Richard Coeur de Lyon :: :: University of Virginia Library

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Hic incipit uita Ricardi regis primi.

Lord Iesu, kyng off glorye,
Whyche grace and uyctorye
Þou sente to Kyng Rychard,
Þat neuer was founde coward!
It is ful good to here in ieste
Off his prowesse and hys conqueste.
Ffele romaunses men maken newe,
Off goode knyȝtes, stronge and trewe;
Off here dedys men rede romaunce,
Boþe in Engeland and in Ffraunce:
Off Rowelond, and off Olyuer,
And off euery Doseper;
Off Alisaundre, and Charlemayn;
Off kyng Arthour, and off Gawayn,
How þey were knyghtes goode and curteys;

Off Turpyn, and of Oger Daneys;
Off Troye men rede in ryme,
What werre þer was in olde tyme;
Off Ector, and off Achylles,
What folk þey slowe in þat pres.
In Frenssche bookys þis rym is wrouȝt,
Lewede men ne knowe it nouȝt—
Lewede men cune Ffrensch non,
Among an hondryd vnneþis on—;
Neuerþeles, wiþ glad chere,
Ffele off hem þat wolde here
Noble iestes, j vndyrstonde,
Off douȝty knyȝtes off Yngelonde.
Þerfore now j wole ȝow rede
Off a kyng, douȝty in dede:
Kyng Rychard, þe werryour beste

Þat men fynde in ony ieste.
Now alle þat here þis talkyng,
God geue hem alle good endyng!

Lordynges, herkenes bifore,
How Kyng Rychard was gete and bore.
Hys fadyr hyȝte Kyng Henry;
In hys tyme, sykyrly,
Als j finde in my sawe,
Seynt Thomas was islawe
At Cauntyrbury at þe awterston,
Þere manye myraclys are idon.

When he was twenty wyntyr olde,
He was a kyng swyþe bolde;
He wolde no wyff, j vndyrstonde,
Wiþ gret tresore þouȝ he here fonde.
Nevyrþeles hys barouns hym redde
Þat he grauntyd a wyff to wedde.
Hastely he sente hys sondes
Into manye dyuerse londes,
Þe ffeyreste wymman þat wore on liff
Men scholde brynge hym to wyff.
Messangeres were redy dyȝt,
To schippe þey wente þat ylke nyȝt.

Anon þe sayl vp þay drowȝ,
Þe wynd hem seruyd wel jnowȝ.
Whenne þey come on mydde þe see,
No wynd oneþe hadden hee;
Þerfore hem was swyþe woo.
Anoþer schip þey countryd þoo,
Swylk on ne seyȝ þey neuere non.
Al it was whyt off ruel-bon,
And euery nayl wiþ gold begraue;
Off pure gold was þe staue,
Here mast was of yuory,
Off samyte þe sayl wytterly,
Here ropes were off tuely sylk,
Also whyte as ony mylk.
Þat noble schyp was al wiþoute
Wiþ cloþis off gold spred aboute;
And here looff and here wyndas
Off asure forsoþe it was.

In þat schyp þer were jdyȝt
Knyȝtes and ladyys off mekyll myȝt;
And a lady þerinne was,
Bryȝt as þe sunne þorwȝ þe glas.
Here men a borde gunne to stande,

And sesyd þat oþer to here hande,
And prayde hem for to dwelle,
And here counsayl for to telle;
And þey graunted wiþ alle skylle
Ffor to telle al at here wylle.
“Swoo wyde landes we haue went,
Ffor Kyng Henry vs has sent
Ffor to seke hym a qwene,
Þe fayreste þat myȝte fonnde bene.”
Vp ros a kyng off a chayere,
Wiþ þat word þey spoke þere—
Þe chayer was charbocle ston,
Swylk on ne sawȝ þey neuere non—,
And two dukes hym besyde,
Noble men and off mekyl pryde,
And welcomed þe messangere ylkone;
Into þat schyp þey gunne gone—
Þrytty knyȝtes, wiþouten lye,
Fforsoþe was in þat cumpanye.
Into þat ryche schyp þey went,
As messangeres þat weren jsent.
Knyȝtes and ladyes come hem aȝene;
Seuene score, and moo j wene,

Welcomyd hem alle at on wurd.
Þey sette tresteles, and layde a bord—
Cloþ off sylk þeron was sprad—,
And þe kyng hymseluen bad
Þat hys douȝtyr were forþ fette,
And in a chayer before hym sette.
Trumpes begonne for to blowe,
Sche was fet forþ in a þrowe
Wiþ twenty knyȝtes here aboute,
And moo off ladyes þat were stoute;
Alle þey gunne knele here too,
And aske here what she wolde han doo.
Þey eeten and drank and maden ham glade,
As þe kyng hymselff hem bade.
Whenne þey hadde nyȝ jeete,
Auentures to speke þey nouȝt forgete.
Þe kyng hem tolde, in hys resoun,
It com hym in a vysyoun—
In hys land þat he cam froo—
Into Yngelond for to goo;
And hys douȝtyr, þat was hym dere,
Ffor to wende with hym in ffere.
“In þis manere we haue vs dyȝt,
Into þat lond to wende ryȝt.”

Þenne answeryd a messanger,
Hys name was callyd Bernager,
“Fforþere wole we seke nouȝt,
To my lord sche schal be brouȝt:
When he wiþ eyen schal sen,
Ffol wel payed þen wole he ben.”

Þe wynd aros out off þe norþeste,
And seruede hem riȝt wiþ þe beste.
At þe Tour þey gunne arryue,
To londe þe knyȝtes wente belyue.
Þe messangeres þe kyng haue told
Of þat lady fayr and bold,
Þer he lay, in þe Tour,
Off þat lady whyt so flour.
Kyng Henry gan hym sone dyȝt,
Wiþ erl, baroun, and manye a knyȝt,
Agayn þe lady for to wende,
Ffor he was curteys and hende.
Þe damysele on londe was led,
And cloþis off gold before here spred,
And here fadyr here beforn,
Wiþ a coroun off gold jcorn;
Þe messangers by ylke a syde,
And menstralles wiþ mekyl pryde.

Kyng Henry lyȝte in hyyng,
And grette fayre þat vncouþ kyng,
And þat fayre lady alsoo:
“Welcome be ȝe alle me too.’
To Westemenstre they wente in fere,
Lordynges and ladyys þat þer were.
Trumpes begonne for to blowe,
To mete þey wente in a þrowe.
Knyȝtes seruyd þere good spede,
Off what to telle it is no nede.
And afftyr mete, in hyyng,
Spak Kyng Henry, oure kyng,
To þe kyng þat sat in same,
“Leve sere, what is þy name?”
“My name, he sayde, is Corbaryng;
Off Antyoche j am kyng.”
And tolde hym in hys resoun,
He cam þedyr þorwȝ a vysyoun.
“Fforsoþe, Sere, j telle þe,
I hadde elles brouȝt more meyne,
Manye moo, wiþouten fayle,
And moo schyppys wiþ vytayle.”
Þenne askyd he þat lady bryȝt:
“What hyȝtest þou, my swete wyȝt?”

“Cassodorien, wiþouten lesyng,”
Þus answeryd sche þe kyng.
“Damysele, he seyde, bryȝt and schene,
Wylt þou dwelle, and be my qwene?”
Sche answeryd wiþ wordys stylle,
“Sere, j am at my faderys wylle.”
Here fadyr grauntyd þenne ful sone,
Al hys wyl scholde be done,
Hastely þat she were wedde
As qwene vnto kynges bedde;
And prayde hym, for hys curtesy,
It moste be done priuyly.

Þe spousyng was jdon þat nyȝt;
Þeratte daunsyd many a knyȝt:
Mekyl ioye was hem among.
A preest on morwe þe messe song;
Befforn þe eleuacyoun
Þe qwene fel in swowne adoun;
Þe folk wondryd and were adrad;
Into a chaumbyr sche was lad,
Sche seyde: “For j am þus jschent,
I dar neuere see þe sacrement.”
Here fadyr on morwe took hys leue,
No lengere wolde he þere beleue.

The kyng dwellyd wiþ his qwene;
Chyldren þey hadden hem bytwene,
Twoo knaues and a mayde,
Fforsoþe, as þe book vs sayde.
Rychard hyȝte þe fyrste, jwis,
Off whom þis romaunce jmaked is;
Jhon þat oþer forsoþe was;
Þe þrydde hys sustyr Topyas.
Þus þey dwellyd in fere
To þe ffyfftenþe ȝere.

On a day, before þe rode
Þe kyng at hys masse stode;
Þer com an erl off gret pouste,
“Sere, he sayde, hou may þis be,
Þat my lady, ȝoure wyff, þe qwene,
Þe sacrement ne dar nouȝt sene?
Geue vs leue to don here dwelle,
Ffro þat begynnes þe gospelle
Tyll þe messe be sungge and sayd,
And þou schalt se a queynte brayd.”
Þe kyng grauntyd, wiþ good wylle,
To holden here wiþ strengþe stylle.
“Neyþer for wele neyþer for woo,
Let here nouȝt out fro kyrke goo.”
And whene þe belle began to ryng,
The preest scholde make þe sakeryng,

Out off þe kyrke sche wolde away.
Þe erl “For gode, sayde, nay,
Lady, þou schalt here abyde,
Ffor ony þyng þat may betyde.”
Sche took here douȝtyr in here hond,
And Johan her sone she wolde not wonde;
Out of the rofe she gan her dyght,
Openly before all theyr syght.
Johan fell frome her in that stounde,
And brak his thygh on the grounde.
And with her doughter she fled her waye,
That never after she was isey.

The kynge wondred of that thynge,
That she made suche an endynge,
For loue that he was serued so;
Wolde he neuer after come there ne go.
He let ordeyne, after his endynge,
His sone Rycharde to be kynge.

Crowned after Kynge Harry
Thus was Rycharde, sykerly,
That was in his XV yere.
He was a man of grete powere:
Dedes of armes he gaue hym to,
As falleth for kynges and knyghtes to do.
He woxyd so stronge and so wyght,
Ayenst hym had no man no myght.

In euery stede he toke honoure,
As a noble kynge and conqueroure.

The fyrste yere that he was kynge
At Salysbury he made a justynge,
And comaunded euery man to be there,
Bothe with shelde and with spere,
Erles and barons euerychone;
At home ne dwelled neuer one.
On forfeyture, on lyfe and londe,
For nothynge that they ne wonde:
This was cryed, j vnderstonde,
Thorughout all Englonde.
All was for to loke, and se
The knyghtes that best myght be.
There they came all at his wyll
His comaundemente to fulfyll.

The partyes were sonder set,
Togyder they ran without let.
Kynge Rycharde gan hym dysguyse
In a full stronge queyntyse.
He came out of a valaye
For to se of theyr playe,
As a knyght auentorous.
His atyre was orgulous:
All togyder coleblacke
Was his horse, without lacke;

Upon his creste a rauen stode,
That yaned as he were wode,
And aboute his necke a bell,
Wherfore the reason j shall you tell:
The kynde of the rauen is,
In trauayll for to be, jwys;
Sygnyfyaunce of the bell,
With holy chyrche for to dwell,
And them to noy and to greue
That be not in the ryght byleue.
He bare a shafte that was grete and stronge,
It was fourtene fote long;
And it was bothe grete and stoute,
One and twenty inches aboute.
The fyrst knyght that he there mette,
Full egerly he hym grette

With a dente amyd the shelde;
His horse he bare downe in the felde:
And the knyght fell to grounde,
Full nye deed in that stounde.
The nexte that he mette thare,
A grete stroke he hym bare;
His gorgere, with his coronalle tho,
His necke he brake there a two:
His horse and he fell to grounde,
And dyed bothe in that stounde.
Kyng Rycharde gan houe and abyde,
Yf ony mo wold to hym ryde.
Trumpettes began forto blowe,
Knyghtes justed in that throwe.
Another knyght, hardy and good,
Sate on a stede rede as blode;
He dyde hym arme and well dyght,
In all that longed to suche a knyght.
A shafte he toke grete and longe,
That was heuy and stronge,
And sayd, he wolde to hym ryde,
Yf he durste hym abyde.
Trumpettes began to blowe than,
Therby wyste many a man
That they sholde juste more,
The noble knyghtes that there wore.

Kyng Rycharde of hym was ware,
And a spere to hym he bare,
And encountred hym in the felde.
He bare awaye halfe his shelde,
His pusen therwith gan gone,
And also his brandellet-bone,
Hys vyser, and hys gorgere.
Hym repented that he cam there!

Kynge Rycharde houed, and behelde,
And thought to rest hym in the felde,
If there were other knyght or swayne
That wolde more ryde hym agayne.
He sawe there wolde come none;
On his waye he gan forth gone,
Into a wode, out of theyr syght;
And in another tyre he hym dyght.
Upon a stede rede as blode,
With all the tyre that on hym stode,
Horse and shelde, armure and man,
That no man sholde knowe hym than;
Upon his creste a rede hounde,
The tayle henge to the grounde.
That was sygnyfycacyoun
The hethen folke to brynge downe,

Them to slee for Goddes loue,
And Crysten men to brynge aboue.
Styll he houed and bode þore;
To them he thought to ryde more.
He rode the thronge all aboute,
He helde within and withoute.
A baron he sawe hym besyde,
Towarde hym he gan ryde.
To a squyer he toke his spere,
To hym he wolde it not bere.
Forth he toke a mansell;
A stroke he thought to be set well
On his helme that was so stronge:
Of that dente the fyre outspronge.
The baron tourned hym asyde,
And sayd: “Felowe, forth thou ryde,

With thy peres go and playe!
Come no more here, j the praye!
And sykerly, yf thou do,
Thou shalte haue a knocke or two.”
Kynge Rycharde wondred in his thought,
That he set his stroke at nought,
And came agayne by another waye,
And thought to make a better paye.
In his styrope up he stode,
And smote to hym with jrefull mode.
He set his stroke on his yron hat,
But that other in his sadell sat.
Hastely, without wordes mo,
Hys mase he toke in his honde tho,
That was made of yotyn bras;
He wondred who that it was.
Suche a stroke he hym lente,
That Rycharde feet out of his steropes wente:
For plate, ne for acketton,
For hawberke, ne for campeson,
Suche a stroke he neuer had none ore,
That dyde hym halfe so moche sore.

Ful swythe awaye he gan ryde,
Out of the prees there besyde.
To hymselfe he sayd tho:
“Of suche strokes kepe j no mo!”

He wente adowne to a well,
And with his helme dranke his fell;
And he watred his stede also.
In the thyrde atyre he let hym do,
All his atyre whyte as mylke;
His croper was of sylke;
Upon his shulder a crosse rede,
That betokeneth Goddes dede
With his ennemyes for to fyght,
To wynne the crosse yf that he myght.

Upon his heed a doue whyte—
Sygnyfycacyoun of the holy spyryte—
To be bolde to wynne the pryse,
And dystroye Goddes enemyes.

To the Kynge Rycharde gan hym dyght
Than another noble knyght:
Fouke Doly was his name,
The kynge hym loued for his fame.

To hym a stroke he dyght,
Well to paye with all his myght.
He smote hym on his bassenet
A grete dente without let,
It foundred to his cheke-bone.
Syr Fouke bad hym forth gone,
That he no lenger abyde,
In auenture yf ony stroke betyde.
The kynge sawe he felte no sore,
And he thought to gyue hym more;
And another stroke he hym brayde,
Hys mase vpon his heed he layde,
With good wyll that stroke he set.
The baron thought he wolde hym let,
And with his heuy mase of stele
There he gaue the kynge his dele
That his helme all toroue,
And he ouer his sadell droue,

100

And his steropes he forbare:
Suche a stroke had he neuer are.
He was so astonyed of that dente
That nye he had his lyfe lente;
And for that stroke that hym was gyuen
He ne wyst whether it was daye or euen.
Tho he recouered of his swowe
To his palays he hym drowe.

Than he commaunded hastely
Herodes for to make a crye,

101

And euery man for to wende
Home to his owne frende.
The kynge anone a messengere
Full preuely he sente there
To Syr Thomas of Multon,
That was a noble baron,
And to Syr Fouke Doly
That they come to hym on hye,
And þat þay dwell in no manere,
Vntill þat þay be bothe here.

102

The messangere his way is went,
And sayd the kynge after them sente
Swythe for to come hym to,
Without delaye that it be do.
The knyghtes hyed and were blythe,
To the kynge they wente swythe,
And hendly they hym grette;
And he them toke and by hym sette,
And sayd to them with wordes free:
“Welcome be ye now to me!”
In eyþyr hond he took on,
Into a chaumbyr he bad hym gon.
Quod Rychard: “Leue frendes twey,
Tel me þe soþe, j ȝow prey,
Off þese ioustes, paramours,
What knyght was he þat rod best cours,
And whiche coude best his crafte
For to demene well his shafte,

103

With dentes for to fell his foos?
Whiche of them wan the loos,
And who þe styffeste tymbyr brak?”
Quod Multoun: “On in atyr blak
Com preckande ouyr þe falewe feld;
Alle þat þere was hym beheeld
Hou he rod as he were wood;
A roume he houyd, and wiþstood.
On hys crest sat a rauen swart,
And he ne heeld wiþ neyþer part.
A schafft he bar, styff and strong,
Ffourtene ffoote it was long,
On and tweynty ynches aboute.
He askyd at al þe route,
Ȝyff ony durste come and proue
A cours, ffor hys lemannes loue,
Wiþ a knyȝt aunterous. Now here
A ȝonge knyȝt, a strong bachelere,
He hente a schafft and stede bystrod,
And to þe knyȝt aunterous he rod.
The aunterous wiþ hym mette,
Swylke a strok on his scheld he sette
Þat hors and man ouerþrewe.
But þer was no man þat hym knewe.
Trumpys blewe, herowdes gred,
And alle oþer off hym dred,

104

To jouste wiþ hym efft wiþ launse:
En auntyr hym tydde swylk a chaunse.
An hardy knyȝt, stout and sauage,
Hente a schafft wiþ gret rage.
‘Now he has on off oure felde!
Wurþe we neuer for men telde,
Siþ he haþ don vs þis despyte,
Ȝiff he agayn passe quyte,
Þat he ne haue ffyrste a knok!’
He prykyd forþ out off þe fflok,
Wiþ a long schafft, stout and quarrey.
In myd þe cours þenne mette þey;
The auenturous smote his shelde amydde,
A wonders case our knyght betydde.
The aunterous felde hym þere wiþ yre
Doun off his stede, and brak hys swyre.
Þe þrydde knyȝt to speke bygan:
‘Þis is a deuyl, and no man,
Þat oure folk felles and sleth!
Tyde me lyff, or tyde me deth,
I shal mete hym ȝyff j may!’
The aunterous, wiþ gret deray,
So harde to oure knyȝt he droff,
Hys schelde in twoo peses roff;
Hys schuldre wiþ hys schafft he brak,
And bar hym ouer hys hors-bak,

105

Þat he ffel doun, and brak hys arme:
He ne dede hym no more harme.
The aunterous þo turnyd agayn,
And houyd stylle for to seyn
Who durste iouste wiþ hym more.
Off hym þey were adred ful sore
Þat non durste jouste wiþ hym efft:
Lest he hadde hem here lyf berefft;
And whenne he seyȝ þer com no moo,
He rod agayn þer he com ffroo.

Afftyr þe blak anoþer come,
Alle þe folk good kep nome.
Hys hors, and hys atyr was red,
He semed weel to be a qued;
A red hound on hys helme aboue.
He comme to seke and to proue,
Ȝyff ony jouste wiþ hym dar.
Whene non wolde he was war
Wiþ schafft to him make chalenge,
He rod doun ryȝt be þe renge.
Þe deuyl hym honge where he be!
I not what deuyl hym eylid at me!
Hys schafft a squyer he betook,
And behelde me wiþ grymly look,
And smot me soo wiþ hys mase,
Ne hadde be Ihesu Crystys grace,

106

My swyre hadde gon in twey.
I bad hym ryde forþ hys wey,
And dele wiþ ffooles as hymselff was.
Agayn he com be anoþir pas,
And gaff me a wel wers þan þat,
But stylle in my sadyl j sat.
Þo seyde many a modyr sone:
‘Allas, Sere Thomas off Multone,
Þat he is smete wiþ vnskyl!’
My mase j hente wiþ good wyl,
I smot hym þat alle folk it seyȝ,
Doun off hys hors almost he fleyȝ.
Whenne j hym hadde a strok jset,
And wolde haue blyssyd hym bet,
No moo strokes wolde he abyde:
Awey swyþe þenne gan he ryde.”

Whene Multoun hadde hys tale told,
Ffouk Doyly, a baroun bold,
Seyde to þe Kyng Rychard:
“Þe þrydde þer come afftyrward,
In atyr whyt as snowȝ,
Þer byheeld hym heyȝe and lowȝ.
In hys scheeld a croys red as blood,
A whyte doue on hys helme stood.
He houyd, and byheeld vs ȝerne,
Ȝyff þer was ony knyȝt so sterne,

107

So hardy man, and strong off bones
Þat durste iouste wiþ him ones.
Þer was non so stoute ne gryme,
Þat durste iouste þoo wiþ hym.
Doun by þe renge he ȝede doun faste,
To me he com ryȝt at þe laste.
For sothe, Sere kyng, quod Sere Fouke,
I wene þat knyȝt was a pouke.
Wiþ hys mase on my basynet
Wiþ hys ryȝte hand a dynt he set,
Wiþ wraþþe strong, and egre mayn,
Þat nyȝ al stonyd was my brayn.
I spak to hym at wurdes fewe:
‘Ryde now forþ, þou wode-schrewe,
And pleye wiþ hem þat is þy pere!
Ȝyff þou come efft in þis manere
Ffor to be wys j schal þe teche.’
Efft he gan more cunteke seche.
A werre strok he gaff me ȝette,
And wiþ my mase j hym grette
That boþe hys styropes he forles;
And stonyd he rod out off þe pres,
And agayn vndir wode-bouȝ.”

Kyng Rychard sat fol stylle and louȝ

108

And sayde: “Frendys sykyrly,
Takes nouȝt to greeff, for it was j.
Whenne ȝe were gaderyd alle in fere,
Aunterous j com, in þis manere,
Who so was strengest ȝow to asaye,
And who cowde best strokes paye.
Lordynges, he sayde, wete ȝe nouȝt,
What j have ordeynyd in my þouȝt?
Þe Holy Lond to wende too,
We three, wiþouten knyȝtes moo;
All in palmeres gyse,
Þe Holy Lond for to devyse.
To me j wole þat ȝe be swore,
No man to wete þat now is bore,
Neyþer for wele ne for woo,
Tyl þat we be comen and goo.”
Þey grauntyd hym hys askyng
Wiþouten any agaynsayyng,
Wiþ hym to lyue and to dye,
And lette nouȝt for loue ne eye.
On þe book þey layde here hand,

109

To þat forewarde for to stand,
And kyste hem þenne alle þree,
Trewe sworn for to bee.

Trumpes blewe, and made cry,
To mete wente þey hastyly,
And on the twentyþe day at ende

110

Þey were redy for to wende
Wiþ pyke, scrippe, and wiþ sclauin,
As palmers weren in paynym.

Now þey dyȝten hem ful ȝare,
Þese þree knyȝtes for to fare.
Þey sette vp sayl, þe wynd was good,
And saylyd ouer þe salte-flood
Into Fflaundrys, j ȝow saye.
Rychard and hys feres twaye,
Fforþ þey wente, wiþ glad chere,
Þorwȝ manye londes, fer and nere,
Tyl þey come to Braundys,
Þat is a coost off mekyl prys.
A noble schyp þey founde þare
Into Cyprys redy to fare.
Þe seyl was reysyd, þe schip was strong,

111

And in þe see þey were long;
And at þe laste, j undyrstande,
At Ffamagos þey come to lande.
Þere þey dwellyd fourty dawes,
Ffor to lerne þe landes lawes;
And seþen deden hem on þe see
Toward Acres, þat riche cete;
And so forþ to Massedoyne,
And to þe cyte off Babyloyne,
And fro þennes to Cesare;
Off Nynyve þey were ware,
And þe cyte off Ierusalem;
And to þe cyte off Bedlem,
And to þe cyte of Sudan Turry,
And eke alsoo to Ebedy,
And to þe Castel Orglyous,
And to þe cyte of Aperyous,
To Jaffe, and to Safrane,
To Taboret, and to Archane.

112

Thus þey vysytyd þe Holy Land,
How þey myȝt wynne it to here hand;
And seþþen homward þey hem dyȝt,
To Yngelond wiþ al here myȝt,

Whenne þey hadde passyd þe Grykys se,
In Alemayne, þe palmeres þre
Letten, or þey myȝten goo.
Þat turnyd hem to mekyl woo!
I schal ȝow telle þat be here,
Herkenes alle in what manere!

113

A goos þey dyȝte to here dynere,
In a tauerne in þere þey were.
Kyng Rychard þe ffyr bet,
And Thomas to þe spyte hym set,
Ffouk Doyly tempryd þe woos:
Dere abouȝte þey þat goos!
Whenne þey hadde drunken wel, afyn,
A mynstralle com þer in,
And saide: “Goode men, wyttyrly,
Wole ȝe haue ony mynstralsy?”

114

Rychard bad þat he scholde goo;
Þat turnyd hym to mekyl woo.
Þe mynstralle took in mynde,
And sayde: “Ȝe are men vnkynde,
And ȝiff j may, ȝe schall forþynk.
Ȝe gaff me neyþer mete ne drynk!
Ffor gentyl men scholde bede
To mynstrall þat abouten ȝede
Off here mete, wyn, and ale:
Ffor los ryses off mynstrale.”
He was Ynglysch, and wel hem knew,
Be speche, and syȝte, hyde, and hewe.
Forthe he wente in that tyde
To a castell there besyde,
And tolde the kynge all and some,
That thre men were to the cyte come;

115

Stronge men, bolde and fere,
In the worlde is not theyr pere.
Kynge Rycharde of Englonde was the one man,
Fouke Doly was that other than,
The thyrde Thomas of Multon,
Noble knyghtes of renowne.
In palmers wede they be dyght,
That no man sholde knowe them ryght.
To hym sayd the kynge: “Iwys,
That thou haste tolde yf it sothe is,
Thou shalte haue thy warysowne,
And chose thyselfe a ryche towne.”
The kynge commaunded his knyghtes,
To arme them in all myghtes:
“And go and take them all thre,
And swithe brynge them to me!”

116

Forth wente the knyghtes in fere,
And toke the palmers at theyr dynere.
They were brought before the kynge,
And he asked them in hyenge:
“Palmers”, he sayd, “whens be ye?”
“Of Englonde”, they sayd, “we be.”
“What hyght thou falowe?” sayd the kynge.
“Rycharde”, he sayd, “without lesynge.”
“What hyght thou”, he sayd to the elder man.
“Fouke Doly”, he answered than.
“And what thou”, he sayd, “gray-here?”
“Thomas of Multon”, he sayd there.
The kynge asked them all thre
What they dyde in his countre.
“I saye you without lyes,
Ye seme well to be spyes!

117

Ye haue sene my londe vp and downe,
I trowe, ye thynke me some treasowne,
For as moche as thou, Syr Kynge,
And thy barons, without lesynge,
Seme not to be thus dyght.
Therfore ye shall with law and ryght
Ben put in a stronge pryson,
For ye thynke to do me treason.”
Kynge Rycharde sayd: “So mote j the,
Thou dooth vnryght, so thynketh me,
Palmers that gone by the waye,
Them to pryson nyght or daye.
Syr kynge, for thy courtesy,

118

Do vs palmers no vylony!
For his loue that we haue sought,
Let vs go, and greue vs nought,
For auentures that may betyde
In straunge londes where thou ryde.
The kynge commaunded anone,
Into pryson þey schulde be done.
The porter, j vnderstonde,
Toke Rycharde by the honde,
And bothe his felawes hym with.
Lenger there had they no grith,
Tyll that other daye at pryme
The kynges sone came in euyll tyme;
Wardrewe was his name,
He was a knyght of grete fame.
He was grete, stronge, and fere,

119

In that londe was not his pere.
“Porter,” he sayd, “j praye the,
Thy prysoners lette me see!”
The porter sayd: “Sir, at your wyll,
Erly or late, loude or styll.”
He brought them forth all thre,
Rycharde formest tho came he,
Wardrewe spake to hym than:
“Arte þou Rycharde, the stronge man,
As men saye in eche londe?
Darste thou stonde a buffet of my honde,
And to morowe j gyue the leue
Suche another me to gyue?”
Anone kynge Rycharde
Graunted to that forwarde.
The kynges sone, fyers and proute,
Gaue Rycharde an eere cloute,

120

Þat the fyre out of his eyen spronge.
Rycharde thought he dyde hym wronge,
And sware his othe by saynt Martyn:
“To morowe I shall paye myn!”
The kynges sone with good wyll
Badde they sholde haue theyr fyll,
Bothe of drynke, and eke of mete,
Of the best that they wolde ete,
That he myght not awyte
For feblenes his dente to smyte;
And into bedde be brought to reste,
To quyte his that he be preste.
The kynges sone was curtese,
That nyghte he made hym well at ease.
On the morowe whan it was daye,
Rycharde rose as j you saye,
Waxe he toke clere and bryght,
And sone a fyre he hath hym dyght,
And wexed his hondes by the fyre,

121

Ouerthwarde and endlonge be you sure,
A strawes brede thycke and more,
For he thought to smyte sore
With his honde he hath tyght,
To make the paye that he hath hyght.
The kynges sone came in than,
To holde forwarde as a trewe man;
And before Rycharde he stode,
And spake to hym with ire and mode:
“Smyte”, he sayd, “with all thy myght,
As þou arte a stalworthe knyghte!
And yf j stope or felde,
Kepe me neuer to bere shelde.”
Under his cheke Richarde his honde layde,
He that it sawe the sothe sayd,
Flesshe and skynne awaye he droughe,
That he fell downe in a dede swoughe.
In twoo he brak hys cheke-bon;
He fel doun ded as ony ston.

122

A knyȝt sterte to þe kyng,
And tolde hym þis tydyng,
Þat Rychard had hys sone jslon.
“Allas,” he sayde, “now haue j non!”
Wiþ þat worde he fyl to grounde,
As man þat was jn woo jbounde.
He swownyd for sorwe at here ffeet,
Knyȝtes took hym vp fful skeet,
And sayde: “Sere, let be þat þouȝt!
Now it is don it helpes nouȝt.”
The kyng spak þenne an hy
To þe knyghtes þat stood hym by,
“Tel me swyþe off þis caas,
In what manere he ded was.”
Stylle þay stood euerylkon,
Ffor sorwe þey myȝte telle non.
Wiþ þat noyse þer com þe qwene.
“Allas,” sche sayde, “hou may þis bene?
Why is þis sorwe and þis ffare?

123

Who has brouȝt yow alle in care?”
“Dame,” he sayde, “wost þou nouȝt,
Þy ffayre sone to deþe is brouȝt!
Siþþen þat j was born to man,
Swylke sorwe hadde j neuere nan!
Alle my ioye is turnyd to woo,
Ffor sorwe j wole myseluen sloo!”
Whenne þe qwene vndyrstood,
Ffor sorwe, sertys, sche wax nygh wood.
Her kerchefs she drewe, her heer also,
“Alas,” she sayd, “what shall j do!”
Sche cratched hereselff in þe vysage,
As a wymman þat was in rage.
þe face fomyd al on blood,
Sche rente þe robe þat sche in stood,
Wrong here handes þat sche was born:
“Jn what manere is my sone jlorn?”
Þe kyng sayde: “I telle þe,
Þe knyȝt here standes tolde it me.

124

Now tel þe soþe, quod þe kyng þan,
In what manere þis dede began;
And, but þou þe soþe seye,
An euele deþ schalt þou deye.”

Þe knyȝt callyd þe iayler,
And bad þat he scholde stonde ner,
To bere wytnesse off þat sawe,
In what maner þat he was slawe.
The iayler sayde: “Ȝystyrday, at pryme,
Ȝoure sone com, in euyl tyme,
To þe prisoun-dore to me.
Þe palmeres he wolde see,
And j fette hem forþ anon.
þe fformeste Rychard gan gon.
Ardru askyd, wiþouten let,
Ȝyff he durste stonde hym a buffet,
And he wolde hym anoþer stande,
As he was trewe knyȝt in land.
And Rychard sayde: ‘Be þis lyȝt,
Smyt on, Sere, wiþ all þy myȝt!’

125

Ardru so Rychard smette,
Þat wel nyȝ he ouyrsette:
‘Rychard,’ he sayde, ‘now bydde j þe,
To morwe anoþer now geue þou me!’
Þey departyd in þis wyse.
At morwe Rychard gan aryse,
And ȝoure sone, anon he come,
And Rychard agayn hym nome,
As comenaunt was betwen hem tway.
Rychard hym smot, forsoþe to say,
Euene in twoo hys cheke-bon.
He ffyl doun ded as ony ston.
As j am sworn vnto ȝow here,
Þus it was, in þis manere!”
The kynge sayde wiþ egre wylle:
“In prisoun þey schal leue stylle;

126

And feteres on hem loke feste!
Ffor þe dedes þat aren vnwrest,
Þat he has my sone jslawe,
He schal dye be ryȝt lawe.”
Þe porter ȝede, als he was sent,
To don hys lordes comaundement.
Þat day eete þey no meete,
Ne no drynk myȝte þey gete.

The kyngys douȝtyr lay in her bour
Wiþ here maydenys off honour;
Margery here name hyȝt,
Sche louede Rychard wiþ al here myȝt.
At þe mydday, before þe noone,
To þe prisoun sche wente soone,
And, wiþ here, maydenes þree.
“Jayler, sche sayde, let me see
Þy prisouns now hastyly!”
Bleþely he sayde: “Sykyrly.”
Fforþ he ffette Rychard anon ryȝt,

127

Ffayr he grette þat lady bryȝt,
And sayde to here, wiþ herte ffree:
“What is þy wylle, lady, wiþ me?”
Whenne sche sawȝ hym wiþ eyen twoo,
Here loue sche caste vpon hym þoo,
And sayde: “Richard, saue God aboue,
Off alle þyng most j þe loue!”
“Allas,” he sayde, “in þat stounde,
Wiþ wrong am j brouȝt to grounde!
What myȝte my loue doo to þe?
A pore prisoun, as þou may see.
Þis is the thyrde day jgon
Þat meete ne drynk ne hadde j non!”
Þe lady hadde of hym pyte,
And sayde, it scholde amendyd bee.
Sche comaundyd þe jaylere
Meete and drynk to fette hym þere:
“And þe yryns from hym take,
I comaunde þe, for my sake.

128

And afftyr soper, in þe euenyng,
To my chaumbyr þou hym bryng,
In þe atyr off a squyer:
Myselff j schal kepe hym þer.
Be Jhesu Cryst, and Seynt Symoun,
Þou schalt haue þy warysoun!”

At euen þe porter forgat it nouȝt,
To here chaumbyr he hym brouȝt.
Wiþ þat lady he dwellyd stylle,
And playde wiþ here al hys will.
Tyl þe seuenth day, sykyrly,
He ȝede and com fol priuyly.
He was aspyyd off a knyȝt,
Þat to here chaumber he com o nyȝt.
Preuyly he tolde þe kyng,
Fforleyn was hys douȝtyr ȝyng.
Þe kyng askyd hym ful soone:

129

“Who þenne haþ þat dede jdon?”
“Rychard,” he sayde, “þat tretour!
He has don þis dyshonour.
Sere, be my crystyndome,
I sawȝ whenne he ȝede and come.”

Þe kyng in herte sykyd sore,
To hym þenne spak he no more,
But swyþe, wiþouten fayle,
He sente afftyr his counsayle,
Erlys, barouns, and wyse clerkes,
To telle off þese wooful werkes.
Þe messangerys gunne forþ gon,
Hys counsaylleres, þey come anon.
By þat it was þe fourtenþe day
They were comen, as j ȝow say.
Al wiþ on þey gretten þe kyng,
Þe soþe to say, wiþouten lesyng.

130

“Lordynges,” he sayde, “welcome alle!”
Þey wente hem forþ into an halle,
Among hem þe kyng hym set.
“I shall you tell wiþouten let,
Why j haue afftyr ȝow sent:
To geue a traytour iugement,
Þat has don me gret tresoun:
Kyng Rychard is in my prisoun.”
Alle he tolde hem, in hys sawe,
Hou he hadde hys sone jslawe,
And hys douȝtyr also forlayn:
“Þat he were ded j were ful ffayn!
But now it is ordeyned soo,
Men schal no kyng to deþ doo.”

To hym spak a bold baroun:
“Hou com Kyng Rychard in prisoun?

131

He is halden so noble a kyng,
To hym dar no man doo no þyng.”
Þe kyng hym tolde in all wyse,
Hou he fond hym in dysguyse,
And wiþ hym oþere twoo barouns,
Noble men off gret renouns:
“I took hem, þorwȝ suspeccyoun,
In þis manere to my prisoun.”
He took leue at hem ylkone,
Into a chaumbyr he bad hem gon
Ffor to take here counsayle,
What hem myȝte best avayle.
In here speche þey dwellyd þare
Þre dayes and sumdel mare,
And stroue faste, as they were wode,
With grete errour and egere mode.
Some wolde haue hym a dawe,
And some sayde it was no lawe.
In þis manere, for here iangelyng,
Þey myȝte acorde for no þyng.
Þe wyseste sayde: “Verament,
We can hym geue no iugement.”
Þus answeryd þey þe kyng,
Sertaynly, wiþouten lesyng.
A knyȝt spak swyþe to þe kyng:
“Sere, greue ȝow no þyng,

132

For Sere Eldryd, for soþe, jwis,
He can telle what best is,
Ffor he is wys man off red,
Manye has he don to ded.”
Þe kyng bad, wiþouten lette,
Þat he were before hym fette.
He was brouȝt before þe kyng;
He askyd hym, in hys sayyng:
“Canst þou telle me, in ony manere,
Off Kyng Rychard þat j vengyd were?”
He answeryd wiþ herte ffree:
“þeron j moot avyse me.
Ȝe weten weel, it is no lawe
A kyng to hange and to drawe.
Ȝe schal doo, be my resoun:
Hastely takes ȝoure lyoun,
And wiþhaldes hym hys meete,
Þree dayes þat he nouȝt eete;
And R. into chaumbyr ȝe doo,
And lete þe lyoun wende hym too:
In þis manere he schal be slawe.
Þenne dost þou nouȝt agayn þe lawe:
Þe lyoun schal hym þere sloo,
Þenne art þou wroken off þy foo.”

133

Þe mayde aspyyd þat resoun,
Þat he scholde dye þorwȝ tresoun,
And afftyr hym sone sche sente,
To warne hym off þat iugemente.
When he to þe chaumbyr com þan:
“Welcome,” sche sayde, “my lemman!
My lord has ordeynyd þe þorwȝ red
Þe þrydde day to be don to ded.
Into a chaumbyr þou schalt be doo,
A lyoun schal be late þe too,
Þat is forhongryd swyþe sore;
Þanne wot j wel, þou leuyst no more!
But, leue lemman, þenne sayde sche,
To nyȝt we wole off lande fflee;
Wiþ gold, and syluer, and gret tresore,
Inowȝ to haue ffor eueremore.”

Rychard sayde: “J vndyrstande
Þat were agayn þe lawe of lande,
Away to wende wiþouten leue:
Þe kyng ne wole j nouȝt so greue.

134

Off þe lyoun ne geue j nought,
Hym to sle now haue j þouȝt.
Be pryme, on þe þrydde day,
I geue þe hys herte to pray.”
Keuercheues he askyd off sylk,
Ffourty, whyte as ony mylk:
“To þe prisoun þou hem bryng,
A lytyl before þe euenyng.”

Whenne it to þe tyme cam,
Þe wey to þe prisoune þe mayden nam,
And wiþ here a noble knyȝt.
Here soper was redy jdyȝt.
Rychard bad hys twoo feres
Come to hym to here soperes:
“And þou, sere porter, alsoo,

135

Þe lady comaundes þe þertoo.”
Þat nyȝt þey were glad jnowȝ,
And sythen to þe chaumbyr þey drowȝ:
But Rychard and þat swete wyȝt
Dwellyd togeddere al þat nyȝt.

At morwe, whenne it was day,
Rychard here prayde to wende here way.
“Nay,” sche sayde, “be God aboue,
I schal dye here ffor þy loue!
Ryȝt now here j wole abyde,
Þouȝ me scholde þe deþ betyde.
Sertes, henne wole j nouȝt wende,
I shall take the grace that God will sende!”

136

Rychard sayde: “Lady ffree,
But ȝyff þou wende swyþe ffro me,
Þou schalt greue me so sore,
Þat j schal loue þe no more.”
Þer agayn sche sayde: “Nay!
Lemman, haue now good day!
God, þat deyde vpon þe tree
Saue þe ȝyff hys wylle bee!”
Þe keuercheues he took on honde,
Abouten hys arme he hem wonde.
He þouȝte in þat ylke wyle
To sloo þe lyoun wiþ sum gyle,
And seyngle in a kertil he stood,
Abood the lyon fers and wood.
Wiþ þat com þe iaylere,
And oþere twoo wiþ hym in ffere,

137

And þe lyoun hem among,
His pawes were boþe scharp and long.
The chambre dore they hafe vndo,
And the lyon lete hym to.
Rychard cryed: “Help, Ihesu!”
Þe lyoun made a gret venu,
And wolde haue hym al torent;
Kyng Rychard þenne besyde he glent,
Vpon þe brest þe lyoun he spurnyd,
Þat al aboute þe lyoun turnyd.
Þe lyoun was hungry and megre,
And bette hys tayl, ffor to be egre,
Ffaste aboute, on þe wowes;
Abrod he spredde alle hys powes,
And cryed lowde, and gapyd wyde.
Kyng Rychard beþouȝte hym þat tyde

138

What hym was best, and to hym sterte,
In at hys þrote hys arme he gerte,
Rente out þe herte wiþ hys hand,
Lungges, and lyvere, and al þat he fand.
Þe lyoun fel ded to þe grounde,
Rychard hadde neyþer wemme ne wounde.
He knelyd doun in þat place,
And thankyd Jhesu off hys grace,
Þat hym kepte fro schame and harme.
He took þe herte, al so warme,
And brouȝte it into þe halle,
Before þe kyng and hys men alle.

Þe kyng at meete sat on des,
Wiþ dukes and erles, prowde in pres.

139

Þe saler on þe table stood,
Rychard prest out al þe blood,
And wette þe herte in þe salt,—
Þe kyng and alle hys men behalt—
Wiþouten bred þe herte he eet.
Þe kyng wonderyd, and sayde skeet:
“Iwis, as j vndyrstonde can,
Þis is a deuyl and no man,
Þat has my stronge lyoun slawe,
Þe herte out of hys body drawe,
And has it eeten wiþ good wylle!
He may be callyd, be ryȝt skylle,
Kyng jcrystenyd off most renoun,
Stronge Rychard Coer de Lyoun!”

140

Now off þis lete we bee,
And off þe kyng speke we.
In care and moornyng he ledes hys lyff,
And offten he calles hymselff caytyff,
Bannes þe tyme þat he was born,
Ffor hys sone þat was forlorn,
And hys douȝtyr þat was bylayn,
And hys lyoun þat was soo slayn.
Erlys and barouns come hym too,
And hys qwene dene alsoo,
And askyd hym what hym was.
“Ȝe weten weel”, he seyde, “my caas,
And why j leue in strong dolour;
Ffor Rychard, þe stronge traytour,

141

Has me wrouȝt so mekyl woo.
I may hym nouȝt to deþe doo,
Þerfore j wole, ffor hys sake,
Raunsun ffor hys body take,
Ffor my douȝtyr þat he has schent
Agayn þe staat off sacrement:
Off euery kyrke þat preest in syng,
Messe in saye, or belle in ryng,
Þere twoo chalyses inne be,
Þat on schal be brouȝt to me;
And ȝyff þer bee moo þan þoo,
Þe haluyndel schal come me too.
Whenne j am seruyd off that ffee,
Þenne schal Rycharde delyueryd bee.
And my doughter for her outrage

142

Shall forgoo her herytage.
Þus, he sayde, it schal be doo.”
Þe barouns grauntyd weel þertoo.
Kyng Rychard þey afftyr sente,
Ffor to here þat ordeynemente.

Kyng Rychard com into þe halle,
And grette þe kyng, and hys men alle.
Þenne sayde þe kyng: “Verrayment,
We haue lokyd, þorwȝ iugement,
Þat þou schalt paye raunsoun,
Ffor þe and þy twoo baroun.
Off euery kyrke in þy land
Þou schalt doo me come to hand:

143

Þere twoo chalys inne bee,
Þat on schal be brouȝt to mee;
And ȝiff þer bee moo þen þoo,
Þe haluyndel schal come me too:
Þorwȝout þy land, wete it weel,
I wole haue þe haluyndel.
Whenne þou hast þus maad þy pay,
I geue þe leue to wende þy way,
And my douȝtyr alsoo wiþ þe,
Þat j ȝow neuere wiþ eyen see.”
Kyng Rychard sayde: “As þou hast told,
To þat fforewarde j me hold.”
Kyng Rychard, curteys and hende,
Seyde: “Who wole for me wende

144

To Engeland to my chaunceler
Þat my raunsoun be payde her?
And who so dos it, wiþouten ffayle,
J schal aquyte hym weel his trauayle.”
Vp þer stood an hende knyȝt:
“Þe message j wole doo ful ryȝt.”

Kyng Rychard dede a lettre wryte—
A noble clerk it gan adyte—,
And made þerjnne mensyoun,
More and lesse, off the raunsoun.
“Gretes weel, as j ȝow say,
Boþe myn erchebysshopys tway,
And so ȝe doo my chaunceler,

145

To serue þe lettre in alle maner,
In no manere þe lettre ffayle;
Sykyrly, it schal hem auayle.”

146

Hys seel þeron he has set,
Þe knyȝt it takes wiþouten let,
Dyȝtes him, and made hym ȝare,
Ouer þe see ffor to ffare.
Whenne he was þerouer jbrouȝt,
To gon hys way forgat he nouȝt;
To London he hyyd hym anon,
Þere he fond hem euerylkon.
He took þe lettre, as j ȝow say,
To þe erchebysshopys tway,
And bad hem faste don it rede,
Ffor it was sent ffor mekyl nede.
Þe chaunceler þe wex tobrak,
Sone he wyste what it spak.
Þe lettre was rede among hem alle,
What þeroffe scholde beffalle:
Hou kyng Rychard wiþ tresoun
Jn Alemayne dwelles ffor raunsoun;
Þe kynges sone he has slayn,
And also hys douȝtyr he haþ forlayn,
And alsoo slayn hys lyoun:
Alle þese harmes he haþ don.
Þey boden clerkys fforþ to wende
To euery kyrke fer and hende,
Hastely þat it were sped,

147

And þe tresore to hym led.
“Messanger”, þenne sayden hee,
“Þou schalt dwelle, and haue wiþ þe
Ffyue bysschopys to ryde þe by,
And ffyue barouns sykyrly,
And oþere folk jnowe wiþ þee;
In vs ne schal not ffawte bee.”
Off euery kyrke lesse and more
Þey gaderyd vp al þe tresore,
And ouer þe see þenne are þey went,
Ffor to make þe ffayr present.
Whenne þey comen þe cite too,
Þe ryche kyng þey gretten þoo,
And sayden, as þey were beþouȝt:
“Sere, þy raunsoun is here brouȝt;
Takes it al to ȝoure wyl,
Lat goo þese men as it is skyl.”
Sayde þe kyng: “I geue hem leue,
I ne schal hem no more greue.”
He took hys douȝtyr by þe hand,
And bad here swyþe deuoyde his land.
Þe qwene sawȝ what scholde falle,
Here douȝtyr sche gan to chaumbyr calle,
And sayde: “þou schalt dwelle wiþ me,
Tyl Kyng Rychard sende afftyr þee,

148

As a kyng dos afftyr his qwene.
So j rede þat it schal bene.”

Kyng Richard, and hys feres twoo,
Took here leue, and gunne to goo
Home agayn vnto Yngelonde,
Þankyd be Ihesu Crystys sonde.
Þey come to Londoun, þat cite.
Hys erles, and hys barouns ffree,
Þey þankyd God al so blyue,
Þat þey seyȝ here lord on lyue.
Hys twoo fferes wenten home,
Here ffrendes were glad off here come;
Baþid here bodyys, þat were sore
Ffor þe trauayle þat þey hadde before.

Þus þay dwellyd halff a ȝer,
Among here ffrendes off gret power,
Tyl þey were stalworþ to ffond.
Þe kyng comaundyd, þorwȝ þe lond,
At London to make a parlement,
Non wiþstonde his comaundement,
As þey wolden sauen here lyff,
And here chyldren, and here wyff.
To Londoun, to hys somoun,
Come erl, bysshop, and baroun,

149

Abbotes, pryours, knyȝtes, squyers,
Burgeyses, and manye bachelers,
Seriauntes, and euery ffreholdande,
Þe kynges heste to vndyrstande.

Beffor þat tyme a gret cuntre
Þat was beȝonde þe Grykyssche see,
Acres, Surry, and ffele landes,
Were in Crystene-mennes handes;
And þe croys þat Cryst was on ded,
Þat bouȝte vs alle fro þe qued;
And al þe cuntree of Bethleem,
And þe toun off Ierusalem,
Off Nazareth, and off Ierycho,
And al Galylee alsoo.
Ylke palmere and ylke pylgryme
Þat wolde þedyr goo þat tyme,
Myȝte passe, wiþ good entent,
Wiþouten raunsoun, and ony rent,
Oþer off syluyr, or off golde,
To euery plase þat he wolde;
Ffond he no man hym to myssay,
Ne wiþ euele hondes on hym to lay.
Off Surry-land þe Duke Myloun
Was lord þat stounde, a bold baroun.

150

Mawgre þe Sawdon þat lond he heeld,
And weryd it weel wiþ spere and scheeld.
He, and þe douȝty Erl Renaud
Wel offten gaff hym wol hard assaut,
And wol offten in playn batayle
Þey slowe knyȝtes and gret putayle
Off Sarezynys þat mysbeleuyd:
Þe Sawdon was sore agreuyd.

Lystenes off a tresoun strong
Off þe Eerl Roys þat was hem among,
To whom Myloun tryste mekyl:
And he was traytour fals and fykyl;
Þe Sawdon stylly to hym sente,
And behyȝte hym land and rente,
The Crystene hoost to betrayen;
Whanne he hadde wunne hem, to payen
Off gold many a þousand pounde;
Þe eerl grauntyd hym þat stounde.
Anoþer traytour, Markes Fferaunt,
He wyste alsoo off þat comenaunt.
He hadde part of þe gold þe eerl took,
And afftyrward Crystyndome forsook.
Þus þorwȝ tresoun of þe Eerl Roys
Surry was lorn and þe holy croys.

151

Þe Duke Renaud was hewe smale,
Al to pesys, so says oure tale.
Þe Duke Myloun was geuen hys lyff,
And ffleyȝ out off lande wiþ hys wyff,
—He was heyr off Surry lande,
Kyng Bawdewynys sone, j vndyrstande—
Þat no man wyste neuere siþþe
Where he become, ne in what kiþþe:
So þat þis los and þis pite,
Sprong out þorwȝ al Crystyante.
An holy Pope, þat hyȝte Vrban,
Sente to eche a Crystene man,
And asoylyd hem off here synne,
And gaff hem paradys to wynne,
Alle þat wolde þedyr gon,
To wreke Ihesu off hys ffoon.
Þe Kyng off Ffraunce, wiþouten ffayle,
Þedyr he wente wiþ gret vytayle,
Þe Duke off Bloys, þe Duke off Burgoyne,
Þe Duke off Ostryche, and þe Duke of Cessoyne,
And þe Emperour off Alemayne,
And þe goode knyȝtes off Bretayne,
Þe Eerl of Fflaundres, þe Eerl off Coloyne,

152

Þe Eerl of Artays, þe Eerl off Boloyne.
Mekyl folk wente þedyr beffore
Þat nyȝ hadde here lyff fforlore,
In gret werre and hongyr hard,
As ȝe may here afftyrward.

In heruest, afftyr þe natiuite,
Kyng Richard wiþ gret solempnite
At Westemynstyr heeld a ryal ffeste
Wiþ bysschop, eerl, baroun honeste,
Abbotes, knyȝtes, swaynes strong.
And afftyr mete hem among
Þe kyng stood vp and gan to sayn:
“My leue ffrendes, j wole ȝow prayn,
Beþ in pes, lystenes my tale,
Erlys, barouns, grete and smale,
Bysschop, abbot, lewyd and lerde!
Al Crystyndom may ben aferde!
Þe Pope Vrban has to vs sent
Hys bulle and his comaundement
Hou þe Sawdon has fyȝt begunne;
Þe toun off Acres he has wunne

153

Þorwȝ þe Eerl Roys and hys trehcherye,
And al þe kyngdom off Surrye.
Ierusalem and þe croys is lorn,
And Bethleem, þere Ihesu Cryst was born.
Þe Crystene knyȝtes be hangyd and drawe;
Þe Sarezynys haue hem now jslawe,
Crystene men, chyldren, wyff, and grome.
Wherefore þe lord, þe Pope off Rome,
Is agreuyd and anoyyd
Þat Crystyndom is þus destroyyd.
Ilke Crystene kyng he sendes bode,
And byddes in þe name off Gode
To wende þedyr, wiþ gret hoost,
Ffor to ffelle þe Sarezynys bost.

154

Wherefore myselff, j haue mente,
To wende þedyr, wiþ swerdes dente
Wynne þe croys, and gete los.
Now, ffrendes, what is youre purpos?
Wole ȝe wende? Says ȝe or nay!”

Erles, barouns, knyghtis, and alle þat maye
Sayde: “We ben at on acord
To wende wiþ þe, Rychard, oure lord!”
Quod þe kyng: “Frendes, gromercy!
It is oure honour, lystenys why!
Wendes and grauntes þe Pope his bon,
As oþere Crystene kynges haue don.
Þe Kyng off Ffraunse is went forþ.
I rede est, west, souþ, and norþ
In Yngelonde þat we do crye,
And maken a playn croyserye.”
Mekyl ffolk þe croys haue nomen;
To Kyng Rychard þey were comen
On hors and ffoot, wel aparaylyd.

155

Twoo hondryd schyppys ben wel vitailid,
Wiþ flour, hawberkes, swerdys, and knyuys;
Þrittene schyppys jlade wiþ hyuys;
Off tymbyr grete and schydys long
He leet make a tour fful strong,
Þat queynteyly engynours made;
Þerwiþ þree schyppys were wel lade.
Anoþer schyp was laden ȝet
Wiþ an engine hyȝte Robynet—
It was Rychardys o mangenel—,
And al þe takyl þat þerto ffel.

Whenne þey ware dyȝt al ȝare,
Out off hauene ffor to ffare,
Ihesu hem sente wynd ful good,
To bere hem ouer þe salte fflood.
Kyng Rychard sayde to hys schipmen:
“Ffrendes, doþ as j ȝow ken!
And Maystyr Aleyn Trenchemere,
Wheþer ȝe come ffer or nere,
And ȝe meten be þe see stronde
Schyppys off ony oþer londe,
Þo Crystene men, on lyff and leme
Looke no goodes ȝe hem beneme!
And ȝyff ȝe ony Sarezynys mete,

156

Loke on lyue þat ȝe non lete!
Catayl, dromoun, and galeye,
Al j ȝow ȝeue vnto ȝoure preye.
But at þe cyte off Marchyle,
Þere ȝe moot abyde a whyle,
Be cable and ankyr ffor to ryde,
Me and myn hoost ffor to abyde,
Ffor j and my knyȝtes of mayn
Wole hastyly wende þorwȝ Alemayn,
To speke wiþ Modard þe kyng
To wete why, and for what þyng
Þat he me in prisoun heelde.
But he my tresore agayn ȝelde
Þat he off me took wiþ ffalshede,
I schal quyten hym hys mede.”

Þus Kyng Rychard, as ȝe may here,
Bycome Goddys owne palmere.
Agayns Goddys wyþirwynys

157

Þe erchebysschop Sere Bawdewynys
Beffore wente wiþ knyȝtys ffyn
Be Braundys and be Constantyn:
And al þe last, þenne afftyrward,
Þenne come þe douȝty kyng Rychard.

Þree hoostes Kyng Richard gan make
Into heþenesse, ffor Goddys sake:
In þe fforme warde hymselff wolde be
Wiþ hardy men off gret pouste.
Þat oþer ledes Ffouke Doyly
Thomas þe þrydde, sykyrly.
Euery hoost wiþ hym gan lede
Ffourty þousande goode at nede,
Non þerjnne but man off myȝt
Þat were wel prouyd in werre and fyȝt.
Kyng Rychard callyd hys iustys:

158

“Lokes, þat ȝe doo be my deuys!
My land kepes wiþ skele and lawe:
Traytours lokes ȝe honge and drawe.
In my stede schal be here
Þe bysschop of Ȝork, my chauncelere.
I wole þat ȝe ben at hys wylle,
To wyrke afftyr ryȝt and skylle,
Þat j hereafftyr here no stryff,
As ȝe wole saue ȝowre owne lyff!
And in þe name off God almyȝt,
Ledes þe pore men be ryȝt!”
Þertoo heeld þey vp here hand,
Wiþ ryȝt to lede al Yngeland.
Bysschopys gaff hem here benysoun,
And prayde ffor hem in kyrke and toun;
And prayde Jhesu Cryst hem spede,
In heuene to quyte hem here mede!

Now is Kyng Rychard passid þe see;
Sone he delte hys hoost in þre,
Ffor he wolde nouȝt þe ffolk anoye,
And here goodes nouȝt destroye,
Ne noþyng take wiþouten pay.
Þe kyng comaundyd, as j ȝow say,
Euery hoost ffro oþir ten myle:
Þus he ordeynyd, þat whyle,
In þe myddyl hoost hymselff to ryde,
And hys hoostes on boþe syde.

159

Fforþ þey wenten, wiþouten ensoyne,
To þe cyte off Coloyne.
Þe hye mayere off þat cyte
Comaundyd, as j schal telle þee,
No man selle hem no ffowayle
Ffor no thyng þat myȝte avayle.
Þe styward tolde Richard þe kyng
Sone anon off þat tydyng
Þat he myȝte no ffowayle beye,
Neyþer ffor loue, neyther ffor eye:
“Þus deffendes Modard þe kyng,
Ffor he ȝow hates ouyr alle thyng.
Weel he woot þat ȝe haue swore,
Al þat ȝe take to paye þerfore;
Ȝe wole take wiþ no maystry:
Þerfore he wenes, sykyrly,
Þat ȝe schal haue mete non;
Þus he þynkes ȝoure men to slon.”
Kyng Richard answerid as hym þouȝt:
“Þat ne schal vs lette nouȝt.
Now styward, j commaunde þee,
Bye vs vessel gret plente,
Dysschys, cuppys, and sawsers,
Bolles, treyes, and plateres,

160

Fattys, tunnes, and costret,
Makes oure mete wiþouten let,
Wheþer ȝe wole seþe or brede;
And þe pore men, so God ȝow spede,
Þat ȝe ffynde in þe toun,
Þat þey come at my somoun.”
Whenne þe mete was greyþid and dyȝt,
Þe kyng comaundyd to a knyȝt,
Afftyr þe mayr for to wende,
And other burgesse good and hende.
Þe mayr come, as j haue sayde,
Bord and cloþ was redy layde.
Anon þey were to borde sette,
And ffayr seruyse beffore hem fette.
Kyng Rychard askyd in hyyng:
“Sere mayr, where is þy lord þe kyng?”
“Sere,” he sayde, “at Gumery,
Sykyrly, withouten ly;
And alsoo my lady þe qwene;
Þe þrydde day ȝe schal hem sene;
And Margery, his douȝtyr ffree,
Þat of ȝowre comyng glad wil be.”

Þay waschede, as it was lawe off land;
A messanger þer come rydand,

161

Vpon a stede whyt so mylke,
Hys trappys were off tuely sylke,
Wiþ fyue hondryd belles ryngande,
Wel ffayr off syȝt, j vndirstande.
And doun off hys stede he lyȝt,
And grette Kyng Rychard fayre, i plyȝt:
“Þe kynges douȝtyr, þat is so ffree,
Sche þe gretes weel by me:
Wiþ an hondryd knyȝtes, and moo,
Sche comes, ar þou to bedde goo.”
Kyng Rychard answeryd in hyyng:
“Welcome”, he sayde, “ouyr alle þyng!”
He made ryght merye þe messangere,
Wiþ glad semblaunt and merye chere,
And gaff hym a cloþ off golde,
Ffor he was to hym leeff jhold.

Þey come to hym þat ylke nyȝt,
Þe knyȝtes and þe lady bryȝt.
Whenne Kyng Richard myȝte here see,
“Welcome, lemman!” sayde hee.
Ayþer off hem oþir gan kysse,
And made mekyl ioye and blysse.
Þenne þey dwellyd tyl it were day,
At morwe þey wenten in here way.

162

At mydday, before þe noon,
Þey comen to a cyte boon,
Þe name was callyd Marburette;
Þere þe kyng hym wolde lette.
Hys marschal swyþe com hym too:
“Sere,” he sayde, “hou schole we doo?
Swylk ffowayle as we bouȝte ȝistyrday,
Ffor no catel gete j may.”
Rychard answeryd, wiþ herte ffree:
“Off ffroyt here is gret plente!
Ffyggys, and raysyns in ffrayel,
And notes may serue vs ffol wel,
And wex sumdel caste þertoo,
Talwȝ and grese menge alsoo;
And þus ȝe may oure mete make,
Seþþen ȝe mowe non oþer take.”
Þere þey dwellyd al þat nyȝt;
On þe morwe to wenden þey haue jtyȝt
To þe cyte off Carpentras,
Þere Kyng Modard hymselff was.
Ffurþer þenne myȝte he ffle hym nouȝt;
Þorwȝ þe land he hadde hym souȝt.
Kyng Rychard hys hostel gan take,
Þere he gan hys ferste wrak

163

Wiþ gret wrong agayn þe ryȝt,
Ffor þe goos þat he hadde dyȝt.

Kyng Modard wot Rychard is come,
Weel he wenes to be nome,
And in prisoun ay to bee:
“But ȝyff my douȝtyr helpe mee!”
Sche come to hym þere he sat:
“What now, fadyr, hou is þat?”
“Sertys, douȝtyr, j gete blame,
But ȝiff þow helpe, j goo to schame.”
“Sertes, Sere,” sche sayde þan,
“As j am gentyl womman,
Ȝyff ȝe wole be mylde off mood,
Kyng Rychard wole do ȝow but good.
But grauntes hym, wiþ good wylle,
Þat he wil aske, to ffulffylle.
And dos ȝou al in hys mercy;
Ȝe schole be kyssyd, be oure lady!
Ȝe þat haue ben soo wroþe,
Flul ffayre acordyd ȝe schal be boþe,
And eke alsoo my lady þe qwene;
Goode ffrendes þenne schole ȝe bene.”

Sche took here ffadyr, and wiþ hym ȝede
To Kyng Rychard, as j ȝow rede;

164

And alsoo erles, and barouns moo,
And syxty knyȝtes wiþouten þoo.
Kyng Richard sawȝ hou þat he com,
Þe way agayns hym he nom.
Kyng Modard on knees hym sette,
Þere Kyng Rychard ful fayre he grette,
And sayde: “Sere, j am at þy wylle.”
Sayde Rychard: “I wole nouȝt but sky[lle].
Wiþ so þou ȝelde agayn my tresore,
I schal þe loue ffor eueremore,
Loue þe, and be þy ffrende!”
Quod Kyng Modard: “My sone hende,
J wole þe swere vpon a book,
Redy is it j off þe took;
Redy is al þy tresore,
And ȝyff þou wylt as mekyl more,
J schal þe geue, my pes to make!”
Kyng Rychard gan hym in armes tak[e],
And kyste hym fful ffele syþe:
Þey were ffrendes, and made hem blyþe.
That ylke day Kyng Modard
Eet, jwis, wiþ Kyng Rychard.
And afftyr mete, sone and swyþe,
Kyng Rychard spak, wiþ chere blyþe,
To þe kyng þat sat hym by:

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“Welcome be þou sykyrly!
Sere, for þy loue j praye þe
Off þyn help to wende wiþ me
To heþynnesse, wiþouten ffayle,
Ffor Goddes loue to geue batayle.”
Þe kyng grauntyd al in griþ,
Al hys land-folk to wende hym wiþ,
“And myselff to wende þertoo.”—
“Nay,” quod Rychard, “j wole nouȝt so!
Þou art to old to bykyr in ffyȝt;
But j pray þe, þat þou me dyȝt
An hondryd knyȝtes, styff to stande,
Of þe beste in al þy lande;
And off vytayle redy bon,
Ffor al a ȝer þat it be don,
And squyers þat ffalles hem too.”
Þe kyng grauntyd to be soo.
“Anoþer þyng j schal þe geue
Þat may þe helpe whyl þat þou leue:
Twoo ryche rynges off gold;
Þe stones þerjnne be ffol bold.
Hennes to þe lond off Ynde,
Betere þenne schalt þou non fynde:
Ffor who soo has þat on ston,
Watyr ne schal hym drenche non;

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That oþir ston who so it bere,
Ffyr ne schal hym neuere dere.”
Sere,” quod Rychard, “graunt mercy!”

Hys knyȝtes weren dyȝt al redy,
Seriauntes of armes, and squyers;
Stedes chargyd, and destrers
Wiþ armure and oþir vytayle;
Kyng Richard wente wiþ his parayle.
To Marcyle þey gunne ryde,
And hys hoostes on boþe syde.
Ffouk Doyly, Thomas off Multon,
Duke, eerl, and many baroun;
Rychardys maystyr Roberd off Leycester,
In al Yngelond was non his betere;
And alsoo Robert Tourneham,
Gret Englysshe peple wiþ hym cam.

Al redy þey ffounde þer here fflete,
Chargyd wiþ armure, drynk, and mete.
Þey schyppyd armes, man, and stede,
And stoor here folk al wiþ to ffede.
Þey schyppyd al be þe see stronde,
To wende into þe Holy Londe.
Þe wynd was boþe good and kene,
And droff hem ouyr to Messene.

167

Beffore þe ȝates off þe Gryffouns,
Kyng Rychard pyȝte his pauylouns.
Þe Kyng off Fraunce þere he founde,
In pauylouns quarre and rounde;
And eyþyr off hem kyste oþir,
And becomen sworen broþir,
To wenden into þe Holy Londe,
To wreke Jhesu, j vndyrstonde.

A tresoun þouȝte þe Kyng of Fraunce,
To doo Kyng R. a destaunce.
To Kyng Tanker he sente a wryt,
Þat turnyd hym siþene to lytyl wyt,
Þat Kyng Richard wiþ strenþe of hand
Wolde hym dryue out of his land.
Tanker Kyng of Poyle was,
Ffor þis wryt he sayde “Allas!”
He sente anon a messanger
To hys sone þat hyȝte Roger,

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Þat was kyng in Sesyle-land,
He scholde come vnto hys hand;
And alsoo afftyr hys barouns,
Erles and lordes off renouns.
And whenne þey were jcome ylkon,
Þe kyng sayde to hem anon,
And tolde hym hou þe Kyng of Fraunce
Had warnyd hym off a dystaunce,
Hou Kyng Rychard was come fro ferre,
Wiþ gret strengþe on hym to werre.
Kyng Roger spak ffyrst aboue,
And smot pes wiþ hys gloue:
“Mercy, my ffadyr, at þis tyme!
Kyng Richard is a pylgryme
Croysyd into þe Holy Lande;
Þat wryt lyes, j vndyrstande.
J dar ffor Kyng Rychard swere

169

Ffor hym ne tydes ȝow neuere dere.
But sendes to hym a messangere,
Þat he come vnto ȝow here;
He wil come to ȝow fful ffawe,
And þat he þynkes he wyl beknawe.”

Þe kyng was payyd off þat counsayle,
And sente afftyr hym saunt ffayle.
At morwen he com to hym jwis,
Into þe ryche cyte off Rys.
He ffond Kyng Tanker in hys halle,
Among hys erlys and barouns alle.
Eyþer grette oþir ful ffayre,
Wiþ mylde wurdes and debonayre.
Þenne sayde Tanker to Kyng Richard:
“Loo, Sere Kyng, be Seynt Leonard,
Me it is jdon for to wyt

170

Off ffrendes be a fol good wryt,
Þat þou art [co]men wiþ gret powere,
Me to bereue my landes here.
Þou were ffayrere to be a pylgrym,
Ffor to sloo many a paynym,
Þenne for to greue a Cristene kyng
Þat neuere mysdede þe no þyng!”
Kyng Richard was sore aschamyd,
And off hys wurdes sore agramyd,
And sayde: “Tanker, þou art mystauȝt,
To haue on me swylke a þouȝt,
And swylke a rage vpon me bere,
Þat i þe scholde wiþ armes dere,
And swylke a tresoun to me sopos:
Vpon my flesch i bere þe cros!
I wole dwelle but a day,
Tomorwe i wole wende my way.

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And i praye the, Syr Tanker kynge,
Procure me none evyll thynge!
For many man weneth to greue other,
And on his heed falleth the fother.
For who so wayteth me despyte,
Hymselfe shall nought passe quyte.”
“Syr,” quod Tanker, “be not wrothe for this!
Lo here the letter, forsothe, iwis,
That the Kynge of Fraunce me sente
That other daye in presente!”
Kynge Rycharde sawe and vnderstode
The kynge of Fraunce wolde hym no gode.
Kynge Rycharde and Kynge Tanker kyste,
And were frends with the beste
That myght be in ony londe;
Blessyd be Ihesu Chrystes sonde!
Kynge Rycharde wente agayne well styll,

172

And suffred the Frenssch kynges wyll.
He vndyde his tresore,
And bought bestes to his store;
He let bothe salte and slene
Three thousande oxen and kene,
Swyne and shepe so many also,
No man coude tell tho.
Of whete and benys twenty thowsinde
Quarters he boughte als þat j fynde;
Of fysshe, foules, and venyson,
I ne can nought account in ryght reason.

The Kynge of Fraunce, without wene,
Laye in the cyte of Messene,
And Kynge Rycharde without the wall,
Under the house of the Hospytall.
The Englysshe-men wente to chepyng,
And ofte hente harde knockynge;
The Frensshe and Gryffons downe ryghtes

173

Slewe there our Englysshe knyghtes.
Kynge Rycharde herde of that dystaunce,
And playned to the kynge of Fraunce;
And he answered, he helde no wardes
Of the Englysshe taylardes.
“Chase the Gryffons yf thou myght,
For of my men getest thou no ryght!”
Quod Kynge Rycharde: “Syth it is so
I wote well what i haue to do:
I shall me of them so awreke,
That all the worlde therof shall speke.”

Chrystmasse is a tyme full honeste,
Kynge Rycharde it honoured with grete feste.
All his erles and his barons
Were set in theyr pauylyouns,
And were serued with grete plente
Of mete and drynke and eche deynte.

174

Than came there a knyght in grete haste,
Unneth he myght draw his blaste;
He fell on knees and thus he sayd:
“Mercy Rycharde, for Mary mayde!
With the Frensshmen and the Gryffownes
My brother lyeth slayne in the townes,
And with hym lyeth slayne fyftene
Of thy knyghtes good and kene.
This daye and yesterdaye, i tolde a rowe,
That syxe and thyrty they had yslowe!
Fast lesseth your Englissh hepe,
Good Syr, take good kepe!
Awreke vs, Syr, manly,
Or we shall right hastely
Flee peryll, i vnderstonde,
And tourne agayne to Englonde.”

175

Kynge Rycharde was wrothe, and eger of mode,
And loked as he were wode;
The table with his fote he smote,
That it wente on the flore fote-hote,
And swore he wold be awreked in haste,
He wolde not wende for Chrystes faste.
The hygh daye of Chrystmasse
They gan them arme more and lasse.
Before wente Kynge Rycharde,
The Erle of Salysbury afterwarde,
That was called by that daye
Syr Wyllyam the Longespaye,
The Erle of Leycestre, the Erle of Herdforde,
Full comly folowed they theyr lorde.
Erles, barons, and squyers,
Bowmen, speremen, and arblasteres,

176

With Kynge Rycharde they gan reke,
Of Frensshe and Gryffons to be awreke.
The folke of þe cyte aspyed rathe
That the Englysshe men wolde do them skathe.
They shette hastely the gate
With barres that they founde therate,
And swythe they ranne on the wall,
And shotte with bowe and spryngall,
And called to our men saunce fayle:
“Go hom, dogges, with your tayle!
For all your boost and your orguyl
Men shall threste in your cuyle!”
Thus they mysdyde and myssayde;
All that daye Kynge Rycharde they trayde.
Our kynge that daye for no nede
In batayll myght nothynge spede.

177

On nyght Kynge Rycharde and his barons
Wente to theyr pauylyouns.
Who that slepte, or who that woke,
Kyng Rycharde that nyght no reste toke.
On the morowe he ofsente his counseyllers,
And of the portes the mayster maryners.
“Lordynges,” he sayd, “ye ben with me;
Our counsell ought to be pryue.
Al we sholde vs venge fonde,
With queyntyse and with strength of honde,
Of the Frensshe and of the Gryffons
That haue dyspysed our nacyons.
I haue a castell, i vnderstonde,
Was made of tembre of Englonde,
With syxe stages full of tourelles
Well flourysshed with cornelles;

178

Therin i and many a knyght
Ayenst the Frensshe shall take the fyght.
That castell shall haue a surnom,
It shall hyght the Mate-Gryffon.
Maryners, arme wele your shyppes,
And holde vp your manshyppes,
By the water-halfe ye them assayle,
And we by the londe saunce fayle;
For joye come neuer to me
Tyll i of them awrecked be!”
Therto men myght here crye:
“Helpe God and Saynt Mary!”
The maryners them gan hye,
Bothe with shyppe and with galye,
With ore, spredde, and sayle also

179

Towarde the cite they gan go.
The knyghtes framed the tre-castell
Before the cyte vpon an hyll.
All this sawe the Kynge of Fraunce,
And sayd: “Haue ye no doutaunce
Of all these Englyssh cowardes,
For they ne be but mossardes;
Drisses now your mangenell,
And caste to theyr tre-castell,
And shote to them with arblast,
The tayled dogges for to agast!”

Now harken of Rycharde, our kynge,
How he let bere in the dawnynge
Targes and hurdis his folke all
Right before the cyte-wall.
His hoost he let at ones crye—
Men myght it here into the skye—:

180

“Now let come the Frenssh mosardes,
And gyue batayll to the taylardes!”
Þe Fresshemen them armed all,
And ranne on hast vpon the wall;
And gun defende, þe Englysshe for to assayle:
There began a stronge batayle.
The Englysshe drew with arblast and bowe,
Frenssh and Gryffons fast they slowe.
The galeys came to the cyte,
And had nygh wonne entre.
They hadde so myned vnder the wall,
That many Gryffons gan downe fall;
With hoked arowes and quarelles
They felle out of the tourelles,
And brake bothe legges, and arme,

181

And eke theyr neckes: it was none harme.
The Frensshmen came to the stoure,
And caste wylde fyre out of the toure;
Therwith i wote, forsothe, iwys,
They brent and slew many Englysshe.
And the Englysshmen defended them wele
With good swerdes of browne stele,
And slewe of them so grete chepes,
That there laye moche folke on hepes;
And at the londe-gate Kynge Rycharde
Helde his assawte ylyke harde,
And so manly he toke one,
He loste of his men neuer one.
He loked besyde, and sawe houe
A knyght that weued hym with a gloue.

182

Kynge Rycharde come, and he hym tolde
Tales in Englyssh, stoute and bolde:
“A lorde, i haue aspyed now ryght
A thinge that maketh myn herte lyght.
Here”, he sayd, “is a gate one
That hath warde ryght none.
The folke is gone to the water-toure
For to do them there socoure,
And there we may withouten dente
Entre in now, veramente.”
Blythe therof was Kynge Rycharde,
Stoutly he wente thederwarde,
Many a knyght, doughty of dede,
After hym prycked vpon theyr stede.
Kynge Rycharde entred without drede,
Hym folowed full grete felawrede.

183

His baner vpon the wall he pulte,
Many a Gryffon it byhulte.
As greyhoundes stryken out of lese
Kynge Rycharde threste amonge the prese.
Seuen chaynes with his good swerde
Our kynge forcarfe a mydwarde,
That were drawen for grete doute
Within the gates and without.
Porcules and gates vp he wan,
And lette come in euery man.
Men myght se by strete and lane
Frensshe and Gryffons casche here bane.
Some to hous ran in haste,
Dores and wyndowes barred faste.
The Englissh brake them vp with levours,

184

And slewe them with grete vygours.
All that they founde ayenst them stande,
Passed thorough dethes hande.
They brake cofers, and toke tresours,
Golde, and syluer, and couertours,
Jeweles, stones, and spycery,
All that they founde in tresoury.
There was none of Englysshe blode
That he ne had as moche gode
As they wolde drawe or bere
To shyppe or to pauylyons, i swere.
And euer cryed Kynge Rycharde:
“Slee downe righte the Frensshe cowarde,
And ken them in batayl
That ye haue no tayl.”

The Kynge of Fraunce came pryckynge
Ayenst Rycharde our kynge,
And fell on knees downe of his hors,
And bad mercy, for Goddes corps;

185

For the crowne, and for the loue
Of Jhesu Cryste, kynge aboue,
And for the vyage, and for the crose,
He sholde be in gree, and take lose;
And he wolde on honde take,
They sholde amende all the wrake
That they had hym or his
Ony thynge done amys.

Kynge Rycharde had grete pyte
Of the Kynge of Fraunce that sat on kne,
And lyght adowne, so sayth the boke,
And in his armes vp hym toke,
And sayd, it sholde be peas and styll,
And yelde the towne all to his wyll;
And bad hym nought greue hym tho,
Though he had venged hym of his fo
That had his good knyghtes quelde,

186

And eke on hym despyte itelde.

The Kynge of Fraunce bigan to preche,
And bad Rycharde be his soule leche,
And the tresoure yelde agayne than
That he had take of euery man,
And elles he ne myght, in Goddes paye,
To Jherusalem take the waye.
Kyng Rycharde sayd: “With thy tresoure
Thou myght nought amende the dyshonoure
That they haue done me or this.
And, Syr, also thou dyde amys
Whan thou sentest to Tanker the kynge
To appayre me with thy lesynge.
We haue to Jherusalem the waye sworne,
Who breketh our pylgrymage, he is forlorne,
Or who so maketh ony medlaye
Betwene vs two in this waye.”

187

Whan abbated was that dystaunce,
There came two justyces of Fraunce
Upon two stedes ryde,
And Kynge Rycharde they gan chyde.
That one was hyght Margaryte,
That other Syr Hewe Impetyte.
Swythe sore they hym trayde,
Cleped hym taylarde, and hym myssayde.
Kynge Rycharde helde a tronchon tewe,
And to them two he hym drewe;
Sir Margaryte he gaue a dente than
Aboue the eye vpon the pan;
The skull braste with that dente,
The ryght eye flewe out quytemente,

188

And he fell downe deed in haste.
Hewe of Impetyte was agaste,
And prycked away withouten fayle,
And Rycharde was soone at his tayle,
And gaue hym a stroke on the molde,
That deed he thought be he sholde.
Ternes and quernes he gaue hym there,
And sayd: “Syr, thus thou shalte lere
To myssaye thy ouerhedlynge!
Go playne now to your Frensshe kynge!”

An erchebisshop came full soone,
He fell on knees, and badde a bone.
Of Kynge Richarde he asked mercy,
That he wolde þer sesy,
And there no more harme do
For Goddes loue the people to.
Kyng Rycharde graunted hym then,
And drewe to pauylyon all his men.

189

To this daye men may here speke
How the Englysshe were there awreke.
All the whyle that they were there,
They myght well bye theyr chafere;
There was none so hardy a man
That one euyll worde speke gan.
Kynge Rycharde in peas and reste
Fro Crystmasse, that hygh feste,
Dwelled there tyll after the Lente,
And than on his waye he wente.

190

In Marche moneth the Kynge of Fraunce
Wente to shyppe without dystaunce.
Whan he was gone, soone afterwarde,
Came the doughty Kynge Rycharde;
Forth towarde Acrys wende he wolde,
With moche store of syluer and golde.
Foure shyppes were charged, j fynde,
Towarde Cyprys all saylynde,
Charged with tresour euery dell,
And soone a sorowfull caas there fell.
A grete tempest arose sodaynly,
That lasted fyue dayes sykerly.
It brake theyr maste, and theyr ore,

191

And theyr takell, lesse and more,
Anker, bowesprette, and rother
Ropes, cordes, one and other;
And were in poynt to synke adowne
As they came ayenst the Lymosowne.
And thre shyppes ryght anone
All tobrake ayenst the stone;
All to peces they totare,
Unnethe the folke saued ware.
Þe ferde schippe byhynde duellede,
Vnnethes the maryners it helde;
And þat schippe lefte righte in þe depe,
Þat þe folkes one þe lande myghte wepe:
For the Gryffons, with short wordes,
Come with axes and with swerdes,

192

Grete slaughter of our Englyssh maked,
And spoyled the quycke all naked:
Syxtene hondred they brought of lyue,
And into pryson hondredes fyue,
And also naked syxty score
As they were of theyr moders bore:
Of the shyppes brekynge they were blythe;
The justyces of Cyprys ran full swythe,
And drewe vp cofers manyfolde,
Full of syluer and of golde,
Dysshes, cuppes, broches, and rynges,
Ffull gud jewells, and ryche thynges:
No man, by south ne by north,
Ne coude account what it was worth;
And all was borne that tresour,
Wheder that wolde the emperour

The thyrde daye afterwarde
A wynde came dryuynge Kynge Rycharde,
With all his grete nauyes,
And his saylynge galyes

193

To the shyppe that stode in depe.
The gentyl men therin dyde wepe,
And when they sawe Rycharde the kynge,
Theyr wepynge tourned all to laughynge.
They welcomed hym with worshyppes,
And tolde hym the brekynge of theyr shyppes,
And the robbery of his tresoure,
And all that other dyshonoure.
Than waxed Kynge Rycharde full wrothe,
And he swore a full grete othe,
By Jhesu Cryste, our sauyoure,
It sholde abye the emperoure.
He cleped Syr Steuen, and Wyllyam,
And also Roberte of Turnam,
Thre gentyll barons of Englonde,
Wyse of speche, doughty of honde:
“Now go, and saye to the emperoure,
That he yelde agayne my tresoure,
Or, j hym swere by Saynt Denys,

194

I wyll haue thre syth double of his;
And yelde my men out of pryson,
And for the deed paye raunson,
And ȝelde agayne my robery,
Or hastily he schall aby!
Bothe with spere and with launce
Anone j shall take vengaunce.”

The messengers anone forth wente
To do theyr lordes commaundement,
And hendly sayd theyr message.
The emperoure began to rage,
He grunte his tethe, and faste blewe,
A knyfe after Syr Roberte he threwe.
He blente awaye with a lepe,
And it flewe in a dore a span depe;
And syth he cryed, as vncourteys:
“Out, taylardes, of my paleys!
Now go, and saye your tayled kynge

195

That j owe hym no thynge!
I am full gladde of his lore,
I wyll hym yelde none other answore,
And he shall fynde me to morowe
At the hauen to do hym sorowe,
And werke hym as moche wrake,
As his men that j haue take.”

The messengers wente out full swythe,
Of theyr ascapynge they were blythe.
The emperours stewarde with honoure
Sayde thus vnto the emperoure:
“Syr,” he sayd, “thou hast vnryght!
Thou haddest almoost slayne a knyght
That is messenger vnto a kynge,
The best vnder the sonne shynynge.
Thou hast thyselfe tresour enoghe,
Ȝelde hym his, or þou getis grete woghe:
For he is crossed, and pylgrym,

196

And all his men that ben with hym.
Lette hym do his pylgrymage,
And kepe thyselfe frome domage!”
The eyen twynkled of the emperoure,
And smyled as a vile traytoure;
His knyfe he drewe out of his shethe
Therwith to do the steward scathe,
And called hym withouten fayle,
And sayd he wolde telle hym a counsayle.
The stewarde on knees hym set adowne
With the emperour for to rowne,
And the emperour of euyll truste
Carued off his nose by the gruste,
And sayd: “Traytour, thefe, stewarde,
Go playne the to þe Englysshe taylarde!
And yf he come on my londe,
I shall hym do suche a shonde,
And all his men quycke slayne,
But he in haste tourne agayne!”

197

The stewarde his nose hente
(Iwys his vysage was jshente),
Quickely out of the castell ran,
Leue he ne toke of no man.
The messengers mercy he cryed,
For Maryes loue, in that tyde,
They sholde tell to theyr lorde
Of the dyshonour ende and worde:
“And haste you agayne to londe,
And j shall sese into your honde
The keyes of euery toure
That oweth that fals emperoure;
And j shall brynge hym this nyght
The emperours doughter bryght,
And also an hondred knyghtes,
Stoute in armes, stronge in fyghtes,
Ayenst that fals emperoure,

198

That hath done me this dyshonoure.”

The messengers them hyed harde
Tyll they came to Kynge Rycharde.
They founde Kynge Rycharde playe
At the chesse in his galaye;
The Erle of Rychemonde with hym played,
And Rycharde wan all that he layed.
The messengers tolde all the dyshonour
That them dyde the emperour;
And the despyte he dyde his stewarde
In despyte of Kynge Rycharde,
And the stewarde presentynge
His byhest, and his helpyng.
Than answered Kynge Rycharde,
In dede lyon, in thought lybarde:
“Of your sawes j am blythe!
Anone set vs to londe swythe!”

A grete crye arose fote hote,
Out was shotte many a bote;
The bowe-man, and eke the arblasters,

199

Armed them at all auenters,
And shotte quarelles, and eke flone,
As thycke as the hayle-stone.
The folke of the cite gan renne,
And were fayne to voyde and fle thenne.
The barons and good knyghtes
After came anone ryghtes,
With theyr lorde Kynge Rycharde,
That neuer was founde no cowarde.

Kyng Rychard, as j vnderstonde,
Or he wente out of Englonde,
Let hym make an axe, for the nones,
To breke therwith the Sarasyns bones.
The heed was wrought ryght wele,
Therin was twenty pounde of stele;
And whan he came into Cyprys-londe,
The axe he toke in his honde,
All that he hytte he all tofrapped;
The Gryffons awaye faste rapped;
Neuertheles many one he cleued,

200

And theyr vnthonkes ther byleued.
And the pryson whan he came to,
With his axe he smote ryght tho,
Dores, barres, and jren chaynes,
And delyuered his men out of paynes.
He let them all delyuer cloth,
For theyr despyte he was wroth,
And swore by Jhesu, our sauyoure,
He sholde abye, that fals emperoure.
All the burgeyses of the towne
Kynge Rycharde let slee without raunsowne,
Theyr tresour, and theyr iueles
He toke to his owne cateles.

201

Tydynges came to the emperour,
Kynge Rycharde was in Lymasour,
And had his burgeyses to deth jdo:
No wonder though hym were wo.
He sente anone without fayle
After all his counsayle,
That they came to hym on hye
To wreke hym of his enemye.
His hoost was come by mydnyght,
And redy on the morowe for to fyght.

Hearken now of the stewarde!
He came at nyght to Kynge Rycharde,
The emperours doughter he brought hym with,
And grette Kynge Rycharde in pease and gryth.
He fell on knees, and gan to wepe,
And sayd: “Kynge Rycharde, God the kepe!
Loo, how j am shente for the!
Gentyl lord, awreke thou me!
The emperours doughter bryght
I the betake, gentyll knyght.

202

The keyes also j betake the here
Of euery castell in his powere.
An hondred knyghtes j you behyght,
Lo them here redy in all ryght;
That shall you lede and socoure
Ayenst that fals emperoure!
Thou shalte be bothe lorde and syre
Or tomorowe of his empyre.
And, swete syr, withouten fayle,
Yet the behoueth my counsayle:
I shall the lede by a coost
Pryuely vpon his hoost;
In his pauylyon ye shall hym take;
Than thynke vpon the moche wrake
That he hath done the or this!
Though ye hym slee, no force it is!”

Moche thanked Kynge Rycharde
Of the counseyll the stewarde,

203

And swore by God, our sauyoure,
His nose sholde be bought well soure.

Ten hondred stedes good and sure
Kyng Rycharde let araye in trappure,
On eueryche lepte an Englysshe knyght,
Stowte in armes, and stronge in fighte.
And also the stewarde, applyght,
Ladde them by the mone lyght
So nygh the emperours pauylyowne,
That of the trumpettes he herde the sowne.
It was before the dawnynge,
The steward sayd to Rycharde the kynge:
“Lette se, Rycharde, assayle yerne
The pauylyon with the golden herne;
Therin lyeth the emperour:
Awreke now this dyshonour!”

Than was Rycharde fresshe to fyght
As euer was fawkon to the flyght,
He prycked forth vpon his stede,

204

Hym folowed full grete ferrede.
His axe he helde in honde jdrawe,
Many a Gryffon he hath jslawe.
The waytes of that hoost that dyde aspye,
And full loude began they for to crye:
“We ben betrayed and jnome!
As armes, lordes, all and some!
In euyll tyme our emperour
Robbed Kynge Rycharde of his tresour,
For he is here amonge vs,
And sleeth downe ryght, by Jhesus!”

The Englysshe knyghtes, for the nones,
To hewed the Gryffons bodyes and bones.
They smote the cordes, and felled downe
Many a ryche pauylyowne;
And euer cryed squyer and knyght:
“Smyte! Lay on! Slee downe ryght!
Yelde the tresour ayenwarde
That ye toke from Kynge Rycharde.

205

Ye ben worthy to haue suche mede,
With grymly woundes to lye and blede!”

At the emperours pauylyon Kynge Rycharde
Alyght, so dyde the stewarde;
And the emperour was fledde awaye,
Himselfe alone, or it was daye.
Flowen was that fals coward,
Narowe hym sought Kynge Richarde.
He fand his clothis and his tresoure,
Bot he was fled, þat vile traytoure.

Longe or the daye began to dawe,
Twenty thousande Gryffons were jslawe.

Of sylke, sendele, and syclaton
Was the emperours pauylyon:
In the worlde ne was none syche,
Ne by moche thynge so ryche.
Kynge Rycharde, wiþ grete worshyp,
Bad they sholde be lad to shyp:
Suche at Acrys was there none founde,

206

Pauylyoun of so moche mounde.
Cuppes of golde, grete and smale,
He wan there without tale;
Many cofres, small and grete,
He founde there full jbete.
Two stedes founde the Kynge Rycharde,
That one hyght Fauell, that other Lyarde:
In the worlde was not theyr pere;
Dromedary, nor destrere,
Stede rabyte, ne camayle
That ran so swyfte without fayle;
For a thousande pounde jtolde
Sholde not that one be solde.
All that his men before had lore,
Seuen double they had therfore.

207

Tydynges to the emperour was come
That his doughter was jnome,
And how that his hygh-steward
Her had delyuered to Kynge Rycharde.
By that he wyst well, jwys,
That he had done amys.
Two messengers he clyped anone,
And bad them to Kynge Rycharde gone,
And saye, your emperour and your kynge,
That j hym sende Goddes gretynge;
Homage by yere j wyll hym gyue and yelde,
And all my londe of hym helde,
So that he wyll, for charyte,
In peas hereafter let me be.

The messengers anone forth wente
To do theyr lordes commaundemente.
Kynge Rycharde answered therto:
“I graunte lordynges that it be so.
Go and saye your emperour,

208

That he dyde grete dyshonour,
Whan he robbed pylgrymes
That were towarde the paynymes.
Let hym yelde my tresour euery dele,
Yf he wyll be my specyele;
And also saye your emperour
That he amende that dyshonour
That he dyde to his stewarde
In despyte of Kynge Rycharde;
And that he come erly tomorowe,
And crye me mercy with grete sorowe,
Homage by yere me yeld or bere,
And elles, by my crowne j swere,
He shall not haue a fote of londe
Neuer more out of my honde.”

The messengers by one accorde
Tolde this the emperour theyr lorde.
Than the emperour was full wo

209

That he this dede sholde do.
To Kynge Rycharde he came on the morowe,
In his herte was moche sorowe.
He fell on knees, so sayth the boke,
Kyng Rycharde by bothe the fete he toke,
And cryed mercy with good entent;
And he forgaue hym his maltalent.
Fewte he dyde hym and homage
Before all his baronage.
That daye they were at one accorde,
And in same dyde ete at one borde;
Jn grete solace, and moche playe.
Togyder they were all that daye.
And whan it drewe towarde the eue,
The emperour toke his leue,
And wente towarde his hostell;
In herte hym was nothynge well.
He helde hymselfe a foule cowarde,
That he dyde homage to Kynge Rycharde,

210

And thought how he hym awreke myght.

Forth he rode anon ryght
To a cyte that hyght Bonevent,
He came by daye verament.
There he founde many a grete syre,
The rychest men of his empyre.
To them playned the emperour
Of the shame and of the dyshonour
That hym dyde Kynge Rycharde,
Thorugh the helpe of his stewarde.
Up there stode a noble barowne,
Ryche of castell and of towne,
The stewardes eme he was
That the emperour had shente his fas.
“Syr,” he sayd, “thou arte mystaught,
Thou arte all aboute naught;
Without encheson and jugement
Thy goode stewarde thou haste jshent,
That sholde, as he well couthe,

211

Us haue holpe and saued nouthe!
Thorugh thy wyll malycyous
Ryght so thou woldest serue vs.
And j saye the with wordes bolde:
With suche a lorde kepe j not holde
To fyght ayenst Rycharde the kynge,
The best vnder the sonne shynynge,
Ne none of all my baronage
Ne shall the neuer do homage.

All the other sayd at one worde
That Rycharde was theyr kynde lorde,
And the emperour for hys vylanye
Was well worthy for to dye.
The emperour sawe and vnderstode
That his barons wolde hym no gode:
To another towne he wente, and helde hym thare;
In his herte was moche care.

That same tyme the hygh-stewarde
Counseylled with Kynge Rycharde,

212

And sayd that hym forthought full sore
That the emperour was so forlore.
They soughte hym in all wyse,
And founde hym in the cyte of Pyse;
And certaynly Kyng Rycharde
Wolde no loke to hym ward,
For he had broken his treuth,
Kyng Rychard had of hym no reuth;
But let a sergeaunt hym bynde
Bothe his hondes soone hym behynde,
And caste hym into a galey,
And ledde hym into Surrey,
And swore by hym that made mone and sterre,
Ayenst the Sarasynes he sholde werre.

Whan all this warre abated was,
Kyng Rycharde set that londe in peas.
The Erle of Leycestre, full truly,
Thorugh conseyl of his barony,
He made hym stewarde of that londe,

213

And bitoke the realme to his honde;
Grete feest he helde afterwarde.

His shyppes let dyght Kynge Rycharde,
Forth towarde Acrys he wolde,
With moche store of syluer and golde;
With two hondred shyppes j fynde
Saylynge forwarde with the wynde,
And afterwarde fyfty galyes
For to warde his nauyes.

And as the doughty Kynge Rycharde
Came saylynge to Acrys warde,

214

And had sayled with wynde at wyll
Ten dayes fayre and styll,
Þe vnleuenþe day þay saylyd in tempest;
Þat nyȝt ne day hadde þey no rest.
And as þey were in gret auenture,
Þey sawȝ a drowmound, out of mesure;
Þe drowmound was so heuy ffrauȝt,
Þat vneþe myȝt it sayle auȝt.
It was toward þe Sarezynys,
Chargyd wiþ corn, and wiþ wynys,
Wiþ wylde ffyr and oþer vytayle.

Kyng R. sayȝ þe drowmound, saun faile,
He callyd in haste Aleyn Trenchemer,
And bad hym to wende hem neer,
And aske whens þat þey ware,
And what þey hadde in chaffare?

Aleyn quyk, and men jnowe
To þat drowmound begunne to rowe,

215

And askyd wiþ whom þat þey ware,
And what þey hadden in chaffare.
Anon stood vp here latynier,
And answeryd Aleyn Trenchemer:
“Wiþ þe Kyng off Ffraunce, saun faile;
Ffro Poyl we brynge þis vytaile.
A moniþ we hauen leyen in þe see,
Toward Acres wolde wee.”
“Wynde vp sayl,” quod Aleyn, “swyþe,
And sayle we forþ wiþ wyndes lyþe!”
“Nay! be Seynt Thomas off Ynde,
Vs moste nedes come behynde!
Ffor we ben so heuy ffrauȝt,
Vneþis may we saylen auȝt.”
Þenne sayde Alayn sone anon:
“I here off ȝow speke but on;
Let stande vp alle in ffere,

216

Þat we now myȝte moo here,
And knowe ȝoure tungge afftyr þan;
Ffor we wole nouȝt leue oo man.”
“Sertes,” quod þe latyniere,
“Wiþ no moo men spekys þou here.
Þey were to nyȝt in tempeste;
Þey lyggen alle, and taken here reste.”
“Sertes,” sayde þenne goode Aleyn,
“To Kyng Rychard j wole seyn
That ȝe aren alle Sarezynes,
Chargyd wiþ cornes and wiþ wynes!”
Þe Sarezynes sterten vp al preste,
And sayden: “Ffelawe! goo, doo þy beste!
Ffor Kyng R. and hys galyes
We wolde nouȝt geue twoo fflyes!”

Þo Trenchemer gan rowen hard
Tyl he come to Kyng Richard,

217

And swor to hym be Seynt Ihon
Þat þey were Sarezynes euerylkon.
Þenne sayde oure kyng off renoun
Þat hyȝte Richard Coer de Lyoun:
“Off ȝoure sawes j am blyþe;
Lat see arme ȝow now swyþe!
Stere þou my galye, Trenchemer,
I wole asaye þat pawtener.
Wiþ myn ax j schal hem ffrape,
Þer schal no Sarezyn me ascape!”
Als tyte hys ax was to hym brouȝt,
His oþir armure fforgat he nouȝt.
To hym comen maryners jnowe.
Kyng Richard bad hem faste rowe:
“Rowes on faste! who þat is ffeynt,
In euel water moot he be dreynt!”
Þey roweden harde, and layde to,

218

And songe: Heuelow, rummeloo!

The galeye wente alsoo fast,
As quarel dos out off þe arweblast;
And as þe drowmund come wiþ þe wynd
A large quarter out behynde,
Þe galey rente wiþ þe bronde
Jnto þe see, j vndyrstonde.
Þenne were þe Sarezynys armyd wel,
Boþe in yryn and in steel;
And stood on borde, and fouȝten hard
Agayn þe douȝty Kyng Richard;
And Kyng Richard, and his knyȝtes,
Slowe þe Sarezynes doun ryȝtes;
And as þey gunne to wyrke hem woo,
Euere þer stood vp moo and moo;
And rappyd on hem, for þe nones,
Sterne strokes wiþ harde stones
Out off þe topcastel on hyȝ,

219

Þat Richard was neuere his deþ so nyȝ.

Þenne comen seuene galyes behynde
To þe drownound quyk saylynde,
And stood on borde baroun and knyȝt
To helpe Kyng Richard ffor to ffyȝt.
A strong batayle þere began
Betwene hem and þe heþene men,
Wiþ swerdes, speres, dartes kene;
Flones and quarelles ffleyȝ betwene
Also þykke, wiþouten stynt,
As hayl afftyr þondyr-dynt.
And in þe bykyr, þat was so hard,
Into þe drowmound come Kyng Richard.
Whenne he was comen in on haste,
He dressyd hys bak vnto þe maste.
Wiþ his ax, þat he ouyrrauȝte,

220

Hastely hys deþ he cauȝte.
Some he hytte on þe bacyn,
Þat he cleff hym to þe chyn;
And some to þe gyrdyl-stede,
And some vnto þe schyppes brede;
Some in þe hals so hytte hee,
Þat helme and hed ffleyȝ into þe see:
Ffor non armour wiþstood hys ax,
No more þan a knyff dos þe wax.
Þe Sarezynes, as j ȝow telle,
Sayde he was a deuyl off helle;
And ouyr þe bord lopen he,
And drownyd hemself in þe see.
Syxtene hundryd be aquelde,
But þrytty Sarezynes þe kyng leet held,

221

Þat þey scholden bere wytnes
Off þis batayle at Acres.
Þe kyng ffond in þe drowmound, sauns fayle,
Mekyl stor, and gret vytayle,
Many barel off ffyr Gregeys,
And many a þousand bowe Turkeys,
Hokyd arewes, and quarelles.
Þey fond þere ful manye barelles,
And off whete gret plente,
Gold and syluer, and ylke deynte.
Off tresour he hadde nouȝt half þe mounde
Þat in þe drowmound was jffounde:
Ffor it drownyd in þe flood
Ar halff vnchargyd were þat good.
Avaunsyd was al Crystyante,
Ffor hadde þe drowmound jpassyd þe see,
And comen to Acres ffro Kyng Richard,
And hondryd wyntyr afftyrward,

222

Ffor alle Crystene-men vnder sunne,
Hadde nouȝt Acres ben jwunne!
Þus Kyng Richard wan þe drowmound,
Þorwȝ Goddes help, and Seynt Edmound.

Kyng Richard aftyr anon ryȝt,
Toward Acres gan hym dyȝt;
And as he saylyd toward Surrye,
He was warnyd off a spye
Hou þe ffolk off þe heþene lawe
A gret cheyne hadden jdrawe
Ouyr þe hauene off Acres ffers,
And was ffestnyd to twoo pelers,
Þat no schyp ne scholde in wynne,
Ne þey nouȝt out þat were wiþinne.
Þerfore seuene ȝer and more
Alle Crystene kynges leyen þore,
And wiþ gret hongyr suffryd payne,

223

Ffor lettyng off þat ylke chayne.
Kyng Richard herde þat tydynge,
Ffor ioye his herte began to sprynge,
And swor and sayde in hys þouȝt
Þat ylke a chayne scholde helpe hem nouȝt.
A swyþe strong galey he took,
And Trenchemer, so says þe book,
Steryd þe galey ryȝt ffol euene
Ryȝt in þe myddes off þe hauene.
Were þe maryners sauȝte or wroþe,
He made hem saylle and rowe boþe,
That the galey yede also swyfte,
As ony foule by the lyfte.
And Kyng Richard, þat was so good,
Wiþ hys ax in foreschyp stood,
And whenne he come to þe cheyne,

224

Wiþ his ax he smot it on twayne,
Þat alle þe barouns, verrayment,
Sayde it was a noble dent;
And ffor ioye of þis dede
Þe cuppes faste abouten ȝede,
Wiþ good wyn, pyement and clarre;
And saylyd toward Acres cyte.
Kyng Richard out off hys galye
Caste wylde ffyr into þe skye,
And ffyr Gregeys into þe see,
As al on fyr weren hee.
Trumpes ȝede in hys galye,—
Men myȝten it here into þe skye,—
Taboures and hornes Sarezyneys;

225

Þe see brente all off ffyr Gregeys.
Gunnes he hadde on wondyr wyse,
Mangneles off gret queyntyse,
Arweblast, bowe, made wiþ gynne,
Þe Holy Lond ffor to wynne.
Ouyr al oþere, wyttyrly,
A melle he made, of gret maystry,
In myddes a schyp ffor to stande:
Swylke on sawȝ neuere man in lande.
Ffoure sayles were þertoo,

226

Ȝelew, and grene, rede, and bloo,
Wiþ caneuas layd wel al aboute,
Fful schyr wiþjnne, and eke wiþoute,
And al wiþjnne fful off ffeer,
Off torches maad wiþ wex ful cleer;
Ovyrtwart and endelang
Wiþ strenges off wyr þe stones hang;
Stones þat deden neuere note,
Grounde þey neuere whete no grote,
But rubbyd, als þey were wood;
Out off þe eye ran red blood;
Beffore þe trouȝ þer stood on,
Al in blood he was begon,
And hornes grete vpon hys hede,
The Sarezynes of hym hadde gret drede,
For it was within the nyght
They were agrysed of that syght,
And sayd he was the deuell of hell
That was come them to quell:
Ffor þe rubbyng off þe stones,
Þey wende it hadde ben mennes bones.
A lytyl beffore þe lyȝt off day

227

Clenly þey were don away.

Kyng Rychard aftyr þat meruayle
Wente quik to lond saun fayle.
Þe Kyng off Ffraunce agayn hym come,
And in hys armes he hym nome,
And kyste hym wiþ gret honour,
And so dede many an emperour.
Alle þe kynges off Crystyante
Þat þere hadden longe jbee,
And leyn þere seuene ȝer in dolour,
Resseyuyd King Richard wiþ honour.

Þe erchebysschop off Pyse
Dede Kyng Richard his seruyse,
And ledde hym, as ȝe may see,
Into a pauyloun in pryuyte,
And tolde hym a doolful tale
Off schrewede auentures manye and fal(e).

228

“Kyng Richard,” he sayde, “now here!
Þis sege has lastyd seuene ȝere.
It may nouȝt fro þe be holde,
Mekyl sorwe haue we þolde!
Ffor we ne hadde no castel
Þat vs off ony warde ffel;
But a wyde dyke, and a depe,
We made wiþinne vs for to kepe,
Wiþ barbycanes, for þe nones,
Heyȝe wrouȝt off harde stones.
And whenne þat oure dyke was ymade,
Saladyn þe Sawdon was glade,
And come on vs with gret route,
And besette vs al aboute;
And wiþ hym Markes Manferaunt,

229

Þat leues on Mahoun and Termagaunt:
He was a Crystene kyng sum whyle;
He dos vs more schame and gyle
Þenne þe Sawdon, and al hys hoost.
Ffadyr, and Sone, and Holy Gost,
Graunte hym grace off worldis schame,
Markys Feraunt be hys name!
Oure fferste bataylle, sykyrly,
Was fful strong and fful deedly.
Weel ffouȝten oure Crystene knyȝtes,
And slowen þe Sarezynes dounryȝtes.
Oure Crystene hadden þe maystry,
Þe Sarezynes fflowe, wiþ woo and cry.
We slowe off hem manye þoo,
And þey off vs manye alsoo;
And j schal telle þorwȝ what cas
It ffyll to many a man allas!

230

As we dede Sarezynys to dede,
Beffell þat a noble stede
Outrayyd fro a paynym:
Oure Crystene-men ffaste folewyd hym.
Þe Sarezynes seyȝen þat þey come,
And ffleyȝ asyde, alle and some;
And com on vs wiþ gret ffyȝt,
And slowȝ many a Crystene knyght,
Þat þere we loste, ar we it wyste,
Þe beste bodyes vndyr Criste:
Þe Erl off Fferrers off Yngeland,
Þer was no douȝtyere man of hand;
And þe emperour off Alemayne,
And Janyn, the Eerl of Playn Spayne,
Onleuene þousand off oure meyne,

231

Þere were slayn wiþouten pyte!

Þeroffe was þe Sawdon full glade;
On morwe a newe sawt he made.
He leet taken alle þe cors,
Boþe off dede men, and off hors,
And caste into þe watyr off oure welle
Vs to poysoun and to quelle;
Dede he neuere a wers dede
To Crystene-men ffor no nede.
For þorwȝ þat poysoun, and that brethe,
Ffourty þousand toke her dethe.

Sone afftyr newe ȝer, is nouȝt to hyde,
Þe þrydde caas vs gan betyde.
A schyp come saylande in þe see,
Chargyd wiþ whete, gret plente,
Wiþ wylde ffyr, and armes bryȝt,

232

To helpe þe Sarezynes ffor to ffyȝt.
Þe Crystene token to red, saun ffayle,
That þey wolde þe schyp assayle.
And so þey dede to oure damage!
Þe wynd blew hard wiþ gret rage;
Þe Sarazynes drowȝ vp here sayl,
And ouyrsaylyd oure folk, saun fayl,
Þat þere we lost syxty score
Off þe beste bodyes þat weren jbore!
Þis was þe begynnyng of oure care
Þat we haue had þis seuene ȝare;
And ȝit, sere kyng, þou schalt here more
Þat has greuyd vs fful sore.

On Seynt James daye, verrayment,
Þe Sarezynes out off Acres went,
Weel a myle vs besyde,
And pyȝt pauylouns rounde and wyde,

233

And soiournyd þere a long whyle,
And alle it was vs to begyle.
Oure Crystene-men, þat were wyȝt,
Erl, baroun, squyer, and knyȝt,
Seyȝen þe Sarezynes haue ryhchesse,
And we of alle good dystresse,
And þouȝte to wynne to oure pray
Off þat tresore and þat noblay.
Ffyffty þousynd hem armyd weel,
Boþe in yren and in steel,
And wenten fforþ to batayllyng.
Þe Sarezynes sawȝ here comyng,
And fflowen asyde swyþe fast,
And oure men comen afftyr in haste,
And gunnen to ryde wyþ gret raundoune
Tyl þey come to here pauyloun.
Þey founde þerjnne no fferede,

234

Þey wende þey hadde ben fflowen ffor drede.
Þey founden þere whete, bred, and wynes,
Gold, and syluyr, and bawdekynes;
Vessel of syluyr, coupes off golde,
More þenne þey take scholde.
Some stood, and some sat doun,
And eet, and drank gret ffoysoun;
And afftyr mete þe pauylouns newe
With theire suerdys doun þay hewe;
And chargyd hors wiþ vytayle,
As nyse men scholde saun fayle!
Gold and sylvyr in males þey pytte,
And wiþ here gerdeles þey hem knytte.
Whenne þat ylke man hadde his charge,

235

Home þey wolden, wiþouten targe.
The Sarezynes seyȝ wel here wendyng,
And comen afftyr ffaste fflyngyng,
At schorte wurdes a gret route,
And besette oure hoost aboute.
Þere here males doun þey caste;
Agayn þe Sarezynes þey fouȝten faste.
And þere were lost þousandes ffyfftene,
Noble men, hardy and kene.
Þis caase greuyd vs so sore,
Þat we wende haue ben fforlore,
But God Almyȝty, heuene kyng,
Sente vs sone socouryng:
Þe douȝty Eerl off Champayne,
And goode knyȝtes off Bretayne,
And Randulff þe Glamvyles,
And Jhon þe Neel, and his broþer Myles,

236

And Bawdewyn, a clerk fful mery,
Þe Erchebisshop of Cauntyrbery;
And wiþ hym come hys nevewe,
A baroun off gret vertewe,
Huberd Gawter off Yngelande,
Agayn þe Sarezynes ffor to stande;
And manye knyȝtes off Hongry,
And mekyl oþir cheualry.
Þenne heeld we a strong bataylle;
But an hard caas vs ffel, saun faylle.

At Myȝhylmasse, it moste be told,
Þe wedyr gan to wexe cold.
Þan ffel boþe rayn and hayl,
And snowȝ ffyue ffoote deep, saun fa(yle);
Þondyr, lyȝtnyng, wedyr towȝ;
Ffor hungyr oure ffolk it slowȝ;
Ffor hungyr we loste, and colde wyndes,

237

Off oure ffolk syxty þousyndes!
Þenne oure goode hors we slowe,
Dede seþe, and eete þe guttys towe.
Þe fflesch was delyd wiþ grete deynte:
Þeroffe hadde no man plente.
Al to peses we carff þe hede,
And on þe coles we gan it brede,
Jn watyr we boylyd þe blood:
Þat vs þouȝte mete fful good!
A quarter off whete men vs solde
Ffor syxty pound off ffloryns tolde;
Ffor ffourty pound men solde an oxe,
Þouȝ it were but lytyl woxe;
A swyn ffor an hundryd ffloryn,
A goos ffor halff mark off gold ffyn,
And ffor an hen, to syke þynges,
Men gaff of penyes ffyftene schillinges,
And ffor an ay penyes vnleuene,

238

And ffor a pere syxe or seuene,
And ffor an appyl penyes sexe:
And þus began oure folk vnwexe,
And dyede ffor hungyr and ffor woo.

Þe ryche men token to rede þoo
A ryche dole ffor to dyȝte
To barouns and to pore knyȝte.
Twelue penyes men gaf to eueryche,
And syxe to oþere þat were nouȝt ryche,
And ffour to þe smale wyȝtes:
Þus þe ryche here dole dyȝtes.
Þerwiþ þe more and þe lasse
Bouȝte hem fflesch off hors and asse.
Þey myȝte haue non oþir þyng,
Ffor whyt Tourneys, ne ffor sterlyng.

I haue þe told, sere kyng, here
Off oure folk al þe lere,
And þe damage off Acres hoost!
But blessyd be the Holy Gost,

239

And Marye þat bar Jhesus,
Þat þou art comen among vs!
Þorwȝ þyn help we hopen snelle
Þe Sarezynes doun to felle!”

Kyng R. wepte wiþ his eyen boþe,
And syth he sayde thus forsoþe:
“Sere bysshop, bydde þou for vs,
Þat myȝt vs sende swete Jhesus
Hys foos alle to destroye,
Þat þey no more vs anoye!”

Richard took leue, and leep on stede,
And pryckyd out of þat ferred.
He rod aboute þe clos dyke
Toward Acres, sykyrlyke,
Tyl he come to þe hospytale
Of Seynt John, as j ffynde in tale.
Þere leet he pyȝte hys pauyloun,

240

And arerede hys Mate-Gryffoun,
That was a tree-castel fful ffyn
To assaute wiþ many Sarezyn,
Þat he myȝte into Acres seen;
He hadde þryttene schyp fful of been.
Whenne þe castel was fframyd wel,
Þey sette þerjnne a mangnel,
And comaundyd hys men, belyue,
To brynge vp many a bee-hyue,
And beet on tabours, and trumpes blowe,
And sawte the cyte on a þrowe.
Kyng Richard into Acres cyte
Leet keste þe hyues gret plente.
The wheder was hoot in someres tyde,
Þe bees bursten out on euery syde,
And were anoyyd, and fful off grame;
Þey dede þe Sarezynes ful gret schame,

241

Ffor þey hem stungge in þe vysage,
Þat alle þey gunne ffor to rage;
And hydde hem in a deep selere,
Þat non off hem durste come nere;
And sayden Kyng Richard was fful ffel,
Whenne hys fflyes byten so wel!

Anoþir gyn Kyng Richard vp sette
Þat was callyd Robynette;
A strong gyn, ffor þe nones,
And caste into Acres harde stones.
Kyng Richard, þe conquerour,
Callyd in haste hys mynour,
And bad hym myne vp to þe tour
Þat is callyd Maudyt Colour;
And swoor hys oþ be Seynt Symoun,
But ȝiff it were jbrouȝt adoun
Be noon, and þe vttermeste wal,
He scholde hym hewe to peses smal.

242

Þe mynours gunne to myne ffaste;
Þe gynours ben and stones caste;
Þe Sarezynes hem armyd alle,
And runne in haste vnto þe walle.
In whyte schetys þey gunne hem wryen
Ffor þe bytyng off hys fflyen,
And sayde: “Þis man dos vs strong pyne,
Whenne he wole boþe þrowe and myne.
We sawȝ neuer kyng so begynne:
It is gret doute he schal vs wynne!”

Kyng Richard stood in his Mate-Griffoun,
And sawȝ here dedes in þe toun:
Whydyrward the Sarazenes flowen,
And archers arowes to hem drowen,
And arweblasters wiþ quarell smerte,
Þorwȝ legges and armes, hed and herte.

243

Þe Frenssche-men wiþ gret noblay
Halp to myne þat ylke day.
Þat outemeste wal was doun caste,
And many a Sarezyn slayn in haste.
Þat day Kyng Richard spedde so þor,
Þat he was holden a conqueror:
Ffor betere he spedde þat day or noon
Þene þe oþere in þe seuene ȝer hadde don.

The Sarezynes myȝten nouȝt dour,
Þey flowen into þe heyȝe tour;
And lyȝten torches abouten þe wal,
Men myȝte it sen ouyr al.
Þe torchys caste a gret lyȝt,
Þat betokenyd a newe ffyȝt
Þat was comen ffro Yngelonde,
Where þorwȝ þey myȝte nouȝt wiþstonde,
But ȝyff Saladyn, þe Sawdan,
Come to helpe wiþ many a man.

244

Saladyn was ten myle þenne,
And seyȝ þe torches lyȝtly brene.
He gaderede his folk togedere,
As þykke as rayn falles in wedere.
Þey assemblyd on a playn,
Besyde Acres, on a mountayn;
Syxty þousand ffootmen j ffynde.
Knehches off hay he made hem bynde,
To goo before hastelyke
For to ffylle þe Crystene dyke.
Soo þey haue taken here red
To doo þe Crystene-men to ded.
Afftyr comen barouns and knyȝtes,
An hundryd þousand stronge in fyȝtes.
Be ordre þey comen in here maners,
Off red sendel were here baners,
Wiþ þree gryffouns depayntyd weel,
And off asure a ffayr bendel.
Sone þerafftyr come rydande as fele

245

Off bold barouns, by gentyl stele.
Here gonfanouns and here penseles
Were weel wrouȝt off grene sendeles,
And on euerylkon a dragoun
As he ffauȝt wiþ a lyoun.
Þe ffyrste were rede, and þyse were grene;
Þenne come þe þrydde bataylle bedene:
Ffyue and syxty þousand knyȝtes,
In Ynde armyd to alle ryȝtes.
Afftyr come, whyte as þe snowe,
Ffyffty þousand in a rowe,
Þer among was Saladyn,
And hys nevewe Myrayn-Momelyn.
Here baner whyt wiþouten fable,
Wiþ þre Sarezynes-hedes off sable

246

Þat were schapen noble and large;
Off balayn boþe scheeld and targe;
No man cowde telle þe route,
Þey besette þe Crystene al aboute.

Þe ffootmen kast in knehches off hay
To make þe horsmen in redy way,
And ffylde þe dyke ffull vpryȝte,
Þat al þe hoost wel entre jn myȝte.
Þe Sarezynys hadden entryd negh,
But God almyȝty þertoo segh.
Þe cry aros into þe Crystene hoost:
“Suse Seynours, has armes tost!
But we haue þe betere socour,
We beþ fforlore be Seynt Sauour!”
Þo myȝte men see many wyȝt man
Hastely to hys armes ran;
And wenten quykly to þe dyke,

247

And deffendyd hem hastelyke.
Þere was many gentyl heued
Quykly ffro þe body weued;
Scheldes manye schorn in twoo,
And many stede strykyd alsoo;
Manye a knyȝte þere loste his armes,
And manye a stede drowȝ his harmes;
And manye a douȝty man, saun ffayle,
Þere was slayn in þat bataylle.

Kyng Rychard was syke þoo,
Al Crystyndom to mekyl woo!
He myȝte hym nouȝt of hys bed stere,
Þouȝ his pauyloune hadde be on ffere.
Þerfore þe kyng off Fraunce leet crye
Among þe Crystene cumpanye

248

Þat no man scholde, ffor dedes doute,
Passe þe close dyke wiþoute,
But holde them all it within,
That the Sarasynes sholde them not wyn.
And þoo þat were jn jcomen
Off þe Sarezynes þat were jnomen,
Ffol hastyly were þey don to dede:
For them ȝede no raunsoun to mede.

Why Kyng Richard so syke lay,
Þe resoun j ȝow telle may:
Ffor þe trauaylle off þe see,
And strong eyr off þat cuntree,
And vnkynde cold and hete,
And mete and drynk þat is nouȝt sete
To hys body, þat he þere ffonde,
As he dede here in Yngelonde.
Kyng Rychard bad hys men seche
Ffor some wys clerk and sertayn leche,
Crystyn, oþir Sarezyn

249

Ffor to loken hys vryn.
And euery man sayde hys avys,
But þer was no man so wys
Þat myȝte don his sorwe sese,
Ne off hys paynes hym relese.
Sory were þe ffolk Englysch,
Ffor here lord laye in grete anguysch;
So was þe Crystene hoost eke,
Ffor Rychard lay so sore seke.
On knees prayden þe Cristene hoost
To Ffadyr, and Sone, and Holy Goost,
Be nyȝt and day wiþ good entent:
“Geue Kyng Richard amendement!”
Ffor loue of his modyr dere,
Here sone grauntyd her prayere.
Þorwȝ hys grace and his vertu,
He turnyd out off hys agu.
To mete hadde he no sauour,
To wyn, ne watyr, ne no lycour;
But afftyr pork he was alongyd.
But, þouȝ his men scholde be hongyd,
Þey ne myȝte, in þat cuntree,
Ffor gold, ne syluer, ne no mone,
No pork ffynde, take, ne gete,

250

Þat Kyng Richard myȝte ouȝt of eete.

An old knyȝt was wiþ Richard kyng;
Whenne he wyste off þat tydyng,
Þat þe kynges maners were swyche,
To þe styward he spak, priuylyche:
“Oure lord kyng sore is syke jwis,
Afftyr pork he alongyd is,
And ȝe may non ffynde to selle:
No man be hardy hym so to telle!
Ȝyff ȝe dede he myȝte deye!
Ȝow behoues to don als j schal seye,
Þat he wete nouȝt off þat.
Takes a Sarezyn ȝonge and ffat;
Jn haste þat þe þeff be slayn,
Openyd, and hys hyde off fflayn,
And soden fful hastyly,
Wiþ powdyr, and wiþ spysory,
And wiþ saffron off good colour.
When þe kyng feles þer off sauour,
Out off agu ȝyff he be went,
He schal haue þertoo good talent.
Whenne he has a good tast,
And eeten weel a good repast,

251

And soupyd off þe broweys a sope,
Slept afftyr, and swet a drope,
Þorwȝ Goddes myȝt, and my counsayl,
Sone he schal be ffresch and hayl.”

Þe soþe to saye at wurdes ffewe,
Slayn and soden was þe heþene schrewe;
Beffore þe kyng it was forþ brouȝt.
Quod hys men: “Lord, we haue pork souȝt;
Etes, and soupes off þe broweys swote,
Þorwȝ grace off God it schal be ȝoure boote.”
Beffore Kyng Rychard karf a knyȝte,
He eete ffastere þan he karue myȝte.
Þe kyng eet þe fflesch, and gnew þe bones,
And drank wel afftyr, for þe nones:
And whenne he hadde eeten jnowȝ,
Hys ffolk hem tournyd away and lowȝ.
He lay stylle, and drowȝ in hys arme;
Hys chaumbyrlayn hym wrappyd warme.
He lay, and slepte, and swette a stounde,
And become hool and sounde.
Kyng Richard cladde hym, and aros,
And walkyd abouten in þe clos;
To alle folk he hym schewyd,
Glad was boþe leryd and lewyd,
And þankyd Ihesu and Marye,
Þat he was out off his maladye.

252

Þe Sarezynes spedde day and nyȝt
Þe dyke to wynne wiþ al here myȝt.
Þe barbycanes þey ffelden adoun,
And hadden nyȝ enteryd in þe comoun.
Whenne Kyng Richard þeroff herde,
As a wood man he spak and fferde:
“Armes me in myn armure,
Ffor loue off Cryst oure creature!
To ffyȝte j haue gret delyte
Wiþ houndes þat wil vs do despyte.
Now j me fynde hool and lyȝt,
Þis day schal j proue my myȝt;
Ȝiff j be strong as j was wone,
And ȝiff j strokes dele cone,
As j was wunt in Yngeland.
Haue j myn ax in myn hand,

253

Al þat j mete schal me ffele,
And swylk dole j schal hem dele,
Þat euere for loue off here Mahoun
Þey schole haue here warysoun.”
He was armyd to alle ryȝtes;
And hys ffoote-men, squyers, and knyȝtes,
And þe Crystene alle bedene:
Wondyr was þat hoost to sene.
Þe soþe to say and nouȝt to hele,
Þe heþene were twoo so ffele.

Before wente his Templers,
His Gascoynes, and his Ospytalers;
Oure kyng among þe Sarezynes ryt,
And some to þe sadyl he slyt;
A kyng he hytte aboue þe scheeld,
Þat helm and hed ffleyȝ into þe ffeeld.
Anoþer he has a strok jbrouȝt,
Þat al hys armure halp hym nouȝt.
Into þe sadyl he cleff þe fferþe,
Al þat he smot it ffleyȝ to þe erþe.
Blyþe was þe Crystene felawrede,
Off Kyng Richard, and off hys dede;
Ffor non armour wiþstood hys ax,
No more þan a knyff dos þe wax.

254

Whenne the Sawdon seyȝ hym so strong,
He sayde þe deuyl was hem among,
Ffor Kyng R. ryȝt doun slowȝ.
Wiþ al hys hoost he hym wiþdrowȝ,
And ffleyȝ quyk wiþ hys barounnage
Into a toun men calles Gage.
But sertes, alle þe rerewarde
Was jslayn wiþ Kyng Rycharde.

Þe Sarezynys þat in Acres ware,
Were anoyyd, and fful off care,
Whenne þey seyȝen þe Sawdon fflee,
And Kyng Richard dounryȝt slee.
Þus al þe day tyl it was nyȝt,
Þey and þe Crystene heeld þe ffyȝt.
At euene whenne þe sunne was set,
Euery man drowȝ to hys recet.
Þe Crystene, boþe pore and ryche,
Wente wiþjnne þe clos dyche,

255

To reste, ffor þey were wery.
Kyng Richard leet make a cry
Trusty ffolk þat nyȝt þe paleys to kepe
Whyl that oþere lay and slepe.

Þe Sarezynes þat were wiþouten,
Off Kyng Richard so sore hem doute(n),
Ffor he hadde þe prys jwunne;
Away þay ryde, and swyþe runne,
Þat nyȝt to ffle and to hyde,
Þat nonn of hem durste hym abyde,
Þe mountenaunce off ten myle.

When Kyng Richard hadde restyd a whyle,
A knyȝt hys armes gan vnlace.
Hym to counfforte and solace,
Hym was brouȝt a sop in wyn:
“Þe hed off þat ylke swyn
Þat j off eet,”—þe cook he bad,—
“Ffor feble j am, and feynt, and mad.
Off myn euyl now j am ffere;
Serue me þerwiþ at my sopere!”
Quod þe cook: “at hed j ne haue.”
Þenne sayde þe kyng: “So God me saue,
But j see þe hed off þat swyn,
Fforsoþe, þou schalt lese þyn!”
Þe cook seyȝ non oþir may bee,
He ffette þe hed, and leet hym see,
He ffel on knees, and made a cry:
“Loo here þe hed! my lord, mercy!”
Hys swarte vys whenne þe kyng seeþ,
Hys blacke berd, and hys whyte teeþ,

256

Hou hys lyppys grennyd wyde:
“What deuyl is þis?” þe kyng cryde,
And gan to lauȝe as he were wood.
“What, is Sarezynys flesch þus good?
And neuere erst j nouȝt wyste?
By Goddys deþ and hys vpryste,
Schole we neuere dye for defawte,
Whyl we may in any assawte
Slee Sarezynys, þe flesch mowe take,
Seþen, and roste hem, and doo hem bake,
Gnawen here fflesch to þe bones.
Now j haue it prouyd ones,
Ffor hungyr ar j be woo,
J and my ffolk schole eete moo!”

On þe morwe, wiþouten ffayle,
Þe cyte þey gunne ffor to assayle.
Þe Sarezynes myȝte nouȝt endour,
Þey ffledde into þe heyȝe tour,
And cryede trewes and parlement,
To Kyng Richard, þat was so gent,
And alsoo to þe Kyng off Ffraunce,
And bad mercy wiþoff here dystaunse.
Anon stood vp here latynier,
And cryede lowde wiþ voys cler:
“Heris,” he sayde, “gentyl lordynges,
I ȝow brynge goode tydynges
Þat Saladyn ȝow sent by me!

257

He wole þat Acres ȝolde bee,
And Ierusalem into ȝoure hand,
And off Surry al þe land,
To fflume Jordan þe water clere,
Ffor ten þousand besauntes be ȝere,
And ȝyff þat ȝe wole nouȝt soo,
Ȝe schole haue pes ffor eueremoo,
So þat ȝe make kyng off Surry
Markes Feraunt, off gret maystry;
Ffor he is strengeste man, jwis,
Off Crystyndom or off Heþenys.”

Þenne answeryd Kyng Richard:
“Þou lyes,” he sayde, “ffyle coward!
Jn ylke gaderyng, and in ylke pres
Markes is fals traytour, and les.
He has whytyd Saladynys hand
To be kyng off Surrye-land,
And, be þe kyng in trynyte,
Þat traytour schal it neuere bee!
He was Crystene be my fadyr day,
And siþþen he has renayyd his lay,
And is becomen a Sarezyn:
Þat God geue hym wol euele ffyn!
He is wurs þan an hound!

258

He robbyd syxty þousand pound,
Out off þe Hospytelers hand,
Þat my ffadyr sente into þis land,
Þat was callyd Kyng Henry,
Crystene men to gouerny.
I hote hym goo out off þis hoost!
Ffor j swere be þe Holy Gost,
And be Marye þat bar Ihesus:
Ffynde j that traytour among vs,
Oþer be nyȝt, oþer be dawe,
Wiþ wylde hors he schal be drawe.”

Þenne answeryd þe Kyng off Ffraunce
To Kyng Richard wiþouten destaunce:
“A suffre, Sere, bele amys,
Þou hast wrong, Sere, be Seynt Denys,
Þat þou þretyst þat markys
Þat þe neuere ȝit dede amis.
Ȝyff he haue ony þyng don ylle,
He schal amende it at þy wylle.
I am hys borwȝ: loo, here þe gloue!
Tak it, leue Sere, ffor my loue!”
“Nay,” quod R., “be God, my lord,
Ne schal j neuere wiþ hym acord!
Ne hadde neuere be lost Acres toun,

259

Ne hadde ben þorwȝ hys tresoun.
Ȝyff he ȝelde agayn my faderis tresour,
And Ierusalem wiþ gret honour:
Þenne my wraþþe j hym forgeue,
And neuere ellys whyl þat j leue.”

The Kyng of Fraunce was woo þerfore,
But he durste speke no more,
Ffor euere he dredde off dentys hard
To vnderfonge off Kynge Richard.
And whenne þe latynier herde þis,
Þat kyng myȝt nouȝt be þe markys:
“Heres,” he sayde, “goode lordynges,
I ȝow brynge oþir tydynges
Þat mekyl more is to ȝoure wylle:
Þat oure folk may passe stylle,
Wiþ lyff and leme, hand and arme,
Without dente and without harme;
And we wole ȝelde ȝow þis toun,
And þe holy croys wiþ gret renoun,
And syxty þousand presons þertoo,
And an hundrid þousand besauntes and moo.

260

And haue ȝe schole alsoo herjnne
Ryche tresore, and mekyl wynne;
Helmes and hawberkes syxty þousynd(e),
And oþer ryhchesse ȝe may ffynde;
Whete jnowȝ and oþir tresore,
To al ȝoure hoost seuene ȝer and more;
And ȝiff ȝe wole nouȝt þis ffonge,
We may kepe ȝow out fful longe,
And euere to ffynde on off oures
Ffor to slen ten off ȝoures.
Ffor we haue herjnne, wiþouten fabl(e),
Syxty þousand men fensable;
And we praye, for þe loue of God,
That ȝe wolden take oure bode.
Takes þe tresore more and lasse,
And lat vs quyt awey passe!”

Þenne answeryd Kyng Richard:
“In myn halff, j graunt þe foreward,

261

So þat ȝe lete vs quit jn come,
It schal be don al and some.”
Þey leten hem in come anon,
Þey token hem into hostage ylkon,
And into prisoun put hem þore,
Olde and ȝonge, lesse and more,
Moste non out off Acres toun
Tyl þat payde were þat raunsoun,
And þe holy croys þerwiþ,
Ar þey moste haue pes or griþ.
Þere was ffounde catel strong,
Þat was delyd þe knyȝtes among.

262

Cuntek was at þe jn-comyng;
Þe beste tresore hadde R. oure kyng.
Crystene presouns in Acres toun,
He gaff hem cloþis gret ffoysoun;
Mete and drynk and armes bryȝte,
And made hem fel ffor to ffyȝt,
And took hem into hys partyes
To venge God off hys enemyes.

263

Kyng R. in Acres hadde nome
Off Sarezynys þat were þedir jcome,
Þat were hys strengeste enemyes,
Hardy knyȝtes and off most prys,
Off heþenesse cheff-lordynges,
Prynces, dukes-sones, and kynges,
Amyrallys, and many sawdan:
Here names j ne telle can.
In prisoun þey lay bounden ffaste,
To þe Sawdon þey sente in haste:

264

“We bere so manye grete cheynes,
And þere men do vs so grete peynes,
Þat we may neyþer sytte ne lye;
But ȝe vs out off prisoun bye,
And wiþ raunsoun vs helpe and borwe,
We schole dye or þe þrydde morwe.”

Þe ryche Sawdon was woo þerfore;
Prynces, eerles, weel twoo score,
Amyrall, sawdon, and many lord,

265

Seyden: “We rede, make acord
Wiþ Kyng Richard, þat is so stoute,
Ffor to delyuere oure chyldren oute,
Þat þey ne be hongyd, ne to drawe.
Off tresore Kyng R. wole be fawe;
Þat oure chyldren may come hom hayl,
Charges mules and hors, be oure counsayl,
Off brende gold, and off bawdekyn,
Ffor oure heyres to make ffyn.
Men saye, Englyssche-men loue gyffte.”
Off gold weel twenty mennys lyffte
Were layd on mule and rabyte;
Ten eerles, alle clad in samyte,
Alle olde, hore, and nouȝt ȝungge,
Þat were weel avysy off tungge,
To Kyng Richard þe tresore brouȝte,
On knees off grace hym besouȝte:
“Our Sawdon sendiþ þe þis tresore,
And wole be þy ffrend eueremore,
Ffor þe prisouns þat þou dest neme.
Let hem goo wiþ lyff and leme!
Out off prisoun þat þou hem lete,
Þat no man hem slee ne bete,
Ffor alle þey are douȝty vassales,
Kynges sones and amyrales,
At þis tyme þe beste doande

266

Þat be in alle Sarezyn land,
And oure hoost most trustes too.
Saladyn loues hem alsoo;
Lese non off hem he wolde
Nouȝt for a þousand pound off golde.”

Kyng Richard spak wiþ wurdys mylde:
“Þe gold to take God me schylde:
Among ȝow partes euery dele j charge,
For j brouȝte in schyppes and in barge
More gold and syluyr wiþ me
Þen has ȝoure lord and swylke þree.
To hys tresore haue j no nede!
But, for my loue, j ȝow bede
To mete wiþ me þat ȝe dwelle,
And afftyrward j schal ȝow telle,
Þorwȝ counsayl j schal ȝow answere,
What word ȝe schal ȝoure lord bere.”

Þey grauntyd hym wiþ good wylle;
Kyng Rychard callyd hys marchall stylle,
And in counsayl took hym alone:
“I schal þe telle what þou schalt don.
Priuely goo to þe prisoun,
Þe Sarezynys off most renoun,
Þat be comen off þe ryhcheste kynne,
Priuyly slee hem therin;
And ar þe hedes be of smyten,

267

Looke euery name be wryten
Vpon a scrowe off parchemyn;
And bere þe hedes to þe kechyn,
And in a cawdroun þou hem caste,
And bydde þe cook seþe hem ffaste;
And loke þat he þe her off stryppe,
Off hed, off berd, and eke off lyppe.
Whenne we schole sytte and eete,
Loke þat ȝe nouȝt fforgete
To serue hem herewiþ in þis manere:
Lay euery hed on a platere,
Bryng it hoot forþ al in þyn hand,
Vpward hys vys, þe teeþ grennand;
And loke þey be nothynge rowe!
Hys name faste aboue hys browe,
What he hyȝte, and off what kyn born(e).
An hoot hed bryng me beforn;
As j were weel apayde wiþal,
Ete þeroff ryȝt faste j schal,
As it were a tendyr chyke,
To se hou þe oþere wyl lyke.”

Þe styward, so says þe ieste,
Anon dede þe kynges byheste.
At noon “a lauer” þe waytes blewe;
Þe messangerys nouȝt ne knewe

268

Rychardis lawe ne hys custome.
Sayde þe kyng: “Frendes, ȝe are welco(me)!”
To hem he was cumpanyable;
Þey were set a syde-table.
Salt was set on, but no bred,
Ne watyr, ne wyn, whyt ne red.
Þe Sarezynes saten, and gunne to stare,
And þouȝten: “Allas, hou schal we ffare?”
Kyng Richard was set on des,
Wiþ dukes and eerles, prowde in pres;
Ffro kechene com þe fyrste cours,
Wiþ pypes, and trumpes, and tabours.
Þe styward took ryȝt good ȝeme
To serue, Kyng R. to queme,
Lest afftyr mete hym tydde harm.
A Sarezynys hed also warme
(He) brouȝte oure kyng, it was nouȝt cleued,
Hys name was wreten in hys forheued.
Þe messangerys were seruyd soo,
Euere an hed betwyxe twoo,
In þe fforhede wreten hys name:
Þeroff they had all grame!
What þey were whenne þey seyen,
Þe teres ran out off here eyen;

269

And whenne þey þe lettre redde,
To be slayn fful sore þey dredde.

Kyng R. hys eyen on hem þrewe,
Hou þey begunne to chaunge here hewe.
Fore here ffrendes þey syȝyd sore,
Þat þey hadde lost for euermore.
Off here kynde blood þey were;
Þenne þey myȝte weel fforbere
For to pleye and ffor to leyȝe.
Non off hem wolde hys mes neyȝe,
Ne þeroff eeten on morsel;
Þe kyng sat and beheeld ffol wel.
Þe knyȝt þat scholde þe kyng serue
Wiþ a scharp knyff þe hed gan kerue.
Kyng Richard eet wiþ herte good,
Þe Sarezynes wenden he hadde be wood.
Euery man sat stylle, and pokyd oþir,
Þey sayden: “Þis is þe deuelys broþir,
Þat sles oure men and þus hem eetes!”
Kyng Richard þoo nouȝt forgetes;
Abouten hym gan loke ful ȝerne,
Wiþ wraþ semblaunt, and eyen sterne.
Þe messangers þoo he bad:
“Ffor my loue bes alle glad,

270

And lokes ȝe be weel at eese!
Why kerue ȝe nouȝt off ȝoure mese,
And eetes ffaste as j doo?
Tel me why ȝe louren soo?”
Þey seten stylle, and sore quook,
Þey durste neyþer speke ne look.
Into þe erþe þey wolde haue crope,
To be slayn fol weel þey hope.
Þere was non answeryd a word.
Quod Kyng R.: “Beres fro þe bord
Þe mete þat ȝe before hem sette,
And oþer mete ye hem fette!”
Men brouȝten bred, wiþouten bost,
Venysoun, cranes, and good rost,
Pyment, clarre, and drynkes lyþe;
Kyng Richard bad hem alle be blyþe.
Was non off hem þat eete lyste,
Kyng Richard here þouȝte wel wyste,
And seyde: “Ffrendes, beþ nouȝt squoymous,
Þis is þe maner off myn hous,
To be seruyd ferst, God it woot,
Wiþ Sarezynys hedes al hoot:
But ȝoure maner j ne knewe!
As j am kyng, Cristen, and trewe,
Ȝe schole be þeroff sertayn
In saff cundyt to wende agayn;

271

For j ne wolde, ffor no thyng,
Þat wurd off me in þe world scholde spryng
I were so euyl off maneres
For to mysdoo messangeres.”

Whenne þey hadde eeten and cloþ was folde,
Kyng R. gan hem to beholde:
On knees þey askyd leue to gon.
But off hem alle was þer nouȝt on,
Þat in message was þedyr come,
Þat hym hadde leuere haue ben at home,
Wiþ wyff, ffrendes, and her kynde,
Þenne al þe good þat was in Ynde.

Kyng Rychard spak to an old man:
“Wendes hom, and tell ȝoure Sawdan,
Hys malycoly þat he abate,
And says þat ȝe come to late.
To slowly was ȝoure terme jgessyd;
Or ȝe come þe fflesch was dressyd
Þat men scholden serue wiþ me
Þus at noon, and my meyne.
Say hym, it schal hym nouȝt avayle,
Þouȝ he forbarre oure vytayle,
Fflesch and ffysch, samoun and cungir,
We schal neuer dye ffor hungyr,
Whyl that we may wenden to ffyȝt,

272

And slee þe Sarezynes dounryȝt,
Wassche þe fflesch, and roste þe hede;
Wiþ oo Sarezyn j may wel ffede
Wel a nyne, or a ten
Off my goode Crystene-men.
Kyng R. sayd, j you waraunt,
Þer is no fflesch so norysschaunt
Vnto an Ynglyssche Cristen-man,
Partryck, plouer, heroun, ne swan,
Cow ne oxe, scheep ne swyn,
As is þe flesshe of a Sarezyn:
Þere he is ffat, and þerto tendre,
And my men are lene and sclendre.
Whyl any Sarezyn quyk bee
Lyuande now in þis cuntree,
Ffor mete wole we noþyng care:
Aboute ffaste we schole ffare,
And euery day we schole eete
Al so manye as we may gete.
Into Yngelond wol we nouȝt gon,
Tyl þay be eeten euerylkon.”

Þe messangerys agayn home tourned,
Beffore þe lord þey comen and mourn(yd).
Þe eldeste tolde þe Sawdan,
Kyng R. was a no(ble) man,
And sayde: “Lord, j þe werne,

273

In þis world is non so sterne!
On knees we tolde hym oure tale,
But vs ne gaynyd no gale.
Off þy gold wolde he non;
He swor he hadde betere won
Off ryche tresore þenne hast þou.
To vs he sayde: ‘I geue it ȝow;
Tresore off syluyr, gold, and palle,
Deles it among ȝow alle!’
To mete he bad vs abyde,
We were set at bord hym besyde,
Þat stood Rychardes table negh;
But non off vs before hym segh
No bred brouȝt forþ, whyt ne sour,
But salt, and non oþir lycour.
What mes fyrst before hym come,
Weel j beheld, good keep j nome:
A knyȝt brouȝte ffro þe kechyn
An hed soden off a Sarezyn!
Wiþouten her, on a plater brode,
His name beforn hys hed-schode
Was iwrete abouen hys yȝe;
Me standes non awe ffor to lye.
Whos hed it was my feres aske,
It was þe Sawdones sone off Damaske!
At borde as we saten in ffere,

274

We were seruyd in þis manere:
Euere an hed betwen tweye;
Ffor sorwe we wende ffor to deye!
Þer come beffore my ffelaw and me
Þe kynges sone of Nynyue,
Hys off Perce hym þat sat me by,
Þe þrydde hys off Samary,
Þe ferþe hys off Egypte:
Þoo ylkon off vs hys eyen wypte!
Þe ffyffþe hys off Auffryke:
Ffor sorwe þoo we gan to syke.
Vs þouȝte oure herte barst ryȝt insunder,
Lord, ȝit þou myȝt here a wundyr!
Beffore Kyng Rycharde a knyȝt in haste
Karff off þe hed, and he eet ffaste.
Wiþ teeþ he grond þe flessch ful harde,
As a wood lyoun he ffarde,
Wiþ hys eyen stepe and grym;
And spak, and we behelde hym,
Ffor drede we wende ffor to sterue;
He bad vs þat we scholde kerue
Oure mes, and eeten as he dede;

275

To Mahoun we boden oure bede,
Ffro deþ þat he be oure waraunt!
He segh oos make soure semblaunt,
Ffor drede hou we begunne to quake;
Oure mes he bad hys men vptake,
And oþir mete þoo vs ffette,
Hoot whyt bred before vs sette,
Gees, swannes, cranes, venysoun,
And oþir wylde ffoul gret ffoysoun,
Whyte wyn and red, pyment and clarre,
And sayde: ‘Ȝe be welcom to me!
Bes blyþe, ȝyff it be ȝoure wylle,
Dos gladly, and lykes nouȝt ylle,
Ffor j knew nouȝt noþyng ȝoure gyse;
In my court þis is þe seruyse,
Be seruyd fferst, j and myn hynys,
Wiþ hedes hote off Sarezynys.’
Off hym and hys we stode swilk eye,
Ffor drede and dool we wende to deye;
Non off vs eet morsel off bred,
Ne drank off wyn, whyt ne red,
Ne eete off fflesch, baken ne brede:
So sory were we þenne for drede.
Afftyr mete we tooke leue,
He spak to vs wordes breue:

276

‘Ȝe schole gon in saff coundyte;
No man schal do ȝow desspyte.’
He sente þe certayn answere,
Or þat we myȝte come þere,
Men off ryhcheste kyn were slawe;
He geues ryȝt nouȝt þouȝ þou wiþdrawe,
And hyde stor al ffro hys hoost;
He says, and hys men make boost,
That he schal nouȝt lete on lyue
In al þy land, man, chyld, ne wyue,
But slee alle þat he may fynde,
Seþe þe fflesch, and wiþ teeþ grynde.
Hungyr schal hem neuere eyle,
Into Yngelond wole he nouȝt seyle
Tyl he haue maad al playn werk.”

His cloþis of gold vnto his scherk
Saladyn began torase ffor yre.
Kynges, prynces, and many a syre
Seyden allas þat þey hadden lorn
Here gentyl heyres of here boody born,

277

Þat were so wyghte men and stronge.
“Weylaway, we leue to longe!
Herde we neuere swylke meruayle,
It is a deuyl wiþoute ffayle.
Allas þis werre was begunne!
Now Richard has Acres wunne.
He has ment, ȝiff he may, go fforth
To wynne est, west, souþ, and norþ,

278

And eete oure chyldren and vs.
Lord Saladyn, we rede þus:
Sende to hym, and beseke hym efft
Ffor hem þat ben on lyue lefft.
Lete hem goo, ȝyff so he wolde,
Geue hym, siþþe he wole no golde,
Riche jewelles, ffor þe nones,
Fful of ryche þrecyouse stones;
Chargyd in harneys and in coffre.
Soo þat he wole, þou hym profere,
For to lete Jhesu and Mary,
To geue hym land a gret party,
Þat he be in pes, and lete þe werre.
For þat he is comen ffrom so ferre,
Wylt þou nouȝt þat he hys trauayle lese.
Graunte hym come hymselff and chese
Þe landes þat hym lyketh best,
And make hym Sawdon heyest
Afftyr þyself, and ryhcheste kyng,
Conferme it hym and hys ofspryng.
Ȝyff he be payed to doo so,
Swyþe in pes he come the to.

279

Þouȝ he haue þy folk jschent,
Þou schalt fforgeue thy maltalent,
As þy broþir hym loue and kysse;
And he schal teche þe and wysse
In werre to be bold and wys,
Off al þe world to wynne the prys.
Lyffe togedire, and be frendes,
With joye to your lyues endes.”

Saladyn by hys seriauntes
Sende Kyng R. þese presauntes,
And bysoughte hym off hys men
Þat he hadde in hostage þen,
And ȝyff he wolde Jhesu forsake,
And Mahowne to his lorde take,
Of Surrye he wolde make hym kyng,
And off Egipte, þat ryche þyng,
Off Darras, and off Babyloyne,

280

Off Arabye, and off Cessoyne,
Off Affryk, and of Bogye,
And off þe lond off Alysaundrye,
Off Grete-Grece, and off Tyre,
And off many a ryche empyre;
And make hym he wolde Sawdoun anon
Off al Ynde, vnto Preter Jhon.
Kyng R. answeryd þe messangeres:
“Ffy vpon ȝow losyngeres,
On ȝow, and Saladyn ȝoure lorde!
Þe deuyl hange ȝow be a corde!
Gos, and says to Saladyn
Þat he make to morwe ffyn
Ffor alle hys dogges in hostage,
Or þey schole dye in euyl rage!
And ȝyff j mowe leue a fewe ȝere,
Off alle þe landes ȝe haue nempnid here

281

I schal hym leue nouȝt halff a ffoote,
So God doo my soule boote!
I wolde nought lese my lordes loue
For alle the londes vnder heuene aboue.
And but j haue þe croys to morwe,
His men schole dye wiþ mekyl sorwe.”

They answeryd at the frome
Þey nyste where it was become.

282

Quod Kyng Rychard: “Siþþen it is soo,
I wot weel what j haue to doo.
Ȝoure Sawdon is nouȝt so slye
So queyntyly to blere myn yȝe.”
He callyd hys knyȝtes anone,
And bad hem into Acres gon:
“And take Sarezynes syxty þousandes,
And knytte behynde hem here handes;
And ledes hem out off þe cyte,
And hedes hem wiþouten pyte;
And so j schal teche Saladyn
To pray me leue on Appolyn!”

Þey wer brouȝt out off þe toun,
Saue twenty he heeld to raunsoun.
Þey wer led into a place fful euene,
Þere þey herden an aungele off heuene
Þat seyde: “Seynyours, tuez, tuese,
Spares hem nouȝt, behediþ þese!”

283

Kyng Richard herde þe aungelys voys,
And þankyd God and þe holy croys.
Þey were behedyd hastelyke,
And caste into a ffoul dyke.

Þus Kyng Richard wan Acrys,
God graunte hys soule moche blys!
Hys douȝty dedes whoso wyl lere,
Herkenes now, and ȝe mowe here.

Merye is in þe tyme off May
Whenne foules synge in here lay.
Ffloures on appyl trees and perye,
Smale ffoules synge merye,
Ladyes strowen here boures
Wiþ rede roses, and lylye ffloures.
Gret ioye is in ffriþ and lake,
Beste and bryd plays wiþ his make;
Þe damyseles lede daunse;
Knyȝtes playen wiþ scheeld and launse,
Jn joustes and turnementes þey ryde,
Many a caas hem betyde,
Many chaunces, and strokes hard!

So beffel þat Kyng Richard

284

Kyng Phelyp to feste bad;
Afftyr mete, þoo þey were glad,
Rychard gaff gyfftes, gret wones,
Gold, and syluyr, and precyouse stones;
To herawdes, and to dysours,
To tabourrers, and to trumpours
Hors and robes to bere his los;
Þorwȝ here cry his renoun ros,
Hou he was curteys and ffree.
Fful noble was þat ensemble.
Kyng R. gaff castelles and tounnes
To hys eerlys and to barounnes
To haue þerjnne her sustenaunce.

Kyng Richard bad þe Kyng of Ffraunce:
“Geue off þy gold and off þy purchase
To erl, baroun, knyȝt, and servaunt off mace!
Ffrely aquyte þou hem here trauayle,
Þey swonke for þe in bataylle;
Ȝyff þou haue efft wiþ hym to done,
Þey wole be þe gladdere efftsone
To helpe þe at þy nede.”
Kyng Phelyp took þeroff non hede,
But layde þertoo a deff eere,
And gaff hym ryȝt non answere;
Kyng Richardes wordes he took in vayn.
Richard began vnto hym sayn:
“Among vs be pes and acord!
Graced be Jhesu Cryst oure Lord,

285

Þat gaff vs myȝt þis toun to wynne!
To ryde fforþ lat vs begynne
Saladyn þe Sawdon to anoye,
And ffonde hym for to destroye.
Ȝyff he scounffyte vs in bekyr,
Ȝyff nede be, we mowe be sekyr.
Ȝyff God us haue lyff jschape,
And we may hedyr ascape,
And come quyk wiþjnne þe walle,
Ffor Saladyn and hys ffolk alle,
—And þe ȝates be weel jschet—
We be sekyr off strong recet.”

Kyng R. gan Phelyp to telle:
“J rede we here no lengere dwelle;
Ryde we forþ þe countre to seche;
And, Phelyp, doo as j þe teche.
Myn hoost j schal parte on þree,
And Kyng Phelyp tak þy meyne,
Departe hem in hostes tweye,
And looke þou doo as j þe seye.
Toun, cytee, and castel ȝyff þou wynne,
Slee alle þe ffolk þat be þerinne!
In Goddes name j þe forbede
Ffor gold, syluyr, ne for no mede
Þat þey may profere and geuen,
Ryche ne pore lat non leuen,
Hosebonde ne wyff, mayde ne grome,

286

But ȝiff he wole take Crystyndome!”

Phelyp þe wurdes vndyrstood,
Anon he gan to change mood
Þat Kyng Richard at hys deuys
Sette hym and hese at so lytyl prys.
Phelyp to hym was cumpanyable,
He gan to glose, and make ffable,
And þankyd hym wiþ glad semblaunt,
And sayde: “Broþir, j þe graunt
To doo as þou sayst, sekyrly,
Ffor þou art wysere man þan j,
And off werre canst wel more.”
Neþeles he was agreuyd sore;
Ffor drede he and hys men so dede
As Kyng Richard hadde hem bede,
In auenture þat he hente knokkes.
Hys men he delyd in twoo fflokkes;
Richard wiþ hys hoost wente hys way,
And ffro hym to wynne pray.
Wiþ loue þey departyd asundyr,
But now ȝe may here a wundyr.

Ffrenssche men arn arwe and ffeynte,
And Sarezynys be war, and queynte,
And off here dedes engynous;
Þe Ffrenssche men be couaytous.
Whenne þey sytte at þe tauerne,
Þere þey be stoute and sterne
Bostfful wurdes ffor to crake,

287

And off here dedes ȝelpyng to make.
Lytyl wurþ þey are and nyce prowde,
Ffyȝte þey cunne wiþ wurdes lowde,
And telle no man is here pere;
But whene þey comen to þe mystere,
And see men begynne strokes dele,
Anon þey gynne to turne here hele,
And gynne to drawe in here hornes
As a snayl among þe þornes;
Slake a bore of their boost!

Kyng Phelyp anon wiþ hys hoost
A strong cyte he besette
Þat was callyd Taburette.
Wiþ hys hoost he layde it aboute,
Þe Sarezynes myȝte neyþer jn ne oute,
Leste þey scholden be tohewe.
On þe walles armyd þey hem schewe,
Out off toureles and off kyrnelles,
Sette vp baners and penselles,
And manly gan hem to deffende.
Þere to dye þe Ffrenssche wende.
Trumpes lowde ffor bost þey blowe,
But durste þey neyþer schete ne þrowe
Wiþ bowe, slynge, ne arweblast,
To make þe Sarezynes wiþ agast,
Ne þe cyte ffor to assayle.
But off the toun þe cheff-amyrayle,
Hys name was callyd Terryabaute:

288

“Lord, ar þou geue vs assaute,
Alle þe ffolk off þis toun
Profere hem to knele adoun,
And rewefully wiþ oo cry
To seke þe mildely off mercy;
And þe toun þey wole vnto þe ȝelde,
And alle þe goodes þat þey welde.
Man, wumman, euery Sarezyn,
Grauntiþ þe wiþ herte ffyn
Euery man to paye a besaunt.
Sere, on swylk a comenaunt,
Þat þou graunte þat þey craue:
Here lyues and lemes ffor to haue,
Bestes, catel, and tresore,
And þat þey wole ffor eueremore
Off þyn heyres holden þis toun!”
Phelyp off hem took raunsoun:
Ffor mede he sparede hys ffoon.

Þus wiþ hem he was at on,
And bad hys ffolk, vp lyff and leme,
No good ffro hem to beneme,
Meete, ne drynk, catel, ne cloþ.
Alle þey sworen hym hool oþ
To be hys men þat were þere,
And hys baner þey vp rere
On a schafft in þe heyeste tour,
Wiþ flour-de-lys off gold and asour.

289

Þoo þey hadde þis jwunne,
To breke sege þenne þey begunne.
Þey chargyd in waynes and in cartes
Swerdes and speres, scheeldes and dartes;
Kyng, eerles, barouns, knyȝtes, and squyers,
Ryden ryally on trappyd destrers,
Þe ffoote-men ȝede on here ffeete,
Ryȝt soo þey helden þe heyȝe strete,
Þat þey turne nouȝt ne outraye.
Þey trumpyd, and here baners dysplaye
Off sylk, sendel, and many a fane;
Fful ryȝte way wenten to Archane.
Phelyp off hem took raunsoun,
Ryȝt as he dede at þe oþir toun,
And leet hem leue fforþ in pes,
But ffor þe lesse þe more he les.

Kyng R. wiþ hys hoost gan ryde,
And wente be anoþir syde,
Wiþ many an eerl and baroun
Iborn off Ynglyssche nacyoun,
Alle hardy men, and stronge off boones,
And weel armyd ffor þe nones.
Þey seten on stedes goode and strong,
Many Gascoyn was hem among,
And soo þer were off Lumbardy
Wol goode knyȝtes and hardy,
And ffolk off þe coost off Alemayn,
And hys eme Henry off Chaumpayn,

290

And hys maystyr Robert of Leycetere,
Among hem al was non hys betere,
Ffouk Doyly and Thomas Multone,
Þat euere ȝit weren acostome and wonne
In fyȝt þame ffyrste ffor to bede,
To helpe Kyng Richerd weel to spede;
Off þe coost of Braundys he wiþ hym nam
A noble baroun þat hyȝte Bertram,
And hys clergy, and hys ffreres,
And Templeres, and hys Hospytaleres.
Þe numbre was be ryȝt assent
Off hors-men an hondrid þousend,
And off ffoote-men swylke ten,
Gascoynes, Lumbardes, and Englyssche-men.
Al becoueryd were ffeeldes and pleynes
Wiþ knyȝtes, ffootmen, and wiþ sweynes.

Kyng Richard houyd, and beheeld,
And deuysyd hys hoost in þe ffeeld,
And to hys hoost he sayde þus:
“Ffolk jnowe we haue wiþ vs;
I rede we departe hem in þree,
Þat on part schal wende wiþ me;
Þat oþir, certayn, ffor alle cas,
Schal lede off Multoun Sere Thomas;

291

And Ffouke Doyly schal lede þe þrydde.
On lyff and leme now j ȝow bydde,
Toun, cyte, castel, ȝyff þat ȝe wynne,
Spares non þat is þerjnne.
Sles hem alle, and takes here good,
But ȝyff þey graunte wiþ mylde mood
To be baptyzyd in ffount-ston:
Elles on lyue loke ȝe lete non!”

Kyng Rychard wiþ hys cumpany
Wenten to Sudan Turry;
Thomas, a knyȝt engynous,
Wente wiþ hys hoost to Orglyous;
And Sere Ffouke þe Doyly
Wente to þe cyte off Ebedy.
Euery man belayde hys toun aboute,
No Sarezyn durste come wiþoute,
Ffor þe sege was strong and hard.

But speke we now off Kyng Richard
Þat Sudan Turry has belayd.
Þe Sarezynes at þe ffyrste brayd
Here brygges wounden vp in haste,
And here ȝates barryd ffaste;
Hem to deffende þey gunne asaye.
Kyng R. hys baner leet dysplaye:
Whenne þe Sarezynys sayȝ it arerde,
Off hym þey were sore afferde,
Ffor drede þey begunne to quake.

292

Here wardayn has hys counsayl take
—He was callyd Grandary—
In þe cyte he leet make a cry
Ylke a man þat myȝte armes bere,
Goo to þe wal þe toun to were.
Þe Sarezynes armyd forþ lepe
Vpon þe walles þe toun to kepe,
Stout in touret, and in hurdys.
Richard bente an arweblast off vys,
And schotte it to a tour fful euene,
And it smot þorwȝ Sarezynes seuene:
Dede ffyl þe dogges vyle,
But lystenes off a queynte gyle!

Kyng R. leet hys ffolk apparayle
On þat on halff þe toun to assayle,
Þe toun-ffolk drowȝ to þat on syde.
Kyng R. sente off hys men þat tyde
On heyȝe laddres for to gon jn
Þat weren jwrouȝt off queynte gyn.
Wiþ yrene hokes, goode and stronge,
On þe walles þey gunne hem honge.
Seuene men myȝten gon in on brede;
Þus men ouyr þe walles ȝede,
Þree þousande, or þe Sarezynes wende,
So þey gan þe toun deffende.
Þe Crystene comen jn or þey weten;
Þey schotten to hem, and harde smeten,

293

Gret peple off hem doun ffelle.
But þoo þe cunstable herde telle
Þat þe Crystene were jn comen,
Ten þousand he has jnomen,
Þe oþere he leete kepe þe toun:
“Ffor þese”, he sayde, “gos no raunsoun,
Thar hem no mercy craue!
Kyng R. schal hem neuere saue,
Anon ryȝt þey schole deye.”

Whenne Kyng R. herde hem so seye,
Ffor scorn he gan to lawȝe schrylle,
And bad hys men be off good wylle:
“And proue we þis toun to wynne,
Rescue þis ffolk þat be wiþjnne.”
Þe Sarezynes kydden here myȝt
Þe Crystene to sle dounryȝt
Þat were comen ouyr þe walle.
Oure ffolk togedere heeld hem alle,
Arwes and quarelles to hem drowen,
Alle þat þay hytten anon þay slowen,
Wiþ egre mayn gaff hem bekyr,
Off good help ffor þey were sekyr
Off Kyng R. þat was wiþouten.
Oure Crystene-men ran abouten,
And some to þe ȝates threwe,
Alle þat þey ffounden down þay hewe,
And þrewen hem out off þe tour,

294

And cryeden: “Sere kyng, do vs socour!
Sauely þou schalt in come,
In lytyl whyle it schal be nome!”
Þus þey gunne Kyng R. grete,
And þe brygges doun þay lete,
And setten þe ȝates vp on brode:
Kyng R. was þe ffyrste þat jn rode,
And next hym Roberd Tourneham,
Robert of Leycetre, and Sere Bertram.
Þese reden in þe vawmewarde,
To slee þe houndes non ne sparde.
Kyng R. hys ax in hond he hente,
And payde Sarezynys here rente.
Swylke leuery he hem delte,
Al þat he hytte anon þey swelte.
Þey slowe euery Sarezyn,
And tooke þe temple off Appolyn,
Þey ffelde it doun, and brende Mahoun.
And al þe tresoure off þe toun
He gaff to knyȝt, squyer, and knaue,
Al so mekyl as þey wolde haue.
Sarezynes none on lyue he laffte.
But in a tour on an heyȝ schaffte
Kyng R. sette vp hys baner,
And wan þe toun on þis manere.

Now beþ in pes, lystenes a pas!
I schal ȝow telle off Sere Thomas,

295

Þe noble baroun off Multone,
Þat lay wiþ many a modyr sone
At Orglyous, a strong castel.
Lystnes now what chaunce befel!
Þe Sarezynes ffor ffelonye
Soone senten out a spye
Þat hadde ben Crystene in hys ȝouþe;
Many a euyl wrenche he couþe!
He come to Thomas, and þus sayde,
And þouȝte to haue hym betrayde:
“Sere, j am a Crystene-man;
I brak prisoun, and out j wan.
Truste ryȝt wel to my speche!
Ȝiff þou wylt doo as j þe teche,
Þou schalt wynne hem in a whyle.
In al þe toun þer is no gyle;
Þe soþe to þe j am beknowe.”
Quod Thomas: “Byndes hym in a þrowe!
Al is les þat þe þeff saiþ:
He is at þe Sarezynes faiþ;
He was sent vs to beswyke;
Hys comyng schal hym euele lyke.
Þerfore he schal anon dyen:

296

So schal men teche hym to lyen!
And hys eeren in twoo slyttes,
And to hys ffeet a strong roop knyttes,
And hanges hym vp tyl he dye.”
Quod þe renay: “Mercy j crye!
To no vyle deeþ ȝe me dooþ!
Al þat j can j schal seye soþ.
Ȝyff ȝe me fynde in falshede,
Oþer in wurd, oþer in dede,
Þat ȝe mowe euere see or wyten,
Anon myn hed ȝe off smyten!
I was sent to betraye ȝow;
I schal ȝow telle; herkenes how!
Before þe ȝate is a brygge—
Lestnes weel what j schal sygge—
Vndyr þe brygge þer is a swyke,
Couerde clos, ioynande queyntelyke;
And vndyrneþe is an hasp,
Schet wiþ a stapyl and a clasp;
And in þat hasp a pyn is pylt;
Þou myȝt bewar ȝiff þou wylt.
Me were wol loþ þat þou mystydde;
Þouȝ þou and þy ffolk were in þe mydde,
And þe pyne smettyn out were,
Doun ȝe scholden fallen þere,
Jn a pyt syxty fadme deep:

297

Þerffore bewar, and tak good keep!
At þe passyng ouyr þe trappe
Many on has had full euyl happe.
Be peays it closes togedere aȝen;
Where it is no man may seen.”
“Now, Sarezyn, anon me rede
Hou we schole doo at þis nede?”
“Þou hase horsmen and puttayle;
Er þanne þou þe toun assayle,
Ȝe haue wiþ ȝow goode engynes,
Swylke knowe but fewe Sarezynes,
A mangenel þou doo arere,
And soo þou schalt hem weel afere.
Into þe toun þou slynge a ston grete,
And al so swyþe þou me lete
Passe into þe toun aȝen;
And al so soone þou schalt seen
Þe toun þey schole ȝelde soone.
But j bydde þe a bone:
Ȝiff j doo þe wynne þis toun,

298

Þat þou geue me my warysoun.”
Quod Thomas: “Þertoo j graunte.”
Þey departyd wiþ þat comenaunte.

Þe engyne was bent, and set al preste,
A gret ston into þe toun was keste.
Þey slowe men, and houses doun bare
Or ony man off hem was ware.
“We be ded! Help Mahoun!” þey cryede;
On euery syde away þey hyede
To hyden hem for woo and drede.
Þe renay into þe toun ȝede,
And sayde to þe wardayn Orgayl:
“We be dede wiþouten ffayl!
He þat þe ston þo ȝow þrewe,
Al ȝoure tresoun fol wel he knewe:
Hou ȝoure brygge gos insundyr,
And al þe tresoun þat is þervndyr;
And hou it gos aȝen be peys.
Bes war, barounnes and burgeys!
It helpes ȝow nouȝt ȝoure ȝates to schette
Hym and hys men out ffor to lette.
Ȝyff ȝe ffyȝte and ȝow deffende,
Moo stones he wole ȝow sende,
Schende ȝow, and þe toun doun bete,
Stondynge hous wil he non lete.
It is betere let hym in stylle
Þan herejnne þat he ȝow spylle:

299

Þenne we may be trust to leue.”
But whenne he hadde þis counsayl geue,
As he hem redde þey deden anon.
“Mercy, Thomas!” þey cryede echon,
“Haue here þe keyes of þis cyte;
Doo þerwiþ what þy wille bee,
(Ȝiff) soo þou graunte vs oure lyues,
And oure chyldren, and oure wyues.”

Thomas of Multoun the keyes did ffong,
And anoþer ston in slong
To Sere Mahouns habitacle,
And smot out a gret pynacle.

Out com the wardayn Orgayl,
And an hundryd knyȝtes in his parayl,
Barffoot, vngyrt, wiþouten hood:
“Mercy, Thomas, spylle nouȝt oure blood!
Tak þe alle þe goodes þat we haue,
Wiþ þat þou wylt oure lyues saue,
Lat vs passe awey al nakyd.”
“Brekes þe brygge,” quod Thomas, “þat ȝe han mak(yd),
And lyme and ston þrowes in þe pyt;
Or, be Jhesu, þat in heuene syt,
Alle þerjnne ȝe schole brenne,
Þat non schal goo ne out renne,
Off ȝow alle, pore ne ryche,
But ȝyff ȝe fylle weel þe dyche
To þe banke al in a resse,

300

Þat we anon may faste in presse.”
Þe amyral þeroff was blyþe,
And brak þe brygges alsoo swyþe,
And lym and ston keste in þe pytte;
Anon it was feld, and ffordytte,
(V)p to þe banke maad al playn
In lengþe and brede, ful trust, certayn,
Þat twenty men, oþir besyde,
On armyd stedes myȝten jn ryde,
Wiþouten drede haue entree:
Þus þey come to that cytee.
Þe toun-ffolk comen alle and some,
And ffayre hym þey gunne welcome,
Cryede mercy wiþ lowde steuene;
Agayn on Crystene-man þey were seuene
Jn þat cyte off Sarezynes.
Gold, and syluyr, and bawdekynes
To Sere Thomas anon þey profere;
And wiþ good wyl to hym offere
Landes, houses, and tresore
Off hym to holde ffor eueremore.

Before Thomas com þe renay:
“Mercy, Lord, þynk, j þe pray,
Ffor þis toun what þou me hiȝte,
As þou were a gentyl kniȝte.
No more wole j þat þou me geue,
But mete and drynk whyl þat j leue.
Wollewarde, on my bare ffeet

301

I schal walken in snowȝ and sleet
Me to amende of my synne,
Þe ioye of heuene for to wynne!”
To a preest he schrooff hym clene.
Þe comenaunt þat was hem betwene,
Thomas grauntyd wiþ good wylle;
Þus wiþ hym he leffte stylle
In werre and pes whare he gan wende,
Euere vnto hys lyues ende.

Lordynges, heres to my pleynte!
Ȝe schal here of a tresoun queynte,
Hou þe Sarezynes haue bespoken
Off Crystene-men to ben awroken,
Hou þe amyrayl hem redde:
“Whenne þe Crystene be to bedde,
And þer be in here fyrste sleepe,
We schole come, armyd, on a hepe.
On schal dwelle þe clos wiþjnne
Þe ȝate to vnschette and vnpynne,
And stylly to vnschette þe lok.
We schole come priuyly in a flok,
And slee Thomas off Multone,
And wiþ hym euery modyr sone
Þat he has wiþ hym brouȝt.”
Þeroff Sere Thomas wyste ryȝt nouȝt.
Þey soden fflesch, rost and brede,
And to þe soper faste þey ȝede.
Plente þer was of bred and wyn,

302

Pyment, clarry, good and ffyn;
Off cranes, swannes, and venysoun,
Partryhches, plouers, and heroun,
Off larkes, and smale volatyle.
Þe Sarezynes al ffor a gyle
Of strengeste wyn gaf hem to drynke.
Þe were wery, and lest weel wynke;
Þey slepte faste, and gunne to route.
Þe Sarezynes þey were alle wiþoute,
And comen armyd to þe ȝate;
Þe renay stood redy þerat.
Þey knokked on þe wyket,
He leet it stande stylle jschet,
And tolde Thomas þat he herde
Al togedere hou it fferde.
Sere Thomas no bost gan make,
Anon hys ffolk he gan to awake;
“Ffor Goddys loue,” he hem bed,
“Dyȝte ȝow tyt, or ȝe ben ded!”
Þey sterte vp, and were affrayde
Ffor þat he hadde to hem sayde.
Þey armyd hem swyþe ȝerne,
And wenten out by a posterne
Er þenne þe Sarezynys wyste;
Þat whyle þey houyd, and gunne to þreste,

303

Wiþ strengþe wolden in haue wunnen,
Þe Crystene to þe ȝatys runnen,
And schetten faste wiþ þe kaye.
By þat began to sprynge þe daye.
Bowe and arweblast þe Cristene bente,
Þorwȝout euery stret þey wente,
And schotten arwes and quarel;
Many Sarazyn ded doun ffel.
Þey ne leffte be way ne hous
No man leuande in Orglyous,
Burgeys, ne wyff, ne children ȝyng.

Whenne þey had maad þis rekenyng,
He gaff hys men aftire þat toyle
Al þe tresore, and þe dispoyle,
Syluyr and gold euery grot;
Euery man hadde hys lot.
Þer was non so lytyl page
Þat ne hadde to hys wage
Off gold, and syluyr, and gret tresore
To be ryche ffor eueremore.
Thomas leet, or he went þen,
Out of prisoun þe Crystene-men,
Euery pylgrym and palmere;
Gaff hym rente and hous þere;
Wiþ hem stabled þe toun aȝen.
Who so com þer myȝte weel seen

304

In ylke an hyȝ cheff-touret
Kyng Richardes armes were vp set.

Lordynges, now ȝe haue herd
Off þese townes hou it fferd;
Hou Kyng R. wiþ hys maystry
Wan þe toun off Sudan Turry;
Orglyous wan Thomas Multone,
And slowȝ euery modyr sone.
Off Ebedy we schal speke,
Þat faste now haþ here ȝate steke,
Whenne Ffouke Doyly it bylay,
Þat entre jn nouȝt he may.
Þe cyte was strong and stoute;
Seuene myle it was aboute;
Þrytty pryse-toures be tale,
In euery tour a cheeff-amyrale;
Ffolk off armes by ryȝt ascent
Numbred þer were ffyfty þousend,
Wiþouten oþere smale putayle
Þat þere come into þe batayle,
Þat ne cowde no man acounte
To how manye þey wolde amounte.
Sere Ffouke brouȝte goode engynes,
Swylke knewe but fewe Sarezynes;
In euery half he leet hem arere
His enemyes a newe play to lere.

305

A mangenel he leet bende,
To þe prys-tour a ston gan sende.
Þat ston whanne it out ffleyȝ,
Þe Sarezynes þat it seyȝ,
“Allas!” þey cryede, and hadden wondyr,
“It routes as it were a þondyr!”
On þe tour þe ston so hytte,
Þat twenty feet awey it smytte.
To anoþer a ston he þrewe
For to make hem game newe.
Al þat on syde he smot away,
And slowȝ dogges off fals ffay.
Þey beet doun þe toures alle
In þe toun and on þe walle.
A prys-tour stood ouyr þe ȝate;
He bente hys engyne, and þrew þerate
A gret ston þat harde droff,
Þat þe tour al toroff;
Þe barre, and þe hurdys,
Þe ȝate barst, and þe porte-colys.
Þerto he gaff anoþir strook
To breke þe bemes alle off ook;
And slowȝ þe folk þat þerjnne stood;
Þe oþere fledden, and were nyȝ wood,
And sayden it was þe deuelys dent.
“Allas, Mahoun! What has he ment,

306

Þis Ynglyssche dogge þat hyȝte Fouke?
He is no man, he is a pouke
Þat out off helle is jstole!
An euyl deþ moot he þole,
Ffor vs he beseges ffaste;
Ȝyff he moo stones to vs caste,
Al þis toun wole be doun bete;
Stondande hous wole he non lete!”

Sere Ffouke gan hym apparaylle
Wiþ his ffolk þe toun to assaylle.
Or he þe toun wiþ strengþe wan,
Þer was slayn many a man!
Þe toun-dykes on euery syde,
Þey were depe and fful wyde,
Fful off grut, no man myȝte swymme;
Þe wal stood faste vpon þe brymme:
Bytwen hem myȝte no man stande.
Þe archers al off þis lande
Schotte in wiþ arewes smale;
Þe toun-ffolk ne gaff no tale.
Þe Sarezynes wenten vpon þe walles,
And schotte wiþ areweblast and spryngalles,
And wiþ quarelles þey gunne hem stonye,
Of oure ffolk þey slowen monye:
Enuenymyd here takyl was.
But whenne Fouke Doyly seyȝ þat caas,

307

Þat hys men scholde be slawe,
He bad hem to wiþdrawe:
“And brynges trees and many a bowȝ.”
To don hys wylle folk come jnowȝ.
Crystene-men maden hem a targe
Off dores and off wyndowes large.
Some cauȝten a bord, and some an hach,
And brouȝten to tymbyr, and þach,
And grete schydes, and þe wode,
And slunge it into þe mode,
And þe þach aboue þeron,
Þat Crystene-men myȝte on gon
To þe wal, and stonde sekyr,
And hand be hand to geue bekyr.
A sory beuerage þere was browen!
Quarellys and arewys þykke fflowen;
Þe Ynglyssche slowe þat þey toke.
Durste no man ouer þe walles loke,
Þat þe Crystene hem ouyrþrew.
And wylde ffyr ouyr þe walles þey blewe,
Many an hous anon ryȝt
Bycome vpon a fayr lyȝt,
Many a lane, and many a strete.
Þe Sarezynes þoo for hete

308

Drowȝ out godes, and ffaste gan fflye;
“Allas” and “Help” lowde gan þey crye.
Þe Ynglyssche-men herde þe cry,
Þey were stronge and wel hardy;
To wynne þe toun weel þey wende.
Þey wiþjnne hem weel deffende:
Þouȝ it were soo þat on doun ffalle,
Anoþer styrte vpon þe walle
In þe stede þere he stood,
And weryd it weel wiþ herte good.

Among þe toun-ffolk was no game.
To counseyl þey gaderyd hem insame,
Þenne sayde þe cheff-amyrale:
“Lordynges, lystnes to my tale!
Þis sege is gret, þys ffyr is stronge;
Þus may we nouȝt dure longe.
To slen vs þey haue gret desyre,
Þey haue set oure toun a ffyre.
Pes off hym tydes vs no graunt,
But it be at swylke a comenaunt
Þat we oure God Mahoun forsake,
And Crystyndom vndyrtake,
And trowe in Jhesu and Mary.
Despyt it wore and velony
Þat we scholde leue on ffals lay!

309

Go arme hym euery man þat may,
Þat strong is wepene ffor to bere,
And ffonde we þis toun to were!
Off hoost we haue swylke ten,
As he has off Crystene men
To ffyȝte wiþ vs now hedyr brouȝt.
Bes bolde, and doutes hym ryȝt nouȝt.
Betere it is þat we out renne
Þenne as wrehches in hous to brenne,
And ffrye in oure owne gres!
Englysshe be ffeynte and herteles;
Off mete and drynk þey haue defawte.
We schole hem slee alle in asawte,
And ffelle hem alle in þe feelde.
Hangyd be he þat þis toun ȝelde
To Crystene-men whyl he may leue!”

But whenne he hadde þis counseyl geue,
Euery man hys armes on keste,
And to hym þey come alle preste.
Ffor to ffyȝte þey were fful ffel;
To here temple þey wente ffull snell,
Ylke a man armyd in hys queyntyse,
And made þere here sacrefyse,
To Mahoun, and to Jupiterre,
Þat he hem helpe in here werre:
“We hadde neuere nede or now!

310

And here we make hym oure avow,
Þe prys þis day ȝiff þat we wynne,
Þat we schole neuere blynne
Ffor to ffyȝte wiþ Crystene schrewe,
Tyl þat þey ben al tohewe.”
In foure partyes þey delte here route,
And at the foure ȝates þey issuyd oute.
The ffyrste hoost Sere Arcade ledde,
Al aboute on brede þey spredde;
Sere Cudary ledde þat oþir,
And wiþ hym Orphias hys broþir;
Þe þrydde hoost wiþ hym gan lede
Sere Materbe, wyȝt in wede;
Sere Gargoyle ledde þe fferþe;
Þere þey rede, al þe erþe
Vndyr þe hors-feet it quook.

Sere Ffouke beheeld, and gan to look.
Here ffolk were rengyd in þat playn,
Ffoure score þousand, forsoþe to sayn,
Off ffoot-men, knyȝtes, and squyers;
And off lordes wiþ baners
Þere were syxty amyrales,
Þe soþ to say, in sertayn tales.
On stedes weel trappyd armyd þey ryde,
Redy batayle to abyde.

Sere Ffouke gan hys ffolk ordeyne
As þey scholde hem demeyne:

311

Fformeste he sette hys arweblasteres,
And afftyr þat hys gode archeres,
And afftyr hys staff-slyngeres,
And oþere wiþ scheeldes and wiþ speres.
He deuysyd þe fferþe part
Wiþ swerd and ax, knyff and dart;
Þe men off armes com al þe last.
Quod Fouke: “Seres, beþ nouȝt agast,
Þouȝ þat þey ben moo þan wee!”
Þey blyssyd hem, and ffel on kne:
“Ffadyr, and Sone, and Holy Gost,”
Quod Fouke, “kepe þe Crystene-hoost!
Mary mylde oure erande bede!
Þy chyld vs helpe at oure nede,
And kepe oure honour, we þe preye!
Prest we ben ffor þe to deye,
And ffor hys loue þat deyde on roode!”

Þe Sarezynes wiþ egre mode
Here wepenes begunne for to grype;
Þey trumpyd anon, and gunne to pype.
To ffyȝte þe Crystene were ful swyfft;
Ylke a lord hys baner gan vp lyfft
Of kynde armes off hys owen,
Þat his men scholde hym knowen,
And to ffolewe hym þat tyde
In þe bataylle where þey gan ryde.
Sarezynes come wiþ gret wylle;

312

When þe Crystene myȝt drawe hem tylle,
To schete þe arweblasteres hem dresse,
And þe archeres to hem gesse.
Sere Ffouke leet sette vp a standard
Wiþ armes off þe Kyng Richard;
Whenne þe Sarezynes it sen,
Þey wende Richard hadde þer jben,
Among hem alle in bataylle þore;
Off hym þey were adred fful sore.
Knyȝtes and amyralles prowde,
“Kylles doun ryȝt”, þey cryeden lowde,
“Brynges þe cyte out off cares!
Hangyd be he þat hys ffoo spares!”

Sere Archade took a gret launse,
And come prykande wiþ bobaunce.
To Ffouke Doly he gan it bere,
And wiþ anoþir Ffouke mette hym þere;
Ryȝt in pleyn cours in þe ffeelde
He hytte hym vpon þe scheelde.
Ryȝt þorwȝout þe herte it karff,
Þe mysbeleuyd paynym starff.

313

Wiþ bost com Sere Cudary
Agayn a Crystene knyȝt hardy.
Wiþ a fawchoun he gan hym smyte,
Sekyrly it wolde weel byte.
In þe nekke he hytte hym wiþal,
Þat þe hed trendelyd off as a bal.

On a rabyte com Orphias,
Ffor bost he prekyd a gret pas;
A gret ffawchoun in hand he bar:
“Come ffyȝt wiþ me now hoo þat dar!”
Jhon Doyly, Sere Ffoukes nevewe,
A ȝong knyȝt off gret vertew,
In hande he took a spere long,
Þat was boþe styff and strong,
And in hys scheeld he smot hym soo,
Þat it cleuyd euene in twoo,
And slowȝ hym þere sekyrly,
And sayde: “Dogge, þere þou ly,
And reste þe þere tyl domysday,
Ffor þou art payyde off þy pay!”

Togedere whenne þe hoostes mete,
Þe archers myȝten no more schete;
Men off armes þe swerdes out breyde,
Balles out off hoodes soone þei pleyde.
Swylke strokes þey hem geuen,

314

Þat helme and bacynet al toreuen,
Þat on þe schuldre ffel þe brayn.
Þe Crystene-men slowe hem wiþ mayn.
Þe ffoote-ffolk and sympyl knaues,
Jn hande þey henten fful goode staues;
Þer was no Sarezyn in þat fflok,
But ȝiff þat he hadde had a knok
Wiþ a staff wel jset
On helm, oþer on bacynet,
Þat he ne ȝede doun, saun ffayle,
Off hys hors top ouer taylle.
Sone wiþjnne a lytyl stounde
Þe moste party ȝede to grounde.
The lordes sayȝ hou þat þey spedde,
Anon hastyly þey ffledde,
Into þe toun þey wolde agayn.
Sere Ffouke and hys men þeroff were ffayn
Þe paas to kepe and to lette,
On euery halff þey hem wiþsette,
Þat non off hem ne myȝte ascape.
Þe Crystene on hem gan faste to frape.
Whenne þe ffoot-folk weren jslawe,
Grete lordynges doun þey drawe
Off stedes and rabytes trappyd;
Anon here hedes were of chappyd.

315

Þat Jhesu hem helpyd it was wel sene.
Þe Sarezynes þay slewe alle clene,
Stryppyd hem nakyd to þe serke.
But whene þey hadde maade al pleyn w(erk),
Sere Fouk, þat noble man and wys,
Wiþ trumpes he leet blowe þe prys.
No man wolde þo dogges berye;
Crystene-men resten, and maden hem mer(ye).
Off good wyn ylke man drank a drauȝt,
And whenne þat þey herte hadde cauȝte,
Colyd hem, and keuered her (state),
Anon þey broke þe toun-ȝate.
Syre Ffouk wiþ his men in rode,
No Sarezyn þere hym abode.
Euery Sarezyn þat þey mette,
Wiþ swyche wessayl þey hem grette
Ffor the loue off her Mahoun,
Þat by þe schuldre þey schooff þe croun.
Þe ffoote-men come behynde,
And slowȝ alle þat þey myȝte ffynde.
Man, wumman, al ȝede to swerde,
Boþe in hous and eke in ȝerde.
Þe Crystene-men þe fyr gan qwenche;
Þere was more good þan man myȝte þenche
Off syluyr and gold in þat cyte:
Þe Crystene-men hadde gret plente.
Fful curteysely seyde Sere Ffouke,

316

“Euery man hys wynnyng brouke
Amonges ȝow alle to dele and dyȝte.”
Ffor good was no nede to ffyȝte.
Crystene-men Sere Ffouk lete
In euery lane and euery strete
To take keep, and to wake,
By nyȝt and day warde to make,
Ffor to saue weel a ffyn
Ffro þe Sawdon Saladyn.
On þe toun-wal on euery corner
He leet sette vp a baner,
Vpon a schafft brode dysplayde,
Wiþ Kyng Richardes armes portrayde,
In sygne to bere record
Þat Kyng Richard was here ouyr-lord.

Whenne he hadde stabelyd þe toun,
Wiþ hys hoost he wente boun
To Orglyous to Sere Thomas.
Fforþ þey wenten a gret pas
To Kyng Rychard to Sudan Turry,
And he hem took, and sette hym by.
Euery man tolde oþer is chaunce.
To hem come þe Kyng of Fraunce.
Vnto Acres þey gan turne
Afftyr swynk þere too soiurne,
To dwelle and reste hem a stounde,

317

To hele hem þat hadde gret wounde.

Vpon a day afftyrward
Kyng Phelyp eet wiþ Kyng Richard,
Dukes, eerles, and barouns,
Men off Ffraunce off most renouns;
Wiþ hem alle þe knyȝtes ffree
Þat þey brouȝten ffro beȝunde þe see;
Thomas of Multone, Ffouke Doyly,
Erles, and barouns, sykyrly,
Off Yngelond, Gascoyne, and off Spayne,
Off Lumbardy, Gyan, and Alemayne.
Trumpes blewen, tabours dasshen
Mete was greyþid, þey gunne to wasschen.
Þey were set doun at a table,
And weel jseruyd, wiþouten ffable,
To here talent off fflesch and ffysch,
Ffrensschemen, Lumbardes, Gascoynes, Ynglysch.
Off ryche wyn þer was plente,
Pyment and ryche clarre.
Afftyr mete þe cloþ was drawe;
Off here comynge Rychard was fawe.

Afftyr mete þey maden game,
Þey begynne to speke insame.

318

Quod Kyng Richard: “Euery man telle
Hou he has don, hou hym beffelle;
Whoo has ben in most dystresse,
And who has don þe moste prowesse.
I myselff wan Sudan Turry,
Off the ffolk hadde j no mercy.
Alle þat þer wore j and myn hoost slowȝ,
And wunne þerjnne tresore jnowȝ;
Crystene-men þerjnne wone.”
Thomas gan hys dedes mone:
“And j wan Castel Orglyous;
Maydyn and grome, hosebonde and spous
Myn hoost slowȝ, and non ouyrhaff
Al þe tresore þat hem j gaff.”
Þoo tolde Ffouke Doyly:
“And j wan þe cyte off Ebedy,
Gaynyd hem no mercy to crye;
What scholde dogges doo but dye?
Al þe fflok hoppyd hedeless;
In þis manere j made pes,
Destroyyd alle þe heþene blood.
To Crystene-men al þe good
I gaff þat j þerjnne ffond,
And stablyd it into Crystene-hond.”
Quod Phelyp: “And j dede nouȝt soo;
Taburet and Archane j wente too:
Þe ffolk come off boþe cytees,

319

Cryde mercy, and ffylle on knees.
Ffor euery hed j took raunsoun;
Þey ȝolde to me euery toun,
And vp þay sette my baner:
We weren at on in þis maner.
To sloo men was me neuere leeff.”

Kyng R. took it to greff,
And on hym gan to loke rowe:
“Cursyd be he þat þy werk alowe!
Þou were weel wurþy mawgry to haue,
Sarezynes þat þou woldyst saue;
Ffor to graunte hem lyff ffor mede
Þou dost God a gret ffalshede.
Þou hast don vs gret schame,
Þou were wurþy to haue blame.
Alle swylke werkes j reffuse,
And þou, Sere Kyng, ȝiff þou it vse,
Þou dedyst nouȝt as j þe bad!
Ȝiff þou be efft in ffyȝt bestad,
Þou schalt ffynde hem euerylkon,
Þey schole ben þy moste ffoon.
Ȝyff þou haddyst hem alle slayn,
Þenne myȝtyst þou haue ben ffayn,
And wunnen al þe good þerjnne.

320

Now is it efft newe to begynne,
And þat þyselff now schalt sen.”
Quod Phelyþ: “J wole wende aȝen
Ffor to proue ȝiff it be soþ;
Wheþer þe ffolk me gyle doþ,
Be aboute me to anoye,
I schal hem brenne, sloo, and stroye;
Þey schole neuere haue griþ.”
Quod Richard: “Ȝiff j wende þe wiþ,
Þe betere hap þe may betyde.”
On morwe þey begunne to ryde
Wiþ here hoost to Taburet:
Þe ffolk wiþjnne þe ȝatys schet.
Þey callyd: “Phelyp, ffeynte coward!
Ffalse wrehche, þou broke fforeward!
Þou gaff vs lyff ffor raunsoun:
Þe tydes no more off þis toun
Henne to þe worldes ende!”
Quod Kyng Rychard: “Phelyp tak in mende!
I sayde þe soþ, now may þou wete!”
Anon hys baner doun þey smete,
And brak it vp in gret despyt,
To peces brak it al so tyt;
And out into þe dyke it þrowen,
And setten vp on off here owen,
And bad hym: “Now doo þy beste!”
Quod R.: “Ffrendes, haues no reste,

321

Þis toun assayle we now swyþe;
Euery man hys strengþe kyþe
On þese dogges to ben wroken!”

Whenne Kyng Richard þus hadde spoken,
Þe Crystene-men gunne make a scryke:
Anon þey wunnen ouyr þe dyke.
Þe ffolk on þe walles aboue
To deffende ffaste þey proue,
Jn al þat þey may and cunne.
Stones and stokkes þey þrewe dounne,
Summe off þe Crystene þey herte;
Ffor drede archeres a bak þane sterte.
Þe Sarezynys þey gunnen grete,
Arwys, quarellys þykke þey schete,
And slowene þat þey ouyrtoke;
Ouyr þe walles durste no mane loke.
Þe Crystene þe walles vndyrmyn.
Quod Richard: “I schal neuere syne
Sytte on grounde, drynke, ne eeten,
Tyl j haue þis toun jgeten.”
In þe dyke þe wal ouyrþrewe;
Þe hoost wan jn, and on hem hewe
Wiþ swerdes, axes, and kene knyues,
And slowen men, chyldren, and wyues.

Þe hoost wolde no lengere be þare,
Toward Archane gunne þey ffare.

322

Þe ffolk off þe toun þe ȝatys schet
Kyng Phelyp out ffor to let,
And sayden: “Coward, goo þy way!
Here hast þou lost þy pray.
Þou gaff vs lyff ffor tresore,
Off þis toun tydes þe no more.
Al at ones þy pay grap þou;
Here hast þou lost þy lordschepe nowe!
Þou art a ffals ffaynt wrehche!
Hangyd be he þat off þe rehche!
Al þat þou may doo vs, þou doo!”
Ffor þat þey despysyd hym soo,
Kyng Richard swoor, and was agreuyd:
“Þe Sarezynes þerjnne, þat mysbeleuyd,
Schal non off hem be sauyd quykke.”
Arwes, quarelles fflowe þykke.
Þe Crystene-men þe ȝates brente;
Þey broke þe walles, and in þey wente.
Þe Sarezynes fledden, awey gunne ffyken,
Þe Crystene ffolwen, slen, and styken,
And gaff alle here ffolk here bane;
Þus Kyng Phelyp wan Archane.

Quod R.: “Phelyp, tak to þe
Þe goodes off ayþer cyte;
Þus þou myȝtyst haue don or þis.
Certes, Phelyp, þou art nouȝt wys.
Þe be forgeuen þe ffyrste gylt:

323

Þou may bewar, ȝiff þat þou wylt.
Now be we ffrendes boþe,
But, sykyrly, we schole be wroþe,
Swylke ffolyes ȝiff þou haunte,
Sarezynys lyff ȝiff þou graunte.
Bewar, þouȝ þou gold coueyte,
In þis land do vs no dysseyte!
Ȝiff þou be efft ffounden wiþ gyle
Where þorwȝ we ffalle in peryle,
Be þe chyld in oure lady barme,
Goo schalt þou nouȝt wiþouten harme!
Off gold schalt þou haue þy ffylle!”
He gan to moorne, and heeld hym stylle;
He glouryd, and gan to syke,
Wiþ Kyng R. gan hym euyl lyke,
Ffor wordes he gan to hym deyl.
Kyng R. gan hym to counseyl:
“Be trewe, doo as j þe teche!
Goo we fforþ þis cuntre to seche,
To sloo oure foos, and wynne þe croys!”
Kyng Phelyp wiþouten noys
Seyde: “In me schal be no delay
To helpe þertoo þat j may!”

Kyng R. and Phelyp wiþ here hoost
Wenten fforþ be þe see-coost.
Ageynes hem comen here naueye,
Cogges, drowmoundes, many galeye,
Barges, schoutes, crayeres ffele

324

Þat were chargyd wiþ alle wele,
Wiþ armure, and wiþ oþir vytaylle,
Þat noþyng in þe hoost scholde ffayle.

It was beffore Seynt James tyde
Whenne ffoules begunne merye to chyde,
Kyng Rycharde wente forth a pace
Toward þe cyte off Cayphas,
Euere forþ be þe maryn,
Be þe reuer off Chalyn.
Saladyn it herde telle,
And come fflyngande afftyr snelle,
Wiþ syxty þousand Sarezynes kene,
And þouȝte to doo Crystene-men tene;
And ouyrtooke þe rerewarde,
And begunne to bekyr harde.
Hastely swerdes þey drowen,
And many a Crystene-man þey slowen.
Vnarmed was the rerewarde,
And fledde in haste to Kyng Richarde.

325

Whenne Kyng R. wyste þis,
Þe Sawdon slowȝ hys men jwis,
On Fauel of Cypre he sat ffalewe,
Also swyfft as ony swalewe,
In þis world at grete nede
Was neuer founde a bettir stede.
Hys baner anon was vnfolde,
Þe Sarezynes gan it beholde.
Þoo þey myȝt þe baner see,
Alle þey gunne ffor to fflee.

Kyng Richard afftyr hem gan ryde,
And þey wiþturnyd hem þat tyde,
And smot togedere wiþ grete raundoun
As ȝiff al þe world scholde fall doun.
Kyng R. beffore smot
Wiþ hys ax, þat byttyrly boot,

326

He hem hewed and tocarfe,
Manye vndyr his hand þere starfe.
Neuer was mane in erthe ryghte
Þat better agaynes the Sarazenes gane fighte.
And manye Crystene, j telle ȝow sekyr,
Hente here deþ in þat bekyr
Þorwȝ a carte þat was Hubertes Gawtyr,
Þat was set in a myr.
Saladynes sones theder came,
And the harneys them bename.
Þe cartere les his hand ryȝt;
Þere was slayn many a knyȝt:

327

Ffor þat harneys kepyd ffourty,
And þeroff were jslayn þrytty.
Kyng R. hyed þedyr wiþ þate,
Yet almost he come to late!
In his honde he helde hys ax good,
Many Sarezyn he leet blood.
One euerilke a syde hym he layde one,
And slewe the Sarazyne full thikke wone.
Þer was non armure, verraymente,
So good þat myȝte wiþstande his dent.
And þe Longespay þat tyde
Layde on be euery syde,
Þat doun it wente al þat he smot
Wiþ hys fawchoun, þat byttyr bot.
And þe batayle was dotous,
And to our ffolk wol perylous;

328

Ffor þe hete was so strong,
And þe dust ros hem among,
And fforstoppyd þe Crystene onde,
Þat þey ffylle ded vpon þe sonde.
Moo dyede ffor hete at schorte wurdes
Þenne for dent of spere or swordes.
Kyng Richard was almost ateynt,
And in þe pouder nyȝ adreynt.
On hys knees he gan doun ffalle,
Help! to Jhesu he gan calle,
Ffor loue off his modyr Mary;
And as j ffynde in his story,
He seyȝ come Seynt George þe knyȝt,
Vpon a stede good and lyȝt,
In armes whyte as þe fflour
Wiþ a croys off red colour.
Al þat he mette in þat stounde,
Hors and man he felde to grounde.

329

And þe wynd gan wexe lyþe,
Sterne strokes þey gynne to kyþe.
Whenne Kyng R. seyȝ þat syȝt,
In his herte he was glad and lyȝt,
And egyrly, wiþouten ffayle,
Þe Sarezynes he gan assayle.
Bertram Braundys, þe goode Lumbard,
Robert Tourneham, and Kyng Richard,
Alle þat agayn hem gan dryue,
Soone þey reffte hem here lyue.
Þe Sarezynes fledden to recet
To þe mount of Nazareth.
Þey were so hyyd at þe spore,
Þat mekyl of here folk þey lore.
Kyng R. wente a gret pas
Toward þe cyte off Cayphas,
And þankyd Jhesu, kyng off glorye,

330

And Marye his modyr of þat victorie;
And alle þey maden gret solas
Ffor þe wynnyng off Cayphas.

Soone on morowe he leet crye
Among hys hoost, þat þey scholde hye
Toward þe cyte of Palestyn,
Euer forþ by þe maryn.
Þere here pauylouns þey telte,
And al to longe þere þey dwelte
Ffor to abyde here vytayle,
Þat comen by watyr, saun fayle.
Certes, þat was þe werste dwellyng
Þat euere dwellyd Richard oure kyng!
Þat whyle þe Sawdon Saladyn
Sente after many a Sarezyn
To bete adoun þe castelles,
Cytees, tounnes, and tourelles.
Ffyrst þey bete doun þe castele

331

That was callyd Myrabele;
And afftyr þe castel Calaphyne,
Þat was made off good engyne.
Off Sesarye þey fellyd þe wal,
And þe tour off Arsour al;
Jaffe-castel þey bete adoun,
And þe goode castel Touroun;
Castel-Pylgrym þey ffelden þere,
And þe goode castel Lafere;
Þe castel off Seynt George de Reyn
Þey ffelde doun, and made al pleyn.
Þe walles þey ffelde off Ierusalem,
And eke þe walles off Bedlem;
Maydenes-castel þey lete stande,
And þe castel off Aukes-lande.
Be þat coost were no moo leten
Þat þey ne were ffeld, and doun beten;
And þis he dede wiþouten lette,
For Richard scholde haue no recette.

332

And whenne he hadde þus jdoo,
Kyng Richard he sente vntoo,
And seyde he wolde þe nexte morwe
Mete hym in þe ffeld wiþ sorwe,
And wiþ a launce to hym ryde,
Ȝiff he durste hym abyde.
Vndyr þe fforest off Arsour
He wolde asaye hys valour.
Kyng Richard made it nouȝt towȝ,
But ffor þat tydyng ffaste he lowȝ.
He leet crye in hys hoost
In þe name off þe Holy Gost
Þat þey scholden wiþ vygour
Þat nyȝt reste before Arsour,
And dyȝten hem al redy þan
At morwen to ffyȝte wiþ þe Sawdan.
On Seynt Marye euen, þe natyuyte,
Þis ylke bataylle scholde be.
Many was þe heþene man

333

Wiþ Saladyn þat come þan:
Off Inde, off Perse, off Babyloyne,
Off Arabye, and off Cessoyne,
Off Aufryk, and off Bogye,
Off al þe lond off Alysaundrye,
Off Grete Grece, and off Tyre,
And off many another empyre;
Off moo landes þan ony can telle,
Saue he þat made heuene and helle.
That nyȝt was R. before Arsour,
Vndyr þe fforest of Lysour.
Wiþ hym þer were off Yngeland
Wyse knyȝtes douȝty off hand;
Manye Ffrensche ffolk, and Templers,
Gascoynes, and Hospytaleres,
Off Provynce a fayr cumpanye,
Off Poyle, and off Lumbardye,
Off Gene, off Sesyle, and off Tuskan;

334

Þere was many a douȝty man
Off Ostrych and off Alemayn,
Þat weel cowde ffyȝt in þe playn:
Off Crystene knyȝtes that were hende,
Þe ffayreste hoost to þe worldes ende.
And ȝe schal here, as it is wrete,
Hou þe batayle was jsmete.

Saladyn com be a mountayn,
And ouyrspradde hyl and playn.
Syxty þousand sayde þe spye
Came in þe ffyrste cumpanye,
Wiþ longe speres, on heye stedes,
Off gold and asure were here wedes.
Syxty þousynd comen afftyrward
Off Sarezynes stoute and hard
Wiþ many a pensel off sykelatoun,
And off sendel grene and broun.
Almost come ffyue and ffyffty þousinde
Wiþ Saladyn þat comen behynde;
Þey comen alle stylle, and nouȝt rende,

335

Here armure ferde al as is brende.
Þre þousand Turkes comen at þe laste
Wiþ bowe Turkeys and arweblaste.
A þousand taboures and ȝit moo
Alle at once þey smeten þoo,
That al þe erþe donyd hem vndyr:
Þere myȝte men se grete wundir.

Now speke we of Richard oure kyng
Hou he com to batayle wiþ his gyng.
He was armyd in splentes off steel,
And sat vpon his stede Ffauel.
Wel hym louede baroun and knyȝt,
Ffor he cowde weel ordayne a ffyȝt.
Þe ffyrste batayle to þe Templeres
He gaff, and to þe Hospytaleres,
And bad hem goo in Goddes name
Þe ffeend to schentschepe and to schame.
Jakes de Neys, and Jhon de Neles
Beffore þey wenten in þat pres.

336

Jn þis world þere ne were
Betere knyȝtes þenne þey were.
Fforþ þey prekkyd, as j ffynde,
Wiþ knyȝtes fully twenty þousynde;
And þe Sarezynes þey mette,
Wiþ grymly launse þey hem grette.
Many Sarezyn hadden here ffyn,
And wenten to Mahoun and Appolyn;
And þo þat cauȝte deþ off oure,
Wenten to Cryst oure Saueoure.

Jakes de Neys was a noble knyȝt,
To slee the Sarasynes he dede his myȝt.
He prekyd beffore his ffolk to raþe
Wiþ hys twoo sones, and þat was scaþe.
Þre þousand Turkes come wiþ boost
Betwen Jakes and hys hoost,
Þat non help myȝte come hym too,
For no thyng þat þey myght doo;
Ne he ne myȝte hym wiþdrawe
Ffor þe ffolk off heþene lawe.

337

It was gret scaþe, be Jhesu Cryste,
Kyng R. þeroff nouȝt ne wyste,
Ffor he was ȝit al behynde
To ordeyne twenty þousynde
Þoo scholde þe Duke off Burgoyne
Lede, and þe Erl of Boloyne.
Þese comen, and deden here deuers
Agayn þe heþene pawteners.
And Jakes and hys sones twoo
Almost weren jslayn þoo.
He layde on euery syde ryȝt,
And steryd hym as noble knyȝt.
Twenty he slowȝ, and ayþer sone ten
Off þe vyle heþene men;
And nyne seþyn hys hors was ffelde,
And euere he coueryd hym wiþ his schelde.
He had non help off Templere,
Ne off non oþir Hospytalere;
Neuertheles doughtely he faught,
The Sarasynes yet felde hym naught.

338

He layde on wiþ his sworde,
And euere he cryed: “Jhesu! Lorde!
I schal dye ffor þy loue:
Resseyue my soule to heuene aboue!”
Þe Sarezynes layde on wiþ mace,
And al toffrusschyd hym in þe place,
Hym and hys sones boþe;
Þerffore Kyng R. was ful wroþe.

Whenne Kyng R. wyste þis,
Þat ded was Jakes de Nys:
“Allas,” he sayde, “Þis is wronge!
Behynde j dwellyd al to longe!”
He smot Ffauel wiþ spores off golde,
Sewe hym þat sewe wolde.
A launse in hys hand he heelde,
He smot an amyral in þe scheelde.
Þe dynt smot þorwȝ þe heþene herte,
I vndyrstande it gan hym smerte.
Kyng R. hys honde wiþdrowȝ,

339

And wiþ þat launse a kyng he slowȝ;
And so he dede an amyrayle,
And ffyue dukes wiþouten ffayle.
Wiþ þat ylke launse selue
Kyng R. slowȝ kynges twelue.
Þe þrytteneþe to þe chyn he kerff,
Þe launse barst, þe Sarezyn sterff.
Hys ax on his ffore-arsoun hyng,
Anon it took Richard oure kyng.
Some he smote on þe schuldyr-bon,
And karff hym to þe sadyl anon;
And of som he pared so þe croune,
Þat helme and hed fel adoune.
Non armure jwrouȝt wiþ hande
Myȝte Kyng Richardes ax wiþstande.
Off my tale bes nouȝt awundryd:
Þe Ffrenssche says he slowȝ an hundrid,

340

Whereof is maad þis Ynglyssche sawe,
Or he reste hym ony þrawe.
Hym ffolewyd many an Ynglyssche knyȝt,
Þat egyrly halp hym for to ffyȝt,
And layden on as þey were woode
Tyl valeys runnen al on bloode.
Þe Sarezynes sayden in here pauylouns
Þe Crystene ferden as lyouns,
And that Rycharde with theyr folke fares
As grehoundes do with hares.
Vpon here steedes manly þey lepen,
Swerdes and speres to them þey grepen.
Manye man þere slowȝ oþir,
Many a Saresyn loste þere his broþir,
And manye off þe heþene houndes
Wiþ here teeþ gnowȝ þe groundes.

341

By þe blood vpon þe gras
Men myȝte see where Richard was!
Brayn and blood he schadde jnowȝ,
Many an hors hys guttes drowȝ.
Þere was manye an empty sadyl,
Þat it bewepte þe chyld in the cradyl.
He þouȝte rescue Jakes de Nayn,
And ar he come he was jslayn,
Ffor he and hys sones anon
Were toffrusschyd flesch and bon.
He ledde hym to hys pauyloun
Jn despyt of here God Mahoun.
Þoo fought Richard on ylke a syde,
Þe Sarezynes durste no lengere abyde.
Syxe þousand and seuene score
At onys he droff hym before
Vp agayn an hyȝ cleue;

342

Þey ffledde as deer þat were dreue,
And ffor the drede off Kyng Richard
Off þe clyff þey fell dounward,
And al tobarste hors and man,
Þat neuere non com to lyue þan.
Þat seyȝ þe Sawdon Saladyn;
He was fful sekyr hys lyff to tyn.
He lefte hys pauyloun and hys tente,
And fledde away verramente.
Whenne Kyng Richard seyȝ hym fleande,
He sewyd afftyr ffaste flyngande.
To sloo þe Sawdon was hys þouȝt,
But, ffor he myȝt hym ouertake nouȝt,
Off a ffootman a bowe he took,
And drowȝ an arwe vp to þe hook,
And sente it to þe Sawdon anon,
And smot hym þorwȝ the schuldyr-bon.
Þus þe Sawdon wiþ dolour
Ffledde ffro þe batayle off Arsour.
Syxty þousand þere were slawe

343

Sarezynys off heþene lawe,
And off Crystene but ten score:
Blyssyd be Jhesu Cryst þerffore!

Kyng Richard took þe pauylouns
Off cendeles and off sykelatouns;
Þey were schape as castelles,
Off gold and syluyr were þe penseles.
Manye was þe noble geste
Þeron was wryten of wylde beste:
Tygrys, dragouns, leouns, lupard:
Al þis wan þe Kyng Richard.
Bounden coffres and grete males
He hadde þere wiþouten tales.
Off tresore þey hadde so mekyl wone,
Þey wyste neuer where here goodes to done.

344

Kyng Richard wente wiþ honour
Into þe cyte off Arsour,
And restyd hym þere al þat nyȝt,
And þanked Jhesu ful of myȝt.
On the morowe Kynge Rycharde ros—
Hys dedes were riche and his los—,
Off Naples he callyd Sere Gawter,
Þat was his maystyr Hospitaler,
And bad hym take wiþ hym knyȝtes,
Stoute in armes, stronge in ffyȝtes,
And agayn to þe ffeelde tee
Þere þe batayle hadde jbee,
And lede Jakes þe baroun
Jnto Jerusalem toun,
And berye his body þere in erþe,
For he was a man wel werþe.

345

Al was don wiþouten cheste,
Hastyly Kyng Richardes heste.
Þus Kyng Richard wan Arsour,
God graunte hys soule mekyl honour!

At morwen he sente to þe Kyng off Fraunce,
And sayde to hym wiþouten bobaunce:
“Wende we to Nynyue,
Þat is a swyþe strong cite.
Ffor hadde we þat toun jwunne,
Þenne were oure game ffayre bigunne.
Hadde we þat and Massedoyne,
We scholde wende to Babyloyne.
Þenne myȝte we saffly ryde
An hundryd myle by ylke a syde.”

Richard and Phylyp in Arsour lay:
A messanger þenne come to say
Þat þe Sarezynes wolde abyde,
And in batayle to hem ryde,
In þe pleyn Odok, soþe to seye;
Þere þey wele leue or deye.
Kyng Richard hem answerid anon:
“J schal ȝow telle, by Seynt Jhon,
And j wiste what day it wore,
J scholde mete wiþ hym þore!”
Þe messanger sayde, by his lay,

346

Þat it scholde be on þe seuenyþe day.

Þat tyme come, as he telde,
The Sarezynes comen into þe ffeelde
Wiþ syxty þousand and weel moo.
Kyng Richard come ageynes hem þoo.
Hys hoost he delte in ffoure manere,
As þey sayde þat þer were:
Ffouke Doyly be þat on syde,
Thomas be þat oþir to abyde,
Kyng Phelyp þe þrydde part,
And þe fforþe Kyng Richard.
Þus þey besette hem wiþoute,
Þe Sarezynes þat were bolde and stoute.
Jn euery hoost Crystene-men
Sarezynes baners outputte þen.
Þe Sarezynes wenden þenne anon
Þey hadde ben Sarezynes euerylkon.
Soone so Richard seyȝ þis,
Þat þe Sarezynys hoost beclosyd is,
His owne baner was soone arerde:
Þenne were þe Sarezynes sore aferde,
And abaschyd hem in a þrowe.
Þe Crystene gan þe baner to knowe,
Þey smeten on in þat stounde,
And slowȝ many an heþyn hounde.
Kyng Richard vpon Fauel gan ryde,

347

And slowȝ dounryȝt on ylke a syde,
And alle his ffolk dede alsoo,
Alle ffoure hostes layden too,
Many Sarezyn þey schente.
Allas, an hoost ffrom hem wente;
By þe kynges syde off Ffraunce,
Þe hoost passyd by a chaunce
Into Nynyue agayn þoo:
Þerfore was Kyng Richard woo.
Þe Sarezynys þat þey ffounde þore,
Þey ȝede to deþe, lesse and more.
Þe numbre þat þer to deþe ȝede,
Ffyfftene þousand, as j ȝow rede.

Kyng Richard wente wiþ his meyne
Toward þe cyte off Nynyue;
Kyng Phelyp wente hym by
Wiþ a gret hoost, sykerly,
Tyl þey come to Nynyue,
And tylde here pauylouns besyde þe cyte.
Kyng Richard on morwen whenne it was day,
To armes he comaunded alle þat may,
And hastyly, wiþouten pytee,
To assayle þat cyte,
Wiþ arweblast and wiþ oþer gynne,
Ȝiff þey myȝte þe cyte wynne.
Alle þe folk wiþouten chydyng,

348

Dede Kyng Richardys byddyng.
Þe gynours mangeneles bente,
And stones to þe cyte þey sente;
Harde stones in þey þrewe,
Þe Sarezynes þat wel knewe.
Arweblast off vys wiþ quarrel,
Wiþ staff-slynges þat smyte wel,
Wiþ trepeiettes þey slungen alsoo,
Þat wrouȝte hem ffol mekyl woo;
And blew wylde ffyr in trumpes of gynne,
To mekyl sorewe to hem wiþjnne.

Now seyȝ þe Sarezynes ylkone
Þat þey scholde to deþ gone.
A messanger anon þey sente;
To Kyng R. fforþ he wente,
And prayed ȝiff hys wylle be,
Off batayle betwen þre;
Þree off hem and þree off hys:
Wheþer off hem þat wynne þe prys,
And who þat haues þe heyere hand,
Haue þe cyte and al here land,
And haue it ffor eueremore.
Kyng Richard grauntyd hem þore,
And bad hem come hastyly.
Þe messanger wente in on hy,
And sayde to þe amyrayle
Þat Kyng Richard, wiþouten ffayle,
Weel armyd wiþ spere and scheelde,
Wolde meten hem in þe ffeelde,

349

And wiþ hym oþere twoo barouns,
Noble men off gret renouns,
Ffor to ffyȝte wiþ swylke þree
As ȝe wole sende off þis cytee.

Þenne on rabytes were þey dyȝt,
Þree amyralles, bolde and wyȝt.
Here names j schal ȝow telle anon,
What þey hyȝte euerylkon:
Sere Archolyn in ffyrst rod,
Coudyrbras houyd and abode,
Sere Galabre houyd stylle
To see who wolde ryde hym tylle.
Kyng Richard, þe noble knyȝt,
Agayn Sere Archolyn hym dyȝt.
Þey smeten togedere dyntys sare;
He ne schal keuere neuere mare!
And he gaff Richard a sory fflatt
Þat ffoundryd bacynet and hat.
Kyng Richard was agreuyd sore
Ffor þe strok þat he hadde þore.
Kyng R. took his ax fful strong,
And on þe Sarezyn faste he dong
On þe helm aboue þe crown;

350

He cleff hym to þe sadyl-arsoun.
Hys lyff fforsoþe nouȝt longe lest,
Ffor Kyng R. was his preeste.

Sere Cowderbras fforþ gan ryde;
Sere Thomas þouȝte hym to abyde.
Þey reden togedere, as we rede,
Þat boþe to þe erþe þey ȝede.
Vp þey styrte in þat stounde,
And smeten togeder wiþ grym wounde.
Þey ffouȝten fful sore wiþ fawchouns kene,
Strong batayle was hem bytwene.
Cowderbras ffor ffelonye
Smot Sere Thomas, wiþouten lye,
On his spawdeler off his scheelde,
Þat it fleyȝ into þe ffeelde.
Thomas was agreuyd sore,
And þouȝte to anoye hym more.
He took to hym hys mase off bras,
Þat ffaylyd hym neuere in no cas,
And gaff hym a sory weffe,
Þat his helme al tocleffe,
And al tobrosyd his herne-panne:
Kyd he was a douȝty manne.
Out off hys sadyl he hym glente,
And wiþ þe rabyte forþ he wente.

Sere Galabre houyd stylle
To see who wolde ryde hym tylle.

351

He nyste wheþir hym was most gayn
Ffor to ffyȝte, or turne agayn.
Sere Ffouke Doyly weel it say,
Loþ hym were he scapyd away.
To hym he prekyd vpon a stede,
Agayn hym þat oþir ȝede;
Wiþ egyr jre togedere rode,
Þat eyþere stede to grounde glode,
And brak here nekkes in þat stounde,
Þat þey lay ded vpon þe grounde.
Here speres scheueryd in þe ffeeldes,
So eyþir hytte oþir in þe scheeldes.
Eyþer gaff oþir strokes ffelle,
Dere þey gunne here lyues selle.
Galabre was stout and wyȝt,
Þat Ffouke ne myȝte hym hytte nouȝt ryȝt,
But at þe laste he gaff hym on,
Þat he brak his schuldre-bon,
And hys on arme þertoo:
Þenne was hys ffyȝtyng doo.
On knees he fyl doun, and cryde: “Creaunt,
Ffor Mahoun and Termagaunt!”
But Sere Ffouke wolde nouȝt soo;
Þe hed he smot þe body ffroo.

Þe lordynges off þat cyte
Agayn hem comen, and fellen on kne,
And þe keyes wiþ hem þey brouȝte,

352

Off mercy Kyng R. besouȝte;
Ȝiff he wolde saue here lyff,
Þey wolde be crystenyd, man and wyff,
And wenden wiþ hym, wiþouten fayle,
In þe brest off euery bataylle,
And off hym holden þat cyte.
Kyng Richard grauntyd wiþ herte ffree.
A bysschop he leet come anon,
And dede hym crystene euerylkon.
Lytyl, mekyl, lasse, and more,
In þat tyme crystenyd wore.
Kyng R. a whyle þere leffte stylle,
Þe comounners seruyd hym at wylle;
Off alle þat he wiþ hym brouȝte,
Betere myȝte þay serue hym nouȝte.

The cheff Sawdon of Heþenysse
To Babyloyne was flowen jwysse.

353

His counseyl he offsente þat tyme,
Þere semblyd many a bold paynyme.
Syxty þousand þere were telde
Off gylte spores in þe ffeelde,
Wiþouten ffootmen and putayle,
Þat þer come into batayle.
As he sayde þat was þe spye
Þat tolde þe ffolk on boþe partye,
Twoo hundrid þousand of heþene men
To batayle hadde þe Sawden.

Lystnys lordes, ȝungge and olde,
Ffor his loue þat Judas solde!
Þe men þat loue treweþe and ryȝt,
Euere he sendes hem strengþe and myȝt:
Þat was þere fful weel sene.
Oure Crystene hoost, wiþouten wene,
Was no mo, in booke j fynde,

354

In all but ffoure score þousynde.
Kyng R. þrytty þousande ladde,
Ffor Phelyp and hys men were badde.
Ffyffty þousand hadde hee
By þat on syde off þat cytee
To kepe wiþjnne þe Sarezynes stoute,
Was non so bold to passen oute:
For R. on þat oþir syde lay,
On batayll redy euery day,
Wiþ mangenel and wiþ spryngeles,
Wiþ manye arewes and quarelles.
There was no Sarezyn so stoute,
That ouyr þe walles durst loken oute.
Þe cyte was so strong wiþjnne,
Þat no man myȝte vnto hem wynne.
Our stronge engynes, ffor þe nones,
Broken þe walles wiþ harde stones,
Here ȝatys, and here barbycan.
Be ȝe sekyr, þe heþene man

355

Made encountre hard and strong,
Þat manye a man was slayn among.
Ffor hadde Kyng Phelyp trewe bee
At the sege of þat cytee,
There had neuer jscaped no man,
Heþene kyng, ne sawdan,
Þat þey ne hadde be slayn dounryȝt:
Ffor Kyng R. ever vpon þe nyȝt
Whenne þe sunne was gon to reste,
Wiþ hys hoost he wolde be preste,
Gaff þe bataylle hard and smerte,
Þat no paynym myȝte wiþsterte,
And slowȝ hem doun gret plente,
And wylde fyr caste into þe cytee.

Þe Sarezynes deffendyd hem faste
Wiþ bowe Turkeys and arweblaste.
Hard fyȝt was hem bytwene,
So sayde þay þat dyde it sene.
Quarellys, arwes also þykke gan flye,
As it were poudyr in þe skye;
And wylde ffyr þe ffolk to brenne.

356

A counsayl took þe heþene menne
To ffyȝte wiþ hem in þe ffeelde;
Þey wolde nouȝt þe cyte ȝelde.
Off Kyng Richard myȝte þey nouȝt spede
To take trewes ffor no nede.
“Ffor no þyng,” sayde Richard þan,
“Tyl j haue slawe þe Sawdan,
And brend þat is in þe cytee!”
The lateniere þo turnyd aȝee
To þat oþer syde off þe toun,
And cryede trewes wiþ gret soun
To þe riche Kyng off Ffraunce;
And he hem grauntyd wiþ myschaunse,
Ffor a porcyoun off golde;
And ellys hadde þe toun be ȝolde,
And alle þe Sarezynes jslayn.
But þenne was the Sowdan fful ffayne,
And alle his folk on R. ffylle,

357

For þat oþir syde was stylle.
Kyng R. wende þat Phelip ffouȝte,
And he and hys men dede nouȝte,
But maden hem merye al þat nyȝte,
And weren traytours in þat ffyȝte.
He louyd no crownes ffor to crake,
But doo tresoun, and tresore take.

Kyng Phelyp to R. sende
Þat he myȝte hym no lengere deffende;
Ffor hungyr he and his men alsoo
Moste breke sege, and goo.
Sory was Kyng R. þan,
And sayde: “Traytour! ffalse man!
Ffor couaytyse off tresour
He dos hymselff gret dyshonour
Þat he schal Sarezynes respyt gyue;
Jt is harme þat swylke men lyue!”
He brekes sege, and gynnes to wiþdrawe.
Þenne were þe Sarezynes wundyr fawe,
Gret ioye made hem among,
Carollyd, trumpyd, and merye song.

358

The nexte day afftyr þan
Messangeres comen fro þe Sawdan,
And grette R. in this manere,
And sayden: “Sere, ȝiff þy wyl were,
My lord, þe Sawdon, to þe sente,
Ȝiff þou wylt graunte in presente:
Þou art strong of fflesch and bones,
And he is douȝty ffor þe nones;
Þou dost hym gret harme, he says,
And destroyyst hys countrays,
Slees hys men, and eetes among.
Al þat þou werres, it is wiþ wrong.
Þou crauyst herytage in þis lande,
And he dos þe weel to vndyrstande
Þat þou hast þertoo no ryȝt!
Þou sayst þy God is fful off myȝt—
Wylt þou graunte wiþ spere and scheelde
To derayne þe ryȝt in þe ffelde,
Wiþ helme, hawberk, and brondes bryȝt,
On stronge stedes, goode and lyȝt,
Wheþer is off more power,
Jhesu, or ells Jubyter?
And he sente þe to saye þis,
Ȝiff þou wylt haue an hors off his?

359

In alle þe landes þere þou hast gon,
Swylk on say þou neuere non!
Ffauuel of Cypre, ne Lyard off prys,
Are nouȝt at nede as þat he is;
And, ȝiff þou wylt, þis selue day
It schal be brouȝt þe to asay.”
Kyng R. answered: “Þou sayst weel!
Swylke an hors, by Seynt Michel,
J wolde haue to ryden vpon,
Ffor myn are wery and fforgon;
And j schal ffor my lordes loue,
Þat syttes heyȝe in heuene aboue,
And hys owne hors be good,
Wiþ a spere schede hys blood.
Ȝyff þat he wole graunte and holde
Jn þis manere þat þou hast tolde,
As j moste God my soule ȝelde,
J schal meten hym in þe ffeelde.
Bydde hym sende þat hors to me;
And j schal asaye what he bee.
Ȝyff he be trusty, wiþoute ffayle,
I kepe non oþir into batayle.”

Þe messanger þenne hom wente,
And tolde þe Sawdon in presente

360

That R. in þe felde wolde hym mete.
Þe ryche Sawdon also skete
A noble clerk he sente ffore þen,
A maystyr nigromancien,
Þat coniuryd, as j ȝow telle,
Þorwȝ þe ffeendes crafft off helle
Twoo stronge ffeendes off þe eyr
In lyknesse off twoo stedes ffeyr,
Lyke boþe of hewe and here;
As þay seyde þat were þere,
Neuere was þer sen non slyke.
Þat on was a mere lyke,
Þat oþer a colt, a noble stede.
Where that he were, in ony nede,
Was neuere kyng ne knyȝt so bolde
Þat whenne þe mere neyȝe wolde,
Scholde hym holde agayn his wylle,
Þat he ne wolde renne here tylle,
And knele adoun, and souke hys dame:
Therwhyle þe Sawdon wiþ schame

361

Scholde Kyng R. aquelle.
Al þus an aungyl gan hym telle,
Þat come to hym aboute mydnyȝt,
And sayde: “Awake, þou Goddes knyȝt!
My Lord dos þe to vndyrstande
That þe schal come an hors to hande;
Ffaire he is off body pyȝte,
To betraye þe ȝiff þe Sawdon myȝte.
On hym to ryde haue þou no drede;
He schal þe helpe at þy nede.
Purueye a tree, grete and strong,
Þouȝ it be ffourty ffoote long,
And trusse it ouyrthwert his mane:
Alle þat he metes, schal haue his bane,
Wiþ þat tree he schal doun ffelle.
It is a ffeend as j þe telle;
Ryde vpon hym in Goddes name,
Ffor he may doo þe no schame.
Tak a brydyl,” þe aungyl seyde,
“And mak it ffast vpon hys hede,
And be þe brydyl in his mouþ
Þou schalt turne hym norþ and souþ.
He schal þe serue at þy wylle

362

When þe Sawdon rydes þe tylle;
Haue here a spere-hed off steel:
He has non armure jwrouȝt soo weel
Þat it ne wole perce be thou bolde.”
Whenne the aungell hadde þus jtold,
Agayn to heuene he is wente.

At morwen þe hors was to hym sente.
Kyng Richard off þe hors was blyþe,
And dyȝte hym a sadyl swyþe.
Boþe his arsouns weren off yren,
Ffor þey scholde be stronge, and dyren.
Wiþ a cheyne he gyrde hym ffaste,
A brydyl vpon his hed he caste,
As þe aungyll hadde hym tauȝt.
Twoo goode hokes fforgat he nauȝt
In hys arsoun he sette beffore,
Wiþ wax he stoppyd his eeres þore,
And sayde: “Be þe aposteles twelue,
Þouȝ þou be þe deuyl hymselue,
Þou schalt me serue at þis nede!
He þat on þe roode gan blede,
And suffryd grymly woundes ffyue,

363

And siþþen ros ffrom deþ to lyue,
And bouȝte mankynde out off helle,
And siþþen þe fendes pouste gan felle,
And afftyr steyȝ vp into heuene,
Now God, for his names seuene,
Þat ilke God in persones thre,
Jn his name j comaunde þe
Þat þou serue me at my wylle!”—
He schook his hed, and stood ful stylle.

Kyng Rychard made hym redy that nyght.
At morwen when it was day-lyȝt,
Syxe sawdones wiþ gret route
Off þe cytee comen oute,
And batayllyd hem on a ryuer,
Wiþ brode scheeldes and helmes cler.
Þat day was told, wiþouten lesynges,
Off sawdons and off heþene kynges
An hondryd and ȝit wel moo;
Þe leste brouȝt wiþ hym þoo
Twenty þousande and ȝit ten.
Agayn on off oure Crystene-men

364

Þere were a doseyn be þe leste.
The oste ferde as a foreste.
Of Sarezynes was so gret an hoost,
Weel a ten myle a coost.
Þey made scheltroun, and batayle byde;
Messangerys betwen gan ryde,
To Kynge Phelyp and Kyng Richard,
Ȝiff þey wolde holde foreward
þat þey made þe day beffore.
Þe Sarezynes fful redy wore;
Þree hundryd þousand þer bee;
Kyng R. lokyd, and gan to see;
As snowȝ lygges on þe mountaynes

365

Behelyd were hylles and playnes
Wiþ hawberkes bryȝte and helmes clere.
Off trumpes and off tabourere
To here þe noyse it was grete wundyr;
As þouȝ þe world aboue and vndyr
Scholde ffalle, so fferde þe soun!

Oure Crystene-men made hem boun;
Kyng R. hem noþyng ne dradde,
To his men “has armes” he gradde,
And sayde: “Ffelawes, for þe roode,
Looke ȝe ben off coumfort goode!
And ȝiff we gete þe prys þis day,
Off Heþenesse al þe nobelay
Ffor eueremore we haue wunne:
Ffor he þat made mone and sunne
Be oure help, and gyue vs myȝt!
Beholdes hou myselff schal ffyȝt
Wiþ swerde, spere, and ax off steel;
But j þis day mete hem weel,

366

Euermore ffro henne fforeward
Holdes me for a ffeynt coward!
But euery Crystene-man and page,
Haue þis nyȝt vnto his wage
An hed off a Sarezyn
Þorwȝ Goddes help and alsoo myn!
Swylk werk j schal among hem make,
Off þo þat j may ouyrtake,
Þat ffro þis tyme to domysday
Þey schole speke off my pay.”

Oure Crystene-men were armyd weel,
Boþe in yryn and in steel.
Þe kyng off Ffraunce wiþ his batayle,
Was redy þe Sarezynes to asayle.
Aboue þe Sarezynes þey ryden,
And scheltroun pyȝten, and batayle abyden,
And fforstoppyd þe lande-wayes.
Þey myȝte nouȝt fflee in þe countrayes,
Ne no socour to hem come,
But ȝiff þey were slayn or nome.
Þe Ffrenssche gunne blowe bost and make
To sloo Sarezynes, and crownes crake,
But in ieste as it is tolde

367

There was non off hem so bolde
To breke þe Sarezynes scheltrome,
Tyl Kyng R. was jcome.

Now sewyd Richard wiþ his hoost,
And closyd hem by anoþir coost,
Betwyxen hem and þe cyte,
Þat no Sarezyn myȝte fflee.
Þenne hadde Richard hoostes þree:
Þat on gaff asawt to þe cytee,
Þe oþere twoo wiþ hym he ladde.
To bryngen hym his hors he badde
Þat þe Sawdon hadde hym sent.
He sayde: “Wiþ hys owne present,
I schal hym mete longe or nyȝt.”
To lepe to horse þo was he dyȝt.
Jnto þe sadyl or he leep,
Off manye þynges he took keep.
Hym lakkyd nouȝt þat he ne hadde,

368

Hys men hym brouȝte al þat he badde.
A quarry tree off ffourty ffoote
Before his sadyl anon dede hote
Ffaste þat men scholde it brase,
Þat it ffaylyd ffor no case.
And so þey dede wiþ hookes of yren,
And good rynges that wolde duren.
Oþer ffestnynge non þer was
Þen yryne cheynes ffor alle cas,
And they were jwrouȝt ful weel.
Boþe his gerthes and his peytrel,
A qweyntyse off þe kynges owen,
Vpon hys hors was jþrowen,
Beffore hys arsoun his ax off steel,
By þat oþer syde his masuel.
Hymselff was richely begoo,
Ffrom þe crest vnto þe too.
He was armyd wondyr weel,
And al wiþ plates off good steel,
And þer aboue an hawberk;

369

A schafft wrouȝt off trusty werk;
On hys schuldre a scheeld off steel,
Wiþ þree lupardes wrouȝt fful weel.
An helme he hadde off ryche entayle;
Trysty and trewe was his ventayle;
On his crest a douve whyte,
Sygnificacyoun off þe Holy Speryte;
Vpon a croys þe douue stood,
Off gold wrouȝt riche and good.
God hymselff, Marye, and Jhon,
As he was naylyd þe roode vpon,
In signe off hym for whom he fauȝt.
Þe spere-hed fforgatt he nauȝt,
Vpon his shafte he wolde it haue;
Goddes hyȝe name þeron was graue.
Now herkenes what oþ þey swore
Ar þey to þe batayle wore:
Ȝyff it were soo þat Richard myȝte
Sloo þe Sowdon in ffeeld wiþ ffyȝt,
Hee and alle hese scholde gon,

370

At here wylle euerylkon,
Into þe cyte off Babyloyne,
And þe kyngdome off Massedoyne
He scholde haue vndyr his hand,
And ȝiff þe Sawdon off þat land
Myȝte sloo Richard in the ffeeld,
Wiþ swerd or spere vndyr scheeld,
Þat Crysten-men scholde goo
Out off þat land ffor eueremoo,
And Sarezynes hauen her wylle in wolde.
Quod Kyng R.: “Þerto j holde,
Þertoo my gloue, as j am knyȝt!”
Þey ben armyd, and redy dyȝt;
Kyng R. into þe sadyl leep.
Whoo þat wolde take keep,
To see þat syȝte it was ffayr.
Þe stedes ran wiþ gret ayr
Al so harde as þey myȝte dure,
Afftyr here ffeet sprong þe ffure.
Tabours beten, and trumpes blowe;
Þere myȝte men see in a þrowe
How Kyng R., þe noble man,
Encountryd wiþ þe Sawdan,

371

Þat cheef was told off Damas.
Hys trust vpon his mere was.
Þerffore, as þe book vs telles,
Hys crouper heeng al ful off belles,
And hys peytrel, and his arsoun:
Þree myle men myȝten here þe soun.
His mere gan nyȝe, here belles to ryng,
Ffor gret pryde, wiþouten lesyng.
A brod ffawchoun in honde he bar,
Ffor he þouȝte he wolde þar
Haue slayn Kyng R. wiþ tresoun,
Whenne his hors hadde knelyd doun
As a colt þat scholde souke;
And he was war off þat pouke.
Hys eeres wiþ wex were stoppyd ffaste,
Þerffore R. was nouȝt agaste.
He strok þe ffeend þat vndyr hym ȝede,
And gaff þe Sawdon a dynt off dede.
In hys blasoun, verrayment,
Was jpayntyd a serpent.
Wiþ þe spere þat R. heeld,
He bar hym þorwȝ vndyr þe scheeld.
None off hys armes myȝte laste;

372

Brydyl and paytrel al tobrast;
Hys gerþes, and hys styropes alsoo;
His mere to þe grounde gan goo.
Mawgry hym he garte hym stoupe
Bakward ouyr his meres croupe;
His feet toward þe ffyrmamente.
Behynde hym þe spere out wente.
He leet hym lye vpon þe grene,
He smote þe ffeend wiþ spores kene;
In þe name off þe Holy Gost,
He dryues into þe heþene hoost;
And also soone as he was come,
He brak asundry þe scheltrome;
Ffor al þat euere beffore hym stode,
Hors and man to grounde ȝode,
Twenty ffoote on euery syde.
Whom þat he ouertoke þat tyde,
Off lyff ne was there waraunt non.
Þorwȝout he made hys hors to gon.
As bees swarmen abowte þe hyues,
The Crystene-men in afftyr dryues,

373

Stryke þorwȝ þat doun lygges,
Þorwȝ þe myddel and þe rygges.

Whenne þey off Ffraunce wysten
Þat þe maystry hadde þe Crysten,
Þey were bolde, and gode herte took,
Stedes prekyd, and schafftes schook.
Þe Kyng Phelyp wiþ a spere
An heþene kyng gan doun bere;
And oþere eerles and barouns,
Stronge men off grete renouns,
Slowen þe Sarezynes dounryȝt.
Off Yngelond many a noble knyȝt
Wrouȝte weel þere þat day.
Off Salysbury the Longespay
To grounde he ffeelde wiþ his brond
Alle þat he beffore hym ffond;
Next Kyng R. euere he was,
And off Multon Sere Thomas,
Ffouk Doyly, Robert Leycetre,
In Crystenedom þer were non betre.
Where þat ony off hem come,

374

Þey sparyd neyþer lord ne grome,
Þat þey ne dreuen alle adoun.

The Sarezynes þat weren wiþjnne þe toun,
Ffor gret sorwe þat þey seyn,
Þey wepte wiþ boþe here eyen,
And “Mercy!” lowde þenne þey cryde.
Þey wolden kaste vppe the ȝates wyde,
And lete hem at here wyl in come.

Þe Crystene haue þe cyte nome.
Anon hastely wiþalle
Þey setten baners on þe walle,
Þe kynges armes off Yngelande.

Whenne Saladyn gan vndyrstande
Þat þe cyte ȝolden was,
He gan to crye “Allas, allas!
Þe prys off heþenesse is done!”
And gan to flee also soone,
And fayn alle þoo þat myȝte.
And Kyng R., þat noble knyȝte,
Whenne he seyȝ þe Sawdon fleyȝ:
“Abyde, coward!” he cryede on heyȝ,
“And j schal þe prouen ffals,

375

And þy cursede goddes als.”
Kyng R. dryues afftyr ffast;
Þe Sawdon was ful sore agast;
A gret wode beffore hym he sees,
Þedyr in wol ffaste he fflees.
Kyng R. wente þe wode nere,
He doutyd of encumbrere,
He myȝte nouȝt in for his tree;
Sone he tourned his horse aye,
And mette wiþ an heþene kyng.
He took his ax out off þe ryng,
And hytte hym vpon þe crest,
And cleff hym doun vnto þe brest.
Anoþir he rauȝte vpon þe scheeld,
Þat helme and hed ffleyȝ into þe ffeeld.
Syxe he slowȝ off heþene kynges,
To telle þe soþe in alle þynges;
In þe ieste as j ffynde
Þat moo þan syxty þousynde
Off empty stedes abouten ȝode,
Vp to þe ffeetlakkes in þe bloode.
Astray þay ȝeden wiþ grete pryde,

376

What man wolde myght ryde.
Þe batayle laste tyl it was nyȝt;
But whenne þey had jslayn dounryȝt
Þe Sarezynes that þey myȝte ouyrtake,
Gret ioye gan þe Crystene make,
They knelyd, and þankyd God off heuene,
And wurschepyd hym, and hys names seuene.
On boþe sydes wer ffolk slawe:
But þe numbre off þe Crystene lawe
Þat lay ded in þe ffeelde,
To God þey gunne theyr soules ȝelde.
Þere were slawen hundredes þree;
Off Sarezynes was þer more plente,
Syxty þousand, and ȝit moo.
Loo, swylke grace God sente þoo!
Þe Crystene to þe cyte gon;
Off gold, and syluyr, and precyous ston
Þey ffounde jnowȝ wiþouten ffayle,
Mete, and drynk, and oþir vytayle.

377

At morwen, whenne Kyng R. aros—
Hys dedes were noble and his los—
Sarezynes beffore hym come,
And askyd of hym Crystyndome.
Þere were crystenyd, as j ffynde,
More þan ffourty þousynde.
Kyrkes þey maden off Crystene lawe,
And here Mawmettes leet doun drawe;
And tho þat wolden nouȝt Crystene become,
Richard leet slen hem, alle and some,
And departyd þe gret tresour
Among þe Crystene wiþ honour:
Erl, baroun, knyȝt, and knaue,
Had as mekyl as þey wolde haue.

Þere þey soiournyd ffourtene nyȝt.
On a day þey haue hem dyȝt,
Toward Ierusalem gunne þey ryde.
Kyng Phelyp spak a wurd off pryde:
“Kyng R., lystene to me;

378

Ierusalem, þat ryche cyte,
Þouȝ þou it wynne it schal be myn.”
“By God,” quod Richard, “and Seynt Austyn,
And as God doo my soule boote,
Off my wynnyng nouȝt halff a ffoote
Þou ne schalt haue off no lande,
I doo þe weel to vndyrstande!
And ȝiff þou wylt haue it,” he seyde þen,
“Goo, and gete it wiþ þy men!
Myn offeryng,” quod R., “loo it here!
I wyl come þe cyte no nere!”
An arweblast off vys he bente,
A ffloryng to þe cyte he sente:
Þat was in signifyaunce
Ihesu Cryste to honouraunce.

For yre become syke þe kyng off Ffraunce;
Þe leche sayde wiþouten dystaunce
Þat he myȝte nouȝt hool ben,
But he to Ffraunce wolde turne aȝen.

379

Þe kyng hys counsayl vndyrstood,
And sayd it was trewe and good.
His schyppes he dyȝte more and lesse,
And wente home at Alhalewe-messe.
Kyng R. on hym gan crye,
And sayde he ded gret velonye
To wende hom ffor maladye
Out off þe lond off Surrye
Tyl don were Goddes servyse,
Ffor lyff or deþ, in ony wyse.
Þe kyng of Ffraunce wolde hym nouȝt here,
But departyd in þis manere;
And afftyr þat þartyng, forsoþe,
Euere ȝit þey were wroþe.

Kyng R. wente wiþ his hoost
To Jaffe, wiþouten bost,
Þe kynges pauyloun faire and fyne
He leete tylde in on gardyn.
Oþere lordes gan aboute sprede

380

Here pauyloun in a ffayr mede.
Kyng R. wiþ his meyne alle
Off þe cyte leet make þe walle,
Þat neuere was non in Sarezyneys
So strong wrouȝt, and off gret ryhcheys.
Þat castel was strong and ryche,
Jn þe world was non it lyche.
Þedyr myȝte come be þe see
Off euery good gret plente.
He made here warde of noble knyȝtes,
Stoute in armes, stronge in ffyȝtes.
Jnowe men myȝte wende aboute
Manye myle wiþouten doute.

381

Kyng R. dwellyd wiþ honoure,
Tyl þat Jaffe was maad al sure.

Fro þennes to Chaloyn þey wente,
And fond þe walles al torente.
Mekill and ffayr was þat cyte;
Kyng R. þeroff hadde pyte.

382

He besouȝte þe lordes alle,
Off þe cyte to make þe walle;
And he wolde make the halfendele
By hymselfen, fynly and wele.
And þe lordes euerylkon
Grauntyd hym hys askyng anon,
Saue þe duke off Ostryke,
Kyng R. he þouȝte to beswyke.

383

Kyng R. gan to trauayle
Aboute þe walles, without fayle!
So þey dede, on and oþir;
Ffadyr and sone, eme and broþir,
Made morter, and layde ston,
Wiþ here myȝt, euerylkon.
Euery kyng and emperere
Stones bare or mortere,
Saue þe duke, fful off prede,
He ne wolde hem helpe for no nede.
Vpon a day R. hym mette,
And hendely þe kyng hym grette,
And bad hym, for hys curteysye,
Make off þe walles hys partye;
And he answeryd in þis manere:
“My fadyr nas mason ne carpentere;
And þouȝ ȝoure walles al toschake,
I schal neuere helpe hem to make.”

384

Kyng R. pekyd gret errour,
Wraþþe dede hym chaunge colour;
Þe duke agayn þe brest he smot
Wiþ hys ffoot, God it wot,
Þat on a ston he ouyrþrewe:
It was euyl don be Seynt Mathewe!
“Ffy! a debles, foule coward!
In helle be þou hangyd hard!
Goo quyckly out of this hoost;
The curs hast þou off þe Holy Goost!
By the sydes of swete Ihesus,
Ffynde j þe, traytour, among vs,
Ouyr þis ylke dayes þre,
Myself schal þy bane bee.
Traytour, we trauayle day and nyȝt
In werre, in wakyng, and in ffyȝt,
And þou lys as a foule glotoun,
And restes þe in þy pauyloun,
And drynkes wyn, good and strong,
And slepes al þe nyȝt long.

385

I schal breke þy banere,
And caste it into þe reuere!”
Home wente þe duke fful wroþ,
Hys owne lyff hym wax loþ.
Off þat despyte he was vnblyþe,
And trussyd hys harneys al so swyþe,
And swor by Jhesu in Trynyte,
And he myȝte euere his tyme see,
He scholde of Richard hym so awreke,
Þat al þe world þeroff scholde speke.
He heeld hym al to weel fforward:
In helle be he hangyd hard!
Þorwȝ hys tresoun and trehcherye,
And þorwȝ þe waytyng off a spye,
Kyng R. he dede gret schame,
Þat turnyd al Yngelond to grame.
A lytyl lengere hadde he most
Haue leuyd, ffor þe Holy Gost,

386

Ouyr kyng, duke, and emperour,
He hadde be lord and conquerour.
Al Crystendom and al Paynym
Scholde haue holden vndyr hym.
Þe Duke off Ostrych hyyd hym faste
Away wiþ his meyne in haste.
Wiþ hym þe Duke off Burgoyne,
Þe ffolk off Ffraunce, and þe Eerl of Boloyne.
Kyng R. let breke his baner,
And keste it into þe reuer,
And cryyd on hym wiþ voys stepe:
“Home, schrewe! coward! and slepe!
Come no more in no wyse
Neuere efft in Goddes seruyse!”
Þe duke awey prekyd þenne,
Ffor wrathe his herte began to brenne.
Kyng R. leffte wiþ hys Englys,
Tuskaynes, Lumbardes, Gascoynes jwis,
Scottes, Yrysch, ffolk of Bretayne,

387

Gennayes, Baskes, and off Spayne,
And made þe wal day and nyȝt,
Tyl it were strong, aplyȝt.
When Kynge Rycharde with grete pyne
Had made the walles of Chalyne,
All his hoost with him he taas,
And wente forth a grete paas.
The fyrst nyght in the name of Marye
He laye in the towne of Famelye.
On morwe he let hym arme wele,
Boþe in yryn and in steel;
Be þe maryn forþ he wente
To Albary, a castel gente,
Þat was a castel off Sarezynesse,
Fful off stor and gret ryhchesse,
Boþe of fat fflesch, and of lene,
Whete and ooten, pesen and bene.
Kyng R. it wan, and soiournyd þere

388

Þre moneþis al plenere;
And sente spyes euery wayes
Ffor to aspye þe cuntrayes.

Off castel Daroun Kyng R. herde
Al togederre hou it fferde.
Al was it fful off Sarezynes,
Þat were Goddes wytherwynes.
Kyng R. hyyd þedyr ffaste
Þe Sarezynes ffor to make agaste.
So longe he wente by hys iournay,
He come þedyr be Seynt Iames day.
He beseged castel Daroun
To wynne þe castel and þe toun.
Þe castel was maad off swylke ston,
Þat þey doutyd sawt ryȝt non.
Aboute þe castel was a dyke,
Þey hadde neuere jsen non slyke.
Þe Sarezynys cryyd in here langage:
“Crystene houndes off euyl rage!

389

But ȝe the sooner wende home,
Here ȝe haue ffet ȝoure dome!”
Whenne Kyng R. herde þat cry,
He swor hys oþ be Seynte Mary
Þe Sarezynes scholde be hangyd alle
Or swylke a cas hem scholde befalle.
Þe Crystene assaylyd, and þey deffendyd,
And many a quarel out þey sendyd.
Al þat day and al þat nyȝt
Þey and þe Crystene heeld ffyȝt.
Þe Crystene saw þey myȝte nouȝt spede,
Kyng R. took anoþir rede.
Kyng R. garte alle þe Englys
To repe rysshys in þe marys
To ffylle þe dykes off Daroun,
To wynne þe castel and þe toun.
Twoo grete gynnes for þe nones
Kyng R. sente ffor to caste stones.
By water þey were jbrouȝt anon;

390

Þe Mate-Gryffoun was þat on,
Þat was set vpon an hel
To breke doun tour and castel;
Þat oþir hyȝte Robynet,
Þat on anoþir hyl was set.
Kyng R. bent a mangenel
Þat keste to anoþer tourel.
Kyng R. dede þe ryssches ffaste
Bynden, and into þe dyke caste,
And al playn þe dykes made.
Þe Sarezynes þeroff hadde no drade;
Wylde ffyr þeron þey caste,
Þe ryssches were on ffyre in haste,
And brenden ryȝte to þe grounde,
Soone wiþjnne a lytyl stounde.
Off oure Crystene many an hundred
Wer þeroff gretly awundryd.

391

Þe mangeneles þrew alway,
And brak þe walles nyȝt and day.
Þe Robynet and þe Mate-Gryffoun,
Al þat þey hytte wente adoun,
So þat wiþjnne a lytyl stounde
Þe outemeste wal was layd to grounde,
And ffyllyd fful þe grete dyke,
And oure men entryd hastelyke.
Þo oure Crystene-men myȝten wel
Entren into Dareyn-castel.
Þe Eerl off Leyceterre, Sere Roberd,
Þe treweste body of myddylerd,
He was þe ffyrste, wiþouten ffayle,
Þat Castel Daroun gan assayle;
Vp he lyffte hys banere,
And smot in on hys destrere.

Þe Sarezynes wiþ mysauentoure
Fledde into þe heyeste toure,
That was bothe stronge and starke,

392

All of Sarasynes warke;
And manye off hem stoden wiþoute,
And ffouȝten faste in grete doute;
Agayn þe eerl Sere Robard
Þey geuen many a dynt fful hard.
Many an helme þere was ofweuyd,
And many a bacynet was cleuyd,
Scheeldes ffele cloue in twoo,
And many stede stekyd alsoo.
Robert Tourneham wiþ hys fawchoun,
Þere he crakyd many a croun.
Þe Longespay, þe Eerl off Rychemound,
Wolde spare non heþene hound.
All that theyr swerdes araught,
It fell at the fyrst draught.
There dyed many Crysten-men,
But of the hethen suche ten.
Among hem come Kyng Richarde,
To ffyȝte weel noþyng he sparde.

393

Many on in a lytyl stounde
Wiþ his ax he brouȝt to grounde.
Al on ffoote he gan ffyȝte.
Whenne þe Sarezynes hadden syȝte
Hou plenteuous was hys payment,
Non þere durste abyde hys dent.
Þey wenten quyk, wiþouten ffable,
And slowe here stedes in here stable,
Þe fayreste destreres and stedes
Þat myȝte bere ony knyȝt at nedes.
Whete and fflour, fflesch and lardere,
Al togedere þey sette on fere;
Þey hadde leuere to don soo
Þenne wiþ here vytaylles helpe here ffoo.
By þe brethe Richard aspyde,
And slowȝ dounryȝt on ylke a syde,
All þat he myȝte ouyrtake,
Non amendes myȝte he make.
He gan asayle þe heye tour

394

Wiþ wyȝte men off gret valour.
Þe Sarezynes in þe tour on hyȝ
Seyȝ here endynge day was nyȝ.
Wylde ffyr sone in haste
Among þe Crystene-men þey caste.
Þat ffyr ffleyȝ aboute so smerte,
Þat manye Crystene-men it herte.
Þey myȝte nouȝt longe suffre þat þrawe,
Anon þey gunnen hem wiþdrawe
A myle ffro Daroune-castel,
Þey caste abrode many a ffyr-barel,
And soone after in a lytyl spase,
Þorwȝ þe help off Goddes grace,
Þe castel become on ffyr al
Ffro þe tour to þe outemeste wal.
Here houses brende, and here hurdys,
Gret smoke þer aros, jwis.

Þe Sarezynes in þe heyȝe tour
Were in swyche grete doloure.

395

In þe hete þey were almost ateynt,
And in þe smoke nyȝ adreynt.
Ten þer cryyd at on word:
“Mercy Kyng R., leue lord!
Let vs goo out off þis tour,
And þou schalt haue gret tresour;
Wiþ lyff and leme þou lete vs goo,
A þousand pound we geue þe too.”
“Nay”, quod R., “be Jhesu Cryst,
By hys deþ and hys vpryst,
Ȝe schole neuere come adoun,
Tyl payed be ȝoure raunsoun:
And ȝit, herafftyr, be at my wylle,
Wheþer j wole ȝow saue or spylle;
Or elles ȝe schole ryȝt there sterue.”
“Lord,” þey sayde, “we schole þe serue,
Alle þy wylle wiþ vs þou doo,
Wiþ þat we may come þe too;
To honge, or drawe, brenne, or sle,

396

Our fredome, lorde, is in the!”
Kyng R. grauntyd þan,
And comaundyd euery Crystene-man
Lete þe Sarezynys to borwe
Tyl þe sunne ros on morwe.
It was so don as j fynde.
Kynge Richarde let hem faste bynde,
Vpon a playn before þe walle
Kyng R. bad lat bryng hem alle;
And he þat payde a þousand pound
Ffor hys hed, myȝte passe sound;
And þat wolde so mekyl geue
To a certayn daye, he leet hem leue;
And he þat payde no raunsoun,
Als tyt his hed was stryken doun:
And þus Kyng R. wan Daroun,
God geue vs alle hys benysoun,

397

And his soule reste and ro,
And ours whan it cometh therto!

Afftyr þe wynnyng off Daroun
Kyng R. wente to anoþer toun,
To Gatrys, wiþ ffayr meyne,
To besege þat cyte.
Nou herkenes hou he it wan,
And ye may here off a douȝty man,
A stout werreour and a queynte
That neuere was ffounden in herte ffeynte.
He þat was lord off Gatris
Hadde ben a man off mekyl prys,
And ffel to ffyȝt aȝeyns hys ffoo;
But þat ylke tyme he was nouȝt soo,
Ffor he was ffallen into elde,
Þat he myȝte non armes welde.
But as he dede a ffayr queyntyse,
Herkenes now in what wyse!

398

In myddes þe toun vpon a stage
He leet make a marbyl ymage,
And crownyd hym stoutly as a kyng,
And bad his ffolk, olde and ȝyng,
Þat þey scholde neuere be aknowe
To Crystene-man, hyȝ ne lowe,
Þat þey hadde no lord off dygnyte,
But þat ymage in þat cyte.

Kyng Richard, þe werreour kene,
There assaute he begane bydene.
Spryngalles and mangeneles he bente,
And stones to þe cyte he sente.
Þe Sarezynes “Mercy!” cryede,
Þey wolde kaste vp þe ȝates wyde,
Ȝiff it were Richardes wylle
Þat he wolde nouȝt here peple spylle.
Kyng R. grauntyd, wiþouten les;
And þey hadde entre, al in pes.

399

Kyng R. askyd at the fyrst word
Off þat cyte where was þe lord,
And þey answerde to þe kyng
Þat þey hadde non oþir lordyng,
But the ymage off marbyl ffyn,
And Mahoun, here God, and Appolyn.
Kynge Rycharde stode, so sayth the boke,
And on the ymage he gan for to loke
How hewge he was wrought, and how sterne,
And sayd to them also yerne:
“O Sarezynes, wiþouten fayle,
Off ȝoure lord j haue meruayle!
Ȝyff j may, þorwȝ help of my Lord so goode,
Þat bouȝt vs alle with his blode,
Wiþ a schafft smyte his nekke asunder,
And ȝe may see þat grete wundyr,
Wole ȝe leue alle vpon my Lord?”
“Ȝe!” þay sayden all at on word.

400

Kyng Rychard leet dyȝte hym a schafft
Off trusty tree and kynde crafft:
And, for it scholde be stronge and laste,
He leet bynde þertoo fful ffaste
Endlonge ffoure ȝerdes off steel and yre;
And syth R., þe grete syre,
Leet sette þeron a corounnal kene.
Whenne it was redy on to sene,
Ffauuel of Cypre was forþ ffette,
And in þe sadyl he hym sette.
He rode his cours to þe stage,
And in þe face he smot þe ymage.
Þe hed flowe fro þe body insundyr,
And slowȝ fyue Sarezynes þervndyr.
Alle þe oþere seyde þan
He was an aungyl and no man;
And alle becomen Crystene þore,
Ȝyng and olde, lesse and more.
And hastely wiþoute lesyng,

401

Here olde lord þey gan forþ bryng,
And tolde hys compassement.
Kyng R. lowȝ wiþ good entent,
And gaff hym þe cyte to welde,
Þouȝ he leuyd Adammis elde.

To Chaloyn Kyng R. wente agayn,
Forth be þe maryn, soþ to sayn.
Þere he soiournyd ffourtenyȝt,
Wiþ many a noble and douȝty knyȝt.
They pyght pauylyons fayre and wel
To besege a strong castel
Þat was a lytyl besyde hym,
Þre myle ffro Castel-Pylgrym,
Wiþ þykke walles and toures off pryde,
Þat was callyd Leffruyde.
Þe Sarezynes seyȝ þe kyng was come,
For drede þey wende to be benome.

402

Þaire herttis weren alle ille bystedde,
And alle by nyghte awaye they fledde:
Þe ȝates þey vnschette ful ȝerne,
And ffledden awey by a posterne.
Ffor al þis wyde myddylerde
Durste þey nouȝt abyde Kyng Richerde.
Þe noble castel, verrayment,
Kyng R. wan wiþouten dent.

Ffro þennes he wente to Gybelyn,
Þat þe Hospytalers hadde wonyd in,
And Templeres, boþe in fere,
And kepten þe cyte many a ȝere.
Whenne Bawdewyn was slayn wiþ bronde,
Saladyn took þat toun on honde.
In þat cyte was Seynt Anne jbore,
Þat oure Lady was off core.
Þey pyȝte the kynges pauyloun,
And wiþ gret ffors þey toke þe toun;

403

And slowȝ þe Sarezynes alle in same
Þat wolde nouȝt leue in Cristys name.

Þer come the fyrst wykke tydyng
To Quer de Lyoun R., oure kyng;
Off Yngelond hys broþir Jhon,
Þat was the fendes fflesch and bon,
Þorwȝ help off þe barouns some
Þe chaunceler þey hadde jnome,
And wolde wiþ maystry off hand
Be corownyd kyng in Yngeland
At Estyr-tide afftyrward.
Þenne answerde Kyng Richard:
“What deuyl,” he sayde, “hou gos þis?
Telles Ihon of me no more pris?
He wenes þat j wil nouȝt leue longe,
Þerffore he wolde doo me wronge,
And ȝiff he wende j were on lyue,
He wolde nouȝt wiþ me stryue.

404

J wole me so off hym bewreke,
Þat al þe world þeroff schal speke.
And Jhon hym corowne at Estyr-tyde,
Where wole he þenne me abyde?
Þer is no kyng in Crystyante,
Sertes, þat schal his waraunt bee.
J ne may leue it ffor no nede
Þat Jhon my broþer wil do þis dede.”
“Ȝis, certes,” quod þe messangere,
“He wyl soo do, by Seynt Rychere.”

Kyng R. al þis tydyng
In herte heeld but as lesyng.
Ffro Gybelyn forþ þenne he wente
To Bethanye, a castel gente,
And slowȝ þere many an heþene man,
And that noble cyte wan.

Þer come oþere messangers
Þat tolde Kyng R., stout and ffers,
Þat Jhon hys broþir wolde bere

405

Corowne at Estren, he gan to swere.
Richard was loþ wiþdrawe his hand
Tyl he hadde wunne þe Holy Land,
And slayn þe Sawdon wiþ dynt off sword,
And avengyd Jhesu oure Lord:
But he beþouȝte hym afftyr þen
Þat he wolde leue þere alle his men,
And wiþ hys preuy meyne
Into Yngelond wolde hee,
And asesse þe werre anon
Betwene hym and hys broþer Jhon,
And come agayn in hyyng
To fulffylle hys begynnyng.

And as he þouȝte in hys herte,
A stout Sarezyn gan in sterte
Þat ouȝte Kyng R. raunsoun
Ffor þe wynnyng off Daroun.
He spak to Rycharde apertelyche
Among þe peple pore and ryche:

406

“Sere, þou schalt aquyte me here,
And alle oure oþer hostagere:
Þorwȝ my queyntyse and my gynne
I schal doo þe gret tresore wynne;
More þen an hundryd þousand pounde
Off ffloryns boþe rede and sounde
Off Saladynes cheeff-tresore,
And mekyl ryhchesse of here store.
Þertoo j laye in hostage my lyff,
And my chyldren, and my wyff:
But ȝiff j doo þe to wynne þat preye,
On euele deþ do me to deye!”
Kyng Rycharde sayd: “Þou myscreaunt,
So as thou byleuest on Termagaunt,
Tel me now what folk it is,
I wene it is but al ffeyntys.”
“Þoo þat lede þe tresore, saunt fayle,
Sere, þey are þre þousand chamayle,
And ffyue hundryd þer are alsoo

407

Off asses, and mules, and ȝit moo
Þat leden gold to Saladyn,
Tryyd syluyr, and tresore ffyn,
Fflour off whete, and spysory,
Cloþis of sylk, and gold þerby.”
Sayde Kynge R.: “So God þe deme,
Is þer mekyl peple þe tresore to ȝeme?”
“Ȝe, Sere,” he sayd, “þer are before
Knyȝtes rydande syxty score,
And afftyrwarde þousandes ten
Off swyþe stronge heþene men.
I herde hem speke in rownyng
Þey were afferyd off þe, Sere kyng.”
Quod Kyng R.: “Þey schal it ffynde,
Þowȝ þer were syxty þousynde,
And j wer but myself alone,
J wolde hem mete euerylkone.

408

Doo now sey me anon ryȝt
Where may j ffynde hem þis nyȝt?”
Þe Sarezyn sayde: “I þe telle
Where þey wyll abyde and dwelle:
Here be souþe, mylys ten,
Þou may ffynde þe heþene men.
Þere þey wole resten and abyde
Tyl more folk come þer ryde.”
Þe kyng hym grayþid, and wente anon,
Hys barouns afftyr euerylkon.
Al þat nyȝt wiþ ffayr couey
Þey rede fforþ by þe wey.
Þenne sayde þe spye to þe kyng:
“Sere, make here þy restyng!
Þey are loggyd in þis toun,
I wyl goo, and aspye þer roun.
Anon j wole to hem goo,
And brewe hem a drynk of woo,

409

And saye to hem þat Kyng Richard
Js at Jaffe, to Yngeland ward.
Þey wole me leue wiþ þe beste,
Þenne wole þey gon to reste;
Þenne may þou to hem wende,
And slou hem alle faste slepende.”
“Ffy! A debles!” quod þe kyng,
“God geue þe now an euyl endyng!
J am no traytour, tak þou kepe,
To sloo men whyl þey slepe;
And ryȝt now here j wole abyde
Tyl j see þe Sarezynes come ryde;
Be cleer day vpon þe ffeeldes
Þey schole see clouen helmes and scheldes.
Be þey dukes, prynces, or kynges,
Here schole þey make here endynges.”
Þe Sarezyn þe kyng answerde:
“Þy pere is nouȝt in myddyl-erde,
Ne non so mekyl off renoun:

410

Weel may þou hote Coer de Lyoun!
Þerffore j wole it nouȝt forhele
Þer are off Sarezynes twoo so fele
As þou hast folk in þis cuntree,
Certaynly, j telle þee.”
Quod Kyng R.: “God geue þe care!
Þerfore is nouȝt myn herte sare.
Ffor on off my Crystene-men
Is wurþ Sarezynes nyne and ten.
Þe moo þer be, þe more j schal sloo,
And wreke Jhesu off hys ffoo.”
Fforþ wente þe spye wiþ þen
To aspye þe heþene men.
Al he spyyd here compassyng,
And tolde it R. oure kyng.
He gan crye: “Az armes! ȝare!
Coer de Lyoun, loo now þey ffare!”
Anon leep Kyng Richard
Vpon hys goode stede Lyard;
And hys Ynglyssh and his Templers

411

Lyȝtly lopen on here destrers,
And flynges into þe heþene hoost,
In þe name off þe Holy Goost.

As þe Sarezynes wiþ here nobelay
To þe Sawdon were in here way,
Kyng R. smot hem among;
Þere aros no blysseful song,
But to Termagaunt and Mahoun
Þey cryede faste, and to Plotoun.
Kyng R. a kyng gan bere
Þorwȝ þe herte wiþ a spere,
Afftyrward hys ax he drowȝ,
Many an heþyn hound he slowȝ;
Some he cleuyd into þe sadyl,
It bewepte þe chyld in þe cradyl.
A kyng he cleff vnto þe arsoun,
Þat hym halp nouȝt hys God Mahoun.

412

Many an heþene Sarezyne
He sente þere to helle pyne.
Þe Templers and þe Hospytalers
Wunne þere manye fayre destrers.
So longe þey fouȝte, so says þe story,
Þat Kyng R. hadde þe vyctory
Þorwȝ help off hys gode knyȝtys,
Stoute in armes and stronge in fyȝtes;
And manye scapyd wiþ dedly wounde,
Þat ne leuyd nouȝt no stounde.
Þey wolde afftyr no more mete
Kyng R. be wey ne strete.

Now may ȝe here of þe wynnyng
Þat þer wan R. oure kyng.
Hors off prys and gret camayle,
Fyue hundryd and ten, saun fayle;

413

Syxe hundryd hors, off grete coursours,
Chargyd al wiþ riche tresours,
Þat were in coffres bounde ferlye,
Wiþ ffyn syluyr and gold ful trye.
Þer were þre hundryd mules and moo
Þat pennyys and spyses boren þoo;
Þer afftyr ffyfftene hundryd asse
Bar wyn and oyle, more and lasse;
And als manye wiþ whete-rede:
It was to R. a gracyous dede!
When he al þis tresore wan,
Home he wente to hys men þan,
Into Beþany that cyte noble
Wiþ þat tresore and þe moble.
He gaff þe hyghe and þe lowe
Off his purchas good jnowe.
He gaff hem destrers and coursours,
And delte among hem his tresours.
So Richard partyd hys purchas,
Off al Crystyndom belouyd he was.

414

Þerafftyr in a lytyl stounde
Come messangerys off mekyl mounde:
Þe bysschop off Chestyr was þat on,
Þat oþir þe abbot off Seynt Albon
Þat brouȝte hym lettres speciele,
Aselyd wiþ þe barouns sele,
Þat tolde hym his broþir Ihon
Wolde do corowne hym anon,
At þe Pask, be comen dome,
But he þe raþir wolde come home;
Ffor þe kyng off Fraunce wiþ enuye
Haþ aryuyd in Normandye.

Quod Kyng R.: “Be Goddes payne,
Þe deuyl has to mekyl mayne!
Al here bost and here deray,
Þey schal abeye it sum day!”
Þere he dwellyd tyl Halewemes,
And þenne he gan to Jaffes passe.
Ffor seuene ȝer and for more

415

Þe castel he gan astore.
Ffyfftene þousand, j fynde in boke,
He leffte þat castell ffor to loke
Ffor to kepe weel þat land
Out off Saladynys hand
Tyl he agayn come myȝte
Frome Yngelonde, as he has tyȝte;
And þenne he wente to Acres ward,
Þe douȝty body Kyng Richard.

Now off Saladyn speke we
What dool he made and pyte,
Whenne he wyste off þat caas,
Þat hys tresore robbyd was.
And ffor hys men þat were slawe,
He waryyd his God, and cursyd his lawe,
And swor he wolde awroken be,
Myȝte he euere hys tyme jsee.
Soo þat tyme a spye come jn,
And sayde þus to Saladyn:

416

“Lord,” he sayde, “be blyþe off mode,
Ffor j þe brynge tydynges goode,
To þyn herte a blyþe present:
Kyng R. is to Acres went,
Ffor ouyr he wole to Yngelonde!
For hym is come swylke a sonde
That Jhon hys broþer, j þe swere,
Wole elles hys corowne bere.
Jaffes he hath astoryd aryȝt,
Wiþ many a baroun and gentyl knyȝt.
Ffyfftene þousand, j wot fful weel,
Schal kepen wel þat castel,
Ȝiff he may so weel spede
Tyl he come ffrom his thede.
But see, lord, wiþouten ffayle,
Ffro his body kyttes þe tayle.”

Offte was Saladyn wel and woo,
But neuere soo glad as he was þoo.
Þe spye he gaff an hundrid besauntes
Þat brouȝte hym þat presauntes,
And alsoo a fayr destrere,

417

And a robe jffurryd wiþ blaundenere.
Þenne wolde he no lengere abyde,
He sente aboute on ylke a syde,
Vpon leme and vpon lyff,
Vpon chyldryn and vpon wyff,
Þat þey come to hym belyue
To helpe hym out off londe dryue
Kyng R. wiþ hys grete tayle.
To hym come many an admyrayle,
Many a duke, and many a kyng,
And many ful gret lordyng
Off Egypte, and off Arabye,
Off Capados, and off Barbarye,
Off Europ, and off Asclauoyne,
Off Ynde, and off Babyloyne,
Off Grete Grece, and Tyre also,
Off empyres, and kyngdomes manye moo,
Off alle heþene land, j ffynde,
Ffro þe Grekyssche see to Grete Ynde.
Charles kyng ne Alysaundre,

418

Off whom has ben so gret slaundir,
He hadde neuere swylke an hoost.
In þe cuntre þer he lay, a coost,
Ffyue myle it was off brede,
And more, j wene, so God me rede;
Twenty myle it was off lengþe:
It was an hoost off gret strengþe.

To Jaffe cyte þey comen skete,
Þe Crystene-men þe ȝates dede schete.
Þer was wiþjnne a lytyl þrawe
On boþe halff many man slawe.
So strong and hard was þat batayle,
Þat it fferde, wiþouten fayle,
As it hadde be ffro heuene lyȝt,
Among þe swerdes þat were so bryȝt.
And euere þe Crystene ful weel ffauȝt,

419

And slowene Sarezynes, but it seruyd nauȝt;
Ffor it fferde, thar no man axe,
As þey out off the ground were waxe,
Þat no slauȝtyr off swerdes kene
Myȝt þere noþyng be sene.

Þe Crystene fledde into þe castel,
And kepten þe ȝatys swyþe wel.
Þe Sarezynes þe cyte nome
To theyr will and to theyr dome.
Þenne began þe Sarezynes
Vnder þe wal to make mynes.
Þe Crystene-men ffor þe nones
Al toffrusschyd hem wiþ stones.
Þe Sarezynys ȝede aboute þe wal,
And þrewe, and schotten in, ouyr al;
Many a brennande scharp quarel
Þey schotten jnto Jaffe castel.

420

Þey souȝten where þey myȝte beste
Oure Crystene-men agreue meste.
At þe laste a ȝate þey ffounde
Nouȝt ffast schet, at þat stounde.
Þere þey ffond strong metyng
Wiþ swerdes and speres fful greuyng.
To wedde þey leffte a þousynd men,
And off þe Crystene were slayn ten.
Þe Sarezynes, þouȝ þey were stoute,
At þe ȝate men putte hem oute.
Þe Sarezynes ffor no nede
Þat day ne myȝte þey nouȝt spede.

At nyȝt, be þe mone cler,
Þe Crystene sente a messanger
To Kyng R. to Acres cyte,
And prayde þe kyng for Goddes pyte
Þat he scholde to hem come,
Or ellys þey were alle jnome.
Þey tolde hym þe harde caas
Off þe Sawdonys hoost hou it was;
And but he come to hem anon,

421

Þey were forlorn euerylkon.
Kyng R. answeryd anon ryȝt:
“Weel j knowe þe Sawdonys ffyȝt;
He wole make a lytyl deray,
And also tyt he wole away.
J nele for hym to hem wende;
But sone socour j schal hem sende.”
He callyd to hym hys nevew,
A baroun off ryȝt gret vertew
Þat hyȝte Henry off Champayn,
And bad hym wende to Jaffe playn.
“Tak”, he sayde, “wiþ þe þyn hoost,
And abate þe Sawdonys boost.”
“Az armys!” anon he gan crye
Among hys hoost; þey scholde hyȝe
Wiþ Sere Henry ffor to wende
Jaffe to helpe, and to deffende
Agayn þe Sawdon Saladyn
And many a cursyd Sarazyn.

422

On morwe wente þere wiþ Sere Henry
Many a baron and knyȝt hardy.
Gascoyn, Spanyard, and Lumbard
Ffor þe byddyng off Kyng Richard.
Þey wenten fforþ be þe maryn
Tyl þey comen to Palestyn.
Off Saladynys hoost þey seyen þen
Al þe cuntre coueryd wiþ heþene men;
And whene þe Sawdon off hem herde,
Swythe towarde them he ferde;
And whenne þe Duke Henry it wiste,
He fledde aȝen, be Jhesu Chryste,
Þat he ne made no taryyng
Tyl he come to R. oure kyng,
And seyde he ne seyȝ neuere ne herde
In al þis wyde myddyl-erde
Haluyndel þe peple off men
Þat Saladyn has, be dounne and den.

423

“No tungge”, he seyde, “may hem telle;
I wene þey comen out off helle.”
Þenne answerde Kyng Richard:
“Ffy, a debles, vyle coward!
Schal j neuere, be God aboue,
Trustene vnto Frenssche-mannes loue!
My men þat in Jaffe beth,
They may wyte the of theyr deth!
Ffor þy deffawte, j am adred,
My goode barouns beþ harde bested.
Now, for þe loue off Seynte Marye,
Schewe me quykly my galye!
Now to schyp, on and oþir,
Ffadyr and sone, eme and broþir!
Alle þat euere loue me,
Now to schyppe, pour charyte!”
Alle þat wepne ber myȝte,
To schyppe þey wente anon ryȝte,
And wenten agayn to Jaffe ward
Wiþ þe doughty Kyng Richard.

424

Now herkenes of my tale soþ,
Þowȝ j swere ȝow none oþ!
J wole rede romaunce non
Off Pertenope, ne of Ypomadon,
Off Alisaunder, ne of Charlemayn,
Off Arthour, ne off Sere Gawayn,
Nor off Sere Launcelet-de-Lake,
Off Beffs, ne Gy, ne Sere Vrrake,
Ne off Ury, ne of Octauyan,
Ne off Hector, the stronge man,
Off Jason, ne off Hercules,
Ne off Eneas, ne off Achylles.
I wene neuere, par ma fay,
Þat in þe tyme off here day,
Dede ony off hem so douȝty dede
Off strong batayle and gret wyȝthede,
As dede Kyng Rychard, saun fayle,
At Jaffe in þat batayle

425

Wiþ hys ax and hys sword;
His soule assoile Jhesu oure lord!

It was before þe heyȝe myd-nyȝt,
Þe mone and þe sterres schon ful bryȝt,
Kyng R. vnto Jaffe was come,
Wiþ hys galeyes alle and some.
Þey lokyd towarde þe castel,
Þey herde no pype ne flagel.
Þey drowȝ hem nyȝ to þe lande
Ȝiff þey myȝte vndyrstande;
And þey ne cowde nouȝt aspye,
Be no voys off menstralsye,
Þat quyk man in þe castel ware.
Kyng R. þenne become ful off care:
“Allas”, he sayde, “þat j was born,
My goode barouns ben forlorn!

426

Slayn is Roberd off Leycestre,
Þat was myn owne curteys meystre;
Ylke here off hym was wurþ a knyȝt!
And Robert Tourneham, þat was so wyȝt,
And Sere Bertram, and Sere Pypard,
In batayle þat were wys and hard;
And alsoo myn oþere barouns,
Þe beste of all my regyouns,
Þey ben slayne and all totore,
Hou may I lengere leue þerfore;
Hadde j be tyme comen hedyr,
J myȝte haue sauyd al togedyr!
Tyl j be wreken off Saladyne,
Certys, my ioye schal j tyne!”

Þus waylyd Kyng R. ay
Tyl it were spryng al off þe day:
A wayte þer com in a kernel,
And pypyd a moot in a flagel.
He ne pypyd but on syþe,

427

He made many an herte blyþe.
He lokyd doun, and seyȝ þe galeys,
Kyng R. and his naueys.
Schyppys and galeyes wel he knew;
Þenne a meryere note he blew,
And pypyd: “Seynyours! or suis! or sus!
Kyng R. is jcomen to vs!”

But whenne þe Crystene herde þis,
In herte þey were glad jwis.
Erl, baroun, squyer, and knyȝt,
To þe walles þey sterten anon ryȝt,
And seyȝ Kyng R. here lord;
Þey welcomed hym wiþ mylde word:
“Welcome, lord, in Goddes name!
Oure care is turnyd al to game.”
Kyng R. hadde neuere jwis
Haluyndel so mekyl blys.
“Aȝ armes!” he cryede, “makes ȝow ȝare!”

428

To hem þat wiþ hym comen ware.
“We ne haue lyff but on:
Selle we it dere, boþe fflesch and bon;
Ffor to cleyme oure herytage
Slee we þe houndes off euyll rage!
Who so doutes ffor here manace,
Haue he neuere syȝt off Goddys face!
Take me myn axe in myn hande
Þat was wroghte in Ynglande:
Jt sall þis daye do god seruyce,
Þat many a Sarazyne sall agryse!
Here armure no more j ne doute
Þenne it were a pylche-cloute.
Þorwȝ grace off God in trynyte,
Þis day men schal þe soþe jsee!”

Al þe fferst on lande he leep,
Of a dozeyn he made an heep.
He gan to crye wiþ voys cler:
“Where are þese heþene pawtener

429

Þat haue the cyte off Jaffe nome?
With my pollaxe j am come
To waraunte þat j haue jdoo!
Wesseyl j schal drynke ȝow too!”
He leyde on ylke a syde ryȝt,
And slowȝ þe Sarezynes aplyȝt;
Þe Sarezynes ffledde, and were al mate,
Wiþ sorwe þey runne out at þe gate.
In here herte þey were so ȝarwe,
Alle here ȝates hem þouȝte to narwe.
To þe walles þey ffledde off þe toun,
On euery syde þey ffelle adoun.
Sume off hem broken here swere,
Legges and armes, al in ffere,
And ylkon cryede in þis manere
As ȝe schal afftyrward here:
“Malcan staran nair abru
Lor ffermoir toir me moru.”

430

Þis is to seye in Englys:
“Þe Englysshe deuyl jcomen is,
Ȝiff he vs mete, we schal deye;
Fflee we ffaste out off hys weye!”
Out off þe toun þey ffledde ylkone,
Þat þer leffte neuer one
But ffoure hundryd or ffyue
Þat Richard brouȝte out off lyue.
At þe ȝate he sette porters,
And stablede vp hys destrers.
He leep vpon his stede Ffauel,
Weel armyd in yryn and in steel.
Þe ffolk hem armyd alle in ffere
Þat out off þe galeys comen were,
And manye comen out off þe castel
Þat were armyd wundyr wel.

431

Kyng R. rod out at þe ȝate,
Twoo hethyn kynges he mette þerate,
Wiþ syxty þousand Sarezynes fers,
Wiþ armes bryȝte and brode baners.
Þat on vpon þe helme he hytte,
Þat to þe sadyl he hym slytte;
Þat oþir he hytte vpon the hood,
Þat þe gyrdel-stede it stood;
And hys Templers, and hys barouns,
Ffaughte, egre as lyouns,
And slowen Sarezynes also swyþe
As gres falliþ fro þe syþe.
Þe Sarezynes seyȝen no betere won,
But flowen awaye euerylkon
Vnto Saladynes grete hoost
Þat fyfftene myle lay a coost.
Twoo and þrytty þousand, forsoþe to say,
The Sowdan loste that same daye,
For theyr armure fared as waxe

432

Ayenst Kynge Rychardes axe.
Many a Sarasyne and hygh lordynge
Yelded them to Rycharde our kynge.
He toke them in hostage tho,
There were a thousande prysoners and mo.
The chase lasted swythe longe
Tyll the tyme of euensonge.
Rycharde rode after tyll it was nyght,
So many of them to deth he dyght,
That no man it may acounte
How many of them it wolde amounte.
King Rycharde lefte without the towne,
And pyghte there his pauylyowne;
And that nyght with mylde herte
He comforted his barons smarte.
And ye shal here on the morwe
Þat was a day of muche sorowe:
The gretest batayll, j vnderstonde,
That euer was in ony londe.
And ye that this batayll wyll lere,
Herken now, and ye shal here!

433

As Kynge Richarde sate at his soupere,
And gladded his barons with mylde chere,
And comforted them with good wyne,
Two messengers came frome Saladyne,
And stode Kynge Rycharde before,
With longe berdes and with hore.
Off two mules they were alyght,
In sylke and golde they were jdyght.
Eyther helde other by the honde,
And sayd: “Kynge Richarde, now vnderstonde,
Oure lorde Saladyn, the hygh kynge,
Sendis the now this askynge:
If that thou were so hardy a knyght
That thou durste abyde here alle nyghte
Tyll to morowe that it daye ware,
Of blysse thou sholde ben all bare.
For thy lyfe and thy barons
He wyll not gyue two skalons.
He wyll the take with strength of hondes,
For he hath folke of many londes,
Egyens, and of Turkye,
Of Moryens, and of Arabye,

434

Basyles, and Embosyens,
Ffull eger knyghtes of defens,
Egypcyens, and of Surrye,
Of Ynde Maior, and of Capadocye,
Of Medes, and of Asclamoyne,
Of Samarye, and of Babyloyne;
Two hondred knyghtes without fayle,
Fyue hondred of amarayle;
The grounde ne may vnneth them bere,
The folke that cometh the to dere.
By our rede do ryght wel,
And tourne agayne to Jaffe castell.
Jn safe warde thou myght there be
Tyll thou haue sente after thy meyne:
And yf thou se thou may not stonde,
Tourne agayne to thyn owne londe,
And thus thou may fro the dede flee,
Home to thi contree by the see.”

In anger Rycharde toke a lofe,
Þe croste in his hondes all torofe,

435

And sayde to that Sarasyne:
“God gyue the well euyll fyne!
Ȝow and Saladyn your lorde,
The deuyll hange ȝow with a corde!
For your counseyll and your tydynge,
God gyue you well euyll endynge!
Now go and saye to Saladyn
In despyte of Appolyn
I wyl abyde her the tyme;
Thoughe he come to morowe or pryme,
And though j were but myselfe alone,
I wolde abyde them euerychone.
And yf the dogge wyll come to me,
My pollaxe shall his bane be;
And saye that j hym defye,
And all his cursed company!
Go now, and saye to hym thus,
The curse haue he of swete Jhesus!”

The messengers wente to Saladyn,
And tolde the begynnynge and þe fyne.

436

Saladyn meruayled than,
And sayde it was none erthly man:
“He is a deuyll or a saynt,
His myght founde j neuer faynt.”
Anone he made his ordeynynge,
Therof ne roghte Richarde oure kynge.
A nyght he wente to Jafes ward
For to take Kynge Rycharde.
Therof Rycharde toke no kepe,
But all nyght laye and slepe
Tyll it was ageynst the dawnynge;
Than herde he a shyll cryenge.
Thorugh Goddes grace, an aungell of heuen
Tho seyd to hym, with mylde steuen:
“Aryse, and lepe on Fauell,
And tourne agayne to Jaffe castell!
Thou haste slepte longe jnough!
Thou shalte it fynde harde and tough!
Or thou come to that cyte
Thou shalte be wraþed, and thy meyne.
After þe batayll, do by myn hees,

437

With the Sowdan thou make thy peas.
Take trues, and let thy baronage
Vnto the flome do theyr pilgrimage,
To Nazareth, and to Bedlem,
To Caluarye, and to Jherusalem;
And let them wende hom after then,
And come thou after with thy ship-men:
For enemyes thou haste, j vnderstonde,
Here and in thyne owne londe.
Vp! sayd the aungell, and well þou spede!
Thou ne haddest neuer more nede!”

Rycharde arose as he wolde wede,
And lepte on Fauell his goode stede,
And sayd: “Lordynges! Or sus! Or sus!
That hath vs warned swete Jhesus!”
He blew and cried: “As armes wate!”
But almost he com to late,
For Saladyn and his tem
Was bytwene Jaffe and them.
Þeder he was by nyȝt come

438

King Ric. to haue ynome.
That was to Rycharde moche payne,
That he ne myght noȝt his hoost ordayne,
But prekyd forþ vpon Fauuel,
And garte hys launse byte fol wel.
Þerwiþ he slowȝ, wiþouten doute,
Þree kynges off þe Sawdones route.
Hys hors was strong, hymseluen good,
Hors ne man hym non wiþstood.
He hew vpon þe heþene cors,
Þat vnto grounde fel here hors.
Who that hadde seen hys cuntenaunse,
Wolde euere haue had hym in remembraunce.
Þey gunnen on hym as þykke to ffleen,
As out off the hyue doþ þe been;
And wiþ hys ax doun he sweepe
Off þe Sarezynys as bere doþ scheepe.
Ynglyssche and Frenssche gunne aftir ryde,

439

To ffyȝte þey were ful ffressche þat tyde;
Upon the Sarasynes faste they donge
With swerdes and with launces stronge,
And layden on wiþ al here myȝt,
And slowen þe Sarezynes dounryȝt.
But þeroff was full lytyl keepe:
So manye of hem þer were on hepe,
Þat no slauȝtyr, wiþouten fayle,
Myȝte be sene in þat batayle.

A myr þer was wiþouten Jaffes,
A myle brod, wiþouten les.
Mawgre þe Sarezynes R. þe syre
Þree þousand drof into þe myre.
Þoo myȝte men se þe heþene men
Lyggen and baþen hem in þe fen;
And þoo þat wolden haue come vppe,
Þey drank off Kyng Richardis cuppe.

440

What þere were drownyd, and what were slawe,
Þe Sawdon loste of þe heþene lawe
Syxty þousand in lytyl stounde,
As it is in Ffrensche jffounde.
Kyng R. wente agayn
To helpe hys hoost wiþ myȝt and mayn;
Now he was þere, now he was here,
To gouerne hys hoost wiþ hys powere.
Seyȝ neuere man, j haue herd telle,
One man so manye Saryzynys quelle.
And in þe moste peryle off þe batayle
Kyng R. seyȝ, wiþouten ffayle,
Hys eme, Sere Henry off Champayn,
Ffeld off hys hors doun on þe playn.
Þe Sarezynes hadde hym vndyr honde,
To slen hym fful ffaste þey ffonde.
It hadde been hys daye laste,
Ne hadde Kyng R. comen in haste.
Kyng R. cryede wiþ lowde voys:

441

“Help God and þe holy croys!
Þys ylke day myn eme þou schylde,
Ffro deþ off þese doggys wylde.
Lordynges,” he sayde, “lays vpon;
Letes off þese houndes ascape non:
And j myselff schal proue to smyte,
Ȝiff my polax wyll ouȝt byte.”
Men myȝten see hym wiþ myȝte and mayn
Schede þe Sarezynys blood and brayn.
Vpon þe place þat grene was,
Many soule wente to Sathanas.
Be þe dynunyng off þe more
Men myȝte see where R. ffore.
Þe Templers comen hym to socour;
Þere began a strong stour;
Þey layden on as þey were wood,
Tyl valeys runnen al on blood.
Þe Longespay was a doughty knyȝte,
As he were wode he gan to ffyȝte.

442

Þe Eerl of Leycetre, Sere Robard,
Þe Eerl of Rychemound, and Kyng R.,
Þere þese ylke knyȝtes rod,
Þere was slayn a way full brod,
Þat ffoure waynes myȝte on mete,
So manye Sarezynes les þe swete.
On boþe halff was many body
Slayn, strong, bold, and hardy.
And at þe last wiþ gret payne
Kyng R. wan þe Eerl of Champayne,
And sette hym vpon a stede
Þat swyþe good was at nede,
And bad hym wenden be hys syde,
And nouȝt a ffote ffro hym ryde.

443

A messanger come swyþe reke
With Kynge Rycharde for to speke,
And sayde: “Sere, pour charyte,
Turne agayn to Jaffe cytee!
Helyd is boþe mount and playn:
Kyng Alisaundyr ne Charlemayn,
Hadde neuere swylk a route,
As is þe cyte now aboute!
Þe ȝates be on ffyre set
Ryȝt off Jaffe castellet:
Þy men may neþer jn ne oute.
Lord, off þe thay haue gret doute,
Ffor ȝe may nouȝt to þe cyte ryde,
Jn felde what auenture ȝow betyde!
And j ȝow warne, wiþouten ffayle,
Mekyl apayryd is ȝoure batayle.
Þe þatryark jtaken is,
And Jhon-þe-Neel is slayn jwis,
William of Arsour, and Sere Gerard,
Bertram Braundys, þe goode Lumbard:

444

All these are slayn, and many moo!”
Kyng R. beþouȝte hym þoo,
And gan to crye: “Turne arere,
Euery man wiþ his banere!”
And many þousand before hym schete
Wiþ swerdes and wiþ launses grete,
Wiþ fauchouns and wiþ maces boþe;
Kyng R. þey made ful wroþe.
Þey slowen Ffauuel vndyr hym,
Þenne was Kyng R. wroþ and grym.
Hys ax fro hys arsoun he drowȝ,
Þat ylke Sarezyn sone he slowȝ
Þat stekyd vndyr hym his stede:
Þerfore he loste hys lyff to mede.
On foote he was, and on he leyde;
Manye vnder hys hand þer deyde.
Alle þat hys ax areche myȝte,

445

Hors and man he slowȝ doun ryȝte,
What before, and what behynde.
A þousand and moo, as j ffynde,
He slowȝ whyl he was on ffoote,
Þat hem ne come neuere help ne boote.

Saladynes twoo sones come ryde,
Ten þousand Sarezynes by here syde,
And gan to crye to Kyng Richard:
“Ȝelde þe þeff, traytour, coward!
Or j schal sloo þe in þis place!”
“Thou lyest,” quod R., “be Goddes grace!”
And wiþ hys ax he smot hym soo,
Þat hys myddyl fflowȝ in twoo.
Þere halff þe body ffel adoun,
And þat oþir halff leffte in þe arsoun.
“Off þe,” quod R., “j am sekyr.”
Hys broþir com to þat bekyr,
Vpon a stede wiþ gret raundoun,
He þouȝte to bere Kyng R. doun,

446

And gaff hym a wounde þorwȝ þe arme:
Þat dede Kyng Rycharde mekyl harme.
Vpon þe spere-hed was venym;
And Kyng R. stoutly smot hym,
Þat hors and man ffyl ded to grounde:
“Lygge þere,” he sayde, “þou heþene hounde!
Schalt þou neuere telle Saladyne
Þat þou madyst me my lyff to tyne!”
Wiþ þat fyue dukes off Heþenys
Come wiþ here hoost wiþouten mis,
And bysette aboute R. oure kyng,
And þouȝten hym to deþe bryng:
Kyng R. in a lytyl þrawe
Þe ffyue dukes hadde jslawe;
And ffele hundryd afftyr þen
Off swythe stronge heþene men.
And at þe laste, þouȝ it were late,
Rycharde wanne vnto Jaffes ȝate:
Þenne were oure Crystene-men ful sekyr
Þat þey scholde ouercome þe bekyr.

447

Þe Eerl of Leycestre, Sere Robard,
Brouȝte oure kyng hys stede Lyard.
Kyng R. into þe sadyl leep,
Þenne fledde þe Sarezynes as þey were scheep.
Rycharde rode afftyr tyl it was nyȝte,
And slowȝ all þat he ouertake myȝte.
Þere were slayn in playn and den
Ten hundryd þousand heþene men.
Þat nyȝt Rycharde wiþouten les
Wan into the cyte of Jaffes,
And þankyd Jhesu, kyng off glorye,
And hys modyr off þat victorye:
Ffor siþþe þe world was ferst begunne,
A ffayrere batayle was neuere jwunne.

At morwen he sente Robert Sabuyle,
And Sere Wyllyam Wateuyle,
Huberd and Robert Tourneham,
Gawter, Gyffard, and Jhon-Seynt-Jhan,
And bad hem seye to the Sawden

448

Þat hymselff agayn ffyue and twenty men
In wylde ffeeld wolde ffyȝte
To derayne Goddes ryȝte;
Ȝyff he it wynne to haue þe land
Euere in Crystene-mennys hand;
And ȝiff þe Sarezynes myȝte hym slee,
Þe land scholde euere þe Sawdonys bee.
And ȝiff he wole nouȝt here hys sawes,
“Seys þree ȝer, þree moneþis, and þre dawes,
I aske trewes off þe Sawdan
To wenden home, and come agayn þan.”
Þe messangeres gunne to wende,
And tolde þe Sawdon wurd and ende,
He wolde nouȝt consente to þat batayle;
Ffyue hundryd agayn R. saun ffayle!
At morwen ȝiff he wolde come,

449

Þe trewes scholde ben jnome.
Þus he tolde þe messangers,
And þey it tolde Richard þe ffers.
Þe nexte day he made foreward
Off trewes to þe Kyng Richard.
Þree ȝer thane wente þay to þe flome
Ffro Acres þat wolde come.

Þoo afftyrward alle þe þre ȝere
Crystene-men boþe fer and nere
Ȝeden þe way to Ierusalem,
To þe Sepulchre, and to Bedlem,
To Olyuete, and to Nazarel,
And to Emaus castel,
And to alle oþere pylgrymage,
Wiþoute harme or damage.

Kyng R. douȝty off hand
Turnyd homward to Yngeland.
Kyng R. reynyd here
No more but ten ȝere.
Syþþe he was schot, allas,

450

In Castel Gaylard, þer he was.

Þus endyd Rychard oure kyng;
God geue vs alle good endyng,
And hys soule reste and roo,
And oure soules whenne we come þertoo!

Amen. Explicit.