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King Horn

a Middile English romance

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KING HORN

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From MS. Gg. 4. 27. 2. University Library, Cambridge.

Alle beon he bliþe
þat to my song lyþe:
A sang ihc schal ȝou singe
Of Murry þe kinge.
King he was biweste
So longe so hit laste.
Godhild het his quen,
Faire ne miȝte non ben.
He hadde a sone þat het horn,
Fairer ne miste non beo born.
Ne no rein vpon birine,
Ne sunne vpon bischine:
Fairer nis non þane he was,
He was briȝt so þe glas,
He was whit so þe flur,
Rose red was his colur.
In none kinge riche
Nas non his iliche.
Twelf feren he hadde
Þat he alle wiþ him ladde;
Alle riche mannes sones
& alle hi were faire gomes,
Wiþ him for to pleie,
& mest he luuede tweie;
Þat on him het haþulf child,
& þat oþer ffikenild:

Aþulf was þe beste
& fikenylde þe werste.
Hit was vpon a someres day,
Also ihc ȝou telle may,
Murri þe gode king
Rod on his pleing
Bi þe se side,
Ase he was woned ride:
He fond bi þe stronde
ariued on his londe
Schipes fiftene
wiþ sarazins kene.
He axede what isoȝte
Oþer to londe broȝte.

A payn hit ofherde
& hym wel sone answarede:
‘Þi lond folk we schulle slon
And alle þat Crist luueþ vpon
And þe selue riȝt anon,
Ne schaltu todai henne gon.’
Þe kyng aliȝte of his stede,
For þo he hauede nede,
& his gode kniȝtes two;
Al to fewe he hadde þo.
Swerd hi gunne gripe
& togadere smite;
Hy smyten vnder schelde
Þat sume hit yfelde.
Þe king hadde al to fewe
Toȝenes so vele schrewe;
So fele miȝten yþe
Bringe hem þre to diþe.

Þe pains come to londe
& neme hit in here honde:
Þat folc hi gunne quelle
& churchen for to felle.
Þer ne moste libbe
Þe fremde ne þe sibbe,
Bute hi here laȝe asoke
& to here toke.

Of alle wymmanne
Wurst was godhild þanne;
For Murri heo weop sore
& for horn ȝute more.
He wenten vt of halle
Fram hire Maidenes alle;
Vnder a roche of stone,
Þer heo liuede alone,
Þer heo seruede gode
Aȝenes þe paynes forbode;
Þer he seruede criste
Þat no payn hit ne wiste:
Eure heo bad for horn child
Þat Jesu crist him beo myld.
Horn was in paynes honde
Wiþ his feren of þe londe.
Muchel was his fairhede,
for ihesu crist him makede
Payns him wolde slen
Oþer al quic flen,
Ȝef his fairnesse nere,
Þe children alle aslaȝe were.
Þanne spak on Admirad,
Of wordes he was bald,
‘Horn, þu art wel kene,
& þat is wel isene;
Þu art gret & strong,
fair & euene long;
Þu schalt waxe more
Bi fulle seue ȝere:
Ȝef þu mote to liue go
& þine feren also,
Ȝef hit so bi falle
Ȝe scholde slen vs alle:
Þaruore þu most to stere,
Þu & þine ifere;
To schupe schulle ȝe funde
& sinke to þe grunde,
Þe se ȝou schal adrenche,
Ne schal hit us noȝt ofþinche;

For if þu were aliue,
Wiþ swerd oþer wiþ kniue,
We scholden alle deie
& þi fader deþ abeie.’

Þe children hi broȝte to stronde
Wringinde here honde
In to schupes borde
At þe furste worde.
Ofte hadde horn beo wo
At neure wurs þan him was þo.
Þe se bigan to flowe
& horn child to rowe;
Þe se þat schup so fasste drof
Þe children dradde þerof.
Hi wenden to wisse
of here lif to misse,
Al þe day & al þe niȝt,
Til hit sprang dai liȝt

Til Horn saȝ on þe stronde
Men gon in þe londe.
‘Feren’ quaþ he ‘ȝonge,
Ihc telle ȝou tiþinge,
Ihc here foȝeles singe
& þat gras him springe.
Bliþe beo we on lyue,
Vre schup is on ryue.’
Of schup hi gunne funde
& setten fout to grunde,
Bi þe se side
hi leten þat schup ride.

Þanne spak him child horn,
In suddene he was iborn,
‘Schup, bi þe se flode
Daies haue þu gode:
Bi þe se brinke
No water þe nadrinke.

Ȝef þu cume to Suddenne,
Gret þu wel of myne kenne,
Gret þu wel my moder,
Godhild quen þe gode;
& seie þe paene kyng,
Jesucristes wiþering,
Þat ihc am hol & fer
On þis lond ariued her;
And seie þat hei schal fonde
Þe dent of myne honde.’
Þe children ȝede to Tune
Bi dales & bi dune.
Hy metten wiþ almair king,
Crist ȝeuen him his blessing,
King of Westernesse,
Crist ȝiue him Muchel blisse,
He him spac to horn child
Wordes þat were Mild:
‘Whannes beo ȝe, faire gumes,
Þat her to londe beoþ icume,
Alle þrottene
Of bodie swiþe kene?
Bigod þat me makede,
A swihc fair verade
Ne sauȝ ihc in none stunde
Bi westene londe:
Seie me wat ȝe seche.’
Horn spak here speche,
He spak for hem alle,
vor so hit moste biualle;
He was þe faireste
& of wit þe beste.

‘We beoþ of Suddenne,
Icome of gode kenne,
Of Cristene blode
& kynges suþe gode.
Payns þer gunne ariue
& duden hem of lyue:

Hi sloȝen & todroȝe
Cristenemen inoȝe.
So crist me mote rede
Vs he dude lede
In to a galeie,
wiþ þe se to pleie,
Dai hit is igon & oþer:
Wiþute sail & roþer
Vre schip bigan to swymme
To þis londes brymme.
Nu þu miȝt vs slen & binde,
Ore honde bihynde,
Bute ȝef hit beo þi wille,
Helpe þat we ne spille.’

Þanne spak þe gode kyng,
Iwis he nas no Niþing:
‘Seie me, child, what is þi name,
Ne schaltu haue bute game.’
Þe child him answerde
Sone so he hit herde:
‘Horn ihc am ihote,
Icomen vt of þe bote
Fram þe se side:
Kyng, wel mote þe tide.’
Þanne hym spak þe gode kyng,
‘Wel bruc þu þin euening,
Horn þu go wel schulle
Bi dales & bi hulle;
Horn þu lude sune
Bi dales & bi dune,
So schal þi name springe
Fram kynge to kynge,
& þi fairnesse
Abute Westernesse,
Þe strengþe of þine honde
In to Eurech londe:
Horn, þu art so swete
Ne may ihc þe forlete.’
Hom rod Aylmar þe kyng
& horn mid him his fundyng

& alle his ifere
Þat were him so dere.

Þe kyng com in to halle
Among his kniȝtes alle:
Forþ he clupede aþelbrus,
Þat was stiward of his hus:
‘Stiward, tak nu here
Mi fundlyng for to lere
Of þine mestere,
of wude & of riuere;
& tech him to harpe
Wiþ his nayles scharpe,
Biuore me to kerue
& of þe cupe serue;
Þu tech him of alle þe liste
Þat þu eure of wiste,
In his feiren þou wise
In to oþere seruise:
Horn þu vnderuonge
& tech him of harpe & songe.’

Ailbrus gan lere
Horn & his yfere:
Horn in herte laȝte
Al þat he him taȝte.
In þe curt & vte
& elles al abute
Luuede men horn child,
& mest him louede Rymenhild,
Þe kynges oȝene doster,
He was mest in þoȝte:
Heo louede so horn child
Þat neȝ heo gan wexe wild:
For heo ne miȝte at borde
Wiþ him speke no worde,
Ne noȝt in þe halle
Among þe kniȝtes alle,

Ne nowhar in non oþere stede:
Of folk heo hadde drede:
Bi daie ne bi niȝte
Wiþ him speke ne miȝte;
Hire soreȝe ne hire pine
Ne miȝte neure fine:
In heorte heo hadde wo,
& þus hire biþoȝte þo,
Heo sende hire sonde
Aþelbrus to honde
Þat he come hire to,
& also scholde horn do
Al in to bure,
ffor heo gan to lure;
& þe sonde seide
Þat sik lai þat maide,
& bad him come swiþe,
For heo nas noþing bliþe,
Þe stuard was in herte wo,
For he nuste what to do;
Wat Rymenhild hure þoȝte
Gret wunder him þuȝte,
Abute horn þe ȝonge
To bure for to bringe;
He þoȝte vpon his mode
Hit nas for none gode.
He tok him anoþer,
Athulf, hornes broþer.

‘Aþulf,’ he sede, ‘riȝt anon
Þu schalt wiþ me to bure gon,
To speke wiþ Rymenhild stille
& witen hure wille.
In hornes ilike
þu schalt hure biswike:
Sore ihc me ofdrede
He wolde horn misrede.’

Aþelbrus gan Aþulf lede
& in to bure wiþ him ȝede.
Anon vpon Aþulf child
Rymenhild gan wexe wild:
He wende þat horn hit were
þat heo hauede þere.
Heo sette him on bedde;
Wiþ Aþulf child he wedde.
On hire armes tweie
Aþulf heo gan leie.
‘Horn,’ quaþ heo, ‘wel longe
Ihc habbe þe luued stronge.
Þu schalt þi trewþe pliȝte
On myn hond her riȝte
Me to spuse holde,
& ihc þe lord to wolde.’

Aþulf sede on hire ire
So stille so hit were:
‘Þi tale nu þu lynne,
For horn nis noȝt her inne.
Ne beo we noȝt iliche:
Horn is sairer & riche,
Fairer bi one ribbe
Þane eni Man þat libbe:
Þeȝ horn were vnder Molde
Oþer elles wher he wolde
Oþer henne a þusend Mile,
Ihc nolde him ne þe bigile.’

Rymenhild hire biwente
& Aþelbrus fule heo schente.
‘Hennes þu go, þu fule þeof,
Ne wurstu me neure more leof;
Went vt of my bur
Wiþ muchel mesauentur.
Schame mote þu fonge
& on hiȝe rode anhonge.
Ne spek ihc noȝt wiþ horn
Nis he noȝt so vnorn;

Horn is fairer þane beo he:
Wiþ muchel schame mote þu deie.’

Aþelbrus in a stunde
Fel anon to grunde:
‘Lefdi Min oȝe,
Liþe me a litel þroȝe.
Lust whi ihc wonde
Bringe þe horn to honde.
For horn is fair & riche,
Nis no whar his iliche:
Aylmar þe gode kyng
Dude him on mi lokyng;
Ȝef horn were her abute,
Sore y me dute
Wiþ him ȝe wolden pleie
Bitwex ȝou selue tweie:
Þanne scholde wiþuten oþe
Þe kyng maken vs wroþe.
Rymenhild, forȝef me þi tene,
Lefdi, my quene,
& horn ihc schal þe fecche,
Wham so hit recche.’

Rymenhild ȝef he cuþe
Gan lynne wiþ hire Muþe:
Heo makede hire wel bliþe;
Wel was hire þat siþe:
‘Go nu,’ quaþ heo, ‘sone
& send him after none,
Whane þe kyng arise,
On a squieres wise,
To wude for to pleie:
Nis non þat him biwreie.
He schal wiþ me bileue
Til hit beo nir eue,
To hauen of him mi wille,
After ne recchecche what me telle.’

Aylbrus wende hire fro,
Horn in halle fond he þo

Bifore þe kyng on benche
Wyn for to schenche.
‘Horn,’ quaþ he, ‘so hende,
To bure nu þu wende
After mete stille
Wiþ Rymenhild to duelle:
Wordes suþe bolde
In herte þu hem holde:
Horn, beo me wel trewe,
Ne schal hit þe neure rewe.’
Horn in herte leide
Al þat he him seide:
He ȝeode in wel riȝte
To Rymenhild þe briȝte,
On knes he him sette
& sweteliche hure grette.
Of his feire siȝte
Al þe bur gan liȝte.
He spac faire speche,
Ne dorte him noman teche:
‘Wel þu sitte & softe,
Rymenhild þe briȝte,
Wiþ þine Maidenes sixe
Þat þe sitteþ nixte.
Kinges stuard vre
Sende me in to bure
Wiþ þe speke ihc scholde;
Seie me what þu woldest,
Seie & ihc schal here
What þi wille were.’

Rymenhild vp gan stonde
& tok him bi þe honde:
Heo sette him on pelle
Of wyn to drinke his fulle:
Heo makede him faire chere
& tok him abute þe swere.
Ofte heo him custe
So wel so hire luste.

‘Horn,’ heo sede, ‘wiþute strif
Þu schalt haue me to þi wif;
Horn, haue of me rewþe
& plist me þi trewþe.’

Horn þo him biþoȝte
What he speke miȝte.
‘Crist,’ quaþ he, ‘þe wisse
& ȝiue þe heuene blisse
Of þine husebonde
Wher he beo in londe.
Ihc am ibore to lowe
Such wimman to knowe.
Ihc am icome of þralle
& fundling bifalle.
Ne feolle hit þe of cunde
To spuse beo me bunde:
Hit nere no fair wedding
Bitwexe a þral & a king.’

Þo gan Rymenhild mis lyke
& sore gan to sike:
Armes heo gan buȝe,
Adun he feol iswoȝe.

Horn in herte was ful wo,
& tok hire on his armes two:
He gan hire for to kesse
Wel ofte mid ywisse.
‘Lemman,’ he sede, ‘dere,
Þin herte nu þu stere.
Help me to kniȝte
Bi al þine miȝte,
To my lord þe king,
Þat he me ȝiue dubbing.

Þanne is mi þralhod
Iwent in to kniȝthod,
& ischal wexe more
& do, lemman, þi lore.’

Rymenhild, þat swete þing
Wakede of hire swoȝning:
‘Horn,’ quaþ heo, ‘vel sone
Þat schal beon idone:
Þu schalt beo dubbed kniȝt
Are come seue niȝt.
Haue her þis cuppe
& þis Ryng þer vppe
To Aylbrus & stuard,
& se he holde foreward:
Seie ihc him biseche
Wiþ loueliche speche
Þat he adun falle
Bifore þe king in halle,
& bidde þe king ariȝte
Dubbe þe to kniȝte.
Wiþ seluer & wiþ golde
Hit wurþ him wel iȝolde.
Crist him lene spede
Þin erende to bede.’

Horn tok his leue,
For hit was neȝ eue.
Aþelbrus he soȝte
& ȝaf him þat he broȝte,
& tolde him ful ȝare
Hu he hadde ifare,
& sede him his nede,
& bihet him his mede.

Aþelbrus also swiþe
Wente to halle bliue:

‘Kyng,’ he sede, ‘þu leste
A tale mid þe beste;
Þu schalt bere crune
Tomoreȝe in þis tune;
Tomoreȝe is þi feste:
Þer bihoueþ geste.
Hit nere noȝt for loren
For to kniȝti child horn,
Þine armes for to welde,
God kniȝt he schal ȝelde.’

Þe king sede sone,
‘Þat is wel idone.
Horn me wel iquemeþ,
God kniȝt him bisemeþ.
He schal haue mi dubbing
& afterward mi derling.
& alle his feren twelf
He schal kniȝten him self:
Alle he schal hem kniȝte
Bifore me þis niȝte.’
Til þe liȝt of day sprang
Ailmar him þuȝte lang.
Þe day bigan to springe,
Horn com biuore þe kinge
Mid his twelf yfere:
Sume hi were luþere.
Horn he dubbede to kniȝte
Wiþ swerd & spures briȝte.
He sette him on a stede whit:
Þer nas no kniȝt hym ilik.
He smot him a litel wiȝt
& bed him beon a god kniȝt.

Aþulf fel aknes þar
Biuore þe king Aylmar.
‘King,’ he sede, ‘so kene,
Grante me a bene:

Nu is kniȝt sire horn
Þat in suddenne was iboren:
Lord he is of londe
Ouer us þat bi him stonde:
Þin armes he haþ & scheld
To fiȝte wiþ vpon þe feld:
Let him vs alle kniȝte
For þat is vre riȝte.’

Aylmar sede sone ywis:
‘Do nu þat þi wille is.’
Horn adun liȝte
& makede hem alle kniȝtes.
Murie was þe feste
Al of faire gestes:
Ac Rymenhild nas noȝt þer
& þat hire þuȝte seue ȝer.
After horn heo sente,
& he to bure wente.
Nolde he noȝt go one,
Aþulf was his mone.
Rymenhild on flore stod,
Hornes come hire þuȝte god,
And sede, ‘welcome,’ sire horn,
& Aþulf kniȝt þe biforn.
Kniȝt, nu is þi time
For to sitte bi me:
Do nu þat þu er of spake,
To þi wif þume take.
Ef þu art trewe of dedes,
Do nu ase þu sedes.
Nu þu hast wille þine,
Vn bind me of my pine.’

‘Rymenhild,’ quaþ he, ‘beo stille;
Ihc wulle don al þi wille.
Also hit mot bitide,
Mid spere ischal furst ride,
& mi kniȝthod proue,
Ar ihc þe ginne to woȝe.

We beþ kniȝtes ȝonge,
Of odai al isprunge,
& of vre mestere
So is þe manere
Wiþ sume oþere kniȝte
Wel for his lemman fiȝte,
Or he eni wif take:
For þi me stondeþ þe more rape.
Today, so crist me blesse,
Ihc wulle do pruesse
For þi luue in þe felde
Mid spere & mid schelde:
If ihc come to lyue
Ihc schal þe take to wyue.’

‘Kniȝt,’ quaþ heo, ‘trewe,
Ihc wene ihc mai þe leue:
Tak nu her þis goldring,
God him is þe dubbing;
Þer is vpon þe ringe
Igraue Rymenhild þe ȝonge.
Þer nis non betere anonder sunne
Þat eni man of telle cunne;
For my luue þu hit were
& on þi finger þu him bere:
Þe stones beoþ of suche grace
Þat þu ne schalt in none place
Of none duntes beon ofdrad,
Ne on bataille beon amad,
Ef þu loke þeran
& þenke vpon þi lemman.

And sire Aþulf, þi broþer,
He schal haue anoþer.
Horn, ihc þe biseche,
Wiþ loueliche speche,
Crist ȝeue god erndinge
Þe aȝen to bringe.’

Þe kniȝt hire gan kesse,
& heo him to blesse:

Leue at hire he nam,
& in to halle cam.
Þe kniȝtes ȝeden to table,
& horne ȝede to stable.
Þar he tok his gode fole
Also blak so eny cole;
Þe fole schok þe brunie
Þat al þe curt gan denie,
Þe fole bigan to springe,
& horn murie to singe.
Horn rod in a while
More þan a myle.
He fond o schup stonde
Wiþ heþene honde:
He axede what hi soȝte
Oþer to londe broȝte.

An hund him gan bihelde,
Þat spac wordes belde:
‘Þis lond we wulleȝ wynne
& sle þat þer is inne.’
Horn gan his swerd gripe,
& on his arme wype;
Þe sarazins he smatte
Þat his blod hatte;
At eureche dunte
Þe heued of wente.
Þo gunne þe hundes gone
Abute horn al one:
He lokede on þe ringe,
& þoȝte on rimenilde.
He sloȝ þer on haste
On hundred bi þe laste
Ne miȝte noman telle
Þat folc þat he gan quelle:
Of alle þat were aliue
Ne miȝte þer non þriue.

Horn tok þe maisteres heued,
Þat he hadde him bireued,
& sette hit on his swerde
Anouen at þan orde.
He verde hom in to halle
Among þe kniȝtes alle.
‘Kyng,’ he sede, ‘wel þu sitte
& alle þine kniȝtes mitte;
To day, after mi dubbing,
So irod on mi pleing,
Ifond o schup Rowe
Þo hit gan to flowe,
Al wiþ sarazines kyn,
& none londisse Men,
To dai for to pine
Þe & alle þine.
Hi gonne me assaille,
Mi swerd me nolde faille,
Ismot hem alle to grunde
Oþer ȝaf hem diþes wunde.
Þat heued i þe bringe
Of þe maister kinge.
Nu is þi wile iȝolde,
King, þat þu me kniȝti woldest.’

Amoreȝe þo þe day gan springe
þe king him rod an huntinge;
At hom lefte ffikenhild,
Þat was þe wurste moder child.
Heo ferde in to bure
To sen auenture:
Heo saȝ Rymenild sitte,
Also he were of witte:
Heo sat on þe sunne
Wiþ tieres al birunne,
Horn sede, ‘lef, þinore,
Wi wepestu so sore?’

Heo sede ‘noȝt ine wepe,
Bute ase ilay aslepe
To þe se my net icaste,
& hit nolde noȝt ilaste;
A gret fiss at þe furste
Minet he gan to berste.
Ihc wene þat ihc schal leose
Þe fiss þat ihc wolde cheose.’

‘Crist,’ quaþ horn, ‘& seint steuene
Turne þine sweuene.
Ne schal iþe biswike,
Ne do þat þe mislike.
Ischal me make þinowe
To holden & to knowe
For eureche oþere wiȝte,
& þarto mi treuþe iþe pliȝte.’
Muchel was þe ruþe
Þat was at þare truþe:
For Rymenhild weop ille,
& horn let þe tires stille.
‘Lemman,’ quaþ he, ‘dere
Þu schalt more ihere;
Þi sweuen schal wende,
Oþer sum Man schal vs schende.
Þe fiss þat brak þe lyne
Ywis he doþ us pine,
Þat schal don vs tene,
& wurþ wel sone isene.’

Aylmar rod bi sture,
& horn lai in bure.
Fykenhild hadde enuye
& sede þes solye:
‘Aylmar, ihc þe warne,
Horn þe wule berne;
Ihc herde whar he sede,
& his swerd forþ leide,
To bringe þe of lyue,
& take Rymenhild to wyue.

He liþ in bure
Vnder couerture
By Rymenhild þi doȝter,
& so he doþ wel ofte;
And þider þu go al riȝt,
Þer þu him finde miȝt;
Þu do him vt of londe,
Oþer he doþ þe schonde.’

Aylmar aȝen gan turne
Wel Modi & wel Murne.
He fond horn in arme.
On Rymenhilde barme
‘Awei vt,’ he sede, ‘fule þeof!
Ne wurstu me neuremore leof.
Wend vt of my bure
Wiþ muchel messauenture.
Wel sone bute þu flitte,
Wiþ swerde ihc þe anhitte.
Wend vt of my londe
Oþer þu schalt haue schonde.’

Horn sadelede his stede
& his armes he gan sprede;
His brunie he gan lace
So he scholde in to place;
His swerd he gan fonge,
Nabod he noȝt to longe.
He ȝede forþ bliue
To Rymenhild his wyue.
He sede, ‘Lemman derling,
Nu hauestu þi sweuening.
Þe fiss þat þi net rente,
Fram þe he me sente.

Rymenhild, haue wel godne day,
No leng abiden ine may.
In to vncuþe londe,
Wel more for to fonde;
Ischal wune þere
Fulle seue ȝere.
At seue ȝeres ende,
Ȝef ine come ne sende,
Tak þe husebonde,
ffor me þu ne wonde;
In armes þu me fonge
& kes me wel longe.’
He custe him wel a stunde
& Rymenhild feol to grunde.
Horn tok his leue,
ne miȝte he no leng bileue;
He tok Aþulf his fere
Al abute þe swere,
& sede, ‘kniȝt so trewe,
Kep wel mi luue newe.
Þu neure me ne forsoke;
Rymenhild þu kep and loke
His stede he gan bistride
& forþ he gan ride:
To þe hauene he ferde,
& a god schup he hurede,
Þat him scholde londe
In westene londe.

Aþulf weop wiþ iȝe
& al þat him isiȝe.
To lond he him sette
& fot on stirop sette.
He fond bi þe weie
Kynges sones tweie:
Þat on him het harild,
& þat oþer berild.

Berild gan him preie
Þat he scholde him seie,
What his name were
& what he wolde þere.
‘Cutberd,’ he sede, ‘ihc hote,
Icomen vt of þe bote,
Wel feor fram biweste
To seche mine beste.’
Berild gan him nier ride
& tok him bi þe bridel;
‘Wel beo þu kniȝt ifounde!
Wiþ me þu lef astunde:
Also mote i sterue,
Þe king þu schalt serue;
Ne saȝ i neure my lyue
So fair kniȝt aryue.’
Cutberd heo ladde in to halle,
& he a kne gan falle:
He sette him a knewelyng
& grette wel þe gode kyng.
Þanne sede Berild sone:
‘Sire king, of him þu hast to done,
Bitak him þi lond to werie,
Ne schal hit noman derie;
For he is þe faireste man
Þat eureȝut on þi londe cam.’

Þanne sede þe king so dere:
‘Welcome beo þu here.
Go nu, Berild, swiþe,
& make him ful bliþe;
And whan þu farst to woȝe,
Tak him þine gloue;
Iment þu hauest to wyue,
Awai he schal þe dryue;
For Cutberdes fairhede,
Ne schal þe neure wel spede.’

Hit was at Cristesmasse,
Neiþer more ne lasse;

Þer cam in at none
A Geaunt suþe sone,
Iarmed fram paynyme,
And seide þes ryme:
‘Site stille, sire kyng,
& herkne þis tyþyng:
Her buþ paens ariued
Wel mo þane fiue:
Her beoþ on þe sonde,
King, vpon þi londe,
On of hem wile fiȝte
Aȝen þre kniȝtes:
Ȝef oþer þre slen vre,
Al þis lond beo ȝoure:
Ȝef vre on ouercomeþ ȝour þreo,
Al þis lond schal vre beo.
Tomoreȝe be þe fiȝtinge,
Whane þe liȝt of daye springe.’

Þanne sede þe kyng þurston:
‘Cutberd schal beo þat on,
Berild schal beo þat oþer,
Þe þridde Alrid his broþer.
For hi beoþ þe strengeste
& of armes þe beste.
Bute what schal vs to rede?
Ihc wene we beþ alle dede.’

Cutberd sat at borde
& sede þes wordes:
‘Sire king, hit nis no riȝte
On wiþ þre to fiȝte,
Aȝen one hunde
Þre cristen men to fonde.
Sire, ischal al one
Wiþute more ymone
Wiþ mi swerd wel eþe
Bringe hem þre to deþe.’

Þe kyng aros amoreȝe
Þat hadde muchel sorȝe.

& Cutherd ros of bedde
Wiþ armes he him schredde;
Horn his brunie gan on caste,
& lacede hit wel faste,
& cam to þe kinge
At his vp risinge.
‘King,’ he sede, ‘cum to felde
For to bihelde
Hu we fiȝte schulle,
& togare go wulle.’
Riȝt at prime tide
Hi gunnen vt ride,
And funden on a grene
A geaunt suþe kene,
His feren him biside
Hore deþ to abide.

Þe ilke bataille
Cutberd gan assaille:
He ȝaf dentes inoȝe,
Þe kniȝtes felle iswoȝe.
His dent he gan wiþdraȝe,
For hi were neȝ aslaȝe:
& sede, ‘kniȝtes, nu ȝe reste
One while ef ȝou leste.’
Hi sede hi neure nadde
Of kniȝte dentes so harde;
He was of hornes kunne,
Iborn in Suddenne.

Horn him gan to agrise,
& his blod arise.
Biuo him saȝ he stonde
Þat driuen him of londe,
& þat his fader sloȝ;
To him his swerd he droȝ,
He lokede on his rynge
& þoȝte on Rymenhilde,
He smot him þureȝ þe herte,

Þat sore him gan to smerte;
Þe paens þat er were so sturne,
Hi gunne awei vrne.
Horn & his compaynye
Gunne after hem wel swiþe hiȝe,
& sloȝen alle þe hundes
Er hi here schipes funde.
To deþe he hem alle broȝte,
His fader deþ wel dere hi boȝte:
Of alle þe kynges kniȝtes
Ne scapede þer no wiȝte,
Bute his sones tweie
Bifore him he saȝ deie.
Þe king bigan to grete
& teres for to lete:
Me leiden hem in bare
& burden hem ful ȝare.

Þe king com in to halle
Among his kniȝtes alle.
‘Horn,’ he sede, ‘iseie þe,
Do as ischal rede þe.
Aslaȝen beþ mine heirs,
& þu art kniȝt of muchel pris,
& of grete strengþe,
& fair o bodie lengþe.
Mi Rengne þu schalt welde,
& to spuse helde
Reynild mi doȝter,
Þat sitteþ on þe lofte.’

‘O sire king, wiþ wronge
Scholte ihc hit vnderfonge,
Þi doȝter þat ȝe me bede,
Ower rengne for to lede.
Wel more ihc schal þe serue,
Sire kyng, or þu sterue;
Þi sorwe schal wende
Or seue ȝeres ende;
Wanne hit is wente,
Sire king, ȝef me mi rente:
Whanne i þi doȝter ȝerne
Ne schaltu me hire werne.’
Cutberd wonede þere
Fulle seue ȝere,

Þat to Rymenild he ne sente
Ne him self ne wente.
Rymenild was in Westernesse
Wiþ wel muchel sorinesse.

A king þer gan ariue
Þat wolde hire haue to wyue:
Aton he was wiþ þe king
Of þat ilke wedding.
Þe daies were schorte,
Þat Rimenhild ne dorste
Leten in none wise;
A writ he dude deuise,
Aþulf hit dude write
Þat horn ne luuede noȝt lite.
Heo sende hire sonde
To euereche londe,
To seche horn þe kniȝt
Þer me him finde miȝte.
Horn noȝt þer of ne herde,
Til o dai þat he ferde
To wude for to schete;
A knaue he gan imete.
Horn seden, ‘leue fere,
Wat sechestu here?’
‘Kniȝt, if beo þi wille
Imai þe sone telle.
Iseche fram biweste
Horn of Westernesse,
For a Maiden Rymenhild
Þat for him gan wexe wild.
A king hire wile wedde
& bringe to his bedde,
King Modi of Reynes,
On of hornes enemis.
Ihc habbe walke wide
Bi þe se side;

Nis he nowar ifunde:
Walawai þe stunde!
Wailaway þe while!
Nu wurþ Rymenild bigiled.’
Horn iherde wiþ his ires,
& spak wiþ bidere tires:
‘Knaue, wel þe bitide,
Horn stondeþ þe biside;
Aȝen to hure þu turne
& seie þat heo ne murne,
For ischal beo þer bitime,
A soneday bi pryme.’
Þe knaue was wel bliþe
& hiȝede aȝen bliue.
Þe se bigan to þroȝe
Vnder hire woȝe.
Þe knaue þere gan adrinke:
Rymenhild hit miȝte ofþinke.
Rymenhild vndude þe dure pin
Of þe hus þer heo was in,
To loke wiþ hire iȝe
If heo oȝt of horn isiȝe.
Þo fond heo þe knaue adrent
Þat he hadde for horn isent,
& þat scholde horn bringe.
Hire fingres he gan wringe.

Horn cam to þurston þe kyng.
& tolde him þis tiþing.
Þo he was iknowe
Þat Rimenhild was his oȝe,
Of his gode kenne,
Þe king of Suddenne,
& hu he sloȝ in felde
Þat his fader quelde.

& seide: ‘king þe wise,
Ȝeld me mi seruise,
Rymenhild help me winne,
Þat þu noȝt ne linne:
& ischal do to spuse
Þi doȝter wel to huse;
Heo schal to spuse haue
Aþulf mi gode felaȝe,
God kniȝt mid þe beste
& þe treweste.’
Þe king sede so stille:
‘Horn, haue nu þi wille.’
He dude writes sende
In to yrlonde
After kniȝtes liȝte,
Irisse men to fiȝte.
To horn come inoȝe,
Þat to schupe droȝe.
Horn dude him in þe weie
On a god Galeie.
Þe wind him gan to blowe
In alitel þroȝe.
Þe se bigan to posse
Riȝt in to Westernesse.
Hi strike seil & maste
& Ankere gunne caste.
Or eny day was sprunge
Oþer belle irunge
Þe word bigan to springe
Of Rymenhilde weddinge.
Horn was in þe watere,
Ne miȝte he come no latere.
He let his schup stonde,
& ȝede to londe.
His folk he dude abide
Vnder wude side:
Horn him ȝede alone,
Also he sprunge of stone.

A palmere he þar mette,
& faire hine grette:
‘Palmere, þu schalt me telle
Al of þine spelle.’
He sede vpon his tale:
‘I come fram o brudale;
Ihc was at o wedding
Of a Maide Rymenhild:
Ne miȝte heo adriȝe
Þat heo ne weop wiþ iȝe:
Heo sede þat heo nolde
Ben ispused wiþ golde,
Heo hadde on husebonde
Þeȝ he were vt of londe.
& in strong halle,
Biþinne castel walle,
Þer iwas atte ȝate,
Nolde hi me in late.
Modi ihote hadde
To bure þat me hire ladde.
Awai igan glide,
Þat deol inolde abide.
Þe bride wepeþ sore,
& þat is muche deole.’

Quaþ horn: ‘so crist me rede,
We schulle chaungi wede:
Haue her cloþes myne,
& tak me þi sclauyne.
Today ischal þer drinke
Þat some hit schulle ofþinke.’
His sclauyn he dude dun legge,
& tok hit on his rigge:
He tok horn his cloþes,
Þat nere him noȝt loþe.
Horn tok burdon & scrippe,
& wrong his lippe.

He makede him a ful chere
& al bicolmede his swere.
He makede him vn bicomelich,
Hes he nas neuremore ilich.

He com to þe gateward
Þat him answerede hard.
Horn bad vndo softe
Mani tyme & ofte;
Ne miȝte he awynne
Þat he come þerinne.
Horn gan to þe ȝate turne
& þat wiket vnspurne;
Þe boye hit scholde abugge,
Horn þreu him ouer þe brigge,
Þat his ribbes him to brake,
& suþþe com in atte gate.
He sette him wel loȝe
In beggeres rowe;
He lokede him abute,
Wiþ his colmie snute.
He seȝ Rymenhild sitte
Ase heo were of witte
Sore wepinge & ȝerne:
Ne miȝte hure noman wurne.
He lokede in eche halke,
Ne seȝ he nowhar walke
Aþulf his felawe,
Þat he cuþe knowe.
Aþulf was in þe ture
Abute for to pure
After his comynge,
Ȝef schup him wolde bringe.
He seȝ þe se flowe
& horn nowar rowe.
He sede vpon his songe:
‘Horn, nu þu ert wel longe.
Rymenhild þu me toke
Þat ischolde loke.

Ihc habbe ikept hure eure:
Com nu oþer neure.
Ine may no leng hure kepe,
For soreȝe nu y wepe.’

Rymenhild Ros of benche
Wyn for to schenche,
After mete in sale,
boþe wyn & ale.
On horn he bar anhonde,
So laȝe was in londe.
Kniȝtes & squier
Alle dronken of þe ber.
Bute horn alone
Nadde þerof no mone.
Horn sat vpon þe grunde,
Him þuȝte he was ibunde.
He sede: ‘quen so hende,
Tomeward þu wende;
Þu ȝef vs wiþ þe furste,
Þe beggeres beoþ ofþurste.’

Hure horn heo leide adun
& fulde him of a brun
His bolle of a galun,
For heo wende he were a glotoun.
He seide: ‘haue þis cuppe
& þis þing þer vppe.
Ne saȝ ihc neure, so ihc wene,
Beggere þat were so kene.’
Horn tok hit his ifere,
& sede: ‘quen so dere,
Wyn nelle ihc Muche ne lite
Bute of cuppe white.
Þu wenest ibeo a beggere,
& ihc am a fissere,
Wel feor icome bi este
For fissen at þi feste:
Mi net liþ her bi honde,
Bi a wel fair stronde,
Hit haþ ileie þere
Fulle seue ȝere.

Ihc am icome to loke
Ef eni fiss hit toke.
Ihc am icome to fisse:
Drink to me of disse,
Drink to horn of horne:
Feor ihc am i orne.’
Rymenhild him gan bihelde,
Hire heorte bigan to chelde.
Ne kneu heo noȝt his fissing,
Ne horn hym selue noþing:
Ac wunder hire gan þinke
Whi he bad to horn drinke.
Heo fulde hire horn wiþ wyn
& dronk to þe pilegrym.
Heo sede: ‘drink þi fulle,
& suþþe þu me telle
If þu eure isiȝe
.Horn. vnder wude liȝe.’
Horn dronk of horn a stunde
& þreu þe ring to grunde.
Þe quen ȝede to bure
Wiþ hire maidenes foure.
Þo fond heo what heo wolde,
A ring igrauen of golde
Þat horn of hure hadde;
Sore hure dradde
Þat horn isterue were,
For þe Ring was þere.
Þo sente heo a damesele
After þe palmere;
‘Palmere,’ quaþ heo, ‘trewe,
Þe ring þat þu þrewe,
Þu seie whar þu hit nome,
& whi þu hider come.’
He sede: ‘bi seint gile,
Ihc habbe go mani Mile,

Wel feor bi ȝonde weste,
To seche my beste.
Ifond horn child stonde
To schupeward in londe.
He sede he wolde agesse
To ariue in westernesse.
Þe schip nam to þe flode
Wiþ me & horn þe gode;
Horn was sik & deide,
& faire he me preide:
“Go wiþ þe ringe
To Rymenhild þe ȝonge.”
Ofte he hit custe;
God ȝeue his saule reste.’

Rymenhild sede at þe furste:
‘Herte nu þu berste,
For horn nastu namore
Þat þe haþ pined þe so sore.’
Heo feol on hire bedde,
Þer heo knif hudde,
To sle wiþ king loþe
& hure selue boþe,
In þat vlke niȝte,
If horn come ne miȝte.
To herte knif heo sette,
Ac horn anon hire kepte.
He wipede þat blake of his swere
& sede: ‘quen so swete & dere,
Ihc am horn þinoȝe,
Ne canstu me noȝt knowe?
Ihc am horn of westernesse,
In armes þu me cusse.’
Hi custe hem mid ywisse,
& makeden Muche blisse.

‘Rymenhild,’ he sede, ‘ywende
Adun to þe wudes ende;
Þer beþ myne kniȝtes
Redi to fiȝte,
Iarmed vnder cloþe;
Hi schulle make wroþe
Þe king & his geste,
Þat come to þe feste:
Today ischal hem teche
& sore hem areche.’

Horn sprong vt of halle
& let his sclauin falle.
Þe quen ȝede to bure
& fond aþulf in ture.
‘Aþulf,’ heo sede, ‘be bliþe,
And to horn þu go wel swiþe.
He is vnder wude boȝe,
& wiþ him kniȝtes Inoȝe.’

Aþulf bigan to springe
For þe tiþinge.
After horn he arnde anon
Also þat hors miȝte gon:
He him ouertok ywis,
Hi makede suiþe Muchel blis.
Horn tok his preie
& dude him in þe weie.
He com in wel sone,
Þe ȝates were vndone,
Iarmed ful þikke
Fram fote to þe nekke.
Alle þat were þerin,
Biþute his twelf ferin
& þe king Aylmare,
He dude hem alle to kare.
Þat at þe feste were,
Here lif hi lete þere.

Horn ne dude no wunder
Of ffikenhildes false tunge.
Hi sworen oþes holde
Þat neure ne scholde
Horn neure bitraie,
Þeȝ he at diþe laie.
Hi Runge þe belle
Þe wedlak for to felle.
Horn him ȝede with his
To þe kinges palais.
Þer was brid & ale suete,
For riche men þer ete.
Telle ne miȝte tunge
Þat gle þat þer was sunge.

Horn sat on chaere
& bad hem alle ihere.
‘King,’ he sede, ‘þu luste
A tale mid þe beste.
Ine seie hit for no blame,
Horn is mi name.
Þume to kniȝte houe,
& kniȝthod haue proued.
To þe king men seide
Þat iþe bitraide:
Þu makedest me fleme
& þi lond to reme:
Þu wendest þat iwroȝte
Þat y neure ne þoȝte,
Bi Rymenhild for to ligge,
& þat i wiþ segge.
Ne schal ihc hit biginne,
Til i suddene winne.
Þu kep hure a stunde,
Þe while þat ifunde

In to min heritage
& to mi baronage.
Þat lond ischal ofreche
& do mi fader wreche.
Ischal beo king of tune
& bere kinges crune,
Þanne schal Rymenhilde
Ligge bi þe kinge.’

Horn gan to schupe draȝe
Wiþ his yrisse felaȝes,
Aþulf wiþ him his brother,
Nolde he non oþer.
Þat schup bigan to crude,
Þe wind him bleu lude.
Biþinne daies fiue
Þat schup gan ariue.
Abute middelniȝte
Horn him ȝede wel riȝte.
He tok aþulf bi honde
& vp he ȝede to londe.
Hi founde vnder schelde
A kniȝt hende in felde.
Þe kniȝt him aslepe lay
Al biside þe way.
Horn him gan to take
& sede: ‘kniȝt, awake.
Seie what þu kepest,
& whi þu her slepest;
Me þinkþ biþine crois liȝte
Þat þu longest to vre driȝte.
Bute þu wule me schewe,
Ischal þe to hewe:’
Þe gode kniȝt vp aros,
Of þe wordes him gros.

He sede: ‘ihc haue aȝenes my wille
Payns ful ylle.
Ihc was cristene a while;
Þo icom to þis ille
Sarazins blake
Þat dude me forsake.
On crist ihc wolde bileue,
On him hi makede me reue,
To kepe þis passage
Fram horn þat is of age,
Þat wunieþ bieste,
Kniȝt wiþ þe beste:
Hi sloȝe wiþ here honde
Þe king of þis londe,
& wiþ him fele hundred,
& þerof is wunder
Þat he ne comeþ to fiȝte.
God sende him þe riȝte,
& wind him hider driue,
To bringe hem of liue.
Hi sloȝen kyng Murry,
Hornes fader king hendy,
Horn hi vt of londe sente;
Tuelf felaȝes wiþ him wente,
Among hem aþulf þe gode,
Min oȝene child, my leue fode:
Ef horn child is hol & sund,
& Aþulf biþute wund,
He luueþ him so dere,
& is him so stere,
Miȝte iseon hem tueie,
For ioie ischolde deie.’

‘Kniȝt beo þanne bliþe
Mest of alle siþe;
Horn & Aþulf his fere
Boþe hi ben here.’
To horn he gan gon
& grette him anon.

Muche ioie hi makede þere
Þe while hi togadere were.
‘Childre,’ he sede, ‘hu habbe ȝe fare?
Þat ihc ȝou seȝ hit is ful ȝare.
Wulle ȝe þis lond winne
& sle þat þeris inne?’
He sede: ‘leue horn child,
Ȝut lyueþ þi moder Godhild:
Of ioie heo miste
If heo þe aliue wiste.’

Horn sede on his rime:
‘Iblessed beo þe time,
Icom to Suddenne
Wiþ mine irisse menne:
We schulle þe hundes teche
To speken vre speche.
Alle we hem schulle sle
& al quic hem fle.’
Horn gan his horn to blowe,
His folk hit gan iknowe,
Hi comen vt of stere,
Fram hornes banere:
Hi sloȝen & fuȝten,
Þe niȝt & þe vȝten:
Þe sarazins cunde
ne lefde þer non in þende.
Horn let wurche
chapeles & chirche.

He let belles ringe,
& Masses let singe.
He com to his Moder halle
In a roche walle.
Corn he let serie
& makede feste merie.
Murie lif he wroȝte:
Rymenhild hit dere boȝte.

ffikenhild was prut on herte,
& þat him dude smerte.
Ȝonge he ȝaf & elde
Mid him for to helde.
Ston he dude lede
Þer he hopede spede.
Strong castel he let sette,
Mid séé him biflette.
Þer ne miȝte liȝte
Bute foȝel wiþ fliȝte.
Bute whanne þe se wiþ droȝe
Miȝte come men ynoȝe.
ffikenhild gan wende
Rymenhild to schende.
To woȝe he gan hure ȝerne,
Þe kyng ne dorste him werne.
Rymenhild was ful of mode,
He wep teres of blode.
Þat niȝt horn gan swete,
& heuie forto mete
Of Rymenhild his make,
Into schupe was itake:

Þe schup bigan to blenche,
His lemman scholde adrenche.
Rymenhild wiþ hire honde
Wolde vp to londe.
ffikenhild aȝen hire pelte
Wiþ his swerdes hilte.

Horn him wok of slape
So aman þat hadde rape.
‘Aþulf,’ he sede, ‘felaȝe,
To schupe we mote draȝe;
ffikenhild me haþ idon vnder
& Rymenhild to do wunder.
Crist for his wundes fiue
To niȝt me þuder driue.’
Horn gan to schupe Ride,
His feren him biside.
ffikenhild or þe dai gan springe
Al riȝt he ferde to þe kinge,
After Rymenhild þe briȝte,
To wedden hire biniȝte.
He ladde hure bi þe derke
In to his nywe werke;
Þe feste hi bigunne
Er þat ros þe sunne;

Er þane horn hit wiste,
Tofore þe sunne vpriste,
His schup stod vnder ture
At Rymenhilde bure.
Rymenhild litel weneþ heo
Þat horn þanne aliue beo.
Þe castel þei ne knewe,
For he was so nywe.
Horn fond sittinde Arnoldin
Þat was Aþulfes cosin
Þat þer was in þat tide
horn for tabide.
‘Horn kniȝt,’ he sede, ‘kinges sone,
Wel beo þu to londe icome:
Today haþ ywedde fikenhild
Þi swete lemman Rymenhild.
Ne schal iþe lie,
He haþ giled þe twie
Þis tur he let make
Al for þine sake,
Ne mai þer come inne
Noman wiþ none ginne.
Horn, nu crist þe wisse
Of Rymenhild þat þu ne misse.’

Horn cuþe al þe liste
Þat eni man of wiste.
Harpe he gan schewe
& tok felaȝes fewe,

Of kniȝtes suiþe snelle
Þat schrudde hem at wille.
Hi ȝeden bi þe grauel
Toward þe castel:
Hi gunne murie singe
& makede here gleowinge.

Rymenhild hit gan ihere
& axede what hi were.
Hi sede: ‘hi weren harpurs,
& sume were gigours.’
He dude horn in late
Riȝt at halle gate;
He sette him on þe benche
His harpe for to clenche.
He makede Rymenhilde lay,
& heo makede walaway.
Rymenhild feol yswoȝe,
Ne was þer non þat louȝe.
Hit smot to hornes herte
So bitere þat hit smerte.
He lokede on þe ringe
& þoȝte on Rymenhilde.
He ȝede vp to borde
Wiþ gode suerdes orde.
ffikenhildes crune
Þer ifulde adune,
& Al his men a rowe
Hi dude adun þrowe.
Whanne hi weren aslaȝe,
Fikenhild hi dude todraȝe.
Horn makede Arnoldin þare
King after king Aylmare,
Of al westernesse
For his meoknesse.
Þe king & his homage
Ȝeuen Arnoldin trewage.

Horn tok Rymenhild bi þe honde
& ladde hure to þe stronde,
& ladde wiþ him Aþelbrus,
Þe gode stuard of his hus.
Þe se bigan to flowe
& horn gan to Rowe.
Hi gunne for ariue
Þer king modi was sire.
Aþelbrus he makede þer king
For his gode teching:
He ȝaf alle þe kniȝtes ore
For horn kniȝtes lore.
Horn gan for to ride,
Þe wind him bleu wel wide.
He ariuede in yrlonde.
Þer he wo fondede,
Þer he dude Aþulf child
Wedden maide Reynild.
Horn com to suddenne
Among al his kenne.
Rymenhild he makede his quene,
So hit miȝte wel beon.
Al folk hem miȝte rewe
Þat loueden hem so trewe.
Nu ben hi boþe dede;
Crist to heuene hem lede!
Her endeþ þe tale of horn,
Þat fair was & noȝt vnorn;
Make we vs glade Eure among,
For þus him endeþ hornes song.
Jesus þat is of heuene king
Ȝeue vs alle his suete blessing! Amen.

EX-PLI-CIT.

179

HORN CHILDE.

horn childe & maiden rimnild

Mi leue frende dere,
Herken & ȝe may here,
& ȝe wil vnder stonde;
Stories ȝe may lere
Of our elders þat were
Whilom in þis lond.
Y wil ȝou telle of kinges tvo,
Hende haþeolf was on of þo,
Þat weld al ingelond;
Fram Humber norþ þan walt he,
Þat was in to þe wan see,
In to his owhen hond.

He no hadde no child, as ȝe may here,
Bot a sone þat was him dere;
When þat he was born,
Þe king was glad & of gode chere,
He sent after frendes fer & nere
& bad men calle him horn.
viii. knaue childer he souȝt,
To horn his sone he hem bitauȝt,
Alle were þai frely born,
Wiþ him to play & lere to ride,
Fiue ȝer in þat ich tide,
Wiþ baner him biforn.

Hende, & ȝe me herken wold,
Þe childer name as it is told,
Y wil ȝou reken ariȝt;
Haþrof & tebaude,
Aþelston & winwold,
Gariis wise & wiȝt,
Wihard þat was euer trewe,
Seþþen first him horn knewe,
To serue wiþ al his miȝt;
Wicard & his broþer Wikel,
Seþen Horn fond hem ful fikel,
Lesinges on him þai liȝt.

Arlaund, þat al þewes couþe,
Boþe bi norþ & bisouþe,
In herd is nouȝt to hide,
On hunting was him most couþe,
For to blowe an horn wiþ mouþe
& houndes lede biside,
To harpe wele & play at ches,
& al gamen þat vsed is
& mo was in þat tide;
Haþeolf Arlaund bitauȝt
Horn & his children auȝt,
To lern hem to ride.

Out of danmark com an here,
Opon Inglond forto were
Wiþ stout ost & vnride,
Wiþ yren hattes, scheld & spere;
Alle her pray to schip þai bere
In clifland bi tese side.
Schepe & nete to schip þai brouȝt
& al þat þai haue mouȝt,
In herd is nouȝt to hide.
When haþeolf it herd say,
He busked boþe niȝt & day,
Oȝain hem for to ride.

180

Wiþ in þat ich fourtenniȝt
Barouns fele & mani a kniȝt,
Al were þai redi boun;
Wiþ helme on heued & brini briȝt
Alle were þai redi to fiȝt
& rered gonfeynoun.
On alerton more al þai mett,
Þer were her dayes sett,
Failed hem no roum;
Seþþen to clifland þai rade,
Þer þe danis men abade,
To fel þe feye adoun.

In a morning þai bi gan,
Of al þat day þai no blan
Þat baleful werk to wirke;
Sides þai made blo & wan,
Þat er wer white so feþer on swan,
Swiche gamen man auȝt irke.
When þat euen bi cam,
Þe danis men were al slan:
It bi gan to mirke.
Who so goþ or rideþ þer bi,
Ȝete may men see þer bones ly
Bi seyn Sibiles kirke.

Hende haþeolf, as y ȝou say,
Duelled þer þe niȝen day,
Þe folk of him was fain.
Þai toke anon þat ich pray,
Schepe & nete þat þer slain lay,
And ȝaf it þe folk oȝain;
Armour & brini briȝt
He ȝaf to squier & to kniȝt,
To seriaunt & to swayn;
Schipes he dede to lond drawe
& ȝaf to bond men on rawe,
For her catel was slayn.

Þo he seye þat were wiȝt,
Wiþ helme on heued & brini briȝt
& wele couþe prike a stede,
& þo þat were douhti in fiȝt,
Sexti dubbed he þer to kniȝt,
& ȝaf hem riche mede.
Sum baylis he made,
And sum he ȝaf londes brade,
His ȝistes were nouȝt gnede;
& seþþen he dede chirches make,
To sing for þe dedes sake:
God quite him his mede!

Seþþen king haþolf fore,
For to hunten on blakeowe more
Wiþ a rout vn ride,
In fretþe & in forest þore;
To telle þe dere strong it wore,
Þat he felled þat tide,
& anon after, wiþ outen lesing,
He held a fest at pikering,
Þer his kniȝtes schuld ride;
& seþþen to ȝork, was nouȝt to layn,
Arlaunde com him oȝain,
& horn his sone wiþ prede.

King haþeolf tok þe children auȝt,
Þat he had his sone bitauȝt,
& gan to wepe anon:
‘Ich aue won mi fon wiþ mauȝt,
Þat we oȝein in batayl fauȝt,
& now þai ben al slon,
& ȝour faders ben slawe þare:
Þat of þinkeþ me ful sare
& oþer mani on.
Þe lond þat þai held of me,
Alle y ȝiue ȝou here fre,
Ward no kepe y non.

Wiþ Horn, mi sone, y wil ȝe be,
As ȝour faders han ben wiþ me,
& oþes ȝe schul him swere,
Þat ȝe schal neuer fram him fle,
For gold no siluer, lond no fe,
Oȝein out londis here.’
To horn his sone he hem bi toke
& dede hem swere opon þe boke,
Feute þai schuld him bere,
While þat þai liue miȝt,
Wiþ helme on heued & brini briȝt,
His londes for to were.

181

Hende haþeolf þat was so fre,
Bot .ix. moneþ soiournd he,
No lenge no hadde he pes.
Out of yrlond com kinges þre,
Her names can y telle þe,
Wele wiþ outen les:
Ferwele & Winwald were þer to,
Malkan king was on of þo,
Proude in ich apres;
Al westmer land stroyed þay.
Þe word com on a Whissonday
To king haþeolf at his des.

He bad þe harpour leuen his lay:
‘For ous bi houeþ anoþer play,
Buske armour & stede.’
He sent his sond niȝt & day
Also fast as he may,
His folk to batayl bede;
‘Bid hem, þat þai com to me,
Al þat hold her lond fre,
Help now at þis nede;
Better manly to be slayn,
Þan long to liue in sorwe & pain,
Oȝain out londis þede.’

Þai busked hem wel hastily,
To com to þe kinges cri
Wiþ in elleuen niȝt,
Þat eueriche strete & eueri sty
Glised þer þai riden by,
Of her brinis briȝt;
& seþþen to staynes more þai rode,
Þe rout was boþe long & brod,
To fel þo fay in fiȝt;
Alle þat niȝt duelled þay,
Til amorwe þat it was day,
Þe barouns of gret miȝt.

Þe irise ost was long & brade,
On staines more þer þai rade,
Þai ȝaf a crie for prede;
Hende haþeolf hem abade,
Swiche meting was neuer made,
Wiþ sorwe on ich aside:
Riȝt in alitel stounde
Sexti þousand were layd to grounde
In herd is nouȝt to hide;
King haþeolf slouȝ wiþ his hond,
Þat was comen out of yrlond,
Tvo kinges þat tide.

King haþeolf was wel wo,
For þe irise ost was mani & mo
Wiþ scheld & wiþ spere;
Ful long seþþen man seyd so:
When men schuld to batayl go,
To men miȝt on dere.
Þei king haþeolf fauȝt fast,
King malkan stiked attelast
His stede þat schuld him bere:
Now schal men finde kinges fewe,
Þat in batail be so trewe,
His lond forto were.

When king haþeolf on fot stode,
Þe yrise folk about him ȝode,
As hondes do to bare;
Whom he hit opon þe hode,
Were he neuer kniȝt so gode,
He ȝaue a dint wel sare;
He brouȝt in alitel stounde
Wele fif þousende to grounde
Wiþ his grimly gare.
Þe Irise ost tok hem to red,
To ston þat douhti kniȝt to ded,
Þai durst neiȝe him na mare.

Gret diol it was to se
Of hende haþeolf þat was so fre,
Stones to him þai cast;
Þai brak him boþe legge & kne,
Gret diol it was to se,
He kneled attelast.
King malcan wiþ wretþe out stert
& smot king haþeolf to þe hert;
He held his wepen so fast,
Þat king malkan smot his arm atvo,
Er he miȝt gete his swerd him fro,
For nede his hert tobrast.

Þo king malkan wan þe priis,
Oway brouȝt he no mo ywis,
Of his men bot þritten,

182

Þat wounded were in bak & side;
Þai fleiȝe & durst nouȝt abide,
Daþet, who hem bi mene!
To yrlond he com oȝain,
& left her fair folk al slain
Lieand on þe grene.
Þars hem noiþer niȝt no day
Make her ros þai wan þe pray,
Bot slowe þe king, y wene.

A nerl of norþhumber land,
He herd telle þis tiþeand,
He busked him to ride;
Alle he sesed in his hand,
Al þat he to forn him fand,
Riȝt to humber side.
When þat arlaund herd sain,
Þat hende haþeolf was slain,
He durst no lenge abide;
Þai busked boþe niȝt & day
As fast as þai may,
Her heuedes for to hide.

Fer souþe in Inglond
Houlac king þer þai fond,
Wiþ kniȝtes stiþe on stede.
He toke him Horn bi þe hand;
When he hadde teld his tiþeand,
Mennes hertes miȝt blede:
‘When hende haþeolf was slan
& his londes fram him tan
& we ben flowe for drede:
Of mi self is me nouȝt,
Bot horn, his sone, ichaue þe brouȝt,
Help now in þis nede.’

Houlac king was wel hende,
Ressaiued hem niȝen, Herlaund þe tende,
Her maister for to be:
‘Mete and drink y schal hem fende,
& euer, when ich out wende,
Þai schal wende wiþ me.
Horn schal be me leue & dere.’
He bad harlaund schuld him lere,
Þe riȝt forto se,
Þe lawes boþe eld & newe,
Al maner gamen & glewe;
In bok þus rede we.

Þus, in boke as we rede,
Alle þai were in court to fede,
Sweteliche at lare;
Alle were þai cloþed in o wede,
To ride on palfray oþer on stede,
Wheþer hem leuer ware.
Horn was boþe war & wise,
At hunting oft he wan þe priis,
Loued he noþing mare;
Harpe & romaunce he radde ariȝt,
Of al gle he hadde in siȝt
Þat in lond ware.

Þe word of Horn wide sprong,
Hou he was boþe michel & long,
Wiþ in fiftene ȝere;
Þer was no kniȝt in jnglond,
Þat miȝt adint stond of his hond,
Noiþer fer no nere.
Michel he was & wele ymaked,
As white as milke he was naked,
& euer o bliþe chere;
Meke he was & trewe so stiel,
Alle games he couþe wel,
As ȝe may forward here.

Houlac king, y wene,
Hadde no child bi þe quene,
Bot a maid briȝt;
Al þai seyd þat hir sene,
Sche was a feir may & a schene,
& maiden rimneld sche hiȝt.
When sche herd horn speke,
Miȝt sche him nouȝt forȝete
Bi day no bi niȝt;
Loued neuer childer mare
Bot tristrem or ysoud it ware,
Who so rede ariȝt.

Þat miri maiden wald nouȝt wond,
Dern loue forto fond,
Ȝif sche it miȝt winne;

183

Forþi sche sent hir sond,
For to speke wiþ arlond,
For Horn schuld cum wiþ him.
& Arlaund him bi þouȝt,
Ȝif he horn wiþ him brouȝt,
Lesinges schuld bi ginne;
For þi he lete horn at hame,
& toke haþerof in his name
To maiden Rimneld inne.

Þe miri maiden, al so sone
As haþerof jn to chaumber come,
Sche wend, þat it wer horn.
A riche cheier was vndon,
Þat seuien miȝt sit þer on,
In swiche craft ycorn;
A baudekin þer on was spred;
Þider þe maiden hadde hem led,
To siten hir bi forn;
Frout & spices sche hem bede,
Wine to drink wite & rede,
Boþe of coppe & horn.

Þan a seriaunt sche bad go,
A gentil goshauk for to ta,
Fair he was to fliȝt;
Þer wiþ herten gloues to,
Swiche was þe maner þo,
And ȝaf Haþerof of her ȝift.
Sche wende bi Haþerof, Horn it were,
Þat loued hunting noþing more,
On him hir loue was liȝt:
A les of grehoundes forþ þai brouȝt,
& he forsoke & wald it nouȝt
& seyd haþeros he hiȝt.

‘What euer þi name it be,
Þou schalt haue þis houndes þre,
Þat wele can take a dere;
& haþerof, for þe loue of me,
Com to morn, & horn wiþ þe’;
He lay hir hert ful nere.
& Harlaund þat was hende,
Toke his leue forto wende,
Wiþ a bliþe chere,
& com anon on þe morn,
& brouȝt wiþ him hende horn,
As ȝe may forward here.

Þe maiden bour was fair spred,
Atired al wiþ riche webbe,
Sche haylett hem wiþ winne;
Þe mirie maiden hir biþouȝt,
In what maner þat sche mouȝt
Trewe loue for to ginne.
Sche sett hir hem bitvene:
Þe maiden was briȝt and schene
& comen of kinges kinne;
Anon hir selue hadde hem ledde
To sitten opon her owhen bedde,
Arlaund & Horn wiþ him.

Hendeliche sche to hem spac,
A poumgarnet þer sche brak,
& spices dede sche calle,
Wine to drink; after þat
Sche lete fet forþ a stede blac,
Was couered al wiþ palle,
Þe stiropes were of silke wite,
Bridel & sadel al was slike,
& seyd, ‘Horn hende in halle,
It was me told þou schult be kniȝt;
Y þe ȝif here a stede liȝt,
& a queyntise of palle.’

‘Horn,’ sche seyd, ‘if þi name,
An horn y schal ȝiue þe ane,
A michel & vnride,
Al yuore is þe bon,
Sett wiþ mani a riche ston,
To bere bi þi side.’
Þe baudrike was of silk riȝt,
Þe maiden self it hadde ydiȝt,
Layd wiþ gold for pride:
‘What þat euer be wiþ me,
Horn, at þi wille schal it be,
In herd is nouȝt to hide.’

Þan sche lete forþ bring
A swerd hongand bi aring,
To horn sche it bitauȝt;

184

‘It is þe make of miming,
Of al swerdes it is king,
& weland it wrouȝt;
Bitter-fer þe swerd hiȝt,
Better swerd bar neuer kniȝt,
Horn, to þe ich it þouȝt;
Is nouȝt a kniȝt in Inglond,
Schal sitten adint of þine hond,
Forsake þou it nouȝt.’

Hendelich þan þanked he
Þe maiden of hir ȝift fre,
& seyd, ‘so god me spede,
Rimnild, for þe loue of þe
Y schal iuste, þat þou schalt se,
Opon þis ich stede.’
Horn in þat ich stounde
Ȝaf þe maiden loue wounde,
So neiȝe hir hert it ȝede;
& sche wel trewely haþ him hiȝt,
Ȝif þat he be dubbed kniȝt,
Hir maidenhod to mede.

Wiþ in þat ich fourtenniȝt,
Horn was dubbed to kniȝt,
& haþerof, as y wene,
& oþer mani þat were liȝt,
Has houlak king hadde hem hiȝt;
So were þai ful fiftene.
A turnament þe king lete crie,
Þider com wel on heye
Kniȝtes þat were kene:
Maiden rimneld biheld þat play,
Hou Horn wan þe priis þat day,
To wite & nouȝt to wene.

Houlac king ȝaf horn leue,
In his bour forto chese
Þe maidens þat were fre,
Riche of kin & hondes sleye;
Þai hadde frendes fer & neiȝe,
He miȝt avaunced be;
& maiden rimnild him bede,
Þat he schuld take non oþer rede:
No noþer þan chese he;
For sche wel trewely haþ him hiȝt,
Ȝif þat sche liue miȝt,
His leman wald sche be.

Tebaud went biȝond se
& Winwald þat was so fre,
To leren hem to ride;
Wiþ þe king of Fraunce duelled he,
Mani time þai gat þe gre,
In turnament þat tide.
Þe king seiȝe, þat þai wer wiȝt,
Boþe he dubbed hem to kniȝt
Wiþ wel riche pride;
Wiif þai toke & duelled þare,
In Inglond com þai nomore,
Her werdes forto bide.

Gariis in to bretein went,
& Aþelston wiþ him was lent,
To anerl so fre.
At iustes & at turnament,
Whider ward so þai went,
Euer þai gat þe gre,
& þerl hem boþe kniȝtes made,
& ȝaf hem londes wide & brade,
Wiþ him for to be;
Þus þai duelled þer in pes,
While þat cristes wil wes,
In boke so rede we.

Houlac king ȝaf gold & fe
To hem, þat þai miȝt þe better be,
& bad þai schuld wiue;
Haþerof, a kniȝt fre,
& horn he seyd, ‘y loue þe,
Man most oliue.’
& Wiard treuly he haþ hiȝt,
Þat he schal dubbed be to kniȝt
At anoþer siþe.
Wigard & wikel hem biþouȝt,
Hou þai horn bitray mouȝt:
God lete hem neuer þriue!

On aday, as houlak king
Schuld wende on his playing,
To late his haukes fleye,

185

Horn þan, wiþ outen lesing,
Bilaft at hom for blodeleteing
Al for a maladye.
Wikard bi þe king rade,
Wikel þat lesing made,
Horn gan þai wray,
& seyd, ‘sir, y seiȝe ȝisterday,
Hou Horn bi þi douhter lay:
Traitours boþe be þai.’

Þe king leued þat þai sede;
‘For þi ȝaf sche him þe stede,
Lesing it is nouȝt.’
He went hom as he were wode,
In to boure anon he ȝode
& maiden Rimnild he souȝt;
He bete hir so, þat sche gan blede,
Þe maidens fleiȝe oway for drede,
Þai durst help hir nouȝt;
Giltles sche was of þat dede,
Horn hadde nouȝt hir maidenhede,
Bot in word & þouȝt.

Houlac his swerd haþ tan
& seyd Horn schuld be slan;
For wretþe he wald wede:
‘He haþ me don michel schame,
Y wende wele haue suffred nane
For mi gode dede.’
Kniȝtes com þe king biforn,
Alle prayd þai for Horn,
No miȝt þer non spede;
Þe king in to his chaumber is gon
& schet him self þer in al on,
Til his wretþe ouer ȝede.

Þei þat horn was sore adrad,
In to boure he was ladde,
Þe maiden for to se;
He fond hir liggeand on hir bedde,
Mouþe & nose al for bled:
‘Þis hastow for me.’
‘Bi god of heuen þat me bouȝt,
Of mi selue is me nouȝt,
Way is me for þe!
Falsmen haþ on ous leyd,
& to mi fader ous bi wraid,
Y drede he flemes te.

Bot, horn, ȝif it so schal bitide,
Þat þou schalt out of lond ride
& flemed schaltow be,
Þis seuen winter y schal abide,
Mi maidenhed to hele & hide,
For þe loue of þe;
Þei an emperour come,
King oþer kinges sone,
For to wedde me,
Of no loue ne schal he spede,
Þat y ne schal kepe mi maidenhede,
So help me god, to þe!

Horn, to morwe in þe morning
Þou schalt fare on hunting
To take þe wild ro;
Ȝif god þe spede an hunting,
Loke þou bring it bifor þe king,
What so þou may to;
As he sittes at his des,
Yserued of þe first mes,
Hauȝtel þe now so,
Fare as þou wist nouȝt,
& he schal telle þe al his þouȝt,
Er þou fram þat bord go.’

A morwen Horn to hunting is gan,
To take þe wilde wiþ þe tam,
In þe morwening;
Fiue hertes haþ he tan,
Bi midday brouȝt hem ham
Bifor houlak king.
Þe king seyd, ‘it is for nouȝt:
Traitour, þou hast tresoun wrouȝt;
To morwe ȝif y þe finde,
Bi mi croun, þou schalt be slawe,
Wiþ wilde hors al to drawe
& seþþen on galwes hing.’

To rimneld he com, wiþ outen lesing,
& sche bitauȝt him aring,
Þe vertu wele sche knewe:

186

‘Loke þou forsake it for no þing,
It schal ben our tokening;
Þe ston it is wel trewe:
When þe ston wexeþ wan,
Þan chaungeþ þe þouȝt of þi leman,
Take þan anewe:
When þe ston wexeþ rede,
Þan haue y lorn mi maidenhed,
Oȝaines þe vntrewe.’

Horn seyd, ‘in þine erber is atre,
Þer vnder is awel fre,
Ygrowen al wiþ yue:
Rimnild, for þe loue of me,
Eueriday þat þou þer be,
To se þe water liþe
& when þou sest mi schadu þare,
Þan trowe þou me namare,
Þan am y bon to wiue;
& while þou sest mi schadu nouȝt,
Þan chaungeþ neuer mi þouȝt,
For no woman oliue.’

Houlac king wald nere wede,
Þere he sat opon his seghe
& seyd, ‘traitour, fle!’
Horn tok his leue & ȝede,
Wiþ him he tode his gode stede
& grehoundes bot þre
& alle his harneys lasse & mare;
Haþerof durst nouȝt wiþ him fare,
So wroþ þe king was he.
Maidens in þe boure gan crie
& seyd rimnild wald dye;
Now swoneþ þat fre.

When horn com fer out of þat siȝt,
He seyd, godebounde he hiȝt,
When he gan ani mete.
Wiard rode after day & niȝt,
Al so fast as he miȝt,
Horn forto seke.
Of godebounde herd he speke,
Horn no miȝt he neuer gete,
Bi way no bi strete.
Wiard rode souþe & horn rode west,
To Wales Horn com attelest,
Wel long er þai so mete.

Þurch aforest as he schuld fare,
An armed kniȝt mett he þare,
& bad horn schuld abide,
To ȝeld his harneise lesse & mare
Oþer iuste, wheþer him leuer ware,
Þe lawe is nouȝt to hide.
& horn of iusting was ful fain,
& seyd to þe kniȝt oȝain:
‘Ful leue me were to ride.’

Þe kniȝt toke a schaft in hand,
& horn wele vnder-fand,
Þat he couþe ride;
Horn tok on al so long
A ful touȝ & to so strong
Oȝainef him þat tide.
Þe kniȝtes scheld he cleue atvo
& of his plates he brac þo
& frussed alle his side:
Out of his sadel he bar him þan,
He brac his arm & his schulderban,
He hadde a fal vnride.

When he of his swoning bicam,
He asked after hornes nam,
Whider he wald gang:
‘In walis lond is þer nan
Man y made of flesche no ban,
Oȝain þe may stand.’
Horn answerd o nan:
‘Godebounde is mi nam;
Icham comen to fand,
For to win gold & fe,
In seruise wiþ ȝour king to be,
Þat lord is of þis land.’

‘Our kinges name is Elidan;
In al Wales is þer nan
So strong aman as he;
While þe seuendays began,
Euerich day wiþ sundri man
Iusting bedes he þe.

187

Þe eiȝtenday, be þou bold,
Ȝif þou þe seuen days mai hold,
Þe king þan schaltow se
Com rideand on a stede broun
Wiþ a soket o stel feloun,
Forto win þe gre.’

Horn seyd, wiþ outten lesing,
‘For to speke wiþ þe king,
For noþing wil y bide.’
Þe kniȝt teld him namare;
Þe king at snowedoun he fond þare,
Sir Elydan þat tide.
He iusted al þat seuen niȝt,
Eueriday wiþ sundri kniȝt,
He gat þe fairest pride;
Þe eiȝtenday wiþ elidan,
& wan her stedes euerilkan,
In herd is nouȝt to hide.

He smot þe king opon þe scheld,
Of his hors he made him held
& feld him to þe grounde;
Swiche on hadde he founde seld,
Þat so had feld him in þe feld
Bifor þat ich stounde.
Þe king asked him, what he hiȝt,
& he him answerd anonriȝt,
‘Mi name is godebounde.’
‘Y wil þe ȝif gold & fe,
Ȝif þat þou wil duelle wiþ me,
Bi ȝere a þousend pounde.’

Messangers com out of yrland,
& toke þe king aletter in hand,
& bad he schuld rede,
Fro aking þat men dede wrong,
His owhen sone, ich vnder stond,
Þat axed help at nede.
He lete write aletter oȝain,
He schuld han help, is nouȝt to layn,
Wiþ kniȝtes stiþe on stede.
Horn to batayl was ful boun
& folwed þe messangers out of toun,
In to Irlond þai him lede.

Hem com anhauen wele to hand,
Þat ȝolkil is cleped in irland,
Þe court was þer biside.
Finlawe king þer þai fande,
For to here tiþeande,
Oȝain hem gan ride.
Þe letter told þat he brouȝt,
Help schuld him faile nouȝt
Oȝaines þilke tide.
King Finlak dede to malkan say,
Wheþer he wold bi niȝt or day,
Þe bataile wald he bide.

Þe kinges sones riden baþe,
To hayles Horn, when þai him sawe,
& welcomed him, þat fre.
Anon þai gun to striue raþe,
Wheþer of hem him schuld haue,
To duelle in her meine.
Horn answerd hem þan as hende
& seyd to hem, ‘mi leue frende,
Þe king þan wald y se,
& afterward y wille ȝou telle,
Where me leuest is to duelle,
& semlyest to me.’

Þe messanger told hornes dede,
Hou he hadde ywon þe stede,
& hou he seiȝe him ride;
‘Sir, miȝtestow hold him to þi nede,
King malkan þarf þe nouȝt drede,
Batayle miȝt þou bide.
Hour king haþ boden him gold & fe,
Wiþ þat he wil wiþ him be
At þis ich nede,
& Horn ful trewely haþ him hiȝt
For to stond in stede of kniȝt,
In herd is nouȝt to hide.’

In yrlond was þer nan,
Þat alle þai be to malkan gan,
So michel was his pouste;
Bot finlak king him al an
Has þe batayl vnder tan,
Ȝif crist wil þat it be.

188

King malkan dede bede out here,
Opon þe king finlak to were;
‘Now þan schal we se,
Ȝif he wil fiȝt, he schal be slan,
Ȝif he wil bide, he schal be tan:
Y trowe best he wil fle.’

Bot þre woukes were þer sett,
Þat alle þis folk schal be mett,
& batayle schal þer be.
Þe Walis king hadde gret lett
Wiþ windes & wiþ watres bett,
Sir elidan þe fre;
He no miȝt in to irlond come,
For to helpen his sone,
For stormes on þe se.
King finlak seyd, ‘is nouȝt to hide,
Þis batayl dar y nouȝt abide;
Mi rede is tan to fle.’

& þan was Horn as fain o fiȝt,
As is þe foule of þe liȝt,
When it ginneþ dawe:
‘Sir king, forto held þi riȝt,
Y rede þou bede riche ȝift:
Þe folk wil to þe drawe;
Geder to þe folk þat þou may,
& baldliche hold þi day,
Batail schal we schawe:
To fle me þink it is gret schame,
Ar dintes be smiten or ani man slan,
For drede of wordes awe.’

Þe kinges sones wer kniȝtes bold,
& seyd þai wald þe batail hold,
Her liues forto lete;
Finlac king, þei he war ald,
Bleþeli he seyd fiȝt he wald,
To hold þat he bi-hete.
Þus þai riden out of toun
Wiþ spere oloft & goinfaynoun,
Malkan king to mete;
Wiþ speres scharp & swerdes gode
Þai slouȝ mani afrely fode,
So grimli gun þai grete.

Þer Horn seiȝe þe mest þrang,
In he rides hem a-mang
& lays on wel gode won;
It was no man of yrland,
Miȝt stond adint of his hand,
At ich stroke he slouȝ on [OMITTED]

[OMITTED] Maiden & wiif gret sorwe gan make
For þe kinges sones sake,
Þat were apoint to dye.
Finlac king oȝaines him come,
& his armes of him nome;
Þe blod ran ouer his eiȝe.
He cleped his douhter Acula,
& bad sche schuld a plaster ta;
Of woundes was sche sleiȝe.

Þe maiden tast Hornes wounde,
Þe kinges douhter, in þat stounde;
Of him hye is ful fain:
‘Þou schalt be sone hole & sounde;
Hastow Malkan brouȝt to grounde?’
He seyd, ‘ȝa,’ oȝain.
‘King Malkan was mi faders ban,
& now for soþe ich haue him slan,
Þe soþe for to sain.
Mi fader swerd y wan to day,
Y kepe it while y liue may:
Þe name is blauain.’

Þai birid þe folk þat were slan,
& her armour þai ladde ham,
Wiþ hors white & broun.
Finlac king him bi þouȝt,
Hou he Horn ȝeld mouȝt,
To ȝif him his warisoun;
He tok malkan kinges lond,
& sesed it in to Hornnes hond,
Boþe tour & toun.
Erles, barouns, euerichon,
In Irlond was þer non,
Þat no com to his somoun.

Þe kinges douhter Acula
Loued hende Horn so
Sche durst it nouȝt kiþe;

189

Wheþer sche seiȝe him ride or go,
Hir þouȝt hir hert brak atvo,
Þat sche no spac wiþ þat bliþe.
On aday sche made hir seke,
Horn com & wiþ hir speke,
Sche miȝt no lenger miþe;
To him spac þat maiden fre
& seyd, ‘horn, y loue þe,
Man most oliue.’

Ouer al horn þe priis him wan,
He seyd it was for owiman,
Þat was him leue & dere:
Acula wende for þan,
Þat horn hir loued & most gode an
Of ani woman þat were.
Of anoþer was al his þouȝt,
Maiden Rimnild forȝat he nouȝt,
Sche lay his hert ful nere.
Þe ring to schewen haþ he tan,
Þe hewe was chaunged of þe stan,
For gon is seuen ȝere.

Horn wald no lenger abide;
He busked him for to ride
& gedred folk eueraware,
An hundred kniȝtes bi his side,
Wiþ stedes fele & michel pride,
Her schippes were ful ȝare.
Þai sayled ouer þe flode so gray,
In Inglond ariued were þay,
Þer hem leuest ware;
Vnder awode þer þai gan lende,
Horn seiȝe abegger wende,
& after he is fare.

Horn fast after him gan ride
& bad þe begger schuld abide,
For to here his speche.
Þe begger answerd in þat tide,
‘Vilaine, canestow nouȝt ride?
Fairer þou miȝt me grete;
Haddestow cleped me gode man,
Y wold haue teld þe wennes y cam
& whom y go to seche:
Horn to seke haue y gon
Þurch out londes mani on,
& ay schal while we mete.

& now be min robes riuen,
& me no was no noþer ȝeuen
Of alle þis seuen ȝere.
Y go to seke after him ay,
& þus haue don mani aday,
Til þat we mete yfere.
To day is moging þe king
Wiþ rimnild at spouseing,
Þe kinges douhter dere;
Mani sides schuld be bi bled,
Er he bring hir to his bed,
Ȝif horn in lond were.

Wiard schaltow calle me;
Gentil man, ȝif þou be fre,
Tel me þi name;
Þi knaue wald y fain be,
Þat fair fest forto se,
Me þenke þatow hast nane.’
Horn answerd him oȝain,
‘Ich hat Horn, is nouȝt to lain,
& elles were me schame;
Bot ȝif ich held þat þou hast seyd,
Er þat þai ben in bed layd,
Fiue þousende schal be slain.

Wiard, oȝain schaltow ride
To mi folk & þere abide,
Haue here mi robe to mede;
& y wil to court gon,
Forto loke what þai don,
In þi pouer wede;
Bring hem vnder ȝon wode side,
Al so ȝern astow may ride,
Þe way þou canst hem lede;
& y schal heiȝe me wel sone,
Y com oȝain, er it be none,
Ȝif crist me wil spede.’

When horn fro fer herd glewe,
Wiþ tabournes bete & trumppes blewe,
Oȝaines hem he ȝede.

190

Muging king ful wele he knewe,
He tok him bi þe lorein newe,
Oȝain he held his stede.
Wikard com & smot him so
& seyd, ‘traitour, lat þe bridel go.’
Þe blode out after ȝede.
Horn ful trewely haþ him hiȝt,
He schal him ȝeld þat ich niȝt,
A box schal ben his mede.

Moioun king was ful wo
Þat he hadde smiten þe pouer man so,
& seyd, ‘lat mi bridel be.
Wiþ þi þou lat mi bridel be,
What so þou wilt aski me,
Bleþelich ȝiue y þe.’
‘Peter!’ quaþ Horn, ‘þatow wilt
Ȝiue me maiden Rimnild,
Þat is so fair & fre.’
Þe king was wroþ & rewe his ȝift:
‘Þou askest wrong & no þing riȝt,
Sche may nouȝt þine be.’

Horn seyd, ‘Y sett a nett otime:
Ȝif ani fische is taken þer inne
Of al þis seuen ȝere,
No schal it neuer more be mine,
Y wold it were sonken in helle pine,
Wiþ fendes fele on fere;
& ȝif it haþ ytaken nouȝt,
Y schal it loue in hertþouȝt,
& be me leue & dere.’
Þus þai went alle ysame
Vnto þe castel wiþ gle & game;
A fole þai wende he were.

‘Of beggers mo þan sexti,’
Horn seyd, ‘maister am y,
& aske þe þe mete,
Þat y mote & oþer þre
To day in þine halle be,
When folk is gon to sete;
Þan y wil folwe þe ham,
& þat y mot wiþ þe gan
In atte castel ȝete.’
Þe king him hiȝt sikerly:
‘Þou schalt in þe halle by
To haue þere þi mete.’

Þer was mani riche gest
Diȝt vnto þat frely fest
Of douhti folk in lond;
Atte ȝate was strong þrast,
Horn wald nouȝt be þe last
In for to gange.
Þe porter cald him herlot swain,
& he put him oȝain,
Þer out for to stand.
Horn brust opon him so,
His scholder bon he brak ato,
& in anon he þrange.

Kokes hadde þe mete grayd,
Þe bord was sett, þe cloþ was layd;
To benche ȝede þe bold;
Þe trompes blewe, þeglewemenpleyd,
Þe bischopes had þe grace y seyd,
As miri men of molde.
Þer was mani aricheman,
Mete & drink wel gode wan
To alle þat ete wolde.
Horn sat & litel ete,
Michel he þouȝt & more he speke,
For fole men schuld him hold.

Þan was þe lawe, soþe to say,
Þe bride schuld þe first day
Seruen atte mete;
Hendelich þan serued scho,
As a maiden schuld do;
Horn bigan to speke:
‘Maiden, ȝif þi wille be,
To godes men schultow se,
Þou no ouȝtest hem nouȝt forȝete;
& seþþen þe kniȝtes schul turnay,
For to loke who so may
Þe maistri of hem ȝete.’

Forþ sche went, þat maiden fre,
& feched drink, þat men miȝt se,
To þat beggere:

191

‘For hornnes loue y pray þe,
Go nouȝt, ar þis drunken be,
Ȝif euer he was þe dere.’
Þe maiden bi him stille stode,
To here of horn hir þouȝt it gode,
He lay hir hert ful nere;
Of þe coppe he drank þe wine,
Þe ring of gold he kest þer inne:
‘Bi tokening, lo, it here!’

‘A, sely man, þe þrestes sare,
Þou schalt haue a drink mare,
Gode wine schal it be.’
Anoþer drank sche him bare,
Sche asked ȝif horn þer in ware;
‘Ȝa, certes,’ þan seyd he.
Nas sche bot alitel fram him gon,
Þat sche ne fel adoun anon,
Now swoneþ þat fre.
Kniȝtes her to chaumber ledde;
When sche lay opon hir bedde,
Sche seyd, ‘clepe haþerof to me.’

‘Kniȝtes, goþ in to halle swiþe,
& bid þe kinges make hem bliþe,
Þat y wold wel fain;
Haþerof, go in to þe erber swiþe
& geder paruink & iue,
Greses þat ben of main.
Certeynli, as y ȝou say,
Horn is in þis halle to day;
Y wende he hadde ben slain:
Moioun king schal neuer spede,
For to haue mi maiden hede,
Now Horn is comen oȝain.’

‘Haþerof, go in to halle & se:
In seli pouer wede is he,
Y pray þe knowe him riȝt:
Say him, treuþe pliȝt er we,’
‘Bid him,’ sche seyd, ‘as he is fre,
Hold þat he bi hiȝt;
Bidd him go & me abide
Riȝt vnder ȝon wode side,
As he is trewe kniȝt;
When al þis folk is gon to play,
He & y schal stele oway,
Bitvene þe day & þe niȝt.’

Haþerof in to halle ȝode,
For to bihald þat frely fode,
Ful wele he knewe his viis;
Opon his fot hard he stode,
Horn þouȝt þe tokening gode;
Vp he gan to arise.
Forþ þai ȝede, þo kniȝtes bold;
Haþerof þe maidens erand told,
Of trewe loue Horn was wiis:
‘Y schal com in to þe feld wiþ pride,
An hundred kniȝtes bi mi side,
Milke white is mi queintise.’

‘Bot, haþerof, þou most me schawe,
Whar bi y schal Wikard knawe,
His buffeyt schal be bouȝt.’
‘He haþ queintise white so snawe,
Wiþ foules blac as ani crawe,
Wiþ silke werk it is wrouȝt.
Moioun queintise is ȝalu & wan,
Sett wiþ pekok & wiþ swan,
Þat he wiþ him haþ brouȝt;
Wikeles queintise is ȝalu & grene,
Floure de liis sett bi tvene,
Him for ȝete þou nouȝt.’

Now if haþerof comen oȝain,
& seyd he haþ Horn sain,
& what folk he haþ brouȝt;
& after wisarmes he gan frain;
Was neuer Rimnild ere so fain
In hert no in þouȝt:
‘Haþerof, go in to halle swiþe
& bid mi fader make him bliþe
& say icham sike nouȝt.
Wikard, þat is leue to smite,
Horn schal him his dettes quite,
To niȝt it schal be bouȝt.’

When þai hadde eten, þan were þai boun;
Wiþ spere oloft & gonfainoun,
Al armed were þo bold;

192

Wiþ trump & tabourun out of toun
Þus þai redde þe riȝt roun,
Ich man as he wold.
A nerl out of cornwayle
Oȝain Moioun saun faile,
Þe turnament schal hold;
& horn com in to þe feld wiþ pride,
An hundred kniȝtes bi his side,
In rime as it is told.

Horn of her coming was wel wise,
& knewe hem bi her queyntise,
Anon þai counterd þo.
Moioun king haþ tint þe priis,
Vnder his hors fete he liis,
Horn wald him nouȝt slo.
To sir wigard his swerd he weued,
Euen ato he cleue his heued,
His box he ȝalt him þo;
Out he smot Wigles eiȝe;
Traitours þat er leue to liȝe,
Men schal hem ken so.

Þat day Horn þe turnament wan
Fro Moioun & mani aman,
Wiþ kniȝtes stiþe on stede;
He toke þe gre þat was a swan,
& sent to rimnild his leman,
To hir riche mede.
To houlac king horn gan wende
& þonked him as his frende
Of his gode dede:
‘Þou feddest me & forsterd to man.’
He maked wikel telle out þan
His lessinges & his falshed.

Moioun king is iuel diȝt,
Tint he haþ þat swete wiȝt
& wold ben oway.
Horn þat hadde hir treuþe pliȝt,
Wedded hir þat ich niȝt
And al opon aday.
Now is Rimnild tviis wedde,
Horn brouȝt hir to his bedde;
Houlac king gan say:
‘Half mi lond ichil þe ȝiue,
Wiþ mi douȝter, while y liue,
& al after mi day.’

Fiue days sat her fest,
Wiþ mete & drink riche & onest,
In boke as we rede.
Forþ, as we telle in gest,
Horn lete sende est & west,
His folk to batayle bede;
Into norþ humber land for to fare,
To winne þat his fader ware,
Wiþ kniȝtes stiþe on stede,
Wiþ erl, baroun & wiþ swain
To winne his fader lond oȝain,
Ȝif crist him wold spede.

Michel frely folk was þare,
into norþ humber land to fare
Wiþ stedes wite & broun.
Horn wald for noman spare,
To winne al þat his fader ware,
Boþe tour & toun.
When Þorbrond herd þis,
Þan horn to lond y comen is, [OMITTED]