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King Horn

a Middile English romance

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KING HORN

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HORN CHILDE.

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KING HORN

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From MS. Gg. 4. 27. 2. University Library, Cambridge.

Alle beon he bliþe
þat to my song lyþe:
A sang ihc schal ȝou singe
Of Murry þe kinge.
King he was biweste
So longe so hit laste.
Godhild het his quen,
Faire ne miȝte non ben.
He hadde a sone þat het horn,
Fairer ne miste non beo born.
Ne no rein vpon birine,
Ne sunne vpon bischine:
Fairer nis non þane he was,
He was briȝt so þe glas,
He was whit so þe flur,
Rose red was his colur.
In none kinge riche
Nas non his iliche.
Twelf feren he hadde
Þat he alle wiþ him ladde;
Alle riche mannes sones
& alle hi were faire gomes,
Wiþ him for to pleie,
& mest he luuede tweie;
Þat on him het haþulf child,
& þat oþer ffikenild:

Aþulf was þe beste
& fikenylde þe werste.
Hit was vpon a someres day,
Also ihc ȝou telle may,
Murri þe gode king
Rod on his pleing
Bi þe se side,
Ase he was woned ride:
He fond bi þe stronde
ariued on his londe
Schipes fiftene
wiþ sarazins kene.
He axede what isoȝte
Oþer to londe broȝte.

A payn hit ofherde
& hym wel sone answarede:
‘Þi lond folk we schulle slon
And alle þat Crist luueþ vpon
And þe selue riȝt anon,
Ne schaltu todai henne gon.’
Þe kyng aliȝte of his stede,
For þo he hauede nede,
& his gode kniȝtes two;
Al to fewe he hadde þo.
Swerd hi gunne gripe
& togadere smite;
Hy smyten vnder schelde
Þat sume hit yfelde.
Þe king hadde al to fewe
Toȝenes so vele schrewe;
So fele miȝten yþe
Bringe hem þre to diþe.

Þe pains come to londe
& neme hit in here honde:
Þat folc hi gunne quelle
& churchen for to felle.
Þer ne moste libbe
Þe fremde ne þe sibbe,
Bute hi here laȝe asoke
& to here toke.

Of alle wymmanne
Wurst was godhild þanne;
For Murri heo weop sore
& for horn ȝute more.
He wenten vt of halle
Fram hire Maidenes alle;
Vnder a roche of stone,
Þer heo liuede alone,
Þer heo seruede gode
Aȝenes þe paynes forbode;
Þer he seruede criste
Þat no payn hit ne wiste:
Eure heo bad for horn child
Þat Jesu crist him beo myld.
Horn was in paynes honde
Wiþ his feren of þe londe.
Muchel was his fairhede,
for ihesu crist him makede
Payns him wolde slen
Oþer al quic flen,
Ȝef his fairnesse nere,
Þe children alle aslaȝe were.
Þanne spak on Admirad,
Of wordes he was bald,
‘Horn, þu art wel kene,
& þat is wel isene;
Þu art gret & strong,
fair & euene long;
Þu schalt waxe more
Bi fulle seue ȝere:
Ȝef þu mote to liue go
& þine feren also,
Ȝef hit so bi falle
Ȝe scholde slen vs alle:
Þaruore þu most to stere,
Þu & þine ifere;
To schupe schulle ȝe funde
& sinke to þe grunde,
Þe se ȝou schal adrenche,
Ne schal hit us noȝt ofþinche;

For if þu were aliue,
Wiþ swerd oþer wiþ kniue,
We scholden alle deie
& þi fader deþ abeie.’

Þe children hi broȝte to stronde
Wringinde here honde
In to schupes borde
At þe furste worde.
Ofte hadde horn beo wo
At neure wurs þan him was þo.
Þe se bigan to flowe
& horn child to rowe;
Þe se þat schup so fasste drof
Þe children dradde þerof.
Hi wenden to wisse
of here lif to misse,
Al þe day & al þe niȝt,
Til hit sprang dai liȝt

Til Horn saȝ on þe stronde
Men gon in þe londe.
‘Feren’ quaþ he ‘ȝonge,
Ihc telle ȝou tiþinge,
Ihc here foȝeles singe
& þat gras him springe.
Bliþe beo we on lyue,
Vre schup is on ryue.’
Of schup hi gunne funde
& setten fout to grunde,
Bi þe se side
hi leten þat schup ride.

Þanne spak him child horn,
In suddene he was iborn,
‘Schup, bi þe se flode
Daies haue þu gode:
Bi þe se brinke
No water þe nadrinke.

Ȝef þu cume to Suddenne,
Gret þu wel of myne kenne,
Gret þu wel my moder,
Godhild quen þe gode;
& seie þe paene kyng,
Jesucristes wiþering,
Þat ihc am hol & fer
On þis lond ariued her;
And seie þat hei schal fonde
Þe dent of myne honde.’
Þe children ȝede to Tune
Bi dales & bi dune.
Hy metten wiþ almair king,
Crist ȝeuen him his blessing,
King of Westernesse,
Crist ȝiue him Muchel blisse,
He him spac to horn child
Wordes þat were Mild:
‘Whannes beo ȝe, faire gumes,
Þat her to londe beoþ icume,
Alle þrottene
Of bodie swiþe kene?
Bigod þat me makede,
A swihc fair verade
Ne sauȝ ihc in none stunde
Bi westene londe:
Seie me wat ȝe seche.’
Horn spak here speche,
He spak for hem alle,
vor so hit moste biualle;
He was þe faireste
& of wit þe beste.

‘We beoþ of Suddenne,
Icome of gode kenne,
Of Cristene blode
& kynges suþe gode.
Payns þer gunne ariue
& duden hem of lyue:

Hi sloȝen & todroȝe
Cristenemen inoȝe.
So crist me mote rede
Vs he dude lede
In to a galeie,
wiþ þe se to pleie,
Dai hit is igon & oþer:
Wiþute sail & roþer
Vre schip bigan to swymme
To þis londes brymme.
Nu þu miȝt vs slen & binde,
Ore honde bihynde,
Bute ȝef hit beo þi wille,
Helpe þat we ne spille.’

Þanne spak þe gode kyng,
Iwis he nas no Niþing:
‘Seie me, child, what is þi name,
Ne schaltu haue bute game.’
Þe child him answerde
Sone so he hit herde:
‘Horn ihc am ihote,
Icomen vt of þe bote
Fram þe se side:
Kyng, wel mote þe tide.’
Þanne hym spak þe gode kyng,
‘Wel bruc þu þin euening,
Horn þu go wel schulle
Bi dales & bi hulle;
Horn þu lude sune
Bi dales & bi dune,
So schal þi name springe
Fram kynge to kynge,
& þi fairnesse
Abute Westernesse,
Þe strengþe of þine honde
In to Eurech londe:
Horn, þu art so swete
Ne may ihc þe forlete.’
Hom rod Aylmar þe kyng
& horn mid him his fundyng

& alle his ifere
Þat were him so dere.

Þe kyng com in to halle
Among his kniȝtes alle:
Forþ he clupede aþelbrus,
Þat was stiward of his hus:
‘Stiward, tak nu here
Mi fundlyng for to lere
Of þine mestere,
of wude & of riuere;
& tech him to harpe
Wiþ his nayles scharpe,
Biuore me to kerue
& of þe cupe serue;
Þu tech him of alle þe liste
Þat þu eure of wiste,
In his feiren þou wise
In to oþere seruise:
Horn þu vnderuonge
& tech him of harpe & songe.’

Ailbrus gan lere
Horn & his yfere:
Horn in herte laȝte
Al þat he him taȝte.
In þe curt & vte
& elles al abute
Luuede men horn child,
& mest him louede Rymenhild,
Þe kynges oȝene doster,
He was mest in þoȝte:
Heo louede so horn child
Þat neȝ heo gan wexe wild:
For heo ne miȝte at borde
Wiþ him speke no worde,
Ne noȝt in þe halle
Among þe kniȝtes alle,

Ne nowhar in non oþere stede:
Of folk heo hadde drede:
Bi daie ne bi niȝte
Wiþ him speke ne miȝte;
Hire soreȝe ne hire pine
Ne miȝte neure fine:
In heorte heo hadde wo,
& þus hire biþoȝte þo,
Heo sende hire sonde
Aþelbrus to honde
Þat he come hire to,
& also scholde horn do
Al in to bure,
ffor heo gan to lure;
& þe sonde seide
Þat sik lai þat maide,
& bad him come swiþe,
For heo nas noþing bliþe,
Þe stuard was in herte wo,
For he nuste what to do;
Wat Rymenhild hure þoȝte
Gret wunder him þuȝte,
Abute horn þe ȝonge
To bure for to bringe;
He þoȝte vpon his mode
Hit nas for none gode.
He tok him anoþer,
Athulf, hornes broþer.

‘Aþulf,’ he sede, ‘riȝt anon
Þu schalt wiþ me to bure gon,
To speke wiþ Rymenhild stille
& witen hure wille.
In hornes ilike
þu schalt hure biswike:
Sore ihc me ofdrede
He wolde horn misrede.’

Aþelbrus gan Aþulf lede
& in to bure wiþ him ȝede.
Anon vpon Aþulf child
Rymenhild gan wexe wild:
He wende þat horn hit were
þat heo hauede þere.
Heo sette him on bedde;
Wiþ Aþulf child he wedde.
On hire armes tweie
Aþulf heo gan leie.
‘Horn,’ quaþ heo, ‘wel longe
Ihc habbe þe luued stronge.
Þu schalt þi trewþe pliȝte
On myn hond her riȝte
Me to spuse holde,
& ihc þe lord to wolde.’

Aþulf sede on hire ire
So stille so hit were:
‘Þi tale nu þu lynne,
For horn nis noȝt her inne.
Ne beo we noȝt iliche:
Horn is sairer & riche,
Fairer bi one ribbe
Þane eni Man þat libbe:
Þeȝ horn were vnder Molde
Oþer elles wher he wolde
Oþer henne a þusend Mile,
Ihc nolde him ne þe bigile.’

Rymenhild hire biwente
& Aþelbrus fule heo schente.
‘Hennes þu go, þu fule þeof,
Ne wurstu me neure more leof;
Went vt of my bur
Wiþ muchel mesauentur.
Schame mote þu fonge
& on hiȝe rode anhonge.
Ne spek ihc noȝt wiþ horn
Nis he noȝt so vnorn;

Horn is fairer þane beo he:
Wiþ muchel schame mote þu deie.’

Aþelbrus in a stunde
Fel anon to grunde:
‘Lefdi Min oȝe,
Liþe me a litel þroȝe.
Lust whi ihc wonde
Bringe þe horn to honde.
For horn is fair & riche,
Nis no whar his iliche:
Aylmar þe gode kyng
Dude him on mi lokyng;
Ȝef horn were her abute,
Sore y me dute
Wiþ him ȝe wolden pleie
Bitwex ȝou selue tweie:
Þanne scholde wiþuten oþe
Þe kyng maken vs wroþe.
Rymenhild, forȝef me þi tene,
Lefdi, my quene,
& horn ihc schal þe fecche,
Wham so hit recche.’

Rymenhild ȝef he cuþe
Gan lynne wiþ hire Muþe:
Heo makede hire wel bliþe;
Wel was hire þat siþe:
‘Go nu,’ quaþ heo, ‘sone
& send him after none,
Whane þe kyng arise,
On a squieres wise,
To wude for to pleie:
Nis non þat him biwreie.
He schal wiþ me bileue
Til hit beo nir eue,
To hauen of him mi wille,
After ne recchecche what me telle.’

Aylbrus wende hire fro,
Horn in halle fond he þo

Bifore þe kyng on benche
Wyn for to schenche.
‘Horn,’ quaþ he, ‘so hende,
To bure nu þu wende
After mete stille
Wiþ Rymenhild to duelle:
Wordes suþe bolde
In herte þu hem holde:
Horn, beo me wel trewe,
Ne schal hit þe neure rewe.’
Horn in herte leide
Al þat he him seide:
He ȝeode in wel riȝte
To Rymenhild þe briȝte,
On knes he him sette
& sweteliche hure grette.
Of his feire siȝte
Al þe bur gan liȝte.
He spac faire speche,
Ne dorte him noman teche:
‘Wel þu sitte & softe,
Rymenhild þe briȝte,
Wiþ þine Maidenes sixe
Þat þe sitteþ nixte.
Kinges stuard vre
Sende me in to bure
Wiþ þe speke ihc scholde;
Seie me what þu woldest,
Seie & ihc schal here
What þi wille were.’

Rymenhild vp gan stonde
& tok him bi þe honde:
Heo sette him on pelle
Of wyn to drinke his fulle:
Heo makede him faire chere
& tok him abute þe swere.
Ofte heo him custe
So wel so hire luste.

‘Horn,’ heo sede, ‘wiþute strif
Þu schalt haue me to þi wif;
Horn, haue of me rewþe
& plist me þi trewþe.’

Horn þo him biþoȝte
What he speke miȝte.
‘Crist,’ quaþ he, ‘þe wisse
& ȝiue þe heuene blisse
Of þine husebonde
Wher he beo in londe.
Ihc am ibore to lowe
Such wimman to knowe.
Ihc am icome of þralle
& fundling bifalle.
Ne feolle hit þe of cunde
To spuse beo me bunde:
Hit nere no fair wedding
Bitwexe a þral & a king.’

Þo gan Rymenhild mis lyke
& sore gan to sike:
Armes heo gan buȝe,
Adun he feol iswoȝe.

Horn in herte was ful wo,
& tok hire on his armes two:
He gan hire for to kesse
Wel ofte mid ywisse.
‘Lemman,’ he sede, ‘dere,
Þin herte nu þu stere.
Help me to kniȝte
Bi al þine miȝte,
To my lord þe king,
Þat he me ȝiue dubbing.

Þanne is mi þralhod
Iwent in to kniȝthod,
& ischal wexe more
& do, lemman, þi lore.’

Rymenhild, þat swete þing
Wakede of hire swoȝning:
‘Horn,’ quaþ heo, ‘vel sone
Þat schal beon idone:
Þu schalt beo dubbed kniȝt
Are come seue niȝt.
Haue her þis cuppe
& þis Ryng þer vppe
To Aylbrus & stuard,
& se he holde foreward:
Seie ihc him biseche
Wiþ loueliche speche
Þat he adun falle
Bifore þe king in halle,
& bidde þe king ariȝte
Dubbe þe to kniȝte.
Wiþ seluer & wiþ golde
Hit wurþ him wel iȝolde.
Crist him lene spede
Þin erende to bede.’

Horn tok his leue,
For hit was neȝ eue.
Aþelbrus he soȝte
& ȝaf him þat he broȝte,
& tolde him ful ȝare
Hu he hadde ifare,
& sede him his nede,
& bihet him his mede.

Aþelbrus also swiþe
Wente to halle bliue:

‘Kyng,’ he sede, ‘þu leste
A tale mid þe beste;
Þu schalt bere crune
Tomoreȝe in þis tune;
Tomoreȝe is þi feste:
Þer bihoueþ geste.
Hit nere noȝt for loren
For to kniȝti child horn,
Þine armes for to welde,
God kniȝt he schal ȝelde.’

Þe king sede sone,
‘Þat is wel idone.
Horn me wel iquemeþ,
God kniȝt him bisemeþ.
He schal haue mi dubbing
& afterward mi derling.
& alle his feren twelf
He schal kniȝten him self:
Alle he schal hem kniȝte
Bifore me þis niȝte.’
Til þe liȝt of day sprang
Ailmar him þuȝte lang.
Þe day bigan to springe,
Horn com biuore þe kinge
Mid his twelf yfere:
Sume hi were luþere.
Horn he dubbede to kniȝte
Wiþ swerd & spures briȝte.
He sette him on a stede whit:
Þer nas no kniȝt hym ilik.
He smot him a litel wiȝt
& bed him beon a god kniȝt.

Aþulf fel aknes þar
Biuore þe king Aylmar.
‘King,’ he sede, ‘so kene,
Grante me a bene:

Nu is kniȝt sire horn
Þat in suddenne was iboren:
Lord he is of londe
Ouer us þat bi him stonde:
Þin armes he haþ & scheld
To fiȝte wiþ vpon þe feld:
Let him vs alle kniȝte
For þat is vre riȝte.’

Aylmar sede sone ywis:
‘Do nu þat þi wille is.’
Horn adun liȝte
& makede hem alle kniȝtes.
Murie was þe feste
Al of faire gestes:
Ac Rymenhild nas noȝt þer
& þat hire þuȝte seue ȝer.
After horn heo sente,
& he to bure wente.
Nolde he noȝt go one,
Aþulf was his mone.
Rymenhild on flore stod,
Hornes come hire þuȝte god,
And sede, ‘welcome,’ sire horn,
& Aþulf kniȝt þe biforn.
Kniȝt, nu is þi time
For to sitte bi me:
Do nu þat þu er of spake,
To þi wif þume take.
Ef þu art trewe of dedes,
Do nu ase þu sedes.
Nu þu hast wille þine,
Vn bind me of my pine.’

‘Rymenhild,’ quaþ he, ‘beo stille;
Ihc wulle don al þi wille.
Also hit mot bitide,
Mid spere ischal furst ride,
& mi kniȝthod proue,
Ar ihc þe ginne to woȝe.

We beþ kniȝtes ȝonge,
Of odai al isprunge,
& of vre mestere
So is þe manere
Wiþ sume oþere kniȝte
Wel for his lemman fiȝte,
Or he eni wif take:
For þi me stondeþ þe more rape.
Today, so crist me blesse,
Ihc wulle do pruesse
For þi luue in þe felde
Mid spere & mid schelde:
If ihc come to lyue
Ihc schal þe take to wyue.’

‘Kniȝt,’ quaþ heo, ‘trewe,
Ihc wene ihc mai þe leue:
Tak nu her þis goldring,
God him is þe dubbing;
Þer is vpon þe ringe
Igraue Rymenhild þe ȝonge.
Þer nis non betere anonder sunne
Þat eni man of telle cunne;
For my luue þu hit were
& on þi finger þu him bere:
Þe stones beoþ of suche grace
Þat þu ne schalt in none place
Of none duntes beon ofdrad,
Ne on bataille beon amad,
Ef þu loke þeran
& þenke vpon þi lemman.

And sire Aþulf, þi broþer,
He schal haue anoþer.
Horn, ihc þe biseche,
Wiþ loueliche speche,
Crist ȝeue god erndinge
Þe aȝen to bringe.’

Þe kniȝt hire gan kesse,
& heo him to blesse:

Leue at hire he nam,
& in to halle cam.
Þe kniȝtes ȝeden to table,
& horne ȝede to stable.
Þar he tok his gode fole
Also blak so eny cole;
Þe fole schok þe brunie
Þat al þe curt gan denie,
Þe fole bigan to springe,
& horn murie to singe.
Horn rod in a while
More þan a myle.
He fond o schup stonde
Wiþ heþene honde:
He axede what hi soȝte
Oþer to londe broȝte.

An hund him gan bihelde,
Þat spac wordes belde:
‘Þis lond we wulleȝ wynne
& sle þat þer is inne.’
Horn gan his swerd gripe,
& on his arme wype;
Þe sarazins he smatte
Þat his blod hatte;
At eureche dunte
Þe heued of wente.
Þo gunne þe hundes gone
Abute horn al one:
He lokede on þe ringe,
& þoȝte on rimenilde.
He sloȝ þer on haste
On hundred bi þe laste
Ne miȝte noman telle
Þat folc þat he gan quelle:
Of alle þat were aliue
Ne miȝte þer non þriue.

Horn tok þe maisteres heued,
Þat he hadde him bireued,
& sette hit on his swerde
Anouen at þan orde.
He verde hom in to halle
Among þe kniȝtes alle.
‘Kyng,’ he sede, ‘wel þu sitte
& alle þine kniȝtes mitte;
To day, after mi dubbing,
So irod on mi pleing,
Ifond o schup Rowe
Þo hit gan to flowe,
Al wiþ sarazines kyn,
& none londisse Men,
To dai for to pine
Þe & alle þine.
Hi gonne me assaille,
Mi swerd me nolde faille,
Ismot hem alle to grunde
Oþer ȝaf hem diþes wunde.
Þat heued i þe bringe
Of þe maister kinge.
Nu is þi wile iȝolde,
King, þat þu me kniȝti woldest.’

Amoreȝe þo þe day gan springe
þe king him rod an huntinge;
At hom lefte ffikenhild,
Þat was þe wurste moder child.
Heo ferde in to bure
To sen auenture:
Heo saȝ Rymenild sitte,
Also he were of witte:
Heo sat on þe sunne
Wiþ tieres al birunne,
Horn sede, ‘lef, þinore,
Wi wepestu so sore?’

Heo sede ‘noȝt ine wepe,
Bute ase ilay aslepe
To þe se my net icaste,
& hit nolde noȝt ilaste;
A gret fiss at þe furste
Minet he gan to berste.
Ihc wene þat ihc schal leose
Þe fiss þat ihc wolde cheose.’

‘Crist,’ quaþ horn, ‘& seint steuene
Turne þine sweuene.
Ne schal iþe biswike,
Ne do þat þe mislike.
Ischal me make þinowe
To holden & to knowe
For eureche oþere wiȝte,
& þarto mi treuþe iþe pliȝte.’
Muchel was þe ruþe
Þat was at þare truþe:
For Rymenhild weop ille,
& horn let þe tires stille.
‘Lemman,’ quaþ he, ‘dere
Þu schalt more ihere;
Þi sweuen schal wende,
Oþer sum Man schal vs schende.
Þe fiss þat brak þe lyne
Ywis he doþ us pine,
Þat schal don vs tene,
& wurþ wel sone isene.’

Aylmar rod bi sture,
& horn lai in bure.
Fykenhild hadde enuye
& sede þes solye:
‘Aylmar, ihc þe warne,
Horn þe wule berne;
Ihc herde whar he sede,
& his swerd forþ leide,
To bringe þe of lyue,
& take Rymenhild to wyue.

He liþ in bure
Vnder couerture
By Rymenhild þi doȝter,
& so he doþ wel ofte;
And þider þu go al riȝt,
Þer þu him finde miȝt;
Þu do him vt of londe,
Oþer he doþ þe schonde.’

Aylmar aȝen gan turne
Wel Modi & wel Murne.
He fond horn in arme.
On Rymenhilde barme
‘Awei vt,’ he sede, ‘fule þeof!
Ne wurstu me neuremore leof.
Wend vt of my bure
Wiþ muchel messauenture.
Wel sone bute þu flitte,
Wiþ swerde ihc þe anhitte.
Wend vt of my londe
Oþer þu schalt haue schonde.’

Horn sadelede his stede
& his armes he gan sprede;
His brunie he gan lace
So he scholde in to place;
His swerd he gan fonge,
Nabod he noȝt to longe.
He ȝede forþ bliue
To Rymenhild his wyue.
He sede, ‘Lemman derling,
Nu hauestu þi sweuening.
Þe fiss þat þi net rente,
Fram þe he me sente.

Rymenhild, haue wel godne day,
No leng abiden ine may.
In to vncuþe londe,
Wel more for to fonde;
Ischal wune þere
Fulle seue ȝere.
At seue ȝeres ende,
Ȝef ine come ne sende,
Tak þe husebonde,
ffor me þu ne wonde;
In armes þu me fonge
& kes me wel longe.’
He custe him wel a stunde
& Rymenhild feol to grunde.
Horn tok his leue,
ne miȝte he no leng bileue;
He tok Aþulf his fere
Al abute þe swere,
& sede, ‘kniȝt so trewe,
Kep wel mi luue newe.
Þu neure me ne forsoke;
Rymenhild þu kep and loke
His stede he gan bistride
& forþ he gan ride:
To þe hauene he ferde,
& a god schup he hurede,
Þat him scholde londe
In westene londe.

Aþulf weop wiþ iȝe
& al þat him isiȝe.
To lond he him sette
& fot on stirop sette.
He fond bi þe weie
Kynges sones tweie:
Þat on him het harild,
& þat oþer berild.

Berild gan him preie
Þat he scholde him seie,
What his name were
& what he wolde þere.
‘Cutberd,’ he sede, ‘ihc hote,
Icomen vt of þe bote,
Wel feor fram biweste
To seche mine beste.’
Berild gan him nier ride
& tok him bi þe bridel;
‘Wel beo þu kniȝt ifounde!
Wiþ me þu lef astunde:
Also mote i sterue,
Þe king þu schalt serue;
Ne saȝ i neure my lyue
So fair kniȝt aryue.’
Cutberd heo ladde in to halle,
& he a kne gan falle:
He sette him a knewelyng
& grette wel þe gode kyng.
Þanne sede Berild sone:
‘Sire king, of him þu hast to done,
Bitak him þi lond to werie,
Ne schal hit noman derie;
For he is þe faireste man
Þat eureȝut on þi londe cam.’

Þanne sede þe king so dere:
‘Welcome beo þu here.
Go nu, Berild, swiþe,
& make him ful bliþe;
And whan þu farst to woȝe,
Tak him þine gloue;
Iment þu hauest to wyue,
Awai he schal þe dryue;
For Cutberdes fairhede,
Ne schal þe neure wel spede.’

Hit was at Cristesmasse,
Neiþer more ne lasse;

Þer cam in at none
A Geaunt suþe sone,
Iarmed fram paynyme,
And seide þes ryme:
‘Site stille, sire kyng,
& herkne þis tyþyng:
Her buþ paens ariued
Wel mo þane fiue:
Her beoþ on þe sonde,
King, vpon þi londe,
On of hem wile fiȝte
Aȝen þre kniȝtes:
Ȝef oþer þre slen vre,
Al þis lond beo ȝoure:
Ȝef vre on ouercomeþ ȝour þreo,
Al þis lond schal vre beo.
Tomoreȝe be þe fiȝtinge,
Whane þe liȝt of daye springe.’

Þanne sede þe kyng þurston:
‘Cutberd schal beo þat on,
Berild schal beo þat oþer,
Þe þridde Alrid his broþer.
For hi beoþ þe strengeste
& of armes þe beste.
Bute what schal vs to rede?
Ihc wene we beþ alle dede.’

Cutberd sat at borde
& sede þes wordes:
‘Sire king, hit nis no riȝte
On wiþ þre to fiȝte,
Aȝen one hunde
Þre cristen men to fonde.
Sire, ischal al one
Wiþute more ymone
Wiþ mi swerd wel eþe
Bringe hem þre to deþe.’

Þe kyng aros amoreȝe
Þat hadde muchel sorȝe.

& Cutherd ros of bedde
Wiþ armes he him schredde;
Horn his brunie gan on caste,
& lacede hit wel faste,
& cam to þe kinge
At his vp risinge.
‘King,’ he sede, ‘cum to felde
For to bihelde
Hu we fiȝte schulle,
& togare go wulle.’
Riȝt at prime tide
Hi gunnen vt ride,
And funden on a grene
A geaunt suþe kene,
His feren him biside
Hore deþ to abide.

Þe ilke bataille
Cutberd gan assaille:
He ȝaf dentes inoȝe,
Þe kniȝtes felle iswoȝe.
His dent he gan wiþdraȝe,
For hi were neȝ aslaȝe:
& sede, ‘kniȝtes, nu ȝe reste
One while ef ȝou leste.’
Hi sede hi neure nadde
Of kniȝte dentes so harde;
He was of hornes kunne,
Iborn in Suddenne.

Horn him gan to agrise,
& his blod arise.
Biuo him saȝ he stonde
Þat driuen him of londe,
& þat his fader sloȝ;
To him his swerd he droȝ,
He lokede on his rynge
& þoȝte on Rymenhilde,
He smot him þureȝ þe herte,

Þat sore him gan to smerte;
Þe paens þat er were so sturne,
Hi gunne awei vrne.
Horn & his compaynye
Gunne after hem wel swiþe hiȝe,
& sloȝen alle þe hundes
Er hi here schipes funde.
To deþe he hem alle broȝte,
His fader deþ wel dere hi boȝte:
Of alle þe kynges kniȝtes
Ne scapede þer no wiȝte,
Bute his sones tweie
Bifore him he saȝ deie.
Þe king bigan to grete
& teres for to lete:
Me leiden hem in bare
& burden hem ful ȝare.

Þe king com in to halle
Among his kniȝtes alle.
‘Horn,’ he sede, ‘iseie þe,
Do as ischal rede þe.
Aslaȝen beþ mine heirs,
& þu art kniȝt of muchel pris,
& of grete strengþe,
& fair o bodie lengþe.
Mi Rengne þu schalt welde,
& to spuse helde
Reynild mi doȝter,
Þat sitteþ on þe lofte.’

‘O sire king, wiþ wronge
Scholte ihc hit vnderfonge,
Þi doȝter þat ȝe me bede,
Ower rengne for to lede.
Wel more ihc schal þe serue,
Sire kyng, or þu sterue;
Þi sorwe schal wende
Or seue ȝeres ende;
Wanne hit is wente,
Sire king, ȝef me mi rente:
Whanne i þi doȝter ȝerne
Ne schaltu me hire werne.’
Cutberd wonede þere
Fulle seue ȝere,

Þat to Rymenild he ne sente
Ne him self ne wente.
Rymenild was in Westernesse
Wiþ wel muchel sorinesse.

A king þer gan ariue
Þat wolde hire haue to wyue:
Aton he was wiþ þe king
Of þat ilke wedding.
Þe daies were schorte,
Þat Rimenhild ne dorste
Leten in none wise;
A writ he dude deuise,
Aþulf hit dude write
Þat horn ne luuede noȝt lite.
Heo sende hire sonde
To euereche londe,
To seche horn þe kniȝt
Þer me him finde miȝte.
Horn noȝt þer of ne herde,
Til o dai þat he ferde
To wude for to schete;
A knaue he gan imete.
Horn seden, ‘leue fere,
Wat sechestu here?’
‘Kniȝt, if beo þi wille
Imai þe sone telle.
Iseche fram biweste
Horn of Westernesse,
For a Maiden Rymenhild
Þat for him gan wexe wild.
A king hire wile wedde
& bringe to his bedde,
King Modi of Reynes,
On of hornes enemis.
Ihc habbe walke wide
Bi þe se side;

Nis he nowar ifunde:
Walawai þe stunde!
Wailaway þe while!
Nu wurþ Rymenild bigiled.’
Horn iherde wiþ his ires,
& spak wiþ bidere tires:
‘Knaue, wel þe bitide,
Horn stondeþ þe biside;
Aȝen to hure þu turne
& seie þat heo ne murne,
For ischal beo þer bitime,
A soneday bi pryme.’
Þe knaue was wel bliþe
& hiȝede aȝen bliue.
Þe se bigan to þroȝe
Vnder hire woȝe.
Þe knaue þere gan adrinke:
Rymenhild hit miȝte ofþinke.
Rymenhild vndude þe dure pin
Of þe hus þer heo was in,
To loke wiþ hire iȝe
If heo oȝt of horn isiȝe.
Þo fond heo þe knaue adrent
Þat he hadde for horn isent,
& þat scholde horn bringe.
Hire fingres he gan wringe.

Horn cam to þurston þe kyng.
& tolde him þis tiþing.
Þo he was iknowe
Þat Rimenhild was his oȝe,
Of his gode kenne,
Þe king of Suddenne,
& hu he sloȝ in felde
Þat his fader quelde.

& seide: ‘king þe wise,
Ȝeld me mi seruise,
Rymenhild help me winne,
Þat þu noȝt ne linne:
& ischal do to spuse
Þi doȝter wel to huse;
Heo schal to spuse haue
Aþulf mi gode felaȝe,
God kniȝt mid þe beste
& þe treweste.’
Þe king sede so stille:
‘Horn, haue nu þi wille.’
He dude writes sende
In to yrlonde
After kniȝtes liȝte,
Irisse men to fiȝte.
To horn come inoȝe,
Þat to schupe droȝe.
Horn dude him in þe weie
On a god Galeie.
Þe wind him gan to blowe
In alitel þroȝe.
Þe se bigan to posse
Riȝt in to Westernesse.
Hi strike seil & maste
& Ankere gunne caste.
Or eny day was sprunge
Oþer belle irunge
Þe word bigan to springe
Of Rymenhilde weddinge.
Horn was in þe watere,
Ne miȝte he come no latere.
He let his schup stonde,
& ȝede to londe.
His folk he dude abide
Vnder wude side:
Horn him ȝede alone,
Also he sprunge of stone.

A palmere he þar mette,
& faire hine grette:
‘Palmere, þu schalt me telle
Al of þine spelle.’
He sede vpon his tale:
‘I come fram o brudale;
Ihc was at o wedding
Of a Maide Rymenhild:
Ne miȝte heo adriȝe
Þat heo ne weop wiþ iȝe:
Heo sede þat heo nolde
Ben ispused wiþ golde,
Heo hadde on husebonde
Þeȝ he were vt of londe.
& in strong halle,
Biþinne castel walle,
Þer iwas atte ȝate,
Nolde hi me in late.
Modi ihote hadde
To bure þat me hire ladde.
Awai igan glide,
Þat deol inolde abide.
Þe bride wepeþ sore,
& þat is muche deole.’

Quaþ horn: ‘so crist me rede,
We schulle chaungi wede:
Haue her cloþes myne,
& tak me þi sclauyne.
Today ischal þer drinke
Þat some hit schulle ofþinke.’
His sclauyn he dude dun legge,
& tok hit on his rigge:
He tok horn his cloþes,
Þat nere him noȝt loþe.
Horn tok burdon & scrippe,
& wrong his lippe.

He makede him a ful chere
& al bicolmede his swere.
He makede him vn bicomelich,
Hes he nas neuremore ilich.

He com to þe gateward
Þat him answerede hard.
Horn bad vndo softe
Mani tyme & ofte;
Ne miȝte he awynne
Þat he come þerinne.
Horn gan to þe ȝate turne
& þat wiket vnspurne;
Þe boye hit scholde abugge,
Horn þreu him ouer þe brigge,
Þat his ribbes him to brake,
& suþþe com in atte gate.
He sette him wel loȝe
In beggeres rowe;
He lokede him abute,
Wiþ his colmie snute.
He seȝ Rymenhild sitte
Ase heo were of witte
Sore wepinge & ȝerne:
Ne miȝte hure noman wurne.
He lokede in eche halke,
Ne seȝ he nowhar walke
Aþulf his felawe,
Þat he cuþe knowe.
Aþulf was in þe ture
Abute for to pure
After his comynge,
Ȝef schup him wolde bringe.
He seȝ þe se flowe
& horn nowar rowe.
He sede vpon his songe:
‘Horn, nu þu ert wel longe.
Rymenhild þu me toke
Þat ischolde loke.

Ihc habbe ikept hure eure:
Com nu oþer neure.
Ine may no leng hure kepe,
For soreȝe nu y wepe.’

Rymenhild Ros of benche
Wyn for to schenche,
After mete in sale,
boþe wyn & ale.
On horn he bar anhonde,
So laȝe was in londe.
Kniȝtes & squier
Alle dronken of þe ber.
Bute horn alone
Nadde þerof no mone.
Horn sat vpon þe grunde,
Him þuȝte he was ibunde.
He sede: ‘quen so hende,
Tomeward þu wende;
Þu ȝef vs wiþ þe furste,
Þe beggeres beoþ ofþurste.’

Hure horn heo leide adun
& fulde him of a brun
His bolle of a galun,
For heo wende he were a glotoun.
He seide: ‘haue þis cuppe
& þis þing þer vppe.
Ne saȝ ihc neure, so ihc wene,
Beggere þat were so kene.’
Horn tok hit his ifere,
& sede: ‘quen so dere,
Wyn nelle ihc Muche ne lite
Bute of cuppe white.
Þu wenest ibeo a beggere,
& ihc am a fissere,
Wel feor icome bi este
For fissen at þi feste:
Mi net liþ her bi honde,
Bi a wel fair stronde,
Hit haþ ileie þere
Fulle seue ȝere.

Ihc am icome to loke
Ef eni fiss hit toke.
Ihc am icome to fisse:
Drink to me of disse,
Drink to horn of horne:
Feor ihc am i orne.’
Rymenhild him gan bihelde,
Hire heorte bigan to chelde.
Ne kneu heo noȝt his fissing,
Ne horn hym selue noþing:
Ac wunder hire gan þinke
Whi he bad to horn drinke.
Heo fulde hire horn wiþ wyn
& dronk to þe pilegrym.
Heo sede: ‘drink þi fulle,
& suþþe þu me telle
If þu eure isiȝe
.Horn. vnder wude liȝe.’
Horn dronk of horn a stunde
& þreu þe ring to grunde.
Þe quen ȝede to bure
Wiþ hire maidenes foure.
Þo fond heo what heo wolde,
A ring igrauen of golde
Þat horn of hure hadde;
Sore hure dradde
Þat horn isterue were,
For þe Ring was þere.
Þo sente heo a damesele
After þe palmere;
‘Palmere,’ quaþ heo, ‘trewe,
Þe ring þat þu þrewe,
Þu seie whar þu hit nome,
& whi þu hider come.’
He sede: ‘bi seint gile,
Ihc habbe go mani Mile,

Wel feor bi ȝonde weste,
To seche my beste.
Ifond horn child stonde
To schupeward in londe.
He sede he wolde agesse
To ariue in westernesse.
Þe schip nam to þe flode
Wiþ me & horn þe gode;
Horn was sik & deide,
& faire he me preide:
“Go wiþ þe ringe
To Rymenhild þe ȝonge.”
Ofte he hit custe;
God ȝeue his saule reste.’

Rymenhild sede at þe furste:
‘Herte nu þu berste,
For horn nastu namore
Þat þe haþ pined þe so sore.’
Heo feol on hire bedde,
Þer heo knif hudde,
To sle wiþ king loþe
& hure selue boþe,
In þat vlke niȝte,
If horn come ne miȝte.
To herte knif heo sette,
Ac horn anon hire kepte.
He wipede þat blake of his swere
& sede: ‘quen so swete & dere,
Ihc am horn þinoȝe,
Ne canstu me noȝt knowe?
Ihc am horn of westernesse,
In armes þu me cusse.’
Hi custe hem mid ywisse,
& makeden Muche blisse.

‘Rymenhild,’ he sede, ‘ywende
Adun to þe wudes ende;
Þer beþ myne kniȝtes
Redi to fiȝte,
Iarmed vnder cloþe;
Hi schulle make wroþe
Þe king & his geste,
Þat come to þe feste:
Today ischal hem teche
& sore hem areche.’

Horn sprong vt of halle
& let his sclauin falle.
Þe quen ȝede to bure
& fond aþulf in ture.
‘Aþulf,’ heo sede, ‘be bliþe,
And to horn þu go wel swiþe.
He is vnder wude boȝe,
& wiþ him kniȝtes Inoȝe.’

Aþulf bigan to springe
For þe tiþinge.
After horn he arnde anon
Also þat hors miȝte gon:
He him ouertok ywis,
Hi makede suiþe Muchel blis.
Horn tok his preie
& dude him in þe weie.
He com in wel sone,
Þe ȝates were vndone,
Iarmed ful þikke
Fram fote to þe nekke.
Alle þat were þerin,
Biþute his twelf ferin
& þe king Aylmare,
He dude hem alle to kare.
Þat at þe feste were,
Here lif hi lete þere.

Horn ne dude no wunder
Of ffikenhildes false tunge.
Hi sworen oþes holde
Þat neure ne scholde
Horn neure bitraie,
Þeȝ he at diþe laie.
Hi Runge þe belle
Þe wedlak for to felle.
Horn him ȝede with his
To þe kinges palais.
Þer was brid & ale suete,
For riche men þer ete.
Telle ne miȝte tunge
Þat gle þat þer was sunge.

Horn sat on chaere
& bad hem alle ihere.
‘King,’ he sede, ‘þu luste
A tale mid þe beste.
Ine seie hit for no blame,
Horn is mi name.
Þume to kniȝte houe,
& kniȝthod haue proued.
To þe king men seide
Þat iþe bitraide:
Þu makedest me fleme
& þi lond to reme:
Þu wendest þat iwroȝte
Þat y neure ne þoȝte,
Bi Rymenhild for to ligge,
& þat i wiþ segge.
Ne schal ihc hit biginne,
Til i suddene winne.
Þu kep hure a stunde,
Þe while þat ifunde

In to min heritage
& to mi baronage.
Þat lond ischal ofreche
& do mi fader wreche.
Ischal beo king of tune
& bere kinges crune,
Þanne schal Rymenhilde
Ligge bi þe kinge.’

Horn gan to schupe draȝe
Wiþ his yrisse felaȝes,
Aþulf wiþ him his brother,
Nolde he non oþer.
Þat schup bigan to crude,
Þe wind him bleu lude.
Biþinne daies fiue
Þat schup gan ariue.
Abute middelniȝte
Horn him ȝede wel riȝte.
He tok aþulf bi honde
& vp he ȝede to londe.
Hi founde vnder schelde
A kniȝt hende in felde.
Þe kniȝt him aslepe lay
Al biside þe way.
Horn him gan to take
& sede: ‘kniȝt, awake.
Seie what þu kepest,
& whi þu her slepest;
Me þinkþ biþine crois liȝte
Þat þu longest to vre driȝte.
Bute þu wule me schewe,
Ischal þe to hewe:’
Þe gode kniȝt vp aros,
Of þe wordes him gros.

He sede: ‘ihc haue aȝenes my wille
Payns ful ylle.
Ihc was cristene a while;
Þo icom to þis ille
Sarazins blake
Þat dude me forsake.
On crist ihc wolde bileue,
On him hi makede me reue,
To kepe þis passage
Fram horn þat is of age,
Þat wunieþ bieste,
Kniȝt wiþ þe beste:
Hi sloȝe wiþ here honde
Þe king of þis londe,
& wiþ him fele hundred,
& þerof is wunder
Þat he ne comeþ to fiȝte.
God sende him þe riȝte,
& wind him hider driue,
To bringe hem of liue.
Hi sloȝen kyng Murry,
Hornes fader king hendy,
Horn hi vt of londe sente;
Tuelf felaȝes wiþ him wente,
Among hem aþulf þe gode,
Min oȝene child, my leue fode:
Ef horn child is hol & sund,
& Aþulf biþute wund,
He luueþ him so dere,
& is him so stere,
Miȝte iseon hem tueie,
For ioie ischolde deie.’

‘Kniȝt beo þanne bliþe
Mest of alle siþe;
Horn & Aþulf his fere
Boþe hi ben here.’
To horn he gan gon
& grette him anon.

Muche ioie hi makede þere
Þe while hi togadere were.
‘Childre,’ he sede, ‘hu habbe ȝe fare?
Þat ihc ȝou seȝ hit is ful ȝare.
Wulle ȝe þis lond winne
& sle þat þeris inne?’
He sede: ‘leue horn child,
Ȝut lyueþ þi moder Godhild:
Of ioie heo miste
If heo þe aliue wiste.’

Horn sede on his rime:
‘Iblessed beo þe time,
Icom to Suddenne
Wiþ mine irisse menne:
We schulle þe hundes teche
To speken vre speche.
Alle we hem schulle sle
& al quic hem fle.’
Horn gan his horn to blowe,
His folk hit gan iknowe,
Hi comen vt of stere,
Fram hornes banere:
Hi sloȝen & fuȝten,
Þe niȝt & þe vȝten:
Þe sarazins cunde
ne lefde þer non in þende.
Horn let wurche
chapeles & chirche.

He let belles ringe,
& Masses let singe.
He com to his Moder halle
In a roche walle.
Corn he let serie
& makede feste merie.
Murie lif he wroȝte:
Rymenhild hit dere boȝte.

ffikenhild was prut on herte,
& þat him dude smerte.
Ȝonge he ȝaf & elde
Mid him for to helde.
Ston he dude lede
Þer he hopede spede.
Strong castel he let sette,
Mid séé him biflette.
Þer ne miȝte liȝte
Bute foȝel wiþ fliȝte.
Bute whanne þe se wiþ droȝe
Miȝte come men ynoȝe.
ffikenhild gan wende
Rymenhild to schende.
To woȝe he gan hure ȝerne,
Þe kyng ne dorste him werne.
Rymenhild was ful of mode,
He wep teres of blode.
Þat niȝt horn gan swete,
& heuie forto mete
Of Rymenhild his make,
Into schupe was itake:

Þe schup bigan to blenche,
His lemman scholde adrenche.
Rymenhild wiþ hire honde
Wolde vp to londe.
ffikenhild aȝen hire pelte
Wiþ his swerdes hilte.

Horn him wok of slape
So aman þat hadde rape.
‘Aþulf,’ he sede, ‘felaȝe,
To schupe we mote draȝe;
ffikenhild me haþ idon vnder
& Rymenhild to do wunder.
Crist for his wundes fiue
To niȝt me þuder driue.’
Horn gan to schupe Ride,
His feren him biside.
ffikenhild or þe dai gan springe
Al riȝt he ferde to þe kinge,
After Rymenhild þe briȝte,
To wedden hire biniȝte.
He ladde hure bi þe derke
In to his nywe werke;
Þe feste hi bigunne
Er þat ros þe sunne;

Er þane horn hit wiste,
Tofore þe sunne vpriste,
His schup stod vnder ture
At Rymenhilde bure.
Rymenhild litel weneþ heo
Þat horn þanne aliue beo.
Þe castel þei ne knewe,
For he was so nywe.
Horn fond sittinde Arnoldin
Þat was Aþulfes cosin
Þat þer was in þat tide
horn for tabide.
‘Horn kniȝt,’ he sede, ‘kinges sone,
Wel beo þu to londe icome:
Today haþ ywedde fikenhild
Þi swete lemman Rymenhild.
Ne schal iþe lie,
He haþ giled þe twie
Þis tur he let make
Al for þine sake,
Ne mai þer come inne
Noman wiþ none ginne.
Horn, nu crist þe wisse
Of Rymenhild þat þu ne misse.’

Horn cuþe al þe liste
Þat eni man of wiste.
Harpe he gan schewe
& tok felaȝes fewe,

Of kniȝtes suiþe snelle
Þat schrudde hem at wille.
Hi ȝeden bi þe grauel
Toward þe castel:
Hi gunne murie singe
& makede here gleowinge.

Rymenhild hit gan ihere
& axede what hi were.
Hi sede: ‘hi weren harpurs,
& sume were gigours.’
He dude horn in late
Riȝt at halle gate;
He sette him on þe benche
His harpe for to clenche.
He makede Rymenhilde lay,
& heo makede walaway.
Rymenhild feol yswoȝe,
Ne was þer non þat louȝe.
Hit smot to hornes herte
So bitere þat hit smerte.
He lokede on þe ringe
& þoȝte on Rymenhilde.
He ȝede vp to borde
Wiþ gode suerdes orde.
ffikenhildes crune
Þer ifulde adune,
& Al his men a rowe
Hi dude adun þrowe.
Whanne hi weren aslaȝe,
Fikenhild hi dude todraȝe.
Horn makede Arnoldin þare
King after king Aylmare,
Of al westernesse
For his meoknesse.
Þe king & his homage
Ȝeuen Arnoldin trewage.

Horn tok Rymenhild bi þe honde
& ladde hure to þe stronde,
& ladde wiþ him Aþelbrus,
Þe gode stuard of his hus.
Þe se bigan to flowe
& horn gan to Rowe.
Hi gunne for ariue
Þer king modi was sire.
Aþelbrus he makede þer king
For his gode teching:
He ȝaf alle þe kniȝtes ore
For horn kniȝtes lore.
Horn gan for to ride,
Þe wind him bleu wel wide.
He ariuede in yrlonde.
Þer he wo fondede,
Þer he dude Aþulf child
Wedden maide Reynild.
Horn com to suddenne
Among al his kenne.
Rymenhild he makede his quene,
So hit miȝte wel beon.
Al folk hem miȝte rewe
Þat loueden hem so trewe.
Nu ben hi boþe dede;
Crist to heuene hem lede!
Her endeþ þe tale of horn,
Þat fair was & noȝt vnorn;
Make we vs glade Eure among,
For þus him endeþ hornes song.
Jesus þat is of heuene king
Ȝeue vs alle his suete blessing! Amen.

EX-PLI-CIT.