 | Sir Perceval of Gales |  |
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Here bygynnes the romance off Sir Percyvell of Gales.
1
Lef, lythes to meTwo wordes or thre
Off one, þat was faire and fre
And felle in his fighte!
His righte name was Percyvell,
He was fosterde in the felle,
He dranke water of þe welle.
And ȝitt was he wyghte.
His fadir was a noble man:
Fro þe tyme, þat he began,
Miche wir[s]chippe he wan,
When he was made knyghte:
In kyng Arthures haulle
Beste byluffede of alle:
Percyvell þay gan hym calle,
Who so redis ryghte.
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Who þat righte can rede,He was doughty of dede,
A styffe body on a stede,
Wapynes to wolde;
Þare-fore kyng Arthoure
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He gaffe hym his syster Acheflour
To have and to holde;
Fro thethyn till his lyves ende
With brode londes to spende,
For he þe knyght wele kende,
He by-taughte hir to wolde;
With grete gyftes to fulfill
He gaffe his sister hym till,
To þe knyght at þer bothers will
With robes in folde.
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He gaffe hym robes in folde,Brode londes in wolde,
Mony mobles untolde,
His syster to take;
To þe kirke þe knyghte ȝode,
For to wedde þat frely fode
For þe gyftes, þat ware gude,
And for hir ownn sake;
Sythen with-owtten any bade
A grete brydale þay made
For hir sake, þat hym hade
Chosen to hir make;
And after with-owtten any lett
A grete justyng þer was sett:
Off all þe kempes, þat he mett,
Wolde he none forsake.
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Wolde he none forsake,The rede knyghte ne þe blake,
Ne none, þat wolde to hym take
With schafte ne with schelde;
He dose als a noble knyghte:
Wele haldes, þat he highte,
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Deres hym none elde.
Sexty schaftes, I say,
Sir Percyvell brake þat ilke day,
And ever þat riche lady lay
One walle and by-helde;
Þofe þe rede knyghte hade sworne,
Oute of his sadill is he borne
And almoste his lyfe forlorne,
And lygges in the felde.
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There he lygges in the felde,Many men one hym by-helde,
Thurgh his armour and his schelde
Stoneyde þat tyde.
Þat arghede all, þat þer ware,
Bothe þe lesse and þe mare,
Þat noble Percyvell so wele dare
Syche dynttys habyde;
Was þer nowthir more ne lasse
Off all þose, þat þer was,
Þat durste mete hym one þe grasse,
Agaynes hym to ryde;
Þay gaffe sir Percyvell þe gree;
Beste worthy was [þat] fre,
And hamewardez þan rode he,
And blythe was his bryde.
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And þofe þe bryde blythe be,Þat Percyvell hase wone þe gree,
Ȝete þe rede knyghte, es he
Hurte of his hande;
And þerfore gyffes he a gyfte,
Þat, if he ever covere myghte,
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In felde for to stande,
Þat he scholde qwyte hym þat dynt,
Þat he of his handes hynte;
Sall never þis travell be tynt,
Ne tolde in þe lande,
Þat Percyvell in the felde
Schulde hym schende þus undire schelde,
Bot he scholde agayne it ȝelde,
If þat he were leveande.
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Now þan are þay leveande bathe;Was noȝte þe rede knyghte so rathe,
For to wayte hym with skathe,
Er þer þe harmes felle;
Ne be-felle þer no stryffe,
Till Percyvell had in his lyffe
A son by his ȝonge wyff,
Aftir hym to duelle.
When þe child was borne,
He made calle it one þe morne,
Als his fadir highte by-forne:
Ȝonge Percyvell.
The knyghte was fayne, a feste made
For a knave-childe, þat he hade,
And sythen with-owtten any bade
Offe justyngez þay telle.
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Now of justyngez þay tell:Þay sayne, þat sir Percyvell,
Þat he will in þe felde duelle,
Als he hase are done.
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Of all þe kempes, þat þer mett,
For he wolde his son were gette
In þe same wonne.
Þeroff þe rede knyghte was blythe,
When he herde of þat justynge kythe,
And graythed hym armour ful swythe,
And rode thedir riȝte sone:
Agayne Percyvell he rade
With schafte and with schelde brade,
To holde his heste, þat he made,
Of maistres to mone.
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Now of maistres to mone,Percyvell hase wele done
For þe love of his ȝonge sone
One þe firste day.
Ere þe rede knyghte was bownn,
Percyvell hase borne downn
Knyght, duke, erle and baroun,
And vencusede the play.
Right als he hade done þis honour,
So come þe rede knyghte to þe stowre;
Bot: ‘Wo worthe wykkyde armour!’
Percyvell may say;
For þer was sir Percyvell slayne
And þe rede knyghte fayne,
In herte is noȝte for to layne,
When he went on his way.
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When he went on his way,Durste þer no man to hym say,
Nowþer in erneste ne in play,
To byd hym habyde;
For he had slayne riȝte þare
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Sir Percyvell with woundez sare,
And stonayed þat tyde.
And þan þay couthe no better rede,
Bot put hym in a prevee stede,
Als þat men dose with þe dede,
In erthe for to hyde.
Scho, þat was his lady,
Mighte be full sary,
Þat lorne hade siche a body:
Hir aylede no pryde.
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And now is Percyvell þe wighteSlayne in batelle and in fyghte,
And þe lady hase gyffen a gyfte,
Holde if scho may,
Þat scho schall never mare wone
In stede with hir ȝonge sone,
Þer dedez of armez schall be done,
By nyghte ne be daye;
Bot in þe wodde schall he be,
Sall he no thyng see,
Bot þe leves of the tree
And þe greves graye:
Schall he nowþer take tent
To justez ne to tournament,
Bot in þe wilde wodde went,
With bestez to playe.
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With wilde bestez for to playe,Scho tuke hir leve and went hir waye,
Bothe at baron and at raye,
And went to þe wodde.
By-hynde scho leved boure and haulle;
A mayden scho tuke hir with-alle,
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When þat hir nede stode:
Oþer gudez wolde scho none nayte,
Bot with hir tuke a tryppe of gayte,
With mylke of þam for to bayte,
To hir lyves fode;
Off all hir lordes faire gere
Wolde scho noȝte with hir bere
Bot a lyttill Scottes spere,
Agayne hir son ȝode.
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And when hir ȝong son ȝode,Scho bade hym walke in þe wodde,
Tuke hym þe Scottes spere gude
And gaffe hym in hande.
‘Swete modir’, sayde he,
‘What manere of thyng may þis bee,
‘Þat ȝe nowe hafe taken mee?
‘What calle ȝee this wande?’
Than by-spakke the lady:
“Son”, scho sayde, “sekerly,
“It is a dart doghty;
“In þe wodde I it fande.”
The childe es payed of his parte;
His modir hase gyffen hym þat darte,
Þer-with made he many marte
In that wodde-lande.
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Thus he welke in þe landeWith hys darte in his hande;
Under þe wilde wodde-wande
He wexe and wele thrafe:
He wolde schote with his spere
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As many, als he myghte bere;
He was a gude knave.
Smalle birdes wolde he slo,
Hertys, hyndez also;
Broghte his moder of thoo,
Thurte hir none crave;
So wele he lernede hym to schote,
Þer was no beste, þat welke one fote,
To fle fro hym was it no bote,
When þat he wolde hym have.
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Even when he wolde hym have;Thus he wexe and wele thrave,
And was reghte a gude knave
With-in a fewe ȝere;
Fyftene wynter and mare
He duellede in those holtes hare;
Nowþer nurture ne lare
Scho wolde hym none lere,
Till it by-felle on a day,
Þe lady till hir son gun say:
‘Swete childe, I rede, þou praye
‘To goddez sone dere,
‘Þat he wolde helpe the,
‘Lorde, for his poustee,
‘A gude man for to bee
‘And longe to duelle here.’
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“Swete moder”, sayde he,“Whatkyns a godd may þat be,
“Þat ȝe nowe bydd mee,
“Þat I schall to pray?”
Then by-spakke þe lady even:
‘It es þe grete godd of heven;
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‘Appon þe sexte day.’
“By grete godd”, sayde he þan,
“And I may mete with þat man,
“With alle þe crafte, þat I kan,
“Reghte so schall I pray!”
There he levede in a tayte
Bothe his modir and his gayte,
The grete godd for to layte,
Fynde hym when he may.
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And as he welke in holtes hare,He sawe a gate, as it ware:
With thre knyghtis mett he þare
Off Arthurs in;
One was Ewayne Asoure,
Anoþer was Gawayne with honour,
And Kay, þe bolde baratour,
And all were of his kyn.
In riche robes þay ryde;
The childe hadd no thyng þat tyde,
Þat he myȝte in his bones hyde,
Bot a gaytes skynn.
He was burely of body and þerto riȝt brade;
One ayther halfe a skynn he hade,
The hode was of þe same made
Juste to þe chynn.
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His hode was juste to his chyn,Þe flesche-halfe tourned within;
The childes witt was full thyn,
When he scholde say oughte.
Þay were clothede all in grene;
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Wele he wened, þat thay had bene
Þe godd, þat he soghte.
He said: ‘W[h]ilke of ȝow alle three
‘May þe grete godd bee,
‘Þat my moder tolde mee,
‘Þat all þis werlde wroghte?’
Bot þan ansuerde sir Gawayne
Faire and curteisely agayne:
“Son, so Criste mote me sayne,
“For swilke are we noghte.”
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Than saide þe fole one þe filde,Was comen oute of þe woddez wilde,
To Gawayne, þat was meke and mylde
And softe of ansuare:
‘I sall sla ȝow all three,
‘Bot ȝe smertly now telle mee,
‘Whatkyns thyngez þat ȝe bee,
‘Sen ȝe no goddes are.’
Then ansuerde sir Kay:
“Who solde we than say,
“Þat hade slayne us to-day
“In this holtis hare?”
At Kayes wordes wexe he tene:
Bot a grete bukke had bene,
Ne hadd he stonde þam by-twene,
He hade hym slayne þare.
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Bot þan said Gawayn to Kay:‘Thi prowde wordes pares ay;
‘I scholde wyn þis childe with play,
‘And þou wolde holde the still.
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‘We are knyghtis all thre;
‘With kyng Arthoure duelle wee,
‘Þat hovyn es on hyll.’
Then said Percyvell þe lyghte,
In gayte-skynnes þat was dyghte:
“Will kyng Arthoure make me knyghte,
“And I come hym till?”
Þan saide sir Gawayne riȝte þare:
‘I kane gyffe þe nane ansuare;
‘Bot to þe kynge, I rede, þou fare,
‘To wete his awene will!’
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To wete þan þe kynges will,Þare þay hoven ȝitt still;
The childe hase taken hym till,
For to wende hame.
And als he welke in þe wodde,
He sawe a full faire stode
Offe coltes and of meres gude,
Bot never one was tame;
And sone saide he: ‘Bi seyne John,
‘Swilke thyngez, as are ȝone,
‘Rade þe knyghtes apone;
‘Knewe I thare name!
‘Als ever mote I thryffe or thee,
‘The moste of ȝone, þat I see,
‘Smertly schall bere mee,
‘Till I come to my dame.
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He saide: ‘When I come to my dame‘And I fynde hir at hame,
‘Scho will telle [me] þe name
‘Off this ilke thynge.’
12
Smertly overrynnes he
And saide: ‘Þou sall bere me
‘To-morne to þe kynge!’
Kepes he no sadill-gere,
Bot stert up on the mere;
Hamewarde scho gun hym bere
Withowtten faylynge.
The lady was never more sore by gone;
Scho wiste never whare to wonne,
When scho wiste hir ȝonge sone
Horse hame brynge.
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Scho saw hym horse hame brynge;Scho wiste wele by þat thynge,
Þat þe kynde wolde oute sprynge
For thynge, þat be moughte.
Þan als sone saide þe lady:
‘Þat ever solde I sorowe dry
‘For love of þi body,
‘Þat I hafe dere boghte!
‘Dere son’, saide scho hym to,
‘Þou wirkeste th(is)elfe mekill unroo;
‘What will þou with þis mere do,
‘That þou hase hame broghte?’
Bot the boye was never so blythe,
Als when he herde þe name kythe
Of þe stode-mere stythe;
Of na thyng þan he roghte.
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Now he calles hir a mere,Als his moder dide ere;
13
And hade bene callede soo.
“Moder, at ȝonder hill hafe I bene,
“Þare hafe I thre knyghtes sene,
“And I hafe spoken with þam, I wene,
“Wordes in throo;
“I have highte þam all thre,
“Before þaire kyng for to be:
“Siche on schall he make me,
“As is one of tho!”
He sware by grete goddez myȝte:
“I schall holde, þat I hafe highte;
“Bot if þe kyng make me knyghte,
“To-morne I sall hym sloo!”
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Bot than by-spakke þe lady,Þat for hir son was sary;
Hir thoghte wele, þat scho myȝt dy,
And knelyde one hir knee:
‘Sone, þou has takyn thi rede,
‘To do thi-selfe to þe dede;
‘In everilke a strange stede
‘Doo, als I bydde the!
‘To-morne es forthirmaste ȝole-day,
‘And þou says, þou will away,
‘To make the knyghte, if þou may,
‘Als þou tolde mee.
‘Lyttill þou can of nurtoure;
‘Luke, þou be of mesure
‘Bothe in haulle and in boure,
‘And fonde to be fre!’
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Than saide þe lady so brighte:‘There þou meteste with a knyghte,
‘Do thi hode off, I highte,
‘And haylse hym in hy!’
“Swete moder”, sayd he then,
“I saw never ȝit no men;
“If I solde a knyghte ken,
“Telles me, wharby?”
Scho schewede hym þe menevaire,
Scho had robes in payre:
‘Sone, þer þou sees this fare
‘In thare hodes lye.’
“Bi grete god”, sayd he,
“Where þat I a knyghte see,
“Moder, as ȝe bidd me,
“Righte so schall I.”
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All þat nyȝte, till it was day,The childe by þe modir lay,
Till on þe morne he wolde away
For thyng, þat myȝte betyde.
Brydill hase he righte nane;
Seese he no better wane,
Bot a wythe hase he tane
And kevylles his stede.
His moder gaffe hym a ryng
And bad, he solde agayne it bryng:
‘Sone, þis sall be oure takynyng,
‘For here I sall þe byde.’
He tase þe rynge and þe spere,
Stirttes up appon þe mere,
Fro þe moder, þat hym bere,
Forthe gan he ryde.
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One his way, as he gan ryde,He fande an haulle þer besyde;
He saide: “For oghte, þat may betyde,
“Thedir in will I.”
He went in with-owtten lett,
He fande a brade borde sett,
A bryghte fire, wele bett,
Brynnande þer by;
A mawnger þer he fande,
Corne þerin lyggande:
Þerto his mere he bande
With the wythy.
He saide: “My modir bad me,
“þat I solde of mesure bee;
“Halfe, þat I here see,
“Styll sall it ly.”
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The corne he pertis in two,Gaffe his mere þe tone of þoo,
And to þe borde gan he goo
Certayne that tyde.
He fande a lofe of brede fyne
And a pychere with wyne,
A mese of the kechyne,
A knyfe þer be-syde.
The mete þer, þat he fande,
He dalte it even with his hande,
Lefte þe halfe lyggande,
A felawe to byde;
þe toþer halfe ete he:
How myȝte he more of mesure be?
Faste he fonded to be free,
Þofe he were of no pryde.
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Thofe he were of no pryde,Forthirmore gan he glyde
Till a chambir þer be-syde,
Moo sellys to see;
Riche clothes fande he spred[d]e,
A lady slepande on a bedde,
He said: “Forsothe, a tokyn to wedde
“Sall þou lefe with mee!”
Þer he kyste þat swete thynge,
Of hir fynger he tuke a rynge,
His awenn modir takynnynge
He lefte with þat fre.
He went forthe to his mere,
Tuke with hym his schorte spere,
Lepe on lofte, as he was ere,
His way rydes he.
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Now on his way rydes he,Moo selles to see;
A knyghte wolde he nedis bee
With-owtten any bade.
He come, þer þe kyng wes
Servede of þe firste mese:
To hym was þe maste hes,
Þat þe childe hade;
And þare made he no lett
At ȝate, dore ne wykett,
Bot in graythely he gett:
Syche maistres he made.
At his firste in-comynge
His mere with-owtten faylynge
Kyste þe forhevede of þe kynge:
So nerehande he rade.
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The kyng had ferly þaa,And up his hande gan he taa
And putt it forthir hym fraa,
The mouthe of the mere.
He saide: ‘Faire childe and free,
‘Stonde still be-syde mee
‘And tell me, wythen þat þou bee,
‘And what þou will here!’
Than saide þe fole of þe filde:
“I ame myn awnn modirs childe,
“Comen fro þe woddez wylde
“Till Arthure the dere;
“Ȝisterday saw I knyghtis three:
“Siche on sall þou make mee
“On þis mere by-for the,
“Thi mete or þou schere!”
33
Bot þan spak sir Gawayne,(Was þe kynges trenchepayne),
Said: ‘Forsothe, is noȝte to layne,
‘I am one of thaa;
‘Childe, hafe þou my blyssyng
‘For þi feres folowynge;
‘Here hase þou fonden þe kynge,
‘Þat kan þe knyghte maa!’
Than sayde Percyvell þe free:
“And this Arthure þe kyng bee,
“Luke, he a knyghte make mee,
“I rede, at it be swaa!”
Þofe he unborely were dyghte,
He sware by mekill goddes myȝte:
“Bot if þe kyng make me knyghte,
“I sall hym here slaa!”
18
34
All þat þer weren, olde and ȝynge,Hadden ferly of þe kyng,
Þat he wolde suffre siche a thyng
Of þat foull wyghte.
On horse hovande hym by
The kyng by-holdez hym on hy;
Than wexe he sone sory,
When he sawe þat syghte.
The teres oute of his eghne glade,
Never one anoþer habade:
‘Allas’, he sayde, ‘þat I was made
‘Be day or by nyghte!
‘One lyve I scholde after hym bee,
‘Þat me thynke [was] lyke the;
‘þou arte so semely to see,
‘And þou were wele dighte.’
35
He saide: ‘And þou were wele dighte,‘Þou were lyke to a knyghte,
‘Þat I lovede with all my myghte,
‘Whills he was one lyve;
‘So wele wroghte he my will
‘In all manere of skill;
‘I gaffe my syster hym till,
‘For to be his wyfe.
‘He es moste in my mane:
‘Fiftene ȝere es it gane,
‘Sen a theffe hade hym slane
‘Abowte a littill stryffe.
‘Sythen hafe I ever bene his fo,
‘For to wayte hym with wo,
‘Bot I myȝte hym never slo:
‘His craftes are so ryfe.’
19
36
He sayse: ‘His craftes are so ryfe,‘Þer is no man apon lyfe,
‘With swerde, spere, ne with knyfe,
‘May stroye hym allan,
‘Bot if it were sir Percyvell son,
‘Who so wiste, where he ware done!
‘The bokes says, þat he mon
‘Venge his fader bane.’
The childe thoghte, he longe bade,
Þat he ne ware a knyghte made,
For he wiste never, þat he hade
A fader to be slayne;
The lesse was his menynge.
He saide sone to þe kynge:
“Sir, late be thi jangleynge!
“Of this kepe I nane.”
37
He sais: “I kepe not to stande“With thi jangleynge to lange;
“Make me knyghte with thi hande,
“If it sall be done!”
Than þe kyng hym hendly highte,
Þat he schold dub hym to knyghte,
With thi þat he wolde doun lighte
And ete with hym at none.
The kyng bi-holdez þe vesage free,
And ever more trowed hee,
Þat þe childe scholde bee
Sir Percyvell son.
It ran in the kynges mode
His syster Acheflour þe gude,
How scho went into þe wodde,
With hym for to wonn.
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38
The childe hadde wonnede in þe wodde,He knewe noþer evyll ne gude,
The kynge hym-selfe understode,
He was a wilde man.
So faire he spakke hym with-all,
He lyghtes doun in he haulle,
Bonde his mere amonge þam alle,
And to þe borde wann.
Bot are he myghte by-gynn,
To þe mete for to wynn,
So commes þe rede knyghte in
Emangez þam righte þan
Prekande one a rede stede;
Blode-rede was his wede,
He made þam gammen full gnede
With craftez, þat he can.
39
With his craftes gan he calle,And callede þam recrayhandes all,
Kynge, knyghtes in-with walle
At þe bordes, þer þay bade.
Full felly þe coupe he fett,
Bi-fore þe kynge þat was sett;
Þer was no man, þat durste hym lett,
Þofe þat he ware fadde.
The couppe was filled full of wyne;
He dranke of þat, þat was þerinn:
All of rede golde fyne
Was þe couppe made;
He tuke it up in his hande,
þe coupe, that he there fande,
And lefte þam all sittande,
And fro þam he rade.
21
40
Now fro þam he rade,Als he says, þat þis made;
The sorowe, þat þe kynge hade,
Mighte no tonge tell.
‘A, dere god’, said þe kyng þan,
‘Þat all this wyde werlde wan,
‘Whethir I sall ever hafe þat man,
‘May make ȝone fende duelle?
‘Fyf[ten]e ȝeres hase he þus gane
‘And my coupes fro me tane
‘And my gude knygthe slayne,
‘Men calde sir Percyvell;
‘Sythen taken hase he three,
‘And ay awaye will he bee,
‘Or I may harnayse me,
‘In felde hym to felle.’
41
“Petir!” quod Percyvell þe ȝynge,“Hym þan will [I] down dynge
“And þe coupe agayne brynge,
“And þou will make me knyghte.”
‘Als I am trewe kyng’, said he,
‘A knyghte sall I make the,
‘For-thi þou wille brynge mee
‘The coupe of golde bryghte.’
Up ryses sir Arthoure,
Went to a chamboure,
To feche doun armoure,
Þe childe in to dyghte;
Bot are it was doun caste,
Ere was Percyvell paste
And on his way folowed faste,
Þat he solde with fyghte.
22
42
With his foo for to fighte,None oþer-gates was he dighte,
Bot in thre gayt-skynnes righte,
A fole als he ware [OMITTED]
42a
He cryed: “How, man on thi mere,“Bryng agayne þe kynges gere,
“Or with my dart I sall þe fere
“And make þe un-fere!”
And after þe rede knyghte he rade
Baldely with-owtten bade,
Sayd: “A knyght I sall be made
“For som of thi gere.”
He sware by mekill goddez payne:
“Bot if þou brynge þe coupe agayne,
“With my dart þou sall be slayne
“And slongen of thi mere.”
The knyghte by-haldes hym in throo,
Calde hym fole, þat was hys foo,
For he named hym soo
Þe stede, þat hym bere.
43
And for to see hym with syghte,He putt his umbrere on highte,
To by-halde how he was dyghte,
Þat so till hym spake;
He sayde: ‘Come I to the, appert fole,
‘I sall caste þe in þe pole
‘For all þe heghe days of ȝole,
‘Als ane olde sakke.’
Than sayd Percyvell þe free:
“Be I fole, or whatte I bee,
23
“Whose browes schall blakke.”
Of schottyng was þe child slee:
At þe knyghte lete he flee,
Smote hym in at þe ee
And oute at þe nakke.
44
For þe dynt, þat he tuke,Oute of sadill he schoke,
Who so þe sothe will luke,
And þer was he slayne.
He falles down one þe hill,
His stede rynnes whare he will;
Þan saide Percyvell hym till:
“Þou art a lethir swayne.”
Then saide þe childe in þat tyde:
“And þou woldeste me here byde,
“After þi mere scholde I ryde
“And brynge hir agayne.
“Þen myȝte we bothe with myȝte
“Menskfully to-gedir fyghte,
“Ayther of us, as he were a knyghte,
“Till tyme þe tone ware slayne.”
45
Now es þe rede knyghte slayne,Lefte dede in the playne,
The childe gon his mere mayne
After þe stede;
Þe stede was swifter þan þe mere,
For he hade no thynge to bere
Bot his sadill and his gere,
Fro hym þofe he ȝede.
24
And hir-selfe a grete bole;
For to rynne scho myȝte not thole,
Ne folowe hym no spede.
The childe saw, þat it was saa,
And till his fete he gan hym taa;
The gates, þat he scholde gaa,
Made he full gnede.
46
The gates made he full gnedeIn þe waye, þer he ȝede,
With strenght tuke he þe stede
And broghte to þe knyghte;
“Me thynke”, he sayde, “þou arte fele,
“Þat þou ne will away stele;
“Now I houppe, þat þou will dele
“Strokes appon hyghte.
“I hafe broghte to the thi mere
“And mekill of thyn oþer gere;
“Lepe on hir, as þou was ere,
“And þou will more fighte!”
The knyghte lay still in þe stede:
What sulde he say, when he was dede?
The childe couthe no better rede,
Bot down gun he lyghte.
47
Now es Percyvell lyghte,To unspoyle þe rede knyghte,
Bot he ne couthe never fynd righte
The lacynge of his wede;
He was armede so wele
In gude iryn and in stele,
He couthe not gett of a dele
For nonkyns nede.
25
“When my dart solde broken be,
“Owte of þe iren bren þe tree:
“Now es me fyre gnede.”
Now he getis hym flynt,
His fyre-iren he hint,
And þen with-owtten any stynt
He kyndilt a glede.
48
Now he kyndils a glede,Amonge þe buskes he ȝede
And gedirs full gude spede
Wodde, a fyre to make.
A grete fyre made he þen,
The rede knyghte in to bren,
For he ne couthe nott ken,
His gere off to take.
Be þan was sir Gawayne dyght,
Folowede after þe fyghte
Be-twene hym and þe rede knyghte
For þe childes sake.
He fande þe rede knyght lyggand,
Slayne of Percyvell[es] hande,
Be-syde a fyre brynnande
Off byrke and of akke.
49
Þer brent of birke and of akeGret brandes and blake.
‘What wylt þou with this fyre make?’
Sayd Gawayne hym till.
“Petir!” quod Percyvell then,
“And I myghte hym þus ken,
“Out of his iren I wolde hym bren
“Righte here on this hill.”
26
‘The rede knyghte for þou has slayne,
‘I sall unarme hym agayne,
‘And þou will holde þe still.’
Þan sir Gawayn doun lyghte,
Unlacede þe rede knyghte,
The childe in his armour dight
At his awnn will.
50
When he was dighte in his atire,He tase þe knyghte bi þe swire.
Keste hym reghte in the fyre,
Þe brandes to balde.
Bot þen said Percyvell on bost:
“Ly still þer-in now and roste!
“I kepe nothynge of þi coste,
“Ne noghte of thi spalde!”
The knyghte lygges þer on brede,
The childe es dighte in his wede
And lepe up apon his stede,
Als hym-selfe walde.
He luked doun to his fete,
Saw his gere faire and mete:
“For a knyghte I may be lete
“And myghte be calde.”
51
Then sayd sir Gawayn hym till:‘Goo we faste fro this hill!
‘Þou hase done, what þou will;
‘It neghes nere nyghte.’
“What! trowes þou”, quod Percyvell þe ȝynge,
“Þat I will agayn brynge
“Un-till Arthoure þe kynge
“Þe golde, þat es bryghte?
27
“I am als grete a lorde als he;
“To-day ne schall he make me
“None oþer-gates knyghte.
“Take þe coupe in thy hande
“And mak þi-selfe þe presande,
“For I will forthire in-to þe lande,
“Are I doun lyghte.”
52
Nowþer wolde he doun lyghte,Ne wolde he wende with þe knyght,
Bot rydes forthe all þe nyghte:
So prowde was he then.
Till on þe morne at forthe-dayes
He mett a wyche, as men says;
His horse and his harnays
Couthe scho wele ken.
Scho wende, þat it hade bene
Þe rede knyghte, þat scho hade sene,
Was wount in þose armes to bene,
To gerre þe stede renne.
In haste scho come hym agayne,
Sayde: ‘It is not to layne,
‘Men tolde me, þat þou was slayne
‘With Arthours men.
53
‘Ther come one of my men,‘Till ȝonder hill he gan me kene,
‘There þou sees þe fyre brene,
‘And sayde, þat þou was thare.’
Ever satt Percyvell stone-still
And spakke no thynge hir till,
28
And spakke lesse ne mare.
‘At ȝondere hill hafe I bene,
‘Nothynge hafe I there sene,
‘Bot gayte-skynnes, I wene,
‘Siche ill farande fare.
‘Mi sone, and þou ware thare slayne
‘And thyn armes of drayen,
‘I couthe hele the agayne
‘Als wele, als þou was are.’
54
Than wist Percyvell by thatt,It servede hym of somwhatt,
The wylde-fyre, þat he gatt,
When þe knyghte was slayne;
And righte so wolde he thare,
Þat þe olde wiche ware;
Oppon his spere he hir bare
To þe fyre agayne;
In ill wrethe and in grete
He keste þe wiche in þe hete;
He sayde: “Ly still and swete
“Bi þi son, þat lyther swayne!”
Thus he leves thaym twoo,
And on his gates gan he goo;
Siche dedis to do moo,
Was þe childe fayne.
55
Als he come by a wodd-syde,He sawe ten men ryde;
He said: “For oughte, þat may be-tyde,
“To þam will I me.”
When þose ten saw hym þare,
Þay wende, þe rede knyghte it ware,
29
And faste gan þay flee;
For he was so-gates cledde,
Alle belyffe fro hym þay fledde,
And ever þe faster þat þay spe[d]de,
The swiftlyere sewed hee,
Till he was warre of a knyghte
And of þe menevaire he had syght;
He put up his umbrere on hight
And said: “Sir, god luke thee!”
56
The childe sayde: “God luke þe!”The knyght said: ‘Now wele þe be!
‘A, lorde godd, now wele es mee,
‘Þat ever was I made!’
For by þe vesage hym thoghte,
The rede knyȝte was it noȝte,
Þat hade them all by-soughte;
And baldely he bade.
It semede wele bi þe syghte,
Þat he had slayne þe rede knyȝt:
In his armes was he dighte
And on his stede rade.
‘Son’, sayde þe knyghte tho
And thankede þe childe full thro,
‘Þou hase slayne þe moste foo,
‘Þat ever ȝitt I hade.’
57
Then sayde Percyvell þe free:“Where-fore fledde ȝee
“Lange are, when ȝe sawe mee
“Come rydande ȝow by?”
30
Þat was paste out of myghte,
With any man for to fyghte,
He ansuerde in hy;
He sayde: ‘Theis children nyne
‘All are þay sonnes myne,
‘For ferde, or I solde þam tyne,
‘Þer-fore fledd I.
‘We wende wele, þat it had bene
‘Þe rede knyȝte, þat we hade sene;
‘He walde hafe slayne us by-dene
‘With-owtten mercy.
58
‘With-owtten any mercy‘He wolde hafe slayne us in hy;
‘To my sonnes he hade envy,
‘Moste of any men.
‘Fiftene ȝeres es it gane,
‘Syn he my brodire hade slane;
‘Now hadde þe þeefe undirtane,
‘To sla us all then;
‘He was ferde, lesse my sonnes sold hym slo,
‘When þay ware eldare and moo,
‘And þat þay solde take hym for þaire foo,
‘Where þay myȝte hym ken;
‘Hade I bene in the stede,
‘Þer he was done to þe dede,
‘I solde never hafe etyn brede,
‘Are I hade sene hym bren.’
59
“Petir!” quod Percyvell, “he es brende;“I haffe spedde better, þan I wend.”
Ever at þe laste ende
The blythere wexe þe knyghte.
By his haulle þaire gates felle,
And ȝerne he prayed Percyvell,
31
And be þer all þat nyghte.
Full wele he couthe a geste calle;
He broghte þe childe in to þe haulle,
So faire he spake hym with-alle,
That he es doun lyghte;
His stede es in stable sett
And hym-selfe to þe haulle fett,
And þan with-owtten any lett
To þe mette þay þam dighte.
60
Mete and drynke was þer dighteAnd men to serve þam full ryghte;
Þe childe, þat come with þe knyghte,
Enoghe þer he fande.
At þe mete as þay beste satte,
Come þe portere fro þe ȝate,
Saide a man was þer atte
Of þe Maydenlande;
Saide: ‘Sir, he prayes the
‘Off mete and drynke for charyte,
‘For a messagere es he
‘And may nott lange stande.’
The knyght badde late hym inn,
“For”, he sayde, “it es no synn,
“The man, þat may þe mete wynn,
“To gyffe þe travellande.”
61
Now þe travellande manThe portere lete in þan;
He haylsede þe knyghte as he can,
Als he satt on dese.
The knyghte askede hym þare,
Whase man þat he ware,
32
With-owtten any lese.
He saide: ‘I come fro þe lady Lufamour,
‘Þat sendes me to kyng Arthoure
‘And prayes hym for his honoure,
‘Hir sorowes for to sesse;
‘Up resyn es a sowdane,
‘Alle hir landes hase he tane;
‘So by-seges he that woman,
‘That scho may hafe no pese.’
62
He sayse, þat scho may have no pese,The lady, for hir fayrenes
And for hir mekill reches.
‘He wirkes hir full waa;
‘He dose hir sorow all hir sythe,
‘And all he slaes doun ryfe;
‘He wolde have hir to wyfe,
‘And scho will noȝte saa.
‘Now hase þat ilke sowdane
‘Hir fadir and hir eme slane
‘And hir brothir ilkane,
‘And is hir moste faa;
‘So nere he hase hir now soughte,
‘Þat till a castelle es scho broghte,
‘And fro þe walles will he noghte,
‘Ere þat he may hir taa.
63
‘The sowdane sayse, he will hir ta;‘The lady will hir-selfe sla,
‘Are he, þat es hir maste fa,
‘Solde wedde hir to wyfe.
‘Now es þe sowdan so wyghte,
‘Alle he slaes doun ryghte,
33
‘Bot he were kempe ryfe.’
Þan sayde Percyvell: “I þe praye,
“Þat þou wolde teche me þe waye
“Thedir, als þe gates laye,
“With-owtten any stryfe;
“Mighte I mete with þat sowdan,
“Þat so dose to þat woman,
“Alsone he solde be slane,
“And I myȝte hafe þe lyfe!”
64
The messangere prayed hym mare,Þat he wolde duell still þare:
‘For I will to þe kynge fare,
‘Myne erandez for to say.’
“For þen mekill sorowe me betyde,
“And I lenger here habyde,
“Bot ryghte now will I ryde,
“Als so faste als I may.”
[T]he knyghte herde hym say sa;
Ȝerne he prayes hym, to taa
His nyne sonnes, with hym to gaa;
He nykkes hym with nay.
Bot so faire spekes he,
Þat he takes of þam three,
In his felaw[s]chipe to be:
The blythere were þay.
65
Þay ware blythe of þaire bade,Busked þam and forthe rade;
Mekill myrthes þay made,
Bot lyttill it amende:
34
The montenance of a myle,
He was by-thoghte of a gyle
Wele werse, þan þay wende:
Þofe þay ware of þaire fare fayne,
Forthwarde was þaire cheftayne;
Ever he sende one a-gayne
At ilke a myle ende,
Un-till þay ware all gane;
Þan he rydes hym allane,
Als he ware sprongen of a stane,
Þare na man hym kende.
66
For he walde, none sold hym ken.Forthe rydes he then,
Amangez uncouthe men
His maystres to make.
Now hase Percyvell in throo
Spoken with his emes twoo,
Bot never one of thoo
Took his knawlage:
Now in his way es he sett,
Þat may hym lede with-owtten lett,
Þare he and þe sowdan sall mete,
His browes to blake.
Late we Percyvell þe ȝynge
Fare in goddes blyssynge,
And un-till Arthoure þe kynge
Will we agayne take!
67
The gates agayne we will tane.The kyng to carebedd es gane,
For mournynge es his maste mane,
He syghes full sare.
35
His hert es bownn for to breke,
For he wend never to speke
With Percyvell no mare.
Als he was layde for to ly,
Come þe messangere on hy
With lettres fro þe lady
And schewes þam righte þare.
A fote myȝte þe kyng noȝt stande,
Bot rede þam þare lyggande
And sayde: ‘Of thyne erande
‘Thou hase thyn ansuare.’
68
He sayde: ‘Þou wote thyne answare:‘The mane, þat es seke and sare,
‘He may full ill ferre fare,
‘In felde for to fyghte.’
The messangere made his mone,
Saide: “Wo worthe wikkede wone!
“Why ne hade I tournede and gone
“A-gayne with the knyghte?”
‘What knyghte es þat’, said þe kyng,
‘Þat þou mase of thy monynge?
‘In my londe wot I no lordyng,
‘Es worthy to be a knyghte.’
The messangere ansuerd agayne:
“Wete ȝe, his name es for to layne;
“Þe whethir I wolde hafe weten fayne,
“What þe childe highte.
69
“Thus mekill gatt I of þat knyght:“His dame sonne, he said, he hight;
“One what maner þat he was dight,
“Now I sall ȝow telle:
36
“His body bolde and borely,
“His armour bryghte and blody,
“Hade bene late in batell;
“Blode-rede was his stede,
“His akton and his oþer wede,
“His cote of þe same hede,
“Þat till a knyghte felle.”
Than comanded þe kyng
Horse and armes for to brynge:
‘If I kan trow thi talkynge,
‘That ilke was Percyvell!’
70
For þe luffe of PercyvellTo horse and armes þay felle,
Þay wolde no lengare þer duelle;
To fare ware þay fayne.
Faste forthe gan þay fare,
Þay were a-ferde full sare,
Ere þay come whare he ware,
Þe childe wolde be slayne.
The kyng tase with hym knyghtis thre,
The ferthe wolde hym-selfe be;
Now so faste rydes hee,
May folowe hym no swayne.
The kyng es now in his waye,
Lete hym come, when he maye!
And I will forthir in my playe
To Percyvell a-gayne.
71
Go we to Percyvell a-gayne!The childe paste oute on þe playne
Over more and mountayne
To þe Mayden-lande,
Till a-gayne þe even-tyde
37
Pavelouns mekill and unryde
Aboute a cyte stande;
On huntyng was þe sowdane,
He lefte men many ane,
Twenty score, þat wele kan
Be þe ȝates ȝemande:
Elleven score one the nyghte,
And nine one þe daye-lighte,
Wele armyde at alle righte,
With wapyns in hande.
72
With þaire wapyns in þaire handeThere will þay fight, þer þay stande,
Sittande and lyggande,
Elleven score of men.
In he rydes one a rese,
Or þat he wiste, where he wes,
In-to þe thikkeste of þe prese
Amanges þam thenne;
And up stirt one, þat was bolde,
By-gane his brydill to holde
And askede, whedire þat he wolde
Make his horse to renne.
He said: ‘I ame hedir gane,
‘For to see a sowdane;
‘In faythe, righte sone he sall be slane,
‘And I myghte hym ken!
73
‘If I hym oghte ken may,‘To-morne, when it es lighte daye,
‘Then sall we to-gedir playe
38
They herde, þat he had undirtane
For to sle þaire sowdane;
Thay felle aboute hym, everilkane,
To make þat bolde habyde.
The childe sawe, þat he was fade,
Þe body, þat his bridill hade:
Even over hym he rade
In gate þere bi-syde;
He stayred about hym with his spere,
Many thurgh gane he bere;
Þer was none, þat myȝt hym dere,
Percevell, þat tyde.
74
Tide in townne who will telle?Folkes undir his fete felle;
The bolde body Percevelle,
He sped, þam to spill;
Hym thoghte no spede at his spere,
Many thurgh gane he bere,
Fonde folke in the here,
Feghtyng to fill.
Fro that it was mydnyghte,
Till it was even at daye-lighte,
Were þay never so wilde ne wighte,
He wroghte at his will.
Thus he dalt with his brande,
There was none, þat myght hym stande
Halfe a dynt of his hande,
Þat he stroke till.
75
Now he strykes for þe nonys,Made þe Sarazenes hede-bones
Hoppe, als dose hayle-stones,
A-bowtte one þe gres;
39
Till þe daye gun dawe:
He layd þaire lyves full law,
Als many als there wes.
When he hade slayne so many men,
He was so wery by then,
I tell ȝow for certen,
He roghte wele þe lesse
Awþer of lyfe or of dede,
To medis þat he were in a stede,
Þar he myghte riste hym in thede
A stownde in sekirnes.
76
Now fonde he no sekirnes,Bot under þe walle, þer he wes,
A faire place he hym chese,
And down there he lighte.
He laide hym doun in þat tyde,
His stede stode hym be-syde;
The fole was fayne for to byde,
Was wery for þe fyght.
Till one þe morne, þat it was day,
The wayte appon þe walle lay,
He sawe an uggly play
In þe place dighte;
Ȝitt was þer more ferly:
Ther was no quyk man left þer-by;
Thay called up þe lady,
For to see þat sighte.
77
Now commes þe lady to þat sight.The lady Lufamour, þe brighte,
Scho clambe up to þe walle on hight,
40
Hedes and helmys þer wes,
I tell ȝow withowtten lese,
Many layde one þe gresse,
And many brode schelde.
Grete ferly thaym thoghte,
Who þat wondir had wroghte,
That had þam to dede broghte,
That folke in the felde,
And wold come none innermare,
For to kythe, what he ware,
And wist þe lady was þare,
Thaire warysonne to ȝelde.
78
Scho wold þaire warysone ȝelde.Full faste forthe þay bi-helde,
If þay myghte fynde in þe felde,
Who hade done þat dede:
Þay luked undir þair hande,
Sawe a mekill horse stande,
A blody knyghte liggande
By a rede stede.
Then said þe lady so brighte:
‘Ȝondir ligges a knyghte,
‘Þat hase bene in þe fighte,
‘If I kane righte rede;
‘Owthir es ȝone man slane,
‘Or he slepis hym allane,
‘Or he in batelle es tane,
‘For blody are his wede.’
79
Scho says: ‘Blody are his wede,‘And so es his riche stede;
41
‘Saw I never nane.
‘What so he es, and he maye ryse,
‘He es large, there he lyse,
‘And wele made in alle wyse,
‘Ther als man sall be tane.’
Scho calde appon hir chaymbirlayne,
Was called hende Hatlayne,
The curtasye of Wawayne
He weldis in wane;
Scho badd hym: ‘Wende and see,
‘Ȝif ȝon man on lyfe be!
‘Bid hym com and speke with me,
‘And pray hym, als þou kane!’
80
Now to pray hym, als he kane,Undir þe wallis he wane;
Warly wakend he þat mane:
Þe horse stode still.
Als it was tolde un-to me,
He knelid down on his kne,
Hendely hailsed he þat fre
And sone said hym till:
“My lady, lele Lufamour,
“Habyddis the in hir chambour,
“Prayes the for thyn honour,
“To come, ȝif ȝe will.”
So kyndly takes he þat kyth,
Þat up he rose and went hym wyth,
The man, þat was of myche pyth,
Hir prayer to fulfill.
81
Now hir prayer to fulfill,He folowed þe gentilmans will,
And so he went hir un-till,
Forthe to that lady.
42
When scho sawe hym with syghte,
For scho trowed, þat he was wighte,
And askede hym in hy;
At þat fre gan scho frayne,
Þoghe he were lefe for to layne,
If he wiste, who had þam slayne,
Þase folkes of envy.
He sayd: ‘I soghte none of tho;
‘I come the sowdane to slo,
‘And þay ne wolde noghte late me go:
‘Þaire lyfes there refte I.’
82
He sayd: ‘Belyfe þay solde aby!’And Lufamour, þat lele lady,
Wist full wele ther-by,
The childe was full wighte.
The birde was blythe of þat bade,
Þat scho siche an helpe hade,
Agayne þe sowdane, was fade,
With-alle for to fighte.
Faste þe lady hym by-helde:
Scho thoght hym worthi to welde,
And he myghte wyn hir in felde
With maystry and myghte.
His stede þay in stabill set
And hym-selfe to haulle was fet,
And than with-owtten any let
To dyne gun thay dighte.
83
The childe was sett on þe deseAnd served with reches,
I tell ȝow with-owtten lese,
Þat gaynely was get,
In a chayere of golde
43
The myldeste mayden one molde,
At mete als scho sett;
Scho made hym semblande so gude,
Als þay felle to þaire fude,
The mayden mengede his mode
With myrthes at þe mete,
Þat for hir sake righte tha
Sone he gane undir-ta,
The sory sowdane to sla
With-owtten any lett.
84
He sayd with-owtten any lett:‘When þe sowdane and I bene mett,
‘A sadde stroke I sall one hym sett,
‘His pride for to spyll.’
Then said þe lady so free:
“Who þat may his bon be,
“Sall hafe þis kyngdome and me,
“To welde at his will.”
He ne hade dyned bot smalle,
When worde come in to þe haulle,
Þat many men with-alle
Were hernyste one the hill;
For tene, þaire felawes were slane,
The cite hafe þay nere tane;
The men, þat were with-in þe wane,
The comon-belle gun knylle.
85
Now knyllyn þay þe comon-belle.Worde come to Percevell,
And he wold there no lengere duelle,
Bot lepe fro the dese;
44
Sayd: ‘Kynsmen, now I go!
‘For alle ȝone sall I slo
‘Longe, are I sese!’
Scho kiste hym with-owtten lett,
The helme on his hede scho sett;
To þe stabill full sone he gett,
There his stede wes.
There were none with hym to fare,
For no man þen wolde he spare,
Rydis furthe with-owtten mare,
Till he come to þe prese.
86
When he come to þe prese,He rydes in one a rese;
The folkes, þat by-fore hym wes,
Thaire strenght hade þay tane;
To kepe hym þan were þay ware;
Þaire dynttis deris hym no mare,
Þen who so hade strekyn sare
One a harde stane.
Were þay wighte, were þay wake,
Alle, þat he till strake,
He made þaire bodies to [c]rake:
Was þer no better wane.
I wote, he sped hym so sone,
Þat day by heghe none
With all þat folke hade he done:
One life lefte noghte ane.
87
When he had slayne all tho,He loked forthir hym fro,
45
With hym for to fyghte;
And als þat hardy bihelde,
He sese ferre in the felde
Fowre knyghtis undir schelde
Come rydand full righte.
One was kyng Arthour,
A-nothir Ewayne, the floure,
The thirde Wawayne with honoure
And Kay, þe kene knyghte.
Percevell saide withowtten mare:
‘To ȝondir foure will I fare,
‘And if the sowdane be thare,
‘I sall holde, þat I highte.’
88
Now to holde, þat he hase highte,Agaynes thaym he rydis righte,
And ay lay the lady brighte
One þe walle and by-helde,
How many men þat he had sla[y]ne,
And sythen gane his stede mayne
Foure kempys agayne
Forthir in the felde.
Then was the lady full wo,
When scho sawe hym go
A-gaynes foure knyghtys tho
With schafte and with schelde.
They were so mekyl and unryde,
Þat wele wende scho þat tyde,
With bale þay solde gare hym byde,
Þat was hir beste belde.
89
Þofe he were beste of hir belde,As þat lady by-helde,
46
Even þam agayne.
Then sayd Arthoure þe kyng:
“I se a bolde knyghte owt spryng;
“For to seke feghtyng,
“Forthe will he frayne.
“If he fare forthe to fighte,
“And we foure kempys agayne one knyght,
“Littill menske wold to us lighte,
“If he were sone slayne.”
They fore forthward right faste
And sone kevells did þay caste,
And evyr fell it to frayste
Un-till sir Wawayne.
90
When it felle to sir Wawayne,To ryde Percevell agayne,
Of þat fare was he fayne
And fro þam he rade;
Ever þe nerre hym he drewe,
Wele þe better he hym knewe,
Horse and hernays of hewe,
Þat þe childe hade.
‘A, dere god!’ said Wawayne þe fre,
‘How-gates may this be,
‘If I sle hym, or he me,
‘Þat ever ȝit was fade?
‘And we are sister-sones two!
‘And aythir of us othir slo,
‘He, þat lifes, will be full wo,
‘Þat ever was he made.’
91
Now no maistrys he made,Sir Wawayne, there als he rade,
47
His concell to ta.
‘Ane unwyse man’, he sayd, ‘am I,
‘Þat puttis my-selfe to siche a foly;
‘Es þere no man so hardy,
‘Þat ne a-nothir es alswa.
‘Þogfe Percevell hase slayne þe rede knyght,
‘Ȝitt may anoþer be als wyghte
‘And in þat gere be dyghte,
‘And taken alle hym fra.
‘If I suffire my sister-sone,
‘And anothir in his gere be done
‘And gete þe maystry me appon,
‘Þat wolde do me wa.
92
‘It wolde wirke me ful wa.‘So mote I one erthe ga,
‘It ne sall noghte be-tyde me swa,
‘If I may righte rede!
‘A schafte sall I one hym sett
‘And I sall fonde firste to hitt;
‘Þen sall I ken be my witt,
‘Who weldys þat wede.’
No more carpys he þat tyde,
Bot son to-gedyr gon þay ryde,
Men, þat bolde were to byde
And styff appon stede;
Þaire horse were stallworthe and strange,
Þair scheldis were un-failande,
Þaire speris brake to þaire hande,
Als þam by-hoved nede.
93
Now es broken, þat are were hale,And þan by-gane Percevale
For to tell one a tale,
48
He sayde: “Wyde-whare hafe I gane;
“Siche anothir sowdane
“In faythe sawe I never nane,
“By nyghte ne by daye.
“I hafe slayne, and I þe ken,
“Twenty score of thi men,
“And of alle, þat I slewe then,
“Me thoghte it bot a playe
“Agayne þat dynt, þat I hafe tane,
“For siche one [l]aughte I never nane;
“Bot I qwyte two for ane,
“Forsothe, and I maye.”
94
Then spake sir Wawayne,Certanely, is noghte to layne,
Of þat fare was he fayne
In felde, there thay fighte;
By the wordis so wylde
At the fole one the filde
He wiste wele, it was þe childe,
Percevell þe wighte.
He sayse: ‘I ame no sowdane,
‘Bot I am þat ilke man,
‘Þat thi body by-gan
‘In armours to dighte;
‘I giffe the prise to thi pyth,
‘Unkyndely talked thou me with:
‘My name es Wawayne in kythe,
‘Who so redys righte.’
95
He sayse: ‘Who þat will rede the aryghte,‘My name es Wawayne þe knyghte.’
49
Als gude frendes scholde.
He sayse: ‘Thynkes þou noghte, when
‘Þat þou woldes þe knyghte brene,
‘For þou ne couthe noghte ken,
‘To spoyle hym alle colde?’
Bot þen was Percevell þe free
Als blythe, als he myghte be,
For þen wiste he wele, þat it was he,
By takens, þat he tolde.
He dide þen, als he gane hym lere,
Putt up hys umbrere,
And kyste to-gedir with gud chere,
Þose beryns so bolde.
96
Now kissede the beryns so bolde,Sythen talkede, what þay wolde;
Be then come Arthour þe bolde,
Þat there was knyghte and kyng;
Als his cosyns hadd done.
Thankede god also sone:
Off mekill myrthis þay mone
At þaire metyng.
Sythen with-owtten any bade
To þe castelle þay rade
With þe childe, þat thay hade,
Percevell þe ȝynge.
The portere was redy ȝare,
Lete þe knyghtis in fare;
A blythere lady þan (þare)
[OMITTED] (yng).
50
97
[OMITTED] ‘Mi grete socour at þou here sende,‘Off my castell me to diffende,
‘Agayne þe sowdane to wende,
‘Þat es my moste foo.’
Theire stedis þay sett in þe stalle,
Þe kyng wendis to haulle,
His knyghtis ȝode hym with-alle,
Als kynde was to go:
Þaire metis was redy,
And þerto went þay in hy,
The kyng and þe lady
And knyghtis also.
98
Wele welcomed scho þe gesteWith riche metis of þe beste,
Drynkes of þe derreste,
Dightede by-dene.
Þay ete and dranke, what þay wolde,
Sythen talked and tolde
Off othir estres full olde,
Þe kyng and þe qwene.
At þe firste by-gynnyng
Scho frayned Arthour þe kyng
Of childe Percevell þe ȝyng,
What life he had in bene.
Grete wondir had Lufamour:
He was so styffe in stour
And couthe so littill of nurtour,
Als scho had there sene.
99
Scho had sene with þe childeNo thyng bot werkes wylde,
51
Of þat foly fare.
Þen said Arthour þe kyng
Of bold Percevell techyng
Fro þe firste by-gynnyng,
(Ti)ll þat he come thare:
(How) his fadir was slane
(And his modi)r to þe wode gane,
(For to be t)here hir allane
(In þe holtis har)e.
Fully feftene ȝere
To play hym with þe wilde dere,
Littill wonder it were,
Wilde if he ware.
100
When he had tolde this taleTo þat semely in sale,
He hade wordis at wale
To þam ilkane.
The[n] said Percevell þe wighte:
“Ȝif I be noghte ȝitt knyghte,
“Þou sall halde þat þou highte,
“For to make me ane!”
Than saide þe kyng full sone:
‘Ther sall oþer dedis be done,
‘And þou sall wynn thi schone
‘Appon þe sowdane.’
Þen said Percevell þe fre:
“Als sone als I þe sowdane see,
“Righte so sall it done be,
“Als I hafe undir-tane.”
52
101
He says: “Als I hafe undir-tane,“For to sla þe sowdane,
“So sall I wirke, als I kanne,
“Þat dede to bygynn.”
Þat day was þer no more dede
With those worthily in wede,
Bot buskede þam and to bedde ȝede,
The more and the mynn;
Till one þe morne erely
Comes þe sowdane with a cry,
Fonde all his folkes hym by
Putt un-to pyn.
Sone asked he wha
Þat so durste his men sla
And we[s]te hym one lyfe gaa,
The maystry to wynn.
102
Now to wynn þe maystry,To þe castell gan he cry,
If any were so hardy,
[For] the maistry to fyghte,
A man for ane;
Þoghe he hadd all his folke slane,
‘Here sall he fynde Golrotherame,
‘To mete hym full ryghte
‘Appon siche a covenande,
‘Þat ȝe hefe up ȝour hande,
‘Who þat may þe better stande
‘And more es of myghte,
‘To bryng þat oþer to þe dede,
‘Browke wele þe londe on brede
‘And hir, þat is so faire and rede,
‘Lufamour þe brighte.’
53
103
Then þe kyng ArthourAnd þe lady Lufamour
And all, þat were in þe towre,
Graunted þer-with.
Thay called Percevell þe wight,
Þe kyng doubbed hym to knyghte;
Þofe he couthe littill in sighte,
The childe was of pith:
He bad, he solde be to prayse,
Þer-to hende and curtayse:
Sir Percevell the Galayse
Þay called hym in kythe.
Kyng Arthour in Maydenlande
Dubbid hym knyghte with his hande,
Bad hym, þer he his fo fande,
To gyff hym no grythe.
104
Grith takes he nane:He rydes agayne þe sowdane,
Þat highte Gollerotherame,
Þat felle was in fighte.
In þe felde so brade
No more carpynge þay made,
Bot sone to-gedir þay rade,
Theire schaftes to righte.
Gollerotheram, þofe he wolde wede,
Percevell bere hym fro his stede
Two londis one brede
With maystry and myghte.
At þe erthe þe sowdane lay,
His stede gun rynn a-way,
Þan said Percevell one play:
“Þou haste, þat I the highte.”
54
105
He sayd: “I highte the a dynt,“And now, me tkynke, þou hase it hynt;
“And I may, als I hafe mynt,
“Þou schalt it never mende.”
Appon þe sowdan he duelled,
To þe grownde, þer he was felled,
And to þe erthe he hym helde
With his speres ende;
Fayne wolde he hafe hym slane,
This uncely sowdane,
Bot gate couthe he get nane,
So ill was he kende.
Þan thynkes þe childe
Of olde werkes full wylde:
“Hade I a fire now in this filde,
“Righte here he solde be brende!”
106
He said: “Righte here I solde þe brene,“And þou ne solde never more then
“Fighte for no wymmen:
“So I solde the fere!”
Þen said Wawayne þe knyghte:
‘Þou myghte, and þou knewe righte
‘And þou woldes of þi stede lighte,
‘Wynn hym one were.’
The childe was of gamen gnede;
Now he thynkes one thede:
“Lorde! whethir this be a stede?
“I wende, had bene a mere.”
In stede, righte there he in stode,
He ne wiste noþer of evyll ne gude,
Bot then chaunged his mode
And slaked his spere.
55
107
When his spere was up tane,The[n] gan this Gollerothiram,
This ilke uncely sowdane,
One his fete to gete.
Than his swerde drawes he,
Strykes at Percevell the free;
The childe hadd no powste,
His laykes to lett.
The stede was his awnn will,
Saw þe swerde come hym till,
Leppe up over an hill
Fyve stryde mett.
Als he sprent forby,
The sowdan keste up a cry;
The childe wann owt of study,
Þat he was inn sett.
108
Now ther he was in sett,Owt of study he gett
And lightis downn with-owtten lett,
Agaynes hym to ga.
He says: “Now hase þou taughte me,
“How þat I sall wirke with the.”
Than his swerde drawes he
And strake to hym thra:
He hitt hym even one þe nekk-bane;
Thurgh ventale and pesane
The hede of the sowdane
He strykes the body fra.
Þen full wightly he ȝode
To his stede, þere he stode;
The milde mayden in mode
Mirthe may scho ma!
56
109
Many mirthes then he made;In to þe castell he rade
And boldly he there habade
With þat mayden brighte.
Fayne were þay ilkane,
Þat he had slane þe sowdane
And wele wonn þat wymman
With maystry and myghte.
Þay said, Percevell þe ȝyng
Was beste worthy to be kyng,
For wele with-owtten lesyng
He helde, þat he highte.
Ther was no more for to say,
Bot sythen appon þat oþer day
He weddys Lufamour þe may,
This Percevell þe wighte.
110
Now hase Percevell þe wightWedded Lufamour þe bright
And is a kyng full righte
Of alle þat lande brade.
Than kyng Arthour in hy
Wolde no lengare ther ly,
Toke lefe at the lady,
Fro þam þan he rade;
Left Percevell the ȝyng
Off all þat lande to be kyng,
For he had with a ryng
Þe mayden, þat it hade.
Sythen appon þe toþer day
The kyng went on his way,
The certane sothe, als I say,
With-owtten any bade.
57
111
Now þan ȝong Percevell habadeIn those borowes so brade
For hir sake, þat he hade
Wedd with a ryng.
Wele weldede he þat lande,
Alle bowes to his hande;
Þe folke, þat he by-fore fande,
Knewe hym for kyng.
Thus he wonnes in þat wane,
Till that the twelmonthe was gane,
With Lufamour, his lemman,
He thoghte on no thyng;
Nor on his moder þat wes,
How scho levyde with þe gres
With more drynke and lesse
In welles, þer þay spryng.
112
Drynkes of welles, þer þay spryng,And gresse etys with-owt lesyng;
Scho liffede with none othir thyng
In þe holtes hare,
Till it by-felle appon a day,
Als he in his bedd lay,
Till hymselfe gun he say
Syghande full sare:
‘The laste ȝole-day, þat wes,
‘Wilde wayes I chese,
‘My modir all manles
‘Leved I thare.’
Þan righte sone saide he:
‘Blythe sall I never be,
‘Or I may my modir see
‘And wete, how scho fare.’
58
113
Now to wete how scho fare,The knyght busked hym ȝare;
He wolde no lengare duelle thare,
For noghte, þat myghte bee;
Up he rose in þat haulle,
Tuke his lefe at þam alle,
Bot[h] at grete and at smalle,
Fro thaym wendis he.
Faire scho prayed hym even than,
Lufamour, his lemman,
Till þe heghe dayes of ȝole were gane,
With hir for to bee;
Bot it served hir of no thyng:
A preste he made forthe bryng,
Hym a messe for to syng,
And aftir rode he.
114
Now fro þam gun he ryde;Þer wiste no man þat tyde,
Whedirwerde he wolde ryde,
Ne whedir he wolde lende;
Forthe he rydes allone:
Fro þam he wolde everichone,
Mighte no man with hym gone,
His sorowes to amende;
Bot forthe thus rydes he ay,
Þe certen sothe, als I ȝow say,
Till he come at a way
By a wode-ende;
Then herde he faste hym by,
Als it were a woman, cry:
Scho prayed to mylde Mary,
Som socoure hir to sende.
59
115
Scho sende hir socour full gude,Mary, þat es mylde of mode:
As he come thurgh the wode,
A ferly he fande:
A birde, brighteste of ble,
Stode faste bonden till a tre,
I say it ȝow, certanly,
Bothe fote and hande.
Sone askede he who,
When he sawe hir tho,
Þat had served hir so,
Þat lady in lande.
Scho said: ‘Sir, þe blake knyghte,
‘Solde be my lorde with righte,
‘He hase me thusgates dighte,
‘Here for to stande.’
116
Scho says: ‘Here mon I stande‘For a faute, þat he fande;
‘Þat, sall I warande,
‘Is my moste mane.
‘Now to the I sall say:
‘Appon my bedd I lay
‘Appon þe laste ȝole-day,
‘Twelve monethes es gane;
‘Were he knyghte, were he kyng,
‘He come one his play[i]nge,
‘With me he chaungede a ryng,
‘The richeste of ane.
‘The body myght I noghte see,
‘Þat made þat chaungyng with me,
‘Bot what þat ever he be,
‘The better hase he tane!’
60
117
Scho says: ‘Þe better hase he tane;‘Siche a vertue es in þe stane,
‘In alle this werlde wote I nane
‘Siche stone in a rynge;
‘A man, þat had it in were,
‘One his body for to bere,
‘There scholde no dyntys hym dere,
‘Ne to þe dethe brynge.’
And then wiste sir Percevale
Full wele by the ladys tale,
Þat he had broghte hir in bale
Thurgh his chaungyng.
Than al so sone sayd he
To that lady so fre:
“I sall the louse fro þe tre,
“Als I am trewe kyng.”
118
He was bothe kyng and knyght,Wele he helde, þat he highte,
He loused the lady so brighte,
Stod bown to the tre.
Down satt the lady,
And ȝong Percevall hir by;
Forwaked was he wery,
Rist hym wolde he;
He wende wele for to rest,
Bot it wolde no thyng leste:
Als he lay althir best,
His hede one hir kne,
Scho putt on Percevell wighte,
Bad hym fle with all his myghte:
‘For ȝonder comes þe blake knyghte;
‘Dede mon ȝe be!’
61
119
Scho sayd: ‘Dede mon ȝe be,‘I say ȝow, sir, certanly:
‘Ȝonder out comes he,
‘Þat will us bothe sla!’
The knyghte gan hir answere:
“Tolde ȝe me noghte lang ere,
“Ther solde no dynttis me dere,
“Ne wirke me no waa?”
The helme on his hede he sett,
Bot or he myght to his stede get,
The blak knyght with hym mett,
His maistrys to ma.
He sayd: ‘Hore, hase þou here
‘Fonden now thi play-fere?
‘Ȝe schall haby it full dere,
‘Er þat I hethen ga!’
120
He said: ‘Or I hethyn go,‘I sall sle ȝow bothe two
‘And all siche othir mo,
‘Þaire waryson to ȝelde.’
Than sayd Percevell þe fre:
“Now sone þan sall wee see,
“Who þat es worthy to bee
“Slayne in the felde.”
No more speke þay þat tyde,
Bot sone to-gedir gan þay ryde
Als men, þat wolde were habyde,
With schafte and with schelde.
Than sir Percevell þe wight
Bare down þe blake knyght;
Þan was þe lady so bright
His best socour in telde.
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121
Scho was þe beste of his belde:Bot scho had there bene his schelde,
He had bene slayne in þe felde
Right certeyne in hy;
Ever als Percevell the kene
Sold þe knyghtis bane hafe bene,
Ay went þe lady by-twene
And cryed: ‘Mercy!’
Than þe lady he forbere
And made þe blak knyghte to swere
Of alle evylls, þat þere were,
Forgiffe the lady;
And Percevell made þe same othe,
Þat he come never undir clothe,
To do þat lady no lothe,
Þat pendid to velany.
122
“I did hir never no velany,“Bot slepande I saw hir ly,
“Þan kist I þat lady,
“I will it never layne;
“I tok a ryng, þat I fande,
“I left hir, I undirstande,
“Þat sall I wele warande,
“Anothir ther-agayne.”
Þofe it were for none oþer thyng,
He swere by Jesu, heven-kyng,
To wete with-owtten lesyng,
And here to be slayne:
“And all redy is the ryng;
“And þou will myn agayne bryng,
“Here will I make þe chaungyng
“And of myn awnn be fayne.”
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123
He saise: “Of myn I will be fayne.”Þe blak knyghte ansuers agayne,
Sayd: ‘For sothe, it is noghte to layne,
‘Thou come over-late!
‘Als sone als I þe ryng fande,
‘I toke it sone off hir hande,
‘To the lorde of this lande
‘I bare it one a gate.
‘Þat gate with grefe hafe I gone:
‘I bare it to a gude mone,
‘The stalwortheste geant of one,
‘Þat any man wate;
‘Es it nowþer knyghte ne kyng,
‘Þat dorste aske hym þat ryng,
‘Þat he ne wolde hym down dyng
‘With harmes full hate.’
124
“Be þay hate, be þay colde,”Than said Percevell þe bolde:
For þe tale, þat he tolde,
He wex all tene,
He said: “Heghe on galous mote he hyng,
“Þat to þe here giffes any ryng,
“Bot þou myn agayne brynge,
“Thou haste geven [him bidene]!
“And ȝif it may no noþer be,
“Righte sone þan tell þou me
“The sothe, whilke þat es he,
“Thou knawes, þat es so kene!
“Ther es no more for to say,
“Bot late me wynn it, ȝif I may,
“For þou hase giffen thi part of bothe away,
“Þof thyn had better bene.”
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125
He says: “Þofe þyn had better bene.”The knyghte ansuerde in tene:
‘Þou sall wele wete with-owtten wene,
‘W[h]iche þat es he:
‘If þou dare do, als þou says,
‘Sir Percevell de Galays,
‘In ȝone heghe palays,
‘Therin solde he be.
‘The riche ryng with þat grym,
‘The stane es bright and no thyng dym;
‘For sothe, þer sall þou fynd hym,
‘He toke it fro me;
‘Owthir with-in or with-owt,
‘Or one his play þer abowte,
‘Of the he giffes littill dowte,
‘And that sall thou see.’
126
He says: “That sall þou see,“I say the, full sekirly.”
And than forthe rydis he
Wondirly swythe.
The geant stode in his holde,
That had those londis in wolde,
Saw Percevell, þat was bolde,
One his lande dryfe;
He calde one his portare:
‘How-gate may this fare?
‘I se a bolde man ȝare
‘On my lande ryfe.
‘Go, reche me my playlome,
‘And I sall go to hym sone;
‘Hym were better hafe bene at Rome,
‘So ever mote I thryfe!’
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127
Whethir he thryfe or he the,Ane iryn clobe takes he;
Agayne Percevell the fre
He went than full right.
The clobe wheyhed reghte wele,
Þat a freke myght it fele:
The hede was of harde stele,
Twelve stone wighte.
Þer was iryn in the wande,
Ten stone of the lande,
And one was by-hynde his hande:
For holdyng was dight.
Þer was thre and twenty in hale;
Full evyll myght any men smale,
Þat men telles nowe in tale,
With siche a lome fighte.
128
Now are þay bothe bown,Mett one a more brown
A mile with-owt any town
Boldly with schelde.
Þan saide þe geant so wight,
Als sone als he sawe þe knyght:
‘Mahown, loved be thi myght!’
And Percevell by-helde.
‘Art thou hym, that,’ saide he than,
‘That slew Gollerothirame?
‘I had no brothir bot hym ane,
‘When he was of elde.’
Than said Percevell the fre:
“Thurgh grace of god so sall I the
“And siche geantez as ȝe,
“Sle thaym in the felde.”
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129
Siche metyng was seldom sene;The dales dynned thaym by-twene
For dynttis, þat þay gaffe by-dene,
When þay so mett:
The gyant with his clobe-lome
Wolde hafe strekyn Percevell sone,
Bot he þer-under wightely come,
A stroke hym to sett.
The geant missede of his dynt,
The clobe was harde as þe flynt;
Or he myght his staffe stynt
Or his strengh lett,
The clobe in þe erthe stode:
To þe midschafte it wode;
The[n] Percevell the gode
Hys swerde owt he get.
130
By then hys swerde owt he get,Strykes þe geant with-owtten lett,
Merkes even to his nekk,
Reght even þer he stode;
His honde he strykes hym fro,
His lefte fote also;
With siche dyntis as tho
Nerre hym he ȝode.
Þen sayd Percevell: “I undirstande,
“Þou myghte with a lesse wande
“Hafe weldid better thi hande
“And hafe done the some gode;
“Now bese it never for ane,
“The clobe of þe erthe tane;
“I tell þi gatis alle gane,
“Bi the gude rode!”
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131
He says: “By þe gud rode,“As evyll als þou ever ȝode,
“Of þi fote þou getis no gode,
“Bot lepe, if þou may!”
The geant gan þe clobe lefe
And to Percevell a dynt he ȝefe
In þe nekk with his nefe:
So ne neghede þay.
At þat dynt was he tene,
He strikes off þe hande als clene,
Als þer hadde never none bene:
Þat oþer was awaye.
Sythen his hede gan he off hafe;
He was ane unhende knave,
A geantberde so to schafe,
For sothe, als I say.
132
Now for sothe, als I say,He lete hym ly, there he lay,
And rydis forthe one his way
To þe heghe holde.
The portare saw his lorde slayne;
Þe kayes durste he noght layne:
He come Percevell agayne,
Þe ȝatis he hym ȝolde.
At þe firste by-gynnyng
He askede þe portere of the ryng,
If he wiste of it any thyng;
And he hym than tolde:
He taughte hym sone to þe kiste,
Þer he alle þe golde wiste,
Bade hym take what hym liste
Of that he hafe wolde.
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133
Percevell sayde, hafe it he wolde,And schott owtt all þe golde
Righte there appon þe faire molde;
The ryng owte glade.
The portare stode be-syde,
Sawe þe ryng owt glyde,
Sayde ofte: ‘Wo worthe þe tyde,
‘Þat ever was it made!’
Percevell answerde in hy
And asked, where-fore and why
He banned it so brothely,
Bot if he cause hade.
Then alsone said he
And sware by his lewte:
‘The cause sall I tell the
‘With-owten any bade.’
134
He says with-owtten any bade:‘The knyghte, þat it here hade,
‘Þer-off a presande he made
‘And hedir he it broghte.
‘Mi mayster tuke it in his hande,
‘Ressayved faire þat presande:
‘He was chefe lorde of þis lande,
‘Als man, þat mekill moghte.
‘Þat tyme was here fast by
‘Wonna[n]de a lady,
‘And hir wele and lely
‘He luffede, als me thoghte.
‘So it by-felle appon a day,
‘Now þe sothe als I sall say,
‘Mi lorde went hym to play
‘And the lady by-soghte.
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135
‘Now þe lady by-seches he,‘Þat scho wolde his leman be;
‘Fast he frayned þat free
‘For any kyns aughte.
‘At þe firste by-gynnyng
‘He wolde hafe gyffen hir þe ryng,
‘And when scho sawe þe tokynyng,
‘Then was scho un-saughte.
‘Scho gret and cried in hir mane,
‘Sayd: “Thefe, hase þou my sone slane
“And the ryng fro hym tane,
“Þat I hym bi-taughte?”
‘Hir clothes ther scho rafe hir fro
‘And to þe wodd gan scho go;
‘Thus es þe lady so wo,
‘And this is the dra[u]ghte.
136
‘For siche draghtis als this‘Now es þe lady wode i-wys,
‘And wilde in þe wodde scho is
‘Ay sythen þat ilke tyde.
‘Fayne wolde I take þat free,
‘Bot alsone als scho sees me,
‘Faste awaye dose scho flee:
‘Will scho noghte abyde.’
Then sayde sir Percevell:
“I will assaye full snelle,
“To make þat lady to duelle,
“Bot I will noghte ryde:
“One my fete will I ga,
“Þat faire lady to ta;
“Me aughte to bring hir of wa:
“I laye in hir syde.”
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137
He sayse: “I laye in hir syde;“I sall never one horse ryde,
“Till I hafe sene hir in tyde,
“Spede if I may;
“Ne none armoure, þat may be,
“Sall come appone me,
“Till I my modir may see,
“Be nyghte or by day.
“Bot reghte in þe same wode,
“Þat I firste fro hir ȝode,
“That sall be in my mode
“Aftir myn oþer play;
“Ne I ne sall never mare
“Come owt of ȝone holtis hare,
“Till I wete how scho fare,
“For sothe, als I saye.”
138
Now for sothe, als I say,With þat he helde one his way
And one þe morne, when it was day,
Forthe gonn he fare.
His armour he leved þer-in,
Toke one hym a gayt-skynne,
And to þe wodde gan he wyn
Among þe holtis hare.
A sevenyght long hase he soghte,
His modir ne fyndis he noghte,
Of mete ne drynke he ne roghte:
So full he was of care.
Till þe nynte day by-fell,
Þat he come to a welle,
Þer he was wonte for to duelle
And drynk take hym thare.
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139
When he had dronken þat tyde,Forthirmare gan he glyde;
Than was he warre hym be-syde
Of þe lady so fre;
Bot when scho sawe hym thare,
Scho by-gan for to dare
And sone gaffe hym answare,
Þat brighte was of ble.
Scho bigan to call and cry,
Sayd: ‘Siche a sone hade I!’
His hert lightened in hy,
Blythe for to bee.
Be þat he come hir nere,
Þat scho myght hym here,
He said: “My modir full dere,
“Wele byde ȝe me!”
140
Be that so nere getis he,Þat scho myghte nangatis fle:
I say ȝow full certeynly,
Hir by-hoved þer to byde;
Scho stertis appon hym in tene,
Wete ȝe wele, with-owtten wene,
Had hir myghte so mekill bene,
Scho had hym slayne þat tyde.
Bot his myghte was þe mare,
And up he toke his modir thare,
One his bake he hir bare:
Pure was his pryde.
To þe castell with-owtten mare
Þe righte way gon he fare;
The portare was redy ȝare
And lete hym in glyde.
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141
In with his modir he glade,Als he sayse, þat it made;
With siche clothes, als þay hade,
Þay happed hir forthy.
Þe geant had a drynk wroghte,
Þe portere sone it forthe broghte,
For no man was his thoghte,
Bot for that lady.
Þay wolde not lett long thon,
Bot lavede in hir with a spone;
Þen scho one slepe fell also sone,
Reght certeyne in hy.
Thus the lady there l[a]yes
Thre nyghttis and thre dayes,
And þe portere alwayes
Lay wakande hir by.
142
Thus þe portare woke (by),The whilk hir luffed se(kerly),
Till at þe laste the lady
Wakede, als I wene.
Þen scho was in hir awenn (state)
And als wele in hir gate,
Als scho hadde nowthir arely ne late
Never þer-owte bene.
Thay sett þam down one þaire kne,
Thanked godde alle three,
That he wolde so appon þam see,
As it was there sene.
Sythen aftir gan þay ta,
A riche bathe for to ma,
And made þe lady in to ga
In graye and in grene.
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143
Than sir Percevell in hyToke his modir hym by,
I say ȝow, than certenly,
And home went hee.
Grete lordes and the qwene
Welcomed hym al bydene;
When þay hym one lyfe sene,
Þan blythe myghte þay bee.
Sythen he went into þe holy londe,
Wanne many cites full stronge,
And there was he slayne, I undirstonde;
Thusgatis endis hee.
Now Jesu Criste, hevenskyng,
Als he es lorde of all thyng,
Grante us all his blyssyng,
Amen, for charyte!
| Sir Perceval of Gales | |