 | Guy of Warwick |  |
78
Wiþ þat come a Lombard ride,
A modi man & ful of pride.
‘Gij,’ quod he, ‘ȝeld þe anon!
Ȝe ben ded now euerichon;
To þe douke we han trewþe pliȝt
To bring him þi bodi þis niȝt.’
With þat ich word wel smert
Gij him smot vn-to þe hert;
No spard he for no drede,
Þat ded he feld him in þe mede.
‘Bi þe trewþe y schal mi leman ȝeld,
To day no schaltow þi trewþe held!’
Anoþer Lombard he smot anon,
Þurch þe bodi þe swerd gan gon:
‘No þou, treytour, no schalt me lede
To þe douke that is ful of qued;
To his presoun no worþ y for þe brouȝt.’
Herhaud smot anoþer and spared nouȝt
Þurch þe bodi his swerd glod,
Ded he fel wiþ-outen abod.
A modi man & ful of pride.
‘Gij,’ quod he, ‘ȝeld þe anon!
Ȝe ben ded now euerichon;
To þe douke we han trewþe pliȝt
To bring him þi bodi þis niȝt.’
With þat ich word wel smert
Gij him smot vn-to þe hert;
No spard he for no drede,
Þat ded he feld him in þe mede.
‘Bi þe trewþe y schal mi leman ȝeld,
To day no schaltow þi trewþe held!’
Anoþer Lombard he smot anon,
Þurch þe bodi þe swerd gan gon:
‘No þou, treytour, no schalt me lede
To þe douke that is ful of qued;
To his presoun no worþ y for þe brouȝt.’
Herhaud smot anoþer and spared nouȝt
Þurch þe bodi his swerd glod,
Ded he fel wiþ-outen abod.
Þan com Torald, a gode kniȝt,
Swiþe gode & hardi in fiȝt;
Wiþ a Lombard þer he mett,
& so wele his strok he sett
Þat his heued fram þe bodi flei;
He ȝede him laweliche neye.
Wiþ þat come Urri prikeinde
(A better kniȝt no miȝt man finde)
A Lombard he smot þo,
Þat þurch his bodi þe swerd gan go;
So he smot him, for soþ to say,
Þat ded he feld him in þe way.
Seþþe he seyd, ‘þurch no toun
Schal ȝe ous lede to no prisoun.
Than miȝt men se fiȝt aginne,
Heuedes cleue vnto þe chinne.
Euerich þat day þat Gij oftoke,
Sone anon his liif forsoke.
Sum he smot opon þe hode,
At þe girdel þe swerd astode;
And sum he smot þurch þe side,
Þat miȝt he neuer go no ride.
Was þer non that miȝt astond
Dint þat come of Gyes hond.
So miȝti strokes þer wer ȝiuen,
Þat strong schaftes al to-driuen;
No was þer non in þat ferrede
Þat of his liif him miȝt adrede.
Swiþe gode & hardi in fiȝt;
Wiþ a Lombard þer he mett,
& so wele his strok he sett
Þat his heued fram þe bodi flei;
He ȝede him laweliche neye.
Wiþ þat come Urri prikeinde
(A better kniȝt no miȝt man finde)
A Lombard he smot þo,
Þat þurch his bodi þe swerd gan go;
So he smot him, for soþ to say,
Þat ded he feld him in þe way.
Seþþe he seyd, ‘þurch no toun
Schal ȝe ous lede to no prisoun.
Than miȝt men se fiȝt aginne,
Heuedes cleue vnto þe chinne.
80
Sone anon his liif forsoke.
Sum he smot opon þe hode,
At þe girdel þe swerd astode;
And sum he smot þurch þe side,
Þat miȝt he neuer go no ride.
Was þer non that miȝt astond
Dint þat come of Gyes hond.
So miȝti strokes þer wer ȝiuen,
Þat strong schaftes al to-driuen;
No was þer non in þat ferrede
Þat of his liif him miȝt adrede.
Wiþ þat come ride þerl Lambard,
A sterne kniȝt and a Lombard;
Vrri anon he slouȝ þar,
It oþouȝt Gij þo he was war;
Wiþ þerl Lambard he wald iusti,
& awreke þe gode Vrri.
Wiþ swiche hete he smot him to,
His armour no was him worþ a slo;
Þurch out his hert þe launce he bar,
Adoun he feld him ded riȝt þar.
Wiþ þat him come forþ Hougoun,
Þat was þe doukes neve Otoun:
A kniȝt he was of gret miȝt,
Swiþe gode & hardi in fiȝt.
Torald he haþ aqueld;
Herhaud anon þat biheld.
When Herhaud y-seye þis,
Þat he doun fel & ded he is,
For his deþ he was sori:
Him to awreke he haþ gret hy.
Neuer ȝete so sori he no was,
To-ward Hugoun he made a ras,
Als a lyoun he heyed him fast,
Þat his prey wold haue on hast.
Þurch þe body he him smot
Wiþ gret strengþe, god ytot,
Þat biforn þe Lombardes alle
Of his hors ded he gan falle.
A sterne kniȝt and a Lombard;
Vrri anon he slouȝ þar,
It oþouȝt Gij þo he was war;
Wiþ þerl Lambard he wald iusti,
& awreke þe gode Vrri.
Wiþ swiche hete he smot him to,
His armour no was him worþ a slo;
Þurch out his hert þe launce he bar,
Adoun he feld him ded riȝt þar.
Wiþ þat him come forþ Hougoun,
Þat was þe doukes neve Otoun:
A kniȝt he was of gret miȝt,
Swiþe gode & hardi in fiȝt.
Torald he haþ aqueld;
Herhaud anon þat biheld.
When Herhaud y-seye þis,
Þat he doun fel & ded he is,
For his deþ he was sori:
Him to awreke he haþ gret hy.
Neuer ȝete so sori he no was,
To-ward Hugoun he made a ras,
Als a lyoun he heyed him fast,
Þat his prey wold haue on hast.
82
Wiþ gret strengþe, god ytot,
Þat biforn þe Lombardes alle
Of his hors ded he gan falle.
When dan Gauter þat y-seye,
To Herhaud he stert wel an heye,
And wiþ his swerd he smot him so
Þat his hauberk rent ato;
Þurch his bodi þat swerd ȝede,
Al þai wende þat he wer ded.
To Herhaud he stert wel an heye,
And wiþ his swerd he smot him so
Þat his hauberk rent ato;
Þurch his bodi þat swerd ȝede,
Al þai wende þat he wer ded.
When Gij seye Herhaud y-feld,
To-hewen his hauberk & his scheld
(& of his hors feld he was,
As ded man lay on þe gras;
He seye þe blod þat cam him fro),
Wonder him þouȝt, & seyd þo:
‘Þou lording, to þe y sigge,
His deþ þou schalt wel sore abigge!
So mot ich euer word speke,
Mi maisters deþ ichil awreke,
& for a couward ich held þe:
Þou slouȝ him, & lete me be.
Bi him þat made sonne & mone,
Þou schalt it wite swiþe sone,
Þat tow schalt it biȝelp nouȝt
Þat he is to deþ y-brouȝt.’
To-hewen his hauberk & his scheld
(& of his hors feld he was,
As ded man lay on þe gras;
He seye þe blod þat cam him fro),
Wonder him þouȝt, & seyd þo:
‘Þou lording, to þe y sigge,
His deþ þou schalt wel sore abigge!
So mot ich euer word speke,
Mi maisters deþ ichil awreke,
& for a couward ich held þe:
Þou slouȝ him, & lete me be.
Bi him þat made sonne & mone,
Þou schalt it wite swiþe sone,
Þat tow schalt it biȝelp nouȝt
Þat he is to deþ y-brouȝt.’
Gij wiþ spors smot þe stede,
As a man þat hadde nede,
Þat fire vnder þe fet aros;
Nas þer non þat him agros.
Wiþ al his miȝt he smot him to,
Wel euen he clef his scheld þo,
Þurch his bodi þe swerd he þriste:
Þo at arst fiȝt him liste.
In þe sond he feld him doun,
& bede him Cristes malisoun,
For þat he wald Herhaud slen,
And lete him oliues ben.
As a man þat hadde nede,
Þat fire vnder þe fet aros;
Nas þer non þat him agros.
Wiþ al his miȝt he smot him to,
Wel euen he clef his scheld þo,
Þurch his bodi þe swerd he þriste:
Þo at arst fiȝt him liste.
In þe sond he feld him doun,
& bede him Cristes malisoun,
84
And lete him oliues ben.
Now is Gij wel hard bifalle,
Y-lorn he haþ his felawes alle;
So sori he is, he not what to do,
He no haþ no wiȝt to bimen him to.
Bot þre Lombard[es] oliue þer nere,
Opon Gij hastiliche þai were;
Þe tvay ben hole & sounde,
Þe þridde hadde þurch þe bodi a wounde.
Y-lorn he haþ his felawes alle;
So sori he is, he not what to do,
He no haþ no wiȝt to bimen him to.
Bot þre Lombard[es] oliue þer nere,
Opon Gij hastiliche þai were;
Þe tvay ben hole & sounde,
Þe þridde hadde þurch þe bodi a wounde.
Gij þat on wiþ his swerd rauȝt,
His heued of fleye wiþ þat drauȝt.
Þan com prikeing dan Gwissard,
A duhtti kniȝt and no couward.
His heued of fleye wiþ þat drauȝt.
Þan com prikeing dan Gwissard,
A duhtti kniȝt and no couward.
‘Gij,’ quod he, ‘ȝeld now þe!
It no may no noþer be:
On þe erþe liþe þi scheld to-dreued,
Nouȝt o pece is wiþ oþer bileued,
& þine helme is al to-hewe,
Þine hauberk to-rent þat was newe;
& wounded þou art, þou miȝt well se,
Long miȝt tow nouȝt oliues be.
To day ichil ȝeld þe to þe douk Otoun,
& he þe schal do in his prisoun.
It no may no noþer be:
On þe erþe liþe þi scheld to-dreued,
Nouȝt o pece is wiþ oþer bileued,
& þine helme is al to-hewe,
Þine hauberk to-rent þat was newe;
& wounded þou art, þou miȝt well se,
Long miȝt tow nouȝt oliues be.
To day ichil ȝeld þe to þe douk Otoun,
& he þe schal do in his prisoun.
| Guy of Warwick | |