 | The Romance of Emaré |  |
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Square brackets denote editorial insertions or emendations. Round brackets denote words or letters that the editor considers erroneous or superfluous.
Emare.
1
Ihesu, þat ys kyng in trone,As þou shoope boþe sonne and mone,
And alle þat shalle dele and dyghte,
Now lene vs grace such dedus to done,
In þy blys þat we may wone,
Men calle hyt heuen lyghte;
And þy modur Mary, heuyn qwene,
Bere our arunde so bytwene,
That semely ys of syght,
To þy sone þat ys so fre,
In heuen wyth hym þat we may be,
That lord ys most of myght.
2
Menstrelles þat walken fer and wyde,Her and þer in euery a syde,
In mony a dyuerse londe,
Sholde, at her bygynnyng,
Speke of þat ryghtwes kyng
That made both see and sonde.
Who-so wylle a stounde dwelle,
Of mykylle myrght y may ȝou telle,
And mornyng þer a-monge;
Of a lady fayr and fre,
Her name was called Emare,
As I here synge in songe.
2
3
Her fadyr was an emperour,Of castelle and of ryche towre,
Syr Artyus was hys nome;
He hadde boþe hallys and bowrys,
Frythes fayr, forestes wyth flowrys,
So gret a lord was none.
Weddedde he had a lady,
That was both fayr and semely,
Whyte as whales bone;
Dame Erayne hette þat emperes,
She was fulle of loue and goodnesse,
So curtays lady was none.
4
Syr Artyus was þe best manneIn þe worlde þat lyuede þanne,
Both hardy and þer-to wyght;
He was curtays in alle þyng,
Bothe to olde and to ȝynge,
And welle kowth dele and dyght.
He hadde but on chyld in hys lyue,
Be-geten on hys weddedde wyfe,
And þat was fayr and bryght;
For soþe, as y may telle þe,
They called þat chyld Emare,
That semely was of syght.
5
When she was of her modur born,She was þe fayrest creature borne,
That yn þe lond was þoo;
The emperes, þat fayr ladye,
Fro her lord gan she dye,
Or hyt kowþe speke or goo.
The chyld, þat was fayr and gent,
To a lady was hyt sente,
That men kalled Abro;
3
Golde and sylke for to sewe,
Amonge maydenes moo.
6
Abro tawȝte þys mayden smalle,Nortur þat men vseden in sale,
Whyle she was in her bowre.
She was curtays in alle thynge,
Bothe to olde and to ȝynge,
And whythe as lylye flowre;
Of her hondes she was slye,
Alle he[r] loued þat her sye,
Wyth menske and mychyl honour.
At þe mayden leue we,
And at þe lady fayr and fre,
And speke we of þe emperour.
7
The emperour of gentylle blode,Was a curteys lorde and a gode,
In alle maner of thynge.
Aftur, when hys wyf was dede,
And ledde hys lyf yn weddewede,
And myche loued playnge,—
Sone aftur, yn a whyle,
The ryche kynge of Cesyle
To þe emperour gan wende.
A ryche present wyth hym he browght,
A cloth þat was wordylye wroght.
He wellecomed hym as þe hende.
8
Syr Tergaunte þat nobylle knyȝt (hyȝte),He presented þe emperour ryght,
And sette hym on hys kne,
4
Fulle of stones þer hyt was pyght,
As thykke as hyt myght be:
Of(f) topaze and rubyes,
And oþur stones of myche prys,
That semely wer to se;
Of crapowtes and nakette,
As thykke ar þey sette,
For sothe, as y say þe.
9
The cloth was dysplayed sone,The emperour lokede þer-vpone,
And myght[e] hyt not se;
For glysteryng of þe ryche ston
Redy syghte had he non,
And sayde, “How may þys be?”
The emperour sayde on hygh,
“Sertes, þys ys a fayry,
Or ellys a vanyte!”
The Kyng of Cysyle answered þan,
“So ryche a jwelle ys þer non
In alle Crystyante.”
10
The amerayle dowȝter of heþennesMade þys cloth wyth-outen lees,
And wrowȝte hyt alle wyth pride;
And purtreyed hyt wyth gret honour,
Wyth ryche golde and asowr,
And stones on ylke a syde.
And, as þe story telles in honde,
The stones þat yn þys cloth stonde,
Sowȝte þey wer fulle wyde.
Seuen wynter hyt was yn makynge,
Or hyt was browghte to endynge,
In herte ys not to hyde.
5
11
In þat on korner made wasYdoyne and Amadas,
Wyth loue þat was so trewe;
For þey loueden hem wyth honour,
Portrayed þey wer wyth trewe-loue-flour,
Of stones bryght of hewe:
Wyth carbunkulle and safere,
Kassydonys and onyx so clere,
Sette in golde newe;
Deamondes and rubyes,
And oþur stones of mychylle pryse,
And menstrellys wyth her gle[we].
12
In þat oþur corner was dyght,Trystram and Isowde so bryȝt,
That semely wer to se;
And for þey loued hem ryght,
As fulle of stones ar þey dyght,
As thykke as þey may be:
Of topase and of rubyes,
And oþur stones of myche pryse,
That semely wer to se;
Wyth crapawtes and nakette,
Thykke of stones ar þey sette,
For sothe, as y say þe.
13
In þe thrydde korner, wyth gret honour,Was Florys and Dam Blawncheflour,
As loue was hem be-twene;
For þey loued wyth honour,
Purtrayed þey wer wyth trewe-loue-flour,
Wyth stones bryght and shene:
Ther wer knyȝtus and senatowres,
Emerawdes of gret vertucs,
To wyte wyth-outen wene;
6
Perydotes and crystalle,
And gode garnettes by-twene.
14
In the fowrthe korner was oon,Of Babylone þe sowdan sonne,
The amerayles dowȝtyr hym by.
For hys sake þe cloth was wrowght;
She loued hym in hert and thowght,
As testymoyeth þys storye.
The fayr mayden her by-forn
Was portrayed an vnykorn,
Wyth hys horn so hye;
Flowres and bryddes on ylke a syde,
Wyth stones þat wer sowghte wyde,
Stuffed wyth ymagerye.
15
When the cloth to ende was wrowght,To þe sowdan sone hyt was browȝt,
That semely was of syȝte.
“My fadyr was a nobylle man,
Of þe sowdan he hyt wan,
Wyth maystrye and wyth myȝth.
For gret loue he ȝaf hyt me,
I brynge hyt þe in specyalte,
Thys cloth ys rychely dyght.”
He ȝaf hyt þe emperour,
He receyued hyt wyth gret honour,
And þonkede hym fary and ryȝt.
16
The Kyng of Cesyle dwelled þer,As long as hys wylle wer,
Wyth þe emperour for to play;
And when he wolde wende,
He toke hys leue at þe hende,
And wente forth on hys way.
7
The emperour aftur hys dowȝtur hadde longyng,
To speke wyth þat may.
Messengeres forth he sent
Aftyr þe mayde fayr and gent,
That was bryȝt as someres day.
17
Messengeres dyȝte hem in hye;Wyth myche myrthe and melodye,
Forth gon þey fare,
Both by stretes and by stye,
Aftur þat fayr lady,
Was godely vnþur gare.
Her norysse, þat hyȝte Abro,
Wyth her she goth forth also,
And wer sette in a chare.
To þe emperour gan þe[y] go;
He come aȝeyn hem a myle or two;
A fayr metyng was there.
18
The mayden, whyte as lylye flour,Lyȝte aȝeyn (her fadyr) þe emperour;
Two knyȝtes gan her lede.
Her fadyr, þat was of gret renowne,
That of golde wered þe crowne,
Lyȝte of hys stede.
When þey wer bothe on her fete,
He klypped her and kyssed her swete,
And bothe on fote þey ȝede.
They wer glad and made good chere,
To þe palys þey ȝede in fere,
In romans as we rede.
19
Then þe lordes þat wer grete,They wesh and seteñ don to mete,
And folk hem serued swyde.
8
Byfore her owene fadur sete,
The fayrest wommon on lyfe;
That alle hys hert and alle hys þowȝth,
Her to loue was yn browght;
He by-helde her ofte syþe.
So he was an-amored hys þowȝtur tylle,
Wyth her he þowȝth to worche hys wylle,
And wedde her to hys wyfe.
20
And when þe metewhyle was don̄,In-to hys chambur he wente son̄,
And called hys counseyle nere.
He bad þey shulde sone go and come,
And gete leue of þe Pope of Rome,
To wedde þat mayden clere.
Messengeres forth þey wente,
They durste not breke hys commandement,
And erles wyth hem yn fere.
They wente to þe courte of Rome,
And browȝte þe Popus Bullus sone,
To wedde hys dowȝter dere.
21
Þen was þe emperour gladde and blyþe,And lette shape a robe swyþe,
Of þat cloth of golde;
And when hyt was don her vpon,
She semed non erþely wommon,
That marked was of molde.
Then seyde þe emperour so fre,
“Dowȝtyr, y wolle wedde þe,
Thow art so fresh to be-holde.”
Then sayde þat wordy vnþur wede,
“Nay, syr, God of heuen hyt for-bede,
Þat euer do so we shulde!
9
22
Ȝyf hyt so be-tydde þat ȝe me wedde,And we shulde play to-gedur in bedde,
Bothe we were for-lorne!
Þe worde shulde sprynge fer and wyde,
In alle þe worlde on euery syde,
Þe worde shulde be borne.
Ȝe ben a lorde of gret pryce,
Lorde, lette neuur such sorow a-ryce,
Take God ȝou be-forne!
That my fadur shulde wedde me,
God forbede þat I hyt so se,
That wered þe crowne of þhorne!”
23
The emperour was ryght wrothe,And swore many a grete othe,
That deed shulde she be.
He lette make a nobulle boot,
And dede her þer-yn, God wote,
In þe robe of nobulle ble.
She moste haue wyth her no spendyng,
Noþur mete ne drynke;
But shate her yn-to þe se.
Now þe lady dwelled þore,
Wyth-owte anker or ore,
And þat was gret pyte!
24
Ther come a wynd, y vnþurstonde,And blewe þe boot fro þe londe,
Of her þey lost þe syght.
The emperour hym be-þowght
That he hadde alle myswrowht,
And was a sory knyȝte.
10
He felle down in sowenynge,
To þe yrþe was he dyght.
Grete lordes stode þer-by,
And toke v[p] þe emperour hastyly,
And conforted hym fayr and ryght.
25
When he of sownyng kouered was,Sore he wepte and sayde, “Alas,
For my dowhter dere!
Alas, þat y was made man!
Wrecched kaytyf þat I hyt am!”
The teres ronne by hys lere.
“I wrowght a-ȝeyn Goddes lay,
To her þat was so trewe of fay.
Alas, why ner she here!”
The teres lasshed out of hys yȝen;
The grete lordes þat hyt syȝen,
Wepte and made ylle chere.
26
Ther was noþur olde ny ȝynge,That kowþe stynte of wepynge,
For þat comely vnþur kelle.
In-to shypys faste gan̄ þey þrynge,
For to seke þat mayden ȝynge,
Þat was so fayr of flesh and felle.
They her sowȝt ouur-alle yn þe see,
And myȝte not fynde þat lady fre,
A-ȝeyn þey come fulle snelle.
At þe emperour now leue we,
And of þe lady yn þe see,
I shalle be-gynne to telle.
27
The lady fleted forth a-lone;To God of heuen she made her mone,
And to hys modyr also.
11
Wyth stronge stormes her a-gayn,
Of þe watur so blo.
As y haue herd menstrelles syng yn sawe,
Hows ny lond myȝth she non knowe,
A-ferd she was to go.
She was so dryuen fro wawe to wawe,
She hyd her hede and lay fulle lowe,
For watyr she was fulle woo.
28
Now þys lady dwelled þore,A good seuen-nyȝth and more,
As hyt was Goddys wylle;
Wyth carefulle herte and sykyng sore,
Such sorow was here ȝarked ȝore,
And euer lay she stylle.
She was dryuen yn-to a lond,
Thorow þe grace of Goddes sond,
That alle þyng may fulfylle;
She was on þe see so harde be-stadde,
For hungur and thurste almost madde,
Woo worth wederus ylle!
29
She was dryuen in-to a lond,That hyȝth Galys, y vnþurstond,
That was a fayr countre.
Þe kyngus steward dwelled þer by-syde,
In a kastelle of mykylle pryde;
Syr Kadore hyght he.
Euery day wolde he go,
And take wyth hym a sqwyer or two,
And play hym by þe see.
On a tyme he toke þe eyr,
Wyth two knyȝtus gode and fayr;
The wedur was lythe of le.
12
30
A boot he fond by þe brym,And a glysteryng þyng þer-yn,
Ther-of þey hadde ferly.
They went forth on þe sond
To þe boot, y vnþurstond,
And fond þer-yn þat lady.
She hadde so longe meteles be,
That hym þowht gret dele to se;
She was yn poyn[t] to dye.
They askede her what was her name;
She chaunged hyt þer a-none,
And sayde she hette Egare.
31
Syr Kadore hadde gret pyte;He toke vp þe lady of þe see,
And hom gan he[r] lede.
She hadde so longe meteles be,
She was wax lene as a tre,
That wordy vnþur wede.
In-to hys castelle when she came,
In-to a chawmbyr þey her nām,
And fayr þey gan her fede,
Wyth alle delycyus mete and drynke,
That þey myȝth hem on þynke,
That was yn alle þat stede.
32
When þat lady, fayr of face,Wyth mete and drynke keuered was,
And had colour a-gayne,
She tawȝte hem to sewe and marke
Alle maner of sylky werke;
Of her þey wer fulle fayne.
She was curteys yn alle þyng,
Bothe to olde and to ȝynge,
I say ȝow for certeyne.
13
That felle to emperour, or to kyng,
Erle, barown or swayne.
33
Syr Kadore lette make a feste,That was fayr and honeste,
Wyth hys lorde, þe kynge.
Ther was myche menstralse,
Trommpus, tabours and sawtre,
Bothe harpe and fydylleyng.
The lady, þat was gentylle and smalle,
In kurtulle alone serued yn halle,
By-fore þat nobulle kyng.
Þe cloth vpon her shone so bryȝth,
When she was þer-yn y-dyȝth,
She semed non erdly þyng.
34
The kyng loked her vp-on,So fayr a lady he syȝ neuur non,
Hys herte she hadde yn wolde.
He was so an-amered of þat syȝth,
Of þe mete non he myȝth,
But faste gan her be-holde.
She was so fayr and gent,
The kynges loue on her was lent,
In tale as hyt ys tolde.
And when þe metewhyle was don,
In-to þe chambur he wente son,
And called hys barouns bolde.
35
Fyrst he calle[d] Syr Kadore,And oþur knyȝtes þat þer wore,
Hastely come hym tylle.
Dukes and erles, wyse of lore,
Hastely come þe kyng be-fore,
And askede what was hys wylle.
14
To Syr Kadore gan he say,
Wordes fayr and stylle:
“Syr, whēns ys þat louely may,
That yn þe halle serued þys day?
Telle me, ȝyf hyt be þy wylle.”
36
Then sayde Syr Kadore, y vnþurstonde,“Hyt ys an erles þowȝtur of ferre londe,
That semely ys to sene.
I sente aftur her, certeynlye,
To teche my chylderen curtesye,
In chambur wyth hem to bene.
She ys þe konnyngest wommon,
I trowe, þat be yn Crystendom,
Of werk þat y haue sene.”
Then sayde þat ryche raye,
“I wylle haue þat fayr may,
And wedde her to my quene!”
37
The nobulle kyng, verament,Aftyr hys modyr he sent,
To wyte what she wolde say.
They browȝt[e] forth hastely
That fayr mayde Egarye;
She was bryȝth as somercs day.
The cloth on her shon so bryght,
When she was þer-yn dyght,
And her-self a gentelle may,
The olde qwene sayde a-non,
“I sawe neuer wommon
Haluendelle so gay!”
38
The olde qwene spakke wordus vnhende,And sayde, “Sone, þys ys a fende,
In þys wordy wede!
15
Make þou neuur þys weddynge,
Cryst hyt de forbede!”
Then spakke þe ryche ray,
“Modyr, y wylle haue þys may!”
And forth gan her lede.
The olde qwene, for certayne,
Turnede wyth ire hom a-gayne,
And wolde not be at þat dede.
39
The kyng wedded þat lady bryght;Grete puruyance þer was dyȝth,
In þat semely sale.
Grete lordes wer serued a-ryght,
Duke, erle, baron and knyȝth,
Both of grete and smale.
Myche folke for soþe þer was,
And þer-to an huge prese,
As hyt ys tolde yn tale.
Ther was alle maner þyng,
That felle to a kyngus weddyng,
And mony a ryche menstralle.
40
When þe mangery was done,Grete lordes departed sone,
That semely were to se.
The kynge be-lafte wyth þe qwene,
Moch loue was hem be-twene,
And also game and gle.
She was curteys and swete,
Such a lady herde y neuur of ȝete;
They loued both wyth herte fre.
The lady þat was both meke and mylde,
Conceyued and wente wyth chylde,
As God wolde hyt sholde be.
16
41
The kyng of France, yn þat tyme,Was be-sette wyth many a Sarezyne,
And cumbered alle in tene;
And sente aftur þe kyng of Galys,
And oþur lordys of myche prys,
That semely were to sene.
The kyng of Galys, in þat tyde,
Gedered men on enery syde,
In armour bryght and shene.
Then sayde þe kyng to Syr Kadore,
And oþur lordes þat ther wore,
“Take good hede to my qwene.”
42
The kyng of Fraunce spared none,But sent for hem euerychone,
Both kyng, knyȝth and clerke.
The stward by-laft at home,
To kepe þe qwene whyte as fome,
He come not at þat werke.
She wente wyth chylde yn place,
As longe as Goddus wylle was.
That semely vnþur serke;
Thylle þer was of her body,
A fayr chyld borne and a godele,
Hadde a dowbylle kyngus marke.
43
They hyt crystened wyth grete honour,And called hym Segramour;
Frely was þat fode.
Then þe steward, Syr Kadore,
A nobulle lettur made he thore,
And wrowȝte hyt alle wyth gode.
He wrowȝte hyt yn hyȝynge,
And sente hyt to hys lorde þe kynge,
That gentylle was of blode.
17
And wyth þe kyngus modur gan lende,
And yn-to þe castelle he ȝode.
44
He was resseyued rychely,And she hym askede hastyly,
How þe qwene hadde spedde.
“Madame, þer ys of her y-borne
A fayr man-chylde, y telle ȝou be-forne,
And she lyth in her bedde.”
She ȝaf hym for þat tydynge
A robe and fowrty shylynge,
And rychely hym cladde.
She made hym dronken of ale and wyne,
And when she sawe þat hyt was tyme,
Tho chambur she wolde hym lede.
45
And when (s)he was on slepe browȝt,The qwene þat was of wykked þowȝt,
Tho chambur gan she wende.
Hys letter she toke hym fro,
In a fyre she brente hyt do;
Of werkes she was vnhende.
Anoþur lettur she made wyth euylle,
And sayde þe qwene had born a deuylle,
Durste no mon come her hende.
Thre heddes hadde he there,
A lyon, a dragon and a beere,
A fowlle, feltred fende.
46
On þe morn, when hyt was day,The messenger wente on hys way,
Bothe by stye and strete;
18
Tylle he come þer as þe kynge laye,
And speke wordus swete.
He toke þe kyng þe lettur yn honde,
And he hyt redde, y vnþurstonde,
The teres downe gan he lete.
And as he stode yn redyng,
Downe he felle yn sowenyng,
For sorow hys herte gan blede.
47
Grete lordes þat stode hym by,Toke vp þe kyng hastely;
In herte he was fulle woo.
Sore he grette and sayde, “Alas,
That y euur man born was!
That hyt euur shullde be so!
Alas, þat y was made a kynge,
And sygh wedded þe fayrest þyng,
That on erþe myght go!
That euur Jhesu hym-self wolde sende
Such a fowle, loþly fende,
To come by-twene vs too!”
48
When he sawe hyt myȝt no bettur be,Anoþur lettur þen made he,
And seled hyt wyth hys sele.
He commanded yn alle þynge,
To kepe welle þat lady ȝynge,
Tylle she hadde her hele;
Bothe gode men and ylle,
To serue her at her wylle,
Bothe yn wo and wele.
He toke þys lettur of hys honde,
And rode þorow þe same londe,
By þe kyngus modur castelle.
19
49
And þen he dwelled þer alle nyȝt;He was resseyued and rychely dyȝt,
And wyste of no treson.
He made hym welle at ese and fyne,
Bothe of brede, ale and wyne,
And þat be-rafte hym hys reson.
When he was on slepe browȝt,
The false qwene hys lettur sowȝt;
In-to þe fyre she kaste hyt downe.
A-noþur lettur she lette make,
That men sholde þe lady take,
And lede her owt of towne.
50
And putte her yn-to þe see,In þat robe of ryche ble,
The lytylle chylde her wyth;
And lette her haue no spendyng,
For no mete ny for drynke,
But lede her out of þat kygh.
“Vpon payn of chylde and wyfe,
And also vpon ȝour owene lyfe,
Lette her haue no gryght!”
The messenger knewe no gyle,
But rode hom mony a myle,
By forest and by fryght.
51
And when þe messenger come home,The steward toke þe lettur sone,
And by-gan to rede.
Sore he syght and sayde, “Alas,
Sērtes, þys ys a fowle case,
And a de[l]fulle dede!”
And as he stode yn redyng,
He felle downe yn swonynge,
For sorow hys hert gan blede.
20
That myȝte for-bere of wepynge,
For þat worþy vnþur wede.
52
The lady herde gret dele yn halle,On þe steward gan she calle,
And sayde, “What may þys be?
Ȝyf any-þyng be a-mys.
Telle me what þat hyt ys,
And lette not for me.”
Then sayde þe steward, verament,
“Lo, her, a lettur my lord hath sente,
And þer-fore woo ys me!”
She toke þe lettur and by-gan to rede;
Then fonde she wryten alle þe dede,
How she moste yn-to þe see.
53
“Be stylle, syr,” sayde þe qwene,“Lette syche mornynge bene;
For me haue þou no kare.
Loke þou be not shente,
But do my lordes commāundement,
God for-bede þou spare!
For he weddede so porely,
On me, a sympulle lady,
He ys a-shamed sore.
Grete welle my lord fro me,
So gentylle of blo(l)de yn Cristyante,
Gete he neuur more!”
54
Then was þer sorow and myche woo,When þe lady to shype shulde go;
They wepte and wronge her hond[e].
The lady, þat was meke and mylde,
In her arme she bar her chylde,
And toke leue of þe londe.
21
In þat robe of ryche ble,
Men sowened on þe sonde.
Sore þey wepte and sayde, “Alas,
Certys, þys ys a wykked kase!
Wo worth dedes wronge!”
55
The lady and þe lytylle chyldeFleted forth on þe watur wylde,
Wyth fulle harde happes.
Her surkote þat was large and wyde,
Ther-wyth her vysage she gan hyde,
Wyth þe hynþur lappes;
She was aferde of þe see,
And layde her gruf vpon a tre,
The chylde to her pappes.
The wawes, þat were grete and strong,
On þe bote faste þey þonge,
Wyth mony vnsemely rappes.
56
And when þe chyld gan to wepe,Wyth sory herte she songe hyt a-slepe,
And putte þe pappe yn hys mowth,
And sayde, “Myȝth y onus gete lond,
Of þe watur þat ys so stronge,
By northe or by sowthe,
Wele owth y to warye þe, see,
I haue myche shame yn the!”
And euur she lay and growht.
Then she made her prayer,
To Ihesu and hys modur dere,
In alle þat she kowþe.
57
Now þys lady dwelled thore,A fulle seuene nyght and more,
As hyt was Goddys wylle;
22
Such sorow was her ȝarked ȝore,
And she lay fulle stylle.
She was dryuen toward Rome,
Thorow þe grace of God yn trone,
That alle þyng may fulfylle.
On þe see she was so harde be-stadde,
For hungur and thurste alle-most madde,
Wo worth chawnses ylle!
58
A marchaunte dw[el]led yn þat cyte,A ryche mon of golde and fee,
Iurdan was hys name.
E(e)uery day wolde he
Go to playe hym by þe see,
The eyer for to tane.
He wente forth yn þat tyde,
Walkynge by þe see syþe,
Alle hym-selfe a-lone.
A bote he fonde by þe brymme,
And a fayr lady ther-ynne,
That was ryght wo-by-gone.
59
The cloth on her shon so bryth,He was a-ferde of þat syght,
For glysteryng of þat wede;
And yn hys herte he þowȝth ryght,
That she was non erdyly wyght,
He sawe neuur non s(h)uch yn leede.
He sayde, “What hette ȝe, fayr ladye?”
“Lord,” she sayde, “y hette Egarye,
That lye her yn drede.”
Vp he toke þat fayre ladye,
And þe ȝonge chylde her by,
And hom he gan hem lede.
23
60
When he come to hys byggynge,He welcomed fayr þat lady ȝynge,
That was fayr and bryght;
And badde hys wyf yn alle þynge,
Mete and drynke for to brynge,
To þe lady ryght.
“What þat she wylle craue,
And her mowth wylle hyt haue,
Loke hyt be redy dyght.
She hath so longe meteles be,
That me þynketh grette pyte;
Conforte her ȝyf þou myght.”
61
Now þe lady dwelles ther,Wyth alle mete þat gode were;
She hedde at her wylle.
She was curteys yn alle þyng,
Bothe to olde and to ȝynge;
Her loued bothe gode and ylle.
The chylde by-gan for to þryfe,
He wax þe fayrest chyld onlyfe,
Whyte as flour on hylle;
And she s[h]ewed sylke werk yn bour,
And tawȝte her sone nortowre;
But euyr she mornede stylle.
62
When þe chylde was seuen ȝer olde,He was bothe wyse and bolde,
And wele made of flesh and bone;
He was worþy vnþur wede,
And ryght welle kowþe prike a stede,
So curtays a chylde was none.
Alle men louede Segramowre,
Bothe yn halle and yn bowre,
Wher-so-euur he gan gone.
24
And speke of the kyng of Galys,
Fro þe sege when he come home.
63
Now þe sege broken ys,The kyng come home to Galys,
Wyth mykylle myrthe and pride.
Dukes and erles of ryche asyce,
Barones and knyȝtes of mykylle pryse,
Come rydynge be hys syde.
Syr K[a]dore, hys steward þanne,
A-ȝeyn hym rode wyth mony a man,
As faste as he myght ryde;
He tolde þe kyng a-ventowres,
Of hys halles and hys bowres,
And of hys londys wyde.
64
The kyng sayde, “By Goddys name,Syr Kadore, þou art to blame,
For þy fyrst tellynge!
Thow sholdest fyrst haue tolde me
Of my lady Egare,
I loue most of alle þyng!”
Then was þe stewardes herte wo,
And sayde, “Lorde, why sayst þou so?
Art not þou a trewe kynge?
Lo her, þe lettur ȝe sente me,
Ȝowr owene self þe soþe may se;
I haue don ȝour byddynge.”
65
The kyng toke þe lettur to rede,And when he sawe þat ylke dede,
He wax alle pale and wanne.
Sore he grette and sayde, “Alas,
That euur born y was,
Or euur was made manne!
25
Thys lettur come neuur fro me,
I telle þe her a-none!”
Bothe þey wepte and ȝaf hem ylle.
“Alas,” he sayde, “saf Goddys wylle!”
And both þe[y] sowened þen.
66
Grete lordes stode by,And toke vp þe kyng hastyly,
Of hem was gret pyte;
And when þey both keuered were,
The kyng toke hym þe letter þer,
Of þe heddys þre.
“A, lord,” he sayde, “be Goddus grace,
I sawe neuur þys lettur yn place!
Alas! how may þys be?”
Aftur þe messenger þer þey sente,
The kyng askede what way he went:
“Lor, be ȝour modur fre.”
67
“Alas!” þen sayde þe kynge,“Wheþur my modur wer so vnhende,
To make þys treson?
By my krowne, she shalle be brent,
Wyth-owten any oþur jugement,
That thenketh me best reson!”
Grete lordes toke hem be-twene,
That þey wolde exyle þe qwene,
And be-refe her hyr renowne.
Thus þey exiled þe false qwene,
And by-rafte her hyr lyfloþe clene,
Castelle, towre and towne.
68
When she was fled ouur þe see fome,The nobulle kyng dwelled at hom̄,
Wyth fulle heuy chere;
26
Sykynges made he many on,
For Egarye þe clere.
And when he sawe chylderen play,
He wepte and sayde, “Welle-a-wey,
For my sone so dere!”
Such lyf he lyued mony a day,
That no mon hym stynte may,
Fully seuen yere.
69
Tylle a thowght yn hys herte come,How hys lady, whyte as fome,
Was drowned for hys sake.
“Thorow þe grace of God yn trone,
I wolle to þe pope of Rome,
My penans for to take!”
He lette ordeyne shypus fele,
And fylled hem fulle of wordes wele,
Hys men mery wyth to make.
Dolys he lette dyȝth and dele,
For to wynnen hym sowles hele,
To þe shyp he toke þe gate.
70
Shypmen, þat wer so mykylle of price,Dyght her takulle on ryche a-cyse,
That was fayr and fre.
They drowȝ vp sayl and leyd out ore,
The wynde stode as her lust wore,
The weþur was lyþe on le.
They sayled ouer þe salt fome,
Thorow þe grace of God in trone,
That most ys of powste.
To þat cyte when þe[y] come,
At þe burgeys hous hys yn he nome,
Ther-as woned Emarye.
27
71
Emare called he[r] sone,Hastely to here come,
Wyth-oute ony lettynge,
And sayde, “My dere sone so fre,
Do a lytulle aftur me,
And þou sha[l]t haue my blessynge.
To-morowe þou shalle serue yn halle,
In a kurtylle of ryche palle,
By-fore þys nobulle kyng;
Loke, sone, so curtays þou be,
That no mon fynde chalange to þe,
In no manere þynge!
72
When þe kyng ys serued of spycerye,Knele þou downe hastylye,
And take hys hond yn þyn;
And when þou hast so done,
Take þe kuppe of golde sone,
And serue hym of þe wyne.
And what þat he speketh to þe,
Cum a-non and telle me,
On Goddus blessyng and myne!.”
The chylde wente yn-to þe halle,
Among þe lordes grete and smalle,
That lufsumme wer vnþur lyne.
73
Then þe lordes þat wer grete,Wysh and wente to her mete,
Men[s]trelles browȝt yn þe kowrs.
The chylde hem serued so curteysly,
Alle hym loued þat hym sy,
And spake hym gret honowres.
Then sayde alle þat loked hym vpon,
So curteys a chyld sawe þey neuur non,
In halle ny yn bowres.
28
“Swete sone, what ys þy name?”
“Lorde,” (he seyd) “y hyȝth Segramowres.”
74
Then þat nobulle kyngToke vp a grete sykynge,
For hys sone hyghte so;
Certys, wyth-owten lesynge,
The teres out of hys yen gan wryng;
In herte he was fulle woo.
Neuer-þe-lese, he lette be,
And loked on þe chylde so fre,
And mykelle he louede hym þoo.
The kyng sayde to þe burgeys a-non,
“Swete syr, ys þys þy sone?”
The burgeys sayde, “Ȝoo.”
75
Then þe lordes þat wer grete,W(h)esshen a-ȝeyn aftyr mete,
And þen come spycerye.
The chyld þat was of chere swete,
On hys kne downe he sete,
And serued hym curteyslye.
The kynge called þe burgeys hym tylle,
And sayde, “Syr, yf hyt be þy wylle,
Ȝyf me þys lytylle body!
I shalle hym make lorde of town and towre,
Of hye halles and of bowre,
I loue hym specyally.”
76
When he had serued þe kyng at wylle,Fayr he wente hys modyr tylle,
And tellys her how hyt ys.
“Soone when he shalle to chambur wende,
Take hys hond at þe grete ende,
For he ys þy fadur, y-wysse;
29
That changed her name to Egare,
In the londe of Galys!”
The chylde wente a-ȝeyn to halle,
A-monge þe grete lordes alle,
And serued on ryche a-syse.
77
When þey wer welle at ese, a-fyne,Bothe of brede, ale and wyne,
They rose vp, more and myn.
When þe kyng shulde to chambur wende,
He toke hys hond at þe grete ende,
And fayre he helpe hym yn;
And sayde, “Syr, yf ȝour wylle be,
Take me ȝour honde and go wyth me,
For y am of ȝowr kynne!
Ȝe shulle come speke wyth Emare,
That chaunged her nome to Egare,
That berys þe whyte chynne!”
78
The kyng yn herte was fulle woo,When he herd mynge þo,
Of her þat was hys qwene;
And sayde, “Sone, why sayst þou so?
Wher-to vmbraydest þou me of my wo?
That may neuer bene!”
Neuurþeles wyth hym he wente;
A-ȝeyn hem come þe lady gent,
In þe robe bryght and shene.
He toke her yn hys armes two,
For joye þey sowened, both to,
Such loue was hem by-twene.
79
A joyfull metyng was þer þore,Of þat lady, goodly vnþur gore,
Frely in armes to folde.
30
And oþur lordes þat þer wore,
Semely to be-holde,
Of þe lady þat wa[s] put yn þe see,
Thorow grace of God in Trinite,
Þat was keuered of cares colde.
Leue we at þe lady whyte as flour,
And speke we of (her fadur) þe emperour,
That fyrste þys tale of y-tolde.
80
The emperour her fadyr þenWa[s] woxen an olde man,
And þowȝt on hys synne;
Of hys þowȝtyr Emare,
That was putte yn-to þe see,
That was so bryght of skynne.
He þowȝt[e] that he wolde go,
For hys penance to þe Pope þo,
And heuen for to wynne.
Messengeres he sente forth sone,
And þey come to þe kowrt of Rome,
To take her lordes inne.
81
Emare prayde her lord, þe kyng,“Syr, a-byde þat lordys komyng,
That ys so fayr and fre.
And, swete syr, yn alle þyng,
A-qweynte ȝou wyth þat lordyng;
Hyt ys worshyp to þe.”
The kyng of Galys seyde þan,
“So grete a lord ys þer non,
Ȝn alle Crystyante.”
“Now, swete syr, what-euur be-tyde,
A-ȝayn þat grete lord ȝe ryde,
And alle þy knyȝtys wyth þe.”
31
82
Emare thawȝte her sone ȝynge,A-ȝeyn þe emperour komynge,
How þat he sholde done:
“Swete sone, yn alle þyng,
Be redy wyth my lord þe kyng,
And be my swete sone!
When þe emperour kysseth þy fadur so fre,
Loke ȝyf he wylle kysse the,
A-bowe þe to hym sone;
And bydde hym come speke wyth Emare,
That was putte yn-to þe see,
Hym-self ȝaf þe dome.”
83
Now kometh þe emperour of pryse;A-ȝeyn hym rode þe kyng of Galys,
Wyth fulle mykulle pryde.
The chyld was worþy vnþur wede,
A satte vpon a nobylle stede,
By hys fadyr syde;
And when he mette þe emperour,
He valed hys hode wyth gret honour,
And kyssed hym yn þat tyde;
And oþur lordys of gret valowre,
They also kessed Segramowre;
In herte ys not to hyde.
84
The emperours hert anamered gretlye,Of þe chylde þat rode hym by,
Wyth so louely chere.
Segramowre, he s[t]ayde hys stede,
Hys owene fadur toke good hede,
And oþur lordys þat þer were.
The chylde spake to þe emperour,
And sayde, “Lord, for þyn honour,
My worde þat þou wylle here:
32
That changede her name to Egare,
That was þy þowȝþur dere.”
85
The emperour wax alle pale,And sayde, “Sone, why vmbraydest me of bale,
And þou may se no bote?”
“Syr, and ȝe wylle go wyth me,
I shalle þe brynge wyth þat lady fre,
Þat ys louesom on to loke.”
Neuur-þe-lesse, wyth hym he wente;
A-ȝeyn hym come þat lady gent,
Walkynge on her fote.
And þe emperour a-lyȝte þo,
And toke her yn hys armes two,
And clypte and kyssed her sote.
86
Ther was a joyfulle metyngeOf þe emperour and of þe kynge,
And also of Emare;
And so þer was of Syr [S]egramour,
That aftyr was emperour;
A fulle gode man was he.
A grette feste þer was holde,
Of erles and barones bolde,
As testymonyeth þys story.
Thys ys on of Brytayne layes,
That was vsed by olde dayes,
Men callys “playn þe garye.”
Iheso, þat settes yn þy trone,
So graunte vs wyth þe to w[o]ne,
In þy perpetualle glorye! Amen.
Explicit Emare.
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