University of Virginia Library


1

CHEUELERE ASSIGNE

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The source of this text is the Cotton MS. Caligula A. ii., fol. 125 b.

Square brackets denote editorial insertions or emendations.

Alle weldynge god whenne it is his wylle,
Wele he wereth his werke with his owne honde:
For ofte harmes were hente þat helpe we ne myȝte;
Nere þe hyȝnes of hym þat lengeth in heuene.
For this I saye by a lorde was lente in an yle,
That was kalled lyor a londe by hym selfe.
The kynge hette oryens as þe book tellethe;
And his qwene bewtrys þat bryȝt was & shene:
His moder hyȝte Matabryne þat made moche sorwe;
For she sette her affye in Sathanas of helle.
This was chefe of þe kynde of cheualere assygne;
And whenne þey sholde in-to a place it seyth fulle wele where,
Sythen aftur his lykynge dwellede he þere,
Withe his owne qwene þat he loue myȝte:
But alle in langour he laye for lofe of here one,
That he hadde no chylde to cheuenne his londis;
But to be lordeles of his whenne he þe lyf lafte:
And þat honged in his herte I heete þe for sothe.

2

As þey wente vp-on a walle pleynge hem one,
Bothe þe kynge & þe qwene hem selfen to-gedere:
The kynge loked a-downe & by-helde vnder,
And seyȝ a pore womman at þe ȝate Sytte,
Withe two chylderen her by-fore were borne at a byrthe;
And he turned hym þenne & teres lette he falle.
Sythen sykede he on-hyȝe & to þe qwene sayde,
‘Se ȝe þe ȝonder pore womman how þat she is pyned
Withe twynlenges two & þat dare I my hedde wedde.’
The qwene nykked hym with nay & seyde ‘it is not to leue:
Oon manne for oon chylde & two wymmen for tweyne;
Or ellis hit were vnsemelye þynge as me wolde þenke,
But eche chylde hadde a fader how manye so þer were.’
The kynge rebukede here for her worþes ryȝte þere;
And whenne it drowȝ towarde þe nyȝte þey wenten to bedde;
He gette on here þat same nyȝte resonabullye manye.
The kynge was witty whenne he wysste her with chylde,
And þankede lowely our lorde of his loue & his sonde.

3

But whenne it drowȝe to þe tyme she shulde be delyuered,
Ther moste no womman come her nere but she þat was cursed,
His moder matabryne þat cawsed moche sorowe;
For she thowȝte to do þat byrthe to a fowle ende.
Whenne god wolde þey were borne þenne browȝte she to honde
Sex semelye sonnes & a dowȝter þe seueneth,

MATABRYNE.

Alle safe & alle sounde & a seluer cheyne
Eche on of hem hadde a-bowte his swete swyre.
And she lefte hem out & leyde hem in a cowche;
And þenne she sente aftur a man þat markus was called,
That hadde serued her-seluen̄ skylfully longe:
He was trewe of his feyth & loth for to tryfulle;
She knewe hym for swych & triste hym þe better;
And seyde, ‘þou moste kepe counselle & helpe what þou may:
The fyrste grymme watur þat þou to comeste,
Looke þou caste hem þer-In & lete hym forthe slyppe:
Sythen seche to þe courte as þou nowȝte hadde sene,
And þou shalt lyke fulle wele yf þou may lyfe aftur.’

4

Whenne he herde þat tale hym rewede þe tyme;
But he durste not werne what þe qwene wolde.
The kynge lay in langour sum gladdenes to here;
But þe fyrste tale þat he herde were tydynges febulle,
Whenne his moder matabryne browȝte hym tydynge.
At a chamber dore as she forthe sowȝte,
Seuenne whelpes she sawe sowkynge þe damme,
And she kawȝte out a knyfe & kylled þe bycche;
She caste her þenne in a pytte & takethe þe welpes,
And sythen come byfore þe kynge & vp on-hyȝe she seyde,
‘Sone paye þe with þy qwene & se of her berthe.’
Thenne syketh þe kynge & gynnythe to morne,
And wente wele it were sothe alle þat she seyde.
Thenne she seyde, ‘lette brenne her a-none for þat is þe beste.’
‘Dame, she is my wedded wyfe fulle trewe as I wene,
As I haue holde her er þis our lorde so me helpe!’
‘A, kowarde of kynde,’ quod she ‘& combred wrecche!
Wolt þou werne wrake to hem þat hit deseruethe?’
‘Dame, þanne take here þy selfe & sette her wher þe lykethe,
So þat I se hit noȝte what may I seye elles?’
Thenne she wente her forthe þat god shalle confounde,
To þat febulle þer she laye & felly she bygynnethe,
And seyde, ‘a-ryse wrecched qwene & reste þe her no lengur;
Thow hast by-gylethe my sone it shalle þe werke sorowe:
Bothe howndes & men haue hadde þe a wylle:
Thow shalt to prisoun fyrste & be brente aftur.’

5

Thenne shrykede þe ȝonge qwene & vp on hyȝ cryethe,
‘A, lady,’ she seyde ‘where ar my lefe chylderen?’
Whenne she myssede hem þer grete mone she made.
By þat come tytlye tyrauntes tweyne,
And by þe byddynge of matabryne a-non þey her hente,
And in a dymme prysoun þey slongen here deepe,
And leyde a lokke on þe dore & leuen here þere:
Mete þey caste here a-downe & more god sendethe.
And þus þe lady lyuede þere elleuen ȝere,
And mony a fayre orysoun vn-to þe fader made,
That saued Susanne fro sorowefulle domus [her] to saue als.
Now leue we þis lady in langour & pyne,
And turne aȝeyne to our tale towarde þese chylderen,
And to þe man markus þat murther hem sholde;
How he wente þorow a foreste fowre longe myle,
Thylle he come to a watur þer he hem shulde in drowne;
And þer he keste vp þe clothe to knowe hem bettur,
And þey ley & lowȝe on hym louelye alle at ones:
‘He þat lendethe wit,’ quod he ‘leyne me wyth sorowe,
If I drowne ȝou to day thowghe my deth be nyȝe.’
Thenne he leyde hem adowne lappedde in þe mantelle,
And lappede hem, & hylyde hem & hadde moche rewthe,
That swyche a barmeteme as þat shulde so be-tyde.
Thenne he takethe hem to criste & aȝeyne turnethe.

6

But sone þe mantelle was vn-do with mengynge of her legges;
They cryedde vp on-hyȝe with a dolefulle steuenne,
They chyuered for colde as cheuerynge chyldren̄,
They ȝoskened, & cryde out & þat a man herde,
An holy hermyte was by & towarde hem comethe:
Whenne he come by-fore hem on knees þenne he felle,
And cryede ofte vpon cryste for somme sokour hym to sende,
If any lyfe were hem lente in þis worlde lengur.
Thenne an hynde kome fro þe woode rennynge fulle swyfte,
And felle be-fore hem adowne þey drowȝe to þe pappes;
The heremyte prowde was þer-of & putte hem to sowke:
Sethen taketh he hem vp & þe hynde folowethe,
And she kepte hem þere whylle our lorde wolde.
Thus he noryscheth hem vp & criste hem helpe sendethe.
Of sadde leues of þe wode wrowȝte he hem wedes.
Malkedras þe fostere þe fende mote hym haue,
That cursedde man for his feythe he come þer þey weren̄,
And was ware in his syȝte syker of þe chyldren;
He turnede aȝeyn to þe courte & tolde of þe chaunce,
And menede byfore matabryne how mony þer were.
‘And more merueyle þenne þat Dame, a seluere cheyne
Eche on of hem hath abowte here swyre.’
She seyde, ‘holde þy wordes in chaste þat none skape ferther;
I wylle soone aske hym þat hath me betrayed.’

7

Thenne she sente aftur markus þat murther hem sholde;
And askede hym, in good feythe what felle of þe chyldren:
Whenne she hym asked hadde he seyde, ‘here þe sothe;
Dame, on a ryueres banke lapped in my mantelle,
I lafte hem lyynge there leue þou for sothe:
I myȝte not drowne hem for dole do what þe lykes.’
Thenne she made here alle preste & (putt) out bothe hys yen.
Moche mone was therfore but no man wyte moste.
‘Wende þou aȝeyne malkedras & gete me þe cheynes,
And withe þe dynte of þy swerde do hem to dethe;
And I shalle do þe swych a turne & þou þe tyte hyȝe,
That þe shalle lyke ryȝte wele þe terme of þy lyue.’
Thenne þe hatefulle thefe hyed hym fulle faste,
The cursede man in his feythe come þer þey were.
By þenne was þe hermyte go in-to þe wode & on of þe children̄,
For to seke mete for þe other sex,
Whyles þe cursed man asseylde þe other:
And he out withe his swerde & smote of þe cheynes.
They stoden alle stylle for stere þey ne durste;
And whenne þe cheynes felle hem fro þey flowen̄ vp swannes
To þe ryuere by-syde withe a rewfulle steuenne.
And he takethe vp þe cheynes & to þe cowrte turnethe,
And come by-fore þe qwene & here hem bytakethe:
Thenne she toke hem in honde & heelde ham fulle stylle;
She sente aftur a golde-sinyȝte to forge here a cowpe;

8

And whenne þe man was comen þenne was þe qwene blythe,
And delyuered hym his weyȝtes & he from cowrte wendes:
She badde þe wesselle were made vpon̄ alle wyse:
The goldesmyȝth goothe & beetheth hym a fyre & brekethe a cheyne,
And it wexeth in hys honde & multyplyethe swyde:
He toke þat oþur fyue & fro þe fyer hem leyde,
And made hollye þe cuppe of haluendelle þe sixte.
And whenne it drowȝe to þe nyȝte he wendethe to bedde,
And thus he seythe to his wyfe in sawe as I telle.
‘The olde qwene at þe courte hathe me bytaken
Six cheynes in honde & wolde haue a cowpe;
And I breke me a cheyne & halfe leyde in þe fyer,
And it wexedde in my honde & wellede so faste,
That I toke þe oþur fyve & fro þe fyer caste,
And haue made hollye þe cuppe of haluendele þe sixte.’
‘I rede þe,’ quod his wyfe ‘to holden hem stylle;
Hit is þorowe þe werke of god or þey be wronge wonnen̄;
For whenne here mesure is made what may she aske more?’
And he dedde as she badde & buskede hym at morwe;
He come by-fore þe qwene & bytaketh here þe cowpe,
And she toke it in honde & kepte hit fulle clene.
‘Nowe lefte ther ony ouur vn-werkethe by þe better trowthe?’
And he recheth her forth haluendele a cheyne:

9

And she rawȝte hit hym aȝeyne & seyde she ne rowȝte;
But delyuered hym his seruyse & he out of cowrte wendes.
‘The curteynesse of criste,’ quod she ‘be with þese oþur cheynes!
They be delyuered out of þis worlde were þe moder eke,
Thenne hadde I þis londe hollye to myne wylle:
Now alle wyles shalle fayle but I here dethe werke.’
At morn she come byfore þe kynge & by ganne fulle keene;
‘Moche of þis worlde sonne wondrethe on þe allone,
That thy qwene is vnbrente so meruelows longe,
That hath serued þe dethe if þou here dome wyste:
Lette sommene þy folke vpon eche a syde,
That þey bene at þy syȝte þe .xj. day assygned.’
And he here graunted þat withe a grymme herte;
And she wendeth here adown̄ & lette hem a-none warne.
The nyȝte byfore þe day þat þe lady shulde brenne,
An Angelle come to þe hermyte & askede if he slepte:
The angelle seyde, ‘criste sendeth þe worde of þese six chyldren̄;
And for þe sauynge of hem þanke þou haste seruethe:
They were þe kynges Oriens wytte þou for sothe,

10

By his wyfe Betryce she bere hem at ones,
For a worde on þe walle þat she wronge seyde;
And ȝonder in þe ryuer swymmen þey swannes;
Sythen Malkedras þe forsworn þefe byrafte hem her cheynes:
And criste hath formeth þis chylde to fyȝte for his moder.’
‘Oo-lyuynge god þat dwellest in heuene’ quod þe hermyte þanne,
‘How sholde he serue for suche a þynge þat neuur none syȝe?’
‘Go brynge hym to his fader courte & loke þat he be cristened;
And kalle hym Enyas to name for awȝte þat may be-falle,
Ryȝte by þe mydday to redresse his moder;
For goddes wylle moste be fulfylde & þou most forthe wende.’
The heremyte wakynge lay & thowȝte on his wordes:
Soone whenne þe day come to þe chylde he seyde,
‘Criste hath formeth þe sone to fyȝte for þy moder.’
He asskede hymm þanne what was a moder.
‘A womman þat bare þe to man sonne, & of her reredde:’
‘Ȝe, kanste þou, fader, enforme me how þat I shalle fyȝte?’
‘Vpon a hors,’ seyde þe heremyte ‘as I haue herde seye.’

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‘What beste is þat?’ quod þe chylde ‘lyonys wylde?
Or elles wode? or watur’ quod þe chylde þanne.
‘I seyȝe neuur none,’ quod þe hermyte ‘but by þe mater of bokes:
They seyn he hath a feyre hedde & fowre lymes hye;
And also he is a frely beeste for-thy he man seruethe.’
‘Go we forthe, fader,’ quod þe childe ‘vpon goddes halfe!’
The grypte eyþur a staffe in here honde & on here wey strawȝte.
Whenne þe heremyte hym lafte an angelle hym suwethe,
Euur to rede þe chylde vpon his ryȝte sholder.
Thenne he seeth in a felde folke gaderynge faste,
And a hyȝ fyre was þer bette þat þe qwene sholde in brenne,
And noyse was in þe cyte felly lowde,
With trumpes & tabers whenne þey here vp token;
The olde qwene at here bakke betynge fulle faste;
The kynge come rydynge a-fore a forlonge & more;
The chylde stryketh hym to & toke hym by þe brydelle:
‘What man arte þou?’ quod þe chylde ‘& who is þat þe svethe?’

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‘I am þe kynge of þis londe & oryens am kalled,
And þe ȝondur is my qwene betryce she hette,
In þe ȝondere balowe fyre is buskedde to brenne;
She was sklawnndered on-hyȝe þat she hadde taken̄ howndes;
And ȝyf she hadde so don̄ here harm were not to charge.’
‘Thenne were þou noȝt ryȝ[t]lye sworne,’ quod þe chylde ‘vpon ryȝte Iuge,
Whenne þou tokest þe þy crowne kynge whenne þou made were,
To done aftur matabryne for þenne þou shalt mysfare,
For she is fowle felle & fals & so she shalle be fownden̄,
And bylefte with þe fend at here laste ende,
That styked styffe in here brestes þat wolde þe qwene brenne:
I am but lytulle & ȝonge,’ quod þe chylde ‘leeue þou forsothe,
Not but twelfe ȝere olde euen̄ at þis tyme,
And I wolle putte my body to better & to worse,
To fyȝte for þe qwene with whome þat wronge seythe.’
Thenne graunted þe kynge & Ioye he bygynnethe,
If any helpe were þer-Inne þat here clensen myȝte.
By þat come þe olde qwene & badde hym com þenne:

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‘To speke with suche on as he þou mayste ryȝth lothe thenke.’
‘A, dame,’ quod þe kynge ‘thowȝte ȝe none synne?
Thow haste for-sette þe ȝonge qwene þou knoweste welle þe sothe:
This chylde þat I here speke withe seyth þat he wolle preue
That þou nother þy sawes certeyne be neyther.’
And þenne she lepte to hym & kawȝte hym by þe lokke;
That þer leued in here honde heres an hondredde.
‘A, by lyuynge god,’ quod þe childe ‘þat bydeste in heuene,
Thy hedde shalle lye on þy lappe for þy false turnes.
I aske a felawe anone a freshe knyȝte aftur,
For to fyȝte with me to dryue owte þe ryȝte.’
‘A, boy,’ quod she, ‘wylt þou so þou shalt sone myskarye;

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I wylle gete me a man þat shalle þe sone marre.’
She turneth her þenne to malkedras & byddyth hym take armes,
And badde hym bathe his spere in þe boyes herte:
And he of suche one gret skorne he þowȝte.
An holy abbot was þer-by & he hym þeder bowethe,
For to cristen þe chylde frely & feyre;
The abbot maketh hym a fonte & was his godfader,
The erle of aunthepas he was another,
The countes of salamere was his godmoder;
They kallede hym Enyas to name as þe book tellethe:
Mony was þe ryche ȝyfte þat þey ȝafe hym aftur:
Alle þe bellys of þe close rongen at ones
Withe-oute ony mannes helpe whyle þe fyȝte lasted;
Wherefore þe wyste welle þat criste was plesed with here dede.
Whenne he was cristened frely & feyre,
Aftur, þe kynge dubbede hym knyȝte as his kynde wolde:
Thenne prestly he prayeth þe kynge þat he hym lene wolde
An hors with his harnes & blethelye he hym grauntethe:
Thenne was feraunce fette forthe þe kynges price stede,
And out of an hyȝe towre armour þey halenne;
And a whyte shelde with a crosse vpon þe posse honged,
And hit was wryten þer-vpon þat to enyas hit sholde:

15

And whenne he was armed to alle his ryȝtes,
Thenne prayde he þe kynge þat he hym lene wolde
Oon of his beste menne þat he moste truste,
To speke with hym but a speche whyle.
A knyȝte kawȝte hym by þe honde & ladde hym of þe rowte:
‘What beeste is þis,’ quod þe childe ‘þat I shalle on houe?’
‘Hit is called an hors,’ quod þe knyȝte ‘a good & an abulle.’
‘Why etethe he yren?’ quod þe chylde ‘wylle he ete noȝthe elles?
And what is þat on his bakke of byrthe, or on bounden̄?’
‘Nay, þat in his mowthe men kallen a brydelle,
And that a sadelle on his bakke þat þou shalt in sytte.’
‘And what heuy kyrtelle is þis withe holes so thykke?
And þis holowe [on] on my hede I may noȝt wele here.’
‘An helme men kallen þat on & an hawberke þat other.’
‘But what broode on is þis on my breste hit bereth adown̄ my nekke.’
‘A bryȝte shelde & a sheene to shylde þe fro strokes.’
‘And what longe on is þis that I shalle vp lyfte?’
‘Take þat launce vp in þyn honde & loke þou hym hytte;

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And whenne þat shafte is schyuered take scharpelye another.’
‘Ȝe, what yf grace be we to grownde wenden?’
‘A-ryse vp lyȝtly on þe fete & reste þe no lengur;
And þenne plukke out þy swerde & pele on hym faste,
Alle-wey eggelynges down on alle þat þou fyndes;
His ryche helm nor his swerde rekke þou of neyþur;
Lete þe sharpe of þy swerde schreden hym smalle.’
‘But wolle not he smyte aȝeyne whénne he feleth smerte?’
‘Ȝys, I knowe hym fulle wele bothe kenely & faste:
Euur folowe þou on þe flesh tylle þou haste hym fallethe;
And sythen smyte of his heede I kan sey þe no furre.’
‘Now þou haste tawȝte me,’ quod þe childe ‘god I þe beteche:
For now I kan of þe crafte more þenne I kowthe.’
Thenne þey maden Raunges & ron̄n̄en to-gedere,
That þe speres in here hondes shyuereden to peces;
And for [to] rennene aȝeyn men rawȝten hem other,
Of balowe tymbere & bygge þat wolde not breste;
And eyther of hem so smer[t]lye smote other,
That alle fleye in þe felde þat on hem was fastened,
And eyther of hem topseyle tumbledde to þe erthe;
Thenne here horses ronnen forth aftur þe raunges,
Euur feraunce by-forne & þat other aftur;

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Feraunce launces vp his fete & lasschethe out his yen:
The fyrste happe, other hele was þat þat þe chylde hadde,
Whenne þat þe chylde þat hym bare blente hadde his fere:
Thenne thei styrte vp on hy with staloworth shankes,
Pulledde out her swerdes & smoten to-gedur.
‘Kepe þy swerde fro my croyse’ quod cheuelrye assygne:
‘I charde not þy croyse,’ quod malkedras ‘þe valwe of a cherye;
For I shalle choppe it fulle smalle ere þenne þis werke ende.’
An edder spronge out of his shelde & in his body spynnethe;
A fyre fruscheth out of his croys & [f]rapte out his yen:
Thenne he stryketh a stroke Cheualere assygne,
Euen̄ his sholder in twoo & down̄ in-to þe herte;
And he bowethe hym down̄ & ȝeldethe vp þe lyfe.
‘I shalle þe ȝelde,’ quod þe chylde ‘ryȝte as þe knyȝte me tawȝte.’

18

He trussethe his harneys fro þe nekke & þe hede wynnethe;
Sythen he toke hit by þe lokkes & in þe helm leyde;
Thoo thanked he our lorde lowely þat lente hym þat grace.
Thenne sawe þe qwene matabryne her man so murdered;
Turned her brydelle & towarde þe towne rydethe;
The chylde folowethe here aftur fersly & faste,
Sythen browȝte here aȝeyne wo for to drye,
And brente here in þe balowe fyer alle to browne askes.
The ȝonge qwene at þe fyre by þat was vnboun̄den̄;
The childe kome byfore þe kynge & on-hyȝe he seyde,
And tolde hym how he was his sone ‘& oþur sex childeren̄,
By þe qwene betryce she bare hem at ones,
For a worde on þe walle þat she wronge seyde;
And ȝonder in a ryuere swymmen þey swan̄nes;
Sythen þe forsworne thefe Malkadras byrafte hem her cheynes.’
‘By god,’ quod þe goldsmythe ‘I knowe þat ryȝth wele;
Fyve cheynes I haue & þey ben fysh hole.’
Nowe withe þe goldsmyȝthe gon alle þese knyȝtes,
Toke þey þe cheynes & to þe watur turnen,
And shoken vp þe cheynes þer sterten vp þe swannes;
Eche on chese to his & turnen to her kynde:
But on was alwaye a swanne for losse of his cheyne.
Hit was doole for to se þe sorowe þat he made;
He bote hym self with his bylle þat alle his breste bledde,

19

And alle his feyre federes fomede vpon blode,
And alle formerknes þe watur þer þe swanne swymmethe:
There was ryche ne pore þat myȝte for rewthe,
Lengere loke on hym but to þe courte wenden.
Thenne þey formed a fonte & cristene þe children;
And callen Vryens þat on and Oryens another,
Assakarye þe thrydde & gadyfere þe fowrthe;
The fyfte hette rose for she was a mayden;
The sixte was fulwedde cheuelere assygne.
And þus þe botenynge of god browȝte hem to honde.;.
.;. EXPLICIT .;.