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 | Guy of Warwick |  |
When Gij herd Otus speke so,
Als a wilde bore he lepe him to:
‘Otus!’ quaþ Gij, ‘þou schalt daye,
When þou of tresoun clepes ous baye,
Boþe Segyn & eke me:
Þou it schal abie, bi mi leute!’
Him he smot wiþ his fest
Amide the teþ, riȝt al in ernest.
Ac þe barouns bitvene hem goþ,
& þemperour swore his oþ,
Ȝif ani þer were so hardy
Þat dede oþer schame oþer vilanie,
Bren men him scholde, oþer to-hewe,
Oþer al to-hewe at wordes fewe.
Þan doþ þai crie þurch þe cuntraye,
Þat of þo wordes no man schuld saye;
‘& ȝif þer doþ, wiþ-outen no,
Hond oþer fot he schal for-go.’
Als a wilde bore he lepe him to:
‘Otus!’ quaþ Gij, ‘þou schalt daye,
When þou of tresoun clepes ous baye,
Boþe Segyn & eke me:
Þou it schal abie, bi mi leute!’
Him he smot wiþ his fest
Amide the teþ, riȝt al in ernest.
Ac þe barouns bitvene hem goþ,
& þemperour swore his oþ,
Ȝif ani þer were so hardy
Þat dede oþer schame oþer vilanie,
Bren men him scholde, oþer to-hewe,
Oþer al to-hewe at wordes fewe.
Þan doþ þai crie þurch þe cuntraye,
Þat of þo wordes no man schuld saye;
‘& ȝif þer doþ, wiþ-outen no,
Hond oþer fot he schal for-go.’
Than seyd þemperour on þis maner
To þe douke Segyn oforn hem þer:
‘Sir douke, ichil loue þe:
Wiif þou schalt haue bi me.
A feir soster ich haue in mi bour
Ichil þe ȝif,’ quaþ þemperour:
‘Erneborwe hat þat may.’
Anon he hir spoused þat day.
Þe bridale was holden wiþ game, y pliȝt.
Neuer ȝet nas non fairer in siȝt.
He loued hir, & worþ-schiped swiþe:
To his cite he ladde hir siþe,
He and Ernneborwe his leuedi
Þer hii wold soiornij.
Anon after þe tende day
Of her soiourn, soþe to say,
To þe douke Segyn oforn hem þer:
‘Sir douke, ichil loue þe:
Wiif þou schalt haue bi me.
A feir soster ich haue in mi bour
Ichil þe ȝif,’ quaþ þemperour:
‘Erneborwe hat þat may.’
Anon he hir spoused þat day.
Þe bridale was holden wiþ game, y pliȝt.
Neuer ȝet nas non fairer in siȝt.
He loued hir, & worþ-schiped swiþe:
To his cite he ladde hir siþe,
He and Ernneborwe his leuedi
Þer hii wold soiornij.
162
Of her soiourn, soþe to say,
Gij is to þe douke y-go,
& at him asked leue þo:
‘Sir douk,’ he seyd, ‘gon ich-ille,
In þis cuntre bileue y nille.
In wer ich haue serued þe:
Ȝif þou haue euer eft nede to me,
After me þou sende sikerliche,
& ich com to þe hastiliche.’
‘Sir,’ quaþ þe douk, ‘gramerci!
Ȝete haue y nouȝt serued þe, sir Gij.
Here, ich bid þe, bileue wiþ me:
Half mine castels, & half mi cite,
Þe worþschip of Lowayn haluen-del,
Ich it þe graunt, Gij, fair & wel.’
Gij tok his leue; oway went he:
Þe douke wepe sore, & hadde pite.
Þemperour þat was so fre,
Wiþ him Gij þan ladde he;
Castels him bede, & cites,
Gret worþschip, & riche fes,
Ac he þerof nold afo,
For noþing þat he miȝt do.
To Almayn went ben he,
To Espire þat riche cite.
& at him asked leue þo:
‘Sir douk,’ he seyd, ‘gon ich-ille,
In þis cuntre bileue y nille.
In wer ich haue serued þe:
Ȝif þou haue euer eft nede to me,
After me þou sende sikerliche,
& ich com to þe hastiliche.’
‘Sir,’ quaþ þe douk, ‘gramerci!
Ȝete haue y nouȝt serued þe, sir Gij.
Here, ich bid þe, bileue wiþ me:
Half mine castels, & half mi cite,
Þe worþschip of Lowayn haluen-del,
Ich it þe graunt, Gij, fair & wel.’
Gij tok his leue; oway went he:
Þe douke wepe sore, & hadde pite.
Þemperour þat was so fre,
Wiþ him Gij þan ladde he;
Castels him bede, & cites,
Gret worþschip, & riche fes,
Ac he þerof nold afo,
For noþing þat he miȝt do.
To Almayn went ben he,
To Espire þat riche cite.
Þemperour worþschiped Gij þe fre;
A while wiþ him bileft he.
To pleyn hem þai went bi riuer
Þat of wilde foule ful were;
To her wille an hunting hij gos,
To chace þe hert & þe ros.
On a day as he cam fram hunting
A dromond he seye ariueing.
Þider-ward sir Gij is y-gon,
& gret þe marchandes euerichon.
‘Lordinges, whennes com ȝe,
Þat in þis riuer ariued be?
Bi ȝour semblant y se, y-wisse,
Þat ȝe ledde gret richesse.’
Among hem alle þer spac on,
Þat couþe speke for hem euerichon:
‘Fram Costentine þe noble y-comen we be:
Lond of peys þan seche we.
Marchandes we ben of þat lond,
& out y-driuen wiþ michel wrong:
Out of Coyne þe riche soudan,
So prout he is, & of so gret boban,
Þat wiþ .xv. heþen kinges,
& þritti emeraus, wiþ-outen lesinges,
A while wiþ him bileft he.
To pleyn hem þai went bi riuer
Þat of wilde foule ful were;
To her wille an hunting hij gos,
To chace þe hert & þe ros.
On a day as he cam fram hunting
A dromond he seye ariueing.
Þider-ward sir Gij is y-gon,
& gret þe marchandes euerichon.
164
Þat in þis riuer ariued be?
Bi ȝour semblant y se, y-wisse,
Þat ȝe ledde gret richesse.’
Among hem alle þer spac on,
Þat couþe speke for hem euerichon:
‘Fram Costentine þe noble y-comen we be:
Lond of peys þan seche we.
Marchandes we ben of þat lond,
& out y-driuen wiþ michel wrong:
Out of Coyne þe riche soudan,
So prout he is, & of so gret boban,
Þat wiþ .xv. heþen kinges,
& þritti emeraus, wiþ-outen lesinges,
In Costentyn þe noble emperour Ernis
Þai han strongliche bisett, y-wis.
Castel no cite nis him non bileued,
Þat altogider þai han to-dreued,
& for-brant, & strued, y-wis.
Into Costentyn flowen he is;
Þer he werþ him oȝaines his fon,
Þat secheþ on him for to slon.
Þritti mile men may riden & gon,
Ne schal men finde man non;
& we ben aschaped vnneþe,
Þat we no were to-hewen to deþe.
Y-comen we ben into þis cuntre:
Fowe & griis anouȝ lade we,
Gold and siluer, & riche stones,
Þat vertu bere mani for þe nones,
Gode cloþes of sikelatoun & Alisaundrinis,
Peloure of Matre, & pu[r]per & biis,
To ȝour wille as ȝe may se;
Swiche be þe tidinges of þat cuntre.’
Gij answerd, ‘mi frende fre,
For ȝour tidinges blisced ȝe be!
God, for his name seuene,
He bring ȝou to gode heuene!’
Þai han strongliche bisett, y-wis.
Castel no cite nis him non bileued,
Þat altogider þai han to-dreued,
& for-brant, & strued, y-wis.
Into Costentyn flowen he is;
Þer he werþ him oȝaines his fon,
Þat secheþ on him for to slon.
Þritti mile men may riden & gon,
Ne schal men finde man non;
& we ben aschaped vnneþe,
Þat we no were to-hewen to deþe.
Y-comen we ben into þis cuntre:
Fowe & griis anouȝ lade we,
Gold and siluer, & riche stones,
Þat vertu bere mani for þe nones,
Gode cloþes of sikelatoun & Alisaundrinis,
Peloure of Matre, & pu[r]per & biis,
To ȝour wille as ȝe may se;
Swiche be þe tidinges of þat cuntre.’
Gij answerd, ‘mi frende fre,
For ȝour tidinges blisced ȝe be!
166
He bring ȝou to gode heuene!’
| Guy of Warwick | |