 | Torrent of Portyngale |  |
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Torrent of Portyngale
Here bygynneth a good tale
Of Torrente of Portyngale.
Of Torrente of Portyngale.
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God, that ys worthy and Bold,Heuen and Erthe haue In hold,
Fyld, watyr, and wynde,
Yeve vse grace hevyn to wyne,
And brynge vs owt off Dedly synne
And In thy seruyse to Ende!
A stounde and ye woll lyst be-Dene,
Ale dowghtty men þat Euyr hathe ben,
Wher So that they lende,
I Schall yow tell, ore I hense pase,
Off a knyght, þat Dowghtty wase,
In Rome ase clarkys ffynde.
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In Portynggall, that Ryche londe,An Erell that wase wonande,
That curtese wase and wyght;
Sone aftyr he had a sone,
The feyerest þat on fot myght gon,
Tyrrant, men seyd, he hyght.
Be tyme he wase XVIII yer old,
Of deddes of armys he wase bold,
To felle bothe kyng and knyght;
And now commythe dethe appon a day
And takythe hys father, ase I yow sey,
For God ys most of myght.
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The kyng of Portynggall wase fayne,To-warde hym he takythe Torrayne,
That Dowghtty ys in dedde;
And ther he fesomnyd in hys hond
A good Eyrldom in that lond,
Bothe forest and fede.
The kyng hathe a dowghttyr whyte ase fame,
Dysonell wase her name,
Worthyest in wede.
When Torrent had of her a syght,
More he lovyd that swete wyght
Than all ys fathyrys lede.
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For love of thys lady DeyrIn dede of armys far and nere
Aventorres gan he take
With heve tymbyr and ovyr-Ryde.
Ther myght no man hys dent a-bydde,
But to the Erthe he them strake.
Her father and other knyghttes mo
Had farly, how he Ryd soo,
And on a day to hyme spake,
He Seyd:‘Torrent, howe may thys byne,
That thow Dyspisyst thes knyghttes kene
And ordurres non woll take?’
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Torrent sayd: ‘So mvt I the,An other sayment woll I see,
Ore I take ordor of knyght.’
Tho he sware be hevyn kyng,
Ther wase told hym a wondyr-thyng
In hys chambyr to nyght:
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Thow makyst good far and nere
In Dedde of armys bryght;
And wyt thow wyll, so god me saue,
Thow schalt her wyne, yf thow her haue,
Be thow neuyr so wyght!’
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Torrent sayd: ‘Be Marry dere,And I were off armyse clere,
Yowr Dowghttyr me leve were.’
The kyng seyd:‘Yf yt be soo,
Ore VII yere be a-go,
More schall we here:
Durst thow, for my dowghttyr sake,
A poynt of armys for to take
With-owt helpe of fere?’
Than seyd Torrant:‘So god me sped,
With anny man that syttythe on stede
Other far ore nere!’
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Ther-of the kyng for tene wax wode:‘Yf thow wylt make thy body good,
Be trew and hold thy contenance [OMITTED]
Tho seyd Torrant:‘So god me sped ere!
And I wyst, in what sted they were,
Fore no man wold I chaunce.’
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‘In to the Grekes see a mylleTher lyvythe a gyant in an yle,
Full Euyll thow dourst hyme stond.
My fayer forestes fellythe downe he
And Ryche castelles in that contre,
No ston lettythe he stond.’
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Terrent sayd:‘Be Marre bryght,Yt ys gret sorrow that he hathe syght,
The devyll of hell hym blynd!’
The kyng sayd:‘Par la-more de dewe,
Thow darryst full evyll with thy Ey hym sewe,
He wold fell the with hys wynde.’
‘Now, be my trowthe,’ seyd Torrent than,
‘Ase I ame a jentylman,
Yf I may hym fynd,
Won fot woll I not fro hym pase,
Thow he be stronger than Samson wase,
Or anny man of hys kynd!’
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Hys squyerys, they mornyd sare,With-owt fere that he schold fare
To that gret iorney,
With the gyant heygh for to fyght.
Be-gon-mese that gyant hyght,
That fynddes fere for aye.
To arme hyme Torrant gas,
Hys good stede with hym he tas,
With owt squyer that Day.
He takythe leve at lorddys hend,
And on hys wey gan he wynd,
For hym all they pray.
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Lytyll wyst Desonell that jente,For whos love that he went
To fyght with that knave.
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Strengithe hym bothe bone and blod,
The fyld for to haue!
He that schall wend soche a wey,
Yt were nede for hym to pray,
That Iesu hym schuld saue.
Yt ys in the boke of Rome,
Ther was no knyght of kyrstendome,
That jorney Durst crave.
12
VI days Rydythe heBy the cost of the feyer see,
To seke the gyant kene.
By the cost as he Rode,
In a forest longe and brode
And symly wase to sene,
Hey sperrys ther he fonde
And gret olyvys growonde
Coverd in levys grene.
Sone wase he ware, ase y yow say,
Vppon a movnteyn ther he laye
On slepe, ase I wene.
13
Torrent, on kne knelyd heAnd be-sowght Jesu so fre,
That bowght hym with hys blod:
‘Lord, ase thow dyd ryght for Mary,
Let me never take velony
And gef me of thy fode!
Serttes, yf I hym slepyng slone,
Manfull Ded were yt none
For my body, be the Rode.’
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To loke that he a-wake wold,
And sythe ner hyme Rode.
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So fast a-slepe he wase browght,Hys hornys blast a-woke hyme nowght,
He swellyd ase dothe the see.
Torrent saw, he woll not wake,
He Reynyd hys sted vnto a stake,
Ase a jentyll man so fre.
So hy, he say, wase the movnteyne,
Ther myght no horse wynd hym a-geyn
But yf he nowyd wold be;
Thowe the wey neuyr so wykkyd ware,
On hys wey gan he fare,
In gret perayll went hee.
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Torent went to that movnteyn,He put hys spere hyme a-geyne,
‘A-Ryse, fellow!’ gan he saye;
‘Who made the so bold here to dwell,
My lordes frethe thus to fell?
A-mendes the be-hovythe to pay.’
The gyant Rysythe, ase he had byn wod,
And Redyly by hyme stode,
Be-syd hyme on a lay,
And seyd:‘Sertes, yf I leve,
Soche a wed I woll the geff,
To meve the Euyr and ay.’
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Thow the chyld were neuyr so yinge,The fyndes spere sparrythe hyme no-thyng
In the holttes haree;
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And neuer had of fytyng syn,
He myght a lernyd thare.
The gyant, the fyrst stroke to hym he cast,
His good schyld all to-brast,
In schevyres spred wase yare;
Tho covd he no bettur Red,
But stond styll, tyll one were ded;
The gyant lefte hym thar.
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Torrent vndyr hys spryt he sprentAnd a-bowght the body he hyme hente,
As far as he myght last.
‘A! fellow, wylt thow so?’
And to the grownd gan they goo,
Of the movnteyn bothe downe they past.
Ase the boke of Rome tellys,
They tornyd XXXII ellys,
In armys walloyng fast.
Yt tellythe in the boke of Rome,
Euyr ase the gyant a-boue come,
Hys guttes owt of hys body brast.
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At the fot of the movnteynTher lay a gret Ragyd ston, serteyn,
Yt nyhed ys schuldyr bon
And also hys Ryght syd,
Ther to that gyant fell that tyd,
Ase I herd in Rome[OMITTED]
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Thorrow hyme, that mad man,Torrent sone a-bovyn wane
And fast he gan him quelle
With a knyffe feyer and bryght;
Torrent, with all hys myght
Ther-with he gard hyme dwell.
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Torent knelyd on hys kne,To Iesu Cryst prayd he,
That hathe thys world to wyld:
‘Lord, lovyd, evyr lovyd thowe be,
The feyer fyld thow hast lent Me,’
—Vpp bothe hys handes he held—
‘All onely with-owt any knaue
Of the fynd the maystry to haue,
Of hym to wyn the fyld.’
Now ys ther none other to say,
Of hyme he wane the fyld þat day;
I pray God hyme schyld.
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Torrent went vppe a-geyneTo the movnt, ase I gan sayne,
The londes to se far and nere;
In the see a myle, hyme thoȝt,
An hold wase Rychyly wrowt,
In that lond wase not here perre.
The see wase Ebbyd, I yow sey,
Torrent thether toke the way,
Werry all thow he were;
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Towrres Endentyd with presyos stonys,
Schynyng ase crystall clere.
22
Two gattys off yron ther he fond,Ther in Torrent gan wonde,
A nyghtes Rest there in to ta;
And at the hale dore ther wase
A lyon & a lyonasse,
Ther men be-twene them twa
Fast Etyng, ase ye may here;
Crystyn man thow he were,
Hys browys wexe bla,
And wit yow will, lord god yt wote,
He durst goo no fote,
Lest they wold hyme sla.
23
Torrant stod and be-held,And prayd to god, that ale may wyld,
To send hyme harborrow good.
Sone hard he within a whalle
The syghyng of a lady smalle,
Sche weppte, as sche were wod;
Sche mornyd sore and sayd:‘Alas,
That Euyr kynges dowghttyr wase
Ouer-come of so jentyll blod,
For now ame I holdyn here
In lond with a fyndes fere!’
Torrent hard, wher he stod.
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Dere god,’ seyd Torrant than,‘Yff ther be anny crystyn man
In thys hold of ston,
That woll, for the love of god of myght,
Harbourrow a jentylman thys nyght,
For I ame but on!’
‘Seynt Marry,’ seyd that lady clere,
‘What crystyn man axithe harburrow here?’
Nere hym sche gothe a-non.
‘I wold harburrow the full fayne,
But a gyant wyll the slayne.’
To hym sche mad here mone.
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‘Say me now, fayer lady, belyve,Who owte of thys plase schall me dryve,
Thes tourres, that are so bryght?’
Ther sche Seyd:‘Be hevyn kyng,
Here ys a gyant Dwellyng,
That meche ys of myght.
Be my trowthe, and he the see,
Were ther XX lyvys in the,
Thy dethe than wyll he dyght.
Iesu cryst yef me grace
To hyd the in some preve plase
Owt of the fyndes syght![OMITTED]
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‘Euyr me thynky the be thy tale,The song of the burdes smale
On slepe hathe hyme browght.’
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I schall the tell soche a tokyn,
Of hym thow haue no thowght!
But wolddes thow for thy gentry
Do the lyonnys downe lye,
That they nyee me nowght?’
By the hande sche ganne hym ta
And led hyme in betwe them twa;
Ryght ase sche wold, they wrowght.
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The lady wase neuyr so a-drad,In to the hale sche hym lad,
That lemyred ase gold bryght;
Sche byrlyd whyt wyne and Rede:
‘Make vse myrre a-geyne owre Dedd,
I wot will, yt ys so dyght!’
‘Be my trowthe!’ seyd Torrent,
‘I wole be thy warrant,
He comythe not here thys nyght.
On soche a slepe he ys browght,
All men of lyve wakythe hym nowght,
But onely godes myght.’
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Blythe then wase that lady jent,For to on-harnes Torrent,
That dowghtty wase and bold;
‘For sothe,’ sche seyd, ‘I wot wher ys
The kynges sone Verdownys,
Fast put in hold
12
Fowyre good Erylles sonnys be with hyme
Ys fet in fere and fold.
The gyant wan theme in a tyde,
Ase they Rane be the watyr syd,
And put them in preson cold.
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‘In an yron cage he hathe them done.’Torrent went thether sone:
‘Are ye yet levand?’
The kynges sone askyd than,
Yf ther were anny crysten man,
‘Wold bryng vse owt of bond?’
‘Lord,’ he seyd, ‘god allmyght,
I had levyr on a Day to fyght,
Than all my fathyrys lond.’
With an iryn mall styff and strong
He brake vpe an yron dore or longe,
And sone the keyes he fond.
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Owt he toke thys chyldyryn fyve,The feyrest that were on lyve,
I-hold in anny sted.
The lady wase full gled,
Sche byrlyd whyt wyn and Redd,
And sethyn to soper sone they yed.
‘Lordes,’ he seyd, ‘syn yow are her,
I Red yow make Ryght good cher,
For now ys all thy nede.’
Thus he covyrd owt of care.
God, that sofryd wonddes sare,
Grante vse well to sped!
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Lorddes, and ye wol lythe,The chyldyr namys I woll tell blythe,
Here kyn, how they were me told;
The kynges sone, that dowghtty ys,
Wase clepyd Verdownys,
That dowghtty wase and bold,
And an Erylles son, that hyght Torren,
A nother Iakys of Berweyne,
The forthe was Amyas bold.
The kynges dowghttyr of Gales lond,
Elyoner, I vndyrstond,
That worthy wase in hold,
32
In to hys chambyr sche hyme led,Ther gold and syluyr wase spred,
And asur, that wase blo;
In yron ther he gan stond,
Body and armys al schynand,
In powynt to trusse and goo.
In to a stabyll sche hym led,
Eche toke a full feyer sted,
They were redy to goo;
And wote ye well and vndyrstond,
Had the gyant be levand,
They had not partyd soo.
33
They woll not to bed gange,Tyll on the morrow the Day spronge,
Thus a wey to ffare.
14
All that he lyst he clepyd hys,
The keys and thyng he bare.
The lyons that was at the dore
Wase led to her mayster that wase befor,
On hym thay fed them yare,
Vpp won of the horse, that wase ther levyd,
On hym thei trussyd the gyanttes heved.
Thus helpt hym god thar.
34
But ore III wekes wer commyn to End,To Portynggall gan he wend,
Ther ase the kyng gan lend;
The porter sawe hym ther he stood,
He fled a wey, ase he were wod,
Flyngyng ase a fynd.
‘Syr kyng,’ he seyd, ‘be goddes dede,
Torrant bryngythe a devyll ys hed,
Ther with he woll yow present.’
Desonell seyd:‘Porter, be styll!’[OMITTED]
In hys walke ther ase he went.
35
The kyng to the gatys gan pase,Gret lordes that ther wase,
Bothe knyghtes and squyerre,
Lordes wase full sore a-dred
Fore the lyonys, þat he had,
They durst not come hyme ner.
15
Durst I for thy bestes, Iwysse.’
Torrent dyd them ly ther,
And kyssyd the kyng with joy and blyse;
And aftyr, other lordes of hys,
And aftyr, ladys clere.
36
Messengyres went the weye,To the kyng of Provyns to sey,
Hys sone ys owt of hold:
‘Yyng Torrent of Portynggall
Hathe browght hym owt of balle
And slayne the jeyant bold.’
Lytyll and mykyll þat ther wer,
All they mad good cher
Her prynse fayne se wold.
The kyng seyd:‘So mot I the,
I woll geff the towynnys thre
For the talles thow hast me told.’
37
Than seyd they, that to Gales yede,Yeftys to take were hem no ned,
The Verdownys had they.
Ase they seylyd on a tyde,
At Perrown on the see syd
[OMITTED]
The kyng of Provynse seyd:‘So mot I the,
Yftles schall they not be,
That dare I sothely sey.’
16
‘Wed my dowghttyr and myn Eyer,
When so euyr thow may![OMITTED]
38
The kyng of Pervense seyd: ‘So mot I the,Thys seson yeftles schall thow not be,
Haue here my Ryng of gold,
My sword, that so wyll ys wrowyt;
A better than yt know I nowght
With in crystyn mold;
Yt ys ase glemyrryng ase the glase,
Thorrow Velond wroght yt wase,
Bettyr ys non to hold.
I have syne sum tyme in lond,
Whoso had yt of myn hond,
Fawe they were I-told.’
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Tho wase Torrent blythe and glad,The good swerd ther he had,
The name wase Adolake.
A gret maynerey let he make ryght
That lest all a fortnyght,
Who so will hys met take.
Euyry man toke ys leve, ase I yow say,
Hom-ward to wend ther wey,
Euery man ys Rest to take.
Tyll yt be-fell vppon a day,
Ase they went be the wey,
The kyng to hys dowghttyr spake:
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‘Ye schall take hed of a jeentyll man,A feyer poynt for yow he wane,
Desonell, at the last.’
Syr,’ sche seyd, ‘be hevyn kyng,
Tyll ye me told, I knewe no thyng,
For who ys love yt wase.’
‘Desonell, so mvt I the,
Yt wase for the lowe of the,
That he trovylld so fast.
I warne yow, dowghttyr, be the Rode,
Yt ys for yow bothe good,
Ther to I Red yow trast.’
41
Forthe sche browght a whyt sted,As whyt as the flowyr in med,
Ys fytte blac ase slon.
‘Leman, haue here thys fole,
That dethe ys dynt schalt þou not thole,
Whyll thow settyste hyme appon,
And yf thow had persewyd be
And hadyst ned fore to fle,
Fast for to gone.
The kyng of Nazareth sent hym me,
Torrent, I wet-saffe hym on the,
For better love may I none.’
42
Aftyr-ward vppon a tyd,Ase the went be the watyres syd,
The kyng and yong Torrent,
18
And he wyst, in what maner,
How he schuld be schent;
A false lettyr mad the kyng
And dyd messengyres forthe yt bryng,
On the Rever, ase they went,
To Torrent, that was trew ase styll,
Yf he love Desonell wyll,
Get her a facon jent.
43
Torrent the letter be-gan to Red,The kyng lestyned & nere yed,
Ase he yt nevyr ad sene.
‘Syr,’ he seyd, ‘what may thys be,
Loo, lord, come ner and see,
A-bowght a facon schene?
I ne wot, so god me sped,
In what lond that they bred.’
The kyng answerd: ‘I wene,
In the forrest of Mavdeleyn,
Ther be hawkes, ase I herd seyne,
That byn of lenage clen.’
44
And than seyd the kyng on-trew:‘Yf thow get hawkys of gret valew,
Bryng on of them to me!’
Torrent Seyd: ‘So god me saue,
Yf yt be-tyd, that I may haue,
At yowr wyll they schal be.’
Hys squyere bode he thar,
Aftyr hys armor for to far,
In the fyld byddythe he.
19
Tho he be-strod a noble sted,
And forthe than Rod hee.
45
Torrent toke the wey a-geynIn to the forest of Mawdleyn,
In the wyld-some way;
Berys and apes there founde he,
And wylde bestys great plente,
And lyons where they lay.
In a wod that wase tyght,
Yt Drew nere-hand nyght
By dymmynge of the Day,
Harkyn, lordes, to them came wo,
He and hys squyer partyd in two,
Carfull men then were they.
46
At the schedyng of a RomeEche partyd other frome,
For sothe, ase I vndyrstond.
Torrent toke a dulful wey
Downe in a depe valey
Be-syd a well strong.
A lytyll be fore mydnyght
Of a dragon he had syght,
That grysly wase to fond;
He had hym nowght to were,
But hys schyld and hys spere,
That wase in hys squyeres hond.
20
47
Torrent knelyd on hys kne,To Iesu Cryst prayd he:
‘Lord, mykyll of myght,
Syne I wase in meche care,
Let me nevuyr owt of thys world far,
Tyll I haue take order of knyght.
Ase I ame falsely hether sent,
Wyld-som weyes haue I went,
With fyndes for to fyght.
Now, Iesu, for thy holy name,
Ase I ame but man a-lone,
Than be my helpe to nyght!’
48
Ase Torrent Iesu gan pray,He herd the dragon, ther he lay
Vndyr-nethe a clow;
Of and on he wase stronge,
Hys tayle wase VII yerdes long,
That aftyr hyme he drowe;
Hys wyngges wase long and wyght,
To the chyld he toke a flyght
With an howge swowe;
Had he nether schyld ne spere,
But prayd to god, he schold hyme were,
For he wase in dred i-nowe.
49
On the tayle an hed ther wase,That byrnyd Bryght as anny glase,
In fyer whan yl was dyght;
21
Torrent the bowght a-sondyr schere
Thurrow the grace of god almyght.
As the boke of Rome tellys,
Of hys taylle he cut IIII elles
With hys swerd so bryght.
Than cryed the lothely thyng,
That all the dall be-gan to Ryng,
That hard the gyant wyght.
50
The gyant seyd: ‘I vndyrstond,There ys sum crystyn man nere hond,
My dragon here I cry.
By hym, that schope bothe watyr and lond,
All that I can se be-fore me stond,
Dere schall they a-bye!
Me thynkythe, I here my dragon schowt,
I deme, ther be svme dowghtty man hym a-bowght,
I trow, to long I ly.
Yf I dwell in my pyll of ston,
And my cheff-foster were gone,
A false mayster were I!’
51
Be the gyant wase Redy dyght,Torrent had slayne the dragon Ryght;
Thus gan god hyme scheld.
To the mownteyne he toke the wey
To Rest hyme, all that day,
He had myster, to be kyld.
Tyll the day be-gan to spryng,
Fowllys gan myrre to syng
Bothe in frethe and in feld.
22
And speke we of thys squyer more:
Iesu hys sole fro hell shyld!
52
Hys squyer Rod all nyghtIn a wod, that wase full tyght,
With meche care and gret fare,
For to seke hys lord Torrent,
That wyghtly wase frome hyme sent,
And he wyst nevyr whethyr ne whar.
He Durst neuyr cry ne schuot,
For wyld bestes were hym a-bowght
In the holttes hare;
A lytyl whyll be-fore the day
He toke in to a Ryde-wey
Hyme self to meche care.
53
Forthe he Rod, I vndyrstond,Tyll he an hey wey fond,
With-owtyn any Delite,
Also fast ase he myght fare,
Fore berrys and apys, þat ther ware,
Lest they wold hym byght.
The sone a-Rose and schone bryght,
Of a castyll he had a syght,
That wase bothe feyer and whyte.[OMITTED]
54
The gyant him se, & ny yed,And seyd: ‘Fellow, so god me sped,
Thow art welcom to me:
What dost thow here in my forest?’
‘Lord, to seke an hawkys nest,
Yff yt yowr wyl be.’
23
To an oke he hym led:
Gret Ruthe yt wase to se.
In IIII quarteres he hym drowe,
And euery quarter vppon a bowe;
Lord, soche weys toke hee!
55
Ase Torrent in the movnteyn dyd ly,Hym thowght, he hard a Reufull cry;
Gret fere ther hyme thowght.
‘Seynt Marre,’ seyd the chyld so fre,
‘Wher euyr my jentyll squyer myght be,
That I with me to wod browght?
On he dyd hys harnes a-geyne
And worthe on hys sted, serteyne,
And thetherward he sowght.
And wot yow wyll, I vndyrstond,
In fowre quartyres he hym fownd,
For other wyse wase yt nowght.
56
The gyant lenyd to a treAnd be-hyld Torrent so free,
For sothe, ase I yow seye.
Thys fend wase ferly to fyght,
Rochense, seythe the boke, he hyght,
Ther wase a dredfull fraye.
To the chyld than gan he smyght:
‘A theff, yeld the asttyt,
As fast as thow may!’
‘What,’ seyd Torrent, ‘art thow wood?
God, that Dyed on the Rood,
Geff the evyll happe thys day!’
24
57
He Rawght Torrent soche a Rowght,Hys steddes brayne he smot owte,
So mykyll he be-gan.
Torrent tho a good sped
Ase fast a-bowte an eche yede;
Ase swefte ase he myght, he Ran.
He gathyred svm of hys gere,
Bothe hys schyld and hys spere;
Nere hym yod he than.
Bacward than be a browȝ
Twenty fote he gard hyme goo,
Thus erthe on hym he wane.
58
Yt solasyd Torrant then,When he sawe hyme bacward ren
Downe be a movnteyn of Perowne,
Stomlyng thurrow frythe and fen,
Tyll he com to a depe glen,
Ther myght non hym stere.
Torrent wase glad and folowyd fast,
And hys spere on hyme he brast,
Good Adyloke yed hyme nere.
The fynd in the watyr stod,
He fawte a-geyn, ase he were wod,
All þe day in fere.
59
Tho nere hond wase the day gone,Torrent wase so werry than
That on hys kne he kneld:
‘Helpe, god, that all may!
Desonell, haue good day!’
Fro hym he cest hys schyld.
25
To hym he sent a schowyr of Rayne,
Torrent full wyll yt keld.
The fynd saw, he wase ny mate,
Owt of the watyr he toke the gate,
He thowght to wyne the fyld.
60
Thoo wase Torrent ffresse and good;Nere the fynd sore he stod,
Cryst hym saue and see!
The fynd fawt with an yron staff,
The fyrst stroke, to hym he gaffe,
He brast hys schyld on thre.
Torrent vndyr hys staff Rane,
To the hart he baryd hym than,
And lothely cry gane he.
To the grownd he fell ase tyght,
And Torrent gan hys hed of-smyght,
And thus he wynnythe the gre.
61
Torrent knelyd on the growndAnd thankyd god þat ylke stownd,
That soche grace hyme send.
Thus II journeys in thys woo
With hys handes slow he gyantys too,
That meny a man hathe schent.
Torrent forthe frome hyme þan yod,
And met hyme XXIIII fotte,
Ther he lay on the bent.
Hedles he left hym there,
Howt of the fyld the hed he bare
And to the castell he went.
26
62
To thys castell he gan far;Ther fond he armor and other gare,
A swerd, that wase bryght.
To the towre he toke the wey,
Ther the gyantes bed lay,
That Rychyly wase dyght.
At the beddes hed he fond
A swerd, worthe an Erllys lond,
That meche wase of myght.
On the pomell yt wase wret,
Fro a prynce yt wase get,
Mownpolyardnus he hyght.
63
The sarten to sey with-owt lese,A scheff-chambyr he hym ches,
Tyll on the morrow day.
To the stabull tho he yed,
There he fond a nobyll sted,
Wase comely whyt and grey.
The gyanttes hed gan he take,
And the dragonnys wold he not forsake,
And went forthe on hys wey.
He left mor good in that sale
Than wase with in all Portynggall,
Ther ase the gyant laye.
64
Tho he Rod bothe Day and nyght,Tyll he come to a castell bryght,
Ther ys lord gan dwell.
The kyng ys gone to the gate,
Torrent on kne he fond ther at,
Schort tall for to tell.
27
No nother hawkys ther I fond
At Mawdlenys well.’
The kyng quod: ‘Ase so haue I blyse,
Torrent, I trow, sybbe ys
To the dewell of hell![OMITTED]
65
‘Here be syd dwellythe won on lond,Ther ys no knyght, hys dynt may stond,
So stronge he ys in dede!’
‘Syr,’ he sayd, ‘fore sen Iame,
What ys the gyantes name,
So Euyr good me sped?’
‘Syr,’ he seyd, ‘so mvt I the,
Slogus of Fuolles, thus hyte hee,
That wyt ys vndyr wede.’[OMITTED]
66
Lytyll and mykyll, lese and more,Wondyr on the heddes thore,
That Torrent had browght whome.
The Lordes seyd ‘Be sen Myhell!
Syr kyng, but ye love hyme wyll,
To yow yt ys gret schame!’
Torent ordeynyd prystes fyve,
To syng for hys squyerys lyve,
And menythe hym by name.
Therfor the lady whyt ase swane
To Torrant, here lord, sche went than,
Here hert wase to hyme tane.
28
67
lettyrres come ther withalleTo the kyng of Portynggall,
To ax hys dowghttyr Derre,
Fro the kyng of Eragon,
To wed her to hys yongeest son,
The lady, that ys so clere.
For Torrent schuld not her haue,
For hyme fyrst he here gafe,
To the messenger,
And hys way fast ageyn dyd pase,
Whyle Torrent an huntyng wase,
Ther of schuld he not be were.
68
On a mornyng, ther ase he lay,The kyng to the quene gan sey:
‘Madame, for cherryte,
Thow art oftyn hold wyse;
Now woll ye tell me yowr deuyce,
How I may governe me:
The Ryche kyng hathe to me sent,
For to aske my dowghttyr gente
That ys so feyer and fre.’
‘Syr,’ sche Seyd, ‘so god me saue,
I Red yow let Torent her haue,
For best worthy ys he.’
69
He sayd:‘Madame, were that feyer,To make an erlles sone myn Eyer?
I will not, by sen Iame!
There he hathe done maystres thre,
Yt ys hys swerd, yt ys not he,
For Hatheloke ys ys name.’
29
A knyghtes dowghttyr wase hyme bed,
Ase whyt ase walles bane;
And yf ye warne hyme Desonell,
All that ther of here tell,
Ther of wyll speke schame.’
70
‘Madam, vnto thys tydThere lythe a gyant here be-syd,
That many a man hathe slayne.
I schall hyght hym my dowghttyr dere,
To fyght with that fyndes fere,
Thus he holdythe hyme in trayne.
But I schall make myn commnant so,
That there schall non with hyme go,
Neyther squyer ne swayne.’
‘Syr,’ sche seyd, ‘so mvt I the,
So sore be-stad hathe he be,
And wyll commyn a-geyne!’
71
Tho the belles be-gan to Ryng,Vpe Rose that Ryche kyng,
And the lady so fre,
And aftyr-ward they went to mase,
Ase the law of holy chyrge wase,
With notes and solemnyte.
Trompettys on the wall gan blowe,
Knyghtes semlyd on a Rowe,
Gret joy wase to see.
Torrent a syd bord began,
The squyeres nexte hym than,
That good knyghtes schuld be.
30
72
Ase they sat a-myddes the mete,The kyng wold not foreget;
To Torrent the kyng gan sey,
He seyd:‘Torrent, so god me saue,
Thow woldes fayne my dowghttyr haue
And hast lovyd her many a day.’
‘Ye, be trouthe,’ seyd Torrent than,
‘And yf þat I were a Ryche man,
Ryght gladly, par ma fay!’
‘Yf thow durst for her sake
A poynt of armys vndyrtake,
Thow broke her well fore ay!’
73
‘Ye,’ seyd Torrent, ‘ar I ga,Sekyrnes ye schall me ma
Of yowr dowghttyr hend,
And aftyrward my ryghtys,
Be-fore XXVII knyghtes.’[OMITTED]
And all were Torrentes frende.
‘Now, good seris,’ gan Torrant sey,
‘Bere wittnes her of som Daye,
A-geyne yf god me send!’
74
Torrent seyd:‘So mvt I theWyst I, where my jorney schold be,
Thether I wolde me dyght.’
The kyng gaff hyme an answere:
‘In the lond of Calabur ther
Wonnythe a gyant wyhte,
31
Slochys he hyght, I the told,
God send the that waye Ryght!’
Than quod Torrent:‘Haue good day,
And, or I come a-geyn, I schall asay,
Whether the fynd can fyght.’
75
Tho wold he no lenger a-byde,He toke ys wey for to Ryde
On a sted of gret valewe.
In to a chambyr he gas,
Hys leue of Desonell he tas,
Sche wepte, all men myght Rewe;
He seyd:‘Lady, be styll!
I schall come a-geyn the tyll,
Thurrow helpe of Marry trewe.’
Thus he worthe on a stede.
In hys wey Cryst hyme sped,
Fore he yt no thyng knewe!
76
He toke hym a Redy wey,Thurrow Pervyns he toke the wey,
As hys Iorney fell.
Tyll the castell Be the See,
An hy stret heldythe hee,
Ther the kyng dyd dwelle.
To the porter he gan seye:
‘Wynd in, fellow, I the pray,
And thy lord than tell,
32
To harburrow Torrent of Portynggall,
Yf yt Bee ys will!’
77
The porter Dyd hys commandment,To the kynge he ys wente
And knelyd vppon ys kne:
‘God blyse þe, lord, In thy sale!
Torrent of Portynggale
Thus sendythe me to the;
He praythe yow, yf ye myght,
To harburrow hym thys won nyght,
Yf yowr will yt bee.’
The kyng swere be hym, þat dyed on tre:
‘There ys no man in crystyante
More welcome to me!’
78
The kyng a-Rose and to the gat yod,Lordes and other knyghes good,
That were glad of hys commyng.
In to the hale he hyme browght,
Ryche met spare they nowght,
Be-fore Torrent fore to bryng.
‘Syr,’ sayd the kyng, ‘I pray the,
Where be thy men off armys free,
That with the schuld leng?’
‘Syr, to a lord I mvst Ryde,
My squyer hongythe be my syde,
No man schall with me wend.’
79
‘Syr,’ seyd the kyng, ‘I pray the,Where schall thy ded of armys bee,
Yf yt be thy wyll?’
33
At Calabur, sekyrly,
I ame all Redy ther tyll
With a squyer, þat will can Ryde;
Fast be the see Sydde
Schuld we pley owur fyle;
And wot ye wyll and vndyrstond,
Ther schall no knyght come nere hond
Fore dred of denttes yll.’
80
The kynge seyd: ‘Be goddes ore,I Rede, þat þou come not thore,
Fore why, I wyll the seye:
Meche folke of that contre
Come hether for sokor of me,
Bothe be nyght and day;
There ys a gyant of gret Renowne,
He dystrowythe bothe sete and towyn
And all þat euyr he may;
And ase the boke of Rome dothe tell,
He wase get of the dewell of hell,
As hys moder on slepe lay.’
81
The kyng Seyd: ‘Be seynt Adryan,I Rede, a nother Jentyll mane
Be there and haue the gre:
I haue a dowghttyr, þat ys me dere,
Thow schalt here wed to thy fere,
And, yf yt thy wyll be,
Two duchyes in londe
I wille geve here in hande.’
‘Gramarcy, syr,’ sayd he,
34
To breke my day than will I nowght,
Nedys me behovythe ther to bee.’
82
‘In goddes name,’ the kyng gane sayne,‘Iesu send the will a-geyne,
Lord so mekyll of myghte!’
Menstrelles was them a-monge,
Trompettes, harpys, and myrre songe,
Delycyous nottis on hyght.
When tyme was, to bed they wente;
On the morrow Rose Torrente
And toke leve of kyng and knyght
And toke a Redy weyye,
Be a see syd as yt laye,
God send hym gattes Ryght!
83
A hye stret hathe he nome,In to Calabur he ys come
With in to days ore III;
Soo come ther folkes hym a-geyne,
Fast folloyng with cart and wayne,
Fro-ward the sytte.
‘Dere god!’ seyd Torrent nowe,
‘Leve folkes, what Eyllythe yow,
Soo fast fore to flee?’
‘There ys a gyante here be-syde,
In ale thys covntre fare and wyde
No mane on lyve levythe hee.’
84
‘Dere god,’ sayd Torrant thane,‘Where schall I fynd that lothly man?’
Ther they answerd hym anone:
35
Slongus, soo hyght hee,
Many a man had he slone.
We wot will wher he doth ly:
Be-fore the cyte of Hungry;
He will not thens gone,
Tyll he haue the Ryche kyng
To hys presone for to bryngg,
To be lord of hyme self a-lone.’
85
Tho wold he no lenger a-byd,But to the sytte gan he Ryde,
As fast as he myght fare;
Here barys fell and broke downe,
And the gattes of gret Renowne
Stondyng all baree.
Men of armys stond hyme a-geyne,
Mo than fyfty had he slayne
With gryme wounddes and sare.
When Torrent of hym had a syght,
Thowe Desonell be neuyr so bryght,
He will Reue hym hys chaffar.
86
Torrent in the storrope stodAnd prayd to god, þat dyed on Rode:
‘Lord, ase thow schalt ale wyld at wyle,
Gyff me grace to wyn the fyld,
That thys lothly fynd hym yeld
A-non to me tyll!
36
I will fyght, whill I may Dryee.’
He mad cher nobyll.
When he had Iesu prayd of grace,
He wyscheyd hyme a battell plase,
Ther as hym lyst welle.
87
Torrent hys spere a-say be-gane,Bothe schyld and spere than,
That they were sekyr and good.
Aftyr þat, with in a throwe,
Hys good horne gane he blowe.
The gyant sawe, wher he stodde:
Slonges of Flonthus staryd than;
Quod Torrent: ‘Yf thow be a gentyll man
Or come of gentyll blod,
Let thy beytyng and thy Ermyght be,
And come prove thy strenghe on me,
Therfor I sowght the, be the Rodde.’
88
The gyant sayd: ‘Be the Roode,Dewell of hell send the fode,
Hether to seche me:
By the nose I schall the wryng,
Thow berdles gadlyng,
That all hell schall thow see!’
The wey than to hym he toke
And on hys bake he bare a croke,
Wase X fot long and thre;
And thow he neuer so gret war,
Torrent thowght not fare to fare,
Tyll wone of them ded bee.
37
89
Thoo wold Torrent no lenger byd,Tyll the theff gan he Ryde,
Ase fast ase euyr he may.
The theff had non ey but on,
Soche sawe I neuer none,
Neyther be nyght nor be day.
Thurrow goddes helpe and sent Awsden
The spere throw ye and herne gan ren.
God send hym the Ryght wey;
Than the theff be-gane to Rore.
All that in the sytte wore,
Ouyr the wallys they laye.
90
Thow the fyndes ey were owte,Fast he leyd hym a-bowte
All þat somyrres nyght;
He set ys backe to an hyll,
That Torrent schuld not come hym tyll,
So meche þat theff covd of fyght.
He bled so sore, I vndyrstond,
Hys croke fell owt of hys hond,
Hys dethe to hyme ys dyght.
Torrent to hyme Rane with a spere,
Thurrow the body he gan hym bere,
Thus helpe hym god of myght.
91
All that in the sytte were,Mad full nobill chere,
That thys fynd wase Dedde.
38
Torrent seyd: ‘So mvt I the,
Kepe hole hys hed!
Yf yt be broke, so god me sped,
Yt ys wyll the worse to lede.’
They dyd ase he hem bede,
Mo than thre hunderd on a throng
Yt ys solas Euyr a-mong
Whan that he was dede.
92
Than the kyng of Calaber ayen hym went,Torrent be the hond he hent,
To the hall he gan hym lede
And comaundid squiers two,
Of hys harnes for to do
And cloth hym in another wede.
Waytes on the wall gan blowe,
Knyghtis assemled on a Rowe,
And sith to the deyse they yede;
‘Sir,’ quod the kyng, ‘of whens are ye?’
‘Of Portingale, sir,’ said he,
‘I com heder, to sech my dede.’
93
Full curtesly the kyng gan sayTo Torrent on the oþure day:
‘Wyll ye wend with me
A litull here be-side to passe,
There as the Geauntes dwelling was
His maner now for to see?’
To the castell gan they gone,
Richer saw they never none,
Better myght none be.
39
For thou hym slew, þat it dight,
I vouche it saue on the,
94
‘I yeve yt the, sir, of my hond,And there-to, an erledome of my lond,
For soth, ye shall it haue;
Omage thou shalte none nor ffyne,
But euer more to the and thyne,
Frely, so god me saue!’
Lordys, and ye liston wold,
What was clepud the riche hold:
The castell of Cardon, by sawe.
Two days or thre dwellith he thare
And sith he takythe leve to ffare,
Both at knyght and knave.
95
By the kyng of Pervens he gan gane,That he had oute of preson i-tane
His son vppon a day.
Gentilmen were blith and ffayn,
That he in helth was comyn agayn,
That they myght with hym play.
There of herd he, sertaynle,
That Desonell wedid shold be
With an vncouth Ray.
And listonyth, lordis, of a chaunce,
Howe he lefte his countenaunce
And takyth hym armes gay!
40
96
By-fore the kyng he fell on kne:‘Good lord,’ he said, ‘for charite,
Yeve me order of knyght!
I wott well, leryd are ye,
My lordys doughter shall wed be
To a man off myght.’
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I trow, she mone
To the prynce off Aragon,
By this day sevynnyght.
Swith,’ he seith, ‘that this be done,
That thou be there and wyn thy shone,
Gete the armes bryght.’
97
Sir Torrent ordenyth hym a sheld,It was ryche in euery ffeld,
Listonyth, what he bare:
On aȝure a squier off gold,
Richely bett on mold;
Listonyth, what he ware:
A dragon lying hym be-syde,
His mouth grennyng full wyde,
All ffyghtyng as they were;
The creste, that on his hede shold stond,
Hit was all gold shynand,
Thus previd he hym there.
98
Lordys assembelid in sale,Well mo than I haue in tale,
Or ellis gret wonder were.
There herd he tell ffor certan,
That Desonell wed shold be than,
That was hym selfe ffull dere.
41
Wors tydingis than were thare,
Might he none gladly here[OMITTED]
99
He wold not in passe,Till at the myd mete was
The kyng and meny a knyght;
As they satt at theyre mete glade,
In at the hall dur he rade
In armes ffeyre and bryght,
With a squier, that is ffre;
Vp to the lady ryduth he,
That rychely was i-dight.
‘Lordys,’ he said, ‘among you all
I chalenge thre coursus in the hall,
Or Delyuer her me with right!’
100
The kyng of Aragon sett her bye,And he defendid her nobely:
‘I wyll none delyuer the.’
His son said: ‘So muste I thryve,
There shall no man just for my wiffe;
But yf youre wyll it be,
For her love did I never no dede,
I shall to day, so god me spede:
Be-hold and ye shall se.’
‘Alas!’ said Desonell the dere,
‘Full longe may I sitt here,
Or Torrent chalenge me.’
101
Trumpettes blew in the prese,Lordys stond on the grese,
Ladyes lay ouer and be-held.
42
Eyther to other gan ren,
Smertely in that ffeld;
Torrent sett on hym so sore,
That hors and man down he bore,
And all to-sheverd his sheld.
So they tombelid all in ffere,
That afterward of VII yere
The prynce none armes myght weld.
102
Torrent said: ‘So god me saue,Other two coursus wyll I haue,
Yf ye do me law of lond.’
Gret lordys stond styll,
They said nether good ne yll
For tynding of his hond.
The prynce of Aragon in they barr
With litull worshipp and sydes sare,
He had no fote on ffor to stond.
Thus thes lordys justid aye;
Better they had to haue be away,
Suche comffort there he ffond.
103
He wold not in passe,Till they at myd mete was,
On the other day at none.
His squiers habite he had,
Whan he to the deyse yad,
With oute couped shone,
And the hede on the bord he laid:
‘Lo, sir kyng, hold this,’ he said,
‘Or ellis wroth we anon!’
43
None of hem spake one word,
But ryght that he had done.
104
Torrent at the syde bord stode:‘Lystonyth, lordynges, gentill of blood,
For the love of god all-myght:
The kyng heyght me his doughter dere,
To ffyght with a ffendys ffere,
That wekyd was and wight,
To wed her to my wyffe,
And halffe his kyngdome be his liffe,
And after his days all his ryght.
Lokyth, lordys, you among,
Whether he do me ryght or wrong!’
Tho waried hym both kyng & knyght.
105
Tho said the kyng of Aragon, i-wys:‘Torrent, I wiste no thing of thys,
A gret maister arte thou!’
The kyng sware be seynt Gryffen:
‘With a sword thou shalte her wynne,
Or thou haue her nowe:
For why, my son to her was wed,
Gret lordys to churche her led,
I take wittnes of all you.’
‘Kyng Calamond, haue good day,
Thou shalt i-bye it, and I may,
To god I make avowe.’
106
The Emperoure of Rome ther was,Be-twene thes kynges gan he passe
And said: ‘Lordys, as sone,
44
The kyng had wend he had be dede,
And a-venturly gan he gone:
I rede you take a day of ryghtes,
And do it vppon two knyghtes,
And let no man be slon!’
Gret lordys, that were thare,
This talis lovid at that fare
And ordenyd that anon.
107
To the kyng the thoght com was,To send vnto Sathanas
For a geaunt, that hight Cate,
For to make hym knyght to his hond
And sease hym in all his lond;
The messingere toke the gate.
Gret othes he sware hym than,
That he shold ffyght but with one man,
And purvey hym he bad
Iryn stavis two or thre,
For to ffyght with Torent ffre,
Though he there of ne watt.
108
Than take counsell kyng and knyght,On lond that he shold not ffyght,
But ffar oute in the see,
In an yle long and brad;
A gret payn there was made,
That holdyn shold it be.
Yf Cate slow Torent, that ffre ys,
Halfe Portyngale shold be his,
To spend with dedys ffre;
45
He shold haue halfe Aragon,
Was better than suche thre.
109
The Gyaunt shipped in a whileAnd sett hym oute in an yle,
That was grow both grene and gay.
Sir Torrent com prekand on a stede,
Richely armed in his wede;
‘Lordyngys,’ gan he say,
‘It is semely ffor a knyght,
Vppon a stede ffor to ffyght.’
They said sone: ‘Nay,
He is so hevy, he can not ryde.
Torrent said: ‘Evill mut he be-tyde,
Falshode, woo worth it aye!’
110
‘Sir, takyth housell and shrefte!’To god he did his hondys lifte,
And thankid hym of his sond:
‘Iesu Cryste, I the praye,
Send me myght and strengith this day
A-yen the ffend to stond!’
To the shipp sir Torent went,
With the grace, god had hym sent,
That was never ffayland;
All the lordys of that contre,
Frome Rome vnto the Grekys se,
Stode and be-held on lond.
111
Whan sir Torrent in to the Ile was brought,The shipmen lenger wold tary nought,
But hied hem sone ageyn;
46
Sir, thou art welcom to me,
Thy deth is not to layn!’
The ffirste stroke to hym he yaue,
Oute of his hand flew his staff:
That thefe was full fayn.
Tho sir Torent went nere Cate,[OMITTED]
He thought, he wold hym haue slayn.
112
The theff couth no better wonne,In to the see rennyth he sone,
As faste as he myght ffare.
Sir Torrent gaderid cobled stonys,
Good and handsom ffor the nonys,
That good and round ware;
Meny of them to hym he caste,
He threw stonys on hym so faste,
That he was sad and sare.
To the ground he did hym fell,
Men myght here the fend yell
Halfe a myle and mare.
113
Sir Torent said, as he was wonne,He thankid Iesu, Maryes son,
That kyng, that sent hym myȝt;
He said: ‘Lordys, for charite,
A bote that ye send to me,
It is nere hand nyght!’
They Reysed a gale with a sayll,
The Geaunt to lond for to trayll,
All men wonderid on that wight.
Whan that they had so done,
They went to sir Torent full sone
And shipped that comly knyght.
47
114
The emperoure of Rome was there,The kynges of Pervens and of Calabere yare,
And other two or thre.
They yaue sir Torent, that he wan,
Both the Erth and the woman,
And said, well worthy was he.
Sir Torent had in Aragon
The riche Cite of Cargon
And all that riche contre;
Archbeshoppes, as the law fell,
Departid the prynce and Dissonell
With gret solempnite.
115
For sir Torent the fend did fall,Gret lordys honoured hym all
And for a doughty knyght hym tase;
The kyng said: ‘I vnderstond,
Thou hast fought ffor my doughter & my lond,
And well wonne her thou hase.’
He gaue to saint Nycholas de Barr
A grett Erldome and a simarr
That abbey of hym tas
For Iesus love, moch of myght,
That hym helpith day & nyght,
Whan he to the battell gas.
116
Lordys than at the laste,Echone on theyre way paste,
And euery man to his.
The quene of Portingale was ffayn,
That sir Torent was com agayn
And thankyd god of this.
48
Thou hast fought for my doughter & my lond,
And art my ward, i-wys,
And I wyll not ageyn the say;
But abyde halfe yere and a day,
And broke her well with blis!’
117
Torent said: ‘So muste I the,Sith it wyll no better be,
I cord with that assent!’
After mete, as I you tell,
To speke with mayden Desonell,
To her chamber he went.
The damysell so moche of pride
Set hym on her bed-syde,
And said: ‘Welcom, verament!’
Such gestenyng he a-right,
That there he dwellid all nyȝt
With that lady gent.
118
Sir Torent dwellid thareTwelffe wekys and mare,
Till letters com hym till
Fro the kyng of Norway;
For Iesus love he did hym praye,
Yf it were his wyll,
He shold com as a doughty knyght,
With a Geaunt for to ffyght,
That wyll his londys spyll;
He wold hym yeve his doughter dere
And halfe Norway ffar and nere,
Both be hold and be hyll.
49
119
Sir Torent said: ‘So god me saue,I-nough to lyve vppon I haue,
I wyll desire no more;
But it be, for Iesu is sake
A poynt of armes for to take,
That hath helpid me be-ffore.
I yeve the here oute of my hond
To thy doughter all my lond,
Yf that I end thore.’
And whan he toke his way to passe,
Mo than ffyfty with hym was,
That fals to hym wore.
120
Syr Torent to the lady went,Full curtesly and gent:[OMITTED]
‘Desonell, haue good day!
I muste now on my jurnay,
A kyngis lond for to fend.
Thes gold rynges I shall yeve the,
Kepe them well, my lady ffre,
Yf god a child vs send!’
She toke the ryngis with moche care,
Thries in sownyng fell she thare,
Whan she saw, that he wold wend.
121
Shipp and takyll they dight,Stede and armour ffor to ffyght
To the bote they bare.
Gentilmen, that were hend,
Toke her leve at theyre frend,
With hym ffor to fare.
50
He wold, that he cam nevure agayn;
There fore god yeff hym care!
So within the ffyfty dayes
He Come in to the lond of Norways,
Hard Contre ffound he thare.
122
Thus sir Torrent, for soth, is fare,A noble wynd droffe hym thare,
Was blowyng oute of the weste.
Of the Coste of Norway they had a sight[OMITTED]
Of sayling they were all preste.
So ffeyre a wynd had the knyght,
A litull be-ffore the mydnyght
He Rode be a foreste.
The shipmen said: ‘We be shent;
Here dwellith a geaunt, verament,
On his lond are we kest!’
123
The maistershipmon said: ‘NoweI Rede, we take down sayle & Rowe,
While we haue this tyde.
Sir,’ he said, ‘be god allmyght,
The giant lieth euery nyght
On the mowntayn here be-syde;
My lord the kyng wyll not ffyght,
Till he of you haue a sight,
On you ys all his pryde!’
Sir Torrent said: ‘Here my hond!
Sith we be ryven on this lond,
To nyght wyll I ryde.’
51
124
Sir Torent armyd hym anonAnd his knyghtes euerychone
With sheld and spere in hond.
The shipmen said: ‘As mut I thryve,
I Rede, that euery man other shryve,
Or that we go to the lond.’
Sir Torent said: ‘As god me spede,
We will firste se that ffede,
My lord was never failand!
Gentilmen, make chere good,
For Iesu love, that died on Rood,
He will be oure waraunt!’
125
In a forest can they passe,Of Brasill, saith the boke, it was,
With bowes brod and wyde.
Lyons and berys there they ffand
And wyld bestes aboute goand,
Reysing on euery side.
Thes men of armes, with trayn
To the shipp they flew agayn
In to the see at that tyde;
Fast from land row they be-gan,
A-bove they left that gentilman,
With wyld beestis to haue kyde.
126
The shipmen of the same londRyved vp, I vnderstond,
In another lond off hold.
To the chamber they toke the way,
There the kyng hym selfe lay,
And fals talis hym told.[OMITTED]
52
For all this contrey feyre and wyde,
Thouȝ he yeff it hym wold.
127
‘Sir kyng, ye haue youre selfeErlis doughty be ten or twelfe,
Better know I none:
Send youre messingeris ffar and wyde,
For to ffell the geauntes pride,
That youre doughter hath tane.’
‘I had lever to haue that knyght;
With hym is grace of god allmyȝt,
To be here at his bane.’
Full litull wist that riche kyng
Of sir Torrentes ryding
In the forest all alone.
128
Thorouȝ helpe of god that with hym was,Fro the wyld bestis gan he passe
To an hye hyll.
A litull while be-fore the day
He herd in a valey
A dynnyng and a yell.
Theder than riduth he,
To loke, what thing it myȝt be,
What adventure thare be-fell.
It were two dragons stiff and strong,
Vppon theyre lay they sat and song,
Be-side a depe well.
129
Sir Torent said thanneTo god, that made man
And died vppon a tree:
53
Yeve me grace, to wyn the feld
Of thes ffendys onfre!’
Whan he had his prayers made,
Pertely to hem he Rade
And one thorouȝ oute bare he.
Thus sped the knyght at his comyng
Thorough the helpe of hevyn kyng:
Lord, lovid muste thou be!
130
The other dragon wold not flee,[OMITTED]But showith all his myght;
He smote ffire, that lothely thing,
As it were the lightnyng,
Vppon that comly knyght.
There fore sir Torent wold not lett,
But on the dragon fast he bett
And over-come that foule wight.
Tho anon the day sprong,
Fowles Rose, mery they song,
The sonne a-Rose on hyȝt.
131
Torent of the day was full blithe,And of the valey he did hym swith,
As fast as euer he may.
To a mowntayn he rode ryght,
Of a castell he had a sight
With towrys hyȝe and gay[OMITTED]
He come in to an hyȝe strete,
Few folke gan he mete,
To wis hym the way.
54
132
To the gatys tho he Rade;Full craftely they were made
Of Irun and eke of tree.
One tre ctonding there he ffond:
Nyne oxen of that lond
Shold not drawe the tre.
The Giaunt wrought vp his wall
And laid stonys gret and small:
A lothely man was he.
‘Now,’ quod Torrent, ‘I not, whare,
My squiers be ffro me to fare,
Euer waried they be!
133
‘Lord god, what is beste,So Iesu me helpe, Est or Weste,
I Can not Rede to say.
Yf I to the shipp fare,
No shipmen ffynd I thare;
It is long, sith they were away.
Other wayes yf I wend,
Wyld bestis wyll me shend:
Falshede, woo worth it aye!
I ffyght here, Iesu, for thy sake;
Lord, to me kepe thou take,
As thou best may!’
134
Down light this gentill knyght,To Rest hym a litull wight,
And vnbrydelid his stede
And let hym bayte on the ground,
And aventid hym in that stound,
There of he had gret nede.
55
And sye, where the knyght gan gone,
All armed in dede;
And wot ye well and not wene,
Whan eyther of hem had other sene,
Smertely they rerid her dede.
135
For that sir Torent had hym sene,He worth vppon his stede, I wene,
And Iesu prayde he till:
‘Mary son, thou here my bone,
As I am in venturus stad come,
My jurnay to full-ffyll!’
A voys was fro hevyn sent
And said: ‘Be blith, sir Torent,
And yeve the no thing yll,
To ffyght with my lordys enemy:
Whether that thou lyve or dye,
Thy mede the quyte he wyll!’
136
Be that the giaunt had hym dight,Cam ageyn that gentill knyght,
As bold as eny bore;
He bare on his nek a croke,
Woo were the man, that he ouertoke,
It was twelfe ffote and more.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘ffor charite,
Loke, curtes man that thou be,
Yf thy wyll ware:
I haue so fought all this nyght
With thy II dragons wekyd and wight,
They haue bett me full sore.’
56
137
The Geaunt said: ‘Be my fay,Wors tydinges to me this day
I myght not goodly here.
Thorough the valey as thou cam,
My two dragons hast thou slan,
My solempnite they were.
To the I haue full good gate;
For thou slow my brother Cate,
That thou shalte by full dere!'
Be-twene the giaunt and the knyght
Men myght se buffettes right,
Who so had be there.
138
Sir Torent yaue to hym a brayd;He levid that the aungell said,
Of deth yaue he nought.
In to the brest he hym bare,
His spere hede lefte he thare,
So evill was hitt bythought.
The Giaunt hym ayen smate
Thorough his sheld and his plate,
In to the flesh it sought;
And sith he pullith at his croke,
So fast in to the flesh it toke,
That oute myȝt he gete it nought.
139
On hym he hath it broke,Glad pluckys there he toke,
Set sadly and sare.
57
Oute of his handys he it gatt,
No lenger dwellid he thare.
In to the water he cast his sheld,
Croke and all to-geders it held,
Fare after, how so euer it ffare.
The Geaunt folowid with all his mayn,
And he come never quyk agayn:
God wold, that so it ware.
140
Sir Torent bet hym there,Till that this fend did were,
Or he thens wend.
On hym had he hurt but ane,
Lesse myght be a mannus bane,
But god is full hend:
Thorough grace of hym, that all shall weld,
There the knyght had the feld,
Such grace god did hym send.
Be than it nyed nere hand nyȝt,
To a castell he Rode right,
All nyght there to lend.
141
In the castell found he nought,That god on the Rode bought;
High vppon a toure,
As he caste a side lokyng,
He saw a lady in her bed syttyng,
White as lylye ffloure;
Vp a-Rose that lady bryght,
And said: ‘Welcom, sir knyght,
That fast art in stoure!’
58
Graunt thou me, for charite,
Of one nyghtis soioure!’
142
‘By Mary,’ said that lady clere,‘Me for-thinkith, that thou com here,
Thy deth now is dight;
For here dwellith a geaunt,
He is clepud Weraunt,
He is to the devill be-taught.
To day at morn he toke his croke,
Forth at the yates the way he toke,
And said, he wold haue a draught;
And here be chambers two or thre,
In one of hem I shall hide the,
God the saue ffrome harmes right!'
143
‘Certayn,’ tho said the knyght,‘That theffe I saw to nyght,
Here be-side a slade.
He was a ferly freke in ffyght,
With hym faught a yong knyght,
Ech on other laid good lade;
Me thought well, as he stode,
He was of the fendus blood,
So Rude was he made.
Dame, yf thou leve ont me,
Com nere, and thou shalt se,
Which of hem abade.’
144
Blith was that lady bryghtFor to se that selly sight:
With the knyght went she.
59
‘Sir,’ she said, ‘parmaffay
I wott well, it is he.
Other he was of god all-myght
Or seynt George, oure lady knyȝt,
That there his bane hath be.
Yf eny cryston man smyte hym down,
He is worthy to haue renown
Thorough oute all crystiaunte.’
145
‘I haue wonder,’ said the knyght,‘How he gate the, lady bryght,
Fro my lord the kyng.’
‘Sir,’ she said, ‘verament,
As my fader on huntyng went
Erly in a mornyng,
Fore his men pursued a dere,
To his castell, that stondith here,
That doth my hondys wryng,
This Giaunt hym toke, wo he be!
For his love he gevith hym me,
He wold none other thinge.’
146
Forth she brought bred and wyne,Fayn he was for to dyne......
This knyght made noble chere,
Though that he woundid were
With the Geaunt strong.
147
Sir Torrent dwellid no lenger thare,Than he myȝt away fare
With that lady bryght.
60
Send me on lyve to Desonell,
That I my trouth to plight!’
Tho sye they be a forest syde
Men of armes ffaste ride
On coursers comly dight.
The lady said: ‘So mvst I thee,
It is my fader, is com for me,
With the Geaunt to ffyght.’
148
An harood said anon right:‘Yon I se an armed knyght,
And no squier, but hym one:
He is so big of bone & blood,
He is the Geaunt, be the Rode!’
Som seith, he riduth vppon.
‘Nay,’ said the kyng, ‘verament,
It is the knyght, that I after sent,
I thanke god and seynt Iohn,
For the Geaunt slayn hath he
And wonne my doughter, well is me!
All his men are atone!’
149
Wott ye well, with Ioy and blisSir Torent there recevid ys,
As doughty man of dede.
The kyng and other lordys gent
Said, ‘Welcom, sir Torent,
In to this vncouth thded!’
In to a state they hym brought,
Lechis sone his woundis sought;
They said, so god hem spede,
61
His liffe they wyll not vndertane,
For no gold ne ffor mede.
150
The lady wist not or than,That he was hurt, that gentilman,
And sith she went hym tyll;
She sought his woundus and said thare:
‘Thou shalte lyve and welfare,
Yf the no-thing evyll!
My lord the kyng hath me hight,
That thou shalt wed me, sir knyght,
The fforward ye to fulle ffyll.’
‘Damysell, loo here my hond:
And I take eny wyffe in this lond,
It shall be at thy wyll!’
151
Gendres was that ladyes name.The Geauntes hede he brought hame,
And the dragons he brought.
Mene myght here a myle aboute,
How on the dede hedys they did shoute,
For the shame, that they hem wrought,
Both with dede and with tong
Eyfte on the hedys dong,
That to the ground they sought.
Sir Torrent dwellid thare
Twelfe monythis and mare,
That ffurther myȝt he nought.
152
The kyng of Norway said: ‘Nowe,Fals thevis, woo worth you,
Ferly sotell were ye:
62
Swith oute of my kyngdome,
Or hangid shall ye be!’
His squiers, that fro hym fled,
With sore strokys are they spred
Vppon the wanne see,
And there they drenchid euery man,
Saue one knave, that to lond cam,
And woo be-gone is he.
153
The child, to lond that god sent,In Portyngale he is lent,
In a riche town,
That hath hight be her day,
And euer shall, as I you say,
The town of Peron.
By-fore the kyng he hym sett,
‘Full well thy men, lord, the grett,
And in the see did they drown.’
Desonell said: ‘Where is Torent?’
‘In Norway, lady, verament.’
On sownyng fell she down.
154
As she sownyd, this lady myld,Men myȝt se tokenyng of her child,
Steryng her right syde.
Gret Ruth it was to tell,
How her maydens on her fell,
Her to Couer and to hide.
Tho the kyng said: ‘My doughter, do way!
By god, thy myrth is gone for aye,
Spousage wyll thou none bide!
63
And that Bastard with-in the,
To lerne you ffor to ride.’
155
Erlis and Barons, that were good,By-fore the kyng knelid and stode
For that lady free.
The quene, her moder, on knees fell,
‘For Iesu is love, that harood hell,
Lord, haue mercy on me!
That ylke dede, that she hath done,
It was with an Erlis sonne,
Riche man i-nough is he;
And yf ye wyll not let her lyve,
Right of lond ye her yeve,
Till she delyuerd be!’
156
Thus the lady dwellith there,Tyll that she delyuerd were
Of men children two;
In all poyntes they were gent,
And like they were to sir Torent;
For his love they sufferid woo.
The kyng said: ‘So mut I thee,
Thou shalte in-to the see
With oute wordys moo.
Euery kyngis doughter ffer and nere,
At the shall they lere,
Ayen the law to do.’
157
Gret ruth it was to se,Whan they led that lady ffree
Oute of her faders lond.
64
For her doughter, that gentill ffode,
And knyghtis stode wepand;
A cloth of silke gan they ta
And partyd it be-twene hem twa,
Therin they were wonde.
Whan they had shypped that lady ying,
An hunderid fell in sownyng
At Peron on the sond.
158
Whan that lady was downe fall,On Iesu Cryste dyd she call;
Down knelid that lady clene:
‘Rightfull god, ye me sende
Some good londe, on to lende,
That my chyldren may crystonyd bene!’
She said, ‘Knyghtis and ladyes gent,
Grete well my lord, sir Torrent,
Yeff ye hym euer sene!’
The wynd Rose ayen the nyght,
Fro lond it blew that lady bryght
Vppon the see so grene.
159
Wyndes and weders haue her drevyn,þat in a forest she is revyn,
There wyld beestis were;
The see was eb, and went her ffroo,
And lefte her and her children two
Alone with-oute ffere.
65
The lady a-woke oute of her slepe
And said: ‘Be still, my dere,
Iesu Cryst hath sent vs lond;
Yf there be any cryston man nere hond,
We shall haue som socoure here.’
160
The carefull lady was full blith,Vp to lond she went swith,
As fast as euer she myght.
Tho the day be-gan to spryng,
Foules a-Rose and mery gan syng
Delicious notys on hight.
To a mowntayn went that lady ffree:
Sone was she warr of a Cite
With towrus ffeyre and bryght.
There fore, i-wys, she was full fayn,
She sett her down, as I herd sayn,
Her two children ffor to dight.
161
Vppon the low the lady ffoundAn Erber wrought with mannus hond,
With herbis, that were good.
A Grype was in the mowntayn wonne,
A way he bare her yong son
Ouer a water fflood,
Over in to a wyldernes,
There seynt Antony ermet wes,
There as his chapell stode.
The other child down gan she ly,
And on the ffoule did shoute & crye,
That she was nere hond wood.
66
162
Vp she rose ageyn the roughh,With sorofull hert and care Inoughh,
Carefull of blood and bone[OMITTED]
She sye, it myght no better be,
She knelid down vppon her kne,
And thankid god and seynt Iohn.
163
There come a libard vppon his pray,And her other child bare away,
She thankid god there
And his moder Mary bryght.
This lady is lefte alone ryght:
The sorow she made there[OMITTED]
164
That she myght no further ffare:‘Of one poynt,’ she sayd, ‘is my care,
As I do now vnderstond,
So my children crystenyd were,
Though they be with beestes there,
Theyre liffe is in goddus hond.’
The kyng of Ierusalem had bene
At his brothers weddyng, I wene,
That was lord of all that lond.
As he com homward on his way,
He saw where the liberd lay
With a child pleyand.
165
Torrent had yeve her ringes two,And euery child had one of tho,
Hym with all to saue.
67
Yonder is a liberd with a child,
A mayden or a knave.’
Tho men of armes theder went,
Anon they had theyre hors spent,
Her guttys oute she Rave.
For no stroke wold she stynt;
Till they her slew with speris dynt,
The child myght they not haue.
166
Vp they toke the child yingAnd brought it be-ffore the kyng
And vndid the swathing band,
As his moder be-ffore had done,
A gold ryng they ffound sone,
Was closud in his hond.
Tho said the kyng of Ierusalem:
‘This child is come of gentill teme,
Where euer this beest hym ffond.
The boke of Rome berith wytnes,
The kyng hym namyd Leobertus,
That was hent in hethyn lond.
167
Two squiers to the town gan flyng,And a noryse to the child did bryng,
Hym to kepe ffrome greme.
He led it in to his own lond
And told the quene, how he it ffond
By a water streme.
Whan the lady saw the ryng,
She said, with-oute lettyng:
‘This child is com of gentill teme:
68
For Iesu love thou sholdist hym make
Prynce of Ierusalem.’
168
Now, in boke as we rede,As seynt Antony aboute yede,
Byddyng his orysoun,
Of the gripe he had a sight,
How she flew in a fflight,
To her birdus was she boun.
Be-twene her clawes she bare a child:
He prayed to god and Mary myld,
On lyve to send it down.
That man was well with god all-myȝt,
At his fote gan she light,
That foule of gret renown.
169
Vp he toke the child there,To his auter he did it bere,
There his chapell stode.
A knave child there he ffond,
There was closud in his hond
A gold ryng riche and good.
He bare it to the Cite grett,
There the kyng his fader sett
As a lord of jentill blood,
For he wold saue it ffro dede;
A grype flew a-bove his hede
And cryed, as he were wood.
170
This holy man hied hym tyteTo a Cite with touris white,
As fast as he may.
69
And other knyghtes and lordys good
To se the squiers play.
The kyng said: ‘Be Mary myld,
Yonder comyth Antony, my child,
With a gryffon gay.
Som of his byrdus take hath he,
And bryngith hem heder to me!’
Gret ferly had thaye.
171
The kyng there of toke good hede,And a-geyn his sonne he yede
And said: ‘Welcom ye be!’
‘Fader,’ he said, ‘god you saue!
A knave child ffound I haue,
Loke, that it be dere to the!
Frome a greffon he was refte,
Of what lond that he is lefte,
Of gentill blood was he:
Thou hast none heyre, thy lond to take,
For Iesu love thy sonne hym make,
As in the stede of me!’
172
The kyng said: ‘Yf I may lyve,Helpe and hold I shall hym yeve
And receyve hym as my son.
Sith thou hast this lond forsake,
My riche londys I shall hym take,
Whan he kepe them con.’
To a ffont they hym yaue,
And crystonyd this yong knave;
Fro care he is wonne.
70
That Iesu shild hym ffrome shame:
Antony fice greffoun.
173
‘Fader, than haue thou this ryng,I ffound it on this swete thing,
Kepe it, yf thou may:
It is good in euery fight,
Yf god yeve grace, that he be knyght,
Be nyght and be day.’
Let we now this children dwell,
And speke we more of Desonell:
Her song was welaway.
God, that died vppon the Rode,
Yff grace, that she mete with good!
Thus disparplid are thay.
174
This lady walkyd all aloneAmonge wyld bestis meny one,
Ne wanted she no Woo;
Anon the day be-gan to spryng,
And the ffoules gan to syng,
With blis on euery bowȝe[OMITTED]
175
‘Byrdus and bestis, aye woo ye be!Alone ye haue lefte me,
My children ye have slone.’
As she walkid than a-lone,
She sye lordis on huntyng gone,
Nere hem she yede full sone.
71
Than she herd this hornes blaste
By the yatis gone,
But ran in to a wildernes,
Amongist beests that wyld wes,
For drede, she shold be slone.
176
Till it were vnder of the Day,She went fro that wilsom way,
In to a lond playn.
The kyng of Naȝareth huntid there,
Among the hertes, that gentill were;
There of she was full ffayn[OMITTED]
177
They had ferly, kyng and knyght,Whens she come, that lady bryght,
Dwelling here a-lone.
She said to a squier, that there stode:
‘Who is lord of most jentill blood?’
And he answerid her anon:
‘This ys the lond of Naȝareth,
Se, where the kyng gethe,
Of speche he is ffull bone;
All in gold couerid is he.’
‘Gramercy, sir,’ said she,
And nere hym gan she gone.
178
Lordys anon ageyn her yode,For she was com of gentill blood,
In her lond had they bene:
‘God loke the, lady ffree,
What makist thou in this contre?’
‘Sir,’ she said, ‘I wene,
72
Wekyd weders me heder hath brought
In to this fforest grene,
And all is dede, I vnderstond,
Saue my selfe, that com to lond
With wyld beestis and kene.’
179
‘Welcom,’ he said, ‘Desonell,By a tokyn I shall the tell:
Onys a stede I the sent.
Lady gent, ffeyre and ffree,
To the shold I haue wedid be,
My love was on the lent.’
Knyghtis and squiers, that there were,
They horsid the lady there,
And to the Cite they went.
The quene was curtes of that lond
And toke the lady be the hond
And said: ‘Welcom, my lady gent!
180
‘Lady, thou art welcom here,As it all thyn own were,
All this ffeyre contree!’
‘Of one poynt was my care,
And my two children crystonyd ware,
That in wood were reft ffro me.’
Welcom art thou, Desonell,
In my chamber for to dwell,
Inough there in shall ye see!’
Leve we now that lady gent,
And speke we of sir Torrent,
That was gentill and ffre.
73
181
The kyng of Norway is full woo,That sir Torent wold wend hym ffro,
That doughty was and bold:
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘abyde here
And wed my doughter, that is me dere!’
He said, in no wise he wold.
He shipped oute of the kynges sale
And Ryved vp in Portingale
At another hold.
Whan he herd tell of Desonell,
Swith on sownyng there he fell
To the ground so cold.
182
The fals kyng of Portingale,Sparid the yatis of his sale
For Torent the ffree;
He said: ‘Be Mary clere,
Thou shalt no wyfe haue here,
Go sech her in the see!
With her she toke whelpis two,
To lerne to row wold she go.’
‘By god, thou liest,’ quod he,
‘Kyng Colomand, here my hond!
And I be knyght levand,
I-quytt shall it be!’
183
Torent wold no lenger byde,But sent letters on euery side
With fforce theder to hye.
Theder com oute of Aragon
Noble knyghtes of gret renown
With grett chevalrye.
74
Were doughty knyghtes meny moo,
They come all to that crye.
Kyng Calomond had no knyght,
That with sir Torent wold fyght,
Of all that satt hym bye.
184
There wold none the yatis deffend,But lett sir Torent in wend
With his men euerychone.
Swith a counsell yede they to,
To what deth they wold hym do,
For he his lady had slone.
‘Lordis,’ he said, ‘he is a kyng,
Men may hym nether hede ne hing.’
Thus said they euerychone.
They ordenyd a shipp all of tree
And sett hym oute in to the see,
Among the wawes to gone.
185
Gret lordis of that londAssentid to that comnand,
That hold shold it be.
In the havyn of Portyngale,
There stode shippes of hede vale
Of Irun and of tree.
A bote of tre they brought hym be-fforn,
Full of holis it was born,
Howsell and shryfte wold he.
Sir Torent said: ‘Be seynt Iohn,
Seth thou gaue my lady none,
No more men shall do the!’
75
186
The shipp-men brought sir ColomondAnd sent hym fforth within a stound
As ffar as it were.
Wott ye well and vnderstond,
He come never ayen to lond,
Such stormes ffound he there.
Gret lordys of renown
Be-toke sir Torent the crown
To reioyse it there.
Loo, lordys of euery lond:
Falshode wyll haue a foule end,
And wyll haue euermore.
187
Sir Torent dwellid thareFourty days in moche care,
Season for to hold;
Sith he takith two knyghtes,
To kepe his lond and his rightes,
That doughty were and bold.
‘Madam,’ he said to the quene,
‘Here than shall ye lady bene,
To worth as ye wold.’
He purveyd hym anon,
To wend ouer the see fome,
There god was bought and sold.
188
And ye now will liston a stound,How he toke armes of kyng Calomond,
Listonyth, what he bare.
On asure, as ye may see,
With syluer shippes thre,
Who so had be thare.
76
His londis he takyth to a knyght,
And sith he is boun to fare.
‘Portyngale, haue good day
For Sevyn yere, parmaffay,
Par aventure som dele mare!’
189
Sir Torent passid the Grekys floodIn to a lond both riche and good,
Full evyn he toke the way
To the cite of Quarell,
As the boke of Rome doth tell,
There a soudan lay.
There he smote and set adown
And yaue asaute in to the town,
That will the storye say.
So well they vetelid were,
That he lay there two yere,
Sith in the town went they.
190
And tho sir Torent ffound on lyve,He comaundid with spere and knyffe
Smertely dede to be;
He said: ‘We haue be here
Moche of this two yere
And onward on the thre.’
All the good, that sir Torent wan,
He partid it among his man,
Syluer, gold and ffee;
And sith he is boun to ride
To a Cite there be-syde,
That was worth such thre.
77
191
There he stode and smote adownAnd leyd sege to the town,
Six yere there he lay.
By the VI yere were all done,
With honger they were all slone,
That in the Cite lay.
The Soudan sent to sir Torent than,
With honger that thes people be slan,
All the folke of this Cite;
‘Yf ye thinke here to lye,
Ye shall haue wyne and spycery,
I-nough is in this contre.’
192
Now god do his soule mede!On the soudan he had a dede
Vppon euery good ffryday.
Iesu sent hym strengith I-nough,
With dynt of sword he hym slough,
There went none quyk away.
Down knelid that knyght
And thankid god with all his myȝt:
So ought he well to say.
The Cite, that sir Torent was yn,
Worldely goodis he left ther yn,
To kepe it nyght and day.
193
Sith he buskyd hym to rideIn to a lond there be-syde,
Antioche it hight.
Sevyn yere at the Cite he lay
And had batell euery good ffryday,
Vppon the Sarȝins bryght;
78
The child, that the liberd had tane,
Found hym his fill off ffyght.[OMITTED]
194
The kyng of Ierusalem herd tellOf this lord good and fell,
How doughtyly he hym bare.
Vppon his knyghtes can he call,
‘Ordeyn swith among you all,
For no thing that ye spare!’
They buskyd hem oute of the land,
The nombre off ffyfty thousand,
Ageyn Torent ffor to ffare[OMITTED]
195
The kyng of Ierusalem said thus:‘My dere son, Liobertus,
That thou be bold and wight!
Thou shalt be here and defend the lond
From that fals traytors hond
And take the ordre of a knyght.’
He yaue hym armes, or he did passe:
Right as he ffound was,
On gold he bare bryght
A liberd of asure bla
A child be-twene his armes twa:
Woo was her, that se it myght!
196
Sir Torent wold no lenger abyde,But thederward gan he ride;
And to the feld were brought
Two knyghtes, that were there in stede;
Many a man did they to blede,
Such woundis they wrought.
79
But his son, as ye may here,
Though he knew hym nought.
All to nought he bet his shild,
But he toke his fader in the feld,
Though he there of evill thought.
197
Whan sir Torent was takyn than,His men fled than, euery man,
They durst no lenger abyde.
Gret ruth it was to be hold,
How his sword he did vp-hold
To his son that tyde.
To Ierusalem he did hym lede,
His actone and his other wede,
All be the kyngis side;
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘haue no care,
Thou shalte lyve and welfare,
But lower ys thy pryde!’
198
Fro that sir Torent was hom brought,Doughty men vppon hym sought,
And in preson they hym thronge.
His son above his hede lay,
To kepe hym both nyȝt and day,
He wist well, that he was strong.
Thus in preson as he was,
Sore he siȝed and said alas,
He couth none other songe.
Thus in bondys they held hym thare
A twelfmonyth and som dele mare,
The knyght thought ffull long.
80
199
In a mornyng as he lay,To hym selfe gan he say:
‘Why lye I thus alone?
God, hast thou forsakyn me?
All my truste was in the,
In lond where I haue gone!
Thou gave me myȝt ffor to slee
Dragons two other thre
And giauntes meny one,
And now a man in wekid lond
Hath myn armour and stede in hond:
I wold, my liffe were done!’
200
His son herd hym say sooAnd in his hert was full woo,
In chamber there he lay;
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I haue thy wede,
There shall no man reioyse thy stede,
Yf so be, that I may.
By oure lady seynt Mary,
Here shalt thou no lenger lye,
Nether be nyȝt ne be day;
As I am Curtesse and hend,
To the kyng I shall wend,
And ffor thy love hym pray!’
201
On the morow whan he Rose,The prynce to the kyng gose
And knelid vppon his knee;
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘ffor goddus sonne,
The knyght, that lieth in the dungeon,
Ye wold graunt hym me!
81
Many Geauntes had he slone
And dragons II or thre.’
The kyng said: ‘Be my ffay,
Be warr, he scape not away;
I vouch hym saue on the!’
202
The prynce in to the preson went,Torent by the hond he hent
Oute of his bondys cold;
To the castell he brought hym sone
And light ffettouris did hym vppon,
For brekyng oute off hold.
The kyng said: ‘Be my ffaye,
And he euer scape away,
Full dere he shall be sold!’
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘parmaffay,
We wyll hym kepe, and we may:
There of be ye bold!’
203
For he was curtes knyght & free,At the mete sett was he
By the kyng at the deyse.
‘Sir, thou haste i-bene
At Iustis and at tornementes kene,
Both in warr and in peas:
Sith thy dwelling shall be here,
I pray, that thou woldist my son lere,
Hys Tymber ffor to asay.’
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I vnderstond,
Affter the maner off my lond
I shall, with outen delay,’
82
204
The castell court was large with in,They made ryngis ffor to Ren,
None but they alone.
Euery of hem to oþure Rade:
Feyrer Turnamentes than they made,
Men sye never none.
The prynce in armes was full preste,
Thre shaftys on his fader he breste,
In shevers they gan gone.
Sir Torent said: ‘So mvt I thee,
A man of armes shall thou be,
Stalworth of blood and bone!’
205
Harroldys of armes cryed on hight,The prynce and that other knyght
No more juste shall thay;
But lordys of other lond,
Euery one to other ffond,
And sith went theyre way.
Sixe wekys he dwellid there,
Till that all delyuerd were,
That in the Cite lay.
Tho they held a gestonye,
With all maner of mynstralsye,
Tyll the Sevynth day.
206
Lordis with all other thingToke leve at the kyng,
Home theyre ways to passe.
That tyme they yaue Torent the floure
And the gre with moch honowre,
As he well worthy was.
83
Liffe and lyvelode, whill I lyve,
Thyn armour, as it was.’
Whan he sye ffeyre ladyes wend,
He thought on her, that was so hend,
And sighed and said: ‘Alas!’
207
The kyng of Naȝareth home went,There that his lady lent,
In his own lede.
‘Sir,’ she said, ‘ffor goddus pite,
What gentilman wan the gre?’
He said, ‘So god me spede,
One of the ffeyrest knyghtis,
That slepith on somer nyghtes
Or walkyd in wede;
He is so large of lym and lith,
All the world he hath justid with,
That come to that dede.’
208
‘Good lord,’ said Desonell,‘For goddus love ye me tell,
What armes that he bare!’
‘Damysell, also muste I the,
Syluer and asure beryth he,
That wott I well thare.
His Creste is a noble lond,
A Gyaunt with an hoke in hond,
This wott I well, he bare.
He is so stiff at euery stoure,
He is prynce and victoure,
He wynneth the gree aye where.
84
209
Of Portyngale a knyght he ys,He wanne the town of Raynes
And the Cite of Quarelle;
At the last jurney that was sett,
The prynce, my broders son he mett,
And in his hond he ffell.
The prynce of Grece leth nere
There may no juster be his pere,
For soth as I you tell:
A dede of armes I shall do crye
And send after hym in hye.’
Blith was Desonell.
210
This dede was cried ffar and nere,The kyng of Ierusalem did it here,
In what lond that it shold be.
He said: ‘Sone, anon right
Dight the and thy cryston knyght,
For sothe, theder will we.’
Gret lordys, that herith this crye,
Theder come richely,
Everyman in his degre.
The kyng of Grece did make hym boun,
With hym come Antony ffyȝ greffon,
With moche solempnite[OMITTED]
211
‘The kyng of Naȝareth sent me,That there shold a justynge be
Of meny a cryston knyght,
And all is ffor a lady clere,
That the justyng is cryed ffar and nere,
Of men of armes bryght.’
85
How thes kynges with the knyghtis fell
Come and semled to that ffyght.
212
There come meny another mon,That thought there to haue to done,
And than to wend her way.
Whan they come to the castell gent,
A Roall ffyght, verament,
There was, the sothe to say.
Trompes resyn on the wall,
Lordys assembled in the hall,
And sith to souper yede thay.
They were recevid with rialte,
Euery man in his degre,
And to her logyng went her way.
213
The lordys Rosyn all be-deneOn the morow, as I wene,
And went masse ffor to here.
And ffurthermore with-oute lent
They wesh and to mete went,
For to the ffeld they wold there.
After mete anon right
They axid hors and armes bryght,
To hors-bak went thay in ffere.
Knyghtis and lordys reuelid all,
And ladyes lay ouer the castell wall,
That semely to se were.
214
Than eueryman toke spere in hond,And euerych to other ffond,
Smert boffettes there they yeld.
86
Eueriche of hem Ran to other
Smertely in the feld[OMITTED]
Though Antony ffygryffon yonger were,
His brother Leobertus he can down bere;
Sir Torent stode and be-held.
215
‘Be my trouth,’ said Torent thanne,‘As I am a cryston man
I-quytt shall it be.’
Torent be-strode a stede strong
And hent a tymber gret and long,
And to hym rode he.
216
Torrent to hym rode so sore,That he to the ground hym bare,
And let hym lye in the bent.
There was no man hyȝe ne lowe,
That myght make Torent to bowe
Ne his bak to bend.
They justyd and turneyd there,
And eueryman ffound his pere,
There was caught no dethis dent.
Of all the Justis, that there ware,
Torent the floure a way bare
And his sonnys, verament.
217
And on the morow, whan it was day,Amonge all the lordys gay,
That worthy were, par de,
87
But to sir Torent gan she wend
And knelid on her kne.
She said: ‘Welcom, my lord sir Torent!’
‘And so be ye, my lady gent!’
In sownyng than fell she.
Vp they coueryd that lady hend,
And to mete did they wend
With joye and solempnite.
218
Dame Desonell be-sought the kyng,That she myght, with oute lesyng,
Sytt with Torent alone.
‘Yes, lady, be hevyn kyng,
There shall be no lettyng;
Worthy is he, be seynt Iohn!’
Tho they washid and went to mete,
And rially they were sett
And seruid worthely, echone.
Euery lord in the hall,
As his state wold be-ffall,
Were couplid with ladyes schone.
219
But of all ladyes, that were there sene,So ffeire myght there none bene
As was dame Desonell.[OMITTED]
Thes two kyngis, that doughty ys,
To the Cite come, i-wys,
With moche meyne emell.
220
To the castell they toke the way,There the kyng of Naȝareth lay,
With hym to speke on high.
88
Amongist the ladyes ouer all,
That couth moche curtesye.
Desonell wold not lett,
By sir Torent she her sett,
There of they had envye[OMITTED]
221
Whan eyther of hem other be-held,Off care no thyng they ffeld,
Bothe her hertes were blithe.
Gret lordys told she sone,
What poyntes he had for her done,
They be-gan to be blithe;
And how her fader in the see did her do,
With her she had men childre two;
They waried hym fell sithe.
‘Sir kyng, in this wildernes,
My two children fro me revid wes,
I may no lenger hem hide.
222
The knyght yaue me rynges two,Euerich of hem had one of thoo,
Better saw I never none.
A Gryffon bare the one away,
A liberd the other, parmaffay,
Down by a Roche of stone.’
Than said the kyng of Ierusalem:
‘I ffound one by a water streme,
He levith with blood & bone.’
The kyng of Grece said: ‘My brother,
Antony my son brought me anoþure.’
She saith: ‘Soth, be seynt Iohn?’
89
223
The kyng said: ‘Sith it is so,Kys ye youre fader bo,
And axe hym his blessyng!’
Down they knelid on her knee:
‘Thy blessing, ffader, for charite!’
‘Welcom, children ying!’
Thus in armes he hem hent,
A blither man than sir Torent
Was there none levyng;
It was no wonder, thouȝe it so were;
He had his wiffe and his children there,
His joye be-gan to spryng.
224
Of all the justis, that were thare,A way the gre his sonnys bare,
That doughty were in dede.
Torent knelid vppon his knee
And said:‘God yeld you, lordys ffree,
Thes children that ye haue ffed:
Euer we will be at youre will,
What jurney ye will put vs tyll,
So Iesu be oure spede,
With that the kyng thre
In to my lond will wend with me,
For to wreke oure stede.’
225
They graunted that there was,Gret lordys more and lesse,
Bothe knyght and squiere;
And with Desonell went
Al the ladyes, that were gent,
That of valew were.
90
Maistis gret and sayles long,
Hend, as ye may here,
And markyd in to Portingale,
Whan they had pullid vp her sayll,
With a wynd so clere.
226
The riche quene of that londIn her castell toure gan stond
And be-held in-to the see.
‘Sone,’ she said to a knyght,
‘Yonder of shippis I haue a sight,
For sothe, a grett meyne.’
The quene said: ‘Verament,
I se the armes of sir Torent,
I wott well, it is he.’
He answerid and said tho:
‘Madam, I will, that it be so,
God gefe grace, that it so be!’
227
A blither lady myȝt none be,She went ageyn hym to the see
With armed knyghtes kene.
Torent she toke by the hond:
‘Lordys of vncouth lond,
Welcom muste ye bene!’
Whan she sye Desonell,
Swith in sownyng she fell
To the ground so grene.
Torent gan her vp ta:
‘Here bene her children twa,
On lyve thou shalt hem seene!’
91
228
In the Castell of PortyngaleA-Rose trumpes of hede vale,
To mete they went on hye.
He sent letters ffar and nere;
The lordys, that of valew were,
They come to that gestonye.
The Emperoure of Rome,
To that gestonye he come,
A noble knyght on hyȝe.
Whan all thes lordys com were,
Torrent weddid that lady clere,
A justyng did he crye.
229
So it ffell vppon a day,The kyng of Ierusalem gan say:
‘Sir, thy sonne I ffound
Lying in a libertes mouth,
And no good he ne couth,
Dede he was nere hond:
Wold thou, that he dwellid with me,
Till that I dede be,
And sith reioyse my lond?’[OMITTED]
230
Be fore lordys of gret renown,Torent gaue hym his son[OMITTED]
The kyng of Grece said:‘Sir knyght,
I yeff thy son all my right
To the Grekys flood:
Wouch thou saue, he dwell with me?’
‘Yea, Lord, so mut I thee,
God yeld you all this good!’
92
They chose hym ffor Emperoure,
Beste of bone and blood.
231
Gret lordys, that there were,Fourty days dwellith there,
And sith they yode her way;
He yaue his sonnys, as ye may here,
Two swerdys, that were hym dere,
Ech of hem one had they.
Sith he did make vp-tyed
Chirchus and abbeys wyde,
For hym and his to praye.
In Rome this Romans berith the crown
Of all kerpyng of Renown:
He leyth in a feire abbey.
232
Now Iesu Cryst, that all hath wrought,As he on the Rode vs bought,
He geve hvs his blessing,
And as he died for you and me,
He graunt vs in blis to be,
Lesse and mare, both old and ying!
Amen.
Explicit Torent of Portyngale.
| Torrent of Portyngale | |