 | Guy of Warwick |  |
An armorwe erliche
Þemperour aros, sikerliche;
Anon he seyd to Gij his speche:
‘Herken to me, y þe biseche.
In þis morning anon
We worþ aseyled of our fon,
Of Sarrazins þat misbileued be;
Alle for soþe y telle it to þe.
Þe soudan himselue wil þer be.
A spie for soþe teld it me,
Þat hij þe cite wil asayli,
& þat hij þennes nil parti,
Al fort he haue nome þis cite,
Or þat it destrued be.’
Þemperour seyd, ‘sir Gij þe fre,
Als so þou wilt it schal be.
Þe cite alle op þe y do
Wiþ Cristes blisceing þer-to.
Ȝif hij ous seyl we schul ous were;
Þe cite is strong, þai mow it nouȝt dere.’
Gij þat constable cleped him to,
Þat gode kniȝt was, & wise also:
Tristor he hete wiþ þe berd blowe,
Lord & douke of Almayne, y trowe.
‘Sir Tristor,’ he seyd, ‘listen to me:
Aseyled we worþ, siker þou be.
Þer-of þou most birede þe,
Ȝif we wille were þis cite,
Oþer we wille oȝain hem te,
At paþes that destrued be,
& mete we hem þer on þe doune,
Acumbre hem & legge hem doune.’
‘Sir,’ anon seyd the constable,
‘Þis ich speche schal be stable.
Do þan grede þurch þe cite
Þat alle redy armed be,
Alle þat armes may welde,
And who so þat feyneþ for couward be helde.’
Bi þe morwe þai ben armed wel,
Bi tale .xx. thousend hauberks of stiel,
Out of þe cite þai ben y-go
Wiþ gret noise & din also.
‘Lordinges,’ quaþ Gij, ‘herkeneþ to me
Ȝe þat here asembled be,
Of ȝour kinde þat is y-slawe,
Of edwite & of missawe,
Þat ous is don, thenke we þer-on,
& baldeliche aseyl we our fon;
For Sarrazins ous aseyle wille,
Alle for soþe y ȝou telle.
We wil hem mete wiþ spere & scheld
At þe narwe paþe bi-tven þe held.
Now biþenkeþ ȝou wele to don,
& awreke ȝour lond of ȝour fon.
Of ȝour londes & ȝour citez,
Þat destrud & wasted beþ,
Ȝou to awreke bi-þenkeþ ȝou,
& strongliche aseyleþ hem now.
Bot ȝe were ȝou wele & bliue,
& hij mow ȝou of þe feldes driue,
Alle we ben ded oþer nome,
& in þraldome euer more wone.
For þi mete we wiþ hem sone,
& strengþe ous alle wele to done;
& ich me self wil wiþ ȝou go;
Y nil ȝou feyle neuer mo.’
Wele spekeþ now Sir Gij,
& alle þai siggeþ, ‘gramerci!’
To þe pas of þe hulles þai ben y-come,
& þe Sarrazins han vnder-nome,
& seye þe cuntres & þe feld
Wiþ briȝt brini and wiþ scheld.
Þemperour aros, sikerliche;
Anon he seyd to Gij his speche:
‘Herken to me, y þe biseche.
In þis morning anon
We worþ aseyled of our fon,
Of Sarrazins þat misbileued be;
Alle for soþe y telle it to þe.
Þe soudan himselue wil þer be.
A spie for soþe teld it me,
Þat hij þe cite wil asayli,
& þat hij þennes nil parti,
Al fort he haue nome þis cite,
Or þat it destrued be.’
Þemperour seyd, ‘sir Gij þe fre,
Als so þou wilt it schal be.
Þe cite alle op þe y do
Wiþ Cristes blisceing þer-to.
Ȝif hij ous seyl we schul ous were;
Þe cite is strong, þai mow it nouȝt dere.’
Gij þat constable cleped him to,
Þat gode kniȝt was, & wise also:
Tristor he hete wiþ þe berd blowe,
Lord & douke of Almayne, y trowe.
‘Sir Tristor,’ he seyd, ‘listen to me:
Aseyled we worþ, siker þou be.
198
Ȝif we wille were þis cite,
Oþer we wille oȝain hem te,
At paþes that destrued be,
& mete we hem þer on þe doune,
Acumbre hem & legge hem doune.’
‘Sir,’ anon seyd the constable,
‘Þis ich speche schal be stable.
Do þan grede þurch þe cite
Þat alle redy armed be,
Alle þat armes may welde,
And who so þat feyneþ for couward be helde.’
Bi þe morwe þai ben armed wel,
Bi tale .xx. thousend hauberks of stiel,
Out of þe cite þai ben y-go
Wiþ gret noise & din also.
‘Lordinges,’ quaþ Gij, ‘herkeneþ to me
Ȝe þat here asembled be,
Of ȝour kinde þat is y-slawe,
Of edwite & of missawe,
Þat ous is don, thenke we þer-on,
& baldeliche aseyl we our fon;
For Sarrazins ous aseyle wille,
Alle for soþe y ȝou telle.
We wil hem mete wiþ spere & scheld
At þe narwe paþe bi-tven þe held.
Now biþenkeþ ȝou wele to don,
& awreke ȝour lond of ȝour fon.
Of ȝour londes & ȝour citez,
Þat destrud & wasted beþ,
Ȝou to awreke bi-þenkeþ ȝou,
& strongliche aseyleþ hem now.
Bot ȝe were ȝou wele & bliue,
& hij mow ȝou of þe feldes driue,
Alle we ben ded oþer nome,
& in þraldome euer more wone.
200
& strengþe ous alle wele to done;
& ich me self wil wiþ ȝou go;
Y nil ȝou feyle neuer mo.’
Wele spekeþ now Sir Gij,
& alle þai siggeþ, ‘gramerci!’
To þe pas of þe hulles þai ben y-come,
& þe Sarrazins han vnder-nome,
& seye þe cuntres & þe feld
Wiþ briȝt brini and wiþ scheld.
| Guy of Warwick | |