ryalle spyces
Kiddes clouen by þe rigge, quarterd swannes,
Tartes of ten ynche þat tenys myn hert
To see þe borde ouerbrade with blasande disches
Als it were a rayled rode with rynges and stones.
The thirde mese to me were meruelle to rekken
For alle es Martynmesse mete þat I with moste dele,
Noghte bot worttes with the flesche withowt wilde fowle
Saue ane hene to hym that the howse owethe.
And he will hafe birdes bownn one a broche riche
Barnakes and buturs and many billed snyppes
Larkes and lyngwhittes lapped in sogoure
Wodcokkes and wodwales full wellande hote
Teeles and titmoyses to take what hym lykes
[Caud]ils of connynges and custadis swete
[Dario]ls and dische-metis þat ful dere coste
[Maw]mene þat men clepen ȝour mawes to fill,
[Ich]e a mese at a merke bytwen twa men
[Þat s]othe bot brynneth for bale ȝour bowells within.
[Me t]enyth at ȝour trompers, þay tounen so heghe
[Þat ic]he a gome in þe gate goullyng may here.
Þen wil þay say to þamselfe as þay samen ryden,
Ȝe hafe no myster of the helpe of þe heuen kyng.
Þus are ȝe scorned by skyll and schathed þeraftir
Þat rechen for a repaste a rawnsom of siluer.
Bot one[s] I herd in a haule of a herdmans tong,
“Better were meles many þan a mery nyghte”.’
And he þat wilnes of þis werke for to wete forthe
Full freschely and faste for here a fit endes.
13
‘Ȝee Wynnere,’ quod Wastour, ‘I wote wele myseluen
What sall lympe of þe, lede, within [lit]e ȝeris.
Thurgh þe poure plenté of corne þat þe peple sowes
Þat God will graunte of his grace to growe on þe erthe
Ay to appaire þe pris and [it] passe nott to hye,
Schal make þe to waxe wod for wanhope in erthe
To hope aftir an harde ȝere to honge þiseluen.
Woldeste þou hafe lordis to lyfe as laddes on fote,
Prelates als prestes þat þe parischen ȝemes,
Prowde marchandes of pris as pedders in towne?
Late lordes lyfe als þam liste, laddes as þam falles
Þay þe bacon and beefe, þay botours and swannes
Þay þe roughe of þe rye, þay þe rede whete
Þay þe grewell gray and þay þe gude sewes
And þen may þe peple hafe parte in pouert þat standes,
Sum gud morsell of mete to mend with þair chere.
If fewlis flye schold forthe and fongen be neuer
And wild bestis in þe wodde wonne al þaire lyue
And fisches flete in þe flode and ichone ete oþer
Ane henne at ane halpeny by halfe ȝeris ende;
Schold not a ladde be in londe a lorde for to serue.
Þis wate þou full wele witterly þiseluen,
Whoso wele schal wyn a wastour ‘mo[st]e’ he fynde
For if it greues one gome it gladdes anoþer.’
What sall lympe of þe, lede, within [lit]e ȝeris.
Thurgh þe poure plenté of corne þat þe peple sowes
Þat God will graunte of his grace to growe on þe erthe
Ay to appaire þe pris and [it] passe nott to hye,
Schal make þe to waxe wod for wanhope in erthe
To hope aftir an harde ȝere to honge þiseluen.
Woldeste þou hafe lordis to lyfe as laddes on fote,
Prelates als prestes þat þe parischen ȝemes,
Prowde marchandes of pris as pedders in towne?
Late lordes lyfe als þam liste, laddes as þam falles
Þay þe bacon and beefe, þay botours and swannes
Þay þe roughe of þe rye, þay þe rede whete
Þay þe grewell gray and þay þe gude sewes
And þen may þe peple hafe parte in pouert þat standes,
Sum gud morsell of mete to mend with þair chere.
If fewlis flye schold forthe and fongen be neuer
And wild bestis in þe wodde wonne al þaire lyue
And fisches flete in þe flode and ichone ete oþer
Ane henne at ane halpeny by halfe ȝeris ende;
Schold not a ladde be in londe a lorde for to serue.
Þis wate þou full wele witterly þiseluen,
Whoso wele schal wyn a wastour ‘mo[st]e’ he fynde
For if it greues one gome it gladdes anoþer.’
Now quod Wynner to Wastour, ‘me wondirs in hert
Of thies poure penyles men þat peloure will by,
Sadills of sendale with sercles full riche.
Lesse [þat] ȝe wrethe ȝour wifes þaire willes to folowe
Ȝe sellyn wodd aftir wodde in a wale tyme,
Bothe þe oke and þe assche and alle þat þer growes.
Þe spyres and þe ȝonge sprynge ȝe spare to ȝour children
And sayne God wil graunt it his grace to grow at þe last
For to [schadewe] ȝour sones bot þe schame es ȝour ownn,
Nedeles saue ȝe þe soyle for sell it ȝe thynken.
Ȝour forfadirs were fayne when any frende come
For to schake to þe schawe and schewe hym þe estres
In iche ‘holt’ þat þay had ane hare for to fynde,
Bryng to the brod launde bukkes ynewe
To lache and to late goo to lightten þaire hertis.
Now es it sett and solde my sorowe es þe more,
Waste[d] alle wilfully ȝour wyfes to paye.
That are had [ben] lordes in londe and ladyes riche
Now are þay nysottes of þe new gett so nysely attyred
With [sy]de slabbande sleues sleght to þe grounde
Ourlede all vmbtourne with ermyn aboute
Þat es as harde, as I hope, to handil in þe derne
Als a cely symple wenche þat neuer silke wroghte.
Bot whoso lukes on hir lyre, oure lady of heuen,
How scho fled for ferd ferre out of hir kythe
Appon ane amblande asse withowtten more pride
Safe a barne in hir barme and a broken heltre
Þat Joseph held in hys hande þat hend for to ȝeme.
All þofe scho walt al þis werlde hir w[e]des wer pore
For to gyf ensample of siche for to schewe oþer
For to leue pompe and pride, þat pouerte ofte schewes.’
Of thies poure penyles men þat peloure will by,
Sadills of sendale with sercles full riche.
Lesse [þat] ȝe wrethe ȝour wifes þaire willes to folowe
Ȝe sellyn wodd aftir wodde in a wale tyme,
Bothe þe oke and þe assche and alle þat þer growes.
Þe spyres and þe ȝonge sprynge ȝe spare to ȝour children
And sayne God wil graunt it his grace to grow at þe last
For to [schadewe] ȝour sones bot þe schame es ȝour ownn,
Nedeles saue ȝe þe soyle for sell it ȝe thynken.
Ȝour forfadirs were fayne when any frende come
For to schake to þe schawe and schewe hym þe estres
In iche ‘holt’ þat þay had ane hare for to fynde,
14
To lache and to late goo to lightten þaire hertis.
Now es it sett and solde my sorowe es þe more,
Waste[d] alle wilfully ȝour wyfes to paye.
That are had [ben] lordes in londe and ladyes riche
Now are þay nysottes of þe new gett so nysely attyred
With [sy]de slabbande sleues sleght to þe grounde
Ourlede all vmbtourne with ermyn aboute
Þat es as harde, as I hope, to handil in þe derne
Als a cely symple wenche þat neuer silke wroghte.
Bot whoso lukes on hir lyre, oure lady of heuen,
How scho fled for ferd ferre out of hir kythe
Appon ane amblande asse withowtten more pride
Safe a barne in hir barme and a broken heltre
Þat Joseph held in hys hande þat hend for to ȝeme.
All þofe scho walt al þis werlde hir w[e]des wer pore
For to gyf ensample of siche for to schewe oþer
For to leue pompe and pride, þat pouerte ofte schewes.’
Than þe Wastour wrothly castes vp his eghne
And said, ‘þou Wynnere, þou wriche, me woundirs in hert
What hafe oure clothes coste þe, caytef, to by
Þat þou schal birdes vpbrayd of þaire bright wedis,
Sythen þat we vouchesafe þat þe siluer payen.
It lyes wele for a lede his lemman to fynde,
Aftir hir faire chere to forthir hir herte.
Then will scho loue hym lelely as hir lyfe one
Make hym bolde and bown with brandes to smytte
To schonn schenchipe and schame þer schalkes ere gadird.
And if my peple ben prode me payes alle þe better
To [s]ee þam faire and free tofore with myn eghne.
And ȝe negardes appon nyghte ȝe nappen so harde,
Routten at ȝour raxillyng, raysen ȝour hurdes.
Ȝe beden wayte one þe wedir þen wery ȝe þe while
Þat ȝe nade hightilde vp ȝour houses and ȝour hyne raysed.
Forthi, Wynnere, with wronge þou wastes þi tyme
For gode day ne glade getys þou neuer.
Þe deuyll at þi dede-day schal delyn þi gudis,
Þo þou woldest þat it were wyn þay it neuer,
Þi skathill sectours schal seuer þam aboute
And þou hafe helle full hotte for þat þou here saued,
Þou tast [no] tent one a tale þat tolde was full ȝore.
I hold hym madde þat mournes his make for to wyn,
Hent hir þat hir haf schal and hold hir his while.
Take þe coppe as it comes, þe case as it falles,
For whoso lyfe may lengeste lympes to feche
Woodd þat he waste schall to warmen his helys
Ferrere þan his fadir dide by fyvetene myle.
Now kan I carpe no more bot Sir Kyng, by þi trouthe,
Deme vs where we duell schall, me thynke þe day hyes.
Ȝit harde sore es myn [hert] and harmes me more
Euer to see in my syghte þat I in soule hate.’
And said, ‘þou Wynnere, þou wriche, me woundirs in hert
What hafe oure clothes coste þe, caytef, to by
Þat þou schal birdes vpbrayd of þaire bright wedis,
Sythen þat we vouchesafe þat þe siluer payen.
It lyes wele for a lede his lemman to fynde,
Aftir hir faire chere to forthir hir herte.
Then will scho loue hym lelely as hir lyfe one
Make hym bolde and bown with brandes to smytte
To schonn schenchipe and schame þer schalkes ere gadird.
And if my peple ben prode me payes alle þe better
To [s]ee þam faire and free tofore with myn eghne.
And ȝe negardes appon nyghte ȝe nappen so harde,
Routten at ȝour raxillyng, raysen ȝour hurdes.
Ȝe beden wayte one þe wedir þen wery ȝe þe while
Þat ȝe nade hightilde vp ȝour houses and ȝour hyne raysed.
Forthi, Wynnere, with wronge þou wastes þi tyme
For gode day ne glade getys þou neuer.
Þe deuyll at þi dede-day schal delyn þi gudis,
15
Þi skathill sectours schal seuer þam aboute
And þou hafe helle full hotte for þat þou here saued,
Þou tast [no] tent one a tale þat tolde was full ȝore.
I hold hym madde þat mournes his make for to wyn,
Hent hir þat hir haf schal and hold hir his while.
Take þe coppe as it comes, þe case as it falles,
For whoso lyfe may lengeste lympes to feche
Woodd þat he waste schall to warmen his helys
Ferrere þan his fadir dide by fyvetene myle.
Now kan I carpe no more bot Sir Kyng, by þi trouthe,
Deme vs where we duell schall, me thynke þe day hyes.
Ȝit harde sore es myn [hert] and harmes me more
Euer to see in my syghte þat I in soule hate.’
The kynge louely lokes on þe ledis twayne,
Says, ‘blynnes, beryns, of ȝour brethe and of ȝoure brode worde
And I schal deme ȝow this day where ȝe duelle schall,
Aythere lede in a lond þer he es loued moste.
Wende, Wynnere, þi waye ouer þe wale stremys,
Passe forthe by Paris to þe pope of Rome,
Þe cardynalls ken þe wele, will kepe þe ful faire
And make þi sydes in silken schetys to lygge
And fede þe and foster þe and forthir thyn hert
As leefe to worthen wode as þe to wrethe ones.
Bot loke, lede, be þi lyfe, when I lettres sende
Þat þou hy þe to me home on horse or one fote,
And when I knowe þou will co[me] he schall cayre vttire
And lenge with anoþer lede til þou þi lefe [take].
For þofe þou bide in þis burgh to þi ber[yinge-daye]
With hym happyns þe neuer a fote for [to holde].
And thou, Wastoure, I will þat þou wonn[e scholde]
Þer moste waste es of wele and wyng [þer vntill].
Chese þe forthe into þe chepe, a chambre þou rere,
Loke þi wyndowe be wyde and wayte þe aboute
Where any p[eti]t beryn þurgh þe burgh passe.
Teche hym to þe tauerne till he tayte worthe,
Doo hym drynke al nyȝte þat he dry be at morow,
Sythen ken hym to þe crete to comforth his vaynes,
Brynge hym to Bred Strete, bikken þi fynger,
Schew hym of fatt chepe scholdirs ynewe,
“Hotte for þe hungry” a hen oþer twayne.
Sett hym softe one a sege and sythen send after
[And] bryng out of þe burgh þe best þou may fynde
And luke thi knafe hafe a knoke bot he þe clothe spre[de].
Bot late hym paye or he passe and pik hym so clene
Þat fynd a peny in his purse and put owte his eghe.
When þat es dronken and don duell þer no lenger
Bot teche hym owt of the townn to trotte aftir more
Then passe to þe pultrie, þe peple þe knowes
And ken wele þi katour to knawen þi fode,
The herouns, þe hasteleteȝ þe henne wele [to] serue
Þe pertrikes, þe plouers þe oþer pulled byrddes
Þe albus, þ[e end]es þe egretes dere,
Þe more þou wastis þi wele þe better þe Wynner lykes.
And wayte to me, þou Wynnere, if þou wilt wele chefe,
When I wende appon werre my wyes to lede
For at þe proude pales of Parys þe riche
I thynk to do it in ded and dub þe to knyghte
And giff giftes full grete of golde and of sil[uer]
To ledis of my legyance þat lufen me in hert.
And sythen [k]ayre as I come with knyghtes þat me foloen
To þe kirke of Colayne þer þe kynges ligges....’
Says, ‘blynnes, beryns, of ȝour brethe and of ȝoure brode worde
And I schal deme ȝow this day where ȝe duelle schall,
Aythere lede in a lond þer he es loued moste.
Wende, Wynnere, þi waye ouer þe wale stremys,
Passe forthe by Paris to þe pope of Rome,
Þe cardynalls ken þe wele, will kepe þe ful faire
And make þi sydes in silken schetys to lygge
And fede þe and foster þe and forthir thyn hert
As leefe to worthen wode as þe to wrethe ones.
Bot loke, lede, be þi lyfe, when I lettres sende
Þat þou hy þe to me home on horse or one fote,
And when I knowe þou will co[me] he schall cayre vttire
And lenge with anoþer lede til þou þi lefe [take].
For þofe þou bide in þis burgh to þi ber[yinge-daye]
With hym happyns þe neuer a fote for [to holde].
And thou, Wastoure, I will þat þou wonn[e scholde]
Þer moste waste es of wele and wyng [þer vntill].
Chese þe forthe into þe chepe, a chambre þou rere,
Loke þi wyndowe be wyde and wayte þe aboute
Where any p[eti]t beryn þurgh þe burgh passe.
Teche hym to þe tauerne till he tayte worthe,
16
Sythen ken hym to þe crete to comforth his vaynes,
Brynge hym to Bred Strete, bikken þi fynger,
Schew hym of fatt chepe scholdirs ynewe,
“Hotte for þe hungry” a hen oþer twayne.
Sett hym softe one a sege and sythen send after
[And] bryng out of þe burgh þe best þou may fynde
And luke thi knafe hafe a knoke bot he þe clothe spre[de].
Bot late hym paye or he passe and pik hym so clene
Þat fynd a peny in his purse and put owte his eghe.
When þat es dronken and don duell þer no lenger
Bot teche hym owt of the townn to trotte aftir more
Then passe to þe pultrie, þe peple þe knowes
And ken wele þi katour to knawen þi fode,
The herouns, þe hasteleteȝ þe henne wele [to] serue
Þe pertrikes, þe plouers þe oþer pulled byrddes
Þe albus, þ[e end]es þe egretes dere,
Þe more þou wastis þi wele þe better þe Wynner lykes.
And wayte to me, þou Wynnere, if þou wilt wele chefe,
When I wende appon werre my wyes to lede
For at þe proude pales of Parys þe riche
I thynk to do it in ded and dub þe to knyghte
And giff giftes full grete of golde and of sil[uer]
To ledis of my legyance þat lufen me in hert.
And sythen [k]ayre as I come with knyghtes þat me foloen
To þe kirke of Colayne þer þe kynges ligges....’
| Wynnere and Wastoure | |