The Romance of Sir Beves of Hamtoun

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Sir Beues of Hamtoun.

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Sir Beues of Hamtoun.

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Text taken from the Auchinleck MS.

Lordinges, herkneþ to me tale!
Is merier þan þe niȝtingale,
Þat y schel singe;
Of a kniȝt ich wile ȝow roune,
Beues a hiȝte of Hamtoune,
Wiþ outen lesing.

Ich wile ȝow tellen al to gadre
Of þat kniȝt and of is fadre,
Sire Gii:
Of Hamtoun he was sire
And of al þat ilche schire,
To wardi.

Lordinges, þis, of whan y telle,
Neuer man of flesch ne felle
Nas so strong,
And so he was in ech striue,
And euer he leuede wiþ outen wiue,
Al to late and long.

Whan he was fallen in to elde,
Þat he ne miȝte him self welde,
He wolde a wif take;
Sone þar after, ich vnderstonde,
Him hadde be leuer þan al þis londe,
Hadde he hire for-sake.

An elde a wif he tok an honde,
Þe kinges douȝter of Scotlonde,
So faire and briȝt.
Allas, þat he hire euer ches!
For hire loue his lif a les
Wiþ mechel vnriȝt.

Þis maide ichaue of y-told,
Faire maide ȝhe was & bold
And fre y-boren;
Of Almayne þat emperur
Hire hadde loued paramur
Wel þar be-foren.

Ofte to hire fader a sente
And he him selue þeder wente
For hire sake;
Ofte gernede hire to wiue:
Þe king for no þing aliue
Nolde hire him take.

Siþe a ȝaf hire to sire Gii,
A stalword erl and hardi
Of Souþhamtoun.
Man, whan he falleþ in to elde,
Feble a wexeþ and vnbelde
Þourȝ riȝt resoun.

So longe þai ȝede to gedres te bedde,
A knaue child be-twene hem þai hedde,
Beues a het.
Faire child he was & bolde,
He nas boute seue winter olde,
Whan his fader was ded.

Þe leuedi hire mis-be-þouȝte
And meche aȝen þe riȝt ȝhe wrouȝte
In hire tour:
‘Me lord is olde & may nouȝt werche,
Al dai him is leuer at cherche,
Þan in me bour.

Hadde ich itaken a ȝong kniȝt,
Þat ner nouȝt brused in werre & fiȝt,
Also he is,
A wolde me louen dai and niȝt,
Cleppen and kissen wiþ al is miȝt
And make me blis.

I nel hit lete for no þinge,
Þat ich nel him to deþe bringe
Wiþ sum braide!’
Anon riȝt þat leuedi fer
To consaile clepede hir masager
And to him saide:

‘Maseger, do me surte,
Þat þow nelt nouȝt discure me
To no wiȝt!
And ȝif þow wilt, þat it so be,
I schel þe ȝeue gold and fe
And make þe kniȝt.’

Þanne answerde þe masager—
False a was, þat pautener,
And wel prut—
‘Dame, boute ich do þe nede,
Ich graunte, þow me for-bede
Þe londe þourȝ out.’

Þe leuedi þanne was wel fain:
‘Go,’ ȝhe seide, ‘in to Almaine
Out of me bour!
Maseger, be ȝep and snel,
And on min helf þow grete wel
Þat emperur,

And bid, in þe ferste dai,
Þat comeþ in þe moneþ of May,
For loue of me,
Þat he be to fiȝte prest
Wiþ is ferde in hare forest
Be side þe se.

Me lord ich wile þeder sende
For his loue, for to schende
And for to sle;
Bid him, þat hit be nouȝt be-leued,
Þat he ne smite of his heued
And sende hit me!

And whan he haueþ so y-do,
Me loue he schel vnder-fo,
Wiþ outen delai!’
Þanne seide þat masager:
‘Madame, ich wile sone be þer!
Now haue gode dai!’

Now þat masager him goþ.
Þat ilche lord him worþe wroþ,
Þat him wrouȝte!
To schip þat masager him wode:
Allas! Þe wind was al to gode,
Þat him ouer brouȝte.

Þo he com in to Al-mayne,
Þar a mette wiþ a swain
And grette him wel:
‘Felawe,’ a seide, ‘par amur:
Whar mai ich finde þemperur?
Þow me tel!’

‘Ich wile þe telle anon riȝt:
At Rifoun a lai to niȝt,
Be me swere!’
Þe masager him þankede anon
And þeder-wardes he gan gon
Wiþ outen demere.

Þemperur þar a fonde;
Adoun a kneulede on þe grounde,
Ase hit was riȝt,
And seide: ‘Þe leuedi of Souþ-Hamtone
Þe grette wel be godes sone,
Þat is so briȝt,

And bad þe, in þe ferste day,
Þat comeþ in þe moneþ o May,
How so hit be,
Þat ȝe be to fiȝte prest
Wiþ ȝour ferde in hare forest
Be side þe se.

Hire lord ȝhe wile þeder sende
For þe loue, for to schende,
Wiþ lite meini;
Þar aboute þow schost be fouse,
And þow schelt after her wedde to spouse,
To þin amy.’

‘Sai,’ a seide, ‘icham at hire heste:
Ȝif me lif hit wile leste,
Hit schel be do!
Gladder icham for þat sawe,
Þan þe fouel, whan hit ginneþ dawe,
And sai hire so!

And for þow woldes hire erande bede,
An hors icharged wiþ golde rede
Ich schel þe ȝeue,
And wiþ inne þis fourtene niȝt
Me self schel dobbe þe to kniȝt,
Ȝif þat ich liue.’

Þe mesager him þankede ȝerne;
Hom aȝen he gan him terne
To Hamtoun;
Þe leuedi a fond in hire bour,
And he hire clepede doceamur
And gan to roun:

‘Dame,’ a seide, ‘I þe tel:
Þat emperur þe grette wel
Wiþ loue mest:
Glad he is for þat tiding,
A wile be prest at þat fiȝting
In þat forest.

Ȝif þow ert glad þe lord to sle,
Gladder a is for loue of þe
Fele siþe!’
Þe mesager haþ þus isaid,
Þe leuedi was riȝt wel apaid
And maked hire bliþe.

In Mai, in þe formeste dai,
Þe leuedi in hire bedde lai,
Ase hit wer nede;
Hire lord ȝhe clepede out of halle
And seide, þat euel was on hire falle,
Ȝhe wende be ded.

Þat erl for hire haþ sorwe ikauȝt
And askede, ȝif ȝhe disired auȝt,
Þat miȝte hire freure.
‘Ȝe,’ ȝhe seide, ‘of a wilde bor
I wene, me mineþ boute for,
Al of þe feure!’

‘Madame,’ a seide, ‘for loue myn,
Whar mai ich finde þat wilde swin?
I wolde, þow it hadde!’
And ȝhe answerde wiþ tresoun mest,
Be þe se in hare forest,
Þar a bradde.

Þat erl swor, be godes grace,
In þat forest he wolde chace,
Þat bor to take;
And ȝhe answerde wiþ tresoun þan:
‘Blessed be þow of alle man
For mine sake!’

Þat erl is hors be-gan to stride,
His scheld he heng vpon is side,
Gert wiþ swerd;
Moste non armur on him come,
Him self was boute þe ferþe some
Toward þat ferd.

Allas, þat he nadde be war
Of is fomen, þat weren þar,
Him forte schende:
Wiþ tresoun worþ he þer islawe
And i-brouȝt of is lif-dawe,
Er he hom wende!

Whan he com in to þe forest,
Þemperur a fond al prest;
For enui
A prikede out be-fore is ost,
For pride and for make bost,
And gan to crie:

‘Aȝilt þe, treitour! þow olde dote!
Þow schelt ben hanged be þe þrote,
Þin heued þow schelt lese;
Þe sone schel an-hanged be
And þe wif, þat is so fre,
To me lemman i chese!’

Þerl answerde at þat sawe:
‘Me þenkeþ, þow seist aȝen þe lawe,
So god me amende!
Me wif and child, þat was so fre,
Ȝif þow þenkest be-neme hem me,
Ich schel hem defende!’

Þo prikede is stede sire Gii,
A stalword man and hardi,
While he was sounde;
Þemperur he smot wiþ is spere,
Out of is sadel he gan him bere
And þrew him to grounde.

‘Treitour!’ a seide, ‘þow ert to bolde!
Wenestow, þeȝ ich bo olde,
To ben afered?
Þat þow hauest no riȝt to me wif,
I schel þe kiþe be me lif!’
And drouȝ is swerd.

Þat erl held is swerd adrawe,
Þemperur wiþ he hadde slawe,
Nadde be sokour:
Þar come kniȝtes mani & fale,
Wel ten þosent told be tale,
To þemperur.

Þo sire Gii him gan defende,
Þre hondred heuedes of a slende
Wiþ is brond;
Hadde he ben armed wel, y-wis,
Al þe meistre hadde ben his,
Ich vnderstonde.

Þre men were slawe, þat he þer hadde,
Þat he wiþ him out ladde
And moste nede;
To haue merci, þat was is hope;
Þemperur after him is lope
Vpon a stede.

Þerl knewlede to þemperur,
Merci a bad him and sokour
And is lif:
‘Merci, sire, ase þow ert fre,
Al þat ichaue, i graunte þe,
Boute me wif!

For þine men, þat ichaue slawe,
Haue her me swerd idrawe
And al me fe:
Boute me ȝonge sone Bef
And me wif, þat is me lef,
Þat let þow me!’

‘For gode,’ queþ he, ‘þat ich do nelle!’
Þemperur to him gan telle,
And was agreued,
Anon riȝt is swerd out drouȝ
And þe gode kniȝt a slouȝ
And nam is heued.

A kniȝt a tok þe heued an honde:
‘Haue,’ a seide, ‘ber þis sonde
Me leue swet!’
Þe kniȝt to Hamtoun þo gan gon,
Þe leuedi þar a fond anon
And gan hire grete:

‘Dame,’ a seide, ‘to me atende:
Þemperur me hider sende
Wiþ is pray!’
And ȝhe seide: ‘Blessed mot he be!
To wif a schel wedde me
To morwe in þe dai.

Sai him, me swete wiȝt,
Þat he come ȝet to niȝt
In to me bour!’
Þe mesager is wei haþ holde,
Al a seide, ase ȝhe him tolde,
To þemperur.

Now scholle we of him mone,
Of Beues, þat was Guis sone,
How wo him was:
Ȝerne a wep, is hondes wrong,
For his fader a seide among:
‘Allas! Allas!’

He clepede is moder & seide is sawe:
‘Vile houre! Þe worst to-drawe
And al to-twiȝt!
Me þenkeþ, ich were þer of ful fawe,
For þow hauest me fader slawe
Wiþ mechel vnriȝt!

Allas, moder, þe faire ble!
Euel be-comeþ þe, houre to be,
To holde bordel,
And alle wif houren for þe sake,
Þe deuel of helle ich hii be-take,
Flesch and fel!

Ac o þing, moder, i schel þe swere:
Ȝif ich euer armes bere
And be of elde,
Al þat haþ me fader islawe
And ibrouȝt of is lif dawe,
Ich schel hem ȝilden!’

Þe moder hire haþ vnderstonde,
Þat child ȝhe smot wiþ hire honde
Vnder is ere.
Þe child fel doun & þat was scaþe,
His meister tok him wel raþe,
Þat hiȝte Saber.

Þe kniȝt was trewe & of his kinde,
Strenger man ne scholde men finde
To ride ne go.
A was ibrouȝt in tene & wrake
Ofte for þat childes sake
Ase wel ase þo.

Þat childe he nam vp be þe arm,
Wel wo him was for þat harm,
Þat he þar hadde.
Toward is kourt he him kende;
Þe leuedi after Saber sende
And to him radde.

‘Saber,’ ȝhe seide, ‘þow ert me lef,
Let sle me ȝonge sone Bef,
Þat is so bold!
Let him an-hange swiþe hiȝe,
I ne reche, what deþ he diȝe,
Siþþe he be cold!’

Saber stod stille & was ful wo;
Naþeles a seide, a wolde do
After hire sawe;
Þe child wiþ him hom he nam,
A swin he tok, whan he hom cam,
And dede hit of dawe.

Þe childes cloþes, þat were gode,
Al a bi-sprengde wiþ þat blode
In mani stede,
Ase ȝif þe child wer to-hewe,
A þouȝte to his moder hem schewe,
And so a dede.

At þe laste him gan adrede,
He let cloþen in pouer wede
Þat hende wiȝt,
And seide: ‘Sone, þow most kepe
Vpon þe felde mine schepe
Þis fourte niȝt!

And whan þe feste is come to þende,
In to anoþer londe I schel þe sende
Fer be souþe,
To a riche erl, þat schel þe gie
And teche þe of corteisie
In þe ȝouþe.

And whan þow ert of swich elde,
Þat þow miȝt þe self wilde,
And ert of age,
Þanne scheltow come in te Ingelonde,
Wiþ werre winne in to þin honde
Þin eritage.

I schel þe helpe wiþ alle me miȝt,
Wiþ dent of swerd to gete þe riȝt,
Be þow of elde!’
Þe child him þankede & sore wep,
And forþ a wente wiþ þe schep
Vpon þe velde.

Beues was herde vpon þe doun,
He lokede homward to þe toun,
Þat scholde ben his;
He be-held to-ward þe tour,
Trompes he herde and tabour
And meche blis.

‘Lord,’ a scide, ‘on me þow mone!
Ne was ich ones an erles sone
And now am herde?
Miȝte ich wiþ þat emperur speke,
Wel ich wolde me fader awreke
For al is ferde!’

He nemeþ is bat and forþ a goþ,
Swiþe sori and wel wroþ,
To-ward þe tour;
‘Porter!’ a sede, ‘let me in reke!
A lite þing ich aue to speke
Wiþ þemperur.’

‘Go hom, truant!’ þe porter sede,
‘Scherewe houre sone, y þe rede,
Fro þe gate:
Boute þow go hennes also swiþe,
Hit schel þe rewe fele siþe,
Þow come þer ate!

Sixte þe scherewe, ho be itte,
A lokeþ, as a wolde smite
Wiþ is bat:
Speke he ouȝt meche more,
I schel him smite swiþe sore
Upon is hat.’

‘For gode,’ queþ Beues, ‘naþeles,
An houre sone for soþ ich wes,
Wel ich it wot!
Y nam no truant, be godes grace!’
Wiþ þat a lefte vp is mace
Anon fot hot.

Beues wiþ oute þe gate stod
And smot þe porter on þe hod,
Þat he gan falle;
His heued he gan al to cleue
And forþ a wente wiþ þat leue
In to þe halle.

Al aboute he gan be-holde,
To þemperur he spak wordes bolde
Wiþ meche grame:
‘Sire,’ a sede, ‘what dostow here?
Whi colles þow aboute þe swire
Þat ilche dame?

Me moder is þat þow hauest an honde:
What dostow her vpon me londe
Wiþ outen leue?
Tak me me moder and mi fe,
Boute þow þe raþer hennes te,
I schel þe greue!

Nastow, sire, me fader slawe?
Þow schelt ben hanged & to-drawe,
Be godes wille!
Aris! Fle hennes, I þe rede!’
Þemperur to him sede:
‘Foul, be stille!’

Beues was niȝ wod for grame,
For a clepede him foul be name,
And to him a wond;
For al þat weren in þe place,
Þries a smot him wiþ is mace
And wiþ is honde.

Þries a smot him on þe kroun;
Þat emperur fel swowe adoun,
Þar a sat.
Þe leuedi, is moder, gan to grede:
‘Nemeþ þat treitour!’ ȝhe sede,
‘Anon wiþ þat!’

Þo dorste Beues no leng abide;
Þe kniȝtes vp in ech a side,
More and lasse,
Wo hem was for þe childes sake,
Boute non of hem nolde him take,
Hii lete him pase.

Beues goþ faste ase he mai,
His meister a mette in þe wai,
Þat hiȝte Saber,
& he him askede wiþ bliþe mod:
‘Beues!’ a seide, ‘for þe rode,
What dostow her?’

‘I schel þe telle al to gadre:
Beten ichaue me stifadre
Wiþ me mace;
Þries i smot him in þe heued,
Al for ded ich him leued
In þe place!’

‘Beues!’ queþ Saber, ‘þow ert to blame:
Þe leuedi wile now do me schame
For þine sake!
Boute þow be me consaile do,
Þow miȝt now sone bringe vs bo
In meche wrake!’

Saber Beues to his hous ladde,
Meche of þat leuedi him dradde.
Þe leuedi out of þe tour cam,
To Saber þe wei ȝhe nam.
‘Saber,’ ȝhe seide, ‘whar is Bef,
Þat wike treitour, þat fule þef?’

‘Dame,’ a seide, ‘ich dede him of dawe
Be þe red and be þe sawe;
Þis beþ his cloþe, þow her sixt.’
Þe leuedi seide: ‘Saber, þow lixt!
Boute þow me to him take,
Þow schelt abegge for is sake.’

Beues herde his meister þrete;
To hire a spak wiþ hertte grete
And seide: ‘Lo me her be name!
Do me meister for me no schame!
Ȝif þow me sext, lo, whar ich am here!’
His moder tok him be þe ere;
Fain ȝhe wolde, a were of liue.
Foure kniȝtes ȝhe clepede bliue:
‘Wendeþ,’ ȝhe seide, ‘to þe stronde:
Ȝif ȝe seþ schipes of painim londe,

Selleþ to hem þis ilche hyne,
Þat ȝe for no gode ne fine,
Whaþer ȝe haue for him mor or lesse,
Selleþ him riȝt in to heþenesse!’

Forþ þe kniȝtes gonne te,
Til þat hii come to þe se,
Schipes hii fonde þer stonde
Of heþenesse and of fele londe;
Þe child hii chepeden to sale,
Marchaundes þai fonde ferli fale
And solde þat child for mechel auȝte
And to þe Sarasins him be-tauȝte.
Forþ þai wente wiþ þat child,
Crist of heuene be him mild!
Þe childes hertte was wel colde,
For þat he was so fer isolde;
Naþeles, þouȝ him þouȝte eile,
Toward painim a moste saile.
Whan hii riuede out of þat strond,
Þe king hiȝte Ermin of þat londe;

His wif was ded, þat hiȝte Morage,
A douȝter a hadde of ȝong age,
Iosiane þat maide het,
Hire schon wer gold vpon hire fet;
So faire ȝhe was & briȝt of mod,
Ase snow vpon þe rede blod;
Whar to scholde þat may discriue?
Men wiste no fairer þing aliue,
So hende ne wel itauȝt;
Boute of cristene lawe ȝhe kouþe nauȝt.
Þe marchauns wente an hiȝing
& presente Beues to Ermyn king.
Þe king þar of was glad & bliþe
And þankede hem mani a siþe:

‘Mahoun!’ a seide, ‘þe miȝt be proute,
And þis child wolde to þe aloute;
Ȝif a wolde a Sarasin be,
Ȝit ich wolde hope, a scholde þe!
Be Mahoun, þat sit an hiȝ,
A fairer child neuer i ne siȝ,
Neiþer a lingþe ne on brade,
Ne non, so faire limes hade!
Child,’ a seide, ‘whar wer þe bore?
What is þe name? telle me fore!
Ȝif ich it wiste, hit were me lef.’
‘For gode,’ a seide, ‘ich hatte Bef,
Iboren ich was in Ingelonde,
At Hamtoun, be þe se stronde;
Me fader was erl þar a while,
Me moder him let sle wiþ gile,
And me ȝhe solde in to heþenlonde:
Wikked beþ fele wimmen to fonde!
Ac, sire, ȝif it euer so be-tide,
Þat ich mowe an horse ride

And armes bere & scheft to-breke,
Me fader deþ ich schel wel wreke!’

Þe kinges hertte wex wel cold,
Whan Beues hadde þus itolde,
& saide: ‘I naue non eir after me dai,
Boute Iosian, þis faire mai;
And þow wile þe god for-sake
And to Apolyn, me lord, take,
Hire i schel þe ȝeue to wiue
And al me lond after me liue!’
‘For gode!’ queþ Beues, ‘þat i nolde
For al þe seluer ne al þe golde,
Þat is vnder heuene liȝt,
Ne for þe douȝter, þat is so briȝt:
I nolde for-sake in none manere
Iesu, þat houȝte me so dere:
Al mote þai be doum and deue,
Þat on þe false godes be-leue!’

Þe king him louede wel þe more,
For him ne stod of noman sore,
& seide: ‘Beues, while þow ert swain,
Þow schelt be me chaumberlain,
And þow schelt, whan þow ert dobbed kniȝt,
Me baner bere in to eueri fiȝt!’
Beues answerde al wiþ skil:
‘What ȝe me hoten, don ich wil!’
Beues was þer ȝer and oþer,
Þe king him louede also is broþer,
And þe maide, þat was so sliȝ:
So dede eueri man, þat him siȝ.
Be þat he was fiftene ȝer olde,
Kniȝt ne swain þar nas so bolde,
Þat him dorste aȝenes ride
Ne wiþ wreþþe him abide.

His ferste bataile, for soþ te say,
A dede a Cristes messe day;

Ase Beues scholde to water ride
& fiftene Sarasins be is side,
And Beues rod on Arondel,
Þat was a stede gode and lel:
A Sarasin be-gan to say
And askede him, what het þat day.
Beues seide: ‘For soþ y-wis,
I not neuer, what dai it is,
For i nas boute seue winter old,
Fro Cristendome ich was i-sold;
Þar fore i ne can telle nouȝt þe,
What dai þat hit miȝte be.’

Þe Sarasin be-held and louȝ:
‘Þis dai,’ a seide, ‘i knowe wel inouȝ:
Þis is þe ferste dai of ȝoul,
Þe god was boren wiþ outen doul;
For þi men maken þer mor blisse
Þan men do her in heþenesse:
Anoure þe god, so i schel myn,
Boþe Mahoun and Apolyn!’

Beues to þat Sarasin said:
‘OF Cristendom ȝit ichaue a-braid,
Ichaue seie on þis dai riȝt
Armed mani a gentil kniȝt,
Torneande riȝt in þe feld
With helmes briȝt and mani scheld;
And were ich alse stiþ in plas,
Ase euer Gii, me fader, was,
Ich wolde for me lordes loue,
Þat sit hiȝ in heuene aboue,
Fiȝte wiþ ȝow euerichon.
Er þan ich wolde hennes gon!’
Þe Sarasin seide to his felawes:
‘Lo, breþern, hire ȝe nouȝt þis sawes,
How þe ȝonge cristene hounde,
A saiþ, a wolde vs fellen te grounde:
Wile we aboute him gon
And fonde þat treitour slon?’
Al aboute þai gonne þringe,
And hard on him þai gonne dinge

And ȝaf him wondes mani on
Þourȝ þe flesch in to þe bon,
Depe wondes and sore,
Þat he miȝte sofre namore;
Þo his bodi be-gan to smerte,
He gan plokken vp is hertte,
Ase tid to a Sarasin a wond
And breide a swerd out of is honde,
And fifti Sarasins, in þat stonde
Þar wiþ a ȝaf hem dedli wonde,
And sum he strok of þe swire,
Þat þe heued fleȝ in to þe riuere,
And sum he clef euene asonder;
Here hors is fet þai laine vnder;

Ne was þer non, þat miȝte ascape,
So Beues slouȝ hem in a rape:
Þe stedes hom to stable ran
Wiþ oute kenning of eni man.

Beues hom be-gan to ride,
His wondes bledde be ech side;
Þe stede he graiþed vp anon,
In to his chaumber he gan gon
And leide him deueling on þe grounde,
To kolen is hertte in þat stounde.
Tiding com to king Ermyn,
Þat Beues hadde mad is men tyn;
Þe king swor and seide is sawe:
For þi a scholde ben to-drawe.

Vp stod þat maide Iosian,
And to hire fader ȝhe seide þan:

‘Sire, ich wot wel in me þouȝt,
Þat þine men ne slouȝ he nouȝt,
Be Mahoun ne be Tervagaunt,
Boute hit were him self defendaunt!
Ac, fader,’ ȝhe seide, ‘be me red,
Er þow do Beues to ded,
Ich praie, sire, for loue o me,
Do bringe þat child be fore þe!
Whan þe child, þat is so bold,
His owene tale haþ itolde,
And þow wite þe soþ, apliȝt,
Who haþ þe wrong, who haþ riȝt,
Ȝef him his dom, þat he schel haue,
Whaþer þow wilt him slen or saue!’
King Ermyn seide: ‘Me douȝter fre,
Ase þow hauest seid, so it schel be!’
Iosiane þo anon riȝtes
Clepede to hire twei kniȝtes:
‘To Beues now wende ȝe
And prai him, þat he come to me:
Er me fader arise fro his des;
Ful wel ich schel maken is pes!’
Forþ þe kniȝtes gonne gon,
To Beues chaumber þai come anon

And praide, ase he was gentil man,
Come speke wiþ Iosian.
Beues stoutliche in þat stounde
Haf vp is heued fro þe grounde;
Wiþ stepe eiȝen & rowe bren
So loþeliche he gan on hem sen,
Þe twei kniȝtes, þar þai stode,
Þai were aferde, hii wer niȝ wode.
A seide: ‘Ȝif ȝe ner masegers,
Ich wolde ȝow sle, losengers!
I nele rise o fot fro þe grounde,
For speke wiþ an heþene hounde:
Ȝhe is an honde, also be ȝe,
Out of me chaumber swiþe ȝe fle!’
Þe kniȝtes wenten out in rape,
Þai were fain so to ascape.
To Iosian þai wente as tit
And seide: ‘Of him is gret despit:

Sertes, a clepede þe heþene hound
Þries in a lite stounde:
We nolde for al Ermonie
Eft sones se him wiþ our eie!’
‘Hardeliche,’ ȝhe seide, ‘comeþ wiþ me,
And ich wile ȝour waraunt be!’
Forþ þai wente al isame,
To Beues chaumber þat he came.
‘Lemman,’ ȝhe seide, ‘gent and fre,
For godes loue, spek wiþ me!’
Ȝhe keste him boþe moþ & chin
And ȝaf him confort gode afin,
So him solaste þat mai,
Þat al is care wente awai,
And seide: ‘Lemman, þin ore!
Icham i-wonded swiþe sore!’
‘Lemman,’ ȝhe seide, ‘wiþ gode entent
Ichaue brouȝt an oyniment,
For make þe boþe hol & fere:
Wende we to me fader dere!’

Forþ þai wenten an hiȝing
Til Ermyn, þe riche king,
And Beues tolde vnto him þan,
How þat stour ended & gan,
And schewed on him in þat stounde
Fourti grete, grisli wounde.

Þanne seide king Ermin þe hore:
‘I nolde, Beues, þat þow ded wore
For al þe londes, þat ichaue;
Ich praie, douȝter, þat þow him saue
And proue to hele, ase þow can,
Þe wondes of þat douȝti man!’
In to chaumber ȝhe gan him take
And riche baþes ȝhe let him make,

Þat wiþ inne a lite stonde
He was boþe hol and sonde.
Þanne was he ase fresch to fiȝt,
So was þe faukoun to þe fliȝt.
His oþer prowesse who wile lere,
Hende, herkneþ, and ȝe mai here!

A wilde bor þar was aboute,
Ech man of him hadde gret doute,
Man and houndes, þat he tok,
Wiþ his toskes he al to-schok.
Þei him hontede kniȝtes tene,
Þar of ne ȝef he nouȝt a bene.
At is mouþ fif toskes stoden out,
Euerich was fif enches about,
His sides wer hard & strong,
His brostles were gret & long,
Him self was fel and kouþe fiȝte,
No man sle him ne miȝte.

Beues lay in is bedde a niȝt
And þouȝte, a wolde keþen is miȝt
Vpon þat swin him self one,
Þat noman scholde wiþ him gone.

A morwe, whan hit was dai cler,
Ariseþ kniȝt and squier;
Beues let sadlen is ronsi,
Þat bor a þouȝte to honti,
A gerte him wiþ a gode brond
And tok a spere in is hond,
A scheld a heng vpon is side,
Toward þe wode he gan ride.
Iosian, þat maide, him be-held,
Al hire loue to him ȝhe feld;
To hire self ȝhe seide, þer ȝhe stod:
‘Ne kepte y neuer more gode
Ne namore of al þis worldes blisse,
Þanne Beues wiþ loue o time te kisse;
In gode time were boren,
Þat Beues hadde to lemman koren!’

Þo Beues in to þe wode cam,
His scheld aboute is nekke a nam
And tide his hors to an hei þorn
And blew a blast wiþ is horn;
Þre motes a blew al arowe,
Þat þe bor him scholde knowe.
Þo he com to þe bor is den,
A seȝ þer bones of dede men,

Þe bor hadde slawe in þe wode,
Ieten here flesch & dronke her blode.
‘Aris!’ queþ Beues, ‘corsede gast,
And ȝem me bataile wel in hast!’
Sone so þe bor him siȝ,
A rerde is brosteles wel an hiȝ
And starede on Beues wiþ eien holwe,
Also a wolde him haue a-swolwe;
And for þe bor ȝenede so wide,
A spere Beues let to him gli le;
On þe scholder he smot þe bor,
His spere barst to pises þore;
Þe bor stod stille aȝen þe dent,
His hyde was harde ase eni flent.
Now al to-borste is Beues spere,
A drouȝ his swerd, him self to were,
And fauȝt aȝen þe bor so grim,
A smot þe bor and he to him.

Þus þe bataile gan leste long
Til þe time of euesong,
Þat Beues was so weri of fouȝte,
Þat of is lif he ne rouȝte,
And þo þe bor was also,
Awai fro Beues he gan go,
Wile Beues made is praier
To god and Mari, is moder dere,
Whaþer scholde oþer slen:
Wiþ þat com þe bor aȝen
And bente is brostles vp, saunfaile,
Aȝen Beues to ȝeue bataile;
Out at is mouþ in aiþer side
Þe foim ful ferli gan out glide;
And Beues in þat ilche venev,
Þourȝ godes grace & is vertv
Wiþ is swerd out a slinte
Twei toskes at þe ferste dent;
A spanne of þe groin be-forn
Wiþ is swerd he haþ of schoren.
Þo þe bor so loude cride,
Out of þe forest wide and side,
To þe castel þar þat lai Ermin,
Men herde þe noise of þe swin;
And, alse he made þat loþeli cri,
His swerd Beues hasteli

In at þe mouþ gan þreste þo
And karf his hertte euene ato:
Þe swerd a breide aȝen fot hot
And þe bor is heued of smot,
And on a tronsoun of is spere
Þat heued a stikede for to bere.
Þanne a sette horn to mouþe
And blew þe pris ase wel kouþe,
So glad he was for is honting.
Þat heued a þouȝte Iosian bring:
& er he com to þat maide fre,
Him com strokes so gret plente,
Þat fain he was to weren is hed
And saue him self fro þe ded.

Astiward was wiþ king Ermin,
Þat hadde tiȝt to sle þat swin;
To Beues a bar gret envie,
For þat he hadde þe meistrie;
He dede arme his kniȝtes stoute,
Foure and twenti in a route,
And ten forsters also he tok
And wente to wode, seiþ þe bok.
Þar of ne wiste Beues nouȝt:
Helpe him god, þat alle þing wrouȝt!

In is wei he rit pas for pas.
Herkneþ now a ferli cas:
A wende pasi in griþ & pes,
Þe stiward cride: ‘Leiþ on & sles!’

Beues seȝ, þat hii to him ferde,
A wolde drawe to is swerde:
Þanne hadde he leued it þor,
Þar he hadde slawe þe bor.
He nadde noþing, him self to were,
Boute a tronsoun of a spere.
Þo was Beues sore desmeid,
Þe heued fro þe tronsoun a braid,
And wiþ þe bor is heued a fauȝt
And wan a swerd of miche mauȝt,
Þat Morgelai was cleped, apliȝt:
Beter swerd bar neuer kniȝt.
Þo Beues hadde þat swerd an hond,
Among þe heþene kniȝtes a wond,
And sum vpon þe helm a hitte,
In to þe sadel he hem slitte,
And sum kniȝt Beues so ofrauȝte,
Þe heued of at þe ferste drauȝte,
So harde he gan to lein aboute
Among þe heþene kniȝtes stoute,

Þat non ne pasede hom, apliȝt;
So þourȝ þe grace of god almiȝt
Þe kinges stiward a hitte so,
Þat is bodi a clef ato.
Þe dede kors a pulte adoun
And lep him self in to þe arsoun.
Þat strok him þouȝte wel iset,
For he was horsed meche bet.
He þouȝte make pes doun riȝtes
Of þe forsters ase of þe kniȝtes;
To hem faste he gan ride;
Þai gonne schete be ech a side,
So mani arwes to him þai sende,
Unneþe a miȝte him self defende,
And þo in a lite stounde
Þe ten forsters wer feld te grounde,
And hew hem alle to pices smale:
So hit is fonde in frensche tale.

Iosian lai in a castel
& seȝ þat sconfit euerich del:
‘O Mahoun,’ ȝhe seide, ‘oure driȝte,
What Beues is man of meche miȝte!
Al þis world ȝif ich it hedde,
Ich him ȝeue me to wedde;
Boute he me loue, icham ded:
Swete Mahoun, what is þe red?
Loue-longing me haþ be-couȝt,
Þar of wot Beues riȝt nouȝt.’
Þus þat maide made hire mon,
Þar ȝhe stod in þe tour al on,
And Beues þar þe folk be-leued
And wente hom wiþ þe heued;
Þat heued of þat wilde swin
He presente to king Ermin.

Þe king þar of was glad & bliþe
And þankede him ful mani a siþe,
Ac he ne wiste þer of nowiȝt,
How is stiward to deþe was diȝt.

Þre ȝer after þat bataile,
Þat Beues þe bor gan asaile,
A king þer com in to Ermonie
And þouȝte winne wiþ meistrie
Iosiane, þat maide briȝt,
Þat louede Beues wiþ al hire miȝt.
Brademond cride, ase he wer wod,
To king Ermin, þar a stod:
‘King,’ a seide swiþe bliue,
‘Ȝem me þe douȝter to wiue!
Ȝef þow me wernest, wiþ outen faile,
I schel winne hire in plein bataile,
On fele half i schel þe anvȝe,
And al þe londe I schel destruȝe
And þe sle, so mai be-tide,
And lay hire a niȝt be me side,
And after i wile þe douȝter ȝeue
To a weine pain, þat is for-driue!’
Ermin answerde bliue an hiȝe:
‘Be Mahoun, sire, þow schelt liȝe!’

Adoun of his tour a went
And after al is kniȝtes a sent
And tolde hem, how Brademond him asailed hadde,
And askede hem alle, what hii radde.
A word þanne spak þat maiden briȝt:
‘Be Mahoun, sire! wer Beues a kniȝt,
A wolde defende þe wel inouȝ:
Me self i seȝ, whar he slouȝ
Ȝour owene stiward, him beset,
Al one in þe wode wiþ him a met,
At wode he hadde his swerd beleued,
Þar he smot of þe bores heued;
He nadde noþing, him self to were,
Boute a tronsoun of is spere,
And ȝour stiward gret people hadde,
Four and twenti kniȝtes a ladde,
Al y-armed to þe teþ,
And eueri hadde swore is deþ,
And ten forsters of þe forest
Wiþ him a brouȝte ase prest,
Þat þouȝte him haue slawe þore
And take þe heued of þe bore,
And ȝeue þe stiward þe renoun.
Þo Beues seȝ þat foule tresoun,
A leide on wiþ þe bor is heued,
Til þat hii were adoun i-weued,
And of þe stiward a wan þat day
His gode swerd Morgelay.

Þe ten forsters also a slouȝ
And hom a pasede wel inouȝ,
Þat he of hem hadde no loþe.’
King Ermyn þanne swor is oþe,
Þat he scholde be maked kniȝt,
His baner to bere in þat fiȝt.

He clepede Beues at þat sake
And seide: ‘Kniȝt ich wile þe make:
Þow schelt bere in to bataile
Me baner, Brademond to asaile!’
Beues answerde wiþ bliþe mod:
‘Bleþelich,’ a seide, ‘be þe rod!’
King Ermin þo anon riȝte
Dobbede Beues vn-to kniȝte
And ȝaf him a scheld gode & sur
Wiþ þre eglen of asur,
Þe champe of gold ful wel i-diȝt
Wiþ fif lables of seluer briȝt;
Siþe a gerte him wiþ Morgelay,
A gonfanoun wel stout and gay
Iosian him brouȝte for to bere.
Sent of þe scheld, y ȝow swere!

Beues dede on is actoun,
Hit was worþ mani a toun;
An hauberk him brouȝte þat mai,
So seiden alle þat hit isai:

Hit was wel iwrouȝt & faire,
Non egge tol miȝte it nouȝt paire.
After þat ȝhe ȝaf him a stede,
Þat swiþe gode was at nede,
For hit was swift & ernede wel:
Me clepede hit Arondel.

Beues in þe sadel lep,
His ost him folwede al to hep
Wiþ baner briȝt & scheldes schene,
Þretti þosent and fiftene.
Þe ferste scheld trome Beues nam.
Brademond aȝenes him cam;

His baner bar þe king Redefoun,
Þat leuede on sire Mahoun.
Row he was also a schep,
Beues of him nam gode kep.
He smot Arondel wiþ spures of golde;
Þanne þouȝte þat hors, þat he scholde,
Aȝen Redefoun Beues gan ride
And smot him þourȝ out boþe side,
Hauberk ne scheld ne actoun
Ne vailede him nouȝt worþ a botoun,
Þat he ne fel ded to þe grounde.
‘Reste þe,’ queþ Beues, ‘heþen hounde!
Þe hadde beter atom þan here!’
‘Lay on faste!’ a bad his fere.

Þo laide þai on wiþ eger mod
And slowe Sarsins, as hii wer wod,

And sire Beues, þe cristene kniȝt
Slouȝ ase mani in þat fiȝt
Wiþ Morgelay him self alone,
Ase þai deden euerichone.
And euer hii were to fiȝte prest
Til þat þe sonne set in þe west.
Beues and is ost wiþ inne a stounde
Sexti þosent þai felde to grounde,
Þat were out of Dameske isent,
Þat neuer on homward ne went.
Þo Brademond seȝ is folk islayn,
A fleȝ awei wiþ miȝte & mayn.
Ase he com ride be a cost,
Twei kniȝtes a fond of Beues ost;
Of his stede he gan doun liȝte
And bond hem boþe anon riȝte,

And þouȝte hem lede to his prisoun
And haue for hem gret raunsoun.
Ase he trosede hem on is stede,
Beues of hem nam gode hede,
And hasteliche in þat tide
After Brademond he gan ride
And seide: ‘Brademond, olde wreche,
Ertow come Iosiane to feche?
Erst þow schelt pase þourȝ min hond
And þourȝ Morgelay, me gode brond!’
Wiþ outen eni wordes mo
Beues Brademond hitte so
Vpon is helm in þat stounde,
Þat a felde him flat to grounde.

‘Merci!’ queþ Bradmond, ‘ich me ȝelde,
Recreaunt, to þe, in þis felde,
So harde þe smitest vpon me kroun,
Ich do me alle in þe bandoun,
Sexti cites wiþ castel tour
Þin owen, Beues, to þin onour,
Wiþ þat þow lete me ascape!’
Beues answerde þo in rape:
‘Nay!’ a seide, ‘be sein Martyn!
Icham iswore to king Ermin:
Al þat ich do, it is his dede,
Þar fore, sire, so god me spede,

Þow schelt swere vpon þe lay,
Þow schelt werre on him niȝt ne dai,
And omage eche ȝer him ȝelde
And al þe londe of him helde!’
Brademond answerde anon riȝte:
‘Þar to me treuþe y þe pliȝte,
Þat i ne schel neuer don him dere
Ne aȝen þe, Beues, armes bere!’
And whan he hadde swore so,
Beues let king Brademond go.
Allas, þat he nadde him slawe
And ibrouȝt of is lif dawe!
For siþþe for al is faire be-heste
Mani dai a maked him feste,
In is prisoun a lai seue ȝere,
Ase ȝe may now forþward here.

Beues rod hom & gan to singe
& seide to Ermin þe kinge:
‘Sire! Brademond, king of Sarasine,
A is be-come one of þine;
Þe man a is to þin heste,
While his lif wile leste,
Londes and ledes, al þat he walt,
A saiþ, sire, of þe hem halt!’
Þanne was king Ermin at þat siþe
In is hertte swiþe bliþe,
A clepede is douȝter & saide:
‘Iosian, þe faire maide,
Vn-arme Beues, he wer at mete,
And serue þe self him þer ate!’
Þo nolde þat maide neuer blinne,
Til ȝhe com to hire inne,
Þar ȝhe lai hire selue aniȝt:
Þar ȝhe sette þat gentil kniȝt,

Hire self ȝaf him water to hond
And sette be-fore him al is sonde.
Þo Beues hadde wel i-ete
& on þe maidenes bed isete,
Þat mai, þat was so briȝt of hiwe,
Þouȝte, ȝhe wolde hire consaile schewe,
And seide: ‘Beues, lemman, þin ore!
Ichaue loued þe ful ȝore,
Sikerli can i no rede,
Boute þow me loue, icham dede,
And boute þow wiþ me do þe wille.’
‘For gode,’ queþ Beues, ‘þat ich do nelle!
Her is,’ a seide, ‘min vnliche,
Brademond king, þat is so riche,
In al þis world nis þer man,
Prinse ne king ne soudan,
Þat þe to wiue haue nolde,
And he þe hadde ones be-holde!’

‘Merci,’ ȝhe seide, ‘ȝet wiþ þan
Ichauede þe leuer to me lemman,
Þe bodi in þe scherte naked,
Þan al þe gold, þat Crist haþ maked,
And þow wost wiþ me do þe wille!’
‘For gode,’ queþ he, ‘þat i do nelle!’
Ȝhe fel adoun and wep riȝt sore:
‘Þow seidest soþ her be-fore:
In al þis world nis þer man,
Prinse ne king ne soudan,
Þat me to wiue haue nolde,
And he me hadde ones be-holde,
And þow, cherl, me hauest for-sake:
Mahoun þe ȝeue tene and wrake!
Beter be-come þe iliche,
For to fowen an olde diche,
Þanne for to be dobbed kniȝt,
Te gon among maidenes briȝt;
To oþer contre þow miȝt fare:
Mahoun þe ȝeue tene & care!’
‘Damesele,’ a seide, ‘þow seist vnriȝt;
Me fader was boþe erl & kniȝt:
How miȝte ich þanne ben a cherl,
Whan me fader was kniȝt & erl?

To oþer contre ich wile te:
Scheltow me namore ise!
Þow ȝeue me an hors: lo it her!
I nel namore of þe daunger!’
Forþ him wente sire Beuoun
And tok is in in þat toun,
Sore aneiȝed and aschamed,
For ȝhe hadde him so gramed.

Þo Beues was to toun igo,
Þo be-gan þat maidenes wo;
Þanne was hire wo wiþ alle,
Hire þouȝte, þe tour wolde on hir falle.
Ȝhe clepede hire chaum berlein Bonefas
And tolde to him al hire cas
And bad him to Beues wende:
‘And sai him, ich wile amende
Al to-gedre of word & dede,
Of þat ichaue him misede!’
Forþ wente Bonefas in þat stounde
And Beues in is chaumber a founde

And seide, ȝhe him þeder sende,
And þat ȝhe wolde alle amende
Al to-gedres to is wille,
Boþe loude and eke stille.

Þanne answerde Beues þe fer:
‘Sai, þow miȝt nouȝt speden her!
Ac for þow bringest fro hire mesage,
I schel þe ȝeue to þe wage
A mantel whit so melk;
Þe broider is of tuli selk,
Beten abouten wiþ rede golde,
Þe king to were, þeȝ a scholde!’
Bonefas him þankede ȝerne,
Hom aȝen he gan terne;
A fond þat maide in sorwe & care
And tolde hire his answare,
Þat he ne miȝte nouȝt spede
Aboute hire nede,
& seide: ‘Þow haddest vnriȝt,
So te misain a noble kniȝt!’
‘Who ȝaf þe þis ilche wede?’
‘Beues, þat hendi kniȝt!’ a sede.

‘Allas!’ ȝhe seide, ‘ich was to blame,
Whan ich seide him swiche schame,
For hit nas neuer a cherles dede,
To ȝeue a maseger swiche a wede!
Whan he nel nouȝt to me come,
Þe wei to his chaumber y wil neme,
And, what euer of me be-falle,
Ich wile wende in to is halle!’

Beues herde þat maide þer oute:
Ase ȝif a slep, he gan to route.
‘Awake, lemman,’ ȝhe seide, ‘awake!
Icham icome, me pes to make.
Lemman, for þe corteisie,
Spek wiþ me a word or tweie!’
‘Damesele,’ queþ Beues þanne,
‘Let me ligge & go þe wei henne!
Icham weri of-fouȝte sore,
Ich fauȝt for þe, i nel namore.’
‘Merci,’ ȝhe seide, ‘lemman, þin ore!’
Ȝhe fel adoun & wep wel sore:
‘Men saiþ,’ ȝhe seide, ‘in olde riote,
Þat wimmannes bolt is sone schote:

For-ȝem me, þat ichaue misede,
And ich wile riȝt now to mede
Min false godes al for-sake
And cristendom for þe loue take!’
‘In þat maner,’ queþ þe kniȝt,
‘I graunte þe, me swete wiȝt!’
And kiste hire at þat cordement.
Þar fore he was neȝ after schent.

Þe twei kniȝtes, þat he vnbond,
Þat were in Brademondes hond,
He made þat on is chaumberlain:
Him hadde be beter, he hadde hem slein!
Þei wente to þe king & swor oþe:
‘No wonder, sire, þeȝ ȝe be wroþe,
No wonder, þeȝ ȝe ben agreued,
Whan Beues, scherewe mis-be-leued,
Þe douȝter he haþ now for-lain:
Hit were gode, sire, þat he wer slain!’
Hii lowe, þe scherewes, þat him gan wreie:
In helle mote þai hongen beie!
He dede noþing, boute ones hire kiste,
Nouȝt elles bi hem men ne wiste.

Þar fore hit is soþ isaide
And in me rime riȝt wel ilaid:
Deliure a þef fro þe galwe,
He þe hateþ after be alle halwe!

‘Allas!’ queþ Ermin, þe king,
‘Wel sore me reweþ þat tiding!
Seþþe he com me ferst to,
So meche he haþ for me ido,
I ne miȝte for al peynim londe,
Þat men dede him eni schonde!
Ac fain ich wolde awreke be,
Boute i ne miȝte hit nouȝt ise.’
Þanne be-spak a Sarasin:
—Haue he Cristes kurs & myn—
‘Sire, ȝhe scholle for is sake
A letter swiþe anon do make
To Brademond, þe stronge king,
And do him þeder þe letter bringe;
And in þe letter þe schelt saie,
Þat he haþ Iosian for-laie!’

Whan þe letter was come to þende,
After Beues þe king let sende
And seide: ‘Beues, þow most hanne
To Brademond, þin owene manne:
Al in solas and in delit
Þow most him bere þis ilche scriit!
Ac ȝif þow schelt me letter bere,
Vpon þe lai þow schelt me swere,
Þat þow ne schelt wiþ noman mele,
To schewe þe prente of me sele!’
‘I wile,’ queþ Beues ase snel,
‘Þe leter bere treuliche & wel;
Haue ich Arondel, me stede,
Ich wile fare in to þat þede,
And Morgelai, me gode bronde,
Ich wile wende in to þat londe!’
King Ermin seide in is sawe,
Þat ner no mesager is lawe,
To ride vpon an heui stede,
Þat swiftli scholde don is nede:

‘Ac nim a liȝter hakenai
& lef her þe swerd Morgelai,
And þow schelt come to Brademonde
Sone wiþ inne a lite stounde!’
Beues an hakenai be-strit
And in is wei forþ a rit
And bereþ wiþ him is owene deþ,
Boute god him helpe, þat alle þing seþ!

Terne we aȝen, þar we wer er,
& speke we of is em Saber!
After þat Beues was þus sold,
For him is hertte was euer cold;
A clepede to him his sone Terri
And bad him wenden & aspie
In to eueri londe fer and ner,
Whider him ladde þe maroner,

And seide: ‘Sone, þow ert min owen,
Wel þow canst þe lord knowen!
Ich hote þe, sone, in alle manere,
Þat þow him seche þis seue ȝer:
Ich wile feche him, mowe þow him fynde,
Þouȝ he be bi-ȝende Ynde!’
Terri, is sone, is forþ ifare,
Beues a souȝte eueri whare;
In al heþenes nas toun non,
Þat cristene man miȝte þer in gon,
Þat he ne haþ Beues in isouȝt,
Ac he ne kouþe finde him nouȝt.
So hit be fel vpon a cas,
Þat Terri com beside Damas;

& ase he com forþ be þat stede,
A sat and dinede in a wede
Vnder a faire medle tre,
Þat sire Beues gan of-see.
‘Sire,’ queþ Terri, ‘for sein Iuline!
Is it þe wille, com nere & dine!’
Beues was of-hongred sore
And kouþe him gret þank þer fore,
For twei dawes he hadde ride
Fastande in þat ilche wede.

Þe palmer nas nouȝt wiþouten store,
Inouȝ a leide him be-fore,
Bred and flesc out of is male
And of his flaketes win & ale
Whan Beues hadde eten gret foisoun,
Terri askede at sire Beuoun,
Ȝif a herde telle ȝong or olde
Of a child, þat þeder was solde:
His name was i-hote Beuoun,
I-bore a was at Souþ-Hamtoun.

Beues be-held Terri & louȝ
& seide, a knew þat child wel inouȝ:
‘Hit is nouȝt,’ a seide, ‘gon longe,
I seȝ þe Sarsins þat child an-honge!’
Terri fel þer doun and swouȝ,
His her, his cloþes lre al to-drouȝ.
Whan he awok and speke miȝte,
Sore a wep and sore siȝte
And seide: ‘Allas, þat he was boren!
Is me lord Beues for-loren?’

Beues tok him vp at þat cas
And gan him for to solas:
‘Wend hom,’ a seide, ‘to þe contre!
Sai þe frendes so ichaue þe:
Þouȝ þow him seche þes seue ȝer,
Þow worst þat child neuer þe ner!’
Terri on Beues be-held
And seȝ þe boiste wiþ a scheld.
‘Me þenkeþ, þow ert a masager,
Þat in þis londe walkes her;
Icham a clerk and to scole ȝede:
Sire, let me þe letter rede,
For þow miȝt haue gret doute,
Þin owene deþ to bere aboute!’

Beues seide, ich vnder-stonde:
‘He, þat me tok þis letter an honde,
He ne wolde loue me non oþer,
Þan ich were is owene broþer.’
Beues him þankede & þus hii delde:
Terri wente hom and telde
His fader Saber in þe ilde of Wiȝt,
How him tolde a gentil kniȝt,
Þat Sarsins hadde Beues for-fare
And hangede him, while he was þare.

Saber wep and made drem,
For he was þe childes em,
And ech ȝer on a dai certaine
Vpon þemperur of Almaine
Wiþ a wel gret baronage
A cleimede his eritage.

Let we now ben is em Saber
& speke of Beues, þe maseger!
Forþ him wente sire Beuoun,
Til a com to Dames toun;

Aboute þe time of middai
Out of a mameri a sai
Sarasins come gret foisoun,
Þat hadde anoured here Mahoun.

Beues of is palfrei aliȝte
And ran to her mameri ful riȝte
And slouȝ here prest, þat þer was in,
And þrew here godes in þe fen
And louȝ hem alle þer to scorn.
On ascapede and at-orn
In at þe castel ȝete,
Ase þe king sat at þe mete.

‘Sire,’ seide þis man at þe frome,
‘Her is icome a corsede gome,
Þat þroweþ our godes in þe fen
And sleþ al oure men;
Vnneþe i scapede among þat þring,
For to bringe þe tiding!’
Brademond quakede at þe bord
& seide: ‘Þat is Beues, me lord!’
Beues wente in at þe castel ȝate,
His hors he lefte þer ate
And wente forþ in to þe halle
And grete hem in þis maner alle:
‘God, þat made þis world al ronde,
Þe saue, sire king Brademond,
And ek alle þine fere,
Þat i se now here,
And ȝif þat ilche blessing
Likeþ þe riȝt noþing,

Mahoun, þat is god þin,
Teruagaunt & Apolin,
Þe blessi and diȝte
Be alle here miȝte!
Lo her, þe king Ermin
Þe sente þis letter in parchemin,
And ase þe letter þe telleþ to,
A bad, þow scholdest swiþe do!’
Beues kneuled & nolde nouȝt stonde
& ȝaf vp is deþ wiþ is owene honde.

Brademond quakede al for drede,
He vndede þe letter & gan to rede
And fond iwriten in þat felle,
How þat he scholde Beues aquelle.
Þanne seide Brademond to twenti king,
Þat were þat dai at is gistning,
A spak wiþ tresoun & wiþ gile:
‘Ariseþ vp,’ he sede ‘a while,
Euerich of ȝow fro þe bord,
And wolcomeþ ȝour kende lord!’

Alle hii gonnen vp riȝt stonde,
& Brademond tok Beues be þe honde
And held him faste at þat sake,
Þat he ne scholde is swerd out take,
& cride, alse he hadde be wod,
To hem alle, aboute him stod:
‘Ase ȝe me louen at þis stounde,
Bringeþ þis man swiþe to grounde!’
So faste hii gonne aboute him scheue,
Ase don ben aboute þe heue:
So wiþ inne a lite stounde
Beues was ibrouȝt to grounde.

Brademond seide him anon riȝt:
‘Ȝif þow me naddest wonne wiþ fiȝt,
I nolde for noþing hit be-leue,
Þat þow schost be hanged er eue:
Ac ase euel þe schel be-tide,
In me prisoun þow schelt abide
Vnder þerþe twenti teise,
Þar þow schelt haue meche miseise.
Ne scheltow haue, til þow be ded,
Boute ech a dai quarter of a lof bred;
Ȝif þow wilt drinke, þeȝ it be nouȝt swet,
Þe schelt hit take vnder þe fet!’

A dede Beues binde to a ston gret,
Þat weȝ seue quarters of whet,
And het him caste in to prisoun,
Þat twenti teise was dep adoun.
At þe prisoun dore Beues fond
A tronsoun, þat he tok in is hond:
Þar wiþ a þouȝte were him þere
Fram wormes, þat in prisoun were.

Now is Beues at þis petes grounde:
God bringe him vp hol and sonde!

Now speke we of Iosian, þe maide,
Þat com to hire fader & saide:
‘Sire,’ ȝhe seide, ‘whar Beues be,
Þat me miȝte him nouȝt fern i-se?’
‘Douȝter,’ a seide, ‘a is ifare
In to his londe and woneþ þare,
In to is owene eritage,
And haþ a wif of gret parage,
Þe kinges douȝter of Ingelonde,
Ase men doþ me to vnderstonde.’
Þanne was þat maide wo ynouȝ,
In hire chaumber hire her ȝhe droȝ
And wep and seide euer mo,
Þat sum tresoun þar was y-do:

‘Þat me ne telde ord and ende,
What dai awai whanne a wolde wende.’
Of Mombraunt þe king Yuor,
A riche king of gret tresore,
Whan he owhar to werre wolde,
Fiftene kinges him sewe scholde:
Comen a is Iosian to wedde;
Aȝen hire fader so a spedde,
Þat he hire grauntede to is wiue
And al is londe after is liue.
Þo Iosian wiste, ȝhe scholde be quen,
Hit was nouȝt be hire wille, i wen;
Hire were leuer haue had lasse
And haue be Beues is contasse.
Naþeles, now it is so,
Hire fader wil ȝhe moste do,
Ac euer ȝhe seide: ‘Beuoun,
Hende kniȝt of Souþ-Hamtoun,
Naddestow me neuer for-sake,
Ȝif sum tresoun hit nadde make:

Ac for þe loue, þat was so gode,
Þat i louede ase min hertte blode,
Ichaue,’ ȝhe seide, ‘a ring on,
Þat of swiche vertu is þe ston:
While ichaue on þat ilche ring,
To me schel noman haue welling,
And, Beues!’ ȝhe seide, ‘be god aboue,
I schel it weren for þe loue!’

Whan hit to þat time spedde,
Þat Yuor scholde þat maide wedde,
He let sende wiþ outen ensoine
After þe soudan of Babiloine
And after þe fiftene kinge,
Þat him scholde omage bringe,

And bad hem come lest & meste,
To onoure þat meri feste.

Of þat feste nel ich namor telle,
For to hiȝe wiþ our spelle.
Whan al þe feste to-ȝede,
Ech kniȝt wente to is stede,
Men graiþede cartes & somers,
Kniȝtes to horse and squiers,
And Iosian wiþ meche care
Þeder was brouȝt in hire chare.
King Ermin nom Arondel
And let him sadlen faire & wel,
A wente to Beues chaumber, þer he lay,
And nom his swerd Morgelay;
Wiþ Arondel a-gan it lede
To king Yuor, & þus a sede:
‘Sone,’ a sede, ‘haue þis stede,
Þe beste fole, þat man mai fede,

And þis swerd of stel broun,
Þat was Beues of Hamtoun:
A nolde hit ȝeue, wer it in is honde,
Nouȝt for al painim londe!’
‘Ne ich,’ queþ þe king Yuor,
‘For al þe gold ne þe tresor,
Þat þow miȝt in þe cite be-louke!’
‘Sone,’ queþ Ermin, ‘wel mot þe it brouke!’
Yuer gan homward te ride
& dede lede Arondel be is side.
Whan he com wiþ oute Mombraunt,
A swor is oþ be Teruagaunt,
Þat he wolde in to his cite ride
Vpon Arondel be-fore is bride.
Arondel þar he be-strit;
Þat hors wel sone vnder-ȝit,
Þat Beues nas nouȝt vpon is rigge:
Þe king wel sore scholde hit abegge.

He ran ouer dich and þorn,
Þourȝ wode & þourȝ þekke korn;
For no water ne for no londe,
Nowhar nolde þat stede astonde;
At þe laste a þrew Yuor doun
And al to-brak þe kinges kroun,
Þat al is kingdom wel vnneþe
Arerede him þer fro þe deþe;
And er hii miȝte þat hors winne,
Þai lauȝte him wiþ queinte ginne.
A wonder-þing now ȝe may here:
After al þat seue ȝere
To rakenteis a stod iteide,
Nas mete ne drinke be-fore him leid,
Hey ne oten ne water clere,
Boute be a kord of a solere.
Noman dorste come him hende,
Þar þat hors stod in bende.

Now is Iosian a quene,
Beues in prisoun haþ gret tene.
Þe romounce telleþ, þer a set,
Til þe her on is heued greu to is fet;
Snakes and euetes & oades fale,
How mani, can i nouȝt telle in tale,
Þat in þe prisoun were wiþ him,
Þat prouede euer wiþ her venim
To sle Beues, þat gentil kniȝt,
Oc, þourȝ þe grace of god almiȝt,
Wiþ þe tronsoun, þat he to prisoun tok,
A slouȝ hem alle, so saiþ þe bok.
A fleande nadder was in an hole,
For elde blak ase eni cole;
Vnto Beues ȝhe gan flinge
And in þe fore-hed þouȝte him stinge.
Beues was redi wiþ is tronsoun
And smot hire, þat ȝhe fel adoun.
Vpon aȝen þe nadder rowe
And breide awei his riȝt browe;
Þo was Beues sore agreued
And smot þe nadder on þe heued;
So harde dent he hire ȝaf,
Þe brein cleuede on is staf.
Doun fel þe nadder, wiþ outen faile,
And smot so Beues wiþ þe taile,
Þat neȝ a les þer contenaunse,
Almest is lif was in balaunse.
Whan he awakede of þat swouȝ,
Þe tronsoun eft to him a drouȝ
And bet hire al to pises smale,
Ase hit is fonde in frensche tale.
Þo he hadde slawe þe foule fendes,
Be þat hadde Beues lein in bendes
Seue ȝer in peines grete,
Lite idronke & lasse iete;
His browe stank for de-faut of ȝeme,
Þat it set after ase a seme,

Whar þourȝ þat maide ne kneu him nouȝt,
Whan hii were eft to gedre brouȝt.
On a dai, ase he was mad & feint,
To Iesu Crist he made is pleint
& to his moder, seinte Marie,
Reuliche he gan to hem crie:
‘Lord,’ a seide, ‘heuene king,
Schepere of erþe & alle þing:
What haue ich so meche misgilt,
Þat þow sext & þolen wilt,
Þat þe weþerwines & þe fo
Schel þe seruaunt do þis wo?
Ich bedde þe, lord, for þe pite,
Þat þow haue merci on me
And ȝeue grace, hennes to gange
Or sone be drawen oþer an-hange!
Me rouȝte neuer, what deþ to me come,
Wiþ þat ich were hennes nome!’

Þe gailers, þat him scholde ȝeme,
Whan hii herde him þus reme,
‘Þef! cherl!’ seide þat on þo:
‘Now beþ þe lif dawes y-do,
For king ne kaiser ne for no sore
Ne scheltow leue no lenger more.’
Anon riȝtes wiþ þat word
A laumpe he let doun be a cord,
A swerd a tok be his side,
And be þe cord he gan doun glide
And smot him wiþ þat oþer hond,
& Beues, to þe grounde a wond.
‘Allas,’ queþ Beues, ‘þat ilche stounde!
‘Wo is þe man, þat liþ y-bounde
Medel boþe fet and honde!
Þo ich com ferst in to þis londe,
Hadde ich had me swerd Morgelay
And Arondel, me gode palfray,
For Dames, nadde be tresoun,
I nolde haue ȝeue a botoun,
And now þe meste wreche of alle
Wiþ a strok me doþ adoun falle,
Bidde ich neuer wiþ Iesu speke,
Boute ich þer of may ben awreke!’

A smot þe gailer wiþ is fest,
Þat is nekke him to-berst.
His felawe aboue gan to crie:
‘Hiȝe hider, felawe,’ queþ Beues, ‘hiȝe!’
‘Ȝif þow most haue help,’ a sede,
‘Ich come to þe wiþ a gode spede!’
‘Ȝis!’ queþ Beues, al for gile,
And knette þe rop þar while
Ase hiȝ ase a miȝte reche.
Þo queþ Beues wiþ reuful speche:
‘For þe loue of sein Mahoun,
Be þe rop glid bliue adoun
And help, þat þis þef wer ded!’
Whan he hadde þus ised,
Þat oþer gailer no leng abod,
Boute be þe rop adoun he glod.
Whan þe rop failede in is hond,
Beues held vp þat gode bronde
And felde to gronde þat sori wiȝt,
Þourȝ out is bodi þat swerd he piȝt.
Now er þai ded, þe geilers tweie,
& Beues liþ to þe rakenteie,
His lif him þouȝte al to long,
Þre daies after he ne et ne drong.

Tofore þat, for soþe to sai,
A was woned, ech oþer dai
Of bere lof to haue a quarter
To his mete & to his diner;
And, for is meisters wer boþe ded,
Þre daies after he ne et no bred.
To Iesu Crist he bed a bone,
And he him grauntede wel sone;
So ȝerne he gan to Iesu speke,
Þat his vetres gonne breke
And of is medel þe grete ston.
Iesu Crist he þankede anon;
A wente quik out of prisoun
Be þe rop, þe gailer com adoun,
And wente in to þe castel riȝt,
Ac it was aboute þe mid-niȝt;
He lokede aboute fer & ner,
Noman wakande ne seȝ he þer;
He be-held forþer a lite
To a chaunber vnder a garite,
Þar inne he seȝ torges i-liȝt;
Beues wente þeder ful riȝt;
Twelf kniȝtes a fond þer aslepe,
Þat hadde þe castel for to kepe;
Þe chaumber dore a fond vnsteke,
And priueliche he gan in reke
And armede him in yrene wede,
Þe beste, þat he fond at nede,
And gerte him wiþ a gode bronde
And tok a gode spere in is honde;
A scheld aboute is nekke he cast
And wente out of þe chaumber in hast.
Forþer a herde in a stable
Pages fele, wiþ oute fable,
Ase þai sete in here raging;
In at þe dore Beues gan spring,
And for þai scholde him nouȝt wrain,
Vnder his hond he made him plai.
& whan þe Sarasins wer islawe,
Þe beste stede he let forþ drawe

And sadelede hit & wel adiȝt
And wente him forþ anon riȝt
And gan to crie wiþ loude steuen
And þe porter he gan neuenen:
‘Awake!’ a seide, ‘proude felawe,
Þow were worþi ben hanged & drawe!
Hiȝe, þe gates wer vnsteke,
Beues is out of prisoun reke,
And icham sent now for is sake,
Þe treitour ȝif ich miȝte of-take!’
Þe porter was al bewaped:
‘Allas!’ queþ he, ‘is Beues ascaped?’
Vp he caste þe gates wide,
And Beues bi him gan out ride
And tok is wei ful hastelie
Toward þe londe of Ermonie.
He nadde ride in is wei
Boute seue mile of þat contrei,
He wex asleped wonder-sore,
He miȝte ride no forþer-more;
He reinede his hors to a chesteine
And felle aslepe vpon þe pleine;
And alse a slep, in is sweuene
Him þouȝte, Brademond & kinges seuen
Stod ouer him wiþ swerdes drawe,
Al slepande him wolde han slawe.
Of þat sweuen he was of-drad,
He lep to hors ase he wer mad,

Towarde Damas a-gein, apliȝt!
Now reste we her a lite wiȝt,
& speke we scholle of Brademond.
Amorwe, whan he it hadde ifonde,
Þat Beues was ascaped so,
In is hertte him was ful wo.
Þat time be comin acent
Þar was comin parlement,
Erles, barouns, lasse & more,
& fiftene kinges wer samned þore.
To hem Brademond tolde þare,
Þat Beues was fro him i-fare,
And bad help wiþ miȝt & main,
For to feche Beues again.

A king þar was swiþe fer,
His nam was hote Grander.
An hors he hadde of gret pris,
Þat was icleped Trinchefis;
For him a ȝaf seluer wiȝt,
Er he þat hors haue miȝt.

He armede him in yrene wede,
Seue kniȝtes he gan wiþ him lede
And prikede forþ on Trenchefis
And wende wenne meche pris;
And Beues sone he gan se,
Ase he rod to-ward þe cite.
‘Aȝilt þe,’ a seide, ‘þow fox welp,
Þe god schel þe noþing help,
For her þourȝ min hondes one,
For soþe, þow schelt þe lif for-gon!’
‘So me helpe god!’ queþ Beues þo,
‘Hit were no meistri, me to slo,
For þis is þe ferþe dai agon,
Mete ne drinke ne bot i non:
Ac naþeles, god it wot,
Ȝif ich alle nedes mot,
Ȝit ich wile asaie,
A lite box þe to paie!’

King Grander was of herte grim
& rod to Beues & he to him;
And ase þei boþe to gedre mete,
Wiþ here launces þei gonne mete,
Þat hit gonnen al to-driue
& te-borsten on pises fiue.
Here swerdes drowe kniȝtes stoute
And fiȝteþ faste, it is no doute;
Þe medwe squauȝte of her dentes,
Þe fur fleȝ out, so spark o flintes;

Þus þai leide on in boþe side
Be-twene midmorwe & vndertide.
King Grander was agremed strong,
Þat sire Beues him stod so long,
And wiþ is swerd a hitte is scheld,
A quarter fel in to þe feld,
Hauberk, plate and aktoun,
In to Beues forþer arsoun
Half a fot he karf doun riȝt.
Þo Beues seȝ þat strok of miȝt,
A seide: ‘Þat dent was wel iset,
Fasten y wile anoþer bet!’
Wiþ þat word Beues smot doun
Grander is scheld wiþ is fachoun,
And is left hande be þe wrest,
Hit fleȝ awei þourȝ help of Crist.
Þo Grander hadde his scheld i-lore,
He fauȝt ase he wer wode þer fore;
A ȝaf Beues strokes þat tide,
Non ne moste oþer abide.
Beues þer of was agreued
And smot of king Grander is heued,
Þe dede kors in þat þrowe
Fel out ouer þe sadel bowe.
Þo king Grander was islawe,
Þe seue kniȝtes of heþen lawe
Beues slouȝ þat ilche stounde,
So hit is in Frensch y-founde.
For nouȝt Beues no de be-laue,
Þe beter hors a wolde haue;
Beues Trenchefis be-strit,
And in is weie forþ a rit,

And Brademond wiþ al is ost
Com after wiþ meche bost;
So longe hii han Beues driue,
Þat hii come to þe cliue,
Þar þe wilde se was.
Herkneþ now a wonder-cas!
In to þe se a moste, iwis,
Oþer fiȝte aȝenes al heþenes.

To Iesu Crist he bad a bone,
And he him grauntede wel sone:
‘Lord,’ a sede, ‘heuene king,
Schepere of erþe & alle þing,
Þow madest fisch ase wel alse man,
Þat noþing of senne ne can,
Ne nouȝt of fisches kenne
Neuer ȝet ne dede senne,
Of þis heþene hounde,
Þat beste þe and bounde
And bete þe body to þe deþe,
Þar fore ich may alse eþe
To water fle in þis stede,
To fisch, þat neuer senne dede,
Þan her daien in londe
In al þis Sarasines honde!’

Beues smot is hors, þat it lep
In to þe se, þat was wel dep.

Whan he in to þe se cam,
Ouer þe se, y wot, a swam;
In a dai and in a niȝt
A bar ouer þat gentil kniȝt.
Whan he com of þat wilde brok,
His gode stede him resede & schok,
And Beues, for honger in þat stounde
Þe hors þrew him doun to grounde.
‘Allas!’ queþ Beues, whan he doun cam,
‘Whilom ichadde an erl-dam
And an hors gode and snel,
Þat men clepede Arondel;
Now ich wolde ȝeue hit kof
For a schiuer of a lof!’
A restede him þer a lite tide,
His gode stede he gan be-stride
And rod ouer dale & doun,
Til he com to a gret toun;
Þe leuedi þar of ouer þe castel lai,
And Beues hire sone of-say
And wende ben al out of care
And þouȝte wel to spede þare.
Beues to þe castel gate rit
And spak to hire, aboue him sit:
‘Dame,’ a seide, ‘þat sit aboue,
For þat ilche lordes loue,
On wham þin herte is on iset:
Ȝeue me to day a meles met!’

Þe leuedi answerde him þo:
‘Boute þow fro þe gate go,
Þe wer beter elles whar þan her:
Go, or þe tit an euel diner!
Me lord,’ ȝhe seide, ‘is a geaunt
& leueþ on Mahoun & Teruagaunt
And felleþ cristene men to grounde,
For he hateþ hem ase hounde!’
‘Be god!’ queþ Beues, ‘i swere an oþe:
Be him lef and be him loþe,
Her ich wile haue þe mete
Wiþ loue or eiȝe, whaþer I mai gete!’
Þe leuedi swiþe wroþ wiþ alle
Wente hire forþ in to þe halle
And tolde hire lord anon fore,
How a man hadde iswore,
Þat he nolde fro þe ȝete,
Er he hadde þer þe mete.
Þe geaunt was wonder-strong,
Rome þretti fote long;
He tok a leuour in is hond,
And forþ to þe gate he wond.
Of Beues he nam gode hede,
Ful wel a knew Beues is stede:
‘Þow ert nome þef, y-wis:
Whar stele þow stede Trenchefis,

Þat þow ridest vpon here?
Hit was me broþeres Grandere!’
‘Grander,’ queþ Beues, ‘y ȝaf hod
And made him a kroune brod;
Þo he was next vnder me fest,
Wel y wot, ich made him prest,
And hiȝ dekne ich wile make þe,
Er ich euer fro þe te!’
Þanne seide þe geaunt: ‘Meister sire,
Slouȝ þow me broþer Grandere,
For al þis castel ful of golde
A liue lete þe ich nolde!’
‘Ne ich þe,’ queþ Beues, ‘i trowe!’
Þus be-ginneþ grim to growe.

Þe geaunt, þat ich spak of er,
Þe staf, þat he to fiȝte ber,
Was twenti fote in lengþe be tale,
Þar to gret & noþing smale;
To sire Beues a smot þer wiþ
A sterne strok wiþ outen griþ,
Ac a failede of his diuis
And in þe heued smot Trenchefis,
Þat ded to grounde fel þe stede.
‘O,’ queþ Beues, ‘so god me spede,
Þow hauest don gret vileinie,
Whan þow sparde me bodi
And for me gilt min hors aqueld,
Þow witest him, þat mai nouȝt weld.
Be god, i swere þe an oþ:
Þow schelt nouȝt, whan we te-goþ,
Lauȝande me wende fram,
Now þow hauest mad me gram!’

Beues is swerd anon vp swapte,
He and þe geaunt to-gedre rapte
And delde strokes mani & fale:
Þe nombre can i nouȝt telle in tale.
Þe geaunt vp is clobbe haf
And smot to Beues wiþ is staf,
Þat his scheld fleȝ fram him þore
Þre akres brede and sumdel more.
Þo was Beues in strong erur
And karf ato þe grete leuour
And on þe geauntes brest a wonde,
Þat neȝ a felde him to þe grounde.
Þe geaunt þouȝte þis bataile hard,
Anon he drouȝ to him a dart,
Þourȝ Beues scholder he hit schet,
Þe blod ran doun to Beues fet.
Þo Beues seȝ is owene blod,
Out of is wit he wex neȝ wod,
Vnto þe geaunt ful swiþe he ran
& kedde þat he was douȝti man,
And smot ato his nekke bon:
Þe geaunt fel to grounde anon.

Beues wente in at castel gate,
Þe leuedi a mette þer ate.
‘Dame!’ a seide, ‘go, ȝeue me mete,
Þat euer haue þow Cristes hete!’
Þe leuedi, sore adrad wiþ alle,
Ladde Beues in to þe halle,
And of eueriche sonde,
Þat him com to honde,
A dede hire ete al þer ferst,
Þat ȝhe ne dede him no berst,
And drinke ferst of þe win,
Þat no poisoun was þer in.
Whan Beues had le ete inouȝ,
A keuerchef to him a drouȝ
In þat ilche stounde,
To stope mide is wonde.
‘Dame, dame,’ Beues sede,
‘Let sadele me a gode stede,

For hennes ich wile ride,
I nel no lenger her abide!’
Þe leuedi seide, ȝhe wolde fawe;
A gode stede ȝhe let forþ drawe
And sadeled hit & wel adiȝt,
And Beues, þat hendi kniȝt,
Into þe sadel a lippte,
Þat no stirop he ne drippte.

Forþ him wente sire Beuoun,
Til he com wiþ oute þe toun
In to a grene mede.
‘Now, louerd Crist,’ a sede,
‘Ȝeue it, Brademond, þe king,
He and al is of-spring,
Wer riȝt her vpon þis grene:
Now ich wolde of me tene
Swiþe wel ben awreke,
Scholde he neuer go ne speke:
Now min honger is me aset,
Ne liste me neuer fiȝten bet!’

Forþ a wente be þe strem,
Til a com to Iurisalem;
To þe patriark a wente cof,
& al his lif he him schrof

And tolde him, how hit was be-go,
Of is wele and of is wo.
Þe patriark hadde reuþe
Of him and ek of is treuþe
And for-bed him vpon his lif,
Þat he neuer toke wif,
Boute ȝhe were clene maide.
‘Nai, for soþe!’ sire Beues saide.
On a dai aȝenes þe eue
Of þe patriarke he tok is leue;
Erliche amorwe, whan it was dai,
Forþ a wente in is wai;
And also a rod him self alone:
‘Lord,’ a þouȝte, ‘whar mai i gone?
Whar ich in to Ingelonde fare?
Nai,’ a þouȝte, ‘what scholde i þare,
Boute ȝif ichadde ost to gader,
For to sle me stifader?’
He þouȝte, þat he wolde an hie
In to þe londe of Ermonie,
To Ermonie, þat was is bane,
To his lemman Iosiane.

And also a wente þeder riȝt,
A mette wiþ a gentil kniȝt,
Þat in þe londe of Ermonie
Hadde bore him gode companie;
Þai kiste hem anon wiþ þat
And aþer askede of oþeres stat.
Þanne seide Beues and louȝ:
‘Ich aue fare hard inouȝ,
Sofred boþe honger & chele
And oþer peines mani & fele
Þourȝ king Ermines gile:
Ȝet ich þenke to ȝelde is while,
For he me sente to Brademond,
To haue slawe me þat stonde:
God be þanked, a dede nouȝt so,
Ac in is prisoun wiþ meche wo
Ichaue leie þis seuen ȝare,
Ac now icham from him ifare
Þourȝ godes grace & min engyn,
Ac al ich wite it king Ermyn,
And, ne wer is douȝter Iosiane,
Sertes, ich wolde ben is bane!’

‘Iosiane,’ queþ þe kniȝt, ‘is a wif
Aȝen hire wille wiþ meche strif.
Seue ȝer hit is gon and more,
Þat þe riche king Yuore
To Mombraunt haþ hire wedde
Boþe to bord and to bedde,

100

And haþ þe swerd Morgelai
And Arondel, þe gode palfrai:
Ac siþe þe time, þat i was bore,
Swiche game hadde ich neuer be-fore,
Ase ich hadde þat ilche tide,
Whan i seȝ king Yuor ride
To-ward Mombraunt on Arondel;
Þe hors was nouȝt ipaied wel:
He arnede awai wiþ þe king
Þourȝ felde & wode, wiþ outen lesing,
And in a mure don him cast,
Almest he hadde deied in hast.
Ac er hii wonne þe stede,
Ropes in þe contre þai leide;
Ac neuer siþe, wiþ oute fable,
Ne com þe stede out of þe stable,
So sore he was aneied þat tide;
Siþþe dorste noman on him ride!’
For þis tiding Beues was bliþe,
His ioie kouþe he noman kiþe.
‘Wer Iosiane,’ a þouȝte, ‘ase lele,
Alse is me stede Arondel,
Ȝet scholde ich come out of wo!’
And at þe kniȝt he askede þo:
‘Whider-wardes is Mombraunt?’
‘Sere,’ a sede, ‘be Teruagaunt,
Þow miȝt nouȝt þus wende forþ,
Þow most terne al aȝen norþ!’

Beues ternede his stede
And rod norþ gode spede;
Euer a was pasaunt,
Til a com to Mombraunt.
Mombraunt is a riche cite,
In al þe londe of Sarsine

101

Nis þer non þer to iliche
Ne be fele parti so riche.
And whan þat hende kniȝt Beuoun
Come wiþ outen þe toun,
Þar wiþ a palmer he mette,
And swiþe faire he him grette:
‘Palmer,’ a sede, ‘whar is þe king?’
‘Sire!’ a seide, ‘an honting
Wiþ kinges fiftene.’
‘And whar,’ a seide, ‘is þe quene?’
‘Sire,’ a seide, ‘in hire bour.’
‘Palmer,’ a seide, ‘paramour,
Ȝem me þine wede
For min and for me stede!’
‘God ȝeue it,’ queþ þe palmare,
‘We hadde driue þat chefare!’

Beues of is palfrei aliȝte
And schrede þe palmer as a kniȝte
And ȝaf him is hors, þat he rod in,
For is bordon and is sklauin.
Þe palmer rod forþ ase a king,
& Beues wente alse a breþeling.
Whan he com to þe castel gate,
Anon he fond þar ate
Mani palmer þar stonde
Of fele kene londe,

102

And he askede hem in þat stede,
What hii alle þar dede.
Þanne seide on, þat þar stod:
‘We beþ icome to haue gode,
And so þow ert also!’
‘Who,’ queþ Beues, ‘schel it vs do?’
‘Þe quene, god hire schilde fro care!
Meche ȝhe loueþ palmare;
Al þat ȝhe mai finden here,
Eueriche dai in þe ȝere,
Faire ȝhe wile hem fede
And ȝeue hem riche wede
For a kniȝtes loue, Beuoun,
Þat was i-boren at Souþhamtoun;
To a riche man ȝhe wolde him bringe,
Þat kouþe telle of him tiding!’
‘Whanne,’ queþ Beues, ‘schel þis be don?’
A seide: ‘Be-twene middai & noun.’
Beues, hit ful wel he sai,
Hit nas boute ȝong dai;
A þouȝte, þat he wolde er þan
Wende aboute þe barbican,

103

For to loke & for to se,
How it miȝte best be,
Ȝif he þe castel wolde breke,
Whar a miȝte best in reke;
And also a com be a touret,
Þat was in þe castel iset,
A herde wepe and crie;
Þederward he gan him hie.
‘O allas,’ ȝhe seide, ‘Beuoun,
Hende kniȝt of Souþ-hamtoun,
Now ichaue bide þat day,
Þat to þe treste i ne may:
Þat ilche god, þat þow of speke,
He is fals & þow ert eke!’
In al þe seuene ȝer eche dai
Iosiane, þat faire mai,
Was woned swich del to make,
Al for sire Beues sake.

Þe leuedi gan to þe gate te,
Þe palmeres þar to se;
And Beues, after anon
To þe gate he gan gon.
Þe palmers gonne al in þreste,
Beues abod & was þe laste;

104

And whan þe maide seȝ him þar,
Of Beues ȝhe nas noþing war;
‘Þe semest,’ queþ ȝhe, ‘man of anour,
Þow schelt þis dai be priour
And be-ginne oure deis:
Þe semest hende and corteis.’
Mete and drinke þai hadde afyn,
Boþe piment and plente a wyn,
Swiþe wel þai hadde ifare;
Þanne seide þe quene to eche palmare:
‘Herde euer eni of ȝow telle
In eni lede or eni spelle,
Or in feld oþer in toun,
Of a kniȝt, Beues of Hamtoun?’
‘Nai!’ queþ al, þat þar ware.
‘What þow?’ ȝhe seide, ‘niwe palmare?’
Þanne seide Beues and louȝ:
‘Þat kniȝt ich knowe wel inouȝ!
Atom,’ a seide, ‘in is contre
Icham an erl and also is he;

105

At Rome he made me a spel
Of an hors, men clepede Arondel:
Wide whar ichaue iwent
And me warisoun ispent,
I souȝt hit boþe fer & ner,
Men telleþ me, þat it is her;
Ȝif euer louedestow wel þat kniȝt,
Let me of þat hors haue a siȝt!’

What helpeþ hit, to make fable?
Ȝhe ladde Beues to þe stable;
Iosian be-held him be-fore,
Ȝhe seȝ his browe to-tore;
After Bonefas ȝhe gan grede,
At stable dore to him ȝhe sede:
‘Be þe moder, þat me haþ bore,
Ner þis mannes browe to-tore,
Me wolde þenke be his fasoun,
Þat hit were Beues of Hamtoun!’
Whan þat hors herde neuene
His kende lordes steuene,

106

His rakenteis he al te-rof
And wente in to þe kourt wel kof
And neide & made miche pride
Wiþ gret ioie be ech a side.
‘Allas!’ þo queþ Iosiane,
‘Wel mani a man is bane
To dai he worþ i-lauȝt,
Er þan þis stede ben icauȝt!’
Þanne seide Beues & louȝ:
‘Ich can take hit wel inouȝ:
Wolde ȝe,’ a sede, ‘ȝeue me leue,
Hit ne scholde noman greue!’
‘Take hit þanne,’ ȝhe sede,
‘And in to stable þow it lede
And teie it þar it stod,
And þow schelt haue mede gode!’
Beues to þe hors teȝ;
Þo þe hors him knew and seȝ,
Hit ne wawede no fot,
Til Beues hadde þe stirop;

107

Beues in to þe sadel him þrew,
Þar bi þat maide him wel knew.
Anon seide Iosian wiþ þan:
‘O Beues, gode lemman,
Let me wiþ þe reke
In þat maner, we han ispeke,
And þenk, þow me to wiue tok,
Whan ich me false godes for-sok:
Now þow hast þin hors Arondel,
Þe swerd ich þe fette schel,
And let me wende wiþ þe siþþe
Hom in to þin owene kiþþe!’

Queþ Beues: ‘Be godes name,
Ichaue for þe sofred meche schame,
Lain in prisoun swiþe strong:
Ȝif ich þe louede, hit were wrong!
Þe patriark me het vpon me lif,
Þat i ne tok neuer wif,
Boute ȝhe were maide clene;
And þow hauest seue ȝer ben a quene,

108

And eueri niȝt a king be þe:
How miȝtow þanne maide be?’

‘Merci,’ ȝhe seide, ‘lemman fre,
Led me hom to þe contre,
And boute þe finde me maide wimman,
Be þat eni man saie can,
Send me aȝen to me fon
Al naked in me smok alon!’
Beues seide: ‘So i schel,
In þat for-ward i graunte wel!’

Bonefas to sire Beues sede:
‘Sire, þe is beter do be me rede!
Þe king comeþ sone fro honting
And wiþ him mani a riche king,
Fiftene told al in tale,
Dukes and erles mani and fale.
Whan hii fonde vs alle agon,
Þai wolde after vs euerichon
Wiþ wonder-gret cheualrie,
And do vs schame and vileinie;

109

Ac formeste, sire, wiþ outen fable,
Led Arondel in to þe stable,
And ate þe gate þow him abide,
Til þe king comeþ bi þe ride;
A wile þe asken at þe frome,
Whider þow schelt & whannes þow come;
Sai, þat þow hauest wide i-went,
And þow come be Dabilent,
Þat is hennes four iurne;
Sai, men wile þer þe king sle,
Boute him come help of sum oþer;
And king Yuor is his broþer,
& whan he hereþ þat tiding,
Þeder a wile an hiȝing
Wiþ al is power and is ost:
Þanne mai we wiþ lite bost
Forþ in oure wei go!’
Beues seide: ‘It schel be so!’
And Arondel to stable lad,
Ase Bonefas him bad;
And to þe gate Beues ȝode
Wiþ oþer beggers, þat þer stode,

110

& pyk and skrippe be is side,
In a sklauin row & wide;
His berd was ȝelw, to is brest wax,
And to his gerdel heng is fax.
Al þai seide, þat hii ne siȝe
So faire palmer neuer wiþ eiȝe,
Ne com þer non in þat contre:
Þus wondred on him þat him gan se;
And so stod Beues in þat þring,
Til noun belle be-gan to ring.

Fram honting com þe king Yuore,
& fiftene kinges him before,
Dukes & erles, barouns how fale,
I can nouȝt telle þe riȝte tale.
Mervaile þai hadde of Beues alle.
Yuor gan Beues to him calle
And seide: ‘Palmer, þow comst fro ferie:
Whar is pes and whar is werre?
Trewe tales þow canst me sain.’
Þanne answerde Beues again:

‘Sire, ich come fro Iurisalem
Fro Nazareþ & fro Bedlem,
Emavns castel & Synaie;
Ynde, Erop and Asie,
Egippte, Grese and Babiloine,
Tars, Sesile and Sesaoine,
In Fris, in Sodeine & in Tire,
In Aufrik and in mani empire,
Ac al is pes þar ichaue went,
Saue in þe lond of Dabilent;
In pes mai noman come þare,
Þar is werre, sorwe & care:
Þre kinges and dukes fiue
His cheualrie adoun ginneþ driue,
And meche oþer peple ischent,
Cites itake and tounes i-brent;
Him to a castel þai han idriue,
Þat stant be þe se vpon a cliue,
And al þe ost liþ him about,
Be þis to daie a is in doute.’

111

King Yuor seide: ‘Allas, allas,
Lordinges, þis is a sori cas!
Þat is me broþer, ȝe witen wel,
Þat liþ be-seged in þat castel:
To hors and armes, lasse & more,
In haste swiþe, þat we wer þore!’
Þai armede hem anon bedene,
Yuor and his kinges fiftene,
And to þe Cite of Diablent
Alle samen forth þey went.
But an old king, þat hight Garcy,
At home he lefte to kepe þe lady.
Þoo seid B.: ‘Make ȝow ȝare,
Ȝif þat ȝe wille with me fare!’
Sir Bonefas answered þoo:
‘Ȝif ȝe wil by my consaile do:
Here is an olde king Garcy,
Þat muche can of Nygremancy;
He may see in his goldryng,
What any man dooth in alle þing.
I know an Erbe in þe forest,
Now wille y sende þer after prest
And let brochen reynessh wyne
And do þat ȝerbe anoon þerynne,

112

And what he be, þat þer of doþ drynke,
He shal lerne for to wynke
And slepe anon after ryȝt
Al a day and al a nyȝt.’
Sir Bonefas dide al þis þing;
Þey resen vp in þe dawnyng;
Inowȝ þey toke what þey wolde,
Both of siluer and of golde,
And other tresoure þey toke also,
And in hur way þey gunne goo.
And when þey were went away,
Garcy awaked a morow day
And had wonder swith stronge,
Þat he hadde slept so longe.
His ryng he gan to him tee,
For to loke and for to see;
And in his ryng say he þare,
The queene awey with þe palmer was fare.
To his men he grad ryȝt:
‘As armes, lordinges, for to fyȝt!’
And tolde his folke, verament,
How þe Queene was a wey went.
Þey armed hem in ryche wede
And euery knyȝt lep on his stede,

113

And after went al þat route
And besette hem al aboute.
Þenne seide B. to Bonefas:
‘Kepe wel Iosian at þis cas,
And y wil wynde to bataile,
Garcy and his ost to assaile.
I wil fonde, what y do may,
I haue rested me moony a day.
Fyȝt y will now my fylle
And hem ouercom by goddes wille!’
Þo Bonefas to hym saide:
‘Sir, ȝow is better do by my reed:
Ȝe shal be in þe lasse dout,
For y know þe contre al a-bout;
I can bryng ȝow in to a caue,
Þere a sheparde with a staue,
Theyȝe men hadden his deth sworn,
He myȝt him kepe wel þerforn!’
Into þe caue he hath hem brouȝt;
Garcy, þe kyng, hem couth fynde nouȝt,

114

Þerfore him was swith woo;
He and his ost be-þouȝt hem thoo,
Hoom aȝeyn for to wende
And sende Ascopart hem to shende.
In þe Caue þey were al nyȝt
With oute mete or drynke, aplyȝt.
Twoo dayes it was goon,
Þat mete ne drynke had þey noon.
Iosian was a-fyngered soore
And told anoon B. þerfore.
B. seid: ‘How darst þou of me meete craue?
Wel þou wotest, þat noon y haue.’
Iosian answered sone anoon
And bade sir B. to wood goon:
‘I haue herde of sauagenes,
Whenne ȝonge men) were in wyldernes,
Þat þey toke hert and hinde
And other bestes, þat þey myȝt fynde;
Þey slowen hem and soden hem in her hide;
Þus doon men, þat in wood abyde.
Sir, þou myȝtest bestes lyȝtly take,
For sause good y wyl þe make!’
B. seide to Bonefas þan:
‘I pray þe kepe wel Iosian),
Þe while y wynde into þe forest,
For to take sum wylde beest!’
Forth went B. in þat forest,
Beestes to sheete he was ful prest.

115

Als sone as he was forth y-fare,
Two lyouns þer com yn þare,
Grennand and rampand with her feet.
Sir Bonefas þen als skeet
His hors to him þoo he drowȝ
And armyd him wel y-nowȝ
And ȝaue þe lyouns bataile to fyȝt;
Al to lytel was his myȝt.
Þe twoo lyouns sone had sloon
Þat oon his hors, þat other þe man.
Iosian into þe caue gan shete,
And þe twoo lyouns at hur feete,
Grennand on hur with muche grame,
But þey ne myȝt do hur no shame,
For þe kind of Lyouns, y-wys,
A kynges douȝter, þat maide is,
Kinges douȝter, quene and maide both,
Þe lyouns myȝt do hur noo wroth.
B. com sone fro huntyng
With þree hertes, with out lesyng,
And fonde an hors gnawe to þe boon,
And Iosian a-wey was goon.
He sowned soone for sorow and þouȝt,
Fro caue to caue he her souȝt,

116

To wete, how þat cas myȝt be,
And in a caue he gan to see,
Where Iosian sate in grete doute
And twoo lions hur a-bout.
Too sir B. gan she speke:
‘Sir, þyn help, me to awreke
Of þese two Liouns, þat þy chamberleyn),
Ryȝt now han him slayn!’
She seide, she wolde þat oon hoolde,
While þat he þat other quelde.
A-boute þe nekke she hent þat oon,
And B. bade let him goon,
And seide: ‘Dame, forsoth, y-wys,
I myȝt ȝelp of lytel prys,
There y had a lyon quelde,
Þe while a woman a nother helde!
Thow shalt neuer vmbraide me,
When þou comest hoom to my contre:
But þou let hem goo both twoo,
Haue good day, fro þe y goo!’
She let hem skip vp and doun),
And B. assailed þe lyoun.
Strenger bataile ne strenger fyȝt
Herde ȝe neuer of no knyȝt
Byfore þis in romaunce telle,
Þan B. had of beestes felle.
Al þat herkeneþ word and ende,
To heuyn mot her sowles wende!
Þat oon was a Lionesse,
Þat sir B. dide grete distresse;
At þe first begynnyng
To B. hondes she gan spryng

117

And al to peces rent hem þere,
Or B. myȝt þer of be werre.
Þat other lyon, þat Iosian gan holde,
To fiȝt with B. was ful bold;
He ran to him with grete randon
And with his pawes he rent adoun
His Armour almost to ground,
And in his thyȝe a wel grete wound.
Tho was B. in hert grame,
For þe lioun had do him shame;
As he were wood, he gan to fyȝt;
Þe lionesse seyȝe þat sight
And rauȝt to B., with out faile,
Boþ at oones þey gan him assaile.
Þoo was B. in strong tempestes,
So strong and egre were þese beestes,
Þat nyȝe þey hadde him þere queld;
Vnnethe he kept him with his shelde.
With Morgelay, þat wel wold byte,
To þe lioun he gan smyte;
His ryȝt foot he shore asonder,
Sir B. shilde þe Lyoun ranne vnder
And with his teeþ with sory happe
He kitte a pece of his lappe,
And B. þat ilke stounde
For anguysse fel to þe grounde,
And hastely B. þan vp stert,
For he was greuyd in his hert;
He kyd wel þo, he was agreuyd,
And clef a twoo þe lyon is heuyd,
And to his hert þe poynt þrast;
Þus þe lioun died at þe last.

Stoutliche þe liounesse þan
Asailede Beues, þat douȝti man,
And wiþ hire mouþ is scheld tok
So sterneliche, saiþ þe bok,
Þat doun it fel of is left hond.
Þo Iosian gan vnder-stonde,
Þat hire lord scholde ben slawe;
Helpe him ȝhe wolde fawe.
Anon ȝhe hente þat lioun:
Beues bad hire go sitte adoun,
And swor be god in trinite,
Boute ȝhe lete þat lioun be,
A wolde hire sle in þat destresse
Ase fain ase þe liounesse.

Þo ȝhe ne moste him nouȝt helpe fiȝte,
His scheld ȝhe brouȝte him anon riȝte
& ȝede hire sitte adoun, saun faile,
And let him worþe in þat bataile.

118

Þe liounesse was stout & sterne,
Aȝen to Beues ȝhe gan erne
And be þe riȝt leg ȝhe him grep,
Ase þe wolf doþ þe schep,
Þat neȝ ȝhe braide out is sparlire;
Þo was Beues in gret yre,
And in þat ilche selue veneu
Þourȝ godes grace and is vertu
Þe liounesse so harde he smot
Wiþ Morgelai, þat biter bot,
Euene vpon þe regge an hiȝ,
Þat Morgelai in þerþe fliȝ.
Þo was Iosian ful fain,
Þo þat hii were boþe slain,
And Beues was glad & bliþe,
His ioie ne kouþe he noman kiþe,
And ofte he þankede þe king in glori
Of is grace & is viktori;
Ac wo him was for Bonefas,
And þo he seȝ, non oþer it nas,
A sette Iosian vpon a mule
And ride forþ a lite while,
And metten wiþ a geaunt
Wiþ a loþeliche semlaunt.
He was wonderliche strong,
Rome þretti fote long;
His berd was boþe gret & rowe;
A space of a fot be-twene is browe;

119

His clob was, to ȝeue a strok,
A lite bodi of an ok.

Beues hadde of him wonder gret
And askede him, what a het,
And ȝef men of his contre
Were ase meche ase was he.
‘Me name,’ a sede, ‘is Ascopard;
Garci me sente hiderward,
For to bringe þis quene aȝen
And þe, Beues, her of-slen.
Icham Garci is chaumpioun
And was idriue out of me toun;
Al for þat ich was so lite,
Eueri man me wolde smite;
Ich was so lite & so meruȝ,
Eueri man me clepede dweruȝ,
And now icham in þis londe,
I-woxe mor, ich vnderstonde,
And strengere þan oþer tene,
And þat schel on vs be sene;
I schel þe sle her, ȝif i mai!’
‘Þourȝ godes help,’ queþ Beues, ‘nai!’

Beues prikede Arondel a side,
Aȝen Ascopard he gan ride

120

And smot him on the scholder an hiȝ,
Þat his spere al to-fliȝ,
And Ascopard wiþ a retret
Smot after Beues a dent gret,
And wiþ is o fot a slintte
And fel wiþ is owene dentte.
Beues of is palfrai aliȝte
& drouȝ his swerd anon riȝte
And wolde haue smiten of is heued;
Iosian be-souȝte him, it were beleued:
‘Sire,’ ȝhe seide, ‘so god þe saue,
Let him liuen & ben our knaue!’
‘Dame, a wile vs be-trai!’
‘Sire, ich wil ben is bourȝ, nai!’
Þar a dede Beues omage
And be-com is owene page.
Forþ þai wenten alle þre,
Til þat hii come to þe se;
A dromond hii fonde þer stonde,
Þat wolde in to heþene londe,
Wiþ Sarasines stout & fer,
Boute þai nadde no maroner.
Þo hii siȝe Ascopard come,
Hii þouȝten wel, alle & some,

121

He wolde hem surliche hem lede,
For he was maroner god at nede.
Whan he in to þe schipe cam,
His gode bat an honde he nam,
A drof hem out and dede hem harm,
Arondel a bar to schip in is arm,
And after in a lite while
Iosian and hire mule,
And drowen vp saile al so snel
And sailede forþ faire & wel,
Þat hii come wiþ outen ensoine
To þe hauen of Coloine.
Whan he to londe kem,
Men tolde, þe bischop was is em,
A noble man wis afin,
& hiȝte Saber Florentin.
Beues grete him at þat oas
And tolde him what he was.
Þe beschop was glad afin
And seide: ‘Wolkome, leue cosin!
Gladder I nas, seþe ich was bore,
Ich wende, þow haddest be forlore.
Who is þis leuedi schene?’
‘Sire, of heþenesse a quene,

122

And ȝhe wile, for me sake,
Cristendome at þe take.’
‘Who is þis wiþ þe grete visage?’
‘Sire,’ a sede, ‘hit is me page
And wile ben icristnede also,
And ich bidde, þat ȝe hit do!’

Þe nexste dai after þan
Þe beschop cristnede Iosian.
For Ascopard was mad a koue;
Whan þe beschop him scholde in schoue,
A lep anon vpon þe benche
And seide: ‘Prest, wiltow me drenche?
Þe deuel ȝeue þe helle pine,
Icham to meche te be cristine!’

After Iosian is cristing
Beues dede a gret fiȝting,
Swich bataile dede neuer non
Cristene man of flesch ne bon,
Of a dragoun þer be side,
Þat Beues slouȝ þer in þat tide,
Saue sire Launcelet de Lake,
He fauȝt wiþ a fur drake,

123

And Wade dede also,
& neuer kniȝtes boute þai to,
& Gij a Warwik, ich vnder-stonde,
Slouȝ a dragoun in Norþ-Homberlonde.
How þat ilche dragoun com þer,
Ich wile ȝow telle, in what maner.

Þar was a king in Poyle londe
And anoþer in Calabre, ich vnderstonde;
Þis twe kinge fouȝte ifere
More þan foure and twenti ȝere,
Þat hii neuer pes nolde,
Naiþer for seluer ne for golde,
And al þe contre, saundoute,
Þai distruede hit al aboute;
Þai hadde mani mannes kours,
Whar þourȝ hii ferden wel þe wors;
Þar fore hii deide in dedli sinne
And helle pine þai gan hem winne.
After in a lite while
Þai be-come dragouns vile,

124

And so þai fouȝte dragouns ifere
Mor þan foure & þretti ȝere.
An ermite was in þat londe,
Þat was feld of godes sonde;
To Iesu Crist a bed a bone,
Þat he diliure þe dragouns sone
Out of þat ilche stede,
Þat hii namore harm ne dede.
And Iesu Crist, þat sit in heuene,
Wel herde þat ermites steuene
And grauntede him is praiere.
Anon þe dragouns boþe i fere
Toke here fliȝt and flowe awai,
Þar neuer eft man hem ne sai.
Þat on fleȝ anon wiþ þan,
Til a com to Toscan.
Þat oþer dragoun is fliȝt nome
To seinte Peter is brige of Rome;
Þar he schel leggen ay,
Til hit come domes dai.

125

And eueri seue ȝer ones,
Whan þe dragoun moweþ is bones,
Þan comeþ a roke & a stink
Out of þe water vnder þe brink,
Þat men þer of takeþ þe feuere,
Þat neuer after mai he keuere;
And who þat nel nouȝt leue me,
Wite at pilgrimes, þat þer haþ be,
For þai can telle ȝow, iwis,
Of þat dragoun how it is.
Þat oþer þanne fleȝ an hiȝe
Þourȝ Toskan and Lombardie,
Þourȝ Prouince, wiþ outen ensoine,
Into þe londe of Coloyne;
Þar þe dragoun gan ariue
At Coloyne vnder a cliue.
His eren were rowe & ek long,
His frount be-fore hard & strong;
Eiȝte toskes at is mouþ stod out,
Þe leste was seuentene ench about,
Þe her, þe cholle vnder þe chin,
He was boþe leiþ and grim;
A was i-maned ase a stede;
Þe heued a bar wiþ meche pride,
Be-twene þe scholder & þe taile
Foure and twenti fot, saunfaile.
His taile was of gret stringeþe,
Sextene fot a was a lingþe;
His bodi ase a wintonne.
Whan hit schon þe briȝte sonne,
His wingges schon so þe glas.
His sides wer hard ase eni bras.
His brest was hard ase eni ston;
A foulere þing nas neuer non.
Ȝe, þat wile a stounde dwelle,
Of his stringeþe i mai ȝow telle.

Beues ȝede to bedde a niȝt
Wiþ torges and wiþ candel liȝt.

126

Whan he was in bedde ibrouȝt,
On Iesu Crist was al is þouȝt.
Him þouȝte, a king, þat was wod,
Hadde wonded him þer a stod;
He hadde wonded him biter & sore,
A wende, a miȝte leue namore,
And ȝet him þouȝte, a virgine
Him brouȝte out of al is pine.
Whan he of is slepe abraid,
Of is sweuene he was afraid.
Þanne a herde a reuli cri,
And be-souȝte Iesu merci:
‘For þe venim is on me þrowe,
Her I legge al to-blowe,
And roteþ me flesch fro þe bon,
Bote ne tit me neuer non!’
And in is cri a seide: ‘Allas,
Þat euer ȝet I maked was!’
Anon whan hit was dai liȝt,
Beues awakede & askede riȝt,
What al þat cri miȝte ben.
His men him answerde aȝen
And seide, þat he was a kniȝt,
In bataile he was holden wiȝt;
Alse a wente him to plaie
Aboute her in þis contrai,
In þis contre aviroun
A mette wiþ a vile dragoun,
And venim he haþ on him þrowe:
Þar a liþ al to-blowe!
‘Lord Crist,’ queþ Beues þo,
‘Mai eni man þe dragoun slo?’
His men answerde, wiþ outen lesing:
‘Þar nis neiþer emperur ne king,

127

Þat come þar þe dragoun wore,
An hondred þosend men & more,
Þat he nolde slen hem euerichon,
Ne scholde hii neuer þannes gon.’
‘Ascopard,’ a seide, ‘whar ertow?’
‘Icham her; what wilte now?’
‘Wile we to þe dragoun gon?
Þourȝ godes help we scholle him slo!’
‘Ȝa, sire, so mot I þe,
Bleþeliche wile I wende wiþ þe!’
Beues armede him ful wel,
Boþe in yrene and in stel,
And gerte him wiþ a gode bronde
And tok a spere in is honde.
Out ate gate he gan ride,
And Ascopard be his side.
Alse hii wente in here pleȝing,
Hii speke of mani selkouþ þing.
Þat dragoun lai in is den
And seȝ come þe twei men;
A made a cri and a wonder,
Ase hit were a dent of þonder
Ascopard was adrad so sore,
Forþer dorste he go namore;
A seide to Beues, þat was is fere:
‘A wonder-þing ȝe mai here!’
Beues seide: ‘Haue þow no doute,
Þe dragoun liþ her aboute;

128

Hadde we þe dragoun wonne,
We hadde þe feireste pris vnder sonne!’
Ascopard swor, be sein Ion,
A fot ne dorste he forþer gon.
Beues answerde and seide þo:
‘Ascopard, whi seistow so?
Whi schelt þow afered be
Of þing þat þow miȝt nouȝt sen?’
A swor, alse he moste þen,
He nolde him neiþer hire ne sen:
‘Icham weri, ich mot haue reste;
Go now forþ and do þe beste!’
Þanne seide Beues þis wordes fre:
‘Schame hit is, to terne aȝe!’
A smot his stede be þe side,
Aȝen þe dragoun he gan ride,
Þe dragoun seȝ, þat he cam
Ȝenande aȝenes him anan,
Ȝenande & gapande on him so,
Ase he wolde him swolwe þo.
Whan Beues seȝ þat ilche siȝt,
Þe dragoun of so meche miȝt,
Hadde þerþe opnede anon,
For drede a wolde þer in han gon;
A spere he let to him glide
And smot þe dragoun on þe side;
Þe spere sterte aȝen anon,
So þe hail vpon þe ston,
And to-barst on pices fiue.
His swerd he drouȝ alse bliue;

129

Þo þai fouȝte, alse i ȝow sai,
Til it was hiȝ noun of þe dai.
Þe dragoun was atened stronge,
Þat o man him scholde stonde so longe;
Þe dragoun harde him gan asaile
And smot his hors wiþ þe taile
Riȝt amideward þe hed,
Þat he fel to grounde ded.
Now is Beues to grounde brouȝt,
Helpe him god, þat alle þing wrouȝt!
Beues was hardi and of gode hert,
Aȝen þe dragoun anon a stert
And harde him a gan asaile,
And he aȝen wiþ strong bataile;
So be-twene hem leste þat fiȝt,
Til it was þe þerke niȝt.
Beues hadde þanne swich þrast,
Him þouȝte, his herte to-brast;
Þanne seȝ he a water him be side,
So hit miȝte wel be-tide,
Fain a wolde þeder flen,
He ne dorste fro þe dragoun ten;
Þe dragoun asailede him fot hot,
Wiþ is taile on his scheld a smot,
Þat hit cleuede heuene ato,
His left scholder dede also.
Beues was hardi & of gode hert,
Into þe welle anon a stert.

Lordinges, herkneþ to me now:
Þe welle was of swich vertu:
A virgine wonede in þat londe,
Hadde baþede þer in, ich vnderstonde;
Þat water was so holi,
Þat þe dragoun, sikerli,
Ne dorste neȝe þe welle aboute
Be fourti fote, saundoute.
Whan Beues parseuede þis,
Wel glad a was in hertte, i-wis;
A dede of is helm of stel
And colede him þer in fraiche wel,
And of is helm a drank þore
A large galon oþer more.
A nemenede sein Gorge, our leuedi kniȝt,
And sete on his helm, þat was briȝt;

130

And Beues wiþ eger mode
Out of þe welle sone a ȝode;
Þe dragoun harde him asaile gan,
He him defendeþ ase a man.
So be-twene hem leste þe fiȝt,
Til hit sprong þe dai liȝt.
Whan Beues miȝte aboute sen,
Bliþe he gan þanne ben;
Beues on þe dragoun hew,
Þe dragoun on him venim þrew;
Al ferde Beues bodi þere,
A foule mesel alse ȝif a were;
Þar þe venim on him felle,
His flesch gan ranclen & tebelle,
Þar þe venim was icast,
His armes gan al to-brast;
Al to-brosten is ventaile,
And of his hauberk a þosend maile.
Þanne Beues, sone an hiȝe
Wel loude he gan to Iesu criȝe:
‘Lord, þat rerede þe Lazaroun,
Diliure me fro þis fend dragoun!’
Þo he seȝ his hauberk toren,
‘Lord!’ a seide, ‘þat I was boren!’
Þat seide Beues, þar a stod,
And leide on, ase he wer wod;
Þe dragoun harde him gan asaile
& smot on þe helm wiþ is taile,
Þat his helm cleuede ato,
And his bacinet dede also.
Tweies a ros and tweies a fel,
Þe þredde tim ouer-þrew in þe wel;
Þar inne a lai vp riȝt,
A neste, whaþer hit was dai oþer niȝt.
Whan ouer-gon was his smerte
And rekeured was of is hertte,
Beues set him vp anon;
Þe venim was awei igon,
He was ase hol a man,
Ase he was, whan he þeder cam.
On is knes he gan to falle,
To Iesu Crist he gan to calle:
‘Help,’ a seide, ‘godes sone,
Þat þis dragoun wer ouer-come!
Boute ich mowe þe dragoun slon,
Er þan ich hennes gon,

131

Schel hit neuer aslawe be
For noman in cristente!’
To god he made his praiere
And to Marie, his moder dere;
Þat herde þe dragoun, þer a stod,
And fleȝ awei, ase he wer wod.
Beues ran after, wiþ outen faile,
And þe dragoun he gan asaile;
Wiþ is swerd, þat he out braide,
On þe dragoun wel hard a laide,
And so harde a hew him þan,
A karf ato his heued pan,
And hondred dentes a smot þat stonde,
Er he miȝte keuren a wonde,
A hitte him so on þe cholle
And karf ato þe þrote bolle.
Þe dragoun lai on is side,
On him a ȝenede swiþe wide.
Beues þanne wiþ strokes smerte
Smot þe dragoun to þe herte,
An hondred dentes a smot in on,
Er þe heued wolde fro þe bodi gon,
And þe gode kniȝt Beuoun
Þe tonge karf of þe dragoun;
Vpon þe tronsoun of is spere
Þe tonge a stikede for to bere.
A wente þo wiþ outen ensoine
To-ward þe toun of Coloine.
Þanne herde he belles ringe,
Prestes, clerkes loude singe;
A man þer he haþ imet,
And swiþe faire he haþ him gret,
& asked þat ilche man þo,
Whi þai ronge & songe so.
‘Sire,’ a seide, ‘wiþ outen faile,
Beues is ded in bataile;
Þar fore, for soþe I saie þe:
Hit is Beues dirige!’
‘Nai,’ queþ Beues, ‘be sein Martin!’
And wente to bischop Florentin.
Þo þe bischop hadde of him a siȝt,
A þankede Iesu ful of miȝt
And brouȝte Beues in to þe toun
Wiþ a faire prosesioun;

132

Þanne al þe folk þat þar was,
Þankede Iesu of þat gras.

135

On a dai sire Beues sede:
‘Leue em, what is to rede
Of me stifader Deuoun,
Þat holdeþ me londes at Hamtoun?’
Þe beschop seide anon riȝt:
‘Kosin, Saber, þin em, is in Wiȝt,
& eueri ȝer on a dai certaine
Vpon þemperur of Almaine
He ginneþ gret bataile take,
Beues, al for þine sake;
He weneþ wel, þat þow be ded;
Þar fore, kosin, be me red,
An hondred men ich ȝeue þe wiȝte,
Aȝen þemperur to fiȝte,
Stalworde men and fer,
And þow schelt wende te Saber:

136

Sai, ich grette him wel ilome!
Ȝif ȝe han nede, sendeþ to me,
Ich wile ȝow helpe wiþ al me miȝt,
Aȝen þemperur to fiȝt.
While þow dost þis ilche tourne,
Þe leuedi schel wiþ me soiurne,
And þe page Ascopard
Schel hire boþe wite and ward.’
Forþ wente Beues wiþ þan
To his lemman Iosian:
‘Lemman,’ a seide, ‘ich wile go
And avenge me of me fo,
Ȝif ich miȝte wiþ eni ginne
Me kende eritage to winne!’
‘Swete lemman,’ Iosian sede,
‘Who schel me þanne wisse & rede?’
Beues sede: ‘Lemman min,
Min em, þe bischop Florentin,
And Ascopard, me gode page,
Schel þe warde fro damage.’
‘Ȝe, haue ich Ascopard,’ ȝhe sede,
‘Of noman ne stant me drede;
Ich take þe god & seinte Marie:
Sone so þow miȝt, to me þow hiȝe!’

Beues wente forþ anon
Wiþ is men euerichon,
Þat þe bischop him hadde ȝeue.
So longe þai hadde here wei idriue,
Þat hii come vpon a done,
A mile out of Souþhamtone.

137

‘Lordinges,’ to his men a sede,
‘Ȝe scholle do be mine rede!
Haue ich eni so hardi on,
Þat dorre to Hamtoun gon,
To þemperur of Almaine,
And sai: her comeþ a vintaine,
Al prest an hondred kniȝte,
Þat fore his loue wilen fiȝte
Boþe wiþ spere & wiþ launce,
Al fresch icome out of Fraunce!
Ac euer, an erneste & a rage,
Euer spekeþ frensche laungage,
And sai, ich hatle Gerard,
And fiȝte ich wile be forward,
And of þe meistri icham sure,
Ȝif he wile ȝilde min hure?’
Forþ þer com on redi reke,
Þat renabliche kouþe frensch speke;
‘Sire,’ a seide, ‘ich wile gon,
Þe mesage for to don anon!’
Forþ a wente to þe castel gate
Þe porter a mette þer ate,
To þemperur he haþ him lad,
Al a seide, ase Beues him bad.

138

Þemperur & Beues sete ifere
Þat ilche niȝt at þe sopere;
Þemperur askede him, what a het;
‘Gerard!’ a seide alse sket.
‘Gerard,’ a seide, ‘for soþ iwis,
Þis leuedi hadde her er þis
An erl to lord, er ich hire wedde,
A sone be-twene hem to þai hadde,
A proud wreche and a ȝing,
And for soþe a lite gadling;
So was is fader of proud mode,
Icomen of sum leþer blode;
His sone, þat was a proud garsoun,
Men him clepede Beuoun;
Sone he was of age,
A solde me his eritage
And spente his panes in scham & schonde,
And siþe fleȝ out of Ingelonde.
Now haþ he her an em in Wiȝt,
Sire Saber, a wel strong kniȝt,

139

And comeþ wiþ gret barnage
And cleimeþ his eritage,
& ofte me doþ her gret gile,
And þow miȝt ȝilden is while,
Him to sle wiþ swerd in felde,
Wel ich wolde þin here ȝelde!’

‘Sire,’ queþ Beues anon riȝt,
‘Ichaue kniȝtes of meche miȝt,
Þat beþ vnarmed her of wede,
For we ne miȝte non out lede
Ouer þe se wiþ outen aneiȝe;
Þar fore, sire, swiþe an hiȝe
Let arme me kniȝtes echon,
And ȝef hem gode hors forþ enon,
An hondred men sent þow þe self,
Ase mani ichaue be min helf,
Diȝt me þe schip & þin men boþe,
And y schel swere þe an oþe,

140

Þat i schel ȝeue swiche asaut
On þat ilche Sabaaut,
Þat wiþ inne a lite while
Þow schelt here of a queinte gile!’

Al þus þemperur haþ him diȝt
Boþe hors, armes and kniȝt,
Þar to schipes wiþ gode vitaile;
Forþ þai wente & drowe saile.
In þe schipe þe kniȝtes seten, y-wis,
On of here, anoþer of his.
Whan þai come amidde þe forde,
Ech þrew is felawe ouer þe bord;
Of þemperures kniȝtes euerichon
Wiþ inne bord ne leuede non.

Saber hem ful wel y-say,
Ase he vpon is toure lay,
Mani baner he seȝ arered.
Þo was Saber sumdel afered,
Þat þemperur wiþ is ost come,
Biker he made wel y-lome.
Beues wiste wel and sede,
Þat Saber him wolde drede;

141

Vpon þe hiȝeste mast is top þere
He let sette vp a stremere
Of his fader armure,
Saber þe raþer to make sure,
For mani a time þar be-foren
He hadde hit in to bataile boren.
Þo þe schip to londe drouȝ,
Saber hit knew wel inouȝ
And þouȝte and gan to vnderstonde,
Þat Beues was come inte Ingelonde.
‘Lord,’ a sede, ‘hered þow be,
Þat ich mai me kende lord se:
Þat he wer ded, ich was of-drad,
Meche sorwe ichaue for him had.’
A wente wiþ is kniȝtes bliue,
Þar þe schipes scholde ariue;
Eiþer oþer gan to kisse,
And made meche ioie & blisse,
And Beues tolde him in a while,
He hadde do þemperur a gile.

142

Þo seide Beues wiþ þan:
‘Haue ich eni so hardi man,
Þat dorre to Hamtoun gon
Ouer þe water sone anon,
And sai þemperur anon riȝt,
Þat i nam no Frensche kniȝt,
Ne þat i ne hatte nouȝt Gerard,
Þat made wiþ him þe forward,
And sai him, ich hatte Beuoun,
& cleymeþ þe seinori of Hamtoun,
& þat is wif is me dame,
Þat schel hem boþe terne te grame;
Now of hem boþe to gadre
I schel fonde wreke me fadre?’

Vp þar sterte an hardi on:
‘Sire,’ a seide, ‘ich wile gon,
Þe mesage for-doþ hem boþe,
And maken hem sori & wroþe.’
Forþ a wente ase hot
Ouer þe water in a bot,
Forþ a wente also whate
In at þe castel gate;

143

At þe soper alse a set,
Þemperur he gan þus gret:
‘Sire emperur, i þe bringe
A swiþe sertaine tiding:
Wel þe grete þat ilche kniȝt,
Þat sopede wiþ þe ȝerstene niȝt;
A saiþ, a hatte nouȝt Gerard,
Þat made wiþ þe þe for-ward,
A saiþ, þat he hatte Beuoun
And cleymeþ þe seinori of Hamtoun,
And is icome wiþ þe to speke,
Of his fader deþ to ben awreke,
Þe te sle wiþ schame & schonde
And for to winne is owene londe.’

Þemperur herde of him þat word,
His sone stod be-fore þe bord;
He þouȝte wiþ is longe knif
Be-reue þat mesageres lif;
A þrew is knif & kouþe nouȝt redi
And smot his sone þourȝ þe bodi.
Þe mesager spak a gainli word
Be-fore þemperur is bord:
‘Þow gropedest þe wif aniȝt to lowe,
Þow miȝt nouȝt sen ariȝt to þrowe;

144

Þow hauest so swonke on hire to niȝt,
Þow hauest neȝ for-lore þe siȝt:
Her þow hauest liþer haunsel,
A worse þe be-tide schel!’
And smot is hors wiþ þe spore
And arnde out at halle dore;
Wel and faire he haþ him diȝt
& com aȝen to Beues in Wiȝt
And tolde, a slouȝ is sone for grame;
Beues louȝ and hadde gode game.

Lete we sire Beues þanne
& speke of Iosiane,
Þat in Coloine was wiþ Beues em,
Til þat he aȝen þeder kem.
In þat londe þat ilche while
Þar wonede an erl, þat hiȝte Mile;
To Iosian he hadde his loue cast
& gan hire to wowen fast,
Faire a spak to terne hire þouȝt,
& ȝhe seide, a was aboute nouȝt.

145

Þat erl was wroþ in is manere,
For Iosian him nolde here,
& spak to hire wiþ loude gret:
‘For wham,’ a seide, ‘scholde ich it lete,
Boute ich mai haue of þe me wille?
Ich wile,’ a seide, ‘who þat nille!’
Ȝhe seide: ‘While ichaue Ascopard,
Of þe nam ich noþing afard,
For þe wreþþe ne for þin ost,
Ne for þe ne for þine bost!’
And þo þouȝte þat erl Mile
To do Iosian a gile:
A leter he let for to write,
In þis maner he dede it adite,
Þat Ascopard come scholde
To Beues, þar þe letter him tolde,
In to a castel in an yle,
Þe brede of þe water þre mile;
To Ascopard þai come snel;
Þai seide, Beues him grette wel
& be-souȝte, for is loue
In haste a scholde to him come.

146

Forþ wente Ascopard ase hot
Ouer þe water in a bot;
Whan he was ouer þe water come,
Hii vn-lek þe ȝate at þe frome;
& whan he was comen wiþ inne,
Þai sperede him faste wiþ ginne.
Aȝen to Iosiane Miles gan terne:
‘For wham,’ a seide, ‘schel ich it werne?’
Ȝhe þouȝte for to kepe hire, apliȝt,
Ȝhe sente a masager to Wiȝt,
To Beues, be letter & tolde fore
Al to gedre lasse & more.

Miles wolde haue is wille
And ȝhe bed him holde stille:

147

‘Nouȝt, þeȝ i scholde lese me lif,
Boute ich were þe weddede wif;
Ȝif eni man me scholde wedde,
Þanne mot ich go wiþ him to bedde:
I trowe, he is nouȝt now here,
Þat schel be me wedde-fere!’
‘Y schel þe wedde aȝenes þe wille,
To morwe y schel hit ful-fille!’
And kiste hire anon riȝt
And sente after baroun & kniȝt
And bed hem come leste & meste,
To anoure þat meri feste.

Þe niȝt is gon, þat dai comen is,
Þe spusaile don hit is
Wiþ merþe in þat toun
& ioie of erl and baroun.
And whan hit drouȝ toward þe niȝt,
Here soper was þer redi diȝt,

148

And þeȝ þai richelich weren ifed,
Þat erl wolde ben a bed.
Iosian he het lede to bour,
To haue hire vnder couertour;
Vpon hire bedde þar ȝhe sat,
Þat erl com to hire wiþ þat,
Wiþ kniȝtes gret compainie
Wiþ pyment and wiþ spisorie,
Wiþ al þe gamen þat hii hedde,
For to make hire dronke a bedde:
Ac al anoþer was hire þouȝt,
Ne gamnede hire þat gle riȝt nouȝt.

‘Sire,’ ȝhe seide to þat erl sone,
‘Ich bidde, þow graunte me a bone,
And boute þow graunte me þis one,
I ne schel þe neuer bedde none:
Ich bidde þe at þe ferste frome,
Þat man ne wimman her in come;
Be-lok hem þar oute for loue o me,
Þat noman se our priuite!
Wimmen beþ schamfast in dede
And namliche maidenes,’ ȝhe sede.
Þat erl seide, a wolde faine.
A drof out boþe kniȝt & swaine,
Leuedies, maidenes & grome,
Þat non ne moste þer in come,

149

And schette þe dore wiþ þe keie:
Litel a wende haue be so veie.
Iosian he com aȝen to:
‘Lemman,’ a seide, ‘ichaue ido,
Þe bone ichaue do wiþ lawe,
Me schon i mot me self of drawe,
Ase y neuer ȝet ne dede.’
Adoun a set him in þat stede;
Þanne was be-fore his bed itiȝt,
Ase fele han of þis gentile kniȝt,
A couertine on raile tre,
For noman scholde on bed ise.
Iosian be-þouȝte on hiȝing,
On a towaile ȝhe made knotte riding,
Aboute his nekke ȝhe hit þrew
And on þe raile tre ȝhe drew;
Be þe nekke ȝhe haþ him vp tiȝt
& let him so ride al þe niȝt.

Iosian lai in hire bed:
No wonder, þouȝ ȝhe wer adred.
Dai is come in alle wise,
A morwe þe barouns gonne arise
Sum to honten and sum to cherche,
And werk men gonne for to werche.

150

Þe sonne schon, hit drouȝ to vnder,
Þe barouns þar of hadde wonder;
Þat þerl lai so longe a bed,
Gret wonder þar of he hedde.
Queþ sum: ‘Let him lie stille!
Of Iosian he haþ al is wille.’
Middai com, hit drouȝ te noune,
Þe barouns speke þer eft soune;
Queþ þe boldeste: ‘How mai þis be?
Wende ich wile vp and ise!’
Þat baroun dorste wel speke,
To þe chaumber he gan reke
And smot þe dore wiþ is honde,
Þat al wide opvn it wonde.
‘Awake,’ a seide, ‘sire erl Mile,
Þow hauest sleped so longe while,
Þin heued oweþ to ake wel:
Dame, let make him a caudel!’

‘Nai,’ queþ Iosian at þat sake,
‘Neuer eft ne schel his heued ake!
Ichaue so tyled him for þat sore,
Schel hit neuer eft ake more,

151

Ȝerstendai he me wedded wiþ wrong
& to niȝt ichaue him honge:
Doþ be me al ȝoure wille,
Schel he neuer eft wimman spille!’
Al hii made meche sorwe;
Anon riȝtes in þat morwe
Sum hire demte þanne
In a tonne for to branne.
Wiþ oute þe toun hii piȝte a stake,
Þar þe fur was i-make,
Þe tonne þai hadde þer iset,
Þai fette wode and elet.

Ascopard wiþ inne þe castel lay,
Þe tonne and al þe folk he say;
Ful wel him þouȝte þat while,
Þat him trokede a gret gile,
For he was in þe castel be-loke,
Þe castel wal he haþ to-broken;
He was maroner wel gode,
A stertte in to þe salte flode,

152

A fischer he seȝ fot hot,
Euer a swam toward þe bot.
Þe fischer wende, sum fend it were,
Out of is bot he fleȝ for fere.
Ascopard hente þe bot an honde
And rew him self to þe londe,
To-ward þe fur faste a schok,
Beues com and him of-tok:
‘Treitour,’ a seide, ‘whar hastow be?
Þis dai þow hauest be-traied me!’
‘Nai, sire!’ Ascopard seide,
& tolde, Miles him hadde be-traide.
To-ward þe fur þai wente bliue:
Þe prest, þat hire scholde schriue,
Godes blessing mote he fonge,
For þat he held Iosiane so longe!
In hire smok ȝhe stod naked,
Þar þe fur was imaked;
Ase men scholde hire for-brenne,
Beues on Arondel com renne
Wiþ is swerd Morgelay;
Ascopard com be anoþer way,

153

And slowen in þat ilche stounde
Al þat hii aboute þe fur founde,
And þat he hadde for is while,
Þat proude erl, sire Mile.

A sette Iosian on is palfrai,
And wente forþ in here wai;
Þai wente to schip anon riȝte
And sailede forþ in to Wiȝte.
Wel was Saber paid wiþ þan
Of Ascopard & of Iosian.

Beues & Saber sente here sonde
Wide in to fele londe,
And hii sente an hie
After gret cheualrie,
Of al þe londe þe stringeste kniȝte,
Þat hii owhar finde miȝte.

154

Þat emperur neȝ daide,
His wif confortede him & saide:
‘Sire,’ ȝhe seide, ‘doute ȝow nouȝt!
Of gode consaile icham be-þouȝt:
Ȝe scholle sende, for sertaine,
After ȝour ost in to Almaine,
And whan ȝour ost is come to gadre,
Send to þe king of Scotlonde, me fadre;
He wile come to þe an hiȝe
Wiþ wonder-gret cheualrie,
Þat þow derst haue no sore
Of þat þef, Saber þe hore,
Ne of Beues, þat is me loþe:
Ȝit ȝe schollen hem hangen boþe!’
Þo þe letters were ȝare,
Þe masegers wer forþ ifare.
In Mai, whan lef & gras ginþ springe,
And þe foules merie to singe,

155

Þe king of Scotlonde com to fiȝte
Wiþ þretti þosend of hardi kniȝte
Of Almaine, is owene barouny,
Wiþ wonder-gret cheualry.
‘Lordinges,’ a seide, ‘ȝe witeþ alle,’
Whan hii were be-fore him in þe halle,
‘Þat ofte þis þef, Saber þe hore,
Me haþ aneied swiþe sore.
Now is him come help to fiȝte,
Beues of Hamtoun, an hardi kniȝte,
To Sarasins was solde gon longe,
Ich wende, he hadde ben anhonge;
He me þreteþ for to slen
& for to winne is londe aȝen;
Wiþ him he haþ a geaunt brouȝt:
Erþliche man semeþ he nouȝt,
Ne noman of flesch ne felle,
Boute a fend stolen out of helle;
Ascopart men clepeþ him þer oute,
Of him ichaue swiþe gret doute.

156

Ac, lordinges,’ a seide, ‘arme ȝe wei,
We scholle besege hem in here castel;
Þe Ascopard be strong & sterk,
Mani hondes makeþ liȝt werk!’
Forþ þai wenten ase snel,
Til þai come to þe castel,
Þar Saber and Beues weren inne,
Þai piȝte pauilouns & bente ginne.

Saber stod on is tour an hiȝ,
Al þat grete ost a siȝ;
Gret wonder þer of he hade,
Þe holi crois be-fore him he made
And swor be his berde hore,
Hit scholde some of hem rewe sore.

157

Saber doun of his tour went,
After al is kniȝtes a sent:
‘Has armes, lordinges!’ he gan segge,
‘Þemperur þer oute vs wile be-legge:
Make we þre vintaine,
Þat be gode and certaine!
Þe ferste ich wile me self out lede,
& þow þat oþer, Beues!’ a sede,
‘And Ascopard þe þredde schel haue
Wiþ is gode, grete staue.
Be we þre vpon þe grene,
Wel ich wot and nouȝt ne wene:
Mani man is þar oute kete,
Þis dai schel is lif for-lete!’
Saber is horn be-gan to blowe,
Þat his ost him scholde knowe.

158

‘Lordinges,’ a seide, ‘ne doute ȝow nouȝt,
Ȝe scholle þis dai be holde so douȝt,
Þat hem were beter at Rome,
Þanne hii hadde hider icome.’

Þo þemperur herde in castel blowe,
Þar bi he gan to knowe,
Þat hii armede hem in þe castel;
His kniȝtes he het ase snel:
‘Has armes, lordinges, to bataile!
Out hii comeþ, vs to asaile.’
Twei ostes þai gonne make,
He of Scotlonde haþ on itake,
Þemperur þat oþer ladde:
His deþ þat dai þer he hadde.

Out of þe castel cam before
Saber wiþ is berde hore,
And in is compainie
Þre hondred kniȝtes hardie.

159

Sire Morice of Mounclere
His stede smot aȝenes Sabere;
His spere was sumdel kene,
And Saber rod him aȝene:
Þouȝ is spere wer scharp igrounde,
Saber slouȝ him in þat stounde.
Out on Arondel þo com Beuoun
And mette wiþ is stifader Deuoun,
And wiþ a dent of gret fors
A bar him doun of his hors;
Wiþ Morgelay, þat wolde wel bite,
He hadde ment is heued of smite;

160

His ost cam riding him to,
Wel ten þosend oþer mo;
So stronge were þo hii come:
Þemperur Beues hii benome
And brouȝte him an horse þo;
Þar fore was Beues swiþe wo.

Þar com in þe þredde part
Wiþ is batte Ascopard;
Euer alse he com þan,
A felde boþe hors & man.
Þar wiþ was Beues wel apaide,
A clepede Ascopard & to him saide:
‘Ascopard, tak riȝt gode hede:
Þemperur rit on a whit stede;
Þin hure i schel þe ȝilde wel,
Wiþ þat þow bringe him to me castel!’

161

‘Sire,’ a seide, ‘I schel for soþe
In to þe castel bringe him to þe!’
Ascopard leide on wel inouȝ,
Boþe man & hors he slouȝ;
Þar nas non armur in þat londe,
Þat miȝte þe geauntes strok astonde.
Þe king of Scotlonde, wiþ is bat
A ȝaf him swiche a sori flat
Vpon þe helm in þat stounde,
Þat man and hors fel ded to grounde.
Þanne anon, wiþ oute soiur,
A wente to þat emperur,
And hasteliche wiþ miȝt and main
A hente þe hors be þe rain;
Wolde he, nolde he, faire & wel
He bar hors and man to þe castel.
Of al þat oþer, siker apliȝte,
Þat were ensemled in þat fiȝte,
Of Scotlonde and of Al-maine,
Beues and Saber wiþ miȝt and maine
Wiþ deþ is dentes gonne doun driue,
Þat þar ne scapede non aliue.
And þus sire Beues wan þe pris
And vengede him of is enemis,

162

And to þe castel þai wente isame
Wiþ gret solas, gle and game,
And þat his stifader wer ded,
Ase tit he let felle a led
Ful of pich and of bremston,
And hot led let falle þer on;
Whan hit alþer swiþer seþ,
Þemperur þar in a deþ;
Þar a lay atenende:
Wende his saule, whider it wende!

His moder ouer þe castel lai,
Hire lord seþen in þe pich ȝhe sai;
So swiþe wo hire was for sore,
Ȝhe fel and brak hire nekke þer fore.
Alse glad he was of hire,
Of his damme, ase of is stipsire,
And seide: ‘Damme, for-ȝeue me þis gilt,
I ne ȝaf þe noþer dent ne pilt!’

163

Þanne al þe lordes of Hamteschire
Made Beues lord and sire
And dede him feute & omage,
Ase hit was lawe & riȝt vsage.
Þo was Beues glad and bliþe
And þankede god ful mani a siþe,
Þat he was wreke wel inouȝ
Of him, þat his fader slouȝ.
Wel hasteliche ȝhe let sende
To Coloine after þe bischop hende,
And spusede Beues & Iosiane.
Of no ioie nas þer wane;

164

Þouȝ ich discriue nouȝt þe bredale,
Ȝe mai wel wite, hit was riale,
Þat þer was in alle wise
Mete and drinke & riche seruise.

Now haþ Beues al is stat;
Tweie children on hir he beȝat
In þe formeste ȝere,
Whiles þat hii were ifere.
And Saber him redde þar
Wende to þe king Edgar;
Þo wiþ inne a lite stounde
Þe king a fond at Lounde.
Beues a knes doun him set,
Þe king hendeliche a gret;
Þe king askede him, what he were
And what nedes a wolde þere.
Þanne answerde Beuoun:
‘Ichatte Beues of Hamtoun;
Me fader was þer þerl Gii;
Þemperur for is leuedi
Out of Almaine com & him slouȝ:
Ichaue wreke him wel inouȝ;
Ich bidde be-fore ȝour barnage,
Þat ȝe me graunte min eritage!’

165

‘Bleþeliche,’ a seide, ‘sone min,
Ich graunte þe, be sein Martin!’
His marchal he gan be-holde:
‘Fet me,’ a seide, ‘me ȝerde of golde!
Gii, is fader, was me marchal,
Also Beues, is sone, schal.’
His ȝerd he gan him þer take;
So þai atonede wiþ oute sake.

In somer aboute whit-sontide,
Whan kniȝtes mest an horse ride,
A gret kours þar was do grede,
For to saien here alþer stede,
Whiche were swift & strong.
Þe kours was seue mile long;
Who þat come ferst þeder, han scholde
A þosand pound of rede golde.

166

Þar wiþ was Beues paied wel:
Meche a treste to Arondel.
A morwe, whan hit was dai cler,
Ariseþ boþe kniȝt and squier
And lete sadlen here fole.
Twei kniȝtes hadde þe kours istole,
Þat hii were to mile be-fore,
Er eni man hit wiste y-bore.
Whan Beues wiste þis, fot hot
Arondel wiþ is spures a smot
& is bridel faste a schok;
A mide þe kours he hem of-tok.
‘Arondel,’ queþ Beues þo,
‘For me loue go bet, go,
And i schel do faire and wel
For þe loue reren a castel!’

Whan Arondel herde, what he spak,
Be-fore þe twei kniȝtes he rak,
Þat he com raþer to þe tresore,
Þan hii be half and more.

167

Beues of his palfrai aliȝte
& tok þe tresore anon riȝte:
Wiþ þat and wiþ mor catel
He made þe castel of Arondel.

Meche men preisede is stede þo,
For he hadde so wel igo;
Þe prince bad, a scholde it him ȝeue:
‘Nay,’ queþ Beues, ‘so mot y leue,
Þouȝ þow wost me take an honde
Al þe hors of Ingelonde!’
Siþþe þat he him ȝeue nele,
A þouȝte, þat he it wolde stele.
Hit is lawe of kinges alle,
At mete were croune in halle,
& þanne eueriche marchal
His ȝerde an honde bere schal.

168

While Beues was in þat office,
Þe kinges sone, þat was so nice,
What helpeþ for to make fable?
A ȝede to Beues stable
And ȝede Arondel to niȝe,
And also a wolde him vntiȝe,
And þo Arondel, fot hot
Wiþ his hint fot he him smot
And to-daschte al is brain.
Þus was þe kinges sone slain.

Men made del & gret weping
For sorwe of þat ilche þing;
Þe king swor, for þat wronge
Þat Beues scholde ben an-honge
& to-drawe wiþ wilde fole.
Þe barnage it nolde nouȝt þole
& seide, hii miȝte do him no wors,
Boute lete hongen is hors;
Hii miȝte don him namore,
For he seruede þo þe king be-fore.

169

‘Nai,’ queþ Beues, ‘for no catele
Nel ich lese min hors Arondele,
Ac min hors for to were
Ingelonde ich wile for-swere;
Min eir ich wile make her
Þis gode kniȝt, min em Saber.’
In þat maner hii wer at one,
And Beues is to Hamtoun gone;
A tolde Iosian & Ascopard fore
Al to gedre, lasse and more.
Beues lep on is rounci
And made is swein Terri,
Þat Saber is sone is;
And whan Ascopard wiste þis,

170

Whiche wei hii wolde take,
Aȝen to Mombraunt he gan schake,
To be-traie Beues, as ȝe mai se,
For he was falle in pouerte,
For, whan a man is in pouerte falle,
He haþ fewe frendes wiþ alle.

To him seide king Yuore:
‘Treitour, whar hastow be þus ȝore?’
‘Sire,’ a seide, ‘haue souȝt þe quene,
& haue had for hire miche tene!
Sire,’ a seide, ‘certeine for soþe,
Ȝet ich kouþe bringe hire to þe!’
‘Ich wile þe ȝeue a kingdom riȝt,
Bring þow me þat leuedi briȝt!’
Queþ Ascopart: ‘Þer to i graunt,
Be Mahoun & be Tervagaunt,
So þat ichaue fourti kniȝtes,
Stout in armes & strong in fiȝtes;
For Beues is ful sterne & stoute,
Of him ichaue swiþe gret doute;
He ouer-com me ones in bataile:
Me be-houeþ help, him to asaile.’
King Yuor grauntede anon riȝtes;
He let him chese fourti kniȝtes
And armede hem in yrene wede,
& forþ wiþ Ascopard þai ȝede.

171

Now lete we be þis Ascopard
& speke of Beues, þat rit forþward
In is wei til Ermonie
Þourȝ Fraunce & þourȝ Normondie;
And Iosiane, Crist here be milde!
In a wode was be-stonde of childe.
Beues and Terri doun liȝte
And wiþ here swerdes a logge piȝte;
Þai brouȝte Iosiane þer inne,
For hii ne kouþe no beter ginne.
Beues is seruise gan hire bede,
To helpe hire at þat nede.
‘For godes loue,’ ȝhe seide, ‘nai,
Leue sire, þow go þe wai,
God for-bede for is pite,
Þat no wimman is priuite
To noman þourȝ me be kouþe:
Goþ and wendeþ hennes nouþe,
Þow and þe swain Terry,
And let me worþe & oure leuedy!’
Forþ þai wente boþe ifere,
For hii ne miȝte hire paines here.

172

Allas, þat ilche cherre
Hii wente fro hire alto ferre!
Alse hii wer out of þe weie,
Ȝhe hadde knaue children tweie.
Also ȝhe diliuered was,
Þar com Ascopard go-ande a pas
& fourti Sarasins, þe Frensch seþ,
Al iarmede to þe teþ.
For al hire sorwe & hire wo
Þai made hire wiþ hem te go,
And gret scorning of hire þai maked
And bete hire wiþ swerdes naked.
Wo was þe leuedi in þat stounde,
Þat was so beten & ibounde;
& in here wei ase þai gonne wende,
Ȝhe seide: ‘Ascopard, freli frende,
For bounte, ich dede þe while
And sauede þe fro perile,
Þo Beues þe wolde han slawe
And i-brouȝt of þe lif dawe,
Ich was þe bourȝ, þe schost be trewe:
Þar fore i praie, on me þe rewe
And ȝeue me space a lite wiȝt,
For wende out of þis folkes siȝt,
To do me nedes in priuite,
For kende hit is, wimman te be
Schamfaste and ful of corteisie,
& hate dedes of fileinie.’

Ascopard answerde hire þo:
‘Whider þow wilt, dame, þow schelt go,
So ichaue of þe a siȝt!’
Þanne Iosiane, anon riȝt
Out of þe way ȝhe gan terne,
Ase ȝhe wolde do hire dedes derne.

While ȝhe was in Ermonie,
Boþe fysik and sirgirie
Ȝhe hadde lerned of meisters grete
Of Boloyne þe gras and of Tulete,
Þat ȝhe knew erbes mani & fale,
To make boþe boute & bale.
On ȝhe tok vp of þe grounde,
Þat was an erbe of meche mounde,
To make a man in semlaunt þere,
A foule mesel alse ȝif a were.

173

Whan ȝhe hadde ete þat erbe, anon
To þe Sarasines ȝhe gan gon,
And wente hem forþ wiþ oute targing
To-ward Yuore, þe riche king.
Þai nadde ride in here way
Boute fif mile of þat contray,
Ȝhe was in semlaunt & in ble
A foule mesel on to se.
Þo ȝhe was brouȝt to king Yuore,
To Ascopard a seide þore:
‘Who is þis wimman, þow hast me brouȝt?’
‘What,’ a seide, ‘knowest hire nouȝt?
Ȝhe is Iosiane, þe quene:
Ichaue had for hire meche tene.’
Þanne seide Yuor: ‘I praie Mahoun
Þar fore ȝeue þe is malisoun,
Swiche a leuedi me to bringe,
So foule of siȝt in alle þinge!
Led hire awai, god ȝeue ȝow schame,
Þe and hire, boþe isame!’

A castel hadde king Yuor
Fro his paleise fif mile & mor;
Þeder Yuor bad hire lede
And finde hire þat hire wer nede.
Þo Ascopard wiþ outen dwelling
In to þat castel gan hire bring,
In wildernesse vpon a plaine,
And half a ȝer a was hire wardaine.

Now lete we be of þis leuedi
And speke of Beues & of Terri.
Beues, aȝen is wei he nam,
In to þe logge þat he cam;
Fond he þer noþer ȝong ne elder,
Boute twei heþene knaue childer,
Swiþe faire children wiþ alle,
Alse hii were fro þe moder falle.
Beues fel þar doun and swouȝ;
Terri wep and him vp drouȝ,
And koursede biter þat while
Ascopard is tresoun & is gile.
Þei kottede here forers of ermin,
Þe ȝonge children wonde þer in.

174

Þar nolde hii no long abide,
Þei lope to horse & gonne ride;
In þe wode a forster þai mette
And swiþe faire þai him grette:
‘God þe blesse, sire!’ Beues sede,
‘Siȝe þe eni leuedi her forþ lede
Owhar be þis ilche way?’
‘Sire, for gode,’ a seide, ‘nay!’
‘What dones man ertow, bacheler?’
‘Sire,’ a seide, ‘a forster!’
‘Forster, so Crist þe be milde,
Wiltow lete cristen þis heþen childe?
Riȝt, lo, now hit was ibore
And ȝong hit haþ is moder for-lore:
Wilt þow kep it for to min,’ a sede,
‘And i schel quite wel þe mede?’
Þe forster him grauntede þer,
To kepe hit al þe seuen ȝer.

175

‘Sire, what schel it hote ȝet?’
‘Gii,’ a sede, ‘ase me fader het.
Riȝt sone so he is of elde,
Tech him bere spere & schelde!’
Þat child þe forster he be-tok
And forþ in is wei a schok.
Anoþer man a mette þere,
Þat seide, a was a fischere;
Ten mark Beues him betok,
And þat oþer child to lok,
And he him self, at þe cherche stile
He let neuene þe child Mile.
Þar nolden lengere abide,
Þai lope to hors & gonne ride
Ouer dale and ouer doun,
Til þai come to a gret toun,

176

& at a faire in þai liȝte,
& riche soper þai gonne hem diȝte.
Beues at a wendowe lokede out
And seȝ þe strete ful aboute
Of stedes wrien and armes briȝt:
A wonder him þouȝte, what it be miȝt;
At here ostesse he askede þere,
What al þe stoute stedes were.
‘Sire,’ a seide, ‘veraiment,
Þai ben come for a tornement,
Þat is cride for a maide faire,
A kinges douȝter and is air.
Who þat þar be beste kniȝt
And stireþ him stoutliche in þat fiȝt,
He schel haue þat maide fre
And Aumbeforce, þe faire contre.’

177

Þanne seide Beues vnto Terry:
‘Wile we tornaie for þat leuedy?’
‘Ȝe, sire,’ a sede, ‘be sein Thomas of Ynde!
Whan wer we woned be by-hinde?
We scholle lete for non nede,
Þat we ne scholle manliche forþ vs bede!’

A morwe þe lauerkes songe,
Whan þat þe liȝte day was spronge;
Beues and Terry gonne arise
& greiþede hem in faire queintise.
Here armes were riale of siȝt,
Wiþ þre eglen of asur briȝt;
Þe chaumpe of gold ful faire tolede,
Portraid al wiþ rosen rede.
And Terri, Saberes sone of Wiȝt,
In riche armes also was diȝt.

178

Ase þai com ride þourȝ þe toun,
Erles, barouns of renoun
Hadde wonder of here armes slie,
In þat londe neuer swich þai sie.

Þe trompes gonne here bemes blowe;
Þe kniȝtes riden out in a rowe,
& þo þe tornement be-gan,
Þar was samned mani a man,
Þe tornement to be-holde,
To se þe kniȝtes stout and bolde.
Þai leide on ase hii were wode
Wiþ swerdes and wiþ maces gode;
Þar nolde noman oþer knowe,
Þar men miȝte se in lite þrowe
Kniȝtes out of sadel iboren,
Stedes wonne and stedes loren.
Þe kinges sone of Asie
Þouȝte wenne þe meistrie:
Out of þe renge he com ride,
& Beues nolde no leng abide;
He rod to him wiþ gret randoun,
& wiþ Morgelai, is fauchoun,
Þe prince a felde in þe feld;
He was boren hom vpon is scheld.
And also Beues adoun bar
A noble duk, þat was þar:
In Aumbeforce cleped a wes
Balam of Nuby, wiþ outen les;
Taile ouer top he made him stoupe
& felde him ouer is horses croupe,
And seuen erles he gan doun þrawe,
Sum iwonded and sum y-slawe.
Saber is sone, þat hiȝte Terry,
Kedde, þat he was kniȝt hardy;
He leide on, alse he wolde awede,
And wan his lord mani gode stede.
Alle þo þat hii miȝte hitte,
Noman miȝte here strokes sitte.

179

So Beues demeinede him þat dai,
Þe maide hit in þe tour say.
Hire hertte gan to him acorde,
Þat ȝhe wolde haue him to lorde,
Oþer wiþ loue oþer wiþ strif;
And euer a seide, he haþ a wif,
& seide, ȝhe was stolen him fro.
Þanne saide þe maide: ‘Now it is so,
Þow schelt al þis seuen ȝere
Be me lord in clene manere,
And ȝif þe wif comeþ þe aȝen,
Terry, þe swein, me lord schel ben!’
Beues seide: ‘So i schel;
In þat forward i graunte wel!’

Saber at Hamtoun lai in is bed,
Him þouȝte, Beues a wonde hed;

180

A way he was, him þouȝte þat while,
Toward sein Iemes & sein Gile.
Whan he awok, he was afraid,
To his wif is sweuene a said.
‘Sire,’ ȝhe seide, ‘þow hauest wrong,
Þat þow dwellest her so long:
Alse ich am wimman ibore,
Wif or child he haþ for-lore;
Þourȝ Ascopard he haþ þat gile.’
Twelf kniȝtes Saber let atile
In palmer is wedes euerichon,
And armede hem riȝt wel anon;
Here bordones were imaked wel
Wiþ longe pikes of wel gode stel,
And whan þai were so idiȝt,
To schip þai wente anon riȝt
And pasede ouer þe grikische se;
Gode winde & weder hadden he.

181

Whan þai come to þe londe,
Faste þai gonne fraine & fonde,
In what londe were þe quene,
And men tolde hem al be-dene,
How þe geaunt Ascopard
In a castel hire hadde to ward,
In wildernesse al be selue.
Þo Saber and is feren twelue,
Þourȝ help of god þat ilche stounde
Sone þai han þe castel founde.
Þe castel ase he ȝede aboute,
For to diuise þe toures stoute,
Iosian lay in a tour an hiȝ,
Saber and felawes ȝhe siȝ,
And to him ȝhe gan to crie:
‘Help, Saber, for loue of Marie!’
Þo Ascopard herde þat steuene,
How ȝhe gan Saber to neuene,
He wente him out wiþ hertte wroþ
& be Mahoun a swor his oþ,
To deþe a scholde Saber diȝte.
His sclauin ech palmer of twiȝte,
Þo schon here armur wel clere;
Þo Saber and his felawes ifere
Aboute Ascopard þai þringe,
And harde on him þai gonne dinge
And hew him alle to pices smale
And brouȝte Iosian out of bale;
And hasteliche þo, veraiment,
Iosian wiþ an oiniment
Hire coulur, þat was loþli of siȝt,
Ȝhe made boþe cler and briȝt.

182

Þo Saber, þat was wis of dede,
Iosian, hire diȝte in palmers wede,
And forþ þai wente hasteli,
To seche Beues and sire Terri.
Seue ȝer to gedres þai him souȝt,
Er þan hii him finde mouȝte.

In grete Grese, so saiþ þe bok,
Saber gret sikenesse tok,
Þat oþer half ȝer in none wise
Ne miȝte he out of is bed arise,
And tresor he nadde namore,
Þan half a mark of olde store.
While Iosian was in Ermonie,
Ȝhe hadde lerned of minstralcie,
Vpon a fiþele for to play
Staumpes, notes, garibles gay;
Þo ȝhe kouþe no beter red,
Boute in to þe bourȝ anon ȝhe ȝed
And bouȝte a fiþele, so saiþ þe tale,
For fourti panes, of one menstrale;
And alle þe while, þat Saber lay,
Iosian eueriche a day
Ȝede aboute þe cite wiþ inne,
Here sostenaunse for to winne.
Þus Iosian was in swiche destresse,
While Saber lai in is siknesse.
At þat oþer half ȝer is ende
Swiche grace god him gan sende
And heled him of his maladie,
And forþ þai wente hastelie,

183

Beues and Terry for to seche,
Wheder þat god hem wolde teche.
So þourȝ a toun þai com þringe,
Þar Beues was in also a kinge;
A brouȝte Iosian at here inne
& wente te toun, here mete to winne.
Whan he com to þe castel gate,
Terry, is sone, a mette þer ate,
Þat was stiward of al þat londe,
And Saber gan to vnder-stonde,
Þat hit was is sone Terry,
And bad him for loue of our leuedy
& for loue of þe gode rode
Ȝeue him sum what of hire gode.
Terry be-held Saber ful bliue
& seide: ‘Palmer, so mot y þriue,
Þow schelt haue mete riche
For loue of me fader, þert iliche!’
‘So seide þe moder, sone, þat i was!’
And Terry him in is armes las,

184

& gonne cleppen and to kisse
And made meche ioie & blisse.
Saber Iosian wel faire gan diȝte
And brouȝte hire to þe castel riȝte
And tok hire sire Beues to honde,
Ne cam him neuer leuer sonde.
‘Louerd Crist,’ queþ Iosian þo,
‘Swiþe wel is me be-go,
Þat ichaue me lord ifonde:
Hadde ich me children hol & sonde!’
Þat hii were ded, wel ȝhe wende.
Beues after hem let sende;
Þan com þe fischer & þe forster
And brouȝte þe children of fair cher.
Þanne weddede Terry
Of þat londe þe riche leuedy;

185

And after mete þar it was,
Þe children pleide at þe taluas,
And to þe iustes þai gonne ride;
Þar was ioie be eueri side.

186

Þanne sire Beues & sere Terry
Wente hem in til Ermonie,
And Iosiane and sire Sabere,
And Miles and Gii boþe ifere.
Wiþ þat was come king Yuore,
To ȝeue bataile Ermyn þe hore;
Ipiȝt he hadde is pauilioun,
To be-sege him in þat toun.

187

Wiþ þat com Beues in þat tide
Wiþ gret folk be þat oþer side.
Þo was Ermin afered sore,
For tresoun he hadde don him be-fore.
Aȝen Beues anon a ȝede
And merci cride of his misdede,
And sire Beues þo, veraiment,
For-ȝaf him alle is mautalent
And seide, a wolde anon riȝte
Aȝen Yuor take þe fiȝte.

188

Out of þe cite Beues rod,
And al is ost, wiþ outen abod,
And slowe doun riȝtes mani & fale,
Sixti þosand told in tale;
And Beues þrew Yuor adoun
And sente him Ermin to prisoun.
He gan him take be þe honde;
Þe king Ermin gan vnder-stonde,
Þat he ne schel nouȝt scape awai,
Wiþ oute gret raunsoun for to pai.

189

Þo swor Yuor to king Ermin
Be Mahoun and be Apolyn,
Þat gret raunsoun paie he wolde,
Sixti pound of rede golde,
Foure hondred beddes of selk echon,
Quiltes of gold þar vpon,
Foure hondred copes of gold fyn
And ase fele of maslin.
‘Ȝe,’ seide Beues, ‘asend it me,
And wend hom to þe contre!’

190

A masager a sente wiþ main
To Tabefor, his chaumberlain,
& he him sente þat raunsoun:
Þus com Yuor out of prisoun.

Now let we be of king Yuore
And speke we of Ermin þe hore,
Þat in is bedde sike lay.
So hit befel vpon a day,
Er he out of þis world went,
After Beues children a sent.
He clepede to him sire Gii
And wiþ is croune gan him crouny
And ȝaf him alle is kenedom.
Sone þar after hit be-com,
Þat a daide at þe ende,
To heuene mote his saule wende!

Þanne sire Beues and sire Gii,
Al þe londe of Ermony
Hii made cristen wiþ dent of swerd,
Ȝong and elde, lewed and lered.
So hit be-fel vpon an eue,
Saber of Beues tok leue,
Hom te wende to his contre,
His wif, his children for to se.

191

Ne stente neuer sire Saber,
Til þat he in Ingelonde were;
Wel sore aneiȝed schel Beues be,
Er þan he Saber eft ise!

Þe king Yuor hadde a þef:
God him ȝeue euel pref,
For þat he kouþe so wel stele!
He stel Beues Arondele
Wiþ his charmes, þat he kouþe,
And brouȝte hit to Mombraunt be souþe
And presentede þe king Yuore.
Þe king be Mahoun haþ swore,
Þat Beues scholde abegge sore
Þe raunsoun, þat he hadde be-fore.

Now sire Beues let we gan
And to sire Saber wile we tan.
Saber at Hamtoun in bedde lay;
Him þouȝte, þat he Beues say

192

In bataile wo be-gon
And al to-heue, flesch and bon.
Þo he abraide out of is sweuene,
To his wif a tolde hit ful euene
Al to gedres how him met.
‘O sire,’ ȝhe seide wiþ outen let,
‘Be þe sweuene ful wel I wat,
Þat Beues is in semple stat;
He haþ for-loren Arondel,
And þat I wet finliche wel.’
Saber was wo for þat sake;
Eft scrippe and bordoun he gan take
And tok leue of his wif
And to Beues a wente be-lif.
Beues was glad, þat he was come,
And tolde, his hors was him benome:
‘A roboun hit stal ful ȝore
And haþ ȝeue hit to king Yuore.’
‘Þat,’ Saber seide, ‘a-þenkeþ me,
Boute ȝif ich miȝte winne it aȝe!’
Aȝen to Mombraunt wente Saber,
Þar men watrede þe deistrer;
Þar he stod and a-bod,
A proud Sarasin þer on rod;

193

‘Mahoun þe saue!’ seide Saber,
‘Fro whanne komeþ þis fair deistrer?
Hit haueþ brestes þikke and proute.
Which is þe kroupe? terne aboute!’
Aboute he ternde þe deistrer;
Vp be-hinde lep Saber
& smot þe Sarasin ded adoun
Wiþ þe pik of his bordoun.
To þe king Yuor he gan grede:
‘Lo, Arondel ich a wei lede:
Ȝe him stele wiþ envie
And ich him feche be-fore ȝour eie!’
Þe king Yuor was swiþe wo
And after Saber þai gonne go;
Þre þosend haþ Saber be-set;
Iosian stod in a toret;
Al þis folk ȝhe seȝ ful wel
And Saber com ride on Arondel;
Out of þe tour ȝhe wente adoun
And seide: ‘Beues of Hamtoun,

194

Her comeþ Saber vpon þe stede:
Iesu Crist him ȝilde is mede!
Ac he is be-set al aboute
Wiþ wonderliche grete route;
Al most he is in point to spille!’
‘Has armes!’ Beues cride schille.
Ferst smot out þe ȝonge king Gii
And Miles wiþ gret cheualry;
Þai come to Saber at þat stour
And brouȝte Saber gode sokour
And leide on wiþ alle here miȝt
& slowe Sarasines adoun riȝt.
Of al þat sewede him so ȝerne,
To Mombraunt gonne neuer on terne,
Þat þai ner ded vpon þe grene,
Eueri moder sone, i wene;
And þus Saber in þis wise
Wan Arondel wiþ is queintise.
Now mowe ȝe here forþormore
Ful strong bataile of king Yuore;
Ac er þan we be-ginne fiȝte,
Ful vs þe koppe anon riȝte!
Þe king Yuore him ros amorwe,
In his hertte was meche sorwe.

195

He let of-sende an hiȝing
Þretti amirales & ten king.
Þai armede hem in yrene wede,
To Ermonie he gan hem lede.
Hii piȝte pauiliouns & bente ginne,
For to be-sege hem þer inne,
And Yuore clepede at þat cas
Morable and sire Iudas.
‘Redeþ me,’ a seide, ‘ariȝt,
Ȝif ich mai vnder-stonde þis fiȝt
Aȝen Beues of Hamtoun,
Þat is so stout a baroun!’
‘We redeþ meintene ȝour parti!’
He lep to hors & gan to crie:

196

‘Sire Beues of Hamtoun,’ a sede,
‘Þou hauest þar inne gret ferede,
And ich her oute mani stout kniȝt,
Ichaue brouȝt wiþ me to fiȝt,
And ȝif we bataile schel abide,
Gret slauȝter worþ in eiþer side.
Wiltow graunte be þen helue,
Þat ich and þow mote fiȝte vs selue?
Ȝif þow slest me in bataile,
Al min onour, wiþ outen faile,
Ich þe graunte þourȝ & þourȝ,
Boþe in cite and in bourȝ!’
Here glouen þai gonne vp holde
In þat forward, þat Yuor tolde,
And armede hem in armes briȝte
And lopen to horse anon riȝte
In an yle vnder þat cite,
Þar þat scholde þe bataile be.
Ouer þat water þai gonne ride,
To hire godes þai bede in eiþer side;
Beues bad help to Marie sone
And king Yuor to sein Mahoune;
Ase Beues bad helpe to Marie,
To Teruagaunt Yuor gan crie,
Þat he scholde helpe him in þat fiȝt,
Also he was king of meche miȝt.

197

Wiþ þat hii ride to gedres boþe,
Ase men, þat were in hertte wroþe,
So harde þai gonne to gedres mete
And wiþ here launces gonne grete,
Þat þourȝ þe scheldes þe speres ȝode;
At þe breinies þe dent wiþ-stode.
So harde þai þreste to gedre þo,
Þat here gerþes borste ato,
& felle to grounde boþe þo,
A fote nedes þai moste go.
Out of here sadles þai gonne springe
And wiþ fauchouns to gedere flinge;
Aiþer on oþer strokes set,
Of helm and scheld and bacinet
Þe fure brast out so brond ibrent,
So fel and eger was eiþer dent.
Þus to gederes þai gonne dinge
Fram prime til vnderne gan to ringe.
Alle, þat siȝen hem wiþ siȝt,
Seide, neuer in none fiȝt
So stronge bataile siȝe er þan
Of Sarasin ne of cristene man.
At hiȝ midday þe king Iuore,
To Beues he smot a dent ful sore,
Þat sercle of gold & is crestel
Fer in to þe mede fel.
Doun of þe helm þe swerd gan glace
And karf riȝt doun be-fore is face,
Doun riȝt þe viser wiþ is swerd
And half þe her vpon is berd.
Ac þourȝ þe help of godes grace
His flesch noþing atamed nas.
Þo cride þe Sarasins al at ones:
‘Þis Beues wiþ his grete bones

198

Ful sone worþ imaked tame!’
Þo wex Beues in gret grame
And þouȝte wel wiþ Morgelay
Ȝelden his strok, ȝif þat he may.
To king Yuor he gan areche
Anon wiþ oute more speche
Vpon þe scholder in þat tide,
Þat half a fot hit gan in glide.
For smertte Yuor in þat stounde
Fel a knes vnto þe grounde,
Ac vp he sterte in haste þan
& in wraþþe to Beues ran
& þouȝte han Beues aqueld;
And Beues keppte him wiþ is scheld,
And Yuore wiþ þe strok of yre
Made fle in to þe riuere
A large quarter of his scheld,
Þat neuer nas atamed in feld.
Or Yuor miȝte his hond wiþ-drawe,
Beues, þe kniȝt of cristene lawe,
Wiþ Morgelay a smot him þo,
Þat his scheld he clef ato,
And his left hond, be þe wrest
Hit fleȝ awei þourȝ help of Crist.
Whan Yuor hadde his hond lore,
He fauȝt, ase he wer wod þer fore,
And hew to Beues in þat tide,
No strok ne moste oþer abide.
Þo Beues seȝ is strokes large,
He kepte his strokes wiþ is targe;
Þo Beues to Yuor gan flinge
And þourȝ þe miȝt of heuene king
His riȝt arm & is scholder bon
He made fle to gronde anon.
Wiþ þat strok Yuor þe Mombraunt
Cride: ‘Merci, Teruagaunt,
Mahoun, Gouin and Gibiter,
Reseue now me saule her,
For wel ich wot, ich am dede!’
Þo Beues herde him so grede,
He seide: ‘Yuor, let be þat cri
And clepe to god and to Mari,
And let þe cristen, er þe deie,
Or þow schelt go þe worsse weie
And wiþ outen ende dwelle
In þe stronge peine of helle!’
‘Nay,’ queþ Yuor, ‘so mot y þen,
Cristene wile ich neuer ben,
For min is wel þe beter lawe!’
Þo Beues herde þat ilche sawe,
A felde him doun, wiþ outen faile,
And vnlacede his ventaile,
And tok him be þe heued anon
And strok hit fro þe scholder bon,
And on his spere he hit piȝte.
And þo þe cristen siȝe þat siȝte,
Þai þankede god in alle wise,
Þat Beues hadde wonne þe prise.
Þanne al þe Sarasins lasse & more,
Þat was ycome wiþ king Yuore,
Þai siȝe her lordes heued arered,
Sore þai weren alle afered;

199

To-ward Mombraunt þei wolde fain,
Ac Saber made hem terne again,
And sire Beues and sire Terry,
And sire Miles and sire Gii
Slouȝ hem doun riȝtes þore,
Þat þer ne scapede lasse ne more.

200

Þo crounede þai Beues king in þat lond,
Þat king Yuore held in hond,
And Iosiane briȝt and schene,
Now is ȝhe þer twies quene.
On a dai þai wente a riuere;
Þar com ride a masagere,
And euer he askede fer & ner
After þe hende kniȝt Saber.
Anon Saber gan forþ springe:
‘Masager,’ a sede, ‘what tiding?’
‘Sire,’ a sede, ‘þe king Edgare
Þe driueþ to meche to bismare,
Desereteþ Robaunt, þin eyr!’
‘For god,’ queþ, ‘þat is nouȝt feir!’

201

And sire Saber in haste þo
Tok leue of Beues, hom to go;
And sire Beues corteis & hende,
A seide, a wolde wiþ him wende,
And sire Miles and sire Gii,
And is owene sone Terry.

Now wendeþ Beues in te Ingelonde
Wiþ is kniȝtes fel to fonde,
And Terry wiþ is kniȝtes fale,
Sexty þosend told in tale.
Þai lende ouer þe se beliue,
At Souþhamtoun þai gonne vp riue.
Heruebourȝ, Saber is wif,
And Robaund anon ase blif
Aȝen Saber come þo;
Queþ Saber: ‘How is þis i-go?’
And þai him tolde at þe frome,
Þat Edgar hadde here londes be-nome.

202

Þanne seide Beues: ‘So mot y þe,
Þar of ich wile awreke be!’

Anon þe kniȝt, sire Beuoun,
His ost he let at Hamtoun,
& to-ward Londen a wente swiþe;
His quene a let at Potenhiþe;
He tok wiþ him sex kniȝtes
And wente forþ anon riȝtes,
And in is wei forþ a ȝode
And pasede ouer Temse flode.
To Westmenster whan he com þan,
A fond þe king and mani man,
And on is knes he him set,
Þe king wel hendeliche a gret
& bad be-fore his barnage,
Þat he him graunte is eritage.
‘Bleþeliche,’ a seide, ‘sone min,
I graunte þe, be seinte Martin!’

203

And alle þe barouns, þat þer were,
On Beues made glade chere,
Boute þe stiward of þe halle,
He was þe worste frend of alle:
Þe king wolde haue ȝeue him griþ,
Þe stiward seide nay þer wiþ,
& seide: ‘Þis for-banniiste man
Is come to þe land aȝan,
And haþ þin owene sone slawe:
He haþ y-don aȝenes þe lawe,
And ȝif a mot forþer gon,
A wile vs slen euerichon!’
Beues þat herde, a was wroþ,
And lep to hors, wiþ outen oþ,
And rod to Londen, þat cite,
Wiþ sex kniȝtes in meine.
Whan þat he to Londen cam,
In Tour strete is in he nam,
And to þe mete he gan gon,
And is kniȝtes euerichon.

Let we now Beues be,
& of þe stiward telle we,
Þat hateþ Beues, also is fo:
Sexty kniȝtes he tok & mo,
In to Londene sone he cam,
And into Chepe þe wei he nam
And dede make þer a cri
Among þe peple hasteli,
And seide: ‘Lordinges, veraiment,
Hureþ þe kinges comaundement:

204

Sertes, hit is be-falle so,
In ȝour cite he haþ a fo,
Beues, þat slouȝ þe kinges sone;
Þat tresoun ȝe ouȝte to mone:
I comaunde, for þe kinges sake,
Swiþe anon þat he be take!’

Whan þe peple herde þat cri,
Þai gonne hem arme hasteli,
& hii, þat hadde armur non,
Þai toke staues & gonne gon;
Þai schette anon eueri gate
Wiþ þe barres, þai founde þer ate;
And sum þai wente to þe wal
Wiþ bowes and wiþ springal;
Eueri lane and eueri strete
Was do drawe wiþ chaines grete,
Þat, ȝif Beues wolde awei flen,
Þe chaines scholde holde him aȝen.
Boute her of Beues weste nouȝt:
Help him god, þat alle þing wrouȝt!
Beues at þe mete sat,
He be-held and vnder-ȝat
Al is fon, þat were þer oute;
He was afered of þat route.
He askede at þe tauarnere,
Þat armede folk, what it were.
And he answerde him at þat sake:
‘Þai ben y-come, þe to take!’
Whan Beues herde him speke so,
To a chaumber he gan go,
Þat he hadde seȝe armur inne;
In haste þe dore he gan vp winne
And armede þer anon riȝtes
Boþe he and is sex kniȝtes,

205

And gerte him wiþ a gode brond
And tok a spere in is honde,
Aboute his nekke a doble scheld:
He was a kniȝt stout and belde.
On Arondel a lep þat tide,
In to þe strete he gan ride.
Þanne seide þe stiward to sire Bef:
‘Aȝilt þe, treitour, þow foule þef!
Þow hauest þe kinges sone islawe,
Þow schelt ben hanged & to-drawe!’

Beues seide: ‘Be sein Ion,
Treitour was y neuer non:
Þat i schel keþe hastely,
Er þan ich wende, sikerly!’

206

A spere Beues let to him glide
And smot him vnder þe riȝt side;
Þourȝ is bodi wente þe dent,
Ded a fel on þe pauiment.
A sede anon after þat dint:
‘Treitour! now is þe lif itint:
Þus men schel teche file glotouns,
Þat wile misaie gode barouns!’
Þe folk com wiþ grete route,
Besette Beues al aboute;
Beues and is sex kniȝtes
De-fendede hem wiþ al her miȝtes,
So þat in a lite stounde
Fiue hondred þai brouȝte te gronde.
Beues prikede forþ to Chepe,
Þe folk him folwede al to hepe;
Þourȝ Godes lane he wolde han flowe,
Ac sone wiþ in a lite þrowe
He was be-set in boþe side,
Þat fle ne miȝte he nouȝt þat tide.
Þo com þer fot-men mani & fale
Wiþ grete clobbes & wiþ smale!
Aboute Beues þai gonne þringe
And hard on him þai gonne dinge.
Al Beues kniȝtes, in þat stounde
Þar hii were feld to grounde
And al to-hewe flesch & bon:
Þo was Beues wo be-gon,
For he was on & hii were ded;
For sorwe kouþe he no red;

207

Þat lane was so narw y-wrouȝt,
Þat he miȝte defende him nouȝt,
He ne Arondel, is stede,
Ne miȝte him terne for non nede.
To Iesu he made his praiere
And to Marie, is moder dere,
Þat he moste pase wiþ is lif,
To sen is children & is wif.
Out of þe lane a wolde ten,
Þe chynes held him faste aȝen.
Wiþ is swerd he smot þe chayne,
Þat hit fel a peces twayne,
And forþ a wente in to Chepe;
Þe folk him folwede al to hepe,
And al þai setten vp a cry:
‘Aȝilt þe, Beues, hastely,
Aȝilt þe, Beues, sone anon,
And elles þow schelt þe lif for-gon!’
Beues seide: ‘Ich ȝelde me
To god, þat sit in trinite!
To non oþer man i nel me ȝelde,
While þat ich mai me wepne welde!’

208

Now be-ginneþ þe grete bataile
Of sire Beues, wiþ outen faile,
Þat he dede aȝenes þat cite:
ȝe þat wile here, herkneþ to me!
Þis was aboute þe vnder tide,
Þe cri aros be ech a side
Boþe of lane and of strete;
Aboute him com peple grete,
Al newe & fresch, wiþ him to fiȝt,
Ac Beues stered him ase gode kniȝt,
So þat in a lite þrawe
Fif þosend þar was islawe
Of þe strengeste, þat þer wore,
Þat him hadde ȝeue dentes sore;
Ac euer his stede Arondel
Faste fauȝt wiþ hertte lel,
Þat fourty fote be-hinde & forn
Þe folk he haþ to grounde i-born.
Þus þat fiȝt leste longe
Til þe time of euesonge.
Tidinge com to Potenhiþe,
To Iosian also swiþe,
Þat Beues in Londen was islawe
And ibrouȝt of his lif dawe.

209

Iosian þanne fel aswowe,
Gij and Miles hire vp drowe
And confortede þat leuedi briȝt
Hendeliche wiþ alle her miȝt,
And askede hire, what hire were;
And ȝhe tolde hem anon þere,
How Beues was in Londen slayn
And his kniȝtes wiþ gret payn:
‘Now keþe, ȝe ben noble kniȝtes,
And wrekeþ ȝour fader wiþ ȝour miȝtes!’
Sire Gii and Miles seide þan
To here moder Iosian:
‘Dame, be him, þat herwede helle,
We scholle his deþ wel dere selle!’
Þanne sire Miles and sire Gii
Gonne hem arme hasteli
And on here knes set hem doun
And bad her moder benesoun.
Sire Gii lep on a rabit,
Þat was meche & noþing lite,

210

And tok a spere in is hond,
Out at þe halle dore a wond
Toward þe cite of Londen toun,
And sire Miles wiþ gret randoun
Lep vpon a dromedary,
To prike wolde he nouȝt spary.
Whan þai come to Londen gate,
Mani man þai fonde þer ate,
Wel iarmed to þe teþ,
So þe frensche bok vs seþ,
Aȝen þe children þei ȝeue bataile,
& hii aȝen, wiþ outen faile,
And made of hem so clene werk,
Þat þai neuer spek wiþ prest ne clerk;
And after-ward, ase ȝe mai hure,
Londegate þai sette a fure.

211

Whan þai come, wiþ outen faile,
Þo be-gan a gret bataile
Be twene Bowe and Londen ston,
Þat time stod vs neuer on.

Þar was a Lombard in þe toun,
Þat was scherewed & feloun;
He armede him in yrene wede
And lep vpon a sterne stede
And rod forþ wiþ gret randoun
And þouȝte haue slawe sire Beuoun.
Wiþ an vge masnel
Beues a hite on þe helm of stel,
Þat Beues of Hamtoun, veraiment,
Was astoned of þe dent;
What for care and for howe,
He lenede to his sadelbowe.

Þanne com priken is sone Gii,
To helpe his fader, hastely;

212

Wiþ a swerd drawe in is hond
To þat Lombard sone a wond
& smot him so vpon þe croun,
Þat man and hors he cleuede doun;
Þe poynt fel on þe pauiment,
Þe fur sprong out after þe dent.
Þanne com ride is broþer Mile
Among þe peple in þat while;
Al þo, þat a miȝte reche,
Ne dorste he neuer aske leche,
For to hele þer is wonde,
Þat he ne lai ded vpon þe grounde.
& whan Beues seȝ þat siȝte,
In hertte he was glad & liȝte
& þankede Iesu, our sauiour,
Þat hadde sent him so gode sokour,

213

And egerliche, wiþ outen faile,
Þe grete peple he gan asaile.
So meche folk was slawe & ded,
Þat al Temse was blod red;
Þe nombre was, veraiment,
To and þretti þosent.

214

And also sone so hit was niȝt,
To þe Ledene halle þai wente riȝt;
A fette Iosian wiþ faire meine
To Londen, to þat riche cite,
& helde a feste fourtene niȝt
To al þat euer come, apliȝt!

Tiding com to king Edgar,
Þat Beues hadde his men for-fare;
For is borgeis in is cite
He made del and gret pite
& seide: ‘Ichaue leued me lif
Longe wiþ outen werre & strif,
& now icham so falle in elde,
Þat i ne may min armes welde:
Twei sones Beues haþ wiþ him brouȝt,
Þar fore hit is in me þouȝt,

215

Miles, his sone, me douȝter take,
In þis maner is pes to make.’
Þai grauntede al wiþ gode entent,
& king Edgar Beues of-sent,
And sire Saber & sire Gii,
And sire Miles & sire Terry,
& king Edgar Miles gan calle
Be fore his barouns in þe halle
And ȝaf him is douȝter be þe honde,
And after is day al Ingelonde,
And pes and loue was maked þare
Be twene Beues & king Edgare.
Þe maide & Miles wer spused same
In þe toun of Notinghame.
Ȝe witeþ wel, þouȝ i ne telle ȝow,
Þe feste was riale inow,
Ase scholde be at swiche a spusing
And at þe kinges couroning;
Þe feste leste fourtene niȝt
To al þat euer come, apliȝt!
And at þe fourtene niȝt is ende,
Beues tok leue, hom to wende,

216

At king Edgar & at Sabere,
And Miles, is sone, a lefte here
And kiste and ȝaf him is blessing,
& wente to Mombraunt, þer he was king;
And his erldom in Hamte-schire
A ȝaf to his em Sabere
And schipede at Hamtoun hastely,
And wiþ him wente his sone Gii,
And Terry wiþ is barnage.
Þe wind blew hardde wiþ gret rage
And drof hem in to Ermonie,
Þar be-lefte his sone Gii
Wiþ his barouns gode & hende;
& Terry to Aumberþe gan wende,
And Beues wente wiþ oute dwelling
In to Mombraunt, þar he was king;
Wiþ him wente Iosian, is quene,
& leuede wiþ oute treie & tene
Twenti ȝer, so saiþ þe bok.
Þanne swiche siknesse þe leuedi tok,
Out of þis world ȝhe moste wende;
Gii, hire sone, ȝhe gan of-sende,
And Terry, þe riche king,
For to ben at here parting.
And whan þai were alle þare,
To his stable Beues gan fare;
Arondel a fond þar ded,
Þat euer hadde be gode at nede;
Þar fore him was swiþe wo,
In to chaumber he gan go

217

& seȝ losian drawe to dede:
Him was wo a moste nede,
And er her body be-gan to colde,
In is armes he gan hire folde,
And þar hii deide boþe ifere.
Here sone ne wolde in non manere,
Þat hii in erþe beried were:
Of sein Lauarauns he let arere
A faire chapel of marbel fin,
Þat was ikast wiþ queint engin;
Of gold he made an hiȝ cornere
And leide þem þar in boþe ifere.
An hous he made of riligioun,
For to singe for sire Beuoun
And ek for Iosian þe fre:
God on here saules haue pite!

218

& also for Arondel,
Ȝif men for eni hors bidde schel.
Þus endeþ Beues of Hamtoun:
God ȝeue vs alle is benesoun!

Amen.

University of Virginia Library

Sir Beues of Hamtoun.