University of Virginia Library

LANCELOT OF THE LAIK.

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Square brackets denote editorial insertions or emendations.

The soft morow ande The lustee Aperill,
The wynter set, the stormys in exill,
Quhen that the brycht & fresch illumynare
Uprisith arly in his fyre chare
His hot courss in to the orient,
And frome his spere his goldine stremis sent
Wpone the grond, in maner off mesag,
One euery thing to valkyne thar curage,
That natur haith set wnder hire mycht,
Boith gyrss, and flour, & euery lusty vicht;
And namly thame that felith the assay
Of lufe, to schew the kalendis of may,
Throw birdis songe with opine wox one hy,
That sessit not one lufaris for to cry,
Lest thai forȝhet, throw slewth of Ignorans,
The old wsage of lowis obseruans.
And from̄e I can the bricht face asspy,
It deuit me no langare fore to ly,
Nore that loue schuld sleuth In to me finde,
Bot walkine furth, bewalinge in my mynde
The dredful lyve endurit al to longe,
Sufferans in loue of sorouful harmys stronge,
The scharpe dais and the hewy ȝerys,
Quhill phebus thris haith passith al his speris,
Vithoutine hope ore traistinge of comfort;
So be such meine fatit was my sort.
Thus in my saull Rolinge al my wo,
My carful hart carwing can̄ In two
The derdful suerd of lowis hot dissire,
So be the morow set I was afyre
In felinge of the access hot & colde,
That haith my hart in sich a fevir holde,
Only to me thare was non̄e vthir ess
Bot thinkine qhow I schulde my lady pless.
The scharp assay and ek the Inwart peine
Of dowblit wo me neulyngis can̄ constrein,
Quhen that I have remembrit one my thocht
How sche, quhois bewte al my harm̄ haith wrocht,
Ne knouith not how I ame wo begon̄e,
Nor how that I ame of hire seruandis on̄e;
And in my self I can̄ nocht fynde the meyne
In to quhat wyss I sal my wo compleine.
Thus in the feild I walkith to & froo,
As thochtful wicht that felt of nocht bot woo,
Syne to o gardinge, that wess weil besen̄,
Of quiche the feild was al depaynt with gren̄.
The tendyre and the lusty flouris new
Up thrōue the gren̄ vpone thar stalkis grew
Aȝhane the sone, and thare levis spred,
Quharwith that al the gardinge was Iclede,
That pryapus, in to his tyme before,
In o lustear walkith nevir more;
And al about enweronyt and Iclosit
One sich o wyss, that none within supposit
Fore to be sen̄ with ony vicht thare owt,
So dide the levis clos it all about.
Thar was the flour, thar was the quen̄ alphest,
Rycht wering being of the nychtis rest,
Wnclosing gan̄e the crownel for the day;
The brycht sone illumynit haith the spray,
The nychtis sobir ande the most schowris,
As cristoll terys withhong vp[o]ne the flouris,
Haith vpwarpith In the lusty aire,
The morow makith soft, ameyne, and faire;
And the byrdis thar mychty voce out throng,
Quhill al the wood resonite of thar songe,
That gret confort till ony vicht It wer
That plessith thame of lustenes to here;
Bot gladness til the thochtful, auer mo
The more he seith, the more he haith of wo.
Thar was the garding with the flouris ourfret,
Quich is in posy fore my lady set,
That hire Represent to me oft befor,
& thane also; thus al day gan be sor
Of thocht my gost with torment occupy,
That I becam̄e In to one exasy,
Ore slep, or how I wot, bot so befell,
My wo haith done my livis gost expell,
And in sich wiss weil long I can endwr,
So me betid o wondir aventur.
As I thus lay, Rycht to my spreit vas sen̄
A birde, yat was as ony lawrare gren̄,
Alicht, and sayth in to hir birdis chere;
“O woful wrech, that levis in to were!
To schew the thus the god of loue me sent,
That of thi seruice no thing is content,
For in his court yhoue lewith in disspar,
And vilfully sustenis al thi care,
And schapith no thinge of thine awn remede,
Bot clepith ay and cryith apone dede;
Yhow callith the birdis be morow fro thar bouris,
Yhoue devith boith the erbis and the flouris,
And clepit hyme vnfaithful king of lowe,
Yow dewith hyme in to his rigne abuse,
Yhow tempith hyme, yhoue doith thi self no gud,
Yhoue art o mon̄ of wit al destitude.
Wot yhoue nocht that al liwis creatwre
Haith of thi wo in to hir hand the cwre?
And set yhoue clep one erbis and one treis,
Sche heris not thi wo, nore ȝhit sche seis;
For none may know the dirkness of thi thocht,
Ne blamyth her, thi wo sche knowith nocht,
And It is weil accordinge It be so.
He suffir harme, that to redress his wo
Previdith not; for long ore he be fonde,
Holl of his leich, that schewith not his vound.
And of owid ye autor schall yhow knaw
Of lufe that seith, for to consel or schow,
The last he clepith althir best of two;
And that is suth, and sal be euer mo.
And loue also haith chargit me to say,
Set yhoue presume, ore beleif, ye assay
Of his seruice, as It wil ryne ore go,
Preswme It not, fore It wil not be so;
Al magre thine a seruand schal yow bee.
And as tueching thine aduersytee,
Complen and sek of the ramed, the cwre,
Ore, gif yhow likith, furth thi wo endure.”
And, as me thocht, I ansuerde aȝain̄e
Thus to the byrde, in wordis schort and plane:
“It ganyth not, as I have harde Recorde,
The seruand for to disput with ye lord;
Bot well he knowith of al my vo the quhy,
And in quhat wyss he hath me set, quhar I
Nore may I not, nore can I not attane,
Nore to hir hienes dare I not complane.”
“Ful!” quod the bird, “lat be thi nyss dispare,
For in this erith no lady is so fare,
So hie estat, nore of so gret empriss,
That in hire self haith visdome ore gentrice,
Yf that o wicht, that worthy is to be
Of lovis court, schew til hir that he
Seruith hire in lovis hartly wyss,
That schall thar for hyme hating or dispiss.
The god of love thus chargit the, at schort,
That to thi lady yhoue thi wo Report;
Yf yhoue may not, thi plant schall yhov vrit.
Se, as yhoue cane, be maner ofe endit
In metir, quhich that no man haith susspek,
Set oft tyme thai contenyng gret effece;
Thus one sume wyss yhow schal thi wo dwclar.
And, for thir sedulis and thir billis are
So generall, and ek so schort at lyte,
And swme of thaim is lost the appetit,
Sum trety schall yhoue for yi lady sak,
That wnkouth is, als tak one hand and mak,
Of love, ore armys, or of sum othir thing,
That may hir one to thi Remembryng brynge,
Qwich soundith Not one to no hewynes,
Bot one to gladness and to lusteness,
That yhoue belevis may thi lady pless,
To have hir thonk and be one to hir ess;
That sche may wit in seruice yhow art one.
Faire weil,” quod sche, “thus schal yhow the dispone,
And mak thi self als mery as yhoue may,
It helpith not thus fore to wep al way.”
With that, the bird sche haith hir leif tak,
For fere of quich I can onone to wak;
Sche was ago, and to my self thocht I
Quhat may yis meyne? quhat may this signify?
Is It of troutht, or of Illusioune?
Bot finaly, as in conclusioune,
Be as be may, I schal me not discharge,
Sen It apperith be of lovis charg;
And ek myne hart non̄e othir bissynes
Haith bot my ladice seruice, as I gess;
Among al vtheris I schal one honde tak
This litil occupatioune for hire sak.
Bot hyme I pray, the mychty gode of loue,
That sitith hie in to his spir abuf,
(At command of o wyss quhois visioune
My gost haith takin this opvnioune,)
That my lawboure may to my lady pless,
And do wnto hir ladeschip sum ess,
So that my trauell be nocht tynt; and I
Quhat vtheris say setith no thing by,
For wel I know that, be this worldis fam̄e,
It schal not be bot hurting to my nam̄e,
Quhen that thai here my febil negligens,
That empit is, and bare of eloquens,
Of discressioune, and ek of Retoryk;
The metire and the cuning both elyk
So fere discording frome perfeccioune;
Quhilk I submyt to the correccioune
Of yaim the quhich that is discret & wyss,
And enterit is of loue in the seruice;
Quhich knouyth that no lovare dare withstonde,
Quhat loue hyme chargit he mot tak one honde,
Deith, ore defam̄, or ony maner wo;
And at this tyme with me It stant rycht so,
As I that dar makine no demande
To quhat I wot It lykith loue commande.
Tueching his chargis, as with al destitut,
Within my mynd schortly I conclud
For to fulfyll, for ned I mot do so.
Thane in my thocht rolling to and fro
Quhare that I mycht sum wnkouth mater fynde,
Quhill at ye last it fell in to my mynd
Of o story, that I befor had sene,
That boith of loue and armys can conten̄,
Was of o knycht clepit lancelot of ye laik,
The sone of bane was king of albanak;
Of quhois fame & worschipful dedis
Clerkis in to diuerss bukis redis
Of quhome I thynk her sumthing for to writ
At louis charge, and as I cane, endit;
Set men tharin sal by experiens
Know my consait, and al my negligens.
Bot for that story is so pasing larg,
One to my wit It war so gret o charg
For to translait the romans of that knycht,
It passith fare my cunyng and my mycht,
Myne Ignorans may It not comprehende;
Quharfor thare one I wil me not depend
How he was borne, nor how his fader deid
And ek his moder, nore how he was denyed
Efter thare deth, presumyng he was ded,
Of al ye lond, nore how he fra that stede
In sacret wyss wnwyst away was tak,
And nwrist with ye lady of ye lak.
Nor, in his ȝouth, think I not to tell
The auentouris, quhich to hyme befell;
Nor how the lady of the laik hyme had
One to the court, quhare that he knycht was mad;
None wist his nome, nore how that he was tak
By loue, and was Iwondit to the stak,
And throuch & throuch persit to ye hart,
That al his tyme he couth It not astart;
For thare of loue he enterit in seruice,
Of wanore throuch the beute and franchis,
Throuch quhois seruice in armys he has vrocht
Mony wonderis, and perellis he has socht.
Nor how he thor, in to his ȝoung curage,
Hath maid awoue, and in to louis rage,
In the rewenging of o wondit knycht
That cumyne was in to the court that nycht;
In to his hed a brokin fuerd had he,
And in his body also mycht men see
The tronsioune of o brokine sper that was,
Quhich no man out dedenyt to aras;
Nor how he haith the wapnis out tak,
And his awow apone this wis can mak,
That he schuld hyme Reweng at his poware
One euery knycht that louith the hurtare
Better thane hyme, the quhich that was I wond.
Throw quich awoue in armys hath ben founde
The deth of mony wereoure ful wicht;
For, fro tho wow was knowing of the knycht,
Thare was ful mony o pasage in the londe
By men of armys kepit to withstond
This knycht, of quhome thai ben al set afyre
Thaim to reweng in armys of desir.
Nor how that thane incontynent was send
He and sir kay togidder to defend
The lady of nohalt, nore how that hee
Gouernit hyme thare, nore in quhat degre.
Nor how the gret pasing vassolag
He escheuit, thrōue the outragouss curag,
In conquiryng of the sorowful castell.
Nor how he passith doune in the cauis fell,
And furth ye keys of Inchantment brocht,
That al distroyt quhich that thare vas vrocht.
Nore howe that he reskewit sir gawane,
With his ix falouss in to presone tane;
Nore mony vthere diuerss aduenture,
Quhich to report I tak not in my cwre;
Nor mony assemblay that gawane gart be maid
To wit his name; nor how that he hyme hade
Wnwist, and hath the worschip & empriss;
Nor of the knychtis in to mony diuerss wyss
Throuch his awoue that hath thare dethis found;
Nor of the sufferans that by louis wounde
He in his trawel sufferith auer more;
Nor in the quenis presens how tharfor
By camelot, in to that gret Revare,
He was ner dround. I wil It not declare
How that he was in louis hewy thocht
By dagenet in to the court Ibrocht;
Nor how the knycht that tyme he cane perfew,
Nor of the gyantis by camelot he slew;
Nor wil I not her tell the maner how
He slew o knycht, by natur of his wow,
Off melyholt; nore how in to that toune
Thar came one hyme o gret confusione
Of pupil & knychtis, al enarmyt,
Nor how he thar haith kepit hyme wnharmyt;
Nor of his worschip, nor of his gret prowes,
Nor his defens of armys in the pres.
Nor how the lady of melyhalt yat sche
Came to the feild, and prayth hyme that he
As to o lady to hir his suerd hath ȝold
Nor how he was in to hir keping hold;
And mony vthir nobil deid also
I wil report quharfor I lat ourgo.
For quho thaim lykith for to specyfy,
Of one of thaim mycht mak o gret story;
Nor thing I not of his hye renōwn
My febil wit to makin mensioune;
Bot of the weris that was scharp & strong,
Richt perellouss, and hath enduryt long,
Of Arthur In defending of his lond
Frome galiot, sone of the fair gyonde,
That brocht of knychtis o pasing confluens;
And how lancelot of arthuris hol defens
And of the veris berith the renown̄;
And how he be the wais of fortoune
Tuex the two princis makith the accorde,
Of al there mortall weris to concorde;
And how that venus, siting hie abuf,
Reuardith hyme of trauell in to loue,
And makith hyme his ladice grace to have,
And thankfully his seruice cane resave;
This is the mater quhich I think to tell.
Bot stil he mot rycht with the lady duell,
Quhill tyme cum eft that we schal of hym spek.
This process mot closine ben̄ and stek;
And furth I wil one to my mater go.
Bot first I pray, and I besek also,
One to the most conpilour to support,
Flour of poyetis, quhois nome I wil report
To me nor to non̄ vthir It accordit,
In to our rymyng his nam̄ to be recordit;
For sum suld deme It of presumpsioune,
And ek our rymyng is al bot derysioune,
Quhen that remembrit is his excellens,
So hie abuf that stant in reuerans.
Ye fresch enditing of his laiting toung
Out throuch yis world so wid is yroung,
Of eloquens, and ek of retoryk,
Nor is, nor was, nore neuer beith hyme lyk,
This world gladith of his suet poetry.
His saul I blyss conseruyt be for thy;
And yf that ony lusty terme I wryt
He haith the thonk yerof, & this endit.
Quhen tytan, withe his lusty heit,
Twenty dais In to the aryeit
Haith maid his courss, and all with diuerss hewis
Aparalit haith the feldis and the bewis,
The birdis amyd the erbis & the flouris,
And one the branchis, makyne gone thar bouris,
And be the morow singing in ther chere
Welcum the lusty sessone of the ȝere.
In to this tyme the worthi conqueroure
Arthure, wich had of al this worlde the floure
Of cheuelry anerding to his crown,
So pasing war his knychtis in renoune,
Was at carlill; and hapynnit so that hee
Soiornyt well long in that faire cuntree.
In to whilk tyme In to the court thai heire
None awenture, for wich the knyghtis weire
Anoit all at the abiding thare.
For why, beholding one the sobir ayre
And of the tyme the pasing lustynes,
Can so thir knyghtly hartis to encress,
That thei shir kay one to the king haith sende,
Beseiching hyme he wold wichsaif to wende
To camelot the Cetee, whare that thei
Ware wont to heryng of armys day be day.
The king forsuth, heryng thare entent,
To thare desir, be schort awysment,
Ygrantid haith; and so the king proponit
And for to pas one hyme one the morne disponit.
Bot so befell hyme that nycht to meit
An aperans, the wich one to his spreit
It semyth that of al his hed ye hore
Of fallith and maid desolat; wharfore
The king therof was pensyve in his mynd,
That al the day he couth no resting fynde,
Wich makith hyme his Iorneye to delaye.
And so befell apone the thrid day,
The bricht sone, pasing in the west,
Haith maid his courss, and al thing goith to Rest;
The king, so as the story can dewyss,
He thoght aȝeine, apone the samyne wyss,
His vombe out fallith vith his hoil syde
Apone the ground, & liging hyme besid;
Throw wich anon out of his slep he stert,
Abasit and adred in to his hart.
The wich be morow one to the qwen he told,
And she aȝeine to hyme haith ansuer ȝolde;
“To dremys, sir, shuld no man have Respek,
For thei ben thingis weyn, of non affek.”
“Well,” quod the king, “god grant It so befall!”
Arly he ross, and gert one to hyme call
O clerk, to whome that al his hewynes
Tweching his drem shewith he express;
Wich ansuer yaf and seith one to the kinge;
“Shir, no Record lyith to such thing;
Wharfor now, shir, I praye yow tak no kep,
Nore traist in to the vanyteis of slep,
For thei are thingis that askith no credens,
But causith of sum maner influens,
Empriss of thoght ore superfleuytee,
Or than sum othir casualytee.”
“Ȝit,” quod the king, “I sal nocht leif It so;”
And furth he chargit mesingeris to go
Throgh al his Realm, withouten more demande,
And bad them stratly at thei shulde comande
Al the bishopes, and makyng no delay
The shuld appere be the tuenty day
At camelot, with al thar hol clergy
That most expert war, for to certefye
A mater tueching to his gost be nyght.
The mesag goith furth with the lettres Right.
The king eft sone, within a litill space,
His Iornay makith haith frome place to place,
Whill that he cam to camelot; and there
The clerkis all, as that the chargit were,
Assemblit war, and came to his presens,
Of his desir, to viting the sentens.
To them that war to hyme most speciall
Furth his entent shauyth he al hall;
By whois conseil, of the worthiest
He chesith ten, yclepit for the best,
And most expert and wisest was supposit,
To qwhome his drem all hail he haith disclossit,
The houre, the nyght, and al the cercumstans,
Besichyne them that the signifycans
Thei wald hyme shaw, that he mycht resting fynde
Of It, the wich that occupeid his mynde.
And one of them with al ther holl assent
Saith, “shire, fore to declare our entent
Vpone this matere, ye wil ws delay
Fore to awysing one to the ix day.”
The king ther-to grantith haith, bot hee
In to o place, that strong was and hye,
He closith them, whare thei may no whare get,
Vn to the day, the wich he to them set.
Than goith the clerkis sadly to awyss
Of this mater, to seing in what wyss
The kingis drem thei shal best specefy.
And than the maistris of astronomy
The bookis longyne to ther artis set;
Not was the bukis of arachell forget,
Of nembrot, of danȝhelome, thei two,
Of moyses, & of herynes all soo;
And seking be ther calcolacioune
To fynd the planetis disposicioune,
The wich thei fond ware wonder ewill yset
The samyne nyght the king his sweuen met.
So ner the point socht thei have the thing,
Thei fond It wonder hewy to the king,
Of wich thing thei waryng in to were
To shew the king, for dreid of his danger.
Of ane accorde thei planly haue proponit
No worde to show, and so thei them disponit.
The day is cumyng, and he haith fore them sent,
Besichyne them to shewing ther entent.
Than spak they all, and that of an accorde;
“Shir, of this thing we can no thing Recorde,
For we can noght fynd in til our sciens,
Tweching this mater, ony ewydens.”
“Now,” quod the king, “and be the glorius lorde,
Or we depart ye shall sum thing recorde;
So pas yhe uot, nor so It sall not bee.”
“Than,” quod the clerkis, “grant ws dais three.”
The wich he grantid them, and but delay,
The term passith, no thing wold the say,
Wharof the king stondith heuy cherith,
And to the clerkis his visag so apperith,
That all thei dred them of the kingis myght.
Than saith o clerk, “sir, as the thrid nyght
Ye dremyt, so giffis ws delay
The thrid tyme, and to the thrid day.”
By whilk tyme thei fundyng haith the ende
Of this mater, als far as shal depend
To ther sciens; yit can thei not awyss
To schewing to the king be ony wyss.
The day is cum, the king haith them besocht,
Bot one no wyss thei wald declar ther thoght;
Than was he wroth in to his self and noyt,
And maid his wow that thei shal ben distroyt.
His baronis he commandit to gar tak
Fyve of them one to the fir stak,
And vther fyue be to the gibbot tone;
And the furth with the kingis charg ar gone.
He bad them in to secret wyss that thei
Shud do no harm, but only them assey.
The clerkis, dredful of the kingis Ire,
And saw the perell of deth and of the fyre,
Fyve, as thei can, has grantit to record;
That vther herde and ben of ther accorde;
And al thei ben yled one to the king,
And shew hyme thus as tueching of this thing.
“Shir, sen that we constrenyt ar by myght
To shaw wich that we knaw no thing aricht;
For thing to cum preseruith It allan
To hyme the wich is euery thing certan̄,
Excep the thing that til our knawleg hee
Hath ordynat of certan for to bee;
Therfor, shir king, we your magnificens
Beseich It turne till ws to non offens,
Nor hald ws nocht as learis, thoght It fall
Not in this mater, as that we telen shall.”
And that the king haith grantit them, & thei
Has chargit one, that one this wiss sall seye.
“Presumyth, shir, that we have sundyne so;
All erdly honore ye nedist most for-go,
And them the wich ye most affy in tyll
Shal failye ȝow, magre of ther will;
And thus we haue in to this matere founde.”
The king, qwhois hart was al wyth dred ybownd,
And askit at the clerkis, if thei fynde
By there clergy, that stant in ony kynde
Of possibilitee, fore to reforme
His desteny, that stud in such a forme:
If in the hewyne Is preordynat
On such o wiss his honor to translat.
The clerkis faith, “forsuth, and we haue sene
O thing whar of, if we the trouth shal men̄,
Is so obscure and dyrk til our clergye,
That we wat not what It shal signefye,
Wich causith ws we can It not furth say,”
“Yis,” quod the king, “as lykith yow ye may,
For wers than this can nat be said for me.”
Thane saith o maistir, “than suthly thus finde we;
Thar is no thing sal sucour nor reskew,
Your wordly honore nedis most adew,
But throuch the watrye lyone & ek fyne
On throuch the liche & ek the wattir syne,
And throuch the conseill of the flour; god wot
What this shude men̄, for mor ther of we not.”
No word the king ansuerid ayane,
For al this resone thinkith bot in weyne.
He shawith outwart his contenans
As he therof takith no greuans;
But al the nyght it passid nat his thoght.
The dais courss with ful desir he socht,
And furth he goith to bring his mynd in rest
With mony O knyght vn to the gret forest;
The rachis gon wn-copelit for the deire,
That in the wodis makith nois & cheir;
The knychtis, with the grewhundis in aweit,
Secith boith the planis and the streit.
Doune goith the hart, doune goith the hynd alfo;
The swift grewhund, hardy of assay,
Befor ther hedis no thing goith away.
The king of hunting takith haith his sport,
And to his palace home he can Resort,
Ayan the noon; and as that he was set
Vith all his noble knyghtis at the met,
So cam ther in an agit knyght & hee
Of gret efstat semyt for to bee;
Anarmyt all, as tho It was the gyss,
And thus the king he salust, one this wiss:
“Shir king, one to yow am y sende
Frome the worthiest that in world is kend,
That leuyth now of his tyme and age,
Of manhed, wisdome, & of hie curag,
Galiot, sone of the fare gyande;
And thus, at short, he bidis yow your londe
Ye yald hyme our, without Impedyment;
Or of hyme holde, and if tribut and rent.
This is my charge, at short, whilk if youe lest
For to fulfill, of al he haith conquest
He sais that he most tendir shal youe hald.”
By short awys the king his anfuer yald;
“Shir knycht, your lorde wondir hie pretendis,
When he to me sic salutatioune sendis;
For I as yit, in tymys that ar gone,
Held neuer lond excep of god alone,
Nore neuer thinkith til erthly lord to yef
Trybut nor rent, als long as I may lef.”
“Well,” quod the knycht, “ful for repentith me;
Non may recist the thing the wich mone bee.
To yow, sir king, than frome my lord am I
With diffyans sent, and be this resone why;
His purpos Is, or this day moneth day,
With all his ost, planly to assay
Your lond, with mony manly man of were,
And helmyt knychtis, boith with sheld & spere;
And neuer thinkith to retwrn home whill
That he this lond haith conquest at his will;
And ek vanour the quen, of whome that hee
Herith report of al this world that shee
In fairhed and in wertew doith excede,
He bad me say he thinkis to possede.”
“Schir,” quod the king, “your mesag me behufis
Of resone and of curtasy excusss;
But tueching to your lord & to his ost,
His powar, his mesag, and his bost,
That pretendith my lond for to distroy,
Tharof as ȝit tak I non anoye;
And say your lord one my behalf, when hee
Haith tone my lond, that al the world shal see
That It shal be magre myne entent.”
With that the knycht, withouten leif, is went,
And richt as he was pasing to the dure,
He saith, “a gode! what wykyt aduenture
Apperith!” with that his hors he nome,
Two knichtis kepit, waiting his outcome.
The knicht is gon, the king he gan Inquere
At gawan, and at other knychtis sere,
If that thei knew or euer hard recorde
Of galiot, and wharof he wes lorde;
And ther was non among his knychtis all
Which ansuerd o word in to the hall.
Than galygantynis of walys rase,
That trauelit in diuerss londis has,
In mony knychtly auentur haith ben;
And to the king he saith, “sir, I haue sen
Galiot, which is the farest knycht,
And hiest be half a fut one hycht,
That euer I saw, and ek his men accordith;
Hyme lakid nocht that to a lord recordith.
For visare of his ag is non than hee,
And ful of larges and humylytee;
An hart he haith of pasing hie curag,
And is not xxiiij ȝer of age,
And of his tyme mekil haith conquerit;
Ten kingis at his command ar sterit.
He vith his men so louit is, y gess,
That hyme to pless is al ther besynes.
Not say I this, sir, in to ye entent
That he, nor none wnder the firmament,
Shal pouere haue ayane your maiestee;
And, or thei shuld, this y sey for mee,
Rather I shall knychtly in to feild
Resaue my deith anarmyt wnder sheld.
This spek y lest;”—the king, ayan the morn,
Haith varnit huntaris baith with hund & horne,
And arly gan one to the forest ryd,
With mony manly knyghtis by his sid,
Hyme for to sport and comfort with the dere,
Set contrare was the sesone of ye yere.
His most huntyng was atte wyld bore;
God wot a lustye cuntree was It thoore,
In the ilk tyme! weil long this noble king
In to this lond haith maid his siiornyng.
Frome the lady was send o mesinger
Of melyhalt, wich saith one this maner,
As that the story shewith by recorde:
“To yow, sir king, as to hir soueran lorde,
My lady hath me chargit for to say
How that your lond stondith in affray;
For galiot, sone of the fare gyande,
Enterit Is by armys in your land,
And so the lond and cuntre he anoyth,
That quhar he goith planly he distroyth,
And makith al obeisand to his honde,
That nocht is left wnconquest in that lond,
Excep two castellis longing to hir cwre,
Wich to defend she may nocht long endure.
Wharfor, sir, in wordis plan & short,
Ye mon dispone your folk for to support.”
“Wel,” quod the king, “one to thi lady say,
The neid is myne, I fall It not delay;
But what folk ar thei nemmyt for to bee,
That in my lond is cumyne in sich degree?”
“An hundreth thousand boith vith sheld & spere
On hors ar armyt, al redy for the were.”
“Wel,” quod the king, “and but delay this nycht,
Or than to morn as that the day is lycht,
I shal remuf; ther shal no thing me mak
Impedyment my Iorney for to tak.”
Than seith his knychtis al with one assent,
“Shir, that is al contrare our entent;
For to your folk this mater is wnwist,
And ye ar here our few for to recist
Ȝone power, and youre cuntre to defende;
Tharfor abid, and for your folk ye send,
That lyk a king and lyk a weriour
Ye may susten in armys your honoure.”
“Now,” quod the king, “no langer that I ȝeme
My crowne my septure, nor my dyademe,
Frome that I here, ore frome I wnderstand,
That ther by fors be entrit in my land
Men of armys by strenth of vyolens,
If that I mak abid or resydens
In to o place langar than o nycht,
For to defend my cuntre & my rycht.”
The king that day his mesage haith furth sent
Throuch al his realme, and syne to rest is went.
Up goith the morow, wp goith the brycht day,
Wp goith the sone in to his fresh aray;
Richt as he spred his bemys frome northest,
The king wprass withouten more arest,
And by his awn conseil and entent
His Iornaye tuk at short awysment.
And but dulay he goith frome place to place
Whill that he cam nere whare the lady was,
And in one plane, apone o reuer syde,
He lichtit doune, and ther he can abide;
And yit with hyme to batell fore to go
Vij thousand fechteris war thei, & no mo.
This was the lady, of qwhome befor I tolde,
That lancilot haith in to hir kepinge holde;
But for to tell his pasing hewynesse,
His peyne, his sorow, and his gret distresse
Of presone and of loues gret suppris,
It war to long to me for to dewys.
When he remembrith one his hewy charge
Of loue, wharof he can hyme not discharge,
He wepith and he sorowith in his chere,
And euery nyght semyth hyme o yere.
Gret peite was the sorow that he maad,
And to hyme self apone this wiss he saade:
And galiot in this meyne tyme he laie
By strong myght o castell to assay,
With many engyne and diuerss wais sere,
For of fute folk he had a gret powere
That bowis bur, and vther Instrumentis,
And with them lede ther palȝonis & ther tentis,
With mony o strong chariot and cher
With yrne qwhelis and barris long & sqwar;
Well stuffit with al maner apparell
That longith to o sege or to batell;
Whar with his ost was closit al about,
That of no strenth nedith hyme to dout.
And when he hard the cumyne of the king,
And of his ost, and of his gaderyng,
The wich he reput but of febil myght
Ayanis hyme for to susten the ficht,
His consell holl assemblit he, but were,
Ten kingis with other lordis sere,
And told them of the cuming of the king,
And askit them there consell of that thing.
Hyme thoght that it his worschip wold degrade,
If he hyme self in propir persone raide
Enarmyt ayane so few menye
As It was told arthur fore to bee;
And thane the kyng An hundereth knychtis cold,
(And so he hot, for neuermore he wolde
Ryd of his lond, but In his cumpany
O hundyre knyghtis ful of chiuellry),
He saith, “shir, ande I one hond tak,
If It you pless, this Iorney shal I mak.”
Quod galiot, “I grant It yow, but ye
Shal first go ryd, yone knychtis ost & see.”
With-outen more he ridith our the plan,
And saw the ost, and is returnyd ayan̄;
And callit them mo than he hade sen, for why
He dred the represe of his cumpany.
And to his lord apone this wys saith hee,
“Shir, ten thousand y ges them for to bee.”
And galiot haith chargit hyme to tak
Als fell folk, and for the feld hyme mak.
And so he doith and haith them wel Arayt.
Apone the morne his banaris war displayt.
And he aross and salust Curtasly
The lady, and said, “madem, her I,
Your presoner, besekith yow that ȝhe
Wold mersy and compassione have of me,
And mak the ransone wich that I may yeif;
I waist my tyme in presoune thus to leife.
For why I her on be report be told,
That arthur, with the flour of his housholde,
Is cummyne here, and in this cuntre lyis,
And stant In danger of his ennemyis;
And haith assemblit, and efter this shalt bee
Within short tyme one new assemblee.
Thar for, my lady, y youe grace besech;
That I mycht pas, my Ranson for to fech;
Fore I presume that longith to that sort
That louid me, and shal my nede support.”
“Shire knycht, It stant nocht in sich dugree;
It is no ransone wich that causith me
To holden yow, or don yow sich offens,
It is your gilt, It is your wiolens,
Whar of that I desir no thing but law,
Without report your awn̄ trespas to knaw.”
“Madem, your plesance may ye wel fulfill
Of me, that am in presone at your will.
Bot of that gilt, I was for til excuss,
For that I did of werrey nede behwss,
It tuechit to my honore and my fame;
I mycht nocht lefe It but hurting of my nam,
And ek the knycht was mor to blam than I.
But ye, my lady, of your curtessy,
Wold ȝe deden my Ransoune to resaue,
Of presone so I my libertee myght haue,
Y ware ȝolde euermore your knyght,
Whill that I leif, with al my holl myght.
And if so be ye lykith not to ma
My ransone, if me leif to ga
To the assemble, wich sal be of new;
And as that I am feithful knycht & trew,
At nycht to yow I enter shall aȝaine,
But if that deth or other lat certan̄,
Throw wich I have such Impediment,
That I be hold, magre myne entent.”
“Sir knycht,” quod she, “I grant yow leif, withthy
Your name to me that ȝe wil specify.”
“Madem, as ȝit, sutly I ne may
Duclar my name, one be no maner way;
But I promyt, als fast as I haue tyme
Conuenient, or may vith-outen cryme,
I shall;” and than the lady saith hyme tyll,
“And I, schir knycht, one this condiscione will
Grant yow leve, so that ye oblist bee
For to Return, as ye haue said to me.”
Thus thei accord, the lady goith to rest;
The sone discending closit in the vest.
The ferd day was dewysit for to bee
Betuex the oftis of the assemblee.
And galiot Richt arly by the day,
Ayane the feld he can his folk aray;
And fourty thousand armyt men haith he,
That war not at the othir assemble,
Commandit to the batell for to gon;
“And I my self,” quod he, “shal me dispone
On to the feild aȝaine the thrid day;
Whar of this were we shal the end assay.”
The clowdy nyght, wndir whois obscure
The rest and quiet of euery creatur
Lyith sauf; quhare the gost with besyness
Is occupiit, with thoghtfull hewynes,
And, for that thocht furth schewing vil his mycht,
Go fare wel rest and quiet of the nycht.
Artur, I meyne, to whome that rest is nocht,
But al the nycht supprisit is with thocht;
In to his bed he turnyth to and fro,
Remembryng the apperans of his wo,
That is to say, his deith, his confusioune,
And of his realme the opin distruccioune,
That in his wit he can no thing prowide,
Bot tak his forton thar for to abyd.
Vp goith the son, vp goith the hot morow;
The thoghtful king al the nycht to sorow,
That sauch the day, vpone his feit he start,
And furth he goith, distrublit in his hart.
A quhill he walkith in his pensyf gost,
So was he ware thar cummyne to the ost
O clerk, with whome he was aqwynt befor,
In to his tyme non better was ybore;
Of qwhois com he gretly vas Reiosit,
For in to hyme sum comfort he supposit;
Betuex them was one hartly affeccioune.
Non orderis had he of Relegioune,
Famus he was, and of gret excellence,
And rycht expert in al the vij. science;
Contemplatif and chast in gouernance,
And clepit was the maister amytans.
The king befor his palȝoune one the gren,
That knew hyme well, & haith his cummyn sen̄,
Velcummyt hyme, and maid hyme rycht gud chere,
And he agan, agrewit as he were,
Saith, “nothir of thi salosing, nor the,
Ne rak I nocht, ne charg I nocht,” quod hee.
Than quod the king, “maister, & for what why
Ar ȝhe agrewit? or quhat tresspas have I
Commytit, so that I shal yow disples?”
Quod he, “no thing It is ayane myn ess,
But only contrare of thi self alway;
So sare the courss yow passith of the way,
Thi schip, that goth apone the stormy vall,
Ney of thi careldis in the swelf it fall,
Whar she almost is in the perell drent;
That is to say, yow art so far myswent
Of wykitness vpone the vrechit dans,
That yow art fallyng in the storng vengans
Of goddis wreth, that shal the son deuour;
For of his strok approchit now the hour
That boith thi Ringe, thi ceptre, & thi crovn̄,
Frome hie estat he smyting shal adoune.
And that accordith well, for in thi thocht
Yow knawith not hyme, the wich that haith the wrocht,
And set the vp in to this hie estat
From powert; for, as the-selwyne wat,
It cummyth al bot only of his myght,
And not of the, nor of thi elderis Richt
To the discending, as in heritage,
For yow was not byget in to spousag.
Wharfor yow aucht his biding to obserf,
And at thy mycht yow shuld hyme pless & serf;
That dois yow nat, for yow art so confussit
With this fals warld, that thow haith hyme Refusit,
And brokine haith his reul and ordynans,
The wich to the he gave in gouernans.
He maid the king, he maid the gouernour,
He maid the so, and set in hie honour
Of Realmys and of peplis sere;
Efter his loue thow shuld them Reul & stere,
And wnoppressit kep in to Iustice,
The wykit men and pwnyce for ther wice.
Yow dois no thing, bot al in the contrare,
And suffrith al thi puple to forfare;
Yow haith non Ey bot one thyne awn delyt,
Or quhat that plesing shall thyne appetyt.
In the defalt of law and of Iustice,
Wndir thi hond is sufferyt gret suppriss
Of faderless, and modirless also,
And wedwis ek sustenit mekill wo.
With gret myschef oppressit ar the pure;
And thow art causs of al this hol Iniure,
Whar-of that god a raknyng sal craf
At the, and a sore Raknyng sal hafe;
For thyne estat is gewyne to Redress
Thar ned, and kep them to rychtwysness;
And thar is non that ther complantis heris;
The mychty folk, and ek the flattereris
Ar cheif with the, and doith this oppressioun;
If thai complen, It is ther confussioune.
And daniell saith that who doith to the pure,
Or faderless, or modirless, EnIure,
Or to the puple, that ilke to god doth hee;
And al this harme sustenit Is throw the.
Yow sufferith them, oppressith & anoyith;
So yow art causs, throw the thei ar distroyth;
Than, at thi mycht, god so distroys yow.
What shal he do aȝane? quhat shal yow,
When he distroys by vengance of his suerd
The synaris fra the vysagis of the Erde?
Than vtraly yow shall distroyt bee;
And that Richt weill apperis now of thee,
For yow allon byleft art folitere,
And the wyss salamon can duclar,
‘Wo be to hyme that is byleft alone,
He haith no help;’ so Is thi forton gon̄e;
For he is callit, with quhom that god is nocht,
Allone; and so thi wykitness haith wrocht
That god hyme self he is bycummyn thi fo,
Thi pupleis hartis haith thow tynt also;
Thi wykitness thus haith the maid alon,
That of this erth thi fortone Is ygon̄.
Yow mone thi lyf, yow mone thi vorschip tyne,
And eft to deth that neuer shal haf syne.”
“Maister,” quod he, “of yowre beneuolens,
Y yow besech that tueching myn offens,
Ȝhe wald wichsaif your consell to me If
How I sal mend, and ek her eftir leif.”
“Now,” quod the maister, “and I have merwell qwhy
Yow askith consail, and wil in non affy,
Nor wyrk thar-by; and ȝhit yow may In tym,
If yow lykith to amend the cryme.”
“Ȝhis,” saith the king, “and suthfastly I will
Ȝour ordynans in euery thing fulfyll.”
“And if the list at consail to abide,
The remed of thi harme to prouyde—
First, the begyning is of sapiens,
To dreid the lord and his magnificens;
And what thow haith in contrar hyme ofendit,
Whill yow haith mycht, of fre desir amend it;
Repent thi gilt, repent thi gret trespass,
And remembir one goddis richwysness;
How or to hyme that wykitness anoyt,
And how the way of synaris he distroit;
And if ye lyk to ryng wnder his pess,
Ye wengans of his mychty hond yow sess,
This schalt yow do, if yow wil be perfit.
First, mone yow be penitent and contrit
Of euery thing that tuechith thi consiens,
Done of fre will, or ȝhit of neglygens.
Thi neid requirith ful contretioune,
Princepaly with-out conclusioune;
With humble hart and gostly bysyness,
Syne shalt yow go deuotly the confess
Ther of vnto sum haly conffessour,
That the wil consail tueching thin arour;
And to fulfill his will and ordynans,
In satisfaccione and doing of penans,
And to amend al wrang and al Iniure,
By the ydone til euery Creature;
If yow can In to thi hart fynde,
Contretioune well degest In to thi mynd.
Now go thi weie, for if it leful were,
Confessioune to me, I shuld It here.”
Than arthur, Richt obedient & mek,
In to his wit memoratyve can seik
Of euery gilt wich that he can pens,
Done frome he passith the ȝeris of Innocens;
And as his maister hyme commandit hade,
He goith and his confessione haith he maad
Richt deuotly with lementable chere;
The maner wich quho lykith for to here
He may It fynd In to the holl romans,
Off confessione o pasing cercumstans.
I can It not, I am no confessour,
My wyt haith ewil consat of that labour,
Quharof I wot I aucht repent me sore.
The king wich was confessit, what is more,
Goith and til his maister tellith hee,
How euery syne In to his awn degree
He shew, that mycht occuryng to his mynde.
“Now,” quod the maistere, “left thow aght behynde
Of albenak the vorschipful king ban,
The wich that vas in to my seruice slan,
And of his wif disherist eft also?
Bot of ther sone, the wich was them fro,
Ne spek y not;”—the king in his entent
Abasyt was, and furthwith is he went
Aȝane, and to his confessour declarith;
Syne to his maister he ayane Reparith,
To quhome he saith, “I aftir my cunyng
Your ordinans fulfillit in al thing;
And now right hartly y beseich and prey,
Ȝhe wald withschaif sum thing to me say,
That may me comfort in my gret dreid,
And how my men ar falȝet in my Neid,
And of my dreme, the wich that is so dirk.”
This master saith, “and thow art bound to virk
At my consail, and if yow has maad
Thi confessione, as yow before hath said,
And in thi conciens thinkith perseuere,
As I presume that thow onon shalt here
That god hyme self shal so for ye prouide,
Thow shal Remayne and In thi Ring abyd.
And why thi men ar falȝet At this nede,
At short this is the causs, shalt yow nocht dred,
Fore yow to gode was frawart and perwert;
Thi ryngne and the he thocht for to subwart;
And yow sal knaw na power may recist,
In contrar quhat god lykith to assi[s]t.
The vertw nore the strenth of victory
It cummyth not of man, bot anerly
Of hyme, the wich haith euery strinth; & than,
If that the waiis plessit hyme of man,
He shal have forss aȝane his ennemys.
A-ryght agan apone the samyne vyss,
If he displess vn to the lord, he shall
Be to his fais a subiet or a thrall,
As that we may In to the bible red,
Tueching the folk he tuk hyme self to led
In to the lond, the wich he them byhicht.
Ay when thei ȝhed in to his ways Richt,
Ther fois gon befor there suerd to nocht;
And when that thei ayanis hyme hath vrocht,
Thei war so full of radur and disspare,
That of o leif fleing in the air,
The sound of It haith gart o thousand tak
At onys apone them self the bak,
And al ther manhed vterly foryhet;
Sich dreid the lord apone ther hartis set.
So shalt yow know no powar may withstond,
Ther god hyme self hath ton the causs on hond.
And ye quhy stant in thyne awn offens,
That al thi puple falȝhet off defens.
And sum ar falȝeing magre ther entent;
Thei ar to quhom thow yewyne hath thi rent,
Thi gret Reuard, thi richess and thi gold,
And cherissith and held in thi houshold.
Bot the most part ar falȝheit the at wyll,
To quhome yow haith wnkyndness schawin till,
Wrong and inIure, and ek defalt of law,
And pwnysing of qwich that thei stand aw;
And makith seruice but reward or fee,
Syne haith no thonk bot fremmytness of the.
Such folk to the cummyth bot for dred,
Not of fre hart the for to help at nede.
And what awalith owthir sheld or sper,
Or horss or armoure according for ye were,
Vith-outen man them for to stere and led?
And man, yow wot, that vantith hart is ded,
That in to armys seruith he of noght;
A cowart oft ful mekil harm haith vroght.
In multitude nore ȝhit in confluens
Of sich, is nowther manhed nore defens.
And so thow hath the rewlyt, that almost
Of al thi puple the hartis ben ylost
And tynt richt throw thyne awn mysgouernans,
Of auerice and of thyne errogans.
What is o prince? quhat is o gouernoure
Withouten fame of worschip and honour?
What is his mycht, suppos he be A lorde,
If that his folk sal nocht to hyme accorde?
May he his Rigne, may he his holl Empire
Susten al only of his owne desyre,
In serwyng of his wrechit appetit
Of awerice and of his awn delyt,
And hald his men, wncherist, in thraldome?
Nay! that shal sone his hie estat consome,
For many o knycht therby is broght ydoune,
All vteraly to ther confusioune:
For oft it makith vther kingis by
To wer on them In trast of victory;
And oft als throw his peple is distroyth,
That fyndith them agrewit or anoyth;
And god also oft with his awn swerd,
Punysith ther wysis one this erd.
Thus falith not o king but gouernans,
Boith realme and he goith one to myschans.”
As thai war thus speking of this thinge,
Frome galiot cam two knychtis to the king;
That one the king of hundereth knychtis was;
That other to nome the fyrst conquest king he has,
As first that galyot conquerit of one.
The nerest way one to the king thei gon,
And vp he ross, as he that wel couth do
Honor, to qwhome that It afferith to;
And ȝhit he wist not at thei kingis were;
So them thei boith and vyth rycht knyghtly cher
Reuerendly thei salust hyme, and thane
The king of hunder knyghtis he began
And said hyme, “sir, to ȝow my lord ws sende,
Galiot, whilk bad ws say he wende,
That of this world the vorthiest king wor ȝhe,
Gretest of men and of awtoritee;
Wharof he has gret wonder that ȝhe ar
So feble cummyne In to his contrare,
For to defend your cuntre & your londe,
And knowith well ȝhe may hyme nocht withstonde.
Wharfor he thinkith no worschip to conquere,
Nore in the weris more to persyuere;
Considdir yowr wakness and your Indegens,
Aȝanis hyme as now to mak defens.
Wharfore, my lord haith grantit by vs here
Trewis to yhow and resput for o ȝhere,
If that yhow lykith by the ȝheris space
For to retwrn ayane In to this place,
Her to manteine yhour cuntre, and withstond
Hyme with the holl power of yhour lond.
And for the tyme the trewis shal endure,
Yhour cuntre and yhour lond he will assurre;
And wit ȝhe ȝhit his powar is nocht here.
And als he bad ws say yhow by the yhere,
The gud knycht wich that the Red armys bure
And in the feild maid the discumfiture,
The whilk the flour of knychthed may be cold,
He thinkith hyme to haue of his houshold.”
“Well,” quod the king, “I have hard quhat yhe say,
Bot if god will, and ek if that I may,
In to sich wyss I think for to withstond,
Yhour lord shall have no powar of my londe.”
Of this mesag the king Reiosing hass,
And of the trewis wich that grantit was,
Bot anoyt ȝhit of the knycht was he,
Wich thei awant to have in such dogre.
Ther leif thei tuk; and when at thei war gon,
This maister saith, “how lykith god dispone!
Now may yhow se & suth is my recorde;
For by hyme now is makith this accord;
And by non vthir worldly providens,
Sauf only grant of his bynewolans,
To se if that the lykith to amend,
And to prouid thi cuntre to defend.
Wharfor yow shalt in to thi lond home fair,
And gowerne the as that I shall declaire.
First, thi god with humble hart yow serfe,
And his comand at al thi mycht obserf;
And syne, lat pass the ilk blessit wonde
Of lowe with mercy Iustly throw thi londe;
And y beseich—to quhome yow sal direke
The rewle vpone, the wrangis to correk—
That yow be nocht in thi electioune blynde;
For writin It Is and yow sal trew It fynde,
That, be thei for to thonk or ellis blame,
(And towart god thi part shal be the sam̄;)
Of Ignorans shalt yow nocht be excusit,
Bot in ther werkis sorly be accusit,
For thow schuld euer chess apone sich wyss
The minsteris that rewll haith of Iustice:—
First, that he be descret til wnderstond
And lowe and ek the mater of the londe;
And be of mycht and ek Autoritee,
(For puple ay contempnith low degre,)
And that of trouth he folow furth the way;
That is als mych as he louyth trewth alway,
And haitith al them the wich sal pas therfro.
Syne, that he god dreid and lowe al-so.
Of auerice be war with the desyre,
And of hyme full of hastynes & fyre;
Be war thar for of malice and desire,
And hyme also that lowith no medyre;
For al thir abhominable was hold,
When Iustice was in to the tymis olde.
For qwho that is of an of thir by-know,
The lest of them subuertith al the low,
And makith It w[n]Iustly to procede;
Eschew tharfor, for this sal be thi meid
Apone the day when al thing goith aright,
Whar none excuss hidyng schal ye lyght;
Bot he the Iug, that no man may susspek,
Euery thing ful Iustly sal correk.
Be war thar with, as before have I told,
And chess them wysly that thi low shal hold.
And als I will that it well oft be sen,
Richt to thi self how thei thi low conten;
And how the Right, and how the dom is went,
For to Inquer that yow be delygent.
And punyss for, for o thing shal yow know,
The most trespas is to subuert the low,
So that yow be not in thar gilt accusit,
And frome the froit of blissit folk refusit.
And pas yow shalt to euery chef toune,
Throw out the boundis of thi Regioune
Whar yow sall be, that Iustice be Elyk
With-out diuisione baith to pur & ryk.
And that thi puple have awdiens
With thar complantis, and also thi presens;
For qwho his eris frome the puple stekith,
And not his hond in ther support furth rekith,
His dom sall be ful grewous & ful hard,
When he sal cry and he sal nocht be hard.
Wharfor thyne eris ifith to the pwre,
Bot in redress of ned, & not of inIure;
Thus sall thei don of Ressone & knawlag.
And of thi wordis beis trew and stable,
Spek not to mych, nore be not vareable.
O kingis word shuld be o kingis bonde,
And said It is, a kingis word shuld stond;
O kingis word, among our faderis old,
Al out more precious & more sur was hold
Than was the oth or seel of any wight;
O king of trouth suld be the werray lyght,
So treuth and Iustice to o king accordyth.
And als, as thir clerkis old recordith,
In tyme is larges and humilitee
Right well according vnto hie dugre,
And plessith boith to god and man al-so;
Wharfor I wil, incontinent thow go,
And of thi lond in euery part abide,
Whar yow gar fet and clep one euery sid
Out of thi cuntreis, and ek out of thi tovnis,
Thi dukis, erlis, and thi gret baronis,
Thi pur knychtis, and thi bachleris,
And them resauf als hartly as afferis,
And be them self yow welcum them ilkon:
Syne, them to glaid and cheris, thee dispone
With festing and with humyll contynans.
Be not pensyve, nore proud in arrogans,
Bot with them hold in gladnes cumpany;
Not with the Rich nor myghty anerly,
Bot with the pure worthi man also,
With them thow sit, with them yow ryd and go.
I say not to be our fameliar,
For, as the most philosephur can duclar,
To mych to oyss familiaritee
Contempnyng bryngith one to hie dugre:
Bot cherice them with wordis fair depaynt,
So with thi pupelle sal yow the aquaynt.
Than of ilk cuntre wysly yow enquere
An agit knycht to be thi consulere,
That haith ben hold in armys Richt famus,
Wyss and discret, & no thing Inwyus;
For ther is non that knowith so wel, I-wyss,
O worthy man as he that worthi Is.
When well long haith yow swiornyt in a place,
And well acqueynt the vith thi puple has,
Than shalt thow ordand & prowid the
Of horss and ek of armour gret plente,
Of gold, and siluer, tressore, and cleithing,
And euery Riches that longith to o king;
And when the lykith for to tak thi leif,
By largess thus yow thi reward geif,
First to the pure worthy honorable,
That is til armys and til manhed able;
(Set he be pur, ȝhit worschip in hyme bidith);
If hyme the horss one wich thi selwyne Ridith,
And bid hyme that he Rid hyme for yhour sak;
Syne til hyme gold and siluer yow betak;
The horss to hyme for worschip and prowes,
The tresor for his fredome and larges.
If most of Riches, and of Cherising
Eftir this gud knycht berith vitnesing.
Syne to thi tennandis & to thi wawasouris
If essy haknays, palfrais, and cursouris
And robis sich as plesand ben and fair;
Syne to thi lordis wich at mychty aire,
As dukis, erlis, princis, and ek kingis,
Yow if them strang, yow if them vncouth thingis,
As diuerss iowellis, and ek preciouss stonis,
Or halkis hundis, ordinit for the nonis,
Or wantone horss that can nocht stand in stāble;
Thar giftis mot be fair and delitable.
Thus, first vn to the vorthi pur yow if
Giftis, that may ther pouerte Releif;
And to the rich iftis of plesans,
That thei be fair, set nocht of gret substans;
For riches askith no thing bot delyt,
And powert haith ay ane appetyt
For to support ther ned and Indigens:
Thus shall yow if and makith thi dispens.
And ek the quen, my lady, shalt also
To madenis and to ladeis, quhar ȝhe go,
If, and cheriss one the samyne wyss;
For in to largess al thi welfar lyis.
And if thy giftis with sich continans
That thei be sen ay gifyne vith plesans;
The wyss man sais, and suth it is approuit.
Thar is no thonk, thar is no ift alowit,
Bot It be ifyne In to sich manere,
That is to say, als glaid in to his chere,
As he the wich the ift of hyme Resauith;
And do he not, the gifar is dissauith;
For who that iffis, as he not if wald,
Mor profit war his ift for to with-hald;
His thonk he tynith, and his ift also.
Bot that thow ifith, if with boith two,
That is to say, vith hart and hand atonis;
And so the wysman ay ye ift disponis.
Beith larg and iffis frely of thi thing;
For largess is the tresour of o king,
And not this other Iowellis nor this gold
That is in to thi tresory with-holde.
Who gladly iffith, be vertew of larges
His tresory encresis of Richesss,
And sal aȝan̄e the mor al out resawe.
For he to quhome he ȝewith sall hawe,
First his body, syne his hart with two,
His gudis al for to dispone also
In his seruice; and mor atour he shall
Have O thing, and that is best of all,
That is to say, the worschip and the loss
That vpone larges in this world furth goss.
And yow shal knaw the lawbour & the press
In to this erth about the gret Richess.
Is ony, bot apone the causs we see
Of met, of cloth, & of prosperitee?
All the remanant stant apone the name
Of purches, furth apone this worldis fame.
And well yow wot, in thyne allegians
Ful many Is, the wich haith sufficians
Of euery thing that longith to ther ned;
What haith yow more, qwich them al to lede,
For al thi Realmys and thi gret Riches,
If that yow lak of worschip the encress?
Well less, al out; for efter thar estate
Thei have vorschip, and kepith It al gat;
And yow degradith al thyne hie dugree,
That so schuld shyne In to nobelitee,
Throuch wys and throw the wrechitness of hart.
And knowis yow not what sall be thi part,
Out of this world when yow sal pass the courss?
Fair well, I-wyss! yow neuer shall Recourss
Whar no prince more shall the subiet have,
But be als dep in to the erd y-grave,
Sauf vertew only and worschip wich abidith
With them; the world apone the laif dewidith;
And if he, wich shal eftir the succed,
By larges spend, of quhich that yhow had dreid,
He of the world comendit is and prisit,
And yow stant furth of euery thing dispisit;
The puple saith and demyth thus of thee,
‘Now is he gone, a werray vrech was hee,
And he the wich that is our king and lord
Boith wertew haith & larges in accorde;
Welcum be he!’ and so the puple soundith.
Thus through thi viss his wertew mor aboundith,
And his vertew the more thi wice furth schawith.
Wharfor ȝhe, wich that princes ben y-knawith,
Lat not yhour vrechit hart so yhow dant,
That he that cummyth next yhow may awant
To be mor larg, nore more to be commendit;
Best kepit Is the Riches well dispendit.
O ȝhe, the wich that kingis ben, fore sham
Remembrith yhow, this world hath bot o naam̄
Of good or ewill, efter ȝhe ar gone!
And wysly tharfor chessith yhow the ton̄
Wich most accordith to nobilitee,
And knytith larges to yhour hie degre.
For qwhar that fredome In O prince Ringnis,
It bryngith In the victory of kingis,
And makith realmys and puple boith to dout,
And subectis of the cuntre al about.
And qwho that thinkith ben o conquerour,
Suppos his largess sumquhat pas mysour,
Ne rak he nat, bot frely iffith ay;
And as he wynyth, beis var al-way
To mych nor ȝhit to gredy that he hold,
Wich sal the hartis of the puple colde.
And low and radour cummyth boith two
Of larges; Reid and ȝhe sal fynd It so.
Alexander, this lord the warld that wan,
First with the suerd of larges he began,
And as he wynith ifith largely,
He rakith No thing bot of cheuelry;
Wharfor of hyme so passith the Renown,
That many o cetee, and many o strang town̄,
Of his worschip that herith the Recorde,
Dissirith so to haveing sich o lorde,
And offerith them with-outen strok of spere,
Suppos that thei war manly men of were,
But only for his gentilless that thei
Have hard; and so he louit was al-way
For his larges, humilitee, and manhed,
With his awn folk, that neuermore, we Reid,
For al his weris nor his gret trawell,
In al his tym that thei hyme onys faill;
Bot in his worschip al thar besynes
Thei set, and lewith in to no distres;
Whar-throw the suerd of victory he berith.
And many prince full oft the palm werith,
As has ben hard, by largess, of before,
In conqueringe of Rignis & of glore.
And wrechitnes Richt so, in the contrar,
Haith Realmys maid ful desolat & barre,
And kingis broght doun from ful hie estat;
And who that Red ther old bukis, wat
The vicis lef, the wertew have in mynde,
And takith larges In his awn kynd,
A-myd standing of the vicis two,
Prodegalitee and awerice also;
Wharfor her of It nedith not to more,
So mych ther of haith clerkis vrit to fore.
Bot who the wertw of larges & the law
Sal chess, mot ned considir well & knaw
In to hyme self, and thir thre wnderstande,
The substans first, the powar of his land,
Whome to he iffith, and the causs wharfore,
The nedful tyme awatith euermore.
Kepith thir thre; for qwho that sal exced
His rent, he fallith sodandly in nede.
And so the king, that on to myster drowis,
His subiettis and his puple he our-thrawis,
And them dispolȝeith boith of lond and Rent;
So is the king, so is the puple schent.
For quhi the woice It scrikth vp ful ewyne
With-out abaid, and passith to the hewyne,
Whar god hyme self resauith ther the crye
Of the oppresioune and the teranny,
And vith the suerd of wengans doun ysmytith,
The wich that caruith al to sor, and bitith,
And hyme distroyth, as has ben hard or this
Of euery king that wirkith sich o mys.
For ther is few eschapith them, It sall
Boith vpone hyme & his successione fall;
For he forsuth haith ifyne hyme the wond
To Iustefy and Reull in pece his lond,
The puple all submytit to his cure;
And he aȝan one to no creatur
Save only shall vn to his gode obey.
And if he passith so far out of the wey,
Them to oppress, that he shuld reul & gid,
Ther heritag, there gwdis to dewide,
Ye, wnder whome that he most nedis stond,
At correccioune sal strek his mychty hond,
Not euery day, bot shal at onys fall
On hyme, mayhap, and his succescione all.
In this, allace! the blyndis of the kingis,
And Is the fall of princis and of Rygnis.
The most wertew, the gret Intellegens,
The blessit tokyne of wysdom and prudens
Isss, in o king, for to restren his honde
Frome his pupleis Riches & ther lond.
Mot euery king have this wice in mynd
In tyme, and not when that he ned fynde!
And in thi larges beith war, I pray,
Of nedful tyme, for than is best alway.
Awyss the ek quhome to that thow salt if,
Of there fam, and ek how that thei leif;
And of the wertws and wicious folk also,
I the beseich dewidith well thir two,
So that thei stond nocht in o degree;
Discreccioune sall mak the diuersitee,
Wich clepith the moder of al vertewis.
And beith war, I the beseich of this,
That is to say of flatry, wich that longith
To court, and al the kingis larges fongith.
The vertuouss man no thing thar-of resauith,
The flattereris now so the king dissauith
And blyndith them that wot no thing, I-wyss,
When thei do well, or quhen thei do o myss;
And latith kingis oft til wnderstonde
Thar vicis, and ek ye faltis of ther lond.
In to the realme about o king Is holde
O flatterere were than is the stormys cold,
Or pestelens, and mor the realme anoyith,
For he the law and puple boith distroyith.
And in to principall ben ther three thingis,
That caussith flattereris stonding with the kingis;
And on, It is the blyndit Ignorans
Of kingis, wich that hath no gouernans
To wnderstond who doith sich o myss;
But who that farest schewith hym, I-wyss,
Most suffisith and best to his plesans.
Wo to the realme that havith sich o chans!
And secundly, quhar that o king Is
Weciuss hyme self, he cherissith, ywys,
Al them the wich that one to vicis soundith,
Whar throw that vicis and flattery ek aboundith.
The thrid, is the ilk schrewit harrmful wice,
Wich makith o king within hyme self so nyce,
That al thar flattry and ther gilt he knowith
In to his wit, and ȝhit he hyme with-drowith
Them to repref, and of ther vicis he wot;
And this It is wich that dissemblyng hot,
That in no way accordith for o king.
Is he not set abuf apone his Ringne,
As souerane his puple for to lede?
Whi schuld he spare, or quhom of schuld he dred
To say the treuth, as he of Right is hold?
And if so ware that al the kingis wold,
When that his legis comytit ony wyce,
As beith not to schamful, nore to nyce,
That thei presume that he is negligent,
But als far as he thinkith that thei mysswent,
But dissemblyng reprewith as afferis,
And pwnice them quhar pwnysing Requeris,
Sauf only mercy in the tyme of ned.
And so o king he schuld his puple led,
That no trespass, that cummyth in his way,
Shuld pass his hond wne-pwnist away;
Nore no good deid in to the samyn degree,
Nore no wertew, suld wn-Reuardid bee.
Than flattry shuld, that now is he, be low,
And wice from the kingis court with-drow;
His minsteris that shuld the Iustice reull,
Shuld kep well furth of quiet & reull,
That now, god wat, as It conserwit Is,
The stere is lost, and al is gon amys;
And vertew shuld hame to the court hyme dress,
That exillith goith in to the wildernes.
Thus if o king stud lyk his awn degree,
Wertwis and wyss than shuld his puple bee,
Only set by vertew hyme to pless,
And sore adred his wisdom to displess.
And if that he towart the vicis draw,
His folk sall go on to that ilk law;
What shal hyme pless that wil nocht ellis fynd,
Bot ther apon setith al ther mynde.
Thus only in the wertew of o king
The reull stant of his puple & his ringne,
If he be wyss and, but dissemblyng, schewis,
As I have said, the vicis one to schrewis.
And so thus, sir, It stant apone thi will
For to amend thi puple, or to spill;
Or have thi court of vertewis folk, or fullis;
Sen yow art holl maister of the scoullis
Teichith them, and thei sal gladly leir,
That is to say, that thei may no thing heir
Sauf only wertew towart thyn estat;
And cheriss them that wertews ben algait.
And thinkith what that wertew is to thee;
It plessith god, vphaldith thi degree.”
“Maister,” quod he, “me think rycht profitable
Yowr conseell Is, and wonder honorable
For me, and good; rycht well I have consauit,
And in myne hartis Inwartness resauit.
I shal fulfill and do yowr ordynans
Als far of wit as I have suffisans;
Bot y beseich yow, in til hartly wyss,
That of my drem ȝhe so to me dewyss,
The wich so long haith occupeid my mynd,
How that I shal no maner sucour fynd
Bot only throw the wattir lyon, & syne
The leich that is withouten medysyne,
And of the consell of the flour; wich ayre
Wonderis lyk that no man can duclar.”
“Now, sir,” quod he, “and I of them al thre,
What thei betakyne shal I schaw to the,
Such as the clerkis at them specefiit;
Thei vsit no thing what thei signefiit.
The wattir lyone Is the god werray,
God to the lyone is lyknyt many way;
But thei have hyme In to the wattir sen̄,
Confusit were ther wittis al, y wen̄;
The wattir was ther awn fragelitee,
And thar trespas, and thar Inequitee
In to this world, the wich thei stond yclosit;
That was the wattir wich thei have supposit,
That haith there knowlag maad so Inperfyt;
Thar syne & ek ther worldis gret delyt,
As clowdy wattir, was euermore betwen̄,
That thei the lyone perfitly hath nocht sen̄;
Bot as the wattir, wich was yer awn synne,
That euermor thei stond confusit In.
If thei haith stond in to religion̄ clen,
Thei had the lyone Not in watter sen,
Bot clerly vp in to the hewyne abuf,
Eternaly whar he shal not remufe.
And euermore in vatter of syne vas hee,
For quhi It is Imposseble for to bee;
And thus the world, wich that thei ar In,
Yclosit Is in dyrknes of ther syne;
And ek the thikness of the air betwen
The lyone mad in vattir to be sen.
For It was nocht bot strenth of ther clergy
Wich thei have here, and It is bot erthly,
That makith them there resouns dewyss,
And se the lyone thus in erthly wyss.
This is the lyone, god, and goddis sone,
Ihesu crist, wich ay in hewyne sal wonne.
For as the lyone of euery best is king,
So is he lord and maister of al thing,
That of the blessit vyrgyne vas ybore.
Ful many a natur the lyone haith, quhar fore
That he to god resemblyt is, bot I
Lyk not mo at this tyme specify.
This is the lyone, thar of have yow no dred,
That shal the help and comfort In thi ned.
The sentens here now woll I the defyne
Of hyme, the lech withouten medysyne,
Wich is the god that euery thing hath vroght.
For yow may know that vther Is It noght,
As surgynis and fesicianis, wich that delith
With mortell thingis, and mortell thingis helyth,
And al thar art is in to medysyne,
As it is ordanit be the mycht dewyne,
As plasteris, drinkis, and anouyntmentis seir,
And of the qualyte watyng of the yher;
And of the planetis disposicioune,
And of the naturis of compleccyoune,
And in the diuerss changing of hwmowris.
Thus wnder reull lyith al there cwris;
And yhit thei far as blynd man In the way
Oft, quhen that deith thar craft lift to assay.
Bot god, the wich that is the soueran lech,
Nedith no maner medysyne to sech;
For ther is no Infyrmyte, nore wound,
Bot as hyme lykith al is holl and sound.
So can he heill Infyrmytee of thoght,
Wich that one erdly medesyne can noght;
And als the saul that to confusioune goith,
And haith with hyme and vther parteis boith,
His dedly wound god helyth frome the ground;
On to his cure no medysyne is found.
This Is his mycht that neuer more shall fyne,
This is the leich withouten medysyne;
And If that yhow at confessioune hath ben,
And makith the of al thi synnis clen,
Yow art than holl, and this ilk samyn is he
Schall be thi leich In al necessitee.
And sir harwy, in al the hast he may,
Assemblyt hath his ostis, & onon̄
In gret desyre on to the feld is gon
Before his folk, and haldith furth his way;
Don goith his sper, and ewyne before sir kay
So hard o knycht he strykith in his ten
That horss and he lay boith apone the gren.
Sir gawan saw the counter that he maad,
And leuch for al the sarnes that he had:
That day sir harwy prewyt in the feld
Of armys more than longith to his eld,
For he was more than fyfty yher of ag,
Set he was ferss and ȝong in his curag;
And fro that he assemblyt his bataill
Doune goith the folk of galotis al haill;
For to withstond thai war of no poware,
And yhit of folk x thousand mo thei vare.
Kyng valydone, that sauch on such o wyss
His falowis dangerit with thar ennemys,
With al his folk, being fress and new,
Goith to the feld onon, them to resskew;
Thar was the feld rycht perellus aȝan̄e,
Of arthuris folk ful many on var slan.
Bot angus, quhich that lykith not to bid,
And saw the perell one the tothir sid,
His sted he strok, and with his ost is gon
Whar was most ned, and thar the feld has ton.
Kyng clamedyus makith non abaid,
Bot with his ost one to the sid he raid.
And ywons king, that haith his cummyn sen,
Encounterit hyme in myddis of the gren̄.
The aucht batellis assemblyt one this wiss;
On ather half the clamore and the cryiss
Was lametable and petws for til her,
Of knychtis wich in diuerss placis sere
Wondit war, and fallyng to and fro,
Ȝhit galyotis folk war xx thousand mo.
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