 | The Poetical Works of Reginald Heber |  |
Icy commence le Romaunt du Grand Roye Pantagruelle.
Yt is a kynge both fyne and felle,
That hyght Sir Claudyus Pantagruelle,—
The fynest and fellest, more or lesse,
Of alle the kynges in Heathenesse.
That Syre was Soudan of Surrye,
Of Œstrick and of Cappadocie,
His Eme was Lorde I understonde
Of all Cathaye and of Bœhman Londe.
LXX Dukes, that were soe wighte,
Served him by daie and by nighte.
Thereto he made him a lothely messe,
Everie morninge more or lesse,
A manne chylde of VII yere age,
Thereof he seethed hys pottage.
Everie knyghte who went that waye
His nose and ears was fayne to paye;
Sothely, as the Romaunts telle,
For the Dyner of Pantagruelle.
Yn all the londes of Ethiopeè
Was ne so worthy a kynge as hee.
That hyght Sir Claudyus Pantagruelle,—
The fynest and fellest, more or lesse,
Of alle the kynges in Heathenesse.
That Syre was Soudan of Surrye,
Of Œstrick and of Cappadocie,
His Eme was Lorde I understonde
Of all Cathaye and of Bœhman Londe.
LXX Dukes, that were soe wighte,
Served him by daie and by nighte.
Thereto he made him a lothely messe,
Everie morninge more or lesse,
A manne chylde of VII yere age,
Thereof he seethed hys pottage.
Everie knyghte who went that waye
His nose and ears was fayne to paye;
346
For the Dyner of Pantagruelle.
Yn all the londes of Ethiopeè
Was ne so worthy a kynge as hee.
Ande it befelle upon a daye
Thys Pantagruelle he went to playe
With his Ladye thatte was soe brighte,
Yn her bowre yn alle mennes syghte.
Thatte Ladye was hyghte Cycelee;
And thereto sange shee
Alle into Grekysh as she colde best,—
“Lambeth, Sadeck, Apocatest;”
Namely, “My love yf thou wouldest wynne
Bringe wyth thee a purple falcon ynne.”
Thys Pantagruelle he went to playe
With his Ladye thatte was soe brighte,
Yn her bowre yn alle mennes syghte.
Thatte Ladye was hyghte Cycelee;
And thereto sange shee
Alle into Grekysh as she colde best,—
“Lambeth, Sadeck, Apocatest;”
Namely, “My love yf thou wouldest wynne
Bringe wyth thee a purple falcon ynne.”
Thatte laye made hym sadde and sowre,
And careful came hee adowne the towre.
He layde his hedde upon a stone;
For sorrow hys lyfe was well nigh gone;
He sobbed amayne and sighed sore
“Alacke Cycile, for evermore.”
Hys page he broughte him hys helmette,
Thatte was cleped Alphabet;
He donned hys bootes made of the skyn
Of Loup-garou and of Gobbelyn,
And hys hauberke that was soe harde
Y woven welle of spykenarde.
Virgile hadde made that cote-armure
With Maumetry fenced and guarded sure;
And Hypocras and Arystote
Had woven the rynges of thatte cote.
He tooke hys spere that was so strong,
Hys axe was sharpe, his sworde was long,
And thys the devyse upon his sheilde—
A red rose yn a greene fielde,
And under, yn language of Syrie,
“Belle rose que tu es jolye.”
And careful came hee adowne the towre.
He layde his hedde upon a stone;
For sorrow hys lyfe was well nigh gone;
He sobbed amayne and sighed sore
“Alacke Cycile, for evermore.”
Hys page he broughte him hys helmette,
Thatte was cleped Alphabet;
347
Of Loup-garou and of Gobbelyn,
And hys hauberke that was soe harde
Y woven welle of spykenarde.
Virgile hadde made that cote-armure
With Maumetry fenced and guarded sure;
And Hypocras and Arystote
Had woven the rynges of thatte cote.
He tooke hys spere that was so strong,
Hys axe was sharpe, his sworde was long,
And thys the devyse upon his sheilde—
A red rose yn a greene fielde,
And under, yn language of Syrie,
“Belle rose que tu es jolye.”
| The Poetical Works of Reginald Heber | |