University of Virginia Library

Of Arthour & of Merlin. [Version A]

Jesu Crist, heuen king,
Al ous graunt gode ending,
& seynt Marie, þat swete þing,
So be at our bigining
& help ous at our nede,
& leue ous, wele to spede,
Þat we habbeþ euer to don,
& scheld ous fram our fon!
Childer, þat ben to boke ysett,
In age hem is miche þe bett,
For þai mo witen & se
Miche of godes priuete,
Hem to kepe & to ware
Fram sinne & fram warldes care,
& wele ysen, ȝif þai willen,
Þat hem no þarf neuer spillen;
Auauntages þai hauen þare,
Freynsch & Latin euer ay whare.
Of Freynsch no Latin nil y tel more,
Ac on Inglisch ichil tel þer fore;
Riȝt is, þat Inglische vnderstond,
Þat was born in Inglond;
Freynsche vse þis gentilman,
Ac euerich Inglische Inglische can:
Mani noble ich haue yseiȝe,
Þat no Freynsche couþe seye:
Biginne ichil for her loue,
Bi Iesus leue, þat sitt aboue,
On Inglische tel mi tale:
God ous sende soule hale!
Sone after seyn Jones misse
Þe king lete bidden more & lesse
Into Londen to his fest;
Swiche he made & held onest
Þurch þe conseyl of Merlin;
His seriauntes þo þurch him,
Merlin tok to ich mester,
Þat sleiȝe were & of power.
Þo drouȝ bi half þe clerk Merlin
Þe king Arthour & eke Vlfin
& Bretel & sir Antour
& Kay, þe steward of valour,
& seyd: “Listen to me now,
For soþe, ichil telle ȝou:
.xi. kinges & doukes on
Han ysworn, Arthour to slon;
Swiche is her parlement
Now in þe marche, verrament;
Oȝaines hem ȝe no haue no miȝt,
Bot ȝe hauen help to fiȝt;
Y wil ȝou telle, what do ȝe mote,
Ȝif ȝe wil finden bote:
Mi lord Vterpendragon
Wan vnder him þe king Ban
& his broþer Bohort al so;
No better bodis no mowe go,
Þai were sworn to Vter, mi lord:
To hem ich rede sende word,
To lesse Breteine, for it is nede,
Þat Vterpendragon is dede;
Ȝe mot hem sigge, verrament,
Þat he vnto þis parlement
Wiþ outen abod wel swiþe come,
To don vmage Arthour, his sone;
Þai wil comen anon, y wot,
& help þe oȝain king Lot
& elles where wiþ her power,
Ȝou worþ to hem wel gret mister
Her afterward, par ma fay,
Ichil ȝou tel som day.
Þis message, sir Vlfin,
Þou most bere bi conseil min,
& þi fere schal be sir Bretel;
Loke, ȝe ben atired wel
Wiþ gode armes, on gode stede,
Þer to ȝou worþ a litel nede,
Ar ȝe comen oȝain to ous:
Now heiȝeþ ȝou for loue of Jesus!”
Al þis hem liked wel,
& sir Vlfin & sir Bretel
Wele hem atired, sikerliche,
& went forþ wel hastiliche.
Þo þai com þe se biȝounde,
A gret wildernisse þai founde
Bitven Fraunce & Breteyne,
Þai seiȝe mani mounteyn & pleine.
Þo þai seiȝe a litel hem abone
Seuen kniȝtes yarmed come,
Of wiche to her steden smiten
& to hem ward gun priken
Wiþ loude cri, & bad hem ȝeld;
Bretel tok his launce & scheld,
Þat o kniȝt sone he mett
& wiþ his scharp launce him gret;
He bar him þurch þe þrote anon,
Þat doun he fel ded so ston.
Þat oþer he mett oȝainward,
A dint he ȝaf him so hàrd,
Þe launce ran þe brini þurch,
Þe kniȝt fel ded in a forwe;
In his falling brast þe spere,
Bretel bar it no ferþere.
Oþer to þer come glide,
Vlfin gan oȝain hem ride
Opon a stede stef & strong
Wiþ a launce gret & long;
Þat on he bar þurch scheld & hat,
Þat neuer seþþen mete no at;
Þe oþer oȝain Vlfin brac his spere,
Ac he no miȝt Vlfin dere;
Vlfin him ȝaue a dint of wo
Þurch out þe membre & sadel also;
Stede & kniȝt ouerþrewe anon;
Þe kniȝt brast his nek bon,
Vlfines launce tobrac.
Þe þre come þo gret rac;
Þe oþer foure, forto wreken
Þe þre, gun her launces breken
& her noiþer hirt nouȝt;
Bretel kidde, þat he was auȝt,
His werd he drouȝ, þat on he hit,
His heued fram þe bodi he kit.
Þat oþer oftoke sir Vlfin
& so him hit on þe bacin,
Þat he him cleue to þe toþ,
So ous seyt þe Brout, for soþ.
Þe oþer kniȝt, her lord þat was,
Wel swiþe went oȝain his pas;
Ȝif he abod ani longere,
Wele he seiȝe, it was his lere.
Þis ich kniȝtes four & þre
Wiþ Claudas hadde ybe,
Wiþ Claudas hadde werred oȝan
Þe king Bohort & þe king Ban;
Claudas was þo ouercome
Priueliche & went to Rome,
Him to puruay sum socour,
To wreke him of his deshonour.
Þer while þo kniȝtes, cert,
Were ywent in to desert,
To libben bi her robrie;
Ac þer hem fel gret vilanie.
Þer after Vlfin forþ him rode
& eke Bretel, wiþ outen abod;
No lete þai neuer jornaying,
Til þai com to Ban, þe king;
& þo he com bifor Ban,
Þus his wordes he bigan:
Now ȝe schul vnderstond:
Fif ȝer þis last in Inglond,
Þat no corn no was ysowe,
Noiþer on doun no on lowe.
Alle þis ich ȝeres fiue
Þis kinges þus ladde her liue
Wiþ þat þai miȝt reue & robbe
Of Sarrazins wiþ swerd & clobbe;
Þe lowe folk in þe cuntray
Were yslawe for nouȝt al day,
& alle yslawe hadde yben,
No hadde sir Wawain to hem sen;
Þat was þo a bacheler,
Jolif & of strong power.
Ac ar ich ȝou more þing
Of paiems telle oþer king,
Of Nanters sones & of his feren
Noble þing ȝe schullen yheren;
His sone was hoten Galathin.
In þis time com Wawain
& his feren wiþ gret main;
Euerich of hem gan to bere
Þurch a Sarrazin wiþ his spere;
Afterward swerdes þai drowe
& sexten þousinde to grounde slowe;
Mani mouþe þe gres bot
& griseliche ȝened, god it wot;
Paiens floted in her blod:
Euer is Cristes miȝt gode.
Wawain to Sagremor com þan,
& king Oriens werd him fram;
Wawain ȝaue Oriens swiche a flat,
Boþe on helme & ysen hat,
Þat he to grounde fel plat þere,
Al so he stef & stan-ded were.
His folk abouten him pres made,
Euerich gan to crie & grade
For her lord, & vp him toke,
So we finden on þe boke.
To Wawain þer com a kniȝt
& bad him wende anon riȝt
Toward Camalot wiþ his felawe;
& so he dede in þat þrawe,
& al his feren, god it wot,
Went toward Camalot.
Þer whiles þe paiens aboute were.
Her soudan for to arere,
Ac þer after a litel while,
Wele þe mountaunce of a mile,
Oriens his limes drouȝ
& gan arise of his swouȝ
& seie þe diol sorweful & grim.
Þat his folk made for him.
Vp he lepe wiþ chaufed blod,
So him no were nouȝt bot god,
& asked anon, ywis,
Newe armes & newe hors of priis
& newe swerd & newe launce,
To nimen of his fon veniaunce.
Þat he asked was him founde,
& he went forþ in þat stounde;
Sexti þousand paiens & mo
Her steden after smiten þo.
Wawain seiȝe her coming coue
& dede þe best wiþ hem houe,
Wele an tventi oþer mo,
& al þe oþer toforn hem go
To Camalot, þat cite,
To keueren wiþ his meine,
& he bihinde to ben bi cas,
To susten þe paiems ras.
Þe paiens token ouer our men
& fast leyd opon hem þen,
Ac Galathin & eke Wawain
& Gveheres & Agreuain,
Gaheriet & Sagremore
& þe oþer, y teld bifore,
Bihinde þat bileued were,
Euer were here & tere
& wiþ swerd & scheld & spere
Her folk toforn wele gun were.
Þo com Oriens to Wawain rideinde
Wiþ a spere gode scoure bihinde,
& wende Wawain hit þurch out,
Ac he failed, wiþ outen dout,
For he smot him forbi,
& Wawain for gret heiȝe
Hitt him wiþ his swerd a plat
Amidward þe ysen hat,
Þat he tombled in þat stounde
Stef aswon to þe grounde.
Segremore smot Orian russel
On his schulder bi þe haterel,
Þat schulder & arm & ribbes alle
He doun kitt wiþ liuer & ȝalle.
Galathin smot Placidan
Amidward al his man,
Þat þe heued fleiȝe fram þe bouke,
Þe soule nam þe helle pouke.
Agreuain toke a launce long
& rode oȝain a geant strong,
Guinat þat hete, god it wot,
& þurch þe hert he him smot.
Gveheres turned his pas
Oȝain a geaunt, þat hete Tauras,
& bare him þurch wombe & rigge,
His liif he dede him þere legge.
Gaheriet mett þe douke Fannel
Wiþ a launce, þe soket of stiel,
& smot him þurch rigge & brest bon;
Þe geaunt fel ded anon.
Ȝete þai smiten forþ on hast
& þre oþer of hors cast
& wiþ her meine euerigrot
Smiten in to Camalot.
Bot Wawain & Galathin
& Sagremore of gentil lin,
Þat riden wiþ her hors
Amid Oriens cors,
Him for to sle, wiþ outen doute,
Ac mani þousinde com him aboute,
Þat Oriens binomen hem;
Ac Oriens slouȝ bi fiue & ten;
Bi fiue miȝt þai breken hem fro
& in to Camalahot wenten þo;
Ac Wawaines breþer, for soþe to sain.
In Camalahot misten Wawain;
& þe þre deden hem oȝan,
Wiþ hem went anoþer man;
Out at þe gate þis þre stetten
& on his stede þat cherl metten,
To Wawain þat þe letters brouȝt,
& swiþe fair þai him bisouȝt,
He schuld hem tel, fer or neiȝe
Ȝif he owar Wawain seiȝe;
He seyd anon to hem oȝan:
“Certes, ȝe be nice men:
Whiderward were ȝe ycrope?
In ȝou is ful litel hope,
Þat ȝour broþer lete among his fon,
& ȝe to herberwe gun gon;
For ȝou he may now ligge yslawe:
No telle y ȝou nouȝt worþ an hawe!”
Þese were aschamed & anoid
Of þat þe cherl hem hadde seyd,
For stoutelich he haþ hem chidde;
Þe hors þai smiten þe spurs mide
& sone þer after her broþer metten
Wiþ his to feren & hem gretten
& asked, hou it wiþ hem was,
& þai seyd: “Wele, þurch godes gras!”
Towarde þe toun anon þai stetten
& þe cherles stede metten,
Þe arsouns blodi, bibled þe hors,
Ac hye no seiȝe nouȝt þe cherls cors;
“Allas!” quaþ Wawain, “allas! allas!
Verrament, þis stede it was,
Þat ich ȝaue þat eld man,
Wiþ letters to Londen þat to me cam!”
“Ȝa, who rett?” his breþer quaþe,
“Heiȝe we to toun raþe!”
For he hadde arst seyd hem schame,
Þai lowen þer of & hadde gode game.
Wawain souȝt him here & þer,
Ac he no fond him no where;
It nas no wonder, sikerliche:
Merlin him turned flesche & liche
& was bicomen a garsoun,
In hond berand a tronsoun,
& ȝede hem alle þo among.
Þo Wawain hadde souȝt him long,
To Camalahot þai wenten on hast
& schetten after þe gates fast,
Drowen brigge & eueri pin,
In pais & held hem þer in.
Ac þo Wawain seiȝe Sagremor,
Þer was ioie, bi godes or,
Fair clepeing & welcominge
& to Iesu Crist þonkeinge,
Þat ich oþer hadde ydon,
& destroied her fon.
Þer þai soiournd mani day,
Wiþ outen ani kin anoy,
& seiȝen paiens, seriaunce of helle,
Þat no tong no miȝt telle,
Al day passen hem forbi
Wiþ howe & noise & grete cri.
Lete we hem here soioiuringe
& speke of þe oþer kinge.

[Arthur and Merlin, Version B]

He, þat made wiþ his hond
Wynd and water, wode and lond,
Ȝeue heom alle good endyng,
Þat wolon listne þis talkyng!
And y schal telle ȝow byfore,
How Merlyn was geten and bore,
And of his wisdoms al so
And oþre happes mony mo,
Sum whyle byfeol in Engelonde,
Ȝe, þat wol þis vndurstonde.
In Engelond þer was a kyng,
A noble mon in al thyng,
In weorre he was war and wyȝht.
Kyng Constaunce, for soþe, he hyȝt;
A douȝhty mon he was of dede
And ryȝt wys he was of rede.
Kyng he was of gret honour
And holden prynce and conquerour;
For kyng Angys of Denemark
And many a Sarsyn stout and stark
Weorred on him, wiþ owte faile,
And he ouercom heom in batayle
And drof heom owt of his lond þat tyde,
Þat þey neo durste him nouȝt abyde.
Þanne hadde þeo kyng sones þreo,
Þeo faireste childre þat myȝht beo;
Þeo eldest sone, þat schold beo kyng,
Was cleped Moyne, wiþ oute lesyng,
Þis oþre weore of gret renoun,
Boþe Vter and Pendragon:
Þus men heore names alle calliþ,
Þeo Bruyt witnessiþ heom alle.
On þat tyme, we fyndiþ in boke,
A gret seknesse þeo kyng toke,
Þat out of þis world he most wende,
And after his barouns he dude sende.
And whan þey weore comen euerilkon,
Þe kyng seide to heom anon:
“Lordynges,” he saide, “lasse and more,
Out of þis world y schal fare:
For godis loue and par charite
And for þe loue, ȝe owen to me,
Whan y am ded and lokyn in clay,
Helpiþ my childre þat ȝe may
And takiþ Moyne, myn eldest sone,
And makiþ him kyng and ȝeueþ him corowne;
Holdiþ him ȝoure lord for euer mo!”
Alle þay graunted, hit scholde beo so.
Þan hadde þe kyng a styward feyr,
Þat was cleped sir Fortager;
His treowthe to þe kyng he plyȝt,
To helpe his chyldre at his myȝt,
Bote sone þat traitour was forswore,
He brak his treowþe and was forlore.
So þat þe kyng of þis world went
And faire was buryed, verrayment,
At Wynchestre, wiþ oute lesyng,
Was mad his burying.
Eorles and barouns sone anon
Tok heom to gedre euerychon,
Wiþ outyn any more dwellyng
Heo maden Moyne lord and kyng.
Bote þe styward, sir Fortager,
Was ful wroþ, as ȝe may here,
And was þer aȝeyn wiþ al his myȝt,
Boþe by dayȝes and by nyȝht,
For he þouȝt him seolue wiþ treson
Beo lord and kyng wiþ croun.
So sone as Moyne was chose kyng,
Into Denemark þe word gon spryng.
Kyng Aungys hit herde sayn,
Þer of he was boþe glad and fayn;
Messangeris þat ilke tyde
Wente ouer al his lond wyde
After mony Sarsyn stout & stark
Of Saxoyne and of Denemark,
An hundred þousand and ȝet moo
On horse and on fote al so
Come þydir wiþ oute ensoyne,
For to weorre on kyng Moyne.
Þeo kyng wolde no lengur byde,
Bote dyȝt him to schip þat tyde
And brouȝt in to Engelond afyn
Mony a douȝty Sarsyne.
Bote Engelond was clepid þan
Mukyl Breotayne of vche man.
Þanne þe word wyde sprong,
How þe Denys kyng wiþ wrong
Gan worche Engelond muche woo;
Kyng Moyne herde, þat hit was soo,
He went him to sir Fortager
And preyȝed him wiþ mouþ and cher
And bysouȝte him wiþ gret vygour,
He scholde beo his gouernour,
Aȝeyn his fomen for to fyȝt;
And he onswerede anon ryȝt
And brayd him self seek as traytour strong
And saide, wiþ ryȝt and nouȝt wiþ wrong,
Neo wold he neuere come in batayle,
For his streynthe bygan to fayle;
And al he dude for nyþe and onde:
He þouȝte to beo kyng of þis londe.
Þeo kyng him wolde no more pray,
Bote tok his leue and went a way.
Messangeris he sent þat tyde
Ouer al his lond on ylk a syde
To eorl, baroun and to knyȝt,
To helpe him for to fyȝt;
And whan þay weore al ycome
And heore armes hadde ynome,
Þey prikyden forþ, wiþ oute faile,
To ȝeue þe Denys kyng batayle.
Þer was clowen mony a scheld
And mony a knyȝt feld in þe feld.
Al þat þey metten at þat stounde,
Mon and hors þey slowe to grounde;
So Englysch men, for soþ to say,
Weore discomfyȝt and fledde away;
To Wynchestre þay fledde þo,
Syngand allas and weylawo.
Bote þe Denys kyng by fore
Mukil of his folk hadde ylore;
Al so swyþe he sent his sonde
Hom aȝeyn to his owne londe,
To al, þat myȝhte wepne beore,
Schold come to Englond, him to weore.
Of weorre wolde he neuer blynne,
Cytees and castels he gan wynne,
In Engelond he dude mukil wo,
Half a ȝer and sumdel moo.
Alle þe barouns of Engelond
Tokyn heom to gedre on honde,
What heom weore best to done,
To avenge heom of heore fone.
And whan þay weore come alle, y ȝow telle,
Eorles, barouns, þat weore feolle,
Heo seiden, þat Moyne, heore kyng,
Was nouȝt bote a broþelyng,
And seyden: “Ȝef Fortager kyng ware,
He schulde ous brynge out of care!”
And seide anon, olde and ȝyng,
Þey wolde, Fortager weore kyng.
And whan þay haddyn spoke of þis,
Twolue barons þey sente ywis
To sir Fortager þeo bolde,
To wite, why þat he neo wolde
Aȝeyn heore fomen for to fonde,
To dryue heom out of Engelonde.
And þo þeo barounes alle yfere
Waren come to sir Fortager,
Wel hendeliche he heom grette
And on þe deys by him sette
And bad heom wiþ wordes ille,
To sayȝe, what weore heore wille;
And þey onswerde faire aȝeyn
And baden, þat he scholde heom seyn,
W[hy] he wolde nouȝt wiþ heom gon
[For to a]venge heom apon heore foon.
[And s]eide: “Syþe Constaunce was ded,
[We ha]n had a sory red,
[We ha]n had mony sory happes
[And of] hys men wel harde clappes!”
[And bade,] he scholde take on honde,
[To warr]e heom out of Engelonde.
Þen ans]werde sir Fortager
[As a man of] gret power.
[“I was neu]er ȝet ȝoure kyng
[Why pray]e ȝe me of such helpynge?
No neuer ȝet her by fore
To ȝow no was y nouȝt yswore,
For to helpe ȝow at ȝoure neode;
And þer fore, so god me spede,
Wendiþ hom to ȝoure kyng
And preyeþ him in al thyng,
Þat he ȝow helpe aȝeyn ȝoure foon,
For of me neo gete ȝe noon!”
Þanne onswerde a bold baroun:
“Oure kyng nys bote a kouioun,
For, whan he siþ a sweord ydrawe,
Anon he wenyþ to beon yslawe;
He ne doþ vs non oþir good,
Bote fleoþ awey, as he weore wod:
Hadestow beon among vs alle,
Þat chaunce neo hadde neuer byfalle,
Þat we lore þis asauȝt;
For soþe, in him was al þeo defauȝt:
Þus seyn alle oure peris.”
“Y tro wel,” seide sire Fortagers,
“Certes, hit was gret deol,
To make ȝoure kyng of a fool;
Hadde ȝe mad a mon ȝoure kyng,
He hadde ȝow saued in al thyng;
Bote, certaynly, sikir ȝow beo,
Help neo haue ȝe non of me,
Bote if ȝoure kyng weore ded, aplyȝt,
I wolde ȝow helpe wiþ al my myȝt.”
Þanne saide þeo barouns ilkon:
“Woltow, þat we oure kyng slone?”
“Nay,” he seide, “wiþ outyn stryf,
Whiles ȝowre kyng is olyue,
Help no gete ȝe non, ywis!”
Þeo barons toke leue wiþ þis;
To Wynchestre þey went alle,
Þere þeo kyng was in his halle,
And, als he sat at þe mete,
Þey rowned to him wiþ gret hete,
And, als he sat at þe bord,
Or euer he spak any word,
Þey rowned alle to him anon
And smyten of his hed wel sone.
And whan þe kyng þus was slawe,
Eorles, barons, hyȝhe and lawe
Tokyn heom alle to rede,
Kyng þey mosten haue nede,
Engelond for to weore
Aȝeyns heore foon, þat wolde heom dere.
Þanne hade þe kyng breþere two,
Ȝonge childre þay weore boo,
Þay weore so ȝonge wiþ ynne elde,
Þat þey myȝte non armes welde;
Þat on was Vter, and Pendragon.
Þan saide þe barons euerilkon,
Þat þey neo scholde neuer spede,
Bote ȝef a douȝhty mon of dede
Weore chose to beon emperere,
And sworen, þat sir Fortagere
Was a douȝhty mon of dede,
Stout and stark apon a stede,
And sweore þer to gedre vchon,
Þat oþir kyng no wold þey non.
Þo nas þer neyþir knyȝt no sweyn,
Þat durste speke þer aȝeyn,
Bote graunted alle, olde and ȝonge,
To make Fortager heore kynge.
A mury tyme is in Auerel,
Þat muche schewiþ monnes wil.
So in þat tyme, as ȝe may here,
Twolfue barouns come to Fortagere
And seiden, þat Engelondes ryȝt
Was lorn þourȝ heore kyng, aplyȝt,
And he was ded, wiþ oute lesyng,
And his two breþere weore to ȝyng,
To holde þe kyndom in honde;
“Þer fore, þeo comyn of þis londe,
Haþ þe chosen wiþ honour,
For to beon heore emperour.”
Blyþe and glad was Fortager,
Anon was kyng, wiþ oute dawnger.
At þe feste of his corounement,
Two barons, þat weore gent,
Þat al þe treson vndurstode
And hadde reuþthe of heore blode,
Þat þey scholde beo do to ded,
Þer fore þey tok anoþir red
And tokyn Vter and Pendragon
And passed ouer þeo see anon.
Of heore passage wiste no mo,
Bote þe hende barons two.
And whan þeo feste was yholde,
Fortager, þat traitur bolde,
Let make a compacement
Of eorles and of barouns gent,
At wych parlement þey hadyn tyȝt,
For to a slayn þeo childre ryȝt.
Fortager comaunded anon,
To fechche Vter and Pendragon.
Swyþe anon men heom souȝt,
Bote þey neo myȝhte fynde heom nouȝt.
Whan Fortager þis vndurstod,
Þanne at furst he wax al wod
And þouȝte, ȝef þey come to lyue,
To vyl deþ þey schold him dryue.
Bote noþeles sire Fortager
Dude comaunde fer and ner,
Boþe to baroun and to knyȝt,
[To make h]eom redy for to fyȝt.
[And soone they] dyȝhte heom, ywis
[With armes] and wiþ hors of prys.
[And when they] weore al redy dyȝt,
[Forsooth, it] was a semely syȝt,
[With helme] on hed and bryȝt baner
[All went forth] wiþ sir Fortager.
[The king of] Denemark wiþ pryde
[Brought his] ost by his syde;
[Either host ca]n oþir assaylle,
[There might y]ou seo stark bataile,
Sweordes drawen and arwes schoten,
Mony a quarel þoruȝh þeo þrote.
Þeo Englysch folk, for soþe to say,
Fouȝhten so wel þat ilke day,
Þat kyng Aungys in þat tyde
Was apon þeo worse syde
And fleyȝh awey, as he weore wood,
Into a castel strong and good,
And mukil of his host al so,
Faste awey þay gon to go;
And Fortager wiþ his rowte
Bysette þe castel al abowte;
And whan þay hadde longe by leyn,
Kyng Aungys sent heom for to seyn,
Ȝef he in pes passe most,
He wolde take al his ost
And wende to his owne contray,
And neuer after þat day
Wolde he passe þeo see stronde
Neo come to weorre in Engelonde;
And whan þis couenaunt was al don,
Þat þey neo wolde in Engelond come,
Fortager tok his counsail
And let heom passe hol and hayl.
Fortager þo tok his host
And went þennes wiþ gret bost
And heold feste many day
Wiþ mukil solas and wiþ play.
And whan þe feste was yholde,
Þat twolf barouns, þat ich of tolde,
Þat hadde slawe Moyne þe kyng,
Byþouȝhten heom of a wondur thyng,
Þat þey wolde wende to Fortager
And aske him mede and heore lower,
And seiden: “Fortager, now þow art abowe,
Þenk, what we dude for þy loue:
We slowe oure ryȝte kyng of kynde;
Now beo sene, ȝef þow beo hende:
For we brouȝte þe in þy power,
Ȝeld vs oure mede and oure lower!”
Kyng Fortager onswerde ageyn
Wiþ egre mod and gan to seyn:
“By þe lower, þat god made,
Ȝe schal haue as ȝe bade,
For ȝe arn traytours stronge
And han slayn ȝoure kyng wiþ wronge,
And ȝef y may, so mot y theo,
Ȝe neo schal nouȝt so serue me!
For ȝe han wrouȝt aȝeyn þeo lawe,
Ȝe schul beon hongyd and todrawe!”
He dude take horses sket
And trayed heom to heore feet,
& then drew them on a pauement
& sithen hanged them, verament.
Then many an erle & barron hynde,
That were of the barrons kinde,
To Vortiger they ran anon,
As his most deadlye fone;
Hard on him can they fight,
For to slay him they thought right.
Vortiger with might & maine,
He with his host went them againe;
A strong battell there was dight
& many a head ther of smitt,
Soe that Vortiger that day
Was glad for to scape away.
Anon the barrons send their sonde
Wyde ouer all England
To all their freinds, sibb & couthe,
East, west, north & southe,
& told them that sooth tyde,
How Vortiger with great despighte,
With great treason & with wrong
Their kinred had drawen & honge.
Wrath then was many a man,
& al together swarren then,
That they wold not assunder breake,
Till they were on him wreake.
Euerye man on other besought,
A great host on him they brought
& foughten with sir Vortiger
9 monthes of this yeere,
That many a lady fayre & free
Lost her lord & her meanye.
Then the warr endured long,
& the barrons waxed strong,
That Vortiger had not power,
Against them longer to endure.
Messengers anon hee tooke
And made them sworne vpon a booke,
That they shold his arrand gone,
& letters he tooke to them anon
& sent them ouer the seas iwis
To Denmarke vnto king Anguis,
& that hee shold come att neede
With all the power, that he might lead,
Against his foemen for to fight,
That wold depriue him of his right.
Then was king Anguis blythe
& messengers hee sent swithe
To duke, erle, barron & knight
& to all, that weapon beare might.
Then to shipp they went blithe
And ouer the sea can they driue.
& when they came to Vortiger,
He welcomed them with merry cheere
& seazed there into his hands
Halfe the realme of England,
That he had or haue might,
For to helpe him in his right.
When this couenant was made fast,
All they dighten them in hast,
Into battelle for to wend
With the barrons, that were hende.
Besids Salsbury a lyte,
There the battell can they smite.
[OMITTED]
Many a bold champion,
& many a 1000 in that stonde
Were slaine & brought to ground.
Many a ladye & damsell
Can weepe that day with teares fell.
Then had Vortiger 10
Against one of the barrons men;
Discomffitted they were that day,
With great sorrow they fled away;
& Vortiger, that wold not spare,
But hunted them, as hound doth hare,
Them, that he did ouertake,
Noe other peace did he make,
But did them all todraw & hange,
But sithen all that was wrong;
Many a barron hynde & free
Fled out of his owne countrye
& dwelled out many a yeere,
For loue of sir Vortiger.
Then Vortiger ceazed into his hands
The lands & rents of all the barrons,
& both wiffe, chyld & swaine
He droue out of the lannd, certaine.
King Anguis had, verament,
A daughter, that was faire & gent,
That was heathen Sarazen;
& Vortiger for loue fine
Vndertooke her for his wiffe
& liued in cursing all his liffe,
For he did make the christen men
To marry the heathen women,
Soe that nighe all England
Was fallen into the devills hand.
Þus þey lyuede mony a ȝer,
So on a day sire Fortager
Byþouȝhte him of þeo childre two,
Þat owt of londe weore flemed þo,
And al so he byþouȝte him þan
Of mony anoþir douȝhty man,
Þat he hadde flemed out of þeo land,
And in his heorte gan vndurstond,
Þat hit was a sory hap,
And douted him of after-clap.
Anon he sente messangeris
Ouer al his lond for carpenters
And for gode masons al so,
Þeo beste, þat weoren in londe þo.
Mony þousand þer cam anon,
Þat wel couþe worche lym and stone;
And whan þey weore comen all,
Þe kyng anon to heom gon call
And seide: “Lordynges, y am byþouȝt,
A castel y wol haue ywrouȝt
Of strong tymber, lym and ston,
Þat such anoþir beo nowher non,
For my men, þat arn olyue,
Þat y can out of londe dryue;
Ȝef y euere haue nede,
My lif þer yn y may lede:
Þat castel ȝe schal make mury
Vp on þe pleyn of Salesbury:
Goþ and doþ als y ow bad,
Þat hit beo trusty and wel ymad,
And ȝe schule haue to ȝoure huyre
Al so mukil as ȝe wol desyre.”
Þeo werkmen wente forþ þo,
Fyftene þousand and wel mo,
Heowen tymber, coruen ston
And leiden a fondement anon;
Somme leyde and somme bere,
Somme þat werk gonne arere.
Þat seolue day, wiþ owte doute,
Breost-hyȝh hit was abowte;
When hit was come to þe nyȝt,
To heore bed heo wente aryȝt
And come aȝeyn apon þe morwe
And fonde þyng of mukil sorwe;
Al heore fondement heo founde
Lyggand abrod apon þeo grounde,
And al totorn lym and ston:
Gret wondur þey hadden vchon.
Beter red neo couþe þey non,
Bote to bygynne a neowe anon,
And speddyn al so wel, for soþe to say,
Als þey dude þeo furste day,
Fro morwe til hit was nyȝt,
And al so swyþe as þey myȝt.
And whan þe euenyng was come,
To reste wente alle and somme.
On morwe þey cam aȝeyn anon
[& found it] cast boþe lym and ston
[& was spr]ad boþe here and þer,
[& thus they] ferdyn half a ȝer.
[When the king heard] of þis,
[Great wonder h]e hadde, ywis,
[& oft asked both] ȝonge and olde,
. . . . . . it myȝte beo holde
[& why the work]e myȝhte noȝht stonde.
[There was none] in al þat londe.
[Highe nor lowe], lewed no clerk,
[That cold tell hi]m of þat werk.
[King Vortiger sate], in his halle
[Amongst his barrons &] knyȝhtes alle
[& sware, he wold] neuer spare,
[Vntill he wist, why] hit ware;
[& anon he sent his]e sonde
[Ouer al England]e
[After clerkes old] and ȝyng,
[That cold tell hi]m of wondur thyng.
[The messengers] forþ went
[And did the k]ynges comaundement,
[Many a wise cler]k þey sowȝt,
[Before the ki]ng alle weore brouȝt;
[King Vortiger] aposed heom alle,
[Why his worke] was so doun falle;
[But there was no] mon, þat couþe him telle.
[Then he sw]are, he wolde hem quelle,
[But if they wo]lde seyȝe in hast,
[Why this wo]rk was so doun cast.
[10 mast]res he lette take anon,
[The wisest] of heom euerychon,
[Into a chambre þey weore do,
[That no] mon myȝhte come heom to,
[Þat] heo hadde socour of no thyng,
[Bot]e vnneþes mete and dryng.
[S]o on a day, verrament,
Þay lokid in to þeo firmament,
And vndur þeo weolkyn þey sawe a sky,
Þat schewed heom witerly,
Þat fyue wynter þer by fore
A knaue child þer was ybore,
Byȝeten wiþ owtyn ony monnes mon;
And ȝef þey hadde þat child anon
And slowe him hastely þan,
Er he speke to any man,
And smeored þeo werk wiþ his blod,
Þenne schulde hit worthe stark and god.
Þus þeo sky schewed heom þere
And passed awey wiþ owte more.
Þan weore þeo clerkes glad and blyþe
And come to Fortager al swyþe
And tolde him, wiþ owte les,
A knawe child bore þer was
All wiþ owten monnes streone,
And þey seiden al by dene
& seyd: “Do seke þat child,
Wheþer he beo in towne or feld,
And doþ him sle hastely
And tak þeo blod of his body
And smeore þy werk abowte þer wiþ,
And hit schal stonde euer in gryþ!”
Bliþe and glad was Fortagers,
He lette clepe twolf messangeres
And lette departen heom, so mote y theo,
Þat non neo scholde wiþ oþir beo.
He sente heom forþ vp on his sonde
On foure half of Engelonde
And comaunded, þat þey neo stynt nouȝt,
Til he weore to fore him brouȝt.
Anon þeo messangeres forþ went
And duden þeo kynges comaundement;
And sir Fortager þeo bolde
Comaunded þeo clerkes to beo holde,
Til þeo messangeres comen aȝeyn,
To wite, what þey wolde seyn,
And swar by Jhesu, heouene kyng,
Ȝef þey lowen any lesyng,
No raunson scholde for heom gon,
Þat þey neo scholde dyȝe euerychon.
Now lete we þis maistres beon
And of þis clerkes al by dene,
And telle of þis messangeres,
Þat wenten fro sire Fortageres,
For to seke þeo child so ȝyng,
And ȝe schal here a wondur thyng:
Ȝef ȝe wolon a stounde dwelle,
Of þat child y wol ȝow telle,
On what manere þe messangeres
Brouȝte him to sire Fortageres,
And what he hyȝhte, wiþ owte les,
And of what kynde þat he was,
Þat ȝe schule vndurstonde and wite,
Þoruȝ what skile he was byȝete.
Dauid þeo profete and Moyses
Witnesseþ and seiþ, how hit wes:
Þo god hadde mad þoruȝ his myȝt
Heouene ful of aungelis bryȝt,
Þeo fairhod, þat þey hadde þan,
Nis no tonge, þat telle kan,
Til Lucifer hit forgult wiþ pryde,
Alle, þat heold wiþ him þat tyde;
Such veniaunce god on heom gon take,
Þat þey arn now feondes blake
And, as y fynde in holy wryt,
Þey felle fro heouene to helle put
Sixe daiȝes and seoue nyȝt,
As þikke as hayl in þondur lyȝt.
And when þay weore ut of heouene,
Oure lord seide wiþ mylde steuene
And heouene lowked aȝeyn ful stille,
Als hit was his owne wille.
Feole of þe feondes, þat y tolde er,
Felleon out of heouene wiþ Lucifer.
Þo, þat wonen in þe eyr an hyȝh,
Felle þey beon, stronge and slyȝh
And of þeo eyr takeþ heore lyȝt
And han heore streynthe and heore myȝt,
After mon to make heom body,
Fair of colour and rody,
Dessenden doun among mon kynne,
To tyse men to dedly synne.
Alle þey wiste wel by fore,
Þat Jhesus was of Marie bore;
Þer to þeo feondes hadden onde
And seide, þat þey wolde fonde,
To neyȝhe in eorþe a maide mylde
And byȝete on hire a childe,
Such a child, þey seide þo,
Þat schal worþe þeo world ful wo
And acombre al so feole,
Als Jhesus had brouȝt in to weole.
Þus þey wende þeo world afyled,
Bote atte laste þey weore bygyled.
Y schal telle ȝow, how hit was:
Now may ȝe here a wondur cas.
In þat tyme, y vndurstonde,
A riche man was in Engelonde
And hadde a good womman to wyue,
And lyued to gedre in clene lyue.
A sone þey hadde and douȝhtre þreo,
Þeo fairest childre, þat myȝhte beo.
Anon þeo feond, þat y of tolde,
Þat wonede in þe eyr so bolde,
In to þeo eorþe he lyȝhte þan
And tempted so þat gode womman,
Þat in hire body he hadde gret myȝt,
And brouȝhte hire in chest and fyȝt,
And made hire ofte wiþ egre mood
Corse hire children, as heo weore wod.
So apon a day an euen late
Þoruȝ þeo feond wiþ gret hate
Wiþ hire sone heo gan to grame,
Corsed him harde by his name,
And to þeo deouel heo him bitauȝht
Wiþ al þeo power, þat heo auȝht.
Þanne was þeo feond glad and bliþe
And þouȝte to do heom schame swyþe,
And þo hit was come to þeo nyȝt,
In to hire hous he com ful ryȝt
And strangled heore sone, þere he lay;
Þeo wif ros vp, when hit was day,
And fond hire sone ded at morwe
And went and hong hire seolf for sorwe;
And whan hire lord herde þis,
Anon swiþe for sorwe ywis
Sodeynly he deȝed þo
Wiþ outen schryft and hosol al so.
Þeo folk of þat contre þat tyde,
Þat wonede þer nyȝh by syde,
Come þidre, heom to seo,
And hadden reuthe and gret pyte,
Þat mony a mon þat day
Weop and seide weylaway
For þat godemon and his wif,
Þat hadden lyued so good lif.
An heremyte wonede þer by syde
And com for to seo þat tyde;
Blasy, for soþe, his name was,
And ofte he seide: allas, allas,
Þat hit was byfalle soo,
In his heorte him was ful woo
And seide, hit was, verrament,
Þoruȝ þeo feondes comburment.
Þeo douȝhtres he fond þeron lyue,
Þat godman þo can heom schryue,
Of al þat þey couþe þenke or mene,
And seothen asoyled heom ful clene;
And whan þey hadden doon and seid,
Fair penaunce on heom he leyd.
And whan he had tauȝt heom soo,
Hom aȝeyn he wente þoo,
And þanne þeo maydenes al yfere
Seruedyn god wiþ bliþe chere.
In al Engelond þo was vsage,
Ȝef any womman dude outrage,
Bote ȝef hit weore in spousyng,
Or anymon old or ȝyng
Myȝhte hit wite of þat contre,
Al quuyk heo scholde doluen bee,
Bote heo weore lyȝt womman told
To alle, þat hire aske wold.
So þeo feond, þat hadde myȝt,
Þat wonede in þe eyr lyȝt,
Into þeo eorþe he lyȝte doun þan
And wente him til an old womman
And hyȝhte hire boþe gold and fee,
To wende to þeo sustreon þreo,
Þeo eldest maiden to enchaunte,
Som ȝong monnes body for to haunte,
And, ȝef heo myȝhte brynge hit þer to,
He hette hire gold for euere mo.
Þat olde quene was ful glad
And dude, als þeo deouel hire bad,
And wente hire to þeo sustreon þreo;
So sone as heo myȝhte heom seo,
To þeo eldeste suster heo seide:
“Allas, my swete, dure maide:
Þow hast faire feet and honde,
Gentil body for to fonde,
Whyt swyre and long arm:
Ywis, hit is muche harm,
Þat þy body neo myȝte asay,
Wiþ som ȝong mon for to play,
Þat þe myȝte fynde in euery cas
Gamen and murthe and gret solas!”
“Certes,” seide þe maide þan,
“Ȝef þat y tok now anyman,
Bote ȝef hit weore in spousyng,
And anymon old or ȝyng
Myȝhte hit wite of þis contre,
Al qwyk y scholde dolue beo.”
“Nay, certes,” seide þat olde quene,
“Þow may hit do wiþ owte dene
Ȝer and oþir in boure, in bedde,
Þeo whiles nomon þar þe wedde,
And þer fore neo dred þe nouȝt,
Ne þar hit neuere be forþer brouȝt;
And ȝef þow wolt do by my red,
Þow neo dudest neuer better dede!”
So þoruȝ þeo qwenes enchauntement
And þeo feondes comburment
Þeo eldest suster, soþ to say,
Lette a ȝong mon wiþ hire play,
And whan hire liked best þe game,
Hit turnde hire to muche schame,
For heo was taken and forþ ydrawe,
And of hire game heo was knowe,
And for þat werk doluen heo was;
Mony mon seide for hire allas.
Þeo feond, ȝet anoþir while
Þat oþir suster he con bygyle
And made hire loue a fair ȝong man,
And was his lemman after þan,
Al hire wille to him heo let;
Hit was parceyued ful sket,
Heo was taken forþ, ywis,
And brouȝt by fore þeo justis,
Hire juggement to vndurfonge,
As hit was lawe of londe.
Þeo justice hire aposede þo,
Wher fore heo hadde do so;
Heo onswerede, as hire was tauȝt,
And seide, heo neo forsok hit nouȝt,
Heo swor, heo was a lyȝt womman
To alle, þat wolde hire body han,
And þer skapeode heo away,
So þat hire folewed al þat day
Of harlotes a gret haras,
To fyle hire body for þat cas.
Ȝet þeo feond, in þat while
Þe þridde suster he can bygyle.
Þenne was þe ȝongest suster so wo,
Þat nyȝh hire heorte brast in two,
For hire modur hong hire seolue
And hire sustur men qwyk dolue,
And for hire fadir dyȝed amys
And hire broþir was strangled, ywis,
Hire oþir sustur an hore strong,
Þat wiþ harlotes made hire mong.
Al most for sorwe and þouȝt
Yn wan hope heo was nyȝh brouȝt.
To þeo hermyte heo wente þan,
Þat hyȝhte Blasy, þat gode man,
And tolde him al þeo soþe by fore,
How al hire kynrade was forlore.
Þeo hermyte hadde wondur gret,
On godes halue he hire het:
“Y bydde þe, haue god in mynde
And let beo þeo lore of þe feonde!”
He bad hire forsake in alle wise
Pruyde, hate and couetyse,
Nyþe and onde and envye
And monnes flechs in lecherye,
Alle such werkes he bad hire fleo
And godes seruaunt for to beo,
Bad hire, heo schulde nyme kepe,
Þat heo neo leyde hire nouȝt to slepe,
And nameliche nouȝt on nyȝt,
Bote heo hadde candel lyȝt
And wyndowes and dores in þat stounde
Waren sperd by rof and grounde,
And make þer aȝeyn wiþ good voys
Þeo signe of þe holy croys:
Bid him, þat he warant beo
Aȝeyn þeo feond and his pouste!”
And whan he hadde tauȝt hire so,
Hom aȝeyn heo can go
And seruede god wiþ heorte glad;
Heo dude, as þe hermyte hire bad,
And ȝet þeo feond wiþ enuye
Bygyled hire wiþ tricherye
And brouȝte hire in wel dreory chere:
Y schal ȝow telle, in what manere.
Apon a day, verrament,
Wiþ neyȝhebours to þe ale heo went;
Longe heo sat and dude mys,
Þat heo was dronkyn, ywis;
Hire oþir sustur, þat y of tolde,
Þat was an hore stowt and bolde,
Com hire þider þat ilke day
Wiþ mony an harlot, and made deray
And mysseide hire, as heo weore wod,
And calde hire oþir þan good,
And heo was dronkyn, soþ to seyn,
And mysseide hire aȝeyn.
So longe heo chidde, wiþ oute les,
Þeo hore start vp in a res
And wiþ hire fust in outrage
Smot hire in þe visage,
Drouȝh hire her and rente hire cloþ
And beot hire boþe eouele and wroþ;
Hom to hire chaumbre heo fledde þo
And stak þeo dore by tweone heom þo
And cryȝed out, and neyȝhebours come,
And þe hore anon þey nome
And dryuen hire away anon,
And þeo harlotes euerychon.
Whan þay weore dryuen alle away,
Þeo mayden in þe chaumbur lay
Al mad and couþe no good,
Wepte al day, as heo weore wood;
And whan hit was come to þe nyȝt,
Apon hire bed heo feol doun ryȝt;
Al yschod and yclad
Heo fel on slepe and was al mad
And forȝat hire hows vnblessed,
As þe hermyte hire hadde wissed.
Þanne was þeo feond glad and bliþe
And þouȝte to don hire schame swyþe;
Ouer al wel in he myȝt,
For þer was mad no crois þat nyȝt;
And to þe maiden anon he went
And þouȝte al cristendam to haue schent:
A streone of a child he putte in hire þo
And passed awey þer he com fro.
And whan þat womman was awaked,
Heo fond hirebody ly al naked,
And heo gropede wiþ hire honde,
And in a stude þer heo fonde,
Wher by heo wende witerly,
Þat som mon hadde leyȝen hire by.
Þanne heo ros vp in hast
And fond hire dore sperred fast,
And whan heo fond, þat hit was so,
In hire heorte heo was ful wo
And þouȝte, hit was sum wikkyd þynge,
Þat wolde hire to schame brynge.
Al þat nyȝt heo made gret sorwe,
And to þe hermyte heo wente on morwe
And tolde him al þat cas;
Þeo hermyte seide: “Alas, alas!”
Þat heo hadde brokyn hire penaunce,
And seide, his was þe feondes combraunce.
“A, gode fadir,” heo seide þo,
“What, ȝef hit byfalle so,
Þat a child beo on me geten
And anymon hit may witen,
Þenne schal y beo doluen anon
Al qwyk, boþe body and bon!”
“Certes,” seide þe gode man,
“My leoue douȝter, after þan,
And y may þe soþe yseo,
Þat a child is geten on þe,
Y schal hit helpe wiþ al my myȝt,
Til y þer of may haue a syȝt,
Go now hom, douȝter myn,
And haue Cristes blessyng and myn,
For he may, ȝef his wille beo,
Out of þy sorwe brynge þe!”
Hom heo wente wiþ dreory mod
And serued god wiþ herte good,
And euery day after þan
Hire wombe wel gret bycam,
So heo neo myȝhte hit nouȝt hyde;
Hit was parceyued in þat tyde,
Heo was taken forþ, ywis,
And brouȝt by fore þe justice.
Þeo justice hire apposede þo,
Why heo hadde ydo so,
And, for heo wrouȝte aȝeyn þe lawe,
He jugged hire to beon yslawe;
And heo onswerde and seide: “Nay,
Y ne wrouȝte neuer aȝeyn þe lay!”
And swor: “By him, þat dyȝed on treo,
Nas neuer mon, þat neyȝhed me
Wiþ flesch lust neo lecherye
Neo kuste my body wiþ vilenye!”
Þe justice onswerde anon:
“Dame, þou lyest, by seynt Jon;
Þy wordes buþ false and wilde,
When men may seo, þou art wiþ childe:
In þis world nas neuer child born,
Bote monnes flesch weore by forn,
Saue Jhesu Crist þoruȝ his myȝt
Was born of a maide bryȝt:
How myȝhtow hit forsake þan,
Þat þow neo haddest part of man,
Whan my seolf þeo soþe may seo,
Þat a child is geten on þe?”
“Certes, sire,” heo saide þan,
“Y go wiþ childe wiþ owte man;
By him,” heo seide, “þat made þis day,
Neuere mon by me lay,
Bote, as y slepte on a nyȝt,
By me lay a selcouþ wyȝt,
Bote y ne wist, what hit was:
Þer fore y do me in þy grace.”
Þeo justice seide, wiþ oute faile,
He ne herde neuer of such merueille:
“To day neo schal þeo wommon beo dolue,
Til y haue jugged wyues twolue,
Ȝef any child may beo mad
Wiþ owte getyng of monhed,
And ȝef þey say, hit may beo so,
Al qwyt and freo þan schaltow go;
And ȝef þey say, þat hit neo may,
Al qwyk men deluen þe to day.”
On twolf wyues heo dude hire anon,
And þey onswerede euerychon,
Þat neuer child was born of mayde,
Bote Jhesu Crist, alle þey saiden.
Blasy þe hermyte vp sterte þan
And þe justice onswere bygan:
“Sire justice,” he seide þo,
“Here me of a word or two!
Þat þis wommon haþ told vehe del,
Certes, al y leue hit wel,
And ȝe ne leuen hire ryȝt noȝt:
By god, þat al þis world haþ wrouȝt,
Y haue hire schryuen and tawȝt þeo lawe,
To me was heo hit neuer aknowe,
Þat anymon wiþ word or dede
Nyȝhed hire body wiþ fleschly dede;
Þer fore hit is aȝeyn þeo lawe,
Þat heo scholde beo dolue þis dawe:
Siþen heo had serued to beo spilt,
Þeo child in hire wombe haþ no gilt;
Þer fore, sire, do by my red,
Þow neo schalt nouȝt do hire to ded,
Bote do hire in warde by fore,
Til þe child beo ybore,
And þanne,” he seide, “god hit wot,
Two ȝer kepe hit heo mot,
And let hire kepe hire child hire seolue;
By þan myȝhtow here telle,
And par auenture,” he seide, “þan,
Þeo child may beo a wel god man!”
Þan onswerde þe justice:
“Hermyte, þy wordes arn wel wise;
Þer fore by þe don y wil:
To day neo schal hire noman spille!”
Þe justice comaunded anon,
To lede hire to a tour of ston,
Þat no wyȝt schulde wiþ hire go,
Bote a medwif, and nomo;
Þe tour was strong and swiþe hyȝh,
Nomon myȝte come hire nyȝh.
A wyndow þer was mad þo
And a corde tyȝed þer to,
To drawe þer wiþ al thyng,
Fuyr and water, mete and dryng.
And whan þe time of hire was come,
Heo hadde born a selcouþ sone:
Ryȝt fair forme hit hadde þan,
Al þe schap, þat feol to man;
Blak he was, wiþ owte les,
And rouȝh as a swyn he wes.
Þeo medwif, anon ryȝt
Heo was agrisen of þat syȝt,
And for he was rowȝh of hyde,
Al so swiþe heo þouȝte þat tyde,
Þat he nas neuer geten of man,
And ful fayn heo wolde þan,
In helle he hadde beon hire fro,
Þat neuer mon hadde seyȝe him mo.
Þe hermyte, þat hyȝht Blasy,
Wiste ful wel, sikerly,
Þat tyme, þeo child schold be bore,
And to þe tour he com amorwe
And cleped vpward to heom þare,
Asked heom, how þey hadde fare.
Þe medwif seide, wiþ owte les,
A knawe child bore þer wes.
“Tak him me,” he seide þan,
“And y schal make him cristenman:
Wheþir he dyȝe or lif abyde,
Þeo fairer grace him may bytide!”
Ful glad was þo þe medwif
And tok þeo child al so blyue,
And by a corde heo let him doun,
And Blasy ȝaf him his benesoun
And bar him hom wiþ drery mod
And baptized him in þe holy flod
And cleped him to his cristendam
Merlyn in godes name,
Þat þoruȝ þe name, y ȝow telle,
Alle þeo feondes, þat weoren in helle,
Weore agramed þer of ful sore,
Þer þoruȝ was heore pouste lore.
And whan he hadde cristened him so,
Hom aȝeyn he bar him þo
And in þe corde he can him leyn;
Þe medwif drouȝ him vp aȝeyn,
And he bad hire, wiþ owte blame,
Clepe him Merlyn by his name.
Þe medwif anon ryȝt
Bar him to a fuyr bryȝt,
And as heo warmed him by þe fuyr,
Heo byhuld his lodly chere:
“Alas,” heo seide, “artow Merlyn?
Wheþen art þow and of what kyn?
Who was þy fadir by nyȝt or day,
Þat nomon wite neo may?
Hit is gret reuþe, þou foule thyng,
Þat for þy loue, by heouene kyng,
Þy modur schal beo slayn wiþ wo:
Allas, þat stounde schal falle so!
Y wolde, þow ware feor in þe see,
Wiþ þat þy modur myȝht scape freo!”
Whan he herde hire speke so,
He brayd vp his eyȝne two
And lodly on hire gon loke,
And his hed on hire he schok
And gan to crye wiþ loud deone:
“Þou lyȝest,” he seide, “olde quene!
My modur schal nomon qwelle,
For no þyng, þat men may telle,
Whyl þat y may speke or gon,
Mawgre heom euerychon:
Y schal saue hire lif for þis,
Þat þow schalt seo and here ywis.”
And whan þeo medwif herde þat,
Almost heo fel doun, þer heo sat;
Heo gan to quake, as heo ware wod,
And hadde leouere þan any good,
Þat heo hadde beon feor away,
So hadde his modur, þer heo lay;
So sore þey weore of him agast,
Þey blessedyn heom in hast
And coniured him in godes name,
He ne scholde do heom no worldes schame,
And faste on him þey gan to crye,
In godes nome and seynte Marie,
He scholde heom telle, what he weore
And what mesanter brouȝte him þore.
He gan him leyȝe and halde him stille
And let heom cryȝe al heore wille;
And þouȝh þey hadden slayn him þo,
A word neo wolde he speke mo.
And þus þey þreo lyuede þare
Wiþ muche sorwe and wiþ care,
And þer after half a ȝer,
As heo heold him by þe fuyr,
Reouþfully heo gan to grete
And seide to him: “My sone swete,
For þy loue, wiþ oute wene,
Al qwyk schal y dolue beon.”
He onswerde and seide: “Nay,
Dame, þow gabbest, by þis day:
Þer nys no mon no justice,
Þat schal þe deme in none wyse,
Þeo whiles y may go or speke,
Yn eorþe þy body for to wreke.”
Þanne was his modur bliþe womman,
And euery day after þan
He gladed hire wiþ his tale
And tolde hire merueyles feole;
And whan he couþe speke and gon,
Þe justice was redy anon
And eode him forþ anon þan,
He let brynge tofore him þat wommon,
For to resceyue hire juggement;
And whan heo cam in present,
Þeo justice forȝat hit nouȝt,
And egrely he saide his þouȝt
And swor anon by heouene quene,
Al qwyk heo schulde doluen beone.
Heo neo onswerde good no harm,
Bote heold þe child stille in hire arm.
Þeo child onswerde wiþ wordes bolde,
He ne was bote two ȝer olde,
He seide to þe justice wiþ egre mod:
“Sire justice, þou konst litel god,
To do my modur to þeo ded,
And neo wost by hire no qued,
Saue a chaunce, þat hire byfeol,
And þer fore þou dost nouȝt wel,
For euery man may wite by þan,
Þat chaunce may beo nomon:
Þoruȝ chaunce and þoruȝ grace
Into þis world brouȝt y was;
And whan y was þoruȝ chaunce byȝete,
Euery man may wel wite,
Þat my modur oweþ nouȝt
For my loue to deþe beo brouȝt.”
Gret wondur þo hadden hoþe olde and ȝynge
Of þe childes onswerynge,
And þe justice was ful wroþ,
And al alowd he swor his oþ,
Al qwyk heo scholde dolue beo.
“Nay,” seide Merlyn, “so mote y theon,
Þow schalt hit neuer brynge þer to,
For al þat euer þow canst do,
Hit schal nouȝt gon as þow wolt,
For heo neo hadde þer to gult,
And þat y schal preoue þoruȝ skyl,
Mawgrey heom, þat wolen hire spyl:
My fadir, þat byȝat me,
Ys a feond of gret poustee
And wonyþ in þe eyr aboue þe lyȝt
And tempteþ men boþe day and nyȝt,
And þer fore to my modur he wende
And wende al cristendam to haue schende;
He gat me on hire, wiþ owte lesyng,
Þat heo neo wiste þer of no thyng;
And for heo no wiste, whenne hit was,
Y preoue, þat heo is gultles,
For alle þe feondes wende, wiþ me
To haue schent al cristiaunte
And hadde of me a wicked fode,
Bote god haþ me now turned to gode;
And now y am a godes sonde,
For to helpe al Engelonde,
And þoruȝ my fadir,” he seide þan,
“Alle thyng y ȝow telle kan,
Þat euere was and now ys,
Y kan yow telle wel ywis;
And þow neo wost, justice, þan,
Who was þeo fadir, þat þe wan;
And þer fore y preoue, modur þyn
Raþer to beo doluen þen myn!”
Herkeneþ now al þe stryue,
How Merlyn saued his modur lyf!
Þo was þe justice in heorte wo
And to Merlyn he saide þo:
“Þow lyȝest, þow blake couioun!
My fadir was a good baroun
And my modur a leuedy freo:
Ȝet o lyue þow may hire seo.”
“Sire,” he seide, “hold þy mowþ,
Or y schal make hit wide couþ:
Do a mon after hire to gon,
And al so swiþe my seolf al on
Y schal hire don anon beo knowe,
Elles anhong me and todrawe!”
Þe justice after his modur sent,
And whan heo was comen in present,
Þeo justice byfore heom alle
To Merlyn þo gan he calle;
He seide to him: “Belamy,
Beo now so bold and hardy,
To preoue þy tale, ȝef þou can,
Þat þow seydest of þis womman!”
Merlyn onswerde to þe justice:
“Sire, þy dedes buþ nouȝt wyse:
Ȝef y telle þis folk by fore,
How þat þow ware gete and bore,
Þanne schal hit sprynge wide and brode,
Þen hastow lore þy manhod;
Þanne schal þy modur dolue beo,
And þat weore for þe loue of þe!”
Þeo justice þan vndurstod,
Þat Merlyn kouþe muche good;
Into a chaumbre he ladde him þo,
He and Merlyn, wiþ owte mo;
“Merlyn,” he seide, “now preiȝe y þe:
What was þe man, þat byȝat me?”
“Sire,” he seide, “by seynt Symoun,
Hit was þe person of þis toun;
He byȝat þe, by seynt Jame,
Apon þis wommon, þat is þy dame!”
Þe leuedy seide: “þow foule thyng,
Þow hast lowen a stark lesyng:
His fadir was a noble baroun
And holden a mon of gret renoun,
And þow art a mysbyȝete wreche:
Y pray to god, þeo deovel þe feche;
Yn wilde fuyr þow schuldust beo brent,
For wiþ wronge þow hast me schent!”
“Dame,” seide Merlyn, “hold þe stille,
For hit weore boþe ryȝt and skille,
For y wot, wiþ owte wene,
Þow owes qwyk to dolue beone;
For, siþen þou weore to þis world brouȝt,
Al þe werk, þat þou hast wrouȝt,
Y con þe telle ilke a word,
Better þan þow, by oure lord,
How þy sone was byȝeten;
Dame, ȝef þow hast forgeten,
Y can telle þe al þe cas,
How and where and whenne hit was,
Þat þou schalt beo aschamed sore:
Þe weore betre speke namore!”
Þe leuedy was sore amayed,
And Merlyn forþ his tale said:
“Dame,” he saide, “verrament,
Þat tyme þy lord to Cardoyl went,
Hit was by nyȝt and nouȝt by day,
Þe person in þy bed lay,
At þy chaumbre dore þy lord gon knocke,
And þou dudust on þy smok
And weore sore aferd þat tyde
And vndudest a wyndow wyde,
And þer þe person þow out lette,
And he ran awey ful sket:
“Dame,” he seide, “þat ilke nyȝt
Was byȝete þy sone, þe knyȝt.
Dame,” he seide, “lyȝe ich ouȝt?”
And heo stod stille and seide nouȝt.
Þanne was þe justice wroþ and wo,
And to his modur he seide þo:
“Dame,” he seide, “how goþ þis?”
“Sone,” heo seide, “al soþ ywis:
Þauȝ þow me honge by a corde,
He neo lyȝeþ of me no maner worde!”
Þeo justice for schame wax al red
And on his modur schok his hed
And bad hur in haste wende hom
In muche mawgre, as heo com.
“Blyue,” seid Merlyn, “send after a spye,
For to þe person heo wol hire hyȝe
And al þe soþe heo wol him seyn,
How y haue heom bywryȝen;
And whan þeo person haþ herd þis,
Anon for schame and sorwe, ywis,
To a brugge he wol fleo,
Þat neuer mon after schal him seo;
Into þe water starte he wol,
His lif and sowle for to spyl,
And bot hit beo soþ, þat y say,
Baldely do me honge to day!”
Þeo justice, wiþ owte faile,
Dude after Merlyns counsaile;
He sent after a spye bold,
He fond ryȝt as Merlyn told.
Þanne þe justice sat and louȝh,
Him þouȝt, þat Merlyn was wys ynouȝh,
And þer fore, for Merlyns sake,
Him and his modur he lette take
And let heom boþe go qwyt and freo
By fore þeo folk of þat contre.
And whan Merlyn was seoue ȝer old,
He was of dede swiþe bold:
His modur he dude a nonne make
A blak abyte he dude hire take,
And fro þat tyme, verrament,
Heo serued god wiþ good entent.
Now lete we at his modur beon
And to owre tale we turne aȝeyn,
And speke we of þo messangeres,
Þat wenten fro sire Fortageres,
For to seche Merlyn þe bolde,
To haue his blod, as y ow tolde.
So þreo of heom com by cas
In a place, þer Merlyn was,
On playȝyng as he can gon
Wip oþre childre mony mo;
And als þey pleyȝed in þat stede,
On of his felawes him myssede
And gon cryȝe on Merlyn þo:
“Þow blake schrewe, þow go ows fro:
Þow art a foul þyng, geten amys,
Nomon wot, who þy fadir is,
Bote sum deouel þe byȝat, y wene,
To don ows boþe treyȝe and teone!”
Þeo messangers come faste by
And herdyn wel þe childre cry;
Sone anon þey weore byþouȝt,
Þat was þeo child, þat þey souȝt,
And vchon owt his sweord drouȝh,
And Merlyn schok his hed and louȝh:
“Now eouel thryft haue þow, couioun,
Þat þow spak so hyȝh þy rown:
Here comen þe kynges messangeres,
Þat han me souȝt fer and neor,
For to haue myn heorte blod;
Ryȝt now þey þenkyn in heore mod,
For to sle me þis day,
Bote, by my trowthe, ȝef þat y may,
Or þey departe awey fro me,
Wel gode freondes schal we beo!”
Merlyn anon to heom ran,
He grette heom faire, as he wel kan,
And seide: “Welcom beo ȝe, messangeres:
Ȝe comen fro sir Fortageres;
Me to sle is al ȝoure þouȝt,
Þer of schule ȝe spede nouȝt,
For to beore ȝoure kyng my blod;
Þat neuer schal do him good,
For þey, þat tolde him þat tydyng,
Þey lowen on me a strong lesyng,
Þat seide, my blod, wiþ owte wrong,
Schuld make his castel styf and strong:
Þauȝh al þe werk þer on was set,
Neo schulde hit stande neuer þe bet.”
Þeo messangeres haddyn wondur ilkon
And seiden to Merlyn þanne anon:
“Hou konstow telle such priuete?
Tel vs þe soþe, we praieþ þe,
Þat we may haue verray tokenyng,
To avowe owr tale by fore þe kyng!”
Merlyn ladde heom a good pas,
Til he cam, þer his modur was;
Heo tolde heom al þe soþe byfore,
How Merlyn was geten and bore,
And of his wisdam and of his red,
How he saued hire fro ded.
Þeo messangeres, as y ȝow telle,
Al þat nyȝt þey conne þer dwelle;
Amorwe, sone as hit was day,
Þey token leue to wende away,
And also Merlyn þat tide
Rod on a palfray heom by syde,
And wentyn forþ al yfere
Toward þe kyng, sir Fortagere.
As þey þoruȝ þe contre nam,
In a chepyng toun þey cam,
So þat Merlyn, as y þe telle,
Com, þer schon ware to selle.
A gret lawynȝg vp he nam;
Þeo messangeres þo to him cam,
Sone askeden him þo,
Wher fore þat he lowȝ so.
Þan seide Merlyn: “Seo ȝe nouȝt
Þat ȝong mon, þat haþ schon bouȝt
And strong leþer, to do heom clowte,
And gres, to smeore heom al abowte:
He wenyþ to lyue, heom to weore,
Bote, by my sowle, y dar wel sweore,
His wreched lif he schal forlete,
Er he come to his owne gate.”
Þeo messangeres, at þat tide
After þat man gon þey ryde
And fond him ded as any ston,
Er he hadde a forlong gon.
In þat town þey dwelled al nyȝt;
On morwe, whan hit was day lyȝt,
Þey dyȝt heore hors and made heom ȝare,
In heore weye for to fare,
And, as þey wente in heore jornay
Þoruȝ a town of þat contray,
He com by a chirche ȝard;
He mette a cors þyderward
Wiþ preostes, clerkes, syngynge by fore;
Þeo cors was on a bere bore;
Mony mon þer wiþ can gon.
Merlyn byheold heom euer ilkon,
A gret lauȝhyng vp he nam,
Þeo messangeres to him cam;
Þeo messangeres to him rod,
Askeden him wiþ heorte good,
Why he louȝh so schrylle.
Merlyn seide: “By godes wille,
Ȝef heo wiste, why hit weore,
Heo wolde þer fore lauhȝ wel more;
Among þis folk,” he seide þan,
“Y seo anold sely man,
Þat doþ sore weope:
Him war betre skippe and lepe;
Anoþir y seo her go and synge:
He auȝhte betre his hondes wrynge;
Y schal telle ȝow, for why,
Þat ȝe schal haue god rybawdy:
Þat cors, þat ded is and cold,
Hit was a child of ten ȝer old;
Þat ilke preost,” he seide þo,
“Þat goþ by fore and syngeþ so,
He was þe fadir, þeo child byȝat;
And ȝef he weore byþouȝt of þat,
He scholde his hondes wrynge sore
And for þat synne sorewe more,
And now he syngeþ with ioye and blis,
As hit neuer hadde beon his.
And ȝe seon þe sely housbonde
For sorwe and care wrynge his hondes,
He no auhȝt heom nouȝt to wrynge,
For ioye he auȝht skyppe and synge;
Þer fore he is a muche fool,
Þat for his foman makiþ deol,
For he is ded, þe prestes fode,
Þat neuer no scholde do him gode.”
Þeo messangeres euerilkon,
To þe childes modur heo ȝeoden anon,
And Merlyn in a litel þrowe
Made hire al to beon yknowe,
Wher fore heo neo couþe nouȝt say nay,
Bote euer heo preyȝed him nouȝt to say.
Þenne weore þe messangeres bliþe
And in heore weyȝe ryde swiþe;
And as heo ryden in heore way,
Hit feol apon þe þridde day,
Whan hit was abowte hyȝh pryme,
Þan lowȝ Merlyn þe þridde tyme.
Þan axed þey alle yfere,
Why he made þo lauȝhwynge chere.
Merlyn seide þo: “Ywis,
Þauhȝ y lawȝe, no wondur is,
For siþþe þe time, þat ȝe ware bore,
Such wondur herde ȝe neuer ore;
Y schal ȝow telle, wiþ owte oþ,
Þat ȝe schule fynde treowe and soþ;
Herkneþ alle, wiþ owte wouȝh,
Y schal ȝow telle, why y louȝh!
Þis ilke day, by my treowþe,
In þe kynges court is mukil reouþe
Of þe kynges chaumburleyn,
For þe quene, soþ to sayn,
Haþ lowen on hire a lesyng strong,
Men wolen do hire to deþ wiþ wrong;
His chaumburleyn is a womman
And goþ in cloþyng as a man,
And for heo is fair & bryȝt of heowe,
Þeo false quene, þat is vntreowe,
Bysouȝte hire, to beon hire lemman derne,
And heo onswerde and can hire werne;
Nede heo moste þat game forsake,
For heo no hadde takil forþ to take,
For to make hire no counfort,
For hire takil was to schort.
Þer fore þe quene was a fool;
For, hadde heo wist of hire tol,
And how schort hit was wrouȝt,
Heo neo hadde of hire loue souȝt.
Þe quene, for soþe, was amayed,
Þouȝte wel, heo scholde beo wryed,
And wende wel to haue beo schent;
Anon by fore þe kyng heo went
And seide, þat his chaumburleyn
Wiþ streynþe hire wolde haue forleyn.
Þe kyng, for soþe, is wondurwroþ,
And anon he swor his oþ,
Þat heo scholde beo drawe and honge,
Bote, certes, hit is al wiþ wronge;
Þer fore on of ȝow wend hom blywe
Al so swiþe as ȝe may dryue,
And sey to Fortager þe kyng:
“Þe quene haþ lowen a strong lesyng
Apon hire chaumburleyn for hate,
Þer fore bid we, þat heo beo take,
And serche al abowte hire þan,
And ȝe schal fynde hire a womman,
And sey, y sent him so bode,
He schal hit fynde soþ, for gode!”
A knyȝt þer was stowt and fer,
Gan to prike on his destrer,
Þat he no made no targyng,
Til he cam by fore þe kyng.
Whan he com in to þe halle,
Doun on kneos he gon to falle
And seide, as y fynde in boke:
“My lord þe kyng, god þe loke!
Mony a contre we han went
On þy message, þer þou ows sent,
To seke a child of selcouþ mounde,
And such on we han yfounde,
Þat nis bote fyf wynter old;
Þow no herdest neuer of non so bold;
He is cleped child Merlyng,
He kan telle al maner thyng,
Of al, þat was and now is,
He kan ȝow telle wel, ywis,
And he kan telle ȝou ful wel,
What destourbeþ ȝoure castel,
Why hit may not stonde on pleyn,
And al so of þy chaumburleyn,
Þat þow hast mynt to drawe and honge,
He seiþ, for soþe, hit is wiþ wronge,
For to sle a womman,
Þat goþ in cloþyng as a man;
Þer fore do, as we þe sayn:
Let do take þy chaumburleyn
And of hire bondes hire vnbynde:
A womman fair þow schalt hire fynde;
And bote hit beo so, wiþ ryȝt lawe
Do me honge and siþþe todrawe!”
Fortager awondred was,
And alle, þat herden of þat cas;
He comaunded hise men alle,
His chaumburleyn brynge in halle,
Anon hire serchede in þat stounde,
And a womman heo was founde.
Wroþ was þanne Fortager
And asked of þat messanger,
Who him tolde, heo was womman.
“For gode, sire,” he seide þan,
“Merlyn was, þat þis gan say,
Ryȝt as we came by þe way,
For he kan telle, and gabbe nouȝt,
Al þe þyng, þat euer was wrouȝt;
Al þat euer þow konst him frayne,
He wol telle þe soþ, certayne!”
Fortager was glad and bliþe
And seide to þe messanger swiþe:
“Y schal þe ȝeue lond and plowȝ
And make þe riche man ynowȝh;
Þer fore y comaunde now ryȝt,
Duyk, baroun, eorl and knyȝt
Dyȝhte heore hors and make heom ȝare,
Forþ wiþ Fortager to fare!”
He no wolde no lenger byde,
Bote leop to hors and gan to ryde,
To speke wiþ Merlyn þe ȝonge;
So glad he was of his comyng,
Þat, whan hit was come to þe nyȝt,
Wiþ Merlyn he mette ryȝt;
So sone as he him can mete,
Wiþ faire wordes he can him grete;
Of mony thynges heo spaken þan,
Sum þer of telle y can.
Wiþ muche ioye, verrament,
To þe kynges court þey went,
Warn mad wel at ese þat nyȝt.
On morwe, whan hit was day lyȝt,
To þat steode þey went bydene,
Þer þey scholde þeo castel seone.
“Sone,” he seide to Merlyn þan,
“Tel me, child, ȝef þow can,
Why my castel in þis stounde
Ys euery nyȝt falle to grounde,
And why hit may stande nouȝt,
Of so strong thyng as hit is wrouȝt!”
Þanne seide Merlyn to þe kyng:
“Sire, þow schalt here a wondur-thyng:
Here in þis ground arered in deop
A water þer is strong and steop;
Vndur þe water arn stones two,
Muchele and brode and longe al so,
By neoþe þeo stones vndur þe molde
Two dragons lyggen yfolde;
Þat on is whyt so mylkes rem,
Þat oþir is red so fuyres glem,
Wel grisly þey arn of syȝt boþe
And fareþ to gedre, as þey weore wroþe;
And euery day, when hit is nyȝt,
Þey bygynnen a stark fyȝt,
Þat þoruȝ þeo streynthe of heore blast
Þy werk con þey doun cast;
And ȝef þat dragons weore away,
Þan myȝhte þy werkmen vche day
Make þy werk ryȝt at þy wille,
To stonde boþe strong and stille:
Do now loke, and þow schalt seo,
Þat hit beo soþ, y telle þe!”
Fortager comaunded anon
To his werkmen euerychon,
Fiftene þousand and ȝet mo,
He bad heom alle loke, ȝef hit ware so,
Anon þey doluen in þe grounde,
And a water þer þey fonde,
Among heom alle, soþ to telle,
Þey maden two deope welles;
Al þe water þey brouȝt out þo;
And whan þey hadden so ydo,
By neoþen at þeo watres grounde
Two grete stones þey founde;
Mony men redy þer weoren,
Þeo two stones vp to reren;
And whan þat þey weoren vp yrent,
Two dragons þer weoren ybent
Wiþ longe tailes feole fold,
And fond ryȝt as Merlyn told:
Þat on dragon was red so fuyr,
Wiþ bryȝes of eyȝne as basyn cler;
His tayl was gret and noþyng smal,
His body was vnruyde wiþ al.
His schaft may nomon telle,
He loked as a feond of helle.
Þe whyte dragoun lay him by,
Steorne of lok and grysly,
His mouþ and þrote ȝonede wide,
Þeo fuyr barst owt on ilk a side;
His tayl was ragged as a feond,
And apon his tayles ende
Þer was schaped a grysly hed,
To fyȝte wiþ þe dragoun red;
For Merlyn seide, for soþe aplyȝt,
So grysly weore þey boþe of syȝt,
Whan þey scholde vp aryse,
Mony a mon þer schal agryse.
Anon þey rysen of heore den,
Þer weore ferd mony men;
Al þat folk, þer was þat tide,
Þer dorste non lengor abide.
Some fellen for ferd in swowȝ,
And Merlyn clapte his hond and lowȝ.
Þe rede dragoun and þeo white,
Harde to gedre gon þay smyte
Wiþ mouth, powe and wiþ tayl,
By tweone heom was ful hard batayl,
Þat þeo eorþe donede þo
And lodly weder wax þer þo.
So strong fuyr þey casten anon,
Þat þe pleynes þer of schon,
And sparklede abowte bryȝt,
As doþ þe fuyr from þondur lyȝt.
So þey fouȝhte, for soþe to say,
Al þe longe somores day;
Þey no stynten neuere of fyȝhtyng,
Til þe euesong con rynge.
So in þat tyme, as y ȝow telle,
Þe rede dragoun, þat was so felle,
Drof þeo white feor adoun
In to þe pleynes a gret vyroun,
Til þey come to a valeye,
Þere þey rested heom boþe tweye,
Wel þe montaunce of a whyle,
Þat a mon myȝte gon a myle,
And þer þe whyte couered his flyȝt
And wax egre for to fyȝt,
And egrely, wiþ owte fayle,
Þeo rede dragoun he gon assaille
And drof þeo rede ryȝt aȝeyn,
Til he cam in to þe pleyn,
And þer þeo whyte anon ryȝt
Hente þe rede wiþ al his myȝt,
And to þeo grounde he him cast
And wiþ þe fuyr of his blast
Al to gedre brente þe rede,
Þat neuere of him was founden schrede,
Bote dost vp on þe ground lay;
And þe white went away,
Þat neuer siþen after þan
Neo herde mon, wher he bycam.
Þenne seide Merlyn þe ȝynge
Among heom alle by fore þe kynge,
And seide to him wiþ wordes bolde:
“Now is hit soþ, þat y ȝow tolde,
Hit is soþ, þow may hit seo,
Þer fore for loue y prayȝe þe,
Do now þe clerkes by fore me brynge,
Þat lowen on me þat lesynge,
And y schal aske heom by forn,
Why þey wolde, my blod war lorn.
Þey onswerde wiþ wordes mylde
Dredfully to þat childe
And seiden, þey sawe witerly,
By neoþen þeo weolkene þey sawe a sky,
Þat schewed heom al his byȝate,
How he was in eorþe ylaten,
And þoruȝ his blod þe kynges castel
Scholde stonde strong and wel;
“So wende we, verrament:
Do now wiþ ows ȝoure talent!”
Þanne onswerde Merlyn þo:
“He was a schrewe, þat schewed so!
Þat sky,” he seide, ‘þat schewed ȝow þat,
He was þeo fader, þat me byȝat,
And for y serue him nouȝt at wille,
He wolde do my blod to spille;
And for he haþ so bygyled ȝow,
Sire Fortager, now preyȝ y ȝow,
Þat ȝe graunten heom to lyue,
And al my wraþþe y heom forgyue.”
Þe kyng heom graunted al so blyue,
Þo weore þe clerkes glad and blyþe;
Forþ heo wenten to heore yn,
And wiþ heom wente child Merlyn.
Merlyn was wiþ Fortager
To his counsail al þat ȝer;
Þoruȝ his wisdam and his counsail
Þeo castel was strong, wiþ owte fayle.
And whan þe castel was al wrouȝt,
Eorles and barouns þe kyng bysouȝt,
Þat heo scholde wite at Merlyn þo,
Why þat þeo dragouns fouȝten so;
Hit was sum tokenyng, þey seiden alle,
Of sum auenture, þat scholde byfalle.
Merlyn was brouȝt by fore þe kyng,
He him asked, wiþ owte lesyng,
What þat tokenyng myȝte beone,
Þeo fyȝtyng of þeo dragouns kene.
Merlyn stod and made daunger,
Þenne byspak him Fortager
And seide: “Merlyn, bote þow me telle,
Anon y schal þe quelle!”
Þanne onswerde Merlyn, aplyȝt,
Wiþ gret wrathþe anon ryȝt
And seide: “Sire, wiþ owte wene,
Þat day schaltow neuer seone,
Þauȝh þow take þy sweord in honde,
Me to sle or brynge in bonde:
Ȝet may þow faile of al þy fare,
As doþ þe grehound of þe hare!
Y warne þe wel, sire Fortager,
Y no ȝeue no thyng of þy daunger;
Bote ȝef þow wolt me fynde borwe,
Þat þow schalt do me no sorwe,
Þan wol y telle þe al by dene,
Þe fyȝhtyng of þeo dragouns kene;
And bote þow so wolt, by oure lord,
Y no wol þe telle neuer a word!”
Alle þe barouns and þe kyng
Hadden wondur of his onsweryng;
Two barouns þe kyng him fond,
Þeo beste, þat weoren þe lond,
And þer to sworen on a bok,
Þat men schulde him non harme loke.
Þan he tolde al by dene
Þe fyȝhtyng of þeo dragouns kene,
Þanne seide Merlyn to þe kyng:
“Sire, vndurstond my sayȝyng:
Þe red dragoun, so foul of syȝt,
Bytokenyþ þy seolue and þy myȝt,
And þoruȝ þy false procuryng
Moyne was slayn, þe ȝonge kyng.
Þow sawe, þe rede þe whyte drof
Feor doun in to þe groff:
Þat bytokenyþ þeo ayres, þow dudest fleme
Wiþ wronge owt of heore ryȝt rewme,
And al þe folk, þat wiȝ heom heold,
Boþe in towne and in feld.
Þeo whyte dragoun doþ signefyȝe
Þe ryȝhte heires han gret envye,
Þat þow holdust al heore lond
Wiþ wronge in þyn owne hond;
And al so þe whyte, þow say,
Kouorede his flyght in þe valay
And drof þe rede dragoun agayn,
Til he com in to þe playn,
And to grounde he him kast
And wiþ þe fuyr of his blast
Al to powder brente þe rede,
Þat neuere of him was founde schrede:
Þat bytokenyþ þeo heires by ȝonden,
Þat arn waxen and socour founden
And arn redy, wiþ mony a knyȝt
Aȝeyns þe to holde fyȝt;
In to þis castel þey schule þe dryue
Wiþ þy childre and wiþ þy wyue,
And alle, þat buþ wiþ þe þenne,
In to þe ground men schal ȝow brenne;
And þe kyng, sire Aungys,
Schal beo slayn and holde no pris;
His kynrade and þyn al so
Schal don Engelond mukil wo.
Þe hed apon þe whytes tayl,
Þat bytokenyþ, wiþ owte fayle,
Þe heires, þat buþ treowe and gode,
Schal distryen al þy blode.
Sire Fortager, þis is þe tokenyng
Of þe dragouns fyȝhtyng:
As y þe seyȝe, wiþ owten oþ,
Þow schalt hit fynde siker and soþ!”
Stille him stod sire Fortager
And bot his lippe wiþ dreory cher
And seide to Merlyn: “Wiþ owte faile,
Þow most me telle sum counsaile,
Wiþ owte chest, wiþ owte stryf,
How y may best saue my lif.”
Þan Merlyn gan stande stille
And onswerede him wiþ wordes grylle
And seide: “Sire, wiþ owte wene,
Þus hit moste nedes beone,
And þer fore, so god ȝeue me rest,
Y no can no red, bote do þy best!”
Fortager seide: “Bote þow me telle,
Anon y schal do þe quelle!”
He start vp and wolde haue him rawȝt,
Bote, where he was, he no wiste nouȝt;
So sone he was awayȝe þan,
Þat in þe halle wiste no man,
Hyȝh no lowȝh, sweyn ny grom,
Þat wiste, wher Merlyn bycom.
Þo wente Merlyn hastely
To þe hermyte, þat hyȝhte Blasy,
And tolde him, wiþ owte lesyng,
How he hadde serued þe kyng,
And tolde him, wiþ owte wrong,
Þe fyȝhtyng of þe dragouns strong,
Of þe rede and of þe whyte;
He dude a gret bok sone wryte
And tolde, þat þeo rede dragoun
Bytokenyþ gret destruccioun
Þoruȝ Fortageres kynde, ywis,
And þe heþene kyng Aungys;
In Engelond schulde beo afterward
Strong bataile and happes hard.
Al þat Merlyn tolde and seide,
In scripture hit was leyde,
Of alle þe auentures, y vndurstonde,
Þat euer schal beo in Engelonde;
Bote for hit is so derk þyng,
Þat Merlyn made in his seyȝyng,
Fewe men, wiþ owte wene,
Konne vndurstonde, what hit may mene;
Bote, ȝef ȝe wolen a stounde dwelle,
Of oþir thyng y wol ȝow telle,
Of þe hende childre two,
Vter and Pendragon al so.
Y tolde yow, y vndurstonde,
How þey weore flemed owt of londe;
Now wol y telle ȝow for certayn,
In what maner þey com agayn
Wiþ gret streynthe and power,
And how þey drof sire Fortager
Forþ in to his castel strong
For his vnryȝt and his wrong,
And how þey brente him, flesch and bon,
And how þey can kyng Aungys slon;
Y wol ȝow telle, in what manere:
Listenyþ now, and ȝe may here!
A mury tyme hit is in May,
Whan spryngyþ þe somores day
And damyseles caroles lediþ,
On grene wode fowles grediþ.
So in þat tyme, as ȝe may here,
Two barouns com to Fortagere
And seiden: “My lord þe kyng,
We haue ȝow brouȝt an hard tydyng
Of Pendragon, þat is þy fo,
And of Vter, his broþir, al so:
Þey arn come in to þis lond
Wiþ mony a knyȝt douȝhty of hond;
Þey no wolen stynte nouȝt,
Til þat þow beo to grounde brouȝt;
Þey arn at Wynchestre al most,
Þer fore send abowte in hast
To alle þy freondes, y þe rede,
For þow no haddest neuer so much nede!”
Vp him starte Fortageres
And clepede to him messangeres,
To Wynchestre he heom sent
And bad heom, þoruȝ his comaundement,
Aȝeyn Vter and Pendragoun
Þey schulde schutte þe ȝates anon,
As þey wolde his loue wynne,
Þey schold nouȝt lete heom come þer ynne,
And he wolde come, wiþ owte ȝelp,
Wiþ mony a mon heom to helpe.
Oþir messangeres he sent, ywis,
To þe heþene kyng Aungys
And bad him come to helpe at nede
Wiþ al þe folk, he myȝhte owt lede,
For to fyȝhte aȝeyn his fon,
Þat weore come him to slon.
Whan þe kyng Aungys was come,
And heore armes haddyn ynome,
Þey prykedyn faste anon
Toward Wynchester euerychon;
Her þey haluendel com þare,
Vter and Pendragon ware þare;
Þey ware come Wynchestre so nyȝh,
And heore baner heo reryd an hyȝh,
Armes heo schewed ryche ykore,
Þat hadde beon heore fadres by fore.
Þeo burgoys, þat þe baner kneow,
Þanne at furst gon heom rewe
Þe deþ of Constaunce þe kyng,
And þat Moyne was slawe so ȝyng,
And seide, Fortager was traytour in lym and lyth
And al, þat euer heold him wiþ,
And seiden, þey wolde lete in to þe toun
Boþe Vter and Pendragon
And sese þer in to heore honde,
For þey weore heyres of þat londe.
Þey setten open þe ȝates wyde
And letten Pendragon yn ryde,
And Vter, his broþir, al so,
And alle, þat come wiþ heom þo;
Þey ȝoldyn heom boþe toun and tour
And duden heom ful gret honour,
Þat euermore Wynchestre after þan
Gret þank and freodam of heom wan.
And whan Fortager, þat felle,
Þe soþe tidyng herde telle,
Þat Vter and Pendragon
Ware leten in to Wynchestre toun,
For wrathþe he was nyȝh owt of wit
And seide, hit scholde heom sowre sitte;
He comaunded his men fast,
To pryke to Wynchestre in hast.
And whan Pendragon had vndurnomen,
Þat Fortager was þider ycomen,
He comaunded anon þan
To horse and armes ilke a man.
Þey casten open þe ȝates wide,
And alle þey gonne owt ryde
And dyȝhten heom, wiþ owte faile,
To ȝeue sir Fortager bataile.
Bote þe Englysche barouns al yfere,
Þat war come wiþ Fortagere,
Whan þay conne þat folk seon,
Þat som whyle hadde heore kynne beon,
Wiþ Fortager was mony a knyȝt,
Þat kneow þe baner anon ryȝt;
Wel a þowsand and mo, þer weore,
Þat hadde serued heore fadir byfore,
Seiden, Fortager was fals in felde
And al, þat euer wiþ him heold.
To Fortager þey ran anon
And woldyn haue slayn him anon;
Þey haddyn mynt a slayn him þere,
Bote al to litel was heore powere;
For aȝeyn on of heom
Fortager hadde twenty men,
Þat weore comen al to gedre,
Wiþ kyng Aungys þider.
Kyng Fortager and kyng Aungys
For wrathþe weore neor wode, ywis;
He comaunded al his rowte,
To bysette heom al abowte,
And swar, þer schulde askape non,
Þat þey ne scholde beo slayn vchon.
Schaftes þey brak and launces drowen,
Monye of þe barouns þey slowen,
Bote þey weore so stronge and wyȝt
And fouȝhten aȝeyn wiþ al heore myȝt,
For noþyng wolde þey ȝelde heom þan,
Bote slowen mony an heþen man;
Faste on heom þey gon to hewe,
Bote, allas, þey weore to fewe,
For þoruȝ þat contek and þat stryf
Half an hundred laften heore lif.
Bote a baroun was so strong,
Þat askaped owt of þat þrong;
He priked his stede wiþ gret raundoun,
Til he com to Pendragon;
He saide: “þow art kynde eyr of londe,
To my tale þow vndurstonde:
For þe loue of þy broþir and þe
Hider y come, to helpe þe;
Þer fore arn we now yschent,
For we wiþ wille to þe went;
Kyng Fortager and kyng Aungys
Wiþ mony a Sarsyn of gret pris
Schal ows hewe doun to grounde,
Bote ȝe helpe ows in þis stounde;
And for þat we arn schent for þe,
Go help ows now, par charite!”
Hit was no ned, to bydde heom ryde,
Þeo folk sprad owt on vche a side,
And whan þey weore to gedre met,
Þer weore strokes wel byset;
Þer fauȝt Vter and Pendragouns,
As þey weore wode lyouns,
And Vter þo nouȝt forȝat,
Þat he no ȝaf Sarsynes mony a flat;
Mony Sarsynes hed anon
He strok of by þe nekke-bon.
Gret folk on boþe syde
Þer was slawe at þat tide.
Kyng Fortager, wiþ owte faile,
Was ouercome in þat bataile,
And, mawgre him and alle his,
Þat weoren wiþ kyng Aungys,
Þey weore dryuen so nyȝh,
In to a castel þat þey fleyh,
Þat was boþe god and mury,
Apon þe pleyn of Salesbury.
Pendragon and his broþir Vter
Prikeden after sir Fortager,
And whan þey to þat castel come,
Wilde fuyr anon þey nome
And casten hit ouer þe wal wiþ gynne;
And al so swiþe hit was wiþ ynne,
Hit gan to brenne owt of wit,
Þat noman myȝhte staunchen hit;
And Fortager wiþ child and wyf
And al, þat was þer ynne on lyue,
Best and mon, wiþ lym and lyth
Hit brente doun, wiþ owte gryth.
Fortager regnede here
Al fully seouen ȝere.
Now preyȝe we Jesu, heouene kyng,
And his modur, þat swete þyng,
He blesse ows alle wiþ his hond
And sende ows pes in Engelond!
Now when Vortiger was brent,
Vther & Pendragon went,
For to beseege king Anguis
In his castle soe strong of price,
Wither he was fled for dread & doubt;
& Pendragon with all his rout
Besett him soe on euery side,
That noe man might scape that tyde.
But king Anguis within that castel
Was bestowed soe wonderous well,
& soe stronglye itt was wrought,
That noe man might deere itt nought.
& when they had beseeged him longe
About the castle, that was soe stronge,
& when noe man might him deere,
5 barrons comen there,
That had beene with Vortiger,
& told Pendragon & Vther,
How Merlyne was begotten & borne,
& how he came the king beforne,
& what words he him tolde
Of the dragons vnder the mould,
& how the king wold haue him slaine,
& noe man wott, where he become,
& said: “Sir, verament,
& Merline were here present,
Throughe his councell you shall anon
Kinge Anguis ouercome!”
Pendragon was woundred thoe,
& soe was his brother Vther alsoe,
& sent anon the knights 5,
For to seeke Merlyn beliue,
& bade them, if they found the child,
To pray him with words milde,
To come & speake with Pendragon
& Vther in his pauillyon,
Them to wishe & them to reade,
&, if hee might, helpe them att neede,
For to winne that strong hold,
& he shold haue, what he wold.
The messengers forth went,
To seeke Merlyn, with good entent,
& fare & wyde they him sought,
But of him they heard right nought.
Soe on a day the messengers,
As they were sett att their dinners
In a taverne in the west countrye,
With meate & drinke great plentye,
An old churle, hee came in
With a white beard vpon his chine,
& a staffe in his hand he had
& shoone on feete full well made,
And begunn to craue more,
& said, he was anhungred sore,
& praid them on the bench aboue,
To giue him something for gods loue.
& they then sayd, with out leasinge,
That he shold haue of them nothinge,
& sayd: “If that the churle be old,
He is a stronge man & a bolde
& might goe worke for his meate,
If he itt wold with truth gett!”
& called to him euereche one
& bade him trusse & away gone,
& sware by the ruth, that god them gaue
He shold drinke with his owne staffe.
Then Merlyn answered yorne:
“Fellow,” hee sayd, “I am noe churle,
I am an old man of this worlde
& many wonders seene & hearde,
& yee be wretches & younge of blood,
&, forsooth, can litle good;
& if yee knew, as yee nay can,
Yee shold scorne noe old man:
Yee shold be in the kings neede,
For old men can yee wishe and reede,
Where yee shold find Merlyn the chylde;
Therfore the king was full wilde,
To send madmen out off rage,
For to goe on such a message;
For Merlyn is of such manner,
If he stood before you here
& spake to you right att this dore,
You shold know him neuer the more;
For 3se this day you haue him mett,
& yett yee know him neuer the bett;
& therfore wend home, by my reed,
For him to find you shall not speed,
& bydd that prince take barrons 5
& bydde come & speake to Merlyn belyue,
& say, that he shall them abyde
Right here by this forrests side!”
& when he had said to them this,
Anon he was away, iwisse,
& there wist of them none,
Where this old man was become.
The messengers wondred all,
Where the churle was befall,
& all about they him sought,
But of him they heard nought;
For in story it is told,
The churle, that was soe stout & bold,
That spake soe to the messengers,
As they sate att their dinners,
Forsooth, itt was Merline the younge,
That made to them this scorninge.
The messenger went soone anon
& told Vther & Pendragon,
& how the churle to them had tolde
& sware to them with words bold,
& told them, how Merlyne the chylde
Was byding in the forrest wylde
& bade them take barrons 5,
To come and speake with him belyue,
& sayd, Merlyn wold them abyde
Att such a place by the forrest syde.
Pendragon had wonder thoe,
& Vther, his brother, alsoe;
Pendragon bade his brother gent,
To the seege to take good tent,
That king Anguis scaped not away,
Neither by night nor yett by day,
Till they were of him wreake,
For he wold goe with Merlyn speake.
Then Pendragon with barrons 5
Went forth alsoe belyue;
And when Pendragon was forth went,
Merlyn anon, verament,
Wist full well, that he was gone,
& to Vther he came anon;
As itt were a stout garson,
He came to Vthers pauillyon
& said: “Vther, listen to mee,
For of thy harme I will warne thee,
For I know well, with outen fayle,
All king Anguis counsaile,
For he will come this ilke night
With many a man full well dight
& into the forrest slippe anon,
For to waite thee for to sloen;
But her of haue thou noe dowbt,
But warne thy host all about,
That they be armed swithe & weele,
Both in iron & eke in steele,
& gather together all thy host
& hold yee still with outen bost,
Till that hee bee amonge ye comen,
For he shalbe the first groome,
That shall vpon thy pauillion ren;
& looke, that thou be ready then,
& heard on him looke thow hewe
& spare not that old shrewe,
For thou shalt slay him with thy hand
& winne the price from all this land!”
& when he had told him all this case,
He vanished away from that place.
Great wonder had Vther thoe,
That he was escaped soe,
& thought, itt was gods sonde,
That warned him that stonde,
That had soe warned him of his fone
& was soe lightlye from him gone.
& when itt drew vnto the night,
King Anguis anon right
Did arme his men wrath & prest,
3000 men of the best,
& said, how a spye had tolde,
That Pendragon, the prince bold,
Forth into the country is gone
& left his brother Vther att home;
Therfore, he sayd, he will out breake,
& on Vther he wold him wreake,
& sware an othe by Mahound,
He wold kill him in his pauillyon.
& soone they were ready dight;
Then king Anguis, anon right
Forthe of the castle he can ryde
With 3000 by his syde,
& forthe he went without bost,
Vntill he came to Vthers host.
& when he was comen right,
Where Vthers pauillyon was pight,
King Anguis, a fell felon,
He hyed him to the pauillyon
& thought to slay Vther therin;
But he was beguiled thorrow Merlyine,
For Merlyne had that ilke morrow
Warned Vther of all the sorrow,
How king Anguis was bethought;
Therfore in his pauillyon was he nought,
But had taken the feild with out
With many a hardye man & stout.
& Vther was a hardy man;
Vpon king Anguis hee ran
& smote him att the first blow,
That he cane him ouerthrowe;
& Vther, with his sword soe smart
He smote him thorrow the hart
& hent him by the head anon
& stroke itt from the necke-bone.
And when the Sarazens this can see,
Fast away can they flee
To the castle euereche one
& left their lord all alone;
But, or they might scape againe,
500 were all slayne
Of the stoutest, that were there,
That came with their king ifere.
Now let we him be for a season,
& let us turne to Pendragon,
That was gone to the forrest wilde,
To speake with Merlyn the chylde.
The first time he asked for Merlyn,
He see a heardsman keeping swine,
With an old hatt vpon his head,
& in gray russett was he cladd,
And a good staffe in his hand,
& a white whelpe him followande;
Stalworth he seemed & well made.
The prince anon to him roade
& well fayre he can him fraine,
Giff he heard ought of Merlyn,
& whether hee cold tell him any tythinge,
Where was his most wininge.
“Yea, sir,” he sayd, “by seint Marye,
Right now was Merlyn here with mee;
& thou had comen eare, indeed,
Thou might haue found him in that stead;
& if thou Merlyn ken can,
He is not yett far gone;
& therfore ryde forth in this way,
As fast as euer thou may,
& on thy right hand rathe
Thou shalt find a verry faire path,
That thorrow the faire forrest lyeth,
& in that way thou ryde swithe,
&, seekerlye, with outen weene,
Soone thou may Merlyn seene.”
Then was the prince glad & blythe
& sped him forth swithe;
& as he hard, soe he itt found,
A well faire path on his right hand.
They turned their horsses euereche one,
& in that path they rydden anon,
& with Merlyn they metten then,
&, as itt were a stout chapmon,
He bare a great packe on his backe;
& to him the prince full faire spake
& asked him, if hee see Merlyn:
“Yea,” said he, “by seint Martin,
A little heere before your sight;
He is not farr, I you plyght;
To you I say, by seint John,
He is not yett far gone,
& therfore ryde forth beliue,
As fast as your horsses may driue,
& yee shall find him in a wyle,
By then yee haue rydden a myle;
With Merlyn yee shall meete then,
Or yee shall speake with some other man,
That shall you tell full right,
Where you shall haue of Merlyn a sight!”
& when he had thus sayd,
They pricked forth in a brayd;
& by they had rydden a stonde,
As he him said, with out wronge,
He mett with Merlyn on the playne,
As he were a doughtye swaine,
All cloathed in robes soe gay,
As it had beene a monke gray,
& bare a gauelocke in his hand;
His speeche was of another land.
He, when the prince had him mett,
Faire & hendlye he did him greete.
Then the prince was all heauye
& asked him of his curtesie,
If he mett by the way
With chyld Merlyn that day.
“Yea, sir,” hee said, “by seint Michaelle,
Merlyn I know verry well,
For right now, sikerlye,
Merlyin was here fast by,
& had yee rydden a litle bett,
With Merlyn yee might haue mett;
But, sir, I say with out othee,
He is a quante boy, for soothe;
Soe well I know Merlyns thought:
With out my helpe you find him nought;
& if of him yee will haue speech,
Then must you doe, as I to you teache:
Att the next towne here beside,
There you must Merlyn abyde
& in the towne take your ine;
&, certainly, then child Merlyn
Shall come to you this ilke night,
& there yee shall of him haue sight,
& then yee may both lowed & still
Speake with Merlyn all that you will!”
Then was the prince blythe & glad
& pricked forth, as he were madd,
& tooke his inne in the towne,
As shold a lord of great renowne.
Now may you heare in this time,
How Merlyn came the 5th time,
& how he the prince mett,
& on what manner he him grett
& became to him as councellour:
Hearken to me, & you shall heare!
When itt was with in the night,
Merlyn came to the king full right,
Right in the guise of a swayne,
As he was in the forrest seene,
& sayd, as I find in the booke:
“Sir prince, god send you good lucke!
Loe, I am heere, that thou hast sought:
Tell me, what is thy thought,
& what thou wilt to me saine,
For I wold heare thee wonderous faine!”
Then vpstart Pendragon
& into his armes he him nume;
To bide with him he did him craue,
& what hee wold aske, he shold haue.
& Merlyn sayd, verament,
He wold be att his commandement;
Ouer all, where soe he were,
He wold be att his bydding yare.
Then was the prince gladd & blyth
& thanked Merlyn many a sythe;
Then sayd Merlyn: “Sir, will you heare?
I come from thy brother deere;
For through my councell hee hath this night
Slaine king Anguis, I you plight.”
Then was the prince blythe & gladd
& great solace & myrth made;
& all, that were there, were full faine,
& on the morrow rod home againe
& found king Anguis slaine,
His head sett vp, his body drawne.
Pendragon asked Vther, iwis,
Who had slaine king Anguis,
& he answered and can saine,
That he was warned by a swayne.
When he had told all, how he did,
He thanked god in that steade.
Then bespake Pendragon
& sayd to Vther anon:
“Hee, that thee holpe att need thine,
Forsooth, itt was child Merlyn,
That standeth now here by thee.”
Vther him thanked with hart free
& prayd him then, in all thing
That he wold be att his bidding.
Then they wenten to the castle, with out lesse,
Wherein many a Sarazen was,
That noe man might to them winne
By noe manner of gynne;
& therfore the oste still lay,
Till after vpon the 3d day
Word came from the Sarazen,
Where they lay in castle fine,
That they wold yeeld vp the castel,
If they might passe well
To their land with outen dere;
Vpon a booke they wold sweare,
That they shold neuer againe come.
But Merlyn sent them word soone,
That they shold passe eache one
By leaue of sir Pendragon.
& when they had all sworne & some,
That they wold neuer in this land come,
They passed anon to the sea strond
& went into their owne land.
Then to Pendragon the crowne they name,
& king of Englande he became,
& in England he raigned king
But 3 yeere, with out leasing,
& after he was slaine rathe
With Sarazens, & that was scathe;
I shall you tell, in whatt manner:
Listen a while & you shall heare!
That time in the land of Denmarke
2 Sarazens where stout & starke,
& were of king Anguis kinde,
Of his next blood, that was soe hynde;
The one was come of the brother,
& of the sister came the other.
Strong men they were & fell,
& theire names I can you tell:
The one was called sir Gamor,
& the other sir Malador.
Gamor came of the brother beforne,
The other was of the sister borne;
Great lords were they of land:
Sir Malador held in his hand
2 duchyes, & Gamor 3;
Stowter men might none bee.
When they heard, how king Anguis
In England was slaine, iwis,
Altogether can they speake,
Theire vnckles death they wold wreake;
& soe great an oste together they brought,
That the number I can tell nought;
But vnto shipp they gone anon,
& the sea to flowe began,
The winde soe well began to blow,
That they landed att Bristowe.
Then Merlyn knew itt well anon
& told itt Vther & Pendragon,
How there was comen from Denmarke
A stronge oste, stout & starke,
With many Sarazens of price,
For to auenge king Anguis.
“In England,” sayd Merlyn then,
“Such an oste was neuer seene;
I say to you, with outen layne,
The one of you shalbe slayne;
& whether of you soe ere it is,
Shall haue to meede heauens blisse.”
But for noe meede he wold not saine,
Whether of them shold be slaine;
But neuer the lesse yee shall heare,
Merlyn loued well Vther,
The least heere, that was on his crowne,
Then all the body of Pendragon.
Hee bade them dight them anon,
Against their foemen for to gone,
& sayd, Pendragon, with out fayle,
Vppon the land shold them assayle:
& Vther, alsoe I bidd thee,
Thou shalt wend by the sea
& looke, that theere scapen none,
Till they be slaine euerye eche one!”
Pendragon was a doughtye knight
& fell & egar for to fight;
He neuer for stroakes wold forbeare
Against noe man, with sheeld or speare,
Nor better did non, with outen fayle,
& that was seene in that battaile:
He tooke his oaste with might & mayne
& went the Sarazens fast againe;
& when they were together mett,
There were strokes sadlye sett;
Many a heathen Sarazen
He cloue downe to the chin,
Many a man was sticked tho,
& many a good steed was slayne alsoe.
The booke saith, with outen lye,
There was done such chiualrye,
Of the folke, that Pendragon fell,
Noe man can the number tell.
& Vther to the sea went,
& Merlyn told him, verament,
That he shold not that day be slaine.
Then was Vther wonderous fayne
& in his hart soe wonderous lyght,
That hee was feirce & fell in fight,
& egerlye, with out fayle,
The Sarazens he can assayle
& fast against them can stryde,
That many a Sarazen lost their liffe.
Pendragon & his folke, in hast
The Sarazens fast to ground they cast,
That there were none, against them stoode,
But fledd away, as they were wood.
But Vther in that ilke tyde
Kept them in on the other syde;
With strong battayle & strokes hard
He droue them all againe backward;
& when that they noe further might,
On Pendragon can they light,
A 100 Sarazens on a rowte
Att once layd him all about.
Who soe had seene Pendragon then,
He might haue seene a doughtye man,
For all, that he might euer reach,
Trulye, they need noe other leech.
The Sarazens stout & grim
Slew his steed vnder him;
& when hee had lost his steed,
Great ruthe itt is in bookes to reede
How that he on foote stood,
Till that he lost his harts bloode.
A 100 Sarazens att a brayd
All att once att him layd
& broken him body & arme
& slew him there, & that was harme.
& when that Vther vnderstoode,
His brother was slaine, he waxt neere woode
& bade his men fast fight,
& he bestirrde him like a knight;
Of all the Sarazens, that were left aliue,
There scaped noe more but 5;
Of the christian men were but slane
3031, certane;
& in that ilke country thoe
A mile might noe man goe,
Neither by dale nor by downe,
But he shold tread on a dead man.
And when itt was against the night,
Vther had discomfited them in fight;
He went home into his inne
& asket councell of Merlyne.
Pendragon was out sought
& to the church full fayre brought;
He was grauen & layd full merrye
In the towne of Glasenburye,
& thus ended that doughtye knight:
God grant his soule to blisse soe bright,
& all, that done soe for the right,
I pray Jesu for his might,
He grant them heauens blisse aboue!
Amen, Amen, for his mothers loue!