 | Lybeaus Desconus |  |
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LYBEAUS DESCONUS
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Jhesu Criste ou[r]e Savyour
And his moder, þat swete ffloure,
Spede hem at her nede
That lysteneth of a conquerour,
Wise of witt and a wight wereour
A[nd] doughty man of dede.
His name was Sir Gyngelayne,
Gotten he was of Sir Gaweyne,
Vnder a forest syde;
A better knyght was neuer prophitable
With Arthur at the Roun Table:
Herde J neuer of redde.
And his moder, þat swete ffloure,
Spede hem at her nede
That lysteneth of a conquerour,
Wise of witt and a wight wereour
A[nd] doughty man of dede.
His name was Sir Gyngelayne,
Gotten he was of Sir Gaweyne,
Vnder a forest syde;
A better knyght was neuer prophitable
With Arthur at the Roun Table:
Herde J neuer of redde.
Gyngelayne was fayre of sight,
Gentyll of body and of face bryght,
Bastard though that he were;
His moder hym kept[e] with hir myght
That he shulde se no knyght
J-armed in no maner,
For he was full [savage]
And gladly wold [do] oute-rage
To his ffellaves in fere;
And all for dred of wycke loose
His moder alwey kept[e] him close
As dughty childe and dere.
Gentyll of body and of face bryght,
Bastard though that he were;
His moder hym kept[e] with hir myght
That he shulde se no knyght
J-armed in no maner,
For he was full [savage]
And gladly wold [do] oute-rage
To his ffellaves in fere;
And all for dred of wycke loose
His moder alwey kept[e] him close
As dughty childe and dere.
And for he was so fayre of ffyce,
His moder clept[e] him Bewfiȝ,
And none oþer name,
And this childe was so nyse
He asked neuer, j-wysse,
Whate hight [off] his dame.
Tyll hit be-fell vppon a day,
The childe wente him forthe to playe,
Off dere to haue som game;
He fond a knyght þere he lay,
Jn armes stoute and gaye,
Slayne and made ful tame.
His moder clept[e] him Bewfiȝ,
And none oþer name,
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He asked neuer, j-wysse,
Whate hight [off] his dame.
Tyll hit be-fell vppon a day,
The childe wente him forthe to playe,
Off dere to haue som game;
He fond a knyght þere he lay,
Jn armes stoute and gaye,
Slayne and made ful tame.
He toke of that knyghtis wede;
Hym-sylffe þerin well fayre [c]an shrede,
All in that bryght armour.
Whan he had do that in dede,
To Glastynbury þe childe him yede,
Ther lay Kyng Arthure.
And whan he came to Arthurs hall
He fond him there and his lordis all;
This childe knelyd downe on his kne:
‘Kyng Arthure, Criste þe saue and see!
J am come oute of fer contre
My mone to make to the.
Hym-sylffe þerin well fayre [c]an shrede,
All in that bryght armour.
Whan he had do that in dede,
To Glastynbury þe childe him yede,
Ther lay Kyng Arthure.
And whan he came to Arthurs hall
He fond him there and his lordis all;
This childe knelyd downe on his kne:
‘Kyng Arthure, Criste þe saue and see!
J am come oute of fer contre
My mone to make to the.
J am a childe vnkowthe
And come out of the southe
And wolde be made a knyght;
Lorde, J pray the nowthe,
With thi mery mouthe,
To graunte me anone right.’
Than saide Arthure the kynge,
‘To me childe, with-out dwellinge:
Whate is thi name aplight?
For neuer sethe J was born,
Sawe J neuer me be-forne
So semely to my sight.’
And come out of the southe
And wolde be made a knyght;
Lorde, J pray the nowthe,
With thi mery mouthe,
To graunte me anone right.’
Than saide Arthure the kynge,
‘To me childe, with-out dwellinge:
Whate is thi name aplight?
For neuer sethe J was born,
Sawe J neuer me be-forne
So semely to my sight.’
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Sayde Gyngelayn, ‘Be Seint Jame!
J ne wote whate is my name:
J am the more nyse;
But while J was at home,
My moder, on hir game,
Clepped me Bewfice.’
Than sayde Arthur the kyng,
‘This is a wonder thinge,
Be God and Seint Denyce,
[Whan] þat [he] wold be made a knyght
And wote not whate his name h[e]ght
And hathe so fayre a vice.
J ne wote whate is my name:
J am the more nyse;
But while J was at home,
My moder, on hir game,
Clepped me Bewfice.’
Than sayde Arthur the kyng,
‘This is a wonder thinge,
Be God and Seint Denyce,
[Whan] þat [he] wold be made a knyght
And wote not whate his name h[e]ght
And hathe so fayre a vice.
J shall if hym a name,
Amonge you all in [s]ame,
For he is fayre and fre;
Be God and be Seint Jame,
So clepped him neuer his dame,
Whate woman so she be.
Clepeth him in your vse,
Lybeus Disconeus,
For the loue of me;
Than mowe ye wit, on a rowe,
That the better ye mowe knowe
Certis so hight hee.’
Amonge you all in [s]ame,
For he is fayre and fre;
Be God and be Seint Jame,
So clepped him neuer his dame,
Whate woman so she be.
Clepeth him in your vse,
Lybeus Disconeus,
For the loue of me;
Than mowe ye wit, on a rowe,
That the better ye mowe knowe
Certis so hight hee.’
Kynge Arthur anone right
[C]on make him a knyght,
Jn that sylffe daye.
‘Now Kyng Arthur haþe made me knyght,
J thanke him with all my myght;
Bothe by day and nyght
With my fomen J will fight
Them to say with strok[e] of myght
And to juste in feer.’
And hym be-tok hys fadyr Gaweyn
For-to teche hym on þe playn
Of ech knyȝtes play.
[C]on make him a knyght,
Jn that sylffe daye.
‘Now Kyng Arthur haþe made me knyght,
J thanke him with all my myght;
Bothe by day and nyght
With my fomen J will fight
Them to say with strok[e] of myght
And to juste in feer.’
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For-to teche hym on þe playn
Of ech knyȝtes play.
Whan he was a knyght made,
Off Arthur a bone he bade
And sayde, ‘My lorde fre:
Jn hert J were full glad
The first fyghtinge þat ye hadde
That men will aske of the.’
Than saide Arthur þe kynge,
‘J graunte the thine askynge,
Whate batayll so it bee;
But me thinkeþ þu arte to yonge
To do a gode ffyghtynge,
Be ought that J can see.’
Off Arthur a bone he bade
And sayde, ‘My lorde fre:
Jn hert J were full glad
The first fyghtinge þat ye hadde
That men will aske of the.’
Than saide Arthur þe kynge,
‘J graunte the thine askynge,
Whate batayll so it bee;
But me thinkeþ þu arte to yonge
To do a gode ffyghtynge,
Be ought that J can see.’
With-outen eny more reyson,
Duke, erle and baron
Wesshed and went to mete.
Volatyle and venyson,
As lordis of grete renon,
J-now they had to ete.
Nade Arthure syt but a while,
The mountence of a myle,
Att his tabyll [sett],
The[r] con a mayde in ryde
And a dwerffe by hir syde,
All be-swett for hete.
Duke, erle and baron
Wesshed and went to mete.
Volatyle and venyson,
As lordis of grete renon,
J-now they had to ete.
Nade Arthure syt but a while,
The mountence of a myle,
Att his tabyll [sett],
The[r] con a mayde in ryde
And a dwerffe by hir syde,
All be-swett for hete.
The may hight Ell[y]ne,
Gentyll, bryght and shene:
A lovely messengere.
Ther nas countes nor quene
So semely on to sene
That myght be hir pere.
She was clothed in tarse,
Rownd and nothinge scarse,
J-pured with blawndenere;
Hir sadill was ovir-gilt
And with diamondis ffyltt:
Milke white was hir destere.
Gentyll, bryght and shene:
A lovely messengere.
Ther nas countes nor quene
So semely on to sene
That myght be hir pere.
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Rownd and nothinge scarse,
J-pured with blawndenere;
Hir sadill was ovir-gilt
And with diamondis ffyltt:
Milke white was hir destere.
The dwerff was cloþed in ynde,
By-fore and eke be-hinde:
Stoute he was and pertte.
Amongis all Cristyn kyng
Suche sholde no man fynde;
Hi[s] surcote was so ryche bete.
His berde was yelewe as wax,
To his girdyll hange his fax:
The sothe to say in sertente.
Off gold his shone were dight
And coped as a knyght:
That signyfied no povert.
By-fore and eke be-hinde:
Stoute he was and pertte.
Amongis all Cristyn kyng
Suche sholde no man fynde;
Hi[s] surcote was so ryche bete.
His berde was yelewe as wax,
To his girdyll hange his fax:
The sothe to say in sertente.
Off gold his shone were dight
And coped as a knyght:
That signyfied no povert.
Theodeley was his name:
Wyde [wher] spronge his fame,
By northe and eke by southe;
Mekyll he couthe of game,
Sotill, sawtrye in same,
Harpe, fethill and crowthe.
He was a gentill boourdour
Amonge ladyes in boure:
A mery man of mouthe.
He spake to the mayde hende,
‘For-to tell thine erende,
Tyme hit were nouthe.’
Wyde [wher] spronge his fame,
By northe and eke by southe;
Mekyll he couthe of game,
Sotill, sawtrye in same,
Harpe, fethill and crowthe.
He was a gentill boourdour
Amonge ladyes in boure:
A mery man of mouthe.
He spake to the mayde hende,
‘For-to tell thine erende,
Tyme hit were nouthe.’
The mayde knelyd in hall
Be-for the knyghtis all
And sayde, ‘My lorde Arthur,
A casse is nowe beffall,
A worsse with-in wall
Was neuer yitt of doloure:
Mi lady of Synadowne
Js brought in stronge prison,
That was of grete valure,
And pray you sond hir a knyght
That is of wer wyse and wight,
To wynne hir with honoure.’
Be-for the knyghtis all
And sayde, ‘My lorde Arthur,
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A worsse with-in wall
Was neuer yitt of doloure:
Mi lady of Synadowne
Js brought in stronge prison,
That was of grete valure,
And pray you sond hir a knyght
That is of wer wyse and wight,
To wynne hir with honoure.’
Vppe startte that yonge knyght,
With her[t] mery and light,
And sayde, ‘Arthur my lorde,
J shall do that fight
And wyn that lady with myght,
Jf ye be trewe of worde.’
Than sayde Arthoure, ‘Þat is sothe,
Certeyn with-outen othe,
Therto J ber recorde.
God yf the strenthe and myght
To holde that ladyes right
With dynte of sper and swerde.’
With her[t] mery and light,
And sayde, ‘Arthur my lorde,
J shall do that fight
And wyn that lady with myght,
Jf ye be trewe of worde.’
Than sayde Arthoure, ‘Þat is sothe,
Certeyn with-outen othe,
Therto J ber recorde.
God yf the strenthe and myght
To holde that ladyes right
With dynte of sper and swerde.’
The mayde be-gan to chide
And sayde, ‘Alas that tyde
That J was heder j-sentt!
Thy worde shall sprynge wide:
For-lorne is thy pryde
And thi lose shentt,
When thou wilt send a childe
That is witles and wylde
To dele eny doughty dent,
And haste knyghtis of renon:
Syr Persyfale and Syr Gawyn,
That ben abled in turment.’
And sayde, ‘Alas that tyde
That J was heder j-sentt!
Thy worde shall sprynge wide:
For-lorne is thy pryde
And thi lose shentt,
When thou wilt send a childe
That is witles and wylde
To dele eny doughty dent,
And haste knyghtis of renon:
Syr Persyfale and Syr Gawyn,
That ben abled in turment.’
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The dwerffe with grete erroure
Went to Kynge Arthowre
And saide, ‘Kynde kynge:
This childe to be weroure
And to do suche labour
Js not worthe a fferthinge!
Or that he that lady see,
He shall do bataylles thre,
Wyth-oute eny lesynge;
At Poynte Perilowse,
Be-syde the Chapell of Awntrous,
Shall be his begynynge.’
Went to Kynge Arthowre
And saide, ‘Kynde kynge:
This childe to be weroure
And to do suche labour
Js not worthe a fferthinge!
Or that he that lady see,
He shall do bataylles thre,
Wyth-oute eny lesynge;
At Poynte Perilowse,
Be-syde the Chapell of Awntrous,
Shall be his begynynge.’
Syr Lybeus than answerde,
‘Yett was J neuer a-ferde
For dred of wordys awe.
To fyght with spere and swerde
Somdell haue J [lerned],
Ther many man hathe be slawe.
That man that fleyth by wey or strete,
J wolde the devyll had broke his nek,
Wher-euer he hym take;
Also J wolde he were to-drawe
And with the wyne to-wawe,
Till the devill him take.
The batayll J vndir-take
And neuer none for-sake,
As hit is londis lawe.’
‘Yett was J neuer a-ferde
For dred of wordys awe.
To fyght with spere and swerde
Somdell haue J [lerned],
Ther many man hathe be slawe.
That man that fleyth by wey or strete,
J wolde the devyll had broke his nek,
Wher-euer he hym take;
Also J wolde he were to-drawe
And with the wyne to-wawe,
Till the devill him take.
The batayll J vndir-take
And neuer none for-sake,
As hit is londis lawe.’
The kynge said anone right,
‘Thou ge[t]tist here none oþer knyght,
By Him that bought me dere!
Jff ye thinke the childe not wyght,
Get the anoþer wher thou myght,
That is of more power.’
The mayden for jre and hete
Wolde neyþer drynke ne ete,
For none that there were;
She sate downe dismay[de]
Tyll the table was raysed,
She and the dwerffe in fere.
‘Thou ge[t]tist here none oþer knyght,
By Him that bought me dere!
Jff ye thinke the childe not wyght,
Get the anoþer wher thou myght,
That is of more power.’
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Wolde neyþer drynke ne ete,
For none that there were;
She sate downe dismay[de]
Tyll the table was raysed,
She and the dwerffe in fere.
Kyng Arthour, in that stounde,
Comaunded of the Tabill Rownde
Foure of the best knyghtis,
Jn armys hole and sownde,
To arme him anone rightis;
And sayde, ‘Throwe þe helpe of Criste,
That in the fflome was baptiste,
He shall holde vppe all his hight[is],
And be gode champyon
To the lady of Synadon
And fellen hir foon in fyght[is].’
Comaunded of the Tabill Rownde
Foure of the best knyghtis,
Jn armys hole and sownde,
To arme him anone rightis;
And sayde, ‘Throwe þe helpe of Criste,
That in the fflome was baptiste,
He shall holde vppe all his hight[is],
And be gode champyon
To the lady of Synadon
And fellen hir foon in fyght[is].’
To armen him þe knyghtis were fayne:
The fyrst was Syr Gawayne,
That oþere, Syr Persyuale,
The third was Syr Jwayne,
The fourthe highte Agfayne:
Thus telleth the Frensshe tale.
They kestyn on him of sylke
A sorkett white as mylke,
That semely was in sale;
Ther-on an haubryk bryght
That richely was dyght
With mayles thik and smale.
The fyrst was Syr Gawayne,
That oþere, Syr Persyuale,
The third was Syr Jwayne,
The fourthe highte Agfayne:
Thus telleth the Frensshe tale.
They kestyn on him of sylke
A sorkett white as mylke,
That semely was in sale;
Ther-on an haubryk bryght
That richely was dyght
With mayles thik and smale.
Syr Gawyn, his owe syre,
Henge abo[u]te his swyre
A shelde with one chefferon;
And an helme of riche atyre
That was stele and none jre
Sir Percyvale sett on his crowne;
Lawncelett brought him a spere,
Jn armes him with to were,
And a fell fa[u]chone;
Jwayne brought him a stede
That was gode at nede
And egir as eny lyon.
Henge abo[u]te his swyre
A shelde with one chefferon;
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That was stele and none jre
Sir Percyvale sett on his crowne;
Lawncelett brought him a spere,
Jn armes him with to were,
And a fell fa[u]chone;
Jwayne brought him a stede
That was gode at nede
And egir as eny lyon.
The knyght to hors gan sprynge
And rode to Arthure the kynge
And sayde, ‘My lorde hende:
Yeff me thy blessynge,
With-oute eny dwellynge:
My will is nowe to wende.’
Arthur his honde vp-haffe
And his blessyng him yaffe,
As curteys kynge and kynde,
And sayde, ‘God yf the grace,
Off spede and eke of space,
To brynge that byrde oute of bonde.’
And rode to Arthure the kynge
And sayde, ‘My lorde hende:
Yeff me thy blessynge,
With-oute eny dwellynge:
My will is nowe to wende.’
Arthur his honde vp-haffe
And his blessyng him yaffe,
As curteys kynge and kynde,
And sayde, ‘God yf the grace,
Off spede and eke of space,
To brynge that byrde oute of bonde.’
The messanger was sto[u]te and gaye
And leppt[e] on her palfraye;
The dwerffe rode by hir syde.
Tyll on the thirde day,
On that knyght alwaye
Faste he gan to chide;
And saide, ‘Lorell, cayty[ff]e,
Though þu were worþe suche fyve,
Lorne is thy pryde!
This place be-forne kepith a knyght
That wit[he ee]che man will fight:
His wordis spryngen full wyde.
And leppt[e] on her palfraye;
The dwerffe rode by hir syde.
Tyll on the thirde day,
On that knyght alwaye
Faste he gan to chide;
And saide, ‘Lorell, cayty[ff]e,
Though þu were worþe suche fyve,
Lorne is thy pryde!
This place be-forne kepith a knyght
That wit[he ee]che man will fight:
His wordis spryngen full wyde.
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He hat Syr William Delara[u]nche:
His ffyght may no man staunche,
He is a werreour oute of wytt;
Throwe herte oþer throwe haunche,
His spere he will throwe launche
Whoso agayne hym sytt.’
Quod Lybeous Disconeous,
‘Js his fyght of suche vse,
Was he neuer j-hitt?
For ought that may betyde,
Ayenes him will J ride
To se how he will sytte!’
His ffyght may no man staunche,
He is a werreour oute of wytt;
Throwe herte oþer throwe haunche,
His spere he will throwe launche
Whoso agayne hym sytt.’
Quod Lybeous Disconeous,
‘Js his fyght of suche vse,
Was he neuer j-hitt?
For ought that may betyde,
Ayenes him will J ride
To se how he will sytte!’
They redyn forthe all thre
Vpon that fayre cause
Ryght to Chapell Auntours;
The knyght they con see,
Jn armys bryght of blee,
Vppon the Poynte Perylous.
He bare a shelde of grene
With iij lyons of gold shene:
Well proude and precious;
Off sute lynnell and trappes:
To dele strokys and rappes
That knyght was evyr vyous.
Vpon that fayre cause
Ryght to Chapell Auntours;
The knyght they con see,
Jn armys bryght of blee,
Vppon the Poynte Perylous.
He bare a shelde of grene
With iij lyons of gold shene:
Well proude and precious;
Off sute lynnell and trappes:
To dele strokys and rappes
That knyght was evyr vyous.
Whan he sawe Lybeous with syght
Agayne him he rode right
And sayde, ‘Well-come bewfere!
Whoso ridi[s] here day or nyght
He most nedys with me fight
Or leven his armes here.’
Quod Lybeous Disconeus,
‘For the loue of Jhesus,
Lett vs nowe passe here:
We be fer from any frende
And have wylde wey to wende,
J and this mayden in fere.’
Agayne him he rode right
And sayde, ‘Well-come bewfere!
Whoso ridi[s] here day or nyght
He most nedys with me fight
Or leven his armes here.’
Quod Lybeous Disconeus,
‘For the loue of Jhesus,
Lett vs nowe passe here:
We be fer from any frende
And have wylde wey to wende,
J and this mayden in fere.’
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William answerd thoo,
‘Thowe shalt not scape soo,
So God yf me rest!
We shall bothe twoo
Fyght or than we goo,
A forlonge here be weste.’
Quod Lybeus, ‘Nowe Y see
Hit will no[n] oþer bee:
J[n] haste do thi best.
Take thi course with thi shafte,
Jff þu conne thy crafte,
For here is myne all prest.’
‘Thowe shalt not scape soo,
So God yf me rest!
We shall bothe twoo
Fyght or than we goo,
A forlonge here be weste.’
Quod Lybeus, ‘Nowe Y see
Hit will no[n] oþer bee:
J[n] haste do thi best.
Take thi course with thi shafte,
Jff þu conne thy crafte,
For here is myne all prest.’
They wolde no lenger abyde,
But to-geder con þey ryde
With well grete raundon.
Lybeus Disconeus that tide
Smote William vnder the syde
With a sper ffelloune;
But Will[iam] sate so faste
That bothe his styropis to-brast
And his hynder arsoune,
That he be-gann to stoupe
Ouer his hors crowpe,
And in the felde fell downe.
But to-geder con þey ryde
With well grete raundon.
Lybeus Disconeus that tide
Smote William vnder the syde
With a sper ffelloune;
But Will[iam] sate so faste
That bothe his styropis to-brast
And his hynder arsoune,
That he be-gann to stoupe
Ouer his hors crowpe,
And in the felde fell downe.
His stede ranne away,
But William nought longe laye
But stertt vp anone ryght
And sayde, ‘Be my faye!
Nevyr a-for this daye
Ne fonde J none so wyght.
My stede is nowe a-goo:
Sir, ffyght on fote also,
Yff thou be a gentyll knyght.’
Sayde Libeus Disconeus,
‘By the leue of Jhesus,
Ther-to J am full lyght.’
But William nought longe laye
But stertt vp anone ryght
And sayde, ‘Be my faye!
Nevyr a-for this daye
Ne fonde J none so wyght.
My stede is nowe a-goo:
Sir, ffyght on fote also,
Yff thou be a gentyll knyght.’
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‘By the leue of Jhesus,
Ther-to J am full lyght.’
To-geder con they dynge
And ffauchones oute to flynge
And faughten ffrely faste.
Dyntis con they dynge
That fyre, with-oute lesynge,
From helme and basnett oute-braste;
But Wylliam Sellabraunche
To Lybeus con launche
Through his shelde on highe.
A kantell fell to grounde:
Lybeau, þat ylke stounde,
Jn hys herte hyt kaste.
And ffauchones oute to flynge
And faughten ffrely faste.
Dyntis con they dynge
That fyre, with-oute lesynge,
From helme and basnett oute-braste;
But Wylliam Sellabraunche
To Lybeus con launche
Through his shelde on highe.
A kantell fell to grounde:
Lybeau, þat ylke stounde,
Jn hys herte hyt kaste.
Lybeus anone ryght
Deffended him with myght,
As werreor queynte and slygh;
Barbe and crest in syght
He made to fle downe ryght
Off Williams helme on highe;
And with the poynte of the swerde
He shove Williams berde
And came the fflesshe not nyghe.
William smote to Lybeus soo
That his swerd barst a-two,
That many a man hit syȝe.
Deffended him with myght,
As werreor queynte and slygh;
Barbe and crest in syght
He made to fle downe ryght
Off Williams helme on highe;
And with the poynte of the swerde
He shove Williams berde
And came the fflesshe not nyghe.
William smote to Lybeus soo
That his swerd barst a-two,
That many a man hit syȝe.
Tho can William to crye,
‘For the loue of Mary,
On lyve now lett me passe!
Hit were a grete vylonye
To do a knyght to dye,
Wepenles in a pla[s]se.’
Quod Lybeus Disconeus,
‘By the l[ou]e of Jhesus,
Off lyfe gettest þu no grace
But þu swere me an othe
Or than ye hense gothe,
Right be-for my face.
‘For the loue of Mary,
On lyve now lett me passe!
Hit were a grete vylonye
To do a knyght to dye,
Wepenles in a pla[s]se.’
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‘By the l[ou]e of Jhesus,
Off lyfe gettest þu no grace
But þu swere me an othe
Or than ye hense gothe,
Right be-for my face.
Jn haste knele downe
And swere on my ffauchon
Thou shalt to Artor wende
And say, “Lord of renon,
As ouer-come person,
A knyght me heder ganne sende,
That ye cleppen in your vse
Lybeus Disconeus,
Vnkothe of right and k[y]nde.”’
William on kneis him sett
And swore, as he hym hett,
Her fo[r]ward worde and ende.
And swere on my ffauchon
Thou shalt to Artor wende
And say, “Lord of renon,
As ouer-come person,
A knyght me heder ganne sende,
That ye cleppen in your vse
Lybeus Disconeus,
Vnkothe of right and k[y]nde.”’
William on kneis him sett
And swore, as he hym hett,
Her fo[r]ward worde and ende.
Thus they departed all:
William to Arthours hall
Toke the right waye.
A case ther can be-fall:
Thre prynces proude in palle
He met that ylke daye.
The knyghtis all thre
Weren his syster sonnes free,
That weren so stoute and gaye.
Whan they sawe William blede,
As men that wolden wede
They maden grete deraye.
William to Arthours hall
Toke the right waye.
A case ther can be-fall:
Thre prynces proude in palle
He met that ylke daye.
The knyghtis all thre
Weren his syster sonnes free,
That weren so stoute and gaye.
Whan they sawe William blede,
As men that wolden wede
They maden grete deraye.
And seyde, ‘Eme William,
Who hathe wrought the this shame?
Why bledest thou so yeren?’
‘By God and be Seint Jame,
Of that he is nought to blame,
A knyght wel stoute and sterne.
Lybeus Disconeus he highte:
To fell his fone in fyght
He nys noþinge to leren.
A dwerffe ryd[is] him by-fore,
His squyer als he were,
And eke a well fayre berne.
Who hathe wrought the this shame?
Why bledest thou so yeren?’
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Of that he is nought to blame,
A knyght wel stoute and sterne.
Lybeus Disconeus he highte:
To fell his fone in fyght
He nys noþinge to leren.
A dwerffe ryd[is] him by-fore,
His squyer als he were,
And eke a well fayre berne.
But o thinge grevis me sore:
That he hathe made me swere
By his ffauchone bryght
That J shall neuer-more,
Till J be Artour be-fore,
Stynte day nor nyght.
To hym J mot me yelde
As ouercomen in felde
Of his owne knyght;
J shall neuer ayenes him bere
Noþer sheld noþer spere:
Thus haue Y him hight.’
That he hathe made me swere
By his ffauchone bryght
That J shall neuer-more,
Till J be Artour be-fore,
Stynte day nor nyght.
To hym J mot me yelde
As ouercomen in felde
Of his owne knyght;
J shall neuer ayenes him bere
Noþer sheld noþer spere:
Thus haue Y him hight.’
Than said the knyghtis free,
‘Thou shalt a-wroken bee:
Sertys with-oute fayle!
Hym agayne vs thre
Ys not worthe a stree
For-to holde batayle.
Wende thedyr and do thine othe,
And though the traytour be wrothe
We shall him assayll;
Or he this forest passe
His hambrek we will to-rasshe,
Though hit be thike of mayle!’
‘Thou shalt a-wroken bee:
Sertys with-oute fayle!
Hym agayne vs thre
Ys not worthe a stree
For-to holde batayle.
Wende thedyr and do thine othe,
And though the traytour be wrothe
We shall him assayll;
Or he this forest passe
His hambrek we will to-rasshe,
Though hit be thike of mayle!’
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Now lete we Wylyam be,
Þat wente yn hys jorne
Toward Artour þe kyng.
Of þese knyȝtes þre,
Harkeneþ, lordynges fre,
A ferly fayr fyȝtynge!
Þey armede hem full well
Yn yren and yn stel,
Wyth-out ony dwellyng,
And leptede on stedes sterne
And after gon y-erne
To sle þat knyȝt so yenge.
Þat wente yn hys jorne
Toward Artour þe kyng.
Of þese knyȝtes þre,
Harkeneþ, lordynges fre,
A ferly fayr fyȝtynge!
Þey armede hem full well
Yn yren and yn stel,
Wyth-out ony dwellyng,
And leptede on stedes sterne
And after gon y-erne
To sle þat knyȝt so yenge.
Her-of wyst no wyght
Syr Lybeus that yonge knyght,
But rode forthe pase by pase.
He and that mayden bright
Made to-geder that nyght
Gamen and grete solas.
Mercy she con hym crye
For she had spoken hym vylonye:
He for-yaue hir that trespas.
The dwerff was hir squyer
And serued hem bothe in fere
Off alle that worthi was.
Syr Lybeus that yonge knyght,
But rode forthe pase by pase.
He and that mayden bright
Made to-geder that nyght
Gamen and grete solas.
Mercy she con hym crye
For she had spoken hym vylonye:
He for-yaue hir that trespas.
The dwerff was hir squyer
And serued hem bothe in fere
Off alle that worthi was.
On morowe, whan it was daye,
They redyn on her jornaye
Taward Synadon.
Then met they in the way
Thre knyghtis stoute and gaye,
Rydynge from Carboun.
To hym they cryed aright:
‘Traytor, torne agayne and fight,
Or leve here thi rennoun!
For here we westward wende
Thyne haubrek we shall rende:
Ther-to we bethe ffull bounde.’
They redyn on her jornaye
Taward Synadon.
Then met they in the way
Thre knyghtis stoute and gaye,
Rydynge from Carboun.
To hym they cryed aright:
‘Traytor, torne agayne and fight,
Or leve here thi rennoun!
105
Thyne haubrek we shall rende:
Ther-to we bethe ffull bounde.’
Syr Lybeus to hem cryed,
‘J am redy to ride
Ayenes you all in same!’
As prince prouude in pride,
He prekyd his stede on eche syde
And to them stoutly con r[e]de
On ernest and nought in game.
The eldest broþer can bere
To Sir Lybeus a spere:
Gower was his name;
Lybeus rode Gower so n[e]gh[e]
That he to-brake Gowers thiegh,
And evyr after was lame.
‘J am redy to ride
Ayenes you all in same!’
As prince prouude in pride,
He prekyd his stede on eche syde
And to them stoutly con r[e]de
On ernest and nought in game.
The eldest broþer can bere
To Sir Lybeus a spere:
Gower was his name;
Lybeus rode Gower so n[e]gh[e]
That he to-brake Gowers thiegh,
And evyr after was lame.
The knyght gronyd for payne;
Lybeous, with myght and mayne,
Held hym fast adowne.
The dwerffe of Theodoleyn
Toke the stede by the rayne
And lepte vp in the arson,
And rode forthe, also skette,
Ther the mayde Elyne sette
That faire was of ffassyon;
Than loughe this mayden bright
And seide that this yonge knyght
Js chose for champyon.
Lybeous, with myght and mayne,
Held hym fast adowne.
The dwerffe of Theodoleyn
Toke the stede by the rayne
And lepte vp in the arson,
And rode forthe, also skette,
Ther the mayde Elyne sette
That faire was of ffassyon;
Than loughe this mayden bright
And seide that this yonge knyght
Js chose for champyon.
The medyllest broþere be-helde
How his brother in the felde
Had lorne bothe mayne and myght;
He smote, as it is tolde,
Syr Lybeous in the shelde
With his spere full right.
The shafte a-two did brest,
The hede steked faste
Jn place ther hit was pight;
Lybeous than can ber
With the poynte of his spere
The helme awey of the knyght.
How his brother in the felde
Had lorne bothe mayne and myght;
He smote, as it is tolde,
Syr Lybeous in the shelde
With his spere full right.
107
The hede steked faste
Jn place ther hit was pight;
Lybeous than can ber
With the poynte of his spere
The helme awey of the knyght.
The yongest broþer ffull yerne
Vpon a stede full sterne
As egir as eny lyon,
Hym thought his body can bren
But he myght, also yern[e],
Ber Lybeous downe.
As werour oute of witt
Lybeous on the helme he hit
With a ffell fauchon;
So styffe a stroke he set[t],
Throwe helme and basnet[t],
Hit clave in Lybeous crowne.
Vpon a stede full sterne
As egir as eny lyon,
Hym thought his body can bren
But he myght, also yern[e],
Ber Lybeous downe.
As werour oute of witt
Lybeous on the helme he hit
With a ffell fauchon;
So styffe a stroke he set[t],
Throwe helme and basnet[t],
Hit clave in Lybeous crowne.
Tho wax Lybeous agreved
When he felte on his hed[e]
The swerde with egir mode;
His bronde aboute he wende:
All that he hit he shende,
Als[e] werreour wilde and wode.
Full fast men saide tho[o],
‘A man agaynes two,
To fyght is nothinge gode!’
Harde he hewe on him,
And he, with strokys grym[e],
Styfly ayenes him stode.
When he felte on his hed[e]
The swerde with egir mode;
His bronde aboute he wende:
All that he hit he shende,
Als[e] werreour wilde and wode.
Full fast men saide tho[o],
‘A man agaynes two,
To fyght is nothinge gode!’
Harde he hewe on him,
And he, with strokys grym[e],
Styfly ayenes him stode.
109
But throwe Godis grace,
That oþer brother he canne brace
Vnder his right arme tho[o];
He threwe him in that place
And in that selfe space
His lyfte arme brast atwo[o].
The yongest say with sight
That he ne had mayne n[o] myght
To fyght agaynes his foo;
To Lybeous vp he helde
His spere and eke his shelde
And mercy cryed hym thoo.
That oþer brother he canne brace
Vnder his right arme tho[o];
He threwe him in that place
And in that selfe space
His lyfte arme brast atwo[o].
The yongest say with sight
That he ne had mayne n[o] myght
To fyght agaynes his foo;
To Lybeous vp he helde
His spere and eke his shelde
And mercy cryed hym thoo.
Lybeous answerd, ‘Naye,
Thou ascapest not so away,
By Hym that holpe mankynde!
Thou and thi breþeren tweyne
Shull plight me your fayne
Ye shullen to Artor wende;
And sey, “Lord of renon,
As ouer-come [of] persoune,
A knyght me hedyr can sende:
To yelde you toure and towne
And dwell in your bawndon,
Ever with-oute ende.”
Thou ascapest not so away,
By Hym that holpe mankynde!
Thou and thi breþeren tweyne
Shull plight me your fayne
Ye shullen to Artor wende;
And sey, “Lord of renon,
As ouer-come [of] persoune,
A knyght me hedyr can sende:
To yelde you toure and towne
And dwell in your bawndon,
Ever with-oute ende.”
And but ye will so doo,
Certis, J will you sloo,
Longe or hit be nyght.’
The knyghtis sworne two
They shulde to Arthur goo,
Her trowythe ther they plight.
Lybeus and that may
Rydden in her jornaye
Ther they haden tight.
Tyll that the ther[d] day
They reden in game and playe,
He and that mayden bryght.
Certis, J will you sloo,
Longe or hit be nyght.’
The knyghtis sworne two
They shulde to Arthur goo,
Her trowythe ther they plight.
Lybeus and that may
Rydden in her jornaye
Ther they haden tight.
111
They reden in game and playe,
He and that mayden bryght.
They reden even weste
Jn-to the wilde forest
Taward Synadoun;
They nuste whate hem was best:
Taken they wolde fayne reste
And myght not come to tow[n]e.
Jn the grene greves
Thei dight a loge of leves,
With swerdys bryght and brow[n]e;
There-in they dwelled al nyght,
He and that mayden bright,
That was of fayre fassyon.
Jn-to the wilde forest
Taward Synadoun;
They nuste whate hem was best:
Taken they wolde fayne reste
And myght not come to tow[n]e.
Jn the grene greves
Thei dight a loge of leves,
With swerdys bryght and brow[n]e;
There-in they dwelled al nyght,
He and that mayden bright,
That was of fayre fassyon.
And evyr the dwerff cann wake
That nothinge shulde be-take
Her[e] hors aweye with gyle.
For dred he ganne quake:
Grete ffyre he sawe make,
Thensse halfe a myle.
‘Aryse, sir,’ he sayde, ‘knyght!
To hors that ye were dight,
For dred of more perile;
Certis, J h[i]re boste
And fele grete smylle of roste,
Be God and be Seint Gyle!’
That nothinge shulde be-take
Her[e] hors aweye with gyle.
For dred he ganne quake:
Grete ffyre he sawe make,
Thensse halfe a myle.
‘Aryse, sir,’ he sayde, ‘knyght!
To hors that ye were dight,
For dred of more perile;
Certis, J h[i]re boste
And fele grete smylle of roste,
Be God and be Seint Gyle!’
Lybeous was stoute and fayre
And lepte vpon his desteyre
And hent shelde and spere,
And whan that he nyȝhed nere,
As he rode tawarde the f[y]re,
Two gyauntes he sawe there.
That one was rede and lothelych,
That oþer black as eny pyche:
Gressly bothe of chere!
The black helde in his arme
A mayde j-clypped in his barme:
So bryght as blossom on brere.
And lepte vpon his desteyre
And hent shelde and spere,
And whan that he nyȝhed nere,
As he rode tawarde the f[y]re,
Two gyauntes he sawe there.
113
That oþer black as eny pyche:
Gressly bothe of chere!
The black helde in his arme
A mayde j-clypped in his barme:
So bryght as blossom on brere.
The rede giaunte full yerne
A wylde bore canne torne
Aboute apon a spytt.
The fyre bright can bren,
The mayde cryed yerne
For some man shuld it wit,
And sayde euer, ‘Wayle-a-waye!
That euer J shulde bide this daye
With two devylles to sitt!
Helppe me, Mary mylde,
For love of thine childe,
That J be nought for-yett!’
A wylde bore canne torne
Aboute apon a spytt.
The fyre bright can bren,
The mayde cryed yerne
For some man shuld it wit,
And sayde euer, ‘Wayle-a-waye!
That euer J shulde bide this daye
With two devylles to sitt!
Helppe me, Mary mylde,
For love of thine childe,
That J be nought for-yett!’
Than Lybeous: ‘Be Seint Jame!
To saue this maiden from shame,
Hit were enpure enpri[c]e;
But for-to fight with bothe in same,
Hit is no childes game:
They be so grym and gryse!’
He toke his course with a shafte,
As knyght of kynde crafte,
And rode be right assyse.
The blacke giaunte can to smertt
Thorugh lounge and hert,
That neuer after cann rysse.
To saue this maiden from shame,
Hit were enpure enpri[c]e;
But for-to fight with bothe in same,
Hit is no childes game:
They be so grym and gryse!’
He toke his course with a shafte,
As knyght of kynde crafte,
And rode be right assyse.
The blacke giaunte can to smertt
Thorugh lounge and hert,
That neuer after cann rysse.
Tho flye the mayden shene
And thanked tho heven quene
That suche socoure hir sentt;
Tho came the mayde Ele[yn],
She and the dwarffe by-dene,
And by the hande hir hentte,
And lad hir in-to the greves,
Jn-to the loge of levys,
With well gode entent,
And be-sought swete Jhesus
Helpe Lybeus Disconeus
That he ne[r] nought shent.
And thanked tho heven quene
That suche socoure hir sentt;
115
She and the dwarffe by-dene,
And by the hande hir hentte,
And lad hir in-to the greves,
Jn-to the loge of levys,
With well gode entent,
And be-sought swete Jhesus
Helpe Lybeus Disconeus
That he ne[r] nought shent.
The rede gyaunte smote thore
To Sir Lybeous withe the bore
As wolfe oute off wede.
His dynnte he smote so sore
That Lybeous stede th[o]re-for
Downe to grownde yede.
Lybeous was redy bounde
And lepte on his arson
As sparkyll dothe on glede;
With hartt egyr as a lyon,
He faught with his fauchon
To quyte the gyaunte his mede.
To Sir Lybeous withe the bore
As wolfe oute off wede.
His dynnte he smote so sore
That Lybeous stede th[o]re-for
Downe to grownde yede.
Lybeous was redy bounde
And lepte on his arson
As sparkyll dothe on glede;
With hartt egyr as a lyon,
He faught with his fauchon
To quyte the gyaunte his mede.
Euer the gyaunte ffaught[e],
But at the secunde draught
His spere barst evyn a-twoo;
As man that was vnsawght
A tronchon oute he laught[e]
To fyght agaynes his foo,
And with the hede of the tre
He smote Lybeous shelde in thre:
Than was Lybeous woo.
As he his tronchon vp-haffe,
Syr Lybeous a stroke him gaffe:
His right arme fell hym froo.
But at the secunde draught
His spere barst evyn a-twoo;
As man that was vnsawght
A tronchon oute he laught[e]
To fyght agaynes his foo,
And with the hede of the tre
He smote Lybeous shelde in thre:
Than was Lybeous woo.
As he his tronchon vp-haffe,
Syr Lybeous a stroke him gaffe:
His right arme fell hym froo.
117
The gyaunte fell to grownde:
Syr Lybeous, in that stownde,
Smote of his hede full right.
Jn Frensshe as it is j-ffounde,
He that he gave the fyrste wounde,
He servyd hym so aplyght.
And then toke the hedis two
And bare the mayden thoo,
For whom he made that ffyght;
The mayde was glade and blythe
And thanked God ffele sythe
That euer he was made knyght.
Syr Lybeous, in that stownde,
Smote of his hede full right.
Jn Frensshe as it is j-ffounde,
He that he gave the fyrste wounde,
He servyd hym so aplyght.
And then toke the hedis two
And bare the mayden thoo,
For whom he made that ffyght;
The mayde was glade and blythe
And thanked God ffele sythe
That euer he was made knyght.
Quod Lybeous, ‘Gentil dame,
Tell me whate is thi name
And where ye were y-bore.’
‘Syr,’ she sayde, ‘be Seynt John,
My ffader is of riche fame
And wonnes yonder be-forne:
An erle, an olde hore knyght,
That hathe ben man of myght:
His name is Syr Anctour.
They clepen me Violet:
The gyauntes had me be-sett
Aboute our castell yore.
Tell me whate is thi name
And where ye were y-bore.’
‘Syr,’ she sayde, ‘be Seynt John,
My ffader is of riche fame
And wonnes yonder be-forne:
An erle, an olde hore knyght,
That hathe ben man of myght:
His name is Syr Anctour.
They clepen me Violet:
The gyauntes had me be-sett
Aboute our castell yore.
Yesterday in the evenynge,
J went on my playenge:
None harme Y ne thoughte.
The gyaunte, with-oute lesynge,
Oute of the busshes con sprynge
And to this fyre me brought;
Off hem J had be shent
Nad God me socoure sent,
That all the worlde wrought.
He quyte the thy mede,
That for vs canne blede
And with his body vs bought.’
J went on my playenge:
None harme Y ne thoughte.
The gyaunte, with-oute lesynge,
Oute of the busshes con sprynge
And to this fyre me brought;
Off hem J had be shent
Nad God me socoure sent,
That all the worlde wrought.
He quyte the thy mede,
That for vs canne blede
And with his body vs bought.’
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With-oute more talkynge,
To hors con they sprynge
And reden forthe all in same,
And tolde the erle tydynge
Howe he wanne in fightynge
His doughter fro woo and shame.
Than were the hedis sent
To Kynge Arthour in present,
With mekyll glee and game;
And tho in courte ffast roose
Syr Lybeous Dysconeus noble loose
And all his gentill fame.
To hors con they sprynge
And reden forthe all in same,
And tolde the erle tydynge
Howe he wanne in fightynge
His doughter fro woo and shame.
Than were the hedis sent
To Kynge Arthour in present,
With mekyll glee and game;
And tho in courte ffast roose
Syr Lybeous Dysconeus noble loose
And all his gentill fame.
Þe Erl Antore also blyue
Profrede hys doftyr hym to wyue,
Vyolette þat may;
And kasteles ten and fyue
And all after hys lyue
Hys lond to haue for ay.
Þan seyde Lybeaus Descono[u]s,
‘Be þe loue of swete Jhesus!
Nauȝt wyue yet Y ne may:
J haue for-to wende
Wyth þys mayde so hende,
And þer-fore haue good day!’
Profrede hys doftyr hym to wyue,
Vyolette þat may;
And kasteles ten and fyue
And all after hys lyue
Hys lond to haue for ay.
Þan seyde Lybeaus Descono[u]s,
‘Be þe loue of swete Jhesus!
Nauȝt wyue yet Y ne may:
J haue for-to wende
Wyth þys mayde so hende,
And þer-fore haue good day!’
The Erle, for his gode dede,
Yaue him full riche mede:
Shelde and armes bryght,
And also a noble stede
That was gode at nede
Jn turnament and in fyght.
Lybeus and that maye
Redyn in her jurnaye,
Ther they logen tyght;
Thanne sawe thei in a parke
A castell store and starke
That richely was y-dight.
Yaue him full riche mede:
Shelde and armes bryght,
And also a noble stede
That was gode at nede
Jn turnament and in fyght.
Lybeus and that maye
Redyn in her jurnaye,
Ther they logen tyght;
Thanne sawe thei in a parke
A castell store and starke
That richely was y-dight.
121
Fayre walled hit was with stone:
Suche sawe he neuer none,
With cornyllus styff and stoute.
Sayd Lybeous, ‘Be Seynt John!
This were a worthy wone,
Who had hit wonne with dyntt.’
Than lough that byrd bryght
And sayde, ‘Alwey a knyght,
The best here all aboute,
Whoso will with h[i]m fyght,
By day or by nyght,
Lowe he maketh him loute.
Suche sawe he neuer none,
With cornyllus styff and stoute.
Sayd Lybeous, ‘Be Seynt John!
This were a worthy wone,
Who had hit wonne with dyntt.’
Than lough that byrd bryght
And sayde, ‘Alwey a knyght,
The best here all aboute,
Whoso will with h[i]m fyght,
By day or by nyght,
Lowe he maketh him loute.
For love of his leman,
That is so fayre a woman,
He hathe done crye and grede
Whoso bryngeth a fayrer on,
A gerfawkon, white as swanne,
He shall haue to his mede.
And yf she is not so bright,
With Jeffron he most fight
And yf he may not spede,
His hede shall him be rafte
And sett vpon a shafte
To seen in lenthe and brede.
That is so fayre a woman,
He hathe done crye and grede
Whoso bryngeth a fayrer on,
A gerfawkon, white as swanne,
He shall haue to his mede.
And yf she is not so bright,
With Jeffron he most fight
And yf he may not spede,
His hede shall him be rafte
And sett vpon a shafte
To seen in lenthe and brede.
The sothe to se wele
An hede or two vp-ryght.’
Saide Lybeous als snelle,
‘By God and Saint Michelle!
With Jeffran Y will ffyght
And chalaunge that faukon
And sey J haue in towne
A lemman two so bright;
And when he will hir a-see,
J shalle shewe him thee,
By day other by nyghte!’
An hede or two vp-ryght.’
Saide Lybeous als snelle,
‘By God and Saint Michelle!
With Jeffran Y will ffyght
And chalaunge that faukon
And sey J haue in towne
A lemman two so bright;
And when he will hir a-see,
J shalle shewe him thee,
By day other by nyghte!’
123
The dwerffe said, ‘By Jhesus!
Gentill Lybeous Disconyous,
Thou puttist þe in grete perille.
Jeffron le Freudous
Jn syght hathe a queynte vse
Knyghtis to be-gylle.’
Lybeous answerd ther,
‘Ther-of haue J no care,
Be God and be Seint Gile!
J shall see his face,
Or Y esteward passe
From this cite a myle.’
Gentill Lybeous Disconyous,
Thou puttist þe in grete perille.
Jeffron le Freudous
Jn syght hathe a queynte vse
Knyghtis to be-gylle.’
Lybeous answerd ther,
‘Ther-of haue J no care,
Be God and be Seint Gile!
J shall see his face,
Or Y esteward passe
From this cite a myle.’
Wyth-oute more renowe[n]
They dwellyd still in towne
All that nyght in pease.
On morowe Lybeous was bowne
To wyne him renon
And rose, with-oute leese;
And armed him right sever
Jn that noble armwre
That er Aunctours was.
His stede ganne to stride,
The dwarffe rode him be-side
Taward the proude palleys.
They dwellyd still in towne
All that nyght in pease.
On morowe Lybeous was bowne
To wyne him renon
And rose, with-oute leese;
And armed him right sever
Jn that noble armwre
That er Aunctours was.
His stede ganne to stride,
The dwarffe rode him be-side
Taward the proude palleys.
Jeffrond le Freudys,
He rose and was with vs,
Jn that morowe tide
To honour swete Jhesus
And ses Lybeus Disconyous
Come prickande with pryde.
With-oute any abode,
Agayne Libeous he rode
And lowde to hym can crye
With vaise sharpe and shille:
‘Comest þu for gode or jlle?
Tell me anone in hiȝe!’
He rose and was with vs,
Jn that morowe tide
To honour swete Jhesus
And ses Lybeus Disconyous
Come prickande with pryde.
With-oute any abode,
Agayne Libeous he rode
And lowde to hym can crye
With vaise sharpe and shille:
‘Comest þu for gode or jlle?
Tell me anone in hiȝe!’
125
Quod Lybeous also tite,
‘J haue grete delyte
With the for-to fighte.
Thou seyste a foule dispite,
Ther is no woman so white
As thy leman be lighte,
And J haue one in towne
Well fayre of ffassyon,
Jn clothis when she is dight.
Therfor the gerfaukon
To Arthur kynge with crowne
Bringe J shall with right.’
‘J haue grete delyte
With the for-to fighte.
Thou seyste a foule dispite,
Ther is no woman so white
As thy leman be lighte,
And J haue one in towne
Well fayre of ffassyon,
Jn clothis when she is dight.
Therfor the gerfaukon
To Arthur kynge with crowne
Bringe J shall with right.’
Qu[o]d Jeffrey, ‘Gentyll knyght,
We shull prouen aright
Whether the fayrer bee.’
Quod Lybeous anone right,
‘Jn Cordile cite with sight,
That eche man may hir see,
And amyddis the market
Bothe thei shull be sette,
To loke on bonde and free.
Yff my leman is browne,
To wyn the jerfaukon
Juste Y will with the.’
We shull prouen aright
Whether the fayrer bee.’
Quod Lybeous anone right,
‘Jn Cordile cite with sight,
That eche man may hir see,
And amyddis the market
Bothe thei shull be sette,
To loke on bonde and free.
Yff my leman is browne,
To wyn the jerfaukon
Juste Y will with the.’
Quod Jeffrounse also snell,
‘For-sothe J graunte it wele;
This daye at vndertide,
By God and by Seint Michell!
Oute atte this castell
To Cardyle we shull ride!’
Her glovis vp they helde
Ther right in the felde,
As prynce proude in pryde.
Lybeus also snelle
Rode home to his ostell:
He nolde no lenger abide.
‘For-sothe J graunte it wele;
This daye at vndertide,
By God and by Seint Michell!
Oute atte this castell
To Cardyle we shull ride!’
Her glovis vp they helde
Ther right in the felde,
As prynce proude in pryde.
Lybeus also snelle
Rode home to his ostell:
He nolde no lenger abide.
127
And hit the mayde Elyne,
That semely was to sene,
To buske and make hir bownde;
And seyde, ‘By Heuen Quene,
Geffrouns lemman the shene
Today shall come to towne;
Amydward the cite
That all men shall you see,
Off wede and fassyon;
Yff þu arte not so bryght,
With Jeffroun J mot fight
To wynne the jerffaukon.’
That semely was to sene,
To buske and make hir bownde;
And seyde, ‘By Heuen Quene,
Geffrouns lemman the shene
Today shall come to towne;
Amydward the cite
That all men shall you see,
Off wede and fassyon;
Yff þu arte not so bryght,
With Jeffroun J mot fight
To wynne the jerffaukon.’
The dwerff answerd and seid,
‘Thow doste a savage dede,
For any man j-borne!
T[h]ow wilt not do be rede
But faryst with thi madd-hede
As lorde that will be lorne.
For his loue forthe we wende
That died for all mankynde
And in Bedlem was borne!’
Lybeous said, ‘That were shame:
J hadde levyr, be Seint Jeme,
With wilde hors to be torne!’
‘Thow doste a savage dede,
For any man j-borne!
T[h]ow wilt not do be rede
But faryst with thi madd-hede
As lorde that will be lorne.
For his loue forthe we wende
That died for all mankynde
And in Bedlem was borne!’
Lybeous said, ‘That were shame:
J hadde levyr, be Seint Jeme,
With wilde hors to be torne!’
The mayde Ellyne, also tiȝth,
Jn a robe of sa[m]yte
Gaylie ganne hir atyre
To do Lybeous prophite,
Jn kerchevys fayre and white
Aryved with gold wyre.
A velvet mantill gaye
Purfild with gryce and graye
She did aboute hir swyre;
The serkell vpon hir moolde
Off precious stones and goolde:
The best of that empire.
Jn a robe of sa[m]yte
Gaylie ganne hir atyre
To do Lybeous prophite,
Jn kerchevys fayre and white
Aryved with gold wyre.
A velvet mantill gaye
Purfild with gryce and graye
She did aboute hir swyre;
The serkell vpon hir moolde
Off precious stones and goolde:
The best of that empire.
129
Lebeous sate that daye
Vpon a gode palfraye,
And reden forthe all three.
Eche man to other ganne saye,
‘Here cometh a lady gaye:
Js semely vn-to see!’
Jn-to the marke[t]e þei rode
And boldly ther abode,
Amydward the citee;
Then sawe thei Jeffron com ryde
And two squyers by his syde
And no more mayne.
Vpon a gode palfraye,
And reden forthe all three.
Eche man to other ganne saye,
‘Here cometh a lady gaye:
Js semely vn-to see!’
Jn-to the marke[t]e þei rode
And boldly ther abode,
Amydward the citee;
Then sawe thei Jeffron com ryde
And two squyers by his syde
And no more mayne.
He bare the shelde of gowlys,
Off syluer thre white owlys,
And of gold the bordure;
And of that same colours
And of that other floures
Was fyne golde and trappure.
The squiers that by him rode
That one bare shaftis gode,
Thre shaftis gode and sewre;
That other lade redy bownde
The joly gentill jerfaukowne:
The two ladyes were there.
Off syluer thre white owlys,
And of gold the bordure;
And of that same colours
And of that other floures
Was fyne golde and trappure.
The squiers that by him rode
That one bare shaftis gode,
Thre shaftis gode and sewre;
That other lade redy bownde
The joly gentill jerfaukowne:
The two ladyes were there.
And aftir hym come ryde
A lady proude in pryde,
J-clothed in purpyll palle.
The folke came fer and wide
To se them bac[k] and syde:
Howe gent she was and smalle.
Hir mantill was ryght ffyne,
J-powderd with ermyne,
Well riche and ryalle.
The sercle on hir molde
Of stones and of goolde
And many a ryche amayle.
A lady proude in pryde,
J-clothed in purpyll palle.
The folke came fer and wide
To se them bac[k] and syde:
Howe gent she was and smalle.
Hir mantill was ryght ffyne,
J-powderd with ermyne,
Well riche and ryalle.
The sercle on hir molde
Of stones and of goolde
And many a ryche amayle.
131
As rose hir rudde was rede;
The here shone on hir hede
As gold wyre shynynge bryght.
Hir browes also blacke as sylke threde
J-bent in leynthe and brede;
Hir nose was streght and right.
Hir eyen gray as glasse,
Milke white was hir face:
So seid they þat sawee þat syght.
Hir swyre longe and smale;
Hir bewte to tellen alle
No man with mowthe myght.
The here shone on hir hede
As gold wyre shynynge bryght.
Hir browes also blacke as sylke threde
J-bent in leynthe and brede;
Hir nose was streght and right.
Hir eyen gray as glasse,
Milke white was hir face:
So seid they þat sawee þat syght.
Hir swyre longe and smale;
Hir bewte to tellen alle
No man with mowthe myght.
But tho men did hem brynge
Two cheyers in-to the chepyng,
Her bewtees to discryve.
Then seid bothe olde and yonge,
Forthe-withe with-oute lesynge,
Be-twene hem was partye:
‘Geffroune leman is clere
As rose on rise or in erbere,
For-sothe and nought to lye!
Ellyne the messangere
Ne were but a lawnder:
Off hir no loose make J!’
Two cheyers in-to the chepyng,
Her bewtees to discryve.
Then seid bothe olde and yonge,
Forthe-withe with-oute lesynge,
Be-twene hem was partye:
‘Geffroune leman is clere
As rose on rise or in erbere,
For-sothe and nought to lye!
Ellyne the messangere
Ne were but a lawnder:
Off hir no loose make J!’
Quod Geffrounde ly Froundes,
‘Sir knyght, by swete Jhesus,
This hau[k] thou haste lore!’
Qu[o]d Lybeous Disconeous,
‘Suche was neuer myne vse;
Juste J will ther-fore.
Yf thowe berest me downe,
Take my hede and the faukon,
As forwarde was thore;
And yf J ber downe the,
The hau[k] shall wend with me,
Magre thyne hede hore.’
‘Sir knyght, by swete Jhesus,
This hau[k] thou haste lore!’
Qu[o]d Lybeous Disconeous,
‘Suche was neuer myne vse;
Juste J will ther-fore.
Yf thowe berest me downe,
Take my hede and the faukon,
As forwarde was thore;
And yf J ber downe the,
The hau[k] shall wend with me,
Magre thyne hede hore.’
133
With-oute more tale to telle,
They redyn downe in þe felde
And with hem grete partye;
With cornellus styff and shelde
Eythir agayne othir in the felde
With well grete envye.
Her shaftis brosten asondre,
Her dyntis ferden as thonder
That cometh oute of the skey;
Tabowres and trompours,
Heroudes and dissoures,
Her strokys con discrye.
They redyn downe in þe felde
And with hem grete partye;
With cornellus styff and shelde
Eythir agayne othir in the felde
With well grete envye.
Her shaftis brosten asondre,
Her dyntis ferden as thonder
That cometh oute of the skey;
Tabowres and trompours,
Heroudes and dissoures,
Her strokys con discrye.
Tho can Geffroune to lepe
And said, ‘Gyve me that will not breke:
A shaffte with-oute cornall!
This yonge frely freke
Sytteth in his sadyll sete
As stone in castell wall;
J shall do him stoupe
Ovyr his hors crowpe
And gyve hym an evill falle:
Though he be as wise wereour
As Alysaunder or Kyng Arthur,
Lawncelot or Syr Percevalle.’
And said, ‘Gyve me that will not breke:
A shaffte with-oute cornall!
This yonge frely freke
Sytteth in his sadyll sete
As stone in castell wall;
J shall do him stoupe
Ovyr his hors crowpe
And gyve hym an evill falle:
Though he be as wise wereour
As Alysaunder or Kyng Arthur,
Lawncelot or Syr Percevalle.’
The knyghtis bothe twoo
Redyn to-geder thoo,
With well grete rawndon;
Lybeos smote Jeffroun soo
That his shelde smote him froo
Jn-to the felde adowne.
Then lowe all that ther was
And sayde, with-oute lees,
Dukes, erle and baron,
That neuer yette they seye
A man that myght durye
A cours of Syr Jeffroune.
Redyn to-geder thoo,
With well grete rawndon;
Lybeos smote Jeffroun soo
That his shelde smote him froo
Jn-to the felde adowne.
Then lowe all that ther was
And sayde, with-oute lees,
Dukes, erle and baron,
135
A man that myght durye
A cours of Syr Jeffroune.
Geffroun toke his cours oute-ryght
And was nyghe oute of his witte
For he myghte not spede,
And rode ayene als tighte
And Lebeous on the helme he hitte,
As wolfe that wolde at wede.
But Libeous sate so faste
That Jeffroune downe caste
Bothe hym and his stede:
Geffrounes backe to-brake
That men herd the crake
Aboute in leynthe and brede.
And was nyghe oute of his witte
For he myghte not spede,
And rode ayene als tighte
And Lebeous on the helme he hitte,
As wolfe that wolde at wede.
But Libeous sate so faste
That Jeffroune downe caste
Bothe hym and his stede:
Geffrounes backe to-brake
That men herd the crake
Aboute in leynthe and brede.
Than sayde all that ther weren
That Jeffroun had j-lorne
The gentill jerfaukon;
To Lybeous they hym bare
And went, bothe lesse and more,
With hym in-to the towne.
Geffroun oute of the felde
Was borne home on his shelde
With care and reuthefull row[n]e;
The gerfaukon j-sent was
By a knyght that hight Cadas
To Arthur, kynge with crowne.
That Jeffroun had j-lorne
The gentill jerfaukon;
To Lybeous they hym bare
And went, bothe lesse and more,
With hym in-to the towne.
Geffroun oute of the felde
Was borne home on his shelde
With care and reuthefull row[n]e;
The gerfaukon j-sent was
By a knyght that hight Cadas
To Arthur, kynge with crowne.
And wretyn alle the dede
With him he can to lede
The hau[k] tho Lybeous wan;
Tho Arthure hard hit redde,
To his knyghtis he sayde,
‘Lybeous well wer can!
He hathe sent me with honour
Off foure fightis the floure,
Sethen he fyrst by-ganne.
J will him send tresoure
To spend with honour,
As falleth for suche a man.’
With him he can to lede
The hau[k] tho Lybeous wan;
Tho Arthure hard hit redde,
To his knyghtis he sayde,
‘Lybeous well wer can!
137
Off foure fightis the floure,
Sethen he fyrst by-ganne.
J will him send tresoure
To spend with honour,
As falleth for suche a man.’
An hondered pounde honeste
Off floreyns with the best
He sent to Kardill towne.
Ther Lybeous made a feste
That [.xl.ti] dayes it leste,
As lord of grete renowne;
And at the vj. wokis ende
They toke her leve to wende:
Duke, erle and baroune.
Syr Lybeous and that may
Tokyn her right waye
Tawarde Synadowne.
Off floreyns with the best
He sent to Kardill towne.
Ther Lybeous made a feste
That [.xl.ti] dayes it leste,
As lord of grete renowne;
And at the vj. wokis ende
They toke her leve to wende:
Duke, erle and baroune.
Syr Lybeous and that may
Tokyn her right waye
Tawarde Synadowne.
As they redyn by a lowe,
Hornes herd they blowe
And huntynge grete of gile.
The dwerf saide, in a thorowe,
‘That horne wele J knowe,
For youre frely sale:
Hit blowis motis jolelye,
That servid some-tyme my lady,
Semely in hir sale.
When she was takyn with gile,
He ffled for grete perile
West in-to Wyralle.’
Hornes herd they blowe
And huntynge grete of gile.
The dwerf saide, in a thorowe,
‘That horne wele J knowe,
For youre frely sale:
Hit blowis motis jolelye,
That servid some-tyme my lady,
Semely in hir sale.
When she was takyn with gile,
He ffled for grete perile
West in-to Wyralle.’
139
As they redyn talkynge
They sawe a rache com renynge
Ouer-thwerte the waye.
Than said olde and yonge,
From her first begyn[y]nge,
Thay sawe neuer none so gaye:
He was of all coloures
That man may se of ffloures
By-twene Mydsomer and Maye.
The mayde saide, alse snell,
‘Sawe J neuer no jowell
So lykinge to my paye:
They sawe a rache com renynge
Ouer-thwerte the waye.
Than said olde and yonge,
From her first begyn[y]nge,
Thay sawe neuer none so gaye:
He was of all coloures
That man may se of ffloures
By-twene Mydsomer and Maye.
The mayde saide, alse snell,
‘Sawe J neuer no jowell
So lykinge to my paye:
So that J hit aught!’
Lybeous as tight it caught
And toke hit the mayden clene.
Thay ridden forthe all soffte
And tolde howe knyghtis faught
For birdes bryght and shene.
Ne had they redyn but a while,
The mountence of a myle,
Jn that forest grene,
They sawe an hynde come strike
And two grewndis like
The racche that J of mene.
Lybeous as tight it caught
And toke hit the mayden clene.
Thay ridden forthe all soffte
And tolde howe knyghtis faught
For birdes bryght and shene.
Ne had they redyn but a while,
The mountence of a myle,
Jn that forest grene,
They sawe an hynde come strike
And two grewndis like
The racche that J of mene.
They hovyd vnder a lyne
And sawe the course of the hynde,
Lybeous that was so fre.
Then sawe they come [b]e-hynde
A knyght j-clothed in jende
Vppon a baye destre;
His bugill canne he to blowe
For houndis shulde him knowe
Jn whate stede that he were.
He seide to hem that throwe,
‘That racche do J owee,
A-gone is viij yere.
And sawe the course of the hynde,
Lybeous that was so fre.
Then sawe they come [b]e-hynde
A knyght j-clothed in jende
Vppon a baye destre;
His bugill canne he to blowe
For houndis shulde him knowe
Jn whate stede that he were.
141
‘That racche do J owee,
A-gone is viij yere.
Frendis, lettes him goo!’
Lybeous answerd thoo,
‘That shall neuer be-tide:
With myn hondis two
J gave it the mayden me froo
That hovith me by-syde.’
Quod Sir Otis de Lile,
‘Thou puttist the in grete perile,
To bycker and thou abide.’
Lybeous sayde, ‘Be Seint Gile,
J ne gyff nought of thi gile,
Chorle, though thou chide!’
Lybeous answerd thoo,
‘That shall neuer be-tide:
With myn hondis two
J gave it the mayden me froo
That hovith me by-syde.’
Quod Sir Otis de Lile,
‘Thou puttist the in grete perile,
To bycker and thou abide.’
Lybeous sayde, ‘Be Seint Gile,
J ne gyff nought of thi gile,
Chorle, though thou chide!’
Qu[o]d Sir Otys de Lyle,
‘Syr, thi wordis ar wile,
Chorle was neuer my name.
My ffader an erle was awhile,
And the countesse of Carlehille,
For-sothe, was my dame.
Yff J were armed nowe,
Redy as arte thowe,
We shulden ffight in same.
But yf thow the racche levyn,
Thowe pleyest, longe or evyn,
A wondyr wilde game!’
‘Syr, thi wordis ar wile,
Chorle was neuer my name.
My ffader an erle was awhile,
And the countesse of Carlehille,
For-sothe, was my dame.
Yff J were armed nowe,
Redy as arte thowe,
We shulden ffight in same.
But yf thow the racche levyn,
Thowe pleyest, longe or evyn,
A wondyr wilde game!’
Qu[o]d Lybeous, also prest,
‘Ther-of, sir, do thy beste:
The rache with me shall wende.’
Thay token her way evyn west
Jn-to that faire forest,
As the [d]werff he[m] kende.
Syr Otis, with grete errour,
Rode home to his toure
And after his frendis did send;
And tolde hem anone right[is]
Howe one of Arthur is knyghtis
So shamefully canne him shende;
‘Ther-of, sir, do thy beste:
The rache with me shall wende.’
Thay token her way evyn west
Jn-to that faire forest,
As the [d]werff he[m] kende.
143
Rode home to his toure
And after his frendis did send;
And tolde hem anone right[is]
Howe one of Arthur is knyghtis
So shamefully canne him shende;
And his racche was j-nome.
Than sware they, all and some,
That traytur shulde ben j-take
And neuer ayene home come,
Though he were the grymmer grome
Than Launcelet de Lake.
They dighten hem to armes
With swerdys and giȝarnes,
As werre that shulde awake.
Knyghtis and squyers
Leppyn on her desters,
For her lordis sake.
Than sware they, all and some,
That traytur shulde ben j-take
And neuer ayene home come,
Though he were the grymmer grome
Than Launcelet de Lake.
They dighten hem to armes
With swerdys and giȝarnes,
As werre that shulde awake.
Knyghtis and squyers
Leppyn on her desters,
For her lordis sake.
Vpon an hill full hie
Syr Lybeous ther he seye,
Rydinge forthe pase by pase.
To hym they con crye,
‘Traytor, thou shalt die,
To-daye for thye trespace!’
Lybeus ayene be-helde
Howe full was the felde,
So mekyll folke that ther was;
He sayde, ‘Mayde Ellyne,
For this racche, Y wene,
Me cometh a carefull case.
Syr Lybeous ther he seye,
Rydinge forthe pase by pase.
To hym they con crye,
‘Traytor, thou shalt die,
To-daye for thye trespace!’
Lybeus ayene be-helde
Howe full was the felde,
So mekyll folke that ther was;
He sayde, ‘Mayde Ellyne,
For this racche, Y wene,
Me cometh a carefull case.
J rede ye you with-drawe
To the wode shawe,
Youre hedis for-to hide;
For Y am frely fayne,
Though Y shulde be slayne,
Bekyr with hem to abyde.’
Jn-to the fforest he rode
And ther he boldly abode.
As avauntors proude in pryde,
With bowes and arblast,
They shotten to him faste
And made hym woundis wyde.
To the wode shawe,
Youre hedis for-to hide;
For Y am frely fayne,
Though Y shulde be slayne,
Bekyr with hem to abyde.’
145
And ther he boldly abode.
As avauntors proude in pryde,
With bowes and arblast,
They shotten to him faste
And made hym woundis wyde.
Syr Lybeous stede ranne
And bare downe hors and man,
For nothinge wolde he spare.
All men sayde than,
‘This is the devyll Satan,
That mankynde will forfare.’
For whomso Lybeous araught
At his fyrst drawght,
He slepte for euer-more;
But sone he was be-sette,
As dere is in the nette,
With grymly woundis sore.
And bare downe hors and man,
For nothinge wolde he spare.
All men sayde than,
‘This is the devyll Satan,
That mankynde will forfare.’
For whomso Lybeous araught
At his fyrst drawght,
He slepte for euer-more;
But sone he was be-sette,
As dere is in the nette,
With grymly woundis sore.
For xij knyghtis, all prest,
He sawe come oute of the west,
Jn armys bryght and clere.
Alday thay haden y-rest
And thoughtyn in that fforest
To slee Lybeous that knyght.
Off sewte they weren all twelue,
That one was the lorde him-selue,
Jn ryme to redyn a-right.
They smotyn to hym at onys
And thoughten to breke his bonys
And to fellyn hym in ffyght.
He sawe come oute of the west,
Jn armys bryght and clere.
Alday thay haden y-rest
And thoughtyn in that fforest
To slee Lybeous that knyght.
Off sewte they weren all twelue,
That one was the lorde him-selue,
Jn ryme to redyn a-right.
They smotyn to hym at onys
And thoughten to breke his bonys
And to fellyn hym in ffyght.
Tho myght men hire dynge
And rounde rappis rynge,
Amonges hem all in ffeere:
The sparkylles conne to-sprynge,
Forthe withe-oute lesynge,
From sheld and helmes clere.
Lybeous slowe of hem three,
The fourthe be-gon to flee
And durste nought neȝe him nere.
The lorde lefte in the stoure
And his sonnes foure,
To syllen her lyves dere.
And rounde rappis rynge,
Amonges hem all in ffeere:
The sparkylles conne to-sprynge,
Forthe withe-oute lesynge,
From sheld and helmes clere.
147
The fourthe be-gon to flee
And durste nought neȝe him nere.
The lorde lefte in the stoure
And his sonnes foure,
To syllen her lyves dere.
Tho runne rappes ryffe:
He one agaynes fyve
Faughte as he were wode.
Nye downe they con hym dryve;
So watyr dothe of the skythe,
Off hym ranne the bloode.
Whan Lybeous was ney spilte,
His swerde barst in the hilte:
Than was he madde of mode.
The lord a stroke he sete
Throwe helme and basnett,
That in the skolle hit stode.
He one agaynes fyve
Faughte as he were wode.
Nye downe they con hym dryve;
So watyr dothe of the skythe,
Off hym ranne the bloode.
Whan Lybeous was ney spilte,
His swerde barst in the hilte:
Than was he madde of mode.
The lord a stroke he sete
Throwe helme and basnett,
That in the skolle hit stode.
Jn swounynge he fel downe
Vpon his ferther arsoune,
As man that was all mate.
His fone weren full bownde
To persyne his aketowne,
Bothe mayle and plate.
When he ganne sore to smerte,
He pulled vp his herte
And sterryd vp his state;
An ax he hente him nyghe,
That henge by his thighe:
Almost him thought to late.
Vpon his ferther arsoune,
As man that was all mate.
His fone weren full bownde
To persyne his aketowne,
Bothe mayle and plate.
When he ganne sore to smerte,
He pulled vp his herte
And sterryd vp his state;
An ax he hente him nyghe,
That henge by his thighe:
Almost him thought to late.
Tho he steryd him as a knyght:
Thre stedis adowne right
He slowe at strokys three.
The lorde sawe that in sight
And of his stede he alyght:
Away he began to fflee.
Lybeous no lenger abode
But aftyr hym he rode;
Vnder a chesteyne tree
Ther he hadde him qwelled,
But that the lorde hym yelde
At his will for-to bee,
Thre stedis adowne right
He slowe at strokys three.
149
And of his stede he alyght:
Away he began to fflee.
Lybeous no lenger abode
But aftyr hym he rode;
Vnder a chesteyne tree
Ther he hadde him qwelled,
But that the lorde hym yelde
At his will for-to bee,
And, by certeyne stente,
Tresure, londe and rentte,
Castell, hall and boure:
Lybeous therto assente,
By forward so that he wente
Vnto Kynge Arthure
And sayde, ‘Lorde of renowne,
As ouer-come and prisowne,
J am to thine honowre.’
The lorde graunted his wille,
Bothe lowde and stylle,
And ladde him to his toure.
Tresure, londe and rentte,
Castell, hall and boure:
Lybeous therto assente,
By forward so that he wente
Vnto Kynge Arthure
And sayde, ‘Lorde of renowne,
As ouer-come and prisowne,
J am to thine honowre.’
The lorde graunted his wille,
Bothe lowde and stylle,
And ladde him to his toure.
Anone the mayden Ellyne
With gentill-men fyftene
Was j-fett to the castell.
She and the dwerffe bydene
Tolden all the dedis kene
Off Lybeous howe it be-fell:
And whiche persones foure
He sent to Kynge Arthure,
That he wanne fayre and wele.
The lord was well blythe
And thanked fele sythe
God and Seint Michell
With gentill-men fyftene
Was j-fett to the castell.
She and the dwerffe bydene
Tolden all the dedis kene
Off Lybeous howe it be-fell:
And whiche persones foure
He sent to Kynge Arthure,
That he wanne fayre and wele.
The lord was well blythe
And thanked fele sythe
God and Seint Michell
151
That swyche a nobyll knyght
Shulde with werre in fyght
Wynne his lady ffree.
To covere with mayne and myght,
Lybeous a fourtenyght
Ther with him canne lende.
He did helen his wounde
And made hym hole and sownde
By the fowrtenyght ende;
Than Lybeous and that maye
Toke her right waye
To Synadon to wende.
Shulde with werre in fyght
Wynne his lady ffree.
To covere with mayne and myght,
Lybeous a fourtenyght
Ther with him canne lende.
He did helen his wounde
And made hym hole and sownde
By the fowrtenyght ende;
Than Lybeous and that maye
Toke her right waye
To Synadon to wende.
The lorde, with-oute dwellynge,
Went to Arthur the kynge
And for presowne hym yelde,
And tolde him the begynnynge
Howe suche a knyght in ffyghtyng
Wan hym in the ffelde.
Kynge Arthur had gode game
And so had alle in same
That herde that tale y-tolde;
And chosyn hym prophytable
Knyght of the Rounde Table,
To ffyght with spere and shelde.
Went to Arthur the kynge
And for presowne hym yelde,
And tolde him the begynnynge
Howe suche a knyght in ffyghtyng
Wan hym in the ffelde.
Kynge Arthur had gode game
And so had alle in same
That herde that tale y-tolde;
And chosyn hym prophytable
Knyght of the Rounde Table,
To ffyght with spere and shelde.
Nowe rest we here a while
Of Sir Otys de Lyle
And tell we forthe oure talis,
Howe Lybeous rode many a myle
And sey awntours the while
And Jrlande and in Walys.
Hytt be-fell in June, Y wene,
Whan ffenell hangeth al grene
Abowte in semely saale;
The somerys day is longe,
Mery is the ffowlis songe
And notis of the nyghtyngale.
Of Sir Otys de Lyle
And tell we forthe oure talis,
Howe Lybeous rode many a myle
And sey awntours the while
And Jrlande and in Walys.
Hytt be-fell in June, Y wene,
Whan ffenell hangeth al grene
Abowte in semely saale;
153
Mery is the ffowlis songe
And notis of the nyghtyngale.
That tyme Lybeous canne ryde
Be a reueres syde
And sawe a fayre cite
With palys prowde in pryde
And castelles high and wyde
And gates grete plente.
He axed whate hit hight;
The mayden sayde anone right,
‘Syr, J will telle the:
Men clepeth this Jl de Ore,
Here be fightis more:
Ther is werr in euery countre.
Be a reueres syde
And sawe a fayre cite
With palys prowde in pryde
And castelles high and wyde
And gates grete plente.
He axed whate hit hight;
The mayden sayde anone right,
‘Syr, J will telle the:
Men clepeth this Jl de Ore,
Here be fightis more:
Ther is werr in euery countre.
For a lady of price,
Roddy as rose on rice,
This contre is in dowte;
A gyaunt that heght Maugys,
Nowhere his pere is,
Hir hathe be-sett aboute.
He is as blacke as pyche,
Nowher is none suche
Off dedis sterne and stowte;
Whate knyght so passyth the bryge
His armys he moste downe legge
And to the gyaunte alowte.
Roddy as rose on rice,
This contre is in dowte;
A gyaunt that heght Maugys,
Nowhere his pere is,
Hir hathe be-sett aboute.
He is as blacke as pyche,
Nowher is none suche
Off dedis sterne and stowte;
Whate knyght so passyth the bryge
His armys he moste downe legge
And to the gyaunte alowte.
He is thirty fote on leynthe
And myche more of strenthe
Than other knyghtis fyve;
Syr Lybeous, woll be-thynke the
That thou with him ne macched bee:
He is gryme to discryue.
He berreth on euery browe
As it were brystillus of a sowe;
His hede grete as an hyve,
His armys the lenthe of an elle,
His fystis arne full felle
Dyntys with to dryve.’
And myche more of strenthe
Than other knyghtis fyve;
Syr Lybeous, woll be-thynke the
That thou with him ne macched bee:
He is gryme to discryue.
155
As it were brystillus of a sowe;
His hede grete as an hyve,
His armys the lenthe of an elle,
His fystis arne full felle
Dyntys with to dryve.’
Quod Lybeous, ‘Mayden hynde,
My way nowe will Y wende
For alle his strokys ylle.
Jff God will me grace sende,
Or this day come to ende
With fight Y hoppe hym fell.
J haue sene grete okys
Fallyn with wyndes and strokys,
And the lytell stande full stille.
Thoughe that Y be litell,
To hym will J smyte,
Let God do his wylle!’
My way nowe will Y wende
For alle his strokys ylle.
Jff God will me grace sende,
Or this day come to ende
With fight Y hoppe hym fell.
J haue sene grete okys
Fallyn with wyndes and strokys,
And the lytell stande full stille.
Thoughe that Y be litell,
To hym will J smyte,
Let God do his wylle!’
They roden forthe all three
Tawarde that fayre cite
That men calleth Jle Dolour.
Maugys they con see
Vpon a bryge of tree,
Bolde as a wilde bore.
His shelde was blacke as pycche,
And all his armour suche:
Thre mawmentis ther-in were,
Off gold gayly gilte;
A spere in honde he helde
And his childe him be-fore.
Tawarde that fayre cite
That men calleth Jle Dolour.
Maugys they con see
Vpon a bryge of tree,
Bolde as a wilde bore.
His shelde was blacke as pycche,
And all his armour suche:
Thre mawmentis ther-in were,
Off gold gayly gilte;
A spere in honde he helde
And his childe him be-fore.
He kryede to hym in spyte,
‘Sey, thou ffellave in white,
Tell me whate arte thowe!
Torne home ayene tite,
For thyne owne prophite,
Yf thow lovyst thy prowe.’
Lybeous sayde anone right,
‘Kynge Arthure made me knyght,
To hym Y made avowe
That J shulde neuer turne my backe;
Therfor, thow devyll black,
Make the redy nowe!’
‘Sey, thou ffellave in white,
Tell me whate arte thowe!
Torne home ayene tite,
For thyne owne prophite,
Yf thow lovyst thy prowe.’
157
‘Kynge Arthure made me knyght,
To hym Y made avowe
That J shulde neuer turne my backe;
Therfor, thow devyll black,
Make the redy nowe!’
Syr Lybeus and Maugis
On stedis proude in prise
To-geder redyn full ryght.
Bothe lordis and ladyes
Laynen in her toures
For-to se that syght;
And praied to God bothe lowde and stille,
Yff it were his swete wille,
Save that Crysten knyght,
And that ffyle gyawnte
That levyd on Turmagaunte,
This day to dye in fighte.
On stedis proude in prise
To-geder redyn full ryght.
Bothe lordis and ladyes
Laynen in her toures
For-to se that syght;
And praied to God bothe lowde and stille,
Yff it were his swete wille,
Save that Crysten knyght,
And that ffyle gyawnte
That levyd on Turmagaunte,
This day to dye in fighte.
Her shaftes borsten on sonder,
Her dyntis ferd as thonder:
The pecis canne of-sprynge.
Euche man had wonder
That Lybeous ne had gon vnder
At the fyrste begynnynge.
They drewe swerdis bothe
As men that were wrothe
And gonne to-gedir dynge;
Sir Lybeous smote Maugis soo
That his shelde fell him froo
And in the [f]elde canne flynge.
Her dyntis ferd as thonder:
The pecis canne of-sprynge.
Euche man had wonder
That Lybeous ne had gon vnder
At the fyrste begynnynge.
They drewe swerdis bothe
As men that were wrothe
And gonne to-gedir dynge;
Sir Lybeous smote Maugis soo
That his shelde fell him froo
And in the [f]elde canne flynge.
Maugis was qweynt and qwede
And smote Lybeous stede on the hede
And dasshid oute the brayne;
The stede fell downe dede,
Syr Lybeous nought sayde
But stertt hym vp agayne;
And an ax hent y-bowne
That henge by his arsowne
And stroke to hym with mayne
Through Maugis stede swyre:
He for-karve bone and lyre
That the hede fell in the playne.
And smote Lybeous stede on the hede
And dasshid oute the brayne;
The stede fell downe dede,
Syr Lybeous nought sayde
But stertt hym vp agayne;
159
That henge by his arsowne
And stroke to hym with mayne
Through Maugis stede swyre:
He for-karve bone and lyre
That the hede fell in the playne.
On fote bothe they fyghte,
Discryven no man myght
The strokys be-twis hem two;
Bothe woundes they laughte,
For they were vnsaught
And eiþer other is foo.
From the oure of pryme
Tyll hit were evensonge tyme,
To fyghtyn they were throo.
Sir Lybeous thrested soore
And sayde, ‘Maugis, thine ore!
To drinke thou lett me goo.
Discryven no man myght
The strokys be-twis hem two;
Bothe woundes they laughte,
For they were vnsaught
And eiþer other is foo.
From the oure of pryme
Tyll hit were evensonge tyme,
To fyghtyn they were throo.
Sir Lybeous thrested soore
And sayde, ‘Maugis, thine ore!
To drinke thou lett me goo.
And Y shall graunte the
Whate bone thowe aske of me,
Swiche case if the be-tide;
For grete shame hit wolde be
A knyght for thurste to slee,
And no maner parfyte.’
Maugis graunted his will
To drynke all his fille,
With-oute more dispite.
As he lay on the banke
And throw his helme dranke,
Maugis smertly hym smytte
Whate bone thowe aske of me,
Swiche case if the be-tide;
For grete shame hit wolde be
A knyght for thurste to slee,
And no maner parfyte.’
Maugis graunted his will
To drynke all his fille,
With-oute more dispite.
As he lay on the banke
And throw his helme dranke,
Maugis smertly hym smytte
That in the reuer he fylle:
His armoure euery dele
Was wette and evill y-dight;
But vp he sterte as snelle
And seyd, ‘Be Seint Michell,
Nowe am Y two so light!
Weneste thou, fendys fere,
Vncristened that Y were
Tylle Y sawe the with sight?
J shall for this baptyse
Quyte well thi service,
Thorough grace of God almyght!’
His armoure euery dele
Was wette and evill y-dight;
161
And seyd, ‘Be Seint Michell,
Nowe am Y two so light!
Weneste thou, fendys fere,
Vncristened that Y were
Tylle Y sawe the with sight?
J shall for this baptyse
Quyte well thi service,
Thorough grace of God almyght!’
Then newe fyght by-ganne:
Eyther to other ranne
And deltyn dyntes strange;
Well many a gentilman
And ladyes as white as swanne
For Lybeous her hondys wrange;
For Maugis in the felde
For-karffe Lybeous shelde
Thorough dynte of armes longe.
Than Lybeous ranne awaye
There Maugis shelde laye
And vp he gan hit fange.
Eyther to other ranne
And deltyn dyntes strange;
Well many a gentilman
And ladyes as white as swanne
For Lybeous her hondys wrange;
For Maugis in the felde
For-karffe Lybeous shelde
Thorough dynte of armes longe.
Than Lybeous ranne awaye
There Maugis shelde laye
And vp he gan hit fange.
And ran agayne to hym;
With strokys sharpe and gryme
Eyther other ganne assayle.
Till the day was dymme
Vpon the watir brym
By-twene hem was bataylle.
Lybeous was werreour wight
And smote a stroke of myght
Thorowe jepowne, plate and mayle,
Thorowe the shulderbone
That his right arme anone
Fell in the felde, saunce fayle.
With strokys sharpe and gryme
Eyther other ganne assayle.
Till the day was dymme
Vpon the watir brym
By-twene hem was bataylle.
Lybeous was werreour wight
And smote a stroke of myght
Thorowe jepowne, plate and mayle,
Thorowe the shulderbone
That his right arme anone
Fell in the felde, saunce fayle.
163
The gyaunte this ganne see,
That he shulde slayne bee:
He ffledde with myght and mayne.
Syr Lybeous after ganne tee
With sterne strokys thre
He smote his backe on twayne.
The gyaunte ther belevyde;
Syr Lybeous smote of his heved:
There-of he was fayne.
He bare the hede in-to the towne;
With a fayre processyoune
The folke come hym agayne.
That he shulde slayne bee:
He ffledde with myght and mayne.
Syr Lybeous after ganne tee
With sterne strokys thre
He smote his backe on twayne.
The gyaunte ther belevyde;
Syr Lybeous smote of his heved:
There-of he was fayne.
He bare the hede in-to the towne;
With a fayre processyoune
The folke come hym agayne.
A lady bright as floure,
That men calleth la Dame Amoure,
Resseyued him wele and fayre
And thanked hym with honour
That he was hir socoure
Agayne that giaunte file.
To chambyr she him ledys
And did of all his wedis
And clothed hym in palle,
And profirde him with worde
For-to be hir lorde
Off cite and castell.
That men calleth la Dame Amoure,
Resseyued him wele and fayre
And thanked hym with honour
That he was hir socoure
Agayne that giaunte file.
To chambyr she him ledys
And did of all his wedis
And clothed hym in palle,
And profirde him with worde
For-to be hir lorde
Off cite and castell.
Lybeous graunted hir in haste
And loue to hir ganne caste,
For she was bright and shene.
Alas she hadde be chaaste!
For euer at the laste
She dyde hym traye and tene.
For xij monthes and more
As Lybeous dwelled thore
He for-gate mayde Elyne,
That neuer he myght oute-breke
For-to helpe to awreke
Off Synadowne the qwene.
And loue to hir ganne caste,
For she was bright and shene.
Alas she hadde be chaaste!
For euer at the laste
She dyde hym traye and tene.
For xij monthes and more
As Lybeous dwelled thore
He for-gate mayde Elyne,
That neuer he myght oute-breke
For-to helpe to awreke
Off Synadowne the qwene.
165
For the faire lady
Cowthe more of sorcerye
Than other suche fyve;
She made hym suche melodye
Off all maner mynstralsye
That any man myght discryue.
Whan he sawe hir face
Hym thought that he was
Jn paradice on lyve;
With false lies and fayre
Th[u]s she blered his eye:
Evill mote she thryue!
Cowthe more of sorcerye
Than other suche fyve;
She made hym suche melodye
Off all maner mynstralsye
That any man myght discryue.
Whan he sawe hir face
Hym thought that he was
Jn paradice on lyve;
With false lies and fayre
Th[u]s she blered his eye:
Evill mote she thryue!
Till it be-fell vpon a daye
He mete Elyne that may
Be-side that castell toure;
To hym than ganne she saye,
‘Knyght, thou arte false in this laye
Ageynes Kynge Arthure!
For the love of o woman
That mekyll of sorcery canne
Thow doste the grete dissehonour:
My lady of Synadowne
May longe lye in preson,
And that is grete doloure!’
He mete Elyne that may
Be-side that castell toure;
To hym than ganne she saye,
‘Knyght, thou arte false in this laye
Ageynes Kynge Arthure!
For the love of o woman
That mekyll of sorcery canne
Thow doste the grete dissehonour:
My lady of Synadowne
May longe lye in preson,
And that is grete doloure!’
Syr Lybeus herde hir speke;
Hym thought his hert gan breke
For sorowe and for shame.
At a postren j-steke
There he ga[nn]e oute-breke
Fro that gentyll dame,
And toke with hym his stede,
His shelde, his jren wede,
And reden forthe all in same.
Hir stywarde stoute and ffayre
He made his squyer:
Jurflete was his name.
Hym thought his hert gan breke
For sorowe and for shame.
At a postren j-steke
There he ga[nn]e oute-breke
Fro that gentyll dame,
And toke with hym his stede,
His shelde, his jren wede,
And reden forthe all in same.
167
He made his squyer:
Jurflete was his name.
They rodyn ffaste as they maye
Forthe on her jornaye
On stedis baye and browne;
Till on the third daye
They saue a cite gaye:
Men clepen hit Synadowne;
With castelles high and wide
And palysed proude in pryde,
Worke of fayre ffacion;
But Lybeous Disconyous
Had wonder of that vse
That he saye men do in towne.
Forthe on her jornaye
On stedis baye and browne;
Till on the third daye
They saue a cite gaye:
Men clepen hit Synadowne;
With castelles high and wide
And palysed proude in pryde,
Worke of fayre ffacion;
But Lybeous Disconyous
Had wonder of that vse
That he saye men do in towne.
Cor and fenne full faste,
That men hade ere oute-caste,
They gadered ynne j-wysse.
Syr Lybeous axid in haste,
‘Tell me, mayden chaste,
Whate be-tokeneth this?
They taken in the goore
That ar was oute y-boore:
Me thynketh they do amysse.’
Than seyd mayde Ellyne,
‘Syr knyght, with-oute wene,
J tell the whate hit is.
That men hade ere oute-caste,
They gadered ynne j-wysse.
Syr Lybeous axid in haste,
‘Tell me, mayden chaste,
Whate be-tokeneth this?
They taken in the goore
That ar was oute y-boore:
Me thynketh they do amysse.’
Than seyd mayde Ellyne,
‘Syr knyght, with-oute wene,
J tell the whate hit is.
No knyght, for nesshe ne harde,
Though he shulde be for-ffarde,
Getteth here none ostell,
For doute of the stywarde
That hight Syr Lanwarde,
Constable of that castelle.
Go ryde in-to the castell gate
And axe thine jnne ther-atte,
Bothe fayre and wele;
And ere he do thi nede,
Off justis he will the bede,
Be God and be Seint Michell!
Though he shulde be for-ffarde,
Getteth here none ostell,
For doute of the stywarde
That hight Syr Lanwarde,
Constable of that castelle.
169
And axe thine jnne ther-atte,
Bothe fayre and wele;
And ere he do thi nede,
Off justis he will the bede,
Be God and be Seint Michell!
And yf he beryth the downe
His trumpetis shall be bowne
Her bemes high to blowe;
Then ouer all Synadowne
Bothe mayde and garson
This fen on the to thorowe.
To whiche lond that yowe wende,
Euer to youre lyves ende,
For kowarde thou worthe knowe;
And thus may Kynge Arthure
Lesyn his honoure
For thyn dedis slowe.’
His trumpetis shall be bowne
Her bemes high to blowe;
Then ouer all Synadowne
Bothe mayde and garson
This fen on the to thorowe.
To whiche lond that yowe wende,
Euer to youre lyves ende,
For kowarde thou worthe knowe;
And thus may Kynge Arthure
Lesyn his honoure
For thyn dedis slowe.’
Quod Lybeous als tite,
‘That were a foule disspyte
For any knyght on lyue!
To do Arthure prop[h]yte
And maketh that lady quyte
Thedyr will Y dryve.
Syr Gyrflete, make the yare,
To juste with þe will not spare,
Hastely and blyue.’
They reden forthe at the gate
Right to the castell yate,
With faire shaftis fyve.
‘That were a foule disspyte
For any knyght on lyue!
To do Arthure prop[h]yte
And maketh that lady quyte
Thedyr will Y dryve.
Syr Gyrflete, make the yare,
To juste with þe will not spare,
Hastely and blyue.’
They reden forthe at the gate
Right to the castell yate,
With faire shaftis fyve.
And axed ther ostell
At that fayre castell
For auntors knyghtis;
The porter faire and wele
Lete hym yn full snell
And axed him anone rightis
Who was here gouernours;
And they seid, ‘Kynge Arthure,
Man of moste myght[is];
Well of curtaysie
And ffloure of chevalrye
To ffellen his fone in fight[is].’
At that fayre castell
For auntors knyghtis;
The porter faire and wele
Lete hym yn full snell
And axed him anone rightis
171
And they seid, ‘Kynge Arthure,
Man of moste myght[is];
Well of curtaysie
And ffloure of chevalrye
To ffellen his fone in fight[is].’
The porter prophitable
To his lorde the constable
Sone this tale tolde;
And sayde, ‘With-oute fable,
Syre, of the Rowne Table
Ar comen two knyghtis bolde;
That one is armyd full seuere
Jn roose rede armoure
With thre lyons of goolde.’
The lord was glad and blythe
And sayde, also swythe,
Justyn with hym he wolde.
To his lorde the constable
Sone this tale tolde;
And sayde, ‘With-oute fable,
Syre, of the Rowne Table
Ar comen two knyghtis bolde;
That one is armyd full seuere
Jn roose rede armoure
With thre lyons of goolde.’
The lord was glad and blythe
And sayde, also swythe,
Justyn with hym he wolde.
And bade hem make hem yare
Jn-to the felde to fare,
With-oute the castell gate.
The porter wolde not spare:
As a g[r]eyhounde dothe to an hare
To hem ranne to the gate
And sayde anone rightis,
‘Ye auntrous knyghtis,
For nothinge ye latte:
Looke your sheldis be stronge
And your shaftis longe,
Soketys and vaumplate,
Jn-to the felde to fare,
With-oute the castell gate.
The porter wolde not spare:
As a g[r]eyhounde dothe to an hare
To hem ranne to the gate
And sayde anone rightis,
‘Ye auntrous knyghtis,
For nothinge ye latte:
Looke your sheldis be stronge
And your shaftis longe,
Soketys and vaumplate,
And rydeth in-to the felde:
My lord, with shafte and shelde,
Will with you playe.’
Sir Lybeous spake wordis bolde:
‘That is a tale y-tolde
Lykyng to my paye!’
Jn-to the felde they rode
And boldly ther abode
As bestis brought to baye.
Lambard sent his stede,
His shelde, his jren wede:
His tire was stoute and gaye.
My lord, with shafte and shelde,
Will with you playe.’
173
‘That is a tale y-tolde
Lykyng to my paye!’
Jn-to the felde they rode
And boldly ther abode
As bestis brought to baye.
Lambard sent his stede,
His shelde, his jren wede:
His tire was stoute and gaye.
His shelde was asure fyne,
Thre beer hedis ther-jnne
As blacke as bronde y-brent;
The bordure of ermyne:
Was none so quaynte a gynne
Fro Carlile in-to Kentt;
And of that silfe peyntoure
Was surcott and trappoure,
Jn worlde wher-so he went.
Thre squiers by hym ryde,
Thre shaftis thei bare him myde
To dele with doughty dynte.
Thre beer hedis ther-jnne
As blacke as bronde y-brent;
The bordure of ermyne:
Was none so quaynte a gynne
Fro Carlile in-to Kentt;
And of that silfe peyntoure
Was surcott and trappoure,
Jn worlde wher-so he went.
Thre squiers by hym ryde,
Thre shaftis thei bare him myde
To dele with doughty dynte.
Tho that stoute stywarde,
That hight Sir Lancharde,
Was armed to the ryghtis,
He rode to the ffelde-warde
As it were a lebarde,
And ther abode thes knyghtis.
He sette his shelde in grate:
Almoste hym thought to late
When he hym seiȝe with sight[is].
Lybeous rode to hym thare
With a shafte all square,
As man of moste myght[is].
That hight Sir Lancharde,
Was armed to the ryghtis,
He rode to the ffelde-warde
As it were a lebarde,
And ther abode thes knyghtis.
He sette his shelde in grate:
Almoste hym thought to late
When he hym seiȝe with sight[is].
Lybeous rode to hym thare
With a shafte all square,
As man of moste myght[is].
Ayther smote oþer in the shelde
That the peces flowen in the felde,
Sothe with-oute wene;
Euche man to other tolde,
Bothe yonge and olde,
‘This yonge knyght is kene!’
Lambarte his cours oute-right
As werour oute of wytte,
For jre and herte tene,
And sayde, ‘Brynge me a shafte;
Yff this knyght con his crafte,
Right sone hit shall be sene!’
That the peces flowen in the felde,
Sothe with-oute wene;
175
Bothe yonge and olde,
‘This yonge knyght is kene!’
Lambarte his cours oute-right
As werour oute of wytte,
For jre and herte tene,
And sayde, ‘Brynge me a shafte;
Yff this knyght con his crafte,
Right sone hit shall be sene!’
Tho toke the[y] shaftis rownde
With cornelys sharpe y-grownde
And reden with grete raundon.
Eyther provyd that stownde
To gyve other dethes wounde,
With herte eger as a lyon.
Lambarte smote Lybeous soo
That his shylde fell him ffroo
And in the ffelde fell adowne:
So harde he hym hitte
That vnnethis he myght sytte
Vpryght in his arsoune.
With cornelys sharpe y-grownde
And reden with grete raundon.
Eyther provyd that stownde
To gyve other dethes wounde,
With herte eger as a lyon.
Lambarte smote Lybeous soo
That his shylde fell him ffroo
And in the ffelde fell adowne:
So harde he hym hitte
That vnnethis he myght sytte
Vpryght in his arsoune.
His schafte brake with power;
Lybeous smote hym in the laynore
On his helme so bryght:
Pesawe, ventayle and gorger
Fly forthe withe the helme so clere,
And Sir Lambarde vp-right
Sate and rocked in his sadylle
As a childe in his cradill,
With-outen mayne and myght.
Euery man toke othir by the lappe
And lowȝen and couthe her handis clappe:
Barowne, burgeys and knyght.
Lybeous smote hym in the laynore
On his helme so bryght:
Pesawe, ventayle and gorger
Fly forthe withe the helme so clere,
And Sir Lambarde vp-right
Sate and rocked in his sadylle
As a childe in his cradill,
With-outen mayne and myght.
Euery man toke othir by the lappe
And lowȝen and couthe her handis clappe:
Barowne, burgeys and knyght.
177
Syr Lambartt thought to juste bett:
Anoþer helme hym was y-fett
And a shafte vn-mete,
And wan they to-geder mette
Eythir to other his shelde sette
Strokys grysly and grete.
Syr Lambartis shafte to-braste,
And Lybeous shoved soo faste,
Jn sadylles ther they sete,
That the constable, Sir Lambertt,
Felte ouer his hors backwarde,
With-oute more be-yete.
Anoþer helme hym was y-fett
And a shafte vn-mete,
And wan they to-geder mette
Eythir to other his shelde sette
Strokys grysly and grete.
Syr Lambartis shafte to-braste,
And Lybeous shoved soo faste,
Jn sadylles ther they sete,
That the constable, Sir Lambertt,
Felte ouer his hors backwarde,
With-oute more be-yete.
Syr Lamberd was ashamed sore;
Qu[o]d Sir Lybeous, ‘Wilt thou more?’
And he answerd, ‘Naye!
Sethe the tyme that Y was borne
Sawe J neuer me be-forne
So rydynge to my paye.
Be my trouthe my herte is thine:
Thowe arte of Sir Gawynes kynne,
That is so stoute and gaye.
Yf thou shalt for my lady ffyght,
Welcome to me this nyght
Jn sekyr and trouthe in faye!’
Qu[o]d Sir Lybeous, ‘Wilt thou more?’
And he answerd, ‘Naye!
Sethe the tyme that Y was borne
Sawe J neuer me be-forne
So rydynge to my paye.
Be my trouthe my herte is thine:
Thowe arte of Sir Gawynes kynne,
That is so stoute and gaye.
Yf thou shalt for my lady ffyght,
Welcome to me this nyght
Jn sekyr and trouthe in faye!’
Lybeous sayd, ‘Sekerlye,
Fyght Y shall for thy ladye,
By heste of Kynge Arthure;
But Y ne wote wherfor ne whye,
Ne who dothe hyr that tormentrye,
To brynge hir in dolour;
A mayde that was hir messanger
And a dwerff brought me here,
Her to socoure.’
Lambarde sayde at that stownde,
‘Welcome, knyght of the Table Rownde,
Be God and Seint Saueour!’
Fyght Y shall for thy ladye,
By heste of Kynge Arthure;
But Y ne wote wherfor ne whye,
Ne who dothe hyr that tormentrye,
To brynge hir in dolour;
A mayde that was hir messanger
And a dwerff brought me here,
Her to socoure.’
Lambarde sayde at that stownde,
‘Welcome, knyght of the Table Rownde,
Be God and Seint Saueour!’
179
And the mayden Elyne
Was sen for with knyghtis kene
By-for Sir Lambarde.
She and the dwarffe by-dene
Tolde of the dedis kene
That he did thedirwarde,
And how that Sir Lybeous
Faught with fele shrewes
And hem nothinge spared.
Tho were they all blythe
And thanked God fele sythe,
God and Seint Leonarde.
Was sen for with knyghtis kene
By-for Sir Lambarde.
She and the dwarffe by-dene
Tolde of the dedis kene
That he did thedirwarde,
And how that Sir Lybeous
Faught with fele shrewes
And hem nothinge spared.
Tho were they all blythe
And thanked God fele sythe,
God and Seint Leonarde.
Anone with mylde chere
They sett hym to sopere
With mekell gle and game.
Lybeous and Lambard y-ffere
Off auentours that ther were
Talkeden bothe in same.
Lybeous, with-oute ffable,
Seyd, ‘Sir constable,
Whate is the knyghtis name
That holdeth in prisoune
That lady of Synadon,
That is gentyll a dame.’
They sett hym to sopere
With mekell gle and game.
Lybeous and Lambard y-ffere
Off auentours that ther were
Talkeden bothe in same.
Lybeous, with-oute ffable,
Seyd, ‘Sir constable,
Whate is the knyghtis name
That holdeth in prisoune
That lady of Synadon,
That is gentyll a dame.’
Quod Lambert, ‘Be Seint John!
Knyght, sir, is ther none
That durste hir away lede:
Twoo clerkys ben hir foone,
Fekyll off bloode and bone,
That hauyth y-doo this dede.
They ar men of mynstrye,
Clyrkys of nigermansye,
Here arte for-to rede.
Jrayne ys that o brother
And Mabon is that other,
For whome we ar in dred.
Knyght, sir, is ther none
That durste hir away lede:
Twoo clerkys ben hir foone,
Fekyll off bloode and bone,
That hauyth y-doo this dede.
They ar men of mynstrye,
Clyrkys of nigermansye,
Here arte for-to rede.
181
And Mabon is that other,
For whome we ar in dred.
Jran and that Mabon
Haue made in this towne
A paleys queynte of gynne:
Ther nys erle nor baroun
That bereth hert as a lyon,
That durst come ther-in.
Hit is by nygrymauncye
J-wrought with ffayreye,
That wondir hit is to wynne;
Therin lyeth in presowne
My lady of Synadon,
That is of knyghtis kynne.
Haue made in this towne
A paleys queynte of gynne:
Ther nys erle nor baroun
That bereth hert as a lyon,
That durst come ther-in.
Hit is by nygrymauncye
J-wrought with ffayreye,
That wondir hit is to wynne;
Therin lyeth in presowne
My lady of Synadon,
That is of knyghtis kynne.
Oftyn we hire hir crye:
To sene hir withe none eye,
Ther-to haue we no myght.
They do hir torment[ry]e
And all the velenye
And dreche hir day and nyght.
This Mabon and Yrayne
Haue sworne her othe certayne
To dethe they will hir dight,
But she graunte hem tyll
To do Mabones will
And yeven him hi[r] right.
To sene hir withe none eye,
Ther-to haue we no myght.
They do hir torment[ry]e
And all the velenye
And dreche hir day and nyght.
This Mabon and Yrayne
Haue sworne her othe certayne
To dethe they will hir dight,
But she graunte hem tyll
To do Mabones will
And yeven him hi[r] right.
Off all this kyngdome fayre
Than is my lady ayre,
To wel[d]e all with wynne.
She is meke and bonoure,
Therfor we ar in spere
Luste they done hir synne.’
Quod Lybeous Disconyous,
‘By the love of Jhesus,
That lady shall Y wynne:
Bothe Mabon and Jrayne
J shall hewen in the playne
The hedys by the chynne.’
Than is my lady ayre,
To wel[d]e all with wynne.
She is meke and bonoure,
Therfor we ar in spere
Luste they done hir synne.’
183
‘By the love of Jhesus,
That lady shall Y wynne:
Bothe Mabon and Jrayne
J shall hewen in the playne
The hedys by the chynne.’
Tho was no-more tale
J[n] the castell, grete and smale,
But [s]ouped and made hym blythe.
Baronys and burgeyses fale
Comyn to that semely sale
For-to listen and lithe
Howe Sir Lambert had wrought
And yf the knyght were oughte,
His crafte for-to kythe.
They fownden hem sette in fere
And talkynge at her sopere
Of knyghtis stoute and stythe.
J[n] the castell, grete and smale,
But [s]ouped and made hym blythe.
Baronys and burgeyses fale
Comyn to that semely sale
For-to listen and lithe
Howe Sir Lambert had wrought
And yf the knyght were oughte,
His crafte for-to kythe.
They fownden hem sette in fere
And talkynge at her sopere
Of knyghtis stoute and stythe.
Tho toke they ease and reste
And lykynges of the beste
Jn the castell that nyght.
On morowe was Lybeous prest
Off armes of the best:
Full ffresshe he was to fight.
Lambarde lad him that gate
To the castell yate
And fonde it full vp-right.
Further durste hym none brynge,
Forsothe with-oute lesynge,
Barowne, burgeys ne knyght.
And lykynges of the beste
Jn the castell that nyght.
On morowe was Lybeous prest
Off armes of the best:
Full ffresshe he was to fight.
Lambarde lad him that gate
To the castell yate
And fonde it full vp-right.
Further durste hym none brynge,
Forsothe with-oute lesynge,
Barowne, burgeys ne knyght.
But turned home agayne,
Save Sir Jerflete his swayne
Wolde with hym ryde.
Lybeous swore, certayne,
That he wolde see his brayne
Yf he wolde lenger abyde.
To the castell he rode
And with Lambard abode,
To Jhesus than they cryed
He shulde hem send tidyngis glad
Of hem that longe hadde
Distroyed ther welthes wide.
Save Sir Jerflete his swayne
Wolde with hym ryde.
Lybeous swore, certayne,
That he wolde see his brayne
Yf he wolde lenger abyde.
185
And with Lambard abode,
To Jhesus than they cryed
He shulde hem send tidyngis glad
Of hem that longe hadde
Distroyed ther welthes wide.
Syr Lybeous, knyght curtays,
Rode in-to the paleys
And at the hall he alight;
Trumpys, hornys, sarvysse,
Right by-for that highe deys,
He herde and saughe with sight,
And amydd the hall floore
A ffyre well starke and store
That tente and brende bright.
Ferther in he yede
And toke with hym his stede,
That halpe him in his ffyght.
Rode in-to the paleys
And at the hall he alight;
Trumpys, hornys, sarvysse,
Right by-for that highe deys,
He herde and saughe with sight,
And amydd the hall floore
A ffyre well starke and store
That tente and brende bright.
Ferther in he yede
And toke with hym his stede,
That halpe him in his ffyght.
Lybeous jnner ganne passe
To be-holde that place:
The halys in the halle;
Off men more nor lasse
Ne sawe he body nor fface
Butt mynstralis cladde in palle.
With harpe, lute and roote
And orgone noyse of note,
Grete gle they maden all;
With sotill and sawtery,
Suche maner mynstralsye
Was neuer with-in wall.
To be-holde that place:
The halys in the halle;
Off men more nor lasse
Ne sawe he body nor fface
Butt mynstralis cladde in palle.
With harpe, lute and roote
And orgone noyse of note,
Grete gle they maden all;
With sotill and sawtery,
Suche maner mynstralsye
Was neuer with-in wall.
By-for euche mynstrale stode
A torche bothe fayre and gode,
J-tende and brente bright.
Sir Lybeous jnner yode
To witten with egir mode
Who shulde with hym fight.
He yede in-to the corners
To be-holde the pilleres
That semely was of sight.
Off jasper and of fyne cristale,
J-fflorysshed with amyall,
That was of moche myght.
A torche bothe fayre and gode,
J-tende and brente bright.
Sir Lybeous jnner yode
To witten with egir mode
Who shulde with hym fight.
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To be-holde the pilleres
That semely was of sight.
Off jasper and of fyne cristale,
J-fflorysshed with amyall,
That was of moche myght.
The dores weren of brasse,
The wondowes all of glasse,
Wrought with jmagerye;
The halle y-peynted was:
Nowher none fayrer nas
That he hade seyne withe eye.
He sett hym on the deys:
The mynst[r]ales weryn in pees,
That were so tryste and trye;
The torchis that brent bright
They queynte anone right:
The mynstrellys weren awaye.
The wondowes all of glasse,
Wrought with jmagerye;
The halle y-peynted was:
Nowher none fayrer nas
That he hade seyne withe eye.
He sett hym on the deys:
The mynst[r]ales weryn in pees,
That were so tryste and trye;
The torchis that brent bright
They queynte anone right:
The mynstrellys weren awaye.
The dorres and wyndowes all
They betten in the hall
As hit were dynte of thonder;
The stones of the walle
On hym conne they falle,
And ther-off had he wonder.
The deys be-gan to shake,
The erthe be-gan to quake;
As he sate ther-vnder,
The halle roofe vnlyke
And the vasure eke,
As it wolde all in sonder.
They betten in the hall
As hit were dynte of thonder;
The stones of the walle
On hym conne they falle,
And ther-off had he wonder.
The deys be-gan to shake,
The erthe be-gan to quake;
As he sate ther-vnder,
The halle roofe vnlyke
And the vasure eke,
As it wolde all in sonder.
As he sate thus dismayed,
He holde hym-selfe dysseyved,
Sertis, herde he nyȝe;
Thoo he was better apayde
And to hym-selfe sayde,
‘Yett Y hope to playe!’
He loked in-to the felde
And sawe, with spere and shelde,
Men in armes twayne,
Jn pured pure armoure
Was lyngell and trappure,
Wyth golde gaylye dight.
He holde hym-selfe dysseyved,
Sertis, herde he nyȝe;
189
And to hym-selfe sayde,
‘Yett Y hope to playe!’
He loked in-to the felde
And sawe, with spere and shelde,
Men in armes twayne,
Jn pured pure armoure
Was lyngell and trappure,
Wyth golde gaylye dight.
That one rode in-to the hall
And by-ganne for-to call,
‘Syr knyght auntours!
Suche case is nowe be-ffall,
They thou be knyght in palle
Fyght thou moste with vs!
J holde the qwaynte of gynne
And thou that lady wynne
That is so precious.’
Quod Lybeous anone ryght,
‘Fresshe Y am to ffight,
By the helpe of Jhesus!’
And by-ganne for-to call,
‘Syr knyght auntours!
Suche case is nowe be-ffall,
They thou be knyght in palle
Fyght thou moste with vs!
J holde the qwaynte of gynne
And thou that lady wynne
That is so precious.’
Quod Lybeous anone ryght,
‘Fresshe Y am to ffight,
By the helpe of Jhesus!’
Syr Lybeous with gode will
And in-to his sadyll gan skylle,
A launce in honde he hente,
And titely rode hem tyll:
His fomen for-to felle,
Suche was his talent.
Whanne thaye to-geder smete,
Vpon her shelde hit sette,
With sperys doughtely of dynte;
Mabounes launce to-braste,
Tho was he sore agaste
And helde hym shamely shent.
And in-to his sadyll gan skylle,
A launce in honde he hente,
And titely rode hem tyll:
His fomen for-to felle,
Suche was his talent.
Whanne thaye to-geder smete,
Vpon her shelde hit sette,
With sperys doughtely of dynte;
Mabounes launce to-braste,
Tho was he sore agaste
And helde hym shamely shent.
And with that stroke ffellowne
Syr Lybeous bare Maboune
Ouere his hors tayle;
For his hynder arson
Brake and fell adawne
Jn-to the felde saunce fayle;
And neygh he had him slayne,
But there come Sir Jrayne,
Jn helme, hawbrek of mayle;
So ffresshe he was to ffight,
He thought anone righte
Syr Lybeous to assaylle.
Syr Lybeous bare Maboune
Ouere his hors tayle;
191
Brake and fell adawne
Jn-to the felde saunce fayle;
And neygh he had him slayne,
But there come Sir Jrayne,
Jn helme, hawbrek of mayle;
So ffresshe he was to ffight,
He thought anone righte
Syr Lybeous to assaylle.
Syr Lybeous was of hym ware,
A spere to hym he bare
And lefte his brother stille;
Suche a dynte he yaue thare
That his haumbryk to-tare:
That liked Jrayne ylle.
He[r] lawnses they borsten a-two,
Her swerdys they drewen thoo,
With hert grym and grylle;
They con to-geder fight,
Eyther provid with right
Other for-to spyll.
A spere to hym he bare
And lefte his brother stille;
Suche a dynte he yaue thare
That his haumbryk to-tare:
That liked Jrayne ylle.
He[r] lawnses they borsten a-two,
Her swerdys they drewen thoo,
With hert grym and grylle;
They con to-geder fight,
Eyther provid with right
Other for-to spyll.
As they to-gedyr gan hewe,
Maboune, the more shrewe,
Jn ffelde vp aroos;
He herde and well knewe
That Jrayne yaue dyntis fewe:
Ther-of hym sore agroos.
To hym he went full right
To helpe to fellen in fight
Lybeous of noble loose;
But Lybeous faught with bothe,
Though they weren wrothe,
And kepte hym-selffe close.
Maboune, the more shrewe,
Jn ffelde vp aroos;
He herde and well knewe
That Jrayne yaue dyntis fewe:
Ther-of hym sore agroos.
To hym he went full right
To helpe to fellen in fight
Lybeous of noble loose;
But Lybeous faught with bothe,
Though they weren wrothe,
And kepte hym-selffe close.
Tho Yran sawe Maboune
He smote strokys fellon
To Sir Lybeous withe jre
That evyn he karfe a-downe,
By-for his forther arsowne,
Lybeous stedys swyre.
Lybeous was werreour slyȝe
And smote evyn to his thiȝe:
He karfe bone and lyre;
Ne halpe hym not his armour,
His chawntementis ne his chambur:
Dow[n]e ffell that sory syre.
He smote strokys fellon
To Sir Lybeous withe jre
193
By-for his forther arsowne,
Lybeous stedys swyre.
Lybeous was werreour slyȝe
And smote evyn to his thiȝe:
He karfe bone and lyre;
Ne halpe hym not his armour,
His chawntementis ne his chambur:
Dow[n]e ffell that sory syre.
Lybeous of his hors alight
With Mabone for-to fight,
Jn ffelde bothe in feere.
Swyche strokys they dight
That sparkelys sprongen downe right
From shelde and helmes clere;
As they bothe to-geder smytte,
Her bothe swerdys mette:
As ye may se hem bere.
Mabon, the more shreweos,
For-karffe the swerde of Sir Lybeous
Attweyne quyte and skere.
With Mabone for-to fight,
Jn ffelde bothe in feere.
Swyche strokys they dight
That sparkelys sprongen downe right
From shelde and helmes clere;
As they bothe to-geder smytte,
Her bothe swerdys mette:
As ye may se hem bere.
Mabon, the more shreweos,
For-karffe the swerde of Sir Lybeous
Attweyne quyte and skere.
Tho was Lybeous asshamed
And in his harte sore agramed,
For he had lorne his swerde,
And his stede was lamed
And he shulde be defamed
To Arthur kynge his lorde.
To Yrayne swythe he ranne
And hente his swerde vp thanne:
Was sharpe on eche a syde;
And ranne to Maboune right
And faste they gonne to fight:
Off love was ther no woorde!
And in his harte sore agramed,
For he had lorne his swerde,
And his stede was lamed
And he shulde be defamed
To Arthur kynge his lorde.
To Yrayne swythe he ranne
And hente his swerde vp thanne:
Was sharpe on eche a syde;
And ranne to Maboune right
And faste they gonne to fight:
Off love was ther no woorde!
195
But evyr faught Maboune
As hit were a lyoune
Sir Lybeous for-to sloo;
But Lybeous karffe adowne
His shilde with his fawchon,
That he toke Jrayne ffroo.
Jn the right tale y-tolde
The lyfte arme with the shelde
Awaye he smote alsoo;
Than cryed Mabon hym tyll:
‘Thi strokys arne full ylle;
Gentill knyght nowe hoo!
As hit were a lyoune
Sir Lybeous for-to sloo;
But Lybeous karffe adowne
His shilde with his fawchon,
That he toke Jrayne ffroo.
Jn the right tale y-tolde
The lyfte arme with the shelde
Awaye he smote alsoo;
Than cryed Mabon hym tyll:
‘Thi strokys arne full ylle;
Gentill knyght nowe hoo!
Ay will yelde me to the,
Jn love and grete laughte,
At thine owne wille,
And that lady ffre
That is in my powste
Takyn Y will the tille.
For thorough the swerdis dynt
My honde Y haue j-tynte:
The venym will me spille;
J venymed hem bothe,
Certeyn with-outen othe,
Ther-with oure fone to felle.’
Jn love and grete laughte,
At thine owne wille,
And that lady ffre
That is in my powste
Takyn Y will the tille.
For thorough the swerdis dynt
My honde Y haue j-tynte:
The venym will me spille;
J venymed hem bothe,
Certeyn with-outen othe,
Ther-with oure fone to felle.’
Quod Lybeous, ‘Be my thryfte,
J will nought of thi yefte,
For all this worlde to wynne;
But lay on strokys swyfte:
One of vs shall other lefte
The hede by the chynne!’
Tho Mabon and Lybeous
Faste to-geder hewes
And slaked not for no synne;
Lybeous was more of myght:
He clove his helme downe right
And his hede atwynne.
J will nought of thi yefte,
For all this worlde to wynne;
But lay on strokys swyfte:
One of vs shall other lefte
The hede by the chynne!’
Tho Mabon and Lybeous
Faste to-geder hewes
And slaked not for no synne;
Lybeous was more of myght:
He clove his helme downe right
And his hede atwynne.
197
Tho Mabon was slayne
He ranne ther was Yrayne
With a fawchoune in his fiste;
For-to cleue his brayne:
J tell you for certayne,
To fight more hym lyste!
But whan he come there,
Away he was y-bore:
Jn-to whate stede he nuste.
Tho sought he hym for the nonys
Wyde in all the wonys:
Jn trewthe well he truste.
He ranne ther was Yrayne
With a fawchoune in his fiste;
For-to cleue his brayne:
J tell you for certayne,
To fight more hym lyste!
But whan he come there,
Away he was y-bore:
Jn-to whate stede he nuste.
Tho sought he hym for the nonys
Wyde in all the wonys:
Jn trewthe well he truste.
And whan he fonde him noughte
He helde him-selfe be-kaughte
And by-ganne to syke sore,
And seide, in worde and thought,
‘This will be dere bought
That he is fro me fare!
He will with sorcerye
Do me tormentrye:
That is my moste care.’
Sore he sate and sighte,
He nuste whate do he myght,
He was of blysse all bare.
He helde him-selfe be-kaughte
And by-ganne to syke sore,
And seide, in worde and thought,
‘This will be dere bought
That he is fro me fare!
He will with sorcerye
Do me tormentrye:
That is my moste care.’
Sore he sate and sighte,
He nuste whate do he myght,
He was of blysse all bare.
As he sate thus in halle,
Oute at a stone walle
A wyndowe fayre vnfelde;
Grete wondyr with-all
Jn his herte ganne falle
And he sate and be-helde.
A worme ther ganne oute-pas
With a womanes face:
‘Yonge Y am and nothinge olde.’
Hir body and hir wyngis
Shone in all [þ]ynchis,
As amell gaye and gilte.
Oute at a stone walle
A wyndowe fayre vnfelde;
Grete wondyr with-all
Jn his herte ganne falle
And he sate and be-helde.
A worme ther ganne oute-pas
With a womanes face:
‘Yonge Y am and nothinge olde.’
Hir body and hir wyngis
Shone in all [þ]ynchis,
As amell gaye and gilte.
199
Hir tayle was mekyll vnnethe,
Hir peynis gryme and grete,
As ye may listen and lere.
Syr Lybeous swelt for swete
There he sate in his sete,
As alle had ben in fyre;
So sore he was agaste
Hym thought his herte to-braste
As she neyhid hym nere.
And ere that Lybeous wiste,
The worme with mouth him kyste
And clypped aboute the swyre.
Hir peynis gryme and grete,
As ye may listen and lere.
Syr Lybeous swelt for swete
There he sate in his sete,
As alle had ben in fyre;
So sore he was agaste
Hym thought his herte to-braste
As she neyhid hym nere.
And ere that Lybeous wiste,
The worme with mouth him kyste
And clypped aboute the swyre.
And aftyr this kyssynge
Off the worme tayle and wynge
Swyftly fell hir froo:
So fayre, of all thinke,
Woman, with-oute lesynge,
Sawe he neuer ere thoo;
But she was moder naked,
As God had hir maked:
The[r]for was Lybeous woo.
She sayde, ‘Knyght gentyll,
God yelde the thi wille
My foon thou woldest sloo!
Off the worme tayle and wynge
Swyftly fell hir froo:
So fayre, of all thinke,
Woman, with-oute lesynge,
Sawe he neuer ere thoo;
But she was moder naked,
As God had hir maked:
The[r]for was Lybeous woo.
She sayde, ‘Knyght gentyll,
God yelde the thi wille
My foon thou woldest sloo!
Thowe haste slayne nowthe
Two clerkys kowthe,
That wroughten by the fende.
Este, west, northe and sowthe,
With maystres of her mouthe,
Many man con they shende.
Thorowe ther chauntement
To a worme they had me went,
Jn wo to leven and lende,
Tyll [J] had kyssed Gaweyne,
That is doughti knyght, certayne,
Or some of his kynde.
Two clerkys kowthe,
That wroughten by the fende.
Este, west, northe and sowthe,
With maystres of her mouthe,
Many man con they shende.
Thorowe ther chauntement
To a worme they had me went,
Jn wo to leven and lende,
Tyll [J] had kyssed Gaweyne,
That is doughti knyght, certayne,
Or some of his kynde.
201
Syr, for thou savyst my lyfe,
Castellys fyfty and fyve
Take Y will the till,
And my-sylfe to be thy wyfe,
Styll withe-oute any st[r]yfe,
And hit [be] Arthures will.’
Lybeous was glad and blythe
And lepte to hors als swythe
And that lady stille;
But sore [he] dradded Jrayne
For he was nought j-slayne,
With speche lyste he do him spylle.
Castellys fyfty and fyve
Take Y will the till,
And my-sylfe to be thy wyfe,
Styll withe-oute any st[r]yfe,
And hit [be] Arthures will.’
Lybeous was glad and blythe
And lepte to hors als swythe
And that lady stille;
But sore [he] dradded Jrayne
For he was nought j-slayne,
With speche lyste he do him spylle.
To the castell Lybeous rode,
Ther-for the folke abode
And be-ganne to crye.
Syr Lybeous to Lambard tolde
And to oþer knyghtis bolde
Howe he hem thre ganne gye,
And how Mabon was slayne
And wounded was Jrayne,
Thorowe myght of Marye.
Ther-for the folke abode
And be-ganne to crye.
Syr Lybeous to Lambard tolde
And to oþer knyghtis bolde
Howe he hem thre ganne gye,
And how Mabon was slayne
And wounded was Jrayne,
Thorowe myght of Marye.
And howe her lady bright
To a dragon was y-dight,
Thorowe her chawnterye,
And thorow the c[o]sse of a knyght
Woman she was aplight,
A comly creature:
‘But she stode be-fore,
As naked as she was bore,
And sayde, “Nowe am Y sure
My fone thou haste slayne,
Mabon and Yrayne:
Jn pees thou dost me brynge.”’
To a dragon was y-dight,
Thorowe her chawnterye,
And thorow the c[o]sse of a knyght
Woman she was aplight,
A comly creature:
‘But she stode be-fore,
As naked as she was bore,
And sayde, “Nowe am Y sure
203
Mabon and Yrayne:
Jn pees thou dost me brynge.”’
When Lybeous Disconyous
Had tolde the stywarde thus,
Bothe worde and endeng,
A robe of purpyll riche,
Pillured with pure grice,
He sent hir on hyenge;
Kerchewes and garlandis ryche
He sent hir preveliche,
A byrd hit ganne hir bringe;
Whan she was redy dight
She went with many a knyght
To hir owne wonnynge.
Had tolde the stywarde thus,
Bothe worde and endeng,
A robe of purpyll riche,
Pillured with pure grice,
He sent hir on hyenge;
Kerchewes and garlandis ryche
He sent hir preveliche,
A byrd hit ganne hir bringe;
Whan she was redy dight
She went with many a knyght
To hir owne wonnynge.
All the folke of Synadowne
With a well fayre procession
Her lady conne home brynge.
When she was comen to towne,
Off gold and stonys a crowne
Vpon hir hede was sett,
And were gladde and blythe
And thanked God fele sythe
That hir balys were bett.
Than all the lordis of dignite
Did hir homage and fewte,
As hit was dewe dette.
And euche lord in his degre
Gave hir yeftis grete plente,
When they with hir mett.
With a well fayre procession
Her lady conne home brynge.
When she was comen to towne,
Off gold and stonys a crowne
Vpon hir hede was sett,
And were gladde and blythe
And thanked God fele sythe
That hir balys were bett.
Than all the lordis of dignite
Did hir homage and fewte,
As hit was dewe dette.
And euche lord in his degre
Gave hir yeftis grete plente,
When they with hir mett.
Sevyn dayes they dide soioure
With Sir Lambert in the towre
And all the peeple in same;
Tho went thei with honour
Taward Kynge Arthoure
With mekyll gle and game;
They thanked God with al his myghtis,
Arthur and all his knyghtis,
That he hade no shame.
Arthur gave als blyve
Lybeous that lady to wyfe,
That was so gentill a dame.
With Sir Lambert in the towre
And all the peeple in same;
Tho went thei with honour
Taward Kynge Arthoure
With mekyll gle and game;
205
Arthur and all his knyghtis,
That he hade no shame.
Arthur gave als blyve
Lybeous that lady to wyfe,
That was so gentill a dame.
The myrrour of that brydale
No man myght tell with tale,
Jn ryme nor in geste:
Jn that semely saale
Were lordys many and fale
And ladies full honeste.
There was riche service
Bothe to lorde and ladyes
To leste and eke to moste;
Thare were gevyn riche giftis
Euche mynstrale her thriftis,
And some that were vnbrest.
No man myght tell with tale,
Jn ryme nor in geste:
Jn that semely saale
Were lordys many and fale
And ladies full honeste.
There was riche service
Bothe to lorde and ladyes
To leste and eke to moste;
Thare were gevyn riche giftis
Euche mynstrale her thriftis,
And some that were vnbrest.
Fourty dayes thei dwelden
And ther here feste helden
With Arthur the kynge.
As the Frensshe tale vs tolde,
Arthur kyng with his knyghtis bolde
Home he gonne hem brynge.
Sevyn yere they levid same
With mekyll joye and game,
He and that swete thynge.
Nowe Jhesu Criste oure Savioure
And his moder, that swete floure,
Grawnte vs gode endynge.
And ther here feste helden
With Arthur the kynge.
As the Frensshe tale vs tolde,
Arthur kyng with his knyghtis bolde
Home he gonne hem brynge.
Sevyn yere they levid same
With mekyll joye and game,
He and that swete thynge.
Nowe Jhesu Criste oure Savioure
And his moder, that swete floure,
Grawnte vs gode endynge.
Amen.
Explicit Lybious Disconyas
| Lybeaus Desconus | |