 | Middle English metrical romances |  |
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THE EARL OF TOULOUSE
Ihesu Cryste, yn Trynyté,
Oonly God and persons thre,
Graunt vs wele to spede,
And gyf vs grace so to do
That we may come þy blys vnto,
On rode as thou can blede!
Leue lordys, y schall you telle
Of a tale, some tyme befelle
Farre yn vnkowthe lede:
How a lady had grete myschefe,
And how sche couyrd of hur grefe;
Y pray yow take hede!
Oonly God and persons thre,
Graunt vs wele to spede,
And gyf vs grace so to do
That we may come þy blys vnto,
On rode as thou can blede!
Leue lordys, y schall you telle
Of a tale, some tyme befelle
Farre yn vnkowthe lede:
How a lady had grete myschefe,
And how sche couyrd of hur grefe;
Y pray yow take hede!
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Some tyme þere was in Almayn
An Emperrour of moche mayn;
Syr Dyoclysyan he hyght;
He was a bolde man and a stowte;
All Crystendome of hym had dowte,
So stronge he was in fyght;
He dysheryted many a man,
And falsely ther londys wan,
Wyth maystry and wyth myght,
Tyll hyt befelle vpon a day,
A warre wakenyd, as y yow say,
Betwene hym and a knyght.
An Emperrour of moche mayn;
Syr Dyoclysyan he hyght;
He was a bolde man and a stowte;
All Crystendome of hym had dowte,
So stronge he was in fyght;
He dysheryted many a man,
And falsely ther londys wan,
Wyth maystry and wyth myght,
Tyll hyt befelle vpon a day,
A warre wakenyd, as y yow say,
Betwene hym and a knyght.
The Erle of Tollous, Syr Barnard,
The Emperrour wyth hym was harde,
And gretly was hys foo.
He had rafte owt of hys honde
Thre c poundys worth be yere of londe:
Therfore hys herte was woo.
He was an hardy man and a stronge,
And sawe þe Emperour dyd hym wronge,
And other men also;
He ordeyned hym for batayle
Into the Emperours londe, saun ffayle;
And þere he began to brenne and sloo.
The Emperrour wyth hym was harde,
And gretly was hys foo.
He had rafte owt of hys honde
Thre c poundys worth be yere of londe:
Therfore hys herte was woo.
He was an hardy man and a stronge,
And sawe þe Emperour dyd hym wronge,
And other men also;
He ordeyned hym for batayle
Into the Emperours londe, saun ffayle;
And þere he began to brenne and sloo.
Thys Emperour had a wyfe,
The fayrest oon that euyr bare lyfe,
Saue Mary mekyll of myght,
And therto gode in all thynge,
Of almesdede and gode berynge,
Be day and eke be nyght;
Of hyr body sche was trewe
As euyr was lady that men knewe,
And therto moost bryght.
To the Emperour sche can say:
“My dere lorde, y you pray,
Delyuyr the Erle hys ryght.”
The fayrest oon that euyr bare lyfe,
Saue Mary mekyll of myght,
And therto gode in all thynge,
Of almesdede and gode berynge,
Be day and eke be nyght;
Of hyr body sche was trewe
As euyr was lady that men knewe,
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To the Emperour sche can say:
“My dere lorde, y you pray,
Delyuyr the Erle hys ryght.”
“Dame,” he seyde, “let that bee;
That day schalt thou neuyr see,
Yf y may ryde on ryght,
That he schall haue hys londe agayne;
Fyrste schall y breke hys brayne,
Os y am trewe knyght!
He warryth faste in my londe;
I schall be redy at hys honde
Wythyn thys xiiii nyght!”
He sente abowte euerywhare,
That all men schulde make þem yare
Agayne the Erle to fyght.
That day schalt thou neuyr see,
Yf y may ryde on ryght,
That he schall haue hys londe agayne;
Fyrste schall y breke hys brayne,
Os y am trewe knyght!
He warryth faste in my londe;
I schall be redy at hys honde
Wythyn thys xiiii nyght!”
He sente abowte euerywhare,
That all men schulde make þem yare
Agayne the Erle to fyght.
He let crye in euery syde,
Thorow hys londe ferre and wyde,
Bothe in felde and towne,
All that myght wepon bere,
Sworde, alablast, schylde, or spere,
They schoulde be redy bowne;
The Erle on hys syde also
Wyth xl thousand and moo
Wyth spere and schylde browne.
A day of batayle there was sett;
In felde when they togedur mett,
Was crakydde many a crowne.
Thorow hys londe ferre and wyde,
Bothe in felde and towne,
All that myght wepon bere,
Sworde, alablast, schylde, or spere,
They schoulde be redy bowne;
The Erle on hys syde also
Wyth xl thousand and moo
Wyth spere and schylde browne.
A day of batayle there was sett;
In felde when they togedur mett,
Was crakydde many a crowne.
The Emperour had bataylys seuyn;
He spake to them wyth sterne steuyn
And sayde, so mot he thryue,
“Be ye now redy for to fyght,
Go ye and bete them downe ryght
And leueth non on lyue;
Loke that none raunsonyd bee
Nothyr for golde ne for fee,
But sle them wyth swerde and knyfe!”
For all hys boste he faylyd ȝyt;
The Erle manly hym mett,
Wyth strokys goode and ryfe.
He spake to them wyth sterne steuyn
And sayde, so mot he thryue,
“Be ye now redy for to fyght,
Go ye and bete them downe ryght
And leueth non on lyue;
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Nothyr for golde ne for fee,
But sle them wyth swerde and knyfe!”
For all hys boste he faylyd ȝyt;
The Erle manly hym mett,
Wyth strokys goode and ryfe.
They reryd batayle on euery syde;
Bo[l]dely togedyr can they ryde,
Wyth schylde and many a spere;
They leyde on faste as þey were wode,
Wyth swerdys and axes that were gode;
Full hedeous hyt was to here.
There were schyldys and schaftys schakydde,
Hedys thorogh helmys crakydde,
And hawberkys all totore.
The Erle hymselfe an axe drowe;
An c men that day he slowe,
So wyght he was yn were!
Bo[l]dely togedyr can they ryde,
Wyth schylde and many a spere;
They leyde on faste as þey were wode,
Wyth swerdys and axes that were gode;
Full hedeous hyt was to here.
There were schyldys and schaftys schakydde,
Hedys thorogh helmys crakydde,
And hawberkys all totore.
The Erle hymselfe an axe drowe;
An c men that day he slowe,
So wyght he was yn were!
Many a stede there stekyd was;
Many a bolde baron in that place
Lay burlande yn hys own blode.
So moche blode there was spylte,
That the felde was ouyrhylte
Os hyt were a flode.
Many a wyfe may sytt and wepe,
That was wonte softe to slepe,
And now can they no gode.
Many a body and many a heuyd,
Many a doghty knyȝt þere was leuyd,
That was wylde and wode.
Many a bolde baron in that place
Lay burlande yn hys own blode.
So moche blode there was spylte,
That the felde was ouyrhylte
Os hyt were a flode.
Many a wyfe may sytt and wepe,
That was wonte softe to slepe,
And now can they no gode.
Many a body and many a heuyd,
Many a doghty knyȝt þere was leuyd,
That was wylde and wode.
The Erle of Tollous wan þe felde;
The Emperour stode and behelde:
Wele faste can he flee
To a castell there besyde
(Fayne he was hys hedde to hyde),
And wyth hym erlys thre;
No moo forsothe scapyd away,
But they were slayn and takyn þat day:
Hyt myght non othyr bee.
The Erle tyll nyght folowed þe chace,
And syþen he þanked God of hys grace,
That syttyth in Trynyté.
The Emperour stode and behelde:
Wele faste can he flee
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(Fayne he was hys hedde to hyde),
And wyth hym erlys thre;
No moo forsothe scapyd away,
But they were slayn and takyn þat day:
Hyt myght non othyr bee.
The Erle tyll nyght folowed þe chace,
And syþen he þanked God of hys grace,
That syttyth in Trynyté.
There were slayne in þat batayle
Syxty thousand, wythowte fayle,
On the Emperours syde;
Ther was takyn thre c and fyfty
Of grete lordys, sekyrly,
Wyth woundys grymly wyde;
On the Erlys syde þer were slayne
But twenty, sothely to sayne,
So boldely they can abyde!
Soche grace God hym sende
That false quarell comeþ to euell ende
For oght that may betyde.
Syxty thousand, wythowte fayle,
On the Emperours syde;
Ther was takyn thre c and fyfty
Of grete lordys, sekyrly,
Wyth woundys grymly wyde;
On the Erlys syde þer were slayne
But twenty, sothely to sayne,
So boldely they can abyde!
Soche grace God hym sende
That false quarell comeþ to euell ende
For oght that may betyde.
Now the Emperour ys full woo:
He hath loste men and londe also;
Sore then syghed hee;
He sware be Hym þat dyed on rode,
Mete nor drynke schulde do hym no gode,
Or he vengedde bee.
The Emperes seyde, “Gode lorde,
Hyt ys better ye be acorde
Be oght that y can see;
Hyt ys grete parell, sothe to telle,
To be agayne þe ryght quarell;
Be God, thus thynketh me!”
He hath loste men and londe also;
Sore then syghed hee;
He sware be Hym þat dyed on rode,
Mete nor drynke schulde do hym no gode,
Or he vengedde bee.
The Emperes seyde, “Gode lorde,
Hyt ys better ye be acorde
Be oght that y can see;
Hyt ys grete parell, sothe to telle,
To be agayne þe ryght quarell;
Be God, thus thynketh me!”
“Dame,” seyde the Emperoure,
“Y haue a grete dyshonoure;
Therfore myn herte ys woo;
My lordys be takyn, and some dede;
Therfore carefull ys my rede:
Sorowe nye wyll me sloo.”
Then seyde Dame Beulybon:
“Syr, y rede, be Seynt John,
Of warre that ye hoo;
Ye haue the wronge and he þe ryȝt,
And that ye may see in syȝt,
Be thys and othyr moo.”
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Therfore myn herte ys woo;
My lordys be takyn, and some dede;
Therfore carefull ys my rede:
Sorowe nye wyll me sloo.”
Then seyde Dame Beulybon:
“Syr, y rede, be Seynt John,
Of warre that ye hoo;
Ye haue the wronge and he þe ryȝt,
And that ye may see in syȝt,
Be thys and othyr moo.”
The Emperour was euyll payde:
Hyt was sothe the lady sayde;
Therfore hym lykyd ylle.
He wente awey and syghed sore;
Oon worde spake he no more,
But helde hym wonder stylle.
Leue we now þe Emperour in thoght:
Game ne gle lyked hym noght,
So gretly can he grylle!
And to the Erle turne we agayn,
That þanked God wyth all hys mayn,
That grace had sende hym tylle.
Hyt was sothe the lady sayde;
Therfore hym lykyd ylle.
He wente awey and syghed sore;
Oon worde spake he no more,
But helde hym wonder stylle.
Leue we now þe Emperour in thoght:
Game ne gle lyked hym noght,
So gretly can he grylle!
And to the Erle turne we agayn,
That þanked God wyth all hys mayn,
That grace had sende hym tylle.
The Erle Barnard of Tollous
Had fele men chyualrous
Takyn to hys preson;
Moche gode of them he hadde;
Y can not telle, so God me gladde,
So grete was ther raunsome!
Among them [alle] had he oon,
Was grettest of þem everychon,
A lorde of many a towne,
Syr Trylabas of Turky
(The Emperour hym louyd, sekurly),
A man of grete renowne.
Had fele men chyualrous
Takyn to hys preson;
Moche gode of them he hadde;
Y can not telle, so God me gladde,
So grete was ther raunsome!
Among them [alle] had he oon,
Was grettest of þem everychon,
A lorde of many a towne,
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(The Emperour hym louyd, sekurly),
A man of grete renowne.
So hyt befelle vpon a day
The Erle and he went to play
Be a rever syde.
The Erle seyde to Trylabas,
“Telle me, syr, for Goddys grace,
Of a thyng þat spryngyth wyde:
That youre Emperour hath a wyfe,
The fayrest woman þat ys on lyfe,
Of hewe and eke of hyde.
Y swere by boke and by belle,
Yf sche be so feyre as men telle,
Mekyll may be hys pryde.”
The Erle and he went to play
Be a rever syde.
The Erle seyde to Trylabas,
“Telle me, syr, for Goddys grace,
Of a thyng þat spryngyth wyde:
That youre Emperour hath a wyfe,
The fayrest woman þat ys on lyfe,
Of hewe and eke of hyde.
Y swere by boke and by belle,
Yf sche be so feyre as men telle,
Mekyll may be hys pryde.”
Then sayde that lord anon ryght,
“Be the ordre y bere of knyght,
The sothe y schall telle the:
To seeke the worlde more and lesse,
Bothe Crystendome and hethynnesse,
Ther ys none so bryght of blee.
Whyte as snowe ys hur coloure;
Hur rudde ys radder þen þe rose-floure,
Yn syght who may hur see;
All men þat evyr God wroght
Myght not thynke nor caste in þoȝt
A fayrer for to bee.”
“Be the ordre y bere of knyght,
The sothe y schall telle the:
To seeke the worlde more and lesse,
Bothe Crystendome and hethynnesse,
Ther ys none so bryght of blee.
Whyte as snowe ys hur coloure;
Hur rudde ys radder þen þe rose-floure,
Yn syght who may hur see;
All men þat evyr God wroght
Myght not thynke nor caste in þoȝt
A fayrer for to bee.”
Then seyde the Erle, “Be Goddys grace,
Thys worde in mornyng me mas.
Thou seyest sche ys so bryght;
Thy raunsom here y the forgeue,
My helpe, my loue, whyll y leue
(Therto my trowthe y plyght),
So that thou wylt brynge me
Yn safegarde for to bee,
Of hur to haue a syght,
An c pownde, wyth grete honoure,
To bye þe horses and ryche armoure,
Os y am trewe knyght!”
Thys worde in mornyng me mas.
Thou seyest sche ys so bryght;
Thy raunsom here y the forgeue,
My helpe, my loue, whyll y leue
(Therto my trowthe y plyght),
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Yn safegarde for to bee,
Of hur to haue a syght,
An c pownde, wyth grete honoure,
To bye þe horses and ryche armoure,
Os y am trewe knyght!”
Than answeryd Syr Trylabas,
“Yn that couenaunt in þys place
My trowthe y plyght thee;
Y schall holde thy forward gode
To brynge the, wyth mylde mode,
In syght hur for to see;
And therto wyll y kepe counsayle
And neuyr more, wythowte fayle,
Agayne yow to bee;
Y schall be trewe, be Goddys ore,
To lose myn own lyfe therfore;
Hardely tryste to mee!”
“Yn that couenaunt in þys place
My trowthe y plyght thee;
Y schall holde thy forward gode
To brynge the, wyth mylde mode,
In syght hur for to see;
And therto wyll y kepe counsayle
And neuyr more, wythowte fayle,
Agayne yow to bee;
Y schall be trewe, be Goddys ore,
To lose myn own lyfe therfore;
Hardely tryste to mee!”
The Erle answeryd wyth wordys hende:
“Y tryste to the as to my frende,
Wythowte any stryfe;
Anon that [we] were buskyd yare,
On owre iurney for to fare,
For to see that wyfe;
Y swere be God and Seynt Andrewe,
Yf hyt be so y fynde the trewe,
Ryches schall be to the ryfe.”
They lettyd noþyr for wynde nor wedur,
But forthe þey wente bothe togedur,
Wythowte any stryfe.
“Y tryste to the as to my frende,
Wythowte any stryfe;
Anon that [we] were buskyd yare,
On owre iurney for to fare,
For to see that wyfe;
Y swere be God and Seynt Andrewe,
Yf hyt be so y fynde the trewe,
Ryches schall be to the ryfe.”
They lettyd noþyr for wynde nor wedur,
But forthe þey wente bothe togedur,
Wythowte any stryfe.
These knyghtys neuyr stynte nor blanne,
Tyll to the cyté that þey wan,
There the Emperes was ynne.
The Erle hymselfe for more drede
Cladde hym in armytes wede,
Thogh he were of ryche kynne,
For he wolde not knowen bee.
He dwellyd there dayes three
And rested hym in hys ynne.
The knyght bethoght hym, on a day,
The gode Erle to betray;
Falsely he can begynne.
Tyll to the cyté that þey wan,
There the Emperes was ynne.
The Erle hymselfe for more drede
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Thogh he were of ryche kynne,
For he wolde not knowen bee.
He dwellyd there dayes three
And rested hym in hys ynne.
The knyght bethoght hym, on a day,
The gode Erle to betray;
Falsely he can begynne.
Anone he wente in a rese
To chaumbur to the Emperes,
And sett hym on hys knee;
He seyde, “Be Hym that harowed helle,
He kepe yow fro all parelle,
Yf that hys wylle bee!”
“Madam,” he seyde, “be Ihesus,
Y haue the Erle of Tollous;
Oure moost enemye ys hee.”
“Yn what maner,” the lady can say,
“Ys he comyn, y the pray?
Anone telle thou me.”
To chaumbur to the Emperes,
And sett hym on hys knee;
He seyde, “Be Hym that harowed helle,
He kepe yow fro all parelle,
Yf that hys wylle bee!”
“Madam,” he seyde, “be Ihesus,
Y haue the Erle of Tollous;
Oure moost enemye ys hee.”
“Yn what maner,” the lady can say,
“Ys he comyn, y the pray?
Anone telle thou me.”
“Madam, y was in hys preson;
He hath forgeuyn me my raunsom,
Be God full of myght—
And all ys for the loue of the!
The sothe ys, he longyth yow to see,
Madam, onys in syght!
And c pownde y haue to mede,
And armour for a nobull stede;
Forsothe y haue hym hyght
That he schall see yow at hys fylle,
Ryght at hys owne wylle;
Therto my trowthe y plyght.
He hath forgeuyn me my raunsom,
Be God full of myght—
And all ys for the loue of the!
The sothe ys, he longyth yow to see,
Madam, onys in syght!
And c pownde y haue to mede,
And armour for a nobull stede;
Forsothe y haue hym hyght
That he schall see yow at hys fylle,
Ryght at hys owne wylle;
Therto my trowthe y plyght.
Lady, he ys to vs a foo;
Therfore y rede þat we hym sloo;
He hath done vs grete grylle.”
The lady seyde, “So mut y goo,
Thy soule ys loste yf thou do so;
Thy trowthe þou schalt fulfylle.
Sythe he forgaf the thy raunsom
And lowsydd the owt of preson,
Do away thy wyckyd wylle!
Therfore y rede þat we hym sloo;
He hath done vs grete grylle.”
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Thy soule ys loste yf thou do so;
Thy trowthe þou schalt fulfylle.
Sythe he forgaf the thy raunsom
And lowsydd the owt of preson,
Do away thy wyckyd wylle!
To-morne when þey rynge þe masbelle,
Brynge hym into my chapelle,
And þynke þou on no false sleythe;
There schall he see me at hys wylle,
Thy couenaunt to fulfylle;
Y rede the holde thy trowthe!
Certys, yf thou hym begyle,
Thy soule ys in grete paryle,
Syn thou haste made hym othe;
Certys, hyt were a traytory,
For to wayte hym [wyth] velany;
Me thynkyth hyt were rowthe!”
Brynge hym into my chapelle,
And þynke þou on no false sleythe;
There schall he see me at hys wylle,
Thy couenaunt to fulfylle;
Y rede the holde thy trowthe!
Certys, yf thou hym begyle,
Thy soule ys in grete paryle,
Syn thou haste made hym othe;
Certys, hyt were a traytory,
For to wayte hym [wyth] velany;
Me thynkyth hyt were rowthe!”
The knyght to the Erle wente;
Yn herte he helde hym foule schente
For hys wyckyd thoght.
He seyde, “Syr, so mote y the,
To-morne þou schalt my lady see;
Therfore, dysmay the noght:
When ye here the masbelle,
Y schall hur brynge to the chapelle;
Thedur sche schall be broght.
Be the oryall syde stonde þou stylle;
Then schalt þou see hur at þy wylle,
That ys so worthyly wroght.”
Yn herte he helde hym foule schente
For hys wyckyd thoght.
He seyde, “Syr, so mote y the,
To-morne þou schalt my lady see;
Therfore, dysmay the noght:
When ye here the masbelle,
Y schall hur brynge to the chapelle;
Thedur sche schall be broght.
Be the oryall syde stonde þou stylle;
Then schalt þou see hur at þy wylle,
That ys so worthyly wroght.”
The Erle sayde, “Y holde the trewe,
And that schall þe neuyr rewe,
As farre forthe as y may:”
Yn hys herte he waxe gladde:
“Fylle the wyne,” wyghtly he badde,
“Thys goyth to my pay!”
There he restyd that nyght;
On the morne he can hym dyght
Yn armytes array;
When they ronge to the masse,
To the chapell conne they passe,
To see that lady gay.
And that schall þe neuyr rewe,
As farre forthe as y may:”
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“Fylle the wyne,” wyghtly he badde,
“Thys goyth to my pay!”
There he restyd that nyght;
On the morne he can hym dyght
Yn armytes array;
When they ronge to the masse,
To the chapell conne they passe,
To see that lady gay.
They had stonden but a whyle,
The mowntaunse of halfe a myle,
Then came that lady free;
Two erlys hur ladde;
Wondur rychely sche was cladde,
In golde and ryche perré.
Whan the Erle sawe hur in syght,
Hym thoght sche was as bryght
Os blossome on the tree;
Of all the syghtys that euer he sye,
Raysyd neuyr none hys herte so hye,
Sche was so bryght of blee!
The mowntaunse of halfe a myle,
Then came that lady free;
Two erlys hur ladde;
Wondur rychely sche was cladde,
In golde and ryche perré.
Whan the Erle sawe hur in syght,
Hym thoght sche was as bryght
Os blossome on the tree;
Of all the syghtys that euer he sye,
Raysyd neuyr none hys herte so hye,
Sche was so bryght of blee!
Sche stode stylle in that place
And schewed opynly hur face
For loue of that knyght.
He behelde ynly hur face;
He sware there be Goddys grace,
He sawe neuyr none so bryght.
Hur eyen were gray as any glas;
Mowthe and nose schapen was
At all maner ryght;
Fro the forhedde to the too,
Bettur schapen myght non goo,
Nor none semelyer yn syght.
And schewed opynly hur face
For loue of that knyght.
He behelde ynly hur face;
He sware there be Goddys grace,
He sawe neuyr none so bryght.
Hur eyen were gray as any glas;
Mowthe and nose schapen was
At all maner ryght;
Fro the forhedde to the too,
Bettur schapen myght non goo,
Nor none semelyer yn syght.
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Twyes sche turnyd hur abowte
Betwene the erlys þat were stowte,
For the Erle schulde hur see.
When sche spake wyth mylde steuyn,
Sche semyd an aungell of heuyn,
So feyre sche was of blee!
Hur syde longe, hur myddyll small;
Schouldurs, armes therwythall,
Fayrer myght non bee;
Hur hondys whyte as whallys bonne,
Wyth fyngurs longe and ryngys vpon;
Hur nayles bryght of blee.
Betwene the erlys þat were stowte,
For the Erle schulde hur see.
When sche spake wyth mylde steuyn,
Sche semyd an aungell of heuyn,
So feyre sche was of blee!
Hur syde longe, hur myddyll small;
Schouldurs, armes therwythall,
Fayrer myght non bee;
Hur hondys whyte as whallys bonne,
Wyth fyngurs longe and ryngys vpon;
Hur nayles bryght of blee.
When he had beholden hur welle,
The lady wente to hur chapell,
Masse for to here;
The Erle stode on þat odur syde;
Hys eyen fro hur myght he not hyde,
So louely sche was of chere!
He seyde, “Lorde God, full of myght,
Leue y were so worthy a knyght,
That y myght be hur fere,
And that sche no husbonde hadde,
All the golde that euyr God made
To me were not so dere!”
The lady wente to hur chapell,
Masse for to here;
The Erle stode on þat odur syde;
Hys eyen fro hur myght he not hyde,
So louely sche was of chere!
He seyde, “Lorde God, full of myght,
Leue y were so worthy a knyght,
That y myght be hur fere,
And that sche no husbonde hadde,
All the golde that euyr God made
To me were not so dere!”
When the masse come to ende,
The lady, that was feyre and hende,
To the chaumbur can sche fare;
The Erle syghed and was full woo
Owt of hys syght when sche schulde goo;
Hys mornyng was the mare.
The Erle seyde, “So God me saue,
Of hur almes y wolde craue,
Yf hur wylle ware;
Myght y oght gete of that free,
Eche a day hur to see
Hyt wolde couyr me of my care.”
The lady, that was feyre and hende,
To the chaumbur can sche fare;
The Erle syghed and was full woo
Owt of hys syght when sche schulde goo;
Hys mornyng was the mare.
The Erle seyde, “So God me saue,
Of hur almes y wolde craue,
Yf hur wylle ware;
395
Eche a day hur to see
Hyt wolde couyr me of my care.”
The Erle knelyd down anon ryght
And askyd gode, for God allmyght,
That dyed on the tree.
The Emperes callyd a knyght:
“xl floranse that ben bryght,
Anone brynge thou mee.”
To that armyte sche hyt payde;
Of hur fyngyr a rynge she layde
Amonge that golde so free;
He thankyd hur ofte, as y yow say.
To the chaumbyr wente þat lady gay,
There hur was leueste to bee.
And askyd gode, for God allmyght,
That dyed on the tree.
The Emperes callyd a knyght:
“xl floranse that ben bryght,
Anone brynge thou mee.”
To that armyte sche hyt payde;
Of hur fyngyr a rynge she layde
Amonge that golde so free;
He thankyd hur ofte, as y yow say.
To the chaumbyr wente þat lady gay,
There hur was leueste to bee.
The Erle wente home to hys ynnys,
And grete yoye he begynnys
When he founde the rynge;
Yn hys herte he waxe blythe
And hyt kyssyd fele sythe,
And seyde, “My dere derlynge,
On thy fyngyr thys was!
Wele ys me, y haue thy grace
Of the to haue thys rynge!
Yf euyr y gete grace of þe Quene
That any loue betwene vs bene,
Thys may be oure tokenyng.”
And grete yoye he begynnys
When he founde the rynge;
Yn hys herte he waxe blythe
And hyt kyssyd fele sythe,
And seyde, “My dere derlynge,
On thy fyngyr thys was!
Wele ys me, y haue thy grace
Of the to haue thys rynge!
Yf euyr y gete grace of þe Quene
That any loue betwene vs bene,
Thys may be oure tokenyng.”
The Erle, also soone os hyt was day,
Toke hys leue and wente hys way
Home to hys cuntré;
Syr Trylabas he thanked faste:
“Of thys dede þou done me haste,
Well qwyt schall hyt bee.”
They kyssyd togedur as gode frende;
Syr Trylabas home can wende,
There euell mote he thee!
A traytory he thoght to doo
Yf he myght come thertoo;
So schrewde in herte was hee!
Toke hys leue and wente hys way
Home to hys cuntré;
Syr Trylabas he thanked faste:
“Of thys dede þou done me haste,
Well qwyt schall hyt bee.”
396
Syr Trylabas home can wende,
There euell mote he thee!
A traytory he thoght to doo
Yf he myght come thertoo;
So schrewde in herte was hee!
Anon he callyd two knyghtys,
Hardy men at all syghtys;
Bothe were of hys kynne.
“Syrs,” he seyde, “wythowt fayle,
Yf ye wyl do be my counsayle,
Grete worschyp schulde ye wynne;
Knowe ye the Erle of Tollous?
Moche harme he hath done vs;
Hys boste y rede we blynne;
Yf ye wyll do aftur my redde,
Thys day he schall be dedde,
So God saue me fro synne!”
Hardy men at all syghtys;
Bothe were of hys kynne.
“Syrs,” he seyde, “wythowt fayle,
Yf ye wyl do be my counsayle,
Grete worschyp schulde ye wynne;
Knowe ye the Erle of Tollous?
Moche harme he hath done vs;
Hys boste y rede we blynne;
Yf ye wyll do aftur my redde,
Thys day he schall be dedde,
So God saue me fro synne!”
That oon knyght Kaunters, þat odur Kaym;
Falser men myght no man rayme,
Certys, then were thoo;
Syr Trylabas was the thrydde;
Hyt was no mystur þem to bydde
Aftur the Erle to goo.
At a brygge they hym mett;
Wyth harde strokes they hym besett,
As men that were hys foo;
The Erle was a man of mayn:
Faste he faght them agayne,
And soone he slew two.
Falser men myght no man rayme,
Certys, then were thoo;
Syr Trylabas was the thrydde;
Hyt was no mystur þem to bydde
Aftur the Erle to goo.
At a brygge they hym mett;
Wyth harde strokes they hym besett,
As men that were hys foo;
The Erle was a man of mayn:
Faste he faght them agayne,
And soone he slew two.
The thrydde fledde and blewe owt faste;
The Erle ouyrtoke hym at þe laste:
Hys hedd he clofe in three.
The cuntrey gedyrd abowte hym faste,
And aftur hym ȝorne they chaste:
An c there men myght see.
The Erle of them was agaste:
At the laste fro them he paste;
Fayne he was to flee;
Fro them he wente into a waste;
To reste hym there he toke hys caste:
A wery man was hee.
The Erle ouyrtoke hym at þe laste:
Hys hedd he clofe in three.
The cuntrey gedyrd abowte hym faste,
And aftur hym ȝorne they chaste:
An c there men myght see.
397
At the laste fro them he paste;
Fayne he was to flee;
Fro them he wente into a waste;
To reste hym there he toke hys caste:
A wery man was hee.
All the nyght in that foreste
The gentyll Erle toke hys reste:
He had no nodur woon.
When hyt dawed, he rose vp soone
And thankyd God, that syttyþ in trone,
That he had scapyd hys foon;
That day he trauaylyd many a myle,
And ofte he was in grete parylle,
Be the way os he can gone,
Tyll he come to a fayre castell,
There hym was leuyst to dwelle,
Was made of lyme and stone.
The gentyll Erle toke hys reste:
He had no nodur woon.
When hyt dawed, he rose vp soone
And thankyd God, that syttyþ in trone,
That he had scapyd hys foon;
That day he trauaylyd many a myle,
And ofte he was in grete parylle,
Be the way os he can gone,
Tyll he come to a fayre castell,
There hym was leuyst to dwelle,
Was made of lyme and stone.
Of hys comyng hys men were gladde.
“Be ye mery, my men,” he badde,
“For nothyng ye spare;
The Emperour, wythowte lees,
Y trowe, wyll let vs be in pees
And warre on vs no mare.”
Thus dwellyd the Erle in þat place
Wyth game, myrthe, and grete solase,
Ryght os hym leuyst ware.
Let we now the Erle alloon,
And speke we of Dame Beulyboon,
How sche was caste in care.
“Be ye mery, my men,” he badde,
“For nothyng ye spare;
The Emperour, wythowte lees,
Y trowe, wyll let vs be in pees
And warre on vs no mare.”
Thus dwellyd the Erle in þat place
Wyth game, myrthe, and grete solase,
Ryght os hym leuyst ware.
Let we now the Erle alloon,
And speke we of Dame Beulyboon,
How sche was caste in care.
The Emperoure louyd hys wyfe
Also so moche os hys own lyfe,
And more, yf he myght;
He chose two knyghtys þat were hym dere,
Whedur that he were ferre or nere,
To kepe hur day and nyght.
That oon hys loue on hur caste:
So dud the todur at the laste;
Sche was feyre and bryght!
Nothyr of othyr wyste ryght noght,
So derne loue on them wroght;
To dethe they were nere dyght.
Also so moche os hys own lyfe,
And more, yf he myght;
He chose two knyghtys þat were hym dere,
Whedur that he were ferre or nere,
To kepe hur day and nyght.
398
So dud the todur at the laste;
Sche was feyre and bryght!
Nothyr of othyr wyste ryght noght,
So derne loue on them wroght;
To dethe they were nere dyght.
So hyt befelle vpon a day,
That oon can to þat othyr say,
“Syr, also muste y thee,
Methynkyth þou fadyste all away,
Os man þat ys clongyn in clay,
So pale waxeth thy blee!”
Then seyde that oþer, “Y make avowe,
Ryght so, methynketh, fareste þou,
Whysoeuyr hyt bee;
Telle me thy cawse, why hyt ys,
And y schall telle þe myn, ywys:
My trouthe y plyght to thee.”
That oon can to þat othyr say,
“Syr, also muste y thee,
Methynkyth þou fadyste all away,
Os man þat ys clongyn in clay,
So pale waxeth thy blee!”
Then seyde that oþer, “Y make avowe,
Ryght so, methynketh, fareste þou,
Whysoeuyr hyt bee;
Telle me thy cawse, why hyt ys,
And y schall telle þe myn, ywys:
My trouthe y plyght to thee.”
“Y graunte,” he seyde, “wythowt fayle,
But loke hyt be trewe counsayle!”
Therto hys trowthe he plyght.
He seyde, “My lady the Emperes,
For loue of hur y am in grete dystresse;
To dethe hyt wyll me dyght.”
Then seyde that othyr, “Certenly,
Wythowte drede, so fare y
For that lady bryght;
Syn owre loue ys on hur sett,
How myght owre bale beste be bett?
Canste thou rede on ryght?”
But loke hyt be trewe counsayle!”
Therto hys trowthe he plyght.
He seyde, “My lady the Emperes,
For loue of hur y am in grete dystresse;
To dethe hyt wyll me dyght.”
Then seyde that othyr, “Certenly,
Wythowte drede, so fare y
For that lady bryght;
Syn owre loue ys on hur sett,
How myght owre bale beste be bett?
Canste thou rede on ryght?”
Then seyde that oþyr, “Be Seynt Iohn,
Bettur counsayle can y noon,
Methynkyth, then ys thys:
Y rede that oon of vs twoo
Preuely to hyr goo
And pray hur of hur blys;
Y myselfe wyll go hyr tylle;
Yn case y may gete hur wylle,
Of myrthe schalt thou not mys;
Thou schalt take vs wyth the dede:
Leste thou vs wrye, sche wyll drede,
And graunte the þy wylle, ywys.”
Bettur counsayle can y noon,
Methynkyth, then ys thys:
399
Preuely to hyr goo
And pray hur of hur blys;
Y myselfe wyll go hyr tylle;
Yn case y may gete hur wylle,
Of myrthe schalt thou not mys;
Thou schalt take vs wyth the dede:
Leste thou vs wrye, sche wyll drede,
And graunte the þy wylle, ywys.”
Thus they were at oon assent;
Thys false thefe forthe wente
To wytt the ladyes wylle.
Yn chaumbyr he founde hyr so free;
He sett hym downe on hys knee,
Hys purpose to fulfylle.
Than spake that lady free,
“Syr, y see now well be the,
Thou haste not all thy wylle;
On thy sekeness now y see;
Telle me now thy preuyté,
Why thou mornyst so stylle.”
Thys false thefe forthe wente
To wytt the ladyes wylle.
Yn chaumbyr he founde hyr so free;
He sett hym downe on hys knee,
Hys purpose to fulfylle.
Than spake that lady free,
“Syr, y see now well be the,
Thou haste not all thy wylle;
On thy sekeness now y see;
Telle me now thy preuyté,
Why thou mornyst so stylle.”
“Lady,” he seyde, “that durste y noght
For all the gode þat euyr was wroght,
Be grete God invysybylle,
But on a booke yf ye wyll swere
That ye schull not me dyskere,
Then were hyt possybyll.”
Then seyde þe lady, “How may þat bee?
That thou darste not tryste to mee,
Hyt ys full orybylle.
Here my trowthe to the y plyght:
Y schall heyle the day and nyght,
Also trewe as boke or belle.”
For all the gode þat euyr was wroght,
Be grete God invysybylle,
But on a booke yf ye wyll swere
That ye schull not me dyskere,
Then were hyt possybyll.”
Then seyde þe lady, “How may þat bee?
That thou darste not tryste to mee,
Hyt ys full orybylle.
Here my trowthe to the y plyght:
Y schall heyle the day and nyght,
Also trewe as boke or belle.”
400
“Lady, in yow ys all my tryste;
Inwardely y wolde ye wyste
What payne y suffur you fore;
Y drowpe, y dare nyght and day;
My wele, my wytt ys all away,
But ye leue on my lore;
Y haue yow louyd many a day,
But to yow durste y neuyr say—
My mornyng ys the more!
But ye do aftur my rede,
Certenly, y am but dede:
Of my lyfe ys no store.”
Inwardely y wolde ye wyste
What payne y suffur you fore;
Y drowpe, y dare nyght and day;
My wele, my wytt ys all away,
But ye leue on my lore;
Y haue yow louyd many a day,
But to yow durste y neuyr say—
My mornyng ys the more!
But ye do aftur my rede,
Certenly, y am but dede:
Of my lyfe ys no store.”
Than answeryd þat louely lyfe:
“Syr, wele thou wottyst y am a wyfe:
My lorde ys Emperoure;
He chase the for a trewe knyght,
To kepe me bothe day and nyght
Vndur thy socowre;
To do that dede yf y assente,
Y were worthy to be brente
And broght in grete doloure;
Thou art a traytour in thy sawe,
Worthy to be hanged and to-drawe
Be Mary, that swete floure!”
“Syr, wele thou wottyst y am a wyfe:
My lorde ys Emperoure;
He chase the for a trewe knyght,
To kepe me bothe day and nyght
Vndur thy socowre;
To do that dede yf y assente,
Y were worthy to be brente
And broght in grete doloure;
Thou art a traytour in thy sawe,
Worthy to be hanged and to-drawe
Be Mary, that swete floure!”
“A, madam!” seyde the knyght,
“For the loue of God almyght,
Hereon take no hede!
Yn me ye may full wele tryste ay;
Y dud nothyng but yow to affray,
Also God me spede!
Thynke, madam, youre trowþe ys plyȝt
To holde counsayle bothe day and nyȝt
Fully, wythowte drede;
Y aske mercy for Goddys ore!
Hereof yf y carpe more,
Let drawe me wyth a stede!”
“For the loue of God almyght,
Hereon take no hede!
Yn me ye may full wele tryste ay;
Y dud nothyng but yow to affray,
Also God me spede!
Thynke, madam, youre trowþe ys plyȝt
To holde counsayle bothe day and nyȝt
Fully, wythowte drede;
Y aske mercy for Goddys ore!
Hereof yf y carpe more,
Let drawe me wyth a stede!”
401
The lady seyde, “Y the forgeue;
Also longe os y leue,
Counsayle schall hyt bee;
Loke thou be a trewe man
In all thyng that thou can,
To my lorde so free.”
“Ȝys, lady, ellys dyd y wronge,
For y haue seruyd hym longe,
And wele he hath qwytt mee.”
Hereof spake he no mare,
But to hys felowe can he fare,
There euyll must they the!
Also longe os y leue,
Counsayle schall hyt bee;
Loke thou be a trewe man
In all thyng that thou can,
To my lorde so free.”
“Ȝys, lady, ellys dyd y wronge,
For y haue seruyd hym longe,
And wele he hath qwytt mee.”
Hereof spake he no mare,
But to hys felowe can he fare,
There euyll must they the!
Thus to hys felowe ys he gon,
And he hym frayned anon,
“Syr, how haste thou spedde?”
“Ryght noght,” seyde that othyr:
“Syth y was borne, lefe brothyr,
Was y neuyr so adredde;
Certys, hyt ys a boteles bale
To hur to touche soche a tale
At borde or at bedde.”
Then sayde þat odur, “Thy wytt ys thynne:
Y myselfe schall hur wynne:
Y lay my hedde to wedde!”
And he hym frayned anon,
“Syr, how haste thou spedde?”
“Ryght noght,” seyde that othyr:
“Syth y was borne, lefe brothyr,
Was y neuyr so adredde;
Certys, hyt ys a boteles bale
To hur to touche soche a tale
At borde or at bedde.”
Then sayde þat odur, “Thy wytt ys thynne:
Y myselfe schall hur wynne:
Y lay my hedde to wedde!”
Thus hyt passyd ouyr, os y yow say,
Tyl aftur on the thrydde day
Thys knyght hym bethoght:
“Certys, spede os y may,
My ladyes wylle, þat ys so gay,
Hyt schall be thorowly soght.”
When he sawe hur in beste mode,
Sore syghyng to hur he ȝode,
Of lyfe os he ne roght.
“Lady,” he seyde, “wythowte fayle,
But ye helpe me wyth yowre counsayle,
Yn bale am y broght.”
Tyl aftur on the thrydde day
Thys knyght hym bethoght:
“Certys, spede os y may,
My ladyes wylle, þat ys so gay,
Hyt schall be thorowly soght.”
When he sawe hur in beste mode,
Sore syghyng to hur he ȝode,
Of lyfe os he ne roght.
“Lady,” he seyde, “wythowte fayle,
But ye helpe me wyth yowre counsayle,
Yn bale am y broght.”
402
Sche answeryd full curtesly,
“My counsayle schall be redy.
Telle me how hyt ys;
When y wott worde and ende,
Yf my counsayle may hyt mende,
Hyt schall, so haue y blysse!”
“Lady,” he seyde, “y vndurstonde
Ye muste holde vp yowre honde
To holde counsayle, ywys.”
“Ȝys,” seyde the lady free,
“Thereto my trouthe here to the,
And ellys y dudde amys.”
“My counsayle schall be redy.
Telle me how hyt ys;
When y wott worde and ende,
Yf my counsayle may hyt mende,
Hyt schall, so haue y blysse!”
“Lady,” he seyde, “y vndurstonde
Ye muste holde vp yowre honde
To holde counsayle, ywys.”
“Ȝys,” seyde the lady free,
“Thereto my trouthe here to the,
And ellys y dudde amys.”
“Madam,” he seyde, “now y am in tryste;
All my lyfe thogh ye wyste,
Ye wolde me not dyskeuere;
For yow y am in so grete thoght,
Yn moche bale y am broght,
Wythowte othe y swere;
And ye may full wele see,
How pale y am of blee:
Y dye nere for dere;
Dere lady, graunt me youre loue,
For þe loue of God, þat sytteþ aboue,
That stongen was wyth a spere.”
All my lyfe thogh ye wyste,
Ye wolde me not dyskeuere;
For yow y am in so grete thoght,
Yn moche bale y am broght,
Wythowte othe y swere;
And ye may full wele see,
How pale y am of blee:
Y dye nere for dere;
Dere lady, graunt me youre loue,
For þe loue of God, þat sytteþ aboue,
That stongen was wyth a spere.”
“Syr,” sche seyde, “ys þat youre wylle?
Yf hyt were myne, þen dyd y ylle;
What woman holdyst thou me?
Yn thy kepeyng y haue ben:
What haste þou herde be me or sene
That touchyth to any velanye,
That thou in herte art so bolde
Os y were a hore or a scolde?
Nay, that schall neuyr bee!
Had y not hyght to holde counsayle,
Thou schouldest be honged, wythowt fayle,
Vpon a galowe-tree.”
Yf hyt were myne, þen dyd y ylle;
What woman holdyst thou me?
Yn thy kepeyng y haue ben:
What haste þou herde be me or sene
That touchyth to any velanye,
That thou in herte art so bolde
Os y were a hore or a scolde?
Nay, that schall neuyr bee!
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Thou schouldest be honged, wythowt fayle,
Vpon a galowe-tree.”
The knyght was neuyr so sore aferde
Sythe he was borne into myddyllerde,
Certys, os he was thoo.
“Mercy,” he seyde, “gode madam!
Wele y wott y am to blame;
Therfore myn herte ys woo!
Lady, let me not be spylte;
Y aske mercy of my gylte!
On lyue ye let me goo.”
The lady seyde, “Y graunte wele;
Hyt schall be counseyle, euery dele,
But do no more soo.”
Sythe he was borne into myddyllerde,
Certys, os he was thoo.
“Mercy,” he seyde, “gode madam!
Wele y wott y am to blame;
Therfore myn herte ys woo!
Lady, let me not be spylte;
Y aske mercy of my gylte!
On lyue ye let me goo.”
The lady seyde, “Y graunte wele;
Hyt schall be counseyle, euery dele,
But do no more soo.”
Now the knyght forthe yede
And seyde, “Felowe, y may not spede.
What ys thy beste redde?
Yf sche telle my lorde of thys,
We be but dedde, so haue y blys:
Wyth hym be we not fedde.
Womans tonge ys euell to tryste;
Certys, and my lorde hyt wyste,
Etyn were all owre bredde.
Felow, so mote y ryde or goo,
Or sche wayte vs wyth þat woo,
Hurselfe schall be dedde!”
And seyde, “Felowe, y may not spede.
What ys thy beste redde?
Yf sche telle my lorde of thys,
We be but dedde, so haue y blys:
Wyth hym be we not fedde.
Womans tonge ys euell to tryste;
Certys, and my lorde hyt wyste,
Etyn were all owre bredde.
Felow, so mote y ryde or goo,
Or sche wayte vs wyth þat woo,
Hurselfe schall be dedde!”
“How myght þat be?” þat othur sayde;
“Yn herte y wolde be wele payde,
Myght we do that dede.”
“Ȝys, syr,” he seyde, “soe haue y roo,
Y schall brynge hur wele thertoo;
Therof haue thou no drede.
Or hyt passe dayes three,
In mekyll sorowe schall sche bee:
Thus y schall qwyte hur hur mede.”
Now are þey bothe at oon assente
In sorow to brynge þat lady gente:
The deuell mote them spede!
“Yn herte y wolde be wele payde,
Myght we do that dede.”
“Ȝys, syr,” he seyde, “soe haue y roo,
Y schall brynge hur wele thertoo;
Therof haue thou no drede.
Or hyt passe dayes three,
In mekyll sorowe schall sche bee:
Thus y schall qwyte hur hur mede.”
404
In sorow to brynge þat lady gente:
The deuell mote them spede!
Sone hyt drowe toward nyght;
To soper they can them dyght,
The Emperes and they all;
The two knyghtys grete yapys made,
For to make the lady glade,
That was bothe gentyll and small;
When the sopertyme was done,
To the chaumbyr they went soone,
Knyghtys cladde in palle
(They daunsed and revelyd, os þey noȝt dredde),
To brynge the lady to hur bedde:
There foule muste them falle!
To soper they can them dyght,
The Emperes and they all;
The two knyghtys grete yapys made,
For to make the lady glade,
That was bothe gentyll and small;
When the sopertyme was done,
To the chaumbyr they went soone,
Knyghtys cladde in palle
(They daunsed and revelyd, os þey noȝt dredde),
To brynge the lady to hur bedde:
There foule muste them falle!
That oon these callyd a knyght
That was carver to þat lady bryght;
An erleys sone was hee;
He was a feyre chylde and a bolde;
Twenty wyntur he was oolde:
In londe was none so free.
“Syr, wylt thou do os we the say?
And we schall ordeygne vs a play,
That my lady may see.
Thou schalt make hur to lagh soo,
Thogh sche were gretly thy foo,
Thy frende schulde sche bee.”
That was carver to þat lady bryght;
An erleys sone was hee;
He was a feyre chylde and a bolde;
Twenty wyntur he was oolde:
In londe was none so free.
“Syr, wylt thou do os we the say?
And we schall ordeygne vs a play,
That my lady may see.
Thou schalt make hur to lagh soo,
Thogh sche were gretly thy foo,
Thy frende schulde sche bee.”
The chylde answeryd anon ryght:
“Be the ordur y bere of knyght,
Therof wolde y be fayne,
And hyt wolde my lady plese,
Thogh hyt wolde me dysese,
To renne yn wynde and rayne.”
“Syr, make the nakyd saue þy breke;
And behynde the ȝondur curtayn þou crepe,
And do os y schall sayne;
Then schalt þou see a yoly play!”
“Y graunte,” þys yonge knyȝt can say,
“Be God and Seynte Iermayne.”
“Be the ordur y bere of knyght,
Therof wolde y be fayne,
And hyt wolde my lady plese,
Thogh hyt wolde me dysese,
To renne yn wynde and rayne.”
405
And behynde the ȝondur curtayn þou crepe,
And do os y schall sayne;
Then schalt þou see a yoly play!”
“Y graunte,” þys yonge knyȝt can say,
“Be God and Seynte Iermayne.”
Thys chylde thoght on no ylle:
Of he caste hys clothys stylle;
And behynde þe curtayn he went.
They seyde to hym, “What so befalle,
Come not owt tyll we þe calle.”
And he seyde, “Syrs, y assente.”
They reuelyd forthe a grete whyle;
No man wyste of ther gyle
Saue they two, veramente.
They voyded þe chaumber sone anon;
The chylde þey lafte syttyng alone,
And that lady gente.
Of he caste hys clothys stylle;
And behynde þe curtayn he went.
They seyde to hym, “What so befalle,
Come not owt tyll we þe calle.”
And he seyde, “Syrs, y assente.”
They reuelyd forthe a grete whyle;
No man wyste of ther gyle
Saue they two, veramente.
They voyded þe chaumber sone anon;
The chylde þey lafte syttyng alone,
And that lady gente.
Thys lady lay in bedde on slepe;
Of treson toke sche no kepe,
For þerof wyste sche noght.
Thys chylde had wonder euyr among
Why þese knyghtys were so longe:
He was in many a thoght.
“Lorde, mercy! how may thys bee?
Y trowe þey haue forgeten me,
That me hedur broght;
Yf y them calle, sche wyll be adredd,
My lady lyeth here in hur bedde,
Be Hym þat all hath wroght!”
Of treson toke sche no kepe,
For þerof wyste sche noght.
Thys chylde had wonder euyr among
Why þese knyghtys were so longe:
He was in many a thoght.
“Lorde, mercy! how may thys bee?
Y trowe þey haue forgeten me,
That me hedur broght;
Yf y them calle, sche wyll be adredd,
My lady lyeth here in hur bedde,
Be Hym þat all hath wroght!”
Thus he sate stylle as any stone:
He durste not store nor make no mone
To make the lady afryght.
Thes false men (ay worthe þem woo!),
To ther chaumbur can they goo
And armyd them full ryght;
Lordys owte of bedde can they calle
And badde arme þem, grete and smalle:
“Anone that ye were dyght,
And helpe to take a false traytoure
That wyth my lady in hur bowre
Hath playde hym all þys nyght.”
He durste not store nor make no mone
To make the lady afryght.
406
To ther chaumbur can they goo
And armyd them full ryght;
Lordys owte of bedde can they calle
And badde arme þem, grete and smalle:
“Anone that ye were dyght,
And helpe to take a false traytoure
That wyth my lady in hur bowre
Hath playde hym all þys nyght.”
Sone þey were armyd euerychone;
And wyth þese traytours can þey gone,
The lordys that there wore.
To þe Emperes chaumber þey cam ryȝt
Wyth torchys and wyth swerdys bryght
Brennyng them before.
Behynde the curtayne they wente;
The yonge knyght, verrament,
Nakyd founde they thore.
That oon these wyth a swerde of were
Thorow þe body he can hym bere,
That worde spake he no more.
And wyth þese traytours can þey gone,
The lordys that there wore.
To þe Emperes chaumber þey cam ryȝt
Wyth torchys and wyth swerdys bryght
Brennyng them before.
Behynde the curtayne they wente;
The yonge knyght, verrament,
Nakyd founde they thore.
That oon these wyth a swerde of were
Thorow þe body he can hym bere,
That worde spake he no more.
The lady woke and was afryght,
Whan sche sawe the grete lyght
Before hur beddys syde.
Sche seyde, “Benedycyté!
Syrs, what men be yee?”
And wonder lowde sche cryedd.
Hur enemyes mysansweryd þore
“We are here, thou false hore:
Thy dedys we haue aspyedd!
Thou haste betrayed my lorde;
Thou schalt haue wonduryng in þys worde:
Thy loos schall sprynge wyde!”
Whan sche sawe the grete lyght
Before hur beddys syde.
Sche seyde, “Benedycyté!
Syrs, what men be yee?”
And wonder lowde sche cryedd.
Hur enemyes mysansweryd þore
“We are here, thou false hore:
Thy dedys we haue aspyedd!
Thou haste betrayed my lorde;
Thou schalt haue wonduryng in þys worde:
Thy loos schall sprynge wyde!”
407
The lady seyde, “Be Seynte Iohn,
Hore was y neuyr none,
Nor neuyr thoght to bee.”
“Thou lyest,” þey seyde, “þy loue ys lorne”—
The corse þey leyde hur beforne—
“Lo, here ys thy lemman free!
Thus we haue for þe hym hytt;
Þy horedam schall be wele quytte:
Fro vs schalt thou not flee!”
They bonde þe lady wondyr faste
And in a depe preson hur caste:
Grete dele hyt was to see!
Hore was y neuyr none,
Nor neuyr thoght to bee.”
“Thou lyest,” þey seyde, “þy loue ys lorne”—
The corse þey leyde hur beforne—
“Lo, here ys thy lemman free!
Thus we haue for þe hym hytt;
Þy horedam schall be wele quytte:
Fro vs schalt thou not flee!”
They bonde þe lady wondyr faste
And in a depe preson hur caste:
Grete dele hyt was to see!
Leue we now thys lady in care,
And to hur lorde wyll we fare,
That ferre was hur froo.
On a nyght, wythowt lette,
In hys slepe a sweuyn he mett,
The story telleth vs soo.
Hym þoght þer come ii wylde berys
And hys wyfe all toterys
And rofe hur body in twoo;
Hymselfe was a wytty man,
And be þat dreme he hopyd þan
Hys lady was in woo.
And to hur lorde wyll we fare,
That ferre was hur froo.
On a nyght, wythowt lette,
In hys slepe a sweuyn he mett,
The story telleth vs soo.
Hym þoght þer come ii wylde berys
And hys wyfe all toterys
And rofe hur body in twoo;
Hymselfe was a wytty man,
And be þat dreme he hopyd þan
Hys lady was in woo.
Ȝerly, when þe day was clere,
He bad hys men all in fere
To buske and make þem yare.
Somer horsys he let go before
And charyettes stuffud wyth stoore
Wele xii myle and mare.
He hopud wele in hys herte
That hys wyfe was not in querte;
Hys herte therfore was in care;
He styntyd not tyll he was dyght,
Wyth erlys, barons, and many a knyght;
Homeward can they fare.
He bad hys men all in fere
To buske and make þem yare.
Somer horsys he let go before
And charyettes stuffud wyth stoore
Wele xii myle and mare.
He hopud wele in hys herte
That hys wyfe was not in querte;
Hys herte therfore was in care;
He styntyd not tyll he was dyght,
408
Homeward can they fare.
Nyght ne day neuyr they blanne,
Tyll to that cyté they came
There the lady was ynne.
Wythowt þe cyté lordys þem kepyd;
For wo in herte many oon wepyd:
There teerys myght þey not blynne.
They supposyd wele yf he hyt wyste
That hys wyfe had soche a bryste,
Hys yoye wolde be full thynne;
They ladden stedys to the stabyll,
And the lorde into the halle,
To worschyp hym wyth wynne.
Tyll to that cyté they came
There the lady was ynne.
Wythowt þe cyté lordys þem kepyd;
For wo in herte many oon wepyd:
There teerys myght þey not blynne.
They supposyd wele yf he hyt wyste
That hys wyfe had soche a bryste,
Hys yoye wolde be full thynne;
They ladden stedys to the stabyll,
And the lorde into the halle,
To worschyp hym wyth wynne.
Anon to the chaumbur wendyþ he:
He longyd hys feyre lady to see,
That was so swete a wyght.
He callyd them þat schoulde hur kepe:
“Where ys my wyfe? Ys sche on slepe?
How fareth that byrde bryght?”
The ii traytours answeryd anone,
“Yf ye wyste how sche had done,
To dethe sche schulde be dyght.”
He longyd hys feyre lady to see,
That was so swete a wyght.
He callyd them þat schoulde hur kepe:
“Where ys my wyfe? Ys sche on slepe?
How fareth that byrde bryght?”
The ii traytours answeryd anone,
“Yf ye wyste how sche had done,
To dethe sche schulde be dyght.”
“A, deuyll!” he seyde, “how soo,
To dethe þat sche ys worthy to go?
Telle me, in what manere.”
“Syr,” they seyd, “be Goddys ore,
The yonge knyght Syr Antore,
That was hur keruere,
Be that lady he hath layne,
And þerfore we haue hym slayne;
We founde them in fere;
Sche ys in preson, verrament;
The lawe wyll þat sche be brente,
Be God, that boght vs dere.”
To dethe þat sche ys worthy to go?
Telle me, in what manere.”
“Syr,” they seyd, “be Goddys ore,
The yonge knyght Syr Antore,
That was hur keruere,
Be that lady he hath layne,
And þerfore we haue hym slayne;
We founde them in fere;
Sche ys in preson, verrament;
409
Be God, that boght vs dere.”
“Allas!” seyde the Emperoure,
“Hath sche done me thys dyshonoure?
And y louyd hur so wele!
Y wende for all þys worldys gode
That sche wolde not haue turned hur mode:
My yoye begynnyth to kele.”
He hente a knyfe wyth all hys mayn;
Had not a knyȝt ben, he had hym slayn,
And þat traytour haue broght owt of heele.
For bale hys armes abrode he bredde
And fell in swowne vpon hys bedde;
There myght men see grete dele.
“Hath sche done me thys dyshonoure?
And y louyd hur so wele!
Y wende for all þys worldys gode
That sche wolde not haue turned hur mode:
My yoye begynnyth to kele.”
He hente a knyfe wyth all hys mayn;
Had not a knyȝt ben, he had hym slayn,
And þat traytour haue broght owt of heele.
For bale hys armes abrode he bredde
And fell in swowne vpon hys bedde;
There myght men see grete dele.
On the morne be oon assente,
On hur they sett a perlyament
Be all the comyn rede.
They myȝt not fynde in þer counsayle
Be no lawe, wythowt fayle,
To saue hur fro the dede.
Then bespake an olde knyght,
“Y haue wondur, be Goddys myght,
That Syr Antore thus was bestedde,
In chaumbyr thogh he naked were;
They let hym gyf none answere,
But slowe hym, be my hedde!
On hur they sett a perlyament
Be all the comyn rede.
They myȝt not fynde in þer counsayle
Be no lawe, wythowt fayle,
To saue hur fro the dede.
Then bespake an olde knyght,
“Y haue wondur, be Goddys myght,
That Syr Antore thus was bestedde,
In chaumbyr thogh he naked were;
They let hym gyf none answere,
But slowe hym, be my hedde!
Ther was neuyr man, sekurly,
That be hur founde any velany,
Saue they two, y dar wele say;
Be some hatered hyt may be;
Therfore doyth aftur me
For my loue, y yow pray.
No mo wyll preue hyt but þey twoo;
Therfore we may not saue hur fro woo,
For sothe, os y yow say,
In hyr quarell but we myȝt fynde
A man þat were gode of kynde
That durste fyght agayn þem tway.”
That be hur founde any velany,
Saue they two, y dar wele say;
Be some hatered hyt may be;
Therfore doyth aftur me
For my loue, y yow pray.
410
Therfore we may not saue hur fro woo,
For sothe, os y yow say,
In hyr quarell but we myȝt fynde
A man þat were gode of kynde
That durste fyght agayn þem tway.”
All they assentyd to the sawe:
They thoght he spake reson and lawe.
Then answeryd þe Kyng wyth crowne,
“Fayre falle the for thyn avyse.”
He callyd knyghtys of nobyll pryce
And badde them be redy bowne
For to crye thorow all þe londe,
Bothe be see and be sonde,
Yf they fynde mowne
A man þat ys so moche of myght,
That for þat lady dar take þe fyght,
“He schall haue hys warison.”
They thoght he spake reson and lawe.
Then answeryd þe Kyng wyth crowne,
“Fayre falle the for thyn avyse.”
He callyd knyghtys of nobyll pryce
And badde them be redy bowne
For to crye thorow all þe londe,
Bothe be see and be sonde,
Yf they fynde mowne
A man þat ys so moche of myght,
That for þat lady dar take þe fyght,
“He schall haue hys warison.”
Messangerys, y vndurstonde,
Cryed thorow all the londe
In many a ryche cyté,
Yf any man durste proue hys myȝt
In trewe quarell for to fyght,
Wele avaunsed schulde he bee.
The Erle of Tullous harde þys telle,
What anger the lady befelle;
Thereof he thoght grete pyté.
Yf he wyste that sche had ryght,
He wolde aventure hys lyfe to fyght
For that lady free.
Cryed thorow all the londe
In many a ryche cyté,
Yf any man durste proue hys myȝt
In trewe quarell for to fyght,
Wele avaunsed schulde he bee.
The Erle of Tullous harde þys telle,
What anger the lady befelle;
Thereof he thoght grete pyté.
Yf he wyste that sche had ryght,
He wolde aventure hys lyfe to fyght
For that lady free.
411
For hur he morned nyȝt and day,
And to hymselfe can he say
He wolde aventure hys lyfe:
“Yf y may wytt þat sche be trewe,
They þat haue hur accused schull rewe,
But they stynte of ther stryfe.”
The Erle seyde, “Be Seynte Iohn,
Ynto Almayn wyll y goon,
Where y haue fomen ryfe;
I prey to God full of myght
That y haue trewe quarell to fyȝt,
Owt of wo to wynne þat wyfe.”
And to hymselfe can he say
He wolde aventure hys lyfe:
“Yf y may wytt þat sche be trewe,
They þat haue hur accused schull rewe,
But they stynte of ther stryfe.”
The Erle seyde, “Be Seynte Iohn,
Ynto Almayn wyll y goon,
Where y haue fomen ryfe;
I prey to God full of myght
That y haue trewe quarell to fyȝt,
Owt of wo to wynne þat wyfe.”
He rode on huntyng on a day;
A marchand mett he be þe way,
And asked hym of whens he was.
“Lorde,” he seyde, “of Almayn.”
Anon the Erle can hym frayne
Of that ylke case:
“Wherefore ys yowre Emperes
Put in so grete dystresse?
Telle me, for Goddys grace.
Ys sche gylté, so mote thou the?”
“Nay, be Hym þat dyed on tree,
That schope man aftur hys face.”
A marchand mett he be þe way,
And asked hym of whens he was.
“Lorde,” he seyde, “of Almayn.”
Anon the Erle can hym frayne
Of that ylke case:
“Wherefore ys yowre Emperes
Put in so grete dystresse?
Telle me, for Goddys grace.
Ys sche gylté, so mote thou the?”
“Nay, be Hym þat dyed on tree,
That schope man aftur hys face.”
Then seyde the Erle, wythowte lett,
“When ys the day sett
Brente that sche schulde bee?”
The marchande seyde sekyrlyke,
“Euyn thys day thre wyke,
And therfore wo ys mee.”
The Erle seyde, “Y schall the telle:
Gode horsys y haue to selle,
And stedys two or thre:
Certys, myght y selle þem yare,
Thedur wyth the wolde y fare,
That syght for to see.”
“When ys the day sett
Brente that sche schulde bee?”
The marchande seyde sekyrlyke,
“Euyn thys day thre wyke,
And therfore wo ys mee.”
The Erle seyde, “Y schall the telle:
Gode horsys y haue to selle,
And stedys two or thre:
Certys, myght y selle þem yare,
412
That syght for to see.”
The marchand seyd wordys hende:
“Into the londe yf ye wyll wende,
Hyt wolde be for yowre prowe,
There may ye selle þem at your wylle.”
Anon the Erle seyde hym tylle,
“Syr, herkyn me nowe:
Thys yurney wylt þou wyth me dwelle
Twenty pownde y schall the telle
To mede, y make avowe!”
The marchand grauntyd anon;
The Erle seyde, “Be Seynt Iohn,
Thy wylle y alowe.”
“Into the londe yf ye wyll wende,
Hyt wolde be for yowre prowe,
There may ye selle þem at your wylle.”
Anon the Erle seyde hym tylle,
“Syr, herkyn me nowe:
Thys yurney wylt þou wyth me dwelle
Twenty pownde y schall the telle
To mede, y make avowe!”
The marchand grauntyd anon;
The Erle seyde, “Be Seynt Iohn,
Thy wylle y alowe.”
The Erle tolde hym in þat tyde
Where he schulde hym abyde,
And homeward wente hee.
He busked hym, þat no man wyste,
For mekyll on hym was hys tryste.
He seyde, “Syr, go wyth mee!”
Wyth them they toke stedys seuyn—
Ther were no fayre vndyr heuyn
That any man myght see.
Into Almayn þey can ryde:
As a coresur of mekyll pryde
He semyd for to bee.
Where he schulde hym abyde,
And homeward wente hee.
He busked hym, þat no man wyste,
For mekyll on hym was hys tryste.
He seyde, “Syr, go wyth mee!”
Wyth them they toke stedys seuyn—
Ther were no fayre vndyr heuyn
That any man myght see.
Into Almayn þey can ryde:
As a coresur of mekyll pryde
He semyd for to bee.
The marchand was a trewe gyde;
The Erle and he togedur can ryde,
Tyll they came to that place.
A myle besyde the castell
There the Emperoure can dwelle,
A ryche abbey ther was;
Of the abbot leue they gatt
To soyorne and make þer horsys fatt;
That was a nobyll case!
The abbot was the ladyes eme;
For hur he was in grete wandreme,
And moche mornyng he mase.
The Erle and he togedur can ryde,
Tyll they came to that place.
A myle besyde the castell
There the Emperoure can dwelle,
A ryche abbey ther was;
Of the abbot leue they gatt
To soyorne and make þer horsys fatt;
413
The abbot was the ladyes eme;
For hur he was in grete wandreme,
And moche mornyng he mase.
So hyt befelle vpon a day,
To churche the Erle toke þe way,
A masse for to here.
He was a feyre man and an hye;
When the abbot hym sye,
He seyde, “Syr, come nere:
Syr, when the masse ys done,
Y pray yow, ete wyth me at noone,
Yf yowre wylle were.”
The Erle grauntyd all wyth game;
Afore mete they wysche all same,
And to mete they wente in fere.
To churche the Erle toke þe way,
A masse for to here.
He was a feyre man and an hye;
When the abbot hym sye,
He seyde, “Syr, come nere:
Syr, when the masse ys done,
Y pray yow, ete wyth me at noone,
Yf yowre wylle were.”
The Erle grauntyd all wyth game;
Afore mete they wysche all same,
And to mete they wente in fere.
Aftur mete, as y yow say,
Into an orchard þey toke þe way,
The abbot and the knyght.
The abbot seyde and syghed sare;
“Certys, syr, y leue in care
For a lady bryght;
Sche ys accusyd—my herte ys woo!—
Therfore sche schall to dethe goo,
All agayne the ryght;
But sche haue helpe, verrament,
In fyre sche schall be brente
Thys day seuenyght.”
Into an orchard þey toke þe way,
The abbot and the knyght.
The abbot seyde and syghed sare;
“Certys, syr, y leue in care
For a lady bryght;
Sche ys accusyd—my herte ys woo!—
Therfore sche schall to dethe goo,
All agayne the ryght;
But sche haue helpe, verrament,
In fyre sche schall be brente
Thys day seuenyght.”
The Erle seyde, “So haue y blysse,
Of hyr, meþynkyþ, grete rewþe hyt ys,
Trewe yf that sche bee!”
The abbot seyde, “Be Seynte Poule,
For hur y dar ley my soule
That neuyr gylté was sche;
Soche werkys neuyr sche wroght
Neythyr in dede nor in thoght,
Saue a rynge so free
To þe Erle of Tullous sche gafe hyt wyth wynne,
Yn ese of hym and for no synne:
In schryfte thus tolde sche me.”
Of hyr, meþynkyþ, grete rewþe hyt ys,
Trewe yf that sche bee!”
The abbot seyde, “Be Seynte Poule,
For hur y dar ley my soule
That neuyr gylté was sche;
Soche werkys neuyr sche wroght
414
Saue a rynge so free
To þe Erle of Tullous sche gafe hyt wyth wynne,
Yn ese of hym and for no synne:
In schryfte thus tolde sche me.”
The Erle seyde, “Syth hyt ys soo,
Cryste wreke hur of hur woo,
That boght hur wyth Hys bloode!
Wolde ye sekyr me, wythowt fayle,
For to holde trewe counsayle,
Hyt myght be for yowre gode.”
The abbot seyde be bokes fele
And be hys professyon, þat he wolde hele,
And ellys he were wode.
“Y am he þat sche gaf the rynge
For to be oure tokenynge.
Now heyle hyt, for the rode!
Cryste wreke hur of hur woo,
That boght hur wyth Hys bloode!
Wolde ye sekyr me, wythowt fayle,
For to holde trewe counsayle,
Hyt myght be for yowre gode.”
The abbot seyde be bokes fele
And be hys professyon, þat he wolde hele,
And ellys he were wode.
“Y am he þat sche gaf the rynge
For to be oure tokenynge.
Now heyle hyt, for the rode!
Y am comyn, lefe syr,
To take the batayle for hyr,
There to stonde wyth ryght;
But fyrste myselfe y wole hur schryue,
And yf y fynde hur clene of lyue,
Then wyll my herte be lyght.
Let dyght me in monkys wede
To þat place þat men schulde hyr lede,
To dethe to be dyght;
When y haue schreuyn hyr, wythowt fayle,
For hur y wyll take batayle,
As y am trewe knyght!”
To take the batayle for hyr,
There to stonde wyth ryght;
But fyrste myselfe y wole hur schryue,
And yf y fynde hur clene of lyue,
Then wyll my herte be lyght.
Let dyght me in monkys wede
To þat place þat men schulde hyr lede,
To dethe to be dyght;
When y haue schreuyn hyr, wythowt fayle,
For hur y wyll take batayle,
As y am trewe knyght!”
The abbot was neuyr so gladde;
Nere for yoye he waxe madde;
The Erle can he kysse;
They made meré and slewe care.
All that seuenyght he dwellyd þare
Yn myrthe wythowt mysse.
That day þat þe lady schulde be brent,
The Erle wyth the abbot wente
In monkys wede, ywys;
To the Emperour he knelyd blyue,
That he myght þat lady schryue:
Anon resceyued he ys.
Nere for yoye he waxe madde;
The Erle can he kysse;
They made meré and slewe care.
All that seuenyght he dwellyd þare
Yn myrthe wythowt mysse.
415
The Erle wyth the abbot wente
In monkys wede, ywys;
To the Emperour he knelyd blyue,
That he myght þat lady schryue:
Anon resceyued he ys.
He examyned hur, wyttyrly,
As hyt seythe in the story;
Sche was wythowte gylte.
Sche seyde, “Be Hym þat dyed on tree,
Trespas was neuyr none in me
Wherefore y schulde be spylte;
Saue oonys, wythowte lesynge,
To the Erle of Tollous y gafe a rynge:
Assoyle me yf thou wylte;
But þus my destanye ys comyn to ende,
That in þys fyre y muste be brende;
There Goddys wylle be fulfyllyt.”
As hyt seythe in the story;
Sche was wythowte gylte.
Sche seyde, “Be Hym þat dyed on tree,
Trespas was neuyr none in me
Wherefore y schulde be spylte;
Saue oonys, wythowte lesynge,
To the Erle of Tollous y gafe a rynge:
Assoyle me yf thou wylte;
But þus my destanye ys comyn to ende,
That in þys fyre y muste be brende;
There Goddys wylle be fulfyllyt.”
The Erle assoyled hur wyth hys honde,
And syþen pertely he can vp stonde
And seyde, “Lordyngys, pese!
Ye that haue accused þys lady gente,
Ye be worthy to be brente.”
That oon knyght made a rees:
“Thou carle monke, wyth all þy gynne,
Thowe youre abbot be of hur kynne,
Hur sorowe schalt thou not cees;
Ryght so thou woldyst sayne
Thowe all youre couent had be hyr layne;
So are ye lythyr and lees!”
And syþen pertely he can vp stonde
And seyde, “Lordyngys, pese!
Ye that haue accused þys lady gente,
Ye be worthy to be brente.”
That oon knyght made a rees:
“Thou carle monke, wyth all þy gynne,
Thowe youre abbot be of hur kynne,
Hur sorowe schalt thou not cees;
Ryght so thou woldyst sayne
Thowe all youre couent had be hyr layne;
So are ye lythyr and lees!”
The Erle answeryd, wyth wordys free,
“Syr, that oon y trowe thou bee
Thys lady accused has.
Thowe we be men of relygyon,
Thou schalt do vs but reson
For all the fare thou mas.
Y proue on hur þou sayst not ryght.
Lo, here my gloue wyth þe to fyght!
Y vndyrtake thys case;
Os false men y schall yow kenne;
Yn redde fyre for to brenne;
Therto God gyf me grace!”
“Syr, that oon y trowe thou bee
Thys lady accused has.
Thowe we be men of relygyon,
416
For all the fare thou mas.
Y proue on hur þou sayst not ryght.
Lo, here my gloue wyth þe to fyght!
Y vndyrtake thys case;
Os false men y schall yow kenne;
Yn redde fyre for to brenne;
Therto God gyf me grace!”
All þat stoden in that place
Thankyd God of hys grace,
Wythowte any fayle.
The two knyghtys were full wrothe:
He schulde be dedde, þey swere grete othe;
But hyt myght not avayle.
The Erle wente there besyde
And armyd hym wyth mekyll pryde,
Hys enemyes to assayle.
Manly when they togedur mett,
They hewe thorow helme and basenet
And martyrd many a mayle.
Thankyd God of hys grace,
Wythowte any fayle.
The two knyghtys were full wrothe:
He schulde be dedde, þey swere grete othe;
But hyt myght not avayle.
The Erle wente there besyde
And armyd hym wyth mekyll pryde,
Hys enemyes to assayle.
Manly when they togedur mett,
They hewe thorow helme and basenet
And martyrd many a mayle.
They redyn togedur, wythowt lakk,
That hys oon spere on hym brakk;
That othyr faylyd thoo;
The Erle smote hym wyth hys spere;
Thorow the body he can hym bere:
To grounde can he goo.
That sawe that odyr, and faste can flee;
The Erle ouyrtoke hym vndur a tre
And wroght hym mekyll woo;
There þys traytour can hym ȝylde
Os recreaunt yn the fylde;
He myght not fle hym froo.
That hys oon spere on hym brakk;
That othyr faylyd thoo;
The Erle smote hym wyth hys spere;
Thorow the body he can hym bere:
To grounde can he goo.
That sawe that odyr, and faste can flee;
The Erle ouyrtoke hym vndur a tre
And wroght hym mekyll woo;
There þys traytour can hym ȝylde
Os recreaunt yn the fylde;
He myght not fle hym froo.
417
Before the Emperoure they wente
And there he made hym, verrament,
To telle for the noonys.
He seyde, “We thoght hur to spylle,
For sche wolde not do oure wylle,
That worthy ys in wonnys.”
The Erle answeryd hym then,
“Therfore, traytours, ye schall brenne
Yn thys fyre, bothe at onys!”
The Erle anon them hente,
And in the fyre he þem brente,
Flesche, felle, and boonys.
And there he made hym, verrament,
To telle for the noonys.
He seyde, “We thoght hur to spylle,
For sche wolde not do oure wylle,
That worthy ys in wonnys.”
The Erle answeryd hym then,
“Therfore, traytours, ye schall brenne
Yn thys fyre, bothe at onys!”
The Erle anon them hente,
And in the fyre he þem brente,
Flesche, felle, and boonys.
When þey were brent bothe twoo,
The Erle preuely can goo
To that ryche abbaye.
Wyth yoye and processyon
They fett the lady into the towne,
Wyth myrthe, os y telle may.
The Emperoure was full gladde:
“Fette me the monke!” anon he badde,
“Why wente he so awaye?
A byschoperyke y wyll hym geue,
My helpe, my loue, whyll y leue,
Be God that owyth thys day!”
The Erle preuely can goo
To that ryche abbaye.
Wyth yoye and processyon
They fett the lady into the towne,
Wyth myrthe, os y telle may.
The Emperoure was full gladde:
“Fette me the monke!” anon he badde,
“Why wente he so awaye?
A byschoperyke y wyll hym geue,
My helpe, my loue, whyll y leue,
Be God that owyth thys day!”
The abbot knelyd on hys knee
And seyde, “Lorde, gone ys hee
To hys owne londe;
He dwellyth wyth the pope of Rome;
He wyll be glad of hys come,
Y do yow to vndurstonde.”
“Syr [abbot],” quod the Emperoure,
“To me hyt were a dyshonoure;
Soche wordes y rede thou wonde;
Anone yn haste that y hym see,
Or thou schalt neuyr haue gode of me,
And therto here myn honde!”
And seyde, “Lorde, gone ys hee
To hys owne londe;
He dwellyth wyth the pope of Rome;
He wyll be glad of hys come,
Y do yow to vndurstonde.”
“Syr [abbot],” quod the Emperoure,
“To me hyt were a dyshonoure;
Soche wordes y rede thou wonde;
Anone yn haste that y hym see,
418
And therto here myn honde!”
“Lorde,” he seyde, “sythe hyt ys soo
Aftur hym þat y muste goo,
Ye muste make me sewrté,
Yn case he haue byn youre foo,
Ye schall not do hym no woo;
And then, also mote y thee,
Aftur hym y wyll wynde,
So that ye wyll be hys frende,
Yf youre wylle bee.”
“Ȝys,” seyd the Emperoure full fayne,
“All my kynne þogh he had slayne,
He ys welcome to mee.”
Aftur hym þat y muste goo,
Ye muste make me sewrté,
Yn case he haue byn youre foo,
Ye schall not do hym no woo;
And then, also mote y thee,
Aftur hym y wyll wynde,
So that ye wyll be hys frende,
Yf youre wylle bee.”
“Ȝys,” seyd the Emperoure full fayne,
“All my kynne þogh he had slayne,
He ys welcome to mee.”
Then spake the abbot wordys free:
“Lorde, y tryste now on thee:
Ye wyll do os ye sey;
Hyt ys Syr Barnard of Tollous,
A nobyll knyght and a chyualrous,
That hath done thys iurney.”
“Now certys,” seyde the Emperoure,
“To me hyt ys grete dyshonoure;
Anon, syr, y the pray
Aftur hym þat thou wende:
We schall kysse and be gode frende,
Be God, that owyth thys day!”
“Lorde, y tryste now on thee:
Ye wyll do os ye sey;
Hyt ys Syr Barnard of Tollous,
A nobyll knyght and a chyualrous,
That hath done thys iurney.”
“Now certys,” seyde the Emperoure,
“To me hyt ys grete dyshonoure;
Anon, syr, y the pray
Aftur hym þat thou wende:
We schall kysse and be gode frende,
Be God, that owyth thys day!”
The abbot seyde, “Y assente.”
Aftur the Erle anon he wente,
And seyde, “Syr, go wyth mee:
My lorde and ye, be Seynt Iohn,
Schull be made bothe at oon,
Goode frendys for to bee.”
Thereof þe Erle was full fayne;
The Emperoure came hym agayne
And sayde, “My frende so free,
My wrath here y the forgeue,
My helpe, my loue, whyll y leue,
Be Hym that dyed on tree!”
Aftur the Erle anon he wente,
And seyde, “Syr, go wyth mee:
My lorde and ye, be Seynt Iohn,
Schull be made bothe at oon,
Goode frendys for to bee.”
Thereof þe Erle was full fayne;
The Emperoure came hym agayne
And sayde, “My frende so free,
419
My helpe, my loue, whyll y leue,
Be Hym that dyed on tree!”
Togedur louely can they kysse;
Therof all men had grete blysse:
The romaunse tellyth soo.
He made hym steward of hys londe
And sesyd agayne into hys honde
That he had rafte hym froo.
The Emperoure leuyd but yerys thre;
Be alexion of the lordys free,
The Erle toke they thoo.
They made hym ther Emperoure,
For he was styffe yn stoure
To fyght agayne hys foo.
Therof all men had grete blysse:
The romaunse tellyth soo.
He made hym steward of hys londe
And sesyd agayne into hys honde
That he had rafte hym froo.
The Emperoure leuyd but yerys thre;
Be alexion of the lordys free,
The Erle toke they thoo.
They made hym ther Emperoure,
For he was styffe yn stoure
To fyght agayne hys foo.
He weddyd þat lady to hys wyfe;
Wyth yoye and myrthe þey ladde þer lyfe
Twenty yere and three.
Betwene þem had þey chyldyr xv,
Doghty knyghtys all bedene,
And semely on to see.
Yn Rome thys geste cronyculyd ywys;
A lay of Bretayne callyd hyt ys,
And euyr more schall bee.
Ihesu Cryste to heuyn vs brynge,
There to haue owre wonnyng!
Amen, amen, for charytee!
Wyth yoye and myrthe þey ladde þer lyfe
Twenty yere and three.
Betwene þem had þey chyldyr xv,
Doghty knyghtys all bedene,
And semely on to see.
Yn Rome thys geste cronyculyd ywys;
A lay of Bretayne callyd hyt ys,
And euyr more schall bee.
Ihesu Cryste to heuyn vs brynge,
There to haue owre wonnyng!
Amen, amen, for charytee!
721
THE SQUIRE OF LOW DEGREE
It was a squyer of lowe degre
That loued the Kings doughter of Hungré.
The squir was curteous and hend,
Ech man him loued and was his frend;
He serued the Kyng, her father dere,
Fully the tyme of seuen yere;
For he was marshall of his hall,
And set the lords both great and smal.
An hardy man he was, and wight,
Both in batayle and in fyght;
But euer he was styll mornyng,
And no man wyste for what thyng;
And all was for that lady,
The Kynges doughter of Hungry.
There wyste no wyghte in Christenté
Howe well he loued that lady fre;
He loued her more then seuen yere,
Yet was he of her loue neuer the nere.
He was not ryche of golde and fe;
A gentyll man forsoth was he.
To no man durst he make his mone,
But syghed sore hymselfe alone.
That loued the Kings doughter of Hungré.
The squir was curteous and hend,
Ech man him loued and was his frend;
He serued the Kyng, her father dere,
Fully the tyme of seuen yere;
For he was marshall of his hall,
And set the lords both great and smal.
An hardy man he was, and wight,
Both in batayle and in fyght;
But euer he was styll mornyng,
722
And all was for that lady,
The Kynges doughter of Hungry.
There wyste no wyghte in Christenté
Howe well he loued that lady fre;
He loued her more then seuen yere,
Yet was he of her loue neuer the nere.
He was not ryche of golde and fe;
A gentyll man forsoth was he.
To no man durst he make his mone,
But syghed sore hymselfe alone.
And euermore, whan he was wo,
Into his chambre would he goo;
And through the chambre he toke the waye,
Into the gardyn, that was full gaye;
And in the garden, as i wene,
Was an arber fayre and grene,
And in the arber was a tre,
A fayrer in the world might none be;
The tre it was of cypresse,
The fyrst tre that Iesu chose;
The sother-wood and sykamoure,
The reed rose and the lyly-floure,
The boxe, the beche, and the larel-tre,
The date, also the damyse,
The fylbyrdes hangyng to the ground,
The fygge-tre, and the maple round,
And other trees there was mané one,
The pyany, the popler, and the plane,
With brode braunches all aboute,
Within the arbar and eke withoute;
On euery braunche sate byrdes thre,
Syngynge with great melody,
The lauorocke and the nightyngale,
The ruddocke, the woodwale,
The pee and the popiniaye,
The thrustele saynge both nyght and daye,
The marlyn, and the wrenne also,
The swalowe whippynge to and fro,
The iaye iangled them amonge,
The larke began that mery songe,
The sparowe spredde her on her spraye,
The mauys songe with notes full gaye,
The nuthake with her notes newe,
The sterlynge set her notes full trewe,
The goldefynche made full mery chere,
Whan she was bente vpon a brere,
And many other foules mo,
The osyll, and the thrusshe also;
And they sange wyth notes clere,
In confortynge that squyere.
Into his chambre would he goo;
And through the chambre he toke the waye,
Into the gardyn, that was full gaye;
And in the garden, as i wene,
Was an arber fayre and grene,
And in the arber was a tre,
A fayrer in the world might none be;
The tre it was of cypresse,
The fyrst tre that Iesu chose;
The sother-wood and sykamoure,
The reed rose and the lyly-floure,
The boxe, the beche, and the larel-tre,
The date, also the damyse,
The fylbyrdes hangyng to the ground,
The fygge-tre, and the maple round,
And other trees there was mané one,
The pyany, the popler, and the plane,
With brode braunches all aboute,
Within the arbar and eke withoute;
On euery braunche sate byrdes thre,
723
The lauorocke and the nightyngale,
The ruddocke, the woodwale,
The pee and the popiniaye,
The thrustele saynge both nyght and daye,
The marlyn, and the wrenne also,
The swalowe whippynge to and fro,
The iaye iangled them amonge,
The larke began that mery songe,
The sparowe spredde her on her spraye,
The mauys songe with notes full gaye,
The nuthake with her notes newe,
The sterlynge set her notes full trewe,
The goldefynche made full mery chere,
Whan she was bente vpon a brere,
And many other foules mo,
The osyll, and the thrusshe also;
And they sange wyth notes clere,
In confortynge that squyere.
And euermore, whan he was wo,
Into that arber wolde he go,
And vnder a bente he layde hym lowe,
Ryght euen vnder her chambre wyndowe;
And lened hys backe to a thorne,
And sayd, “Alas, that i was borne!
That i were ryche of golde and fe,
That i myght wedde that lady fre!
Of golde good, or some treasure,
That i myght wedde that lady floure!
Or elles come of so gentyll kynne,
The ladyes loue that i myght wynne.
Wolde God that i were a kynges sonne,
That ladyes loue that i myght wonne!
Or els so bolde in eche fyght,
As was Syr Lybius that gentell-knyght,
Or els so bolde in chyualry
As Syr Gawayne, or Syr Guy;
Or els so doughty of my hande
As was the gyaunte Syr Colbrande.
And [it] were put in ieope[r]de
What man shoulde wynne that lady fre,
Than should no man haue her but i,
The Kinges doughter of Hungry.”
But euer he sayde, “Wayle a waye!
For pouerte passeth all my paye!”
And as he made thys rufull chere,
He sowned downe in that arbere.
Into that arber wolde he go,
And vnder a bente he layde hym lowe,
Ryght euen vnder her chambre wyndowe;
And lened hys backe to a thorne,
And sayd, “Alas, that i was borne!
That i were ryche of golde and fe,
That i myght wedde that lady fre!
Of golde good, or some treasure,
That i myght wedde that lady floure!
Or elles come of so gentyll kynne,
The ladyes loue that i myght wynne.
Wolde God that i were a kynges sonne,
That ladyes loue that i myght wonne!
Or els so bolde in eche fyght,
724
Or els so bolde in chyualry
As Syr Gawayne, or Syr Guy;
Or els so doughty of my hande
As was the gyaunte Syr Colbrande.
And [it] were put in ieope[r]de
What man shoulde wynne that lady fre,
Than should no man haue her but i,
The Kinges doughter of Hungry.”
But euer he sayde, “Wayle a waye!
For pouerte passeth all my paye!”
And as he made thys rufull chere,
He sowned downe in that arbere.
That lady herde his mournyng all,
Ryght vnder the chambre wall;
In her oryall there she was
Closed well with royall glas;
Fulfylled it was with ymagery.
Euery wyndowe by and by;
On eche syde had there a gynne,
Sperde with many a dyuers pynne.
Anone that lady, fayre and fre,
Undyd a pynne of yueré,
And wyd the windowes she open set.
The sunne shone in at her closet;
In that arber fayre and gaye
She sawe where that squyre lay.
The lady sayd to hym anone,
“Syr, why makest thou that mone?
And whi thou mournest night and day?
Now tell me, squyre, i thee pray;
And as i am a true lady,
Thy counsayl shall i neuer dyscry;
And yf it be no reprefe to thee,
Thy bote of bale yet shall i be.”
And often was he in wele and wo,
But neuer so well as he was tho.
Ryght vnder the chambre wall;
In her oryall there she was
Closed well with royall glas;
Fulfylled it was with ymagery.
Euery wyndowe by and by;
On eche syde had there a gynne,
Sperde with many a dyuers pynne.
Anone that lady, fayre and fre,
Undyd a pynne of yueré,
And wyd the windowes she open set.
The sunne shone in at her closet;
In that arber fayre and gaye
She sawe where that squyre lay.
The lady sayd to hym anone,
“Syr, why makest thou that mone?
And whi thou mournest night and day?
725
And as i am a true lady,
Thy counsayl shall i neuer dyscry;
And yf it be no reprefe to thee,
Thy bote of bale yet shall i be.”
And often was he in wele and wo,
But neuer so well as he was tho.
The squyer set hym on hys kne
And sayde, “Lady, it is for thee:
I haue thee loued this seuen yere,
And bought thy loue, lady, full dere.
Ye are so ryche in youre aray
That one word to you i dare not say,
And come ye be of so hye kynne,
No worde of loue durst i begynne.
My wyll to you yf i had sayde,
And ye therwith not well apayde,
Ye might haue bewraied me to the Kinge,
And brought me sone to my endynge.
Therfore, my lady fayre and fre,
I durst not shewe my harte to thee;
But i am here at your wyll,
Whether ye wyll me saue or spyll;
For all the care i haue in be,
A worde of you might comfort me;
And yf ye wyll not do so,
Out of this land i must nedes go;
I wyll forsake both lande and lede,
And become an hermyte in vncouth stede;
In many a lande to begge my bread,
To seke where Christ was quicke and dead;
A staffe i wyll make me of my spere,
Lynen cloth i shall none were;
Euer in trauayle i shall wende,
Tyll i come to the worldes ende;
And, lady, but thou be my bote,
There shall no sho come on my fote;
Therfore, lady, i the praye,
For Hym that dyed on Good Frydaye,
Let me not in daunger dwell,
For His loue that harowed hell.”
And sayde, “Lady, it is for thee:
I haue thee loued this seuen yere,
And bought thy loue, lady, full dere.
Ye are so ryche in youre aray
That one word to you i dare not say,
And come ye be of so hye kynne,
No worde of loue durst i begynne.
My wyll to you yf i had sayde,
And ye therwith not well apayde,
Ye might haue bewraied me to the Kinge,
And brought me sone to my endynge.
Therfore, my lady fayre and fre,
I durst not shewe my harte to thee;
But i am here at your wyll,
Whether ye wyll me saue or spyll;
For all the care i haue in be,
A worde of you might comfort me;
And yf ye wyll not do so,
Out of this land i must nedes go;
I wyll forsake both lande and lede,
And become an hermyte in vncouth stede;
In many a lande to begge my bread,
726
A staffe i wyll make me of my spere,
Lynen cloth i shall none were;
Euer in trauayle i shall wende,
Tyll i come to the worldes ende;
And, lady, but thou be my bote,
There shall no sho come on my fote;
Therfore, lady, i the praye,
For Hym that dyed on Good Frydaye,
Let me not in daunger dwell,
For His loue that harowed hell.”
Than sayd that lady milde of mode,
Ryght in her closet there she stode,
“By Hym that dyed on a tre,
Thou shalt neuer be deceyued for me;
Though i for thee should be slayne,
Squyer, i shall the loue agayne.
Go forth, and serue my father the Kynge,
And let be all thy styll mournynge;
Let no man wete that ye were here,
Thus all alone in my arbere;
If euer ye wyll come to your wyll,
Here and se, and holde you styll.
Beware of the stewarde, i you praye:
He wyll deceyue you and he maye;
For if he wote of your woyng,
He wyl bewraye you vnto the Kynge;
Anone for me ye shall be take
And put in pryson for my sake;
Than must ye nedes abyde the lawe,
Perauenture both hanged and drawe.
That syght on you i would not se
For all the golde in Christenté.
For and ye my loue should wynne,
With chyualry ye must begynne,
And other dedes of armes to done,
Through whiche ye may wynne your shone;
And ryde through many a peryllous place
As a venterous man, to seke your grace,
Ouer hylles and dales and hye mountaines,
In wethers wete, both hayle and raynes,
And yf ye may no harbroughe se,
Than must ye lodge vnder a tre,
Among the beastes wyld and tame,
And euer you wyll gette your name;
And in your armure must ye lye,
Eeuery nyght than by and by,
And your meny euerychone,
Till seuen yere be comen and gone;
And passe by many a peryllous see,
Squyer, for the loue of me,
Where any war begynneth to wake,
And many a batayll vndertake,
Throughout the land of Lumbardy,
In euery cytie by and by.
And be auised, when thou shalt fight,
Loke that ye stand aye in the right;
And yf ye wyll, take good hede,
Yet all the better shall ye spede;
And whan the warre is brought to ende,
To the Rodes then must ye wende;
And, syr, i holde you not to prayes
But ye there fyght thre Good Frydayes;
And if ye passe the batayles thre,
Than are ye worthy a knyght to be,
And to bere armes than are ye able,
Of gold and goules sete with sable;
Then shall ye were a shelde of blewe,
In token ye shall be trewe,
With vines of golde set all aboute,
Within your shelde and eke without,
Fulfylled with ymagery,
And poudred with true loues by and by.
In the myddes of your sheld ther shal be set
A ladyes head, with many a frete;
Aboue the head wrytten shall be
A reason for the loue of me:
Both O and R shall be therin:
With A and M it shall begynne.
The baudryke that shall hange therby
Shall be of white, sykerly;
A crosse of reed therin shall be,
In token of the Trynyté.
Your basenette shall be burnysshed bryght,
Your ventall shal be well dyght;
With starres of golde it shall be set
And couered with good veluet.
A coronall clene coruen newe,
And oy[s]tryche fethers of dyuers hewe.
Your plates vnto you[r] body shal be enbraste,
Sall syt full semely in your waste.
Your cote-armoure of golde full fyne,
And poudred well with good armyne.
Thus in your warres shall you ryde,
With syxe good yemen by your syde,
And whan your warres are brought to ende,
More ferther behoueth to you to wende,
And ouer many perellous streme,
Or ye come to Ierusalem,
Through feytes and feldes and forestes thicke,
To seke where Christe were dead and quycke.
There must you drawe your swerde of were;
To the sepulchre ye must it bere,
And laye it on the stone,
Amonge the lordes euerychone;
And offre there florences fyue,
Whyles that ye are man on lyue;
And offre there florences thre,
In tokenyng of the Trynyté;
And whan that ye, syr, thus haue done,
Than are ye worthy to were your shone;
Than may ye say, syr, by good ryght,
That you ar proued a venturous knyght.
I shall you geue to your rydinge
A thousande pounde to your spendinge;
I shall you geue hors and armure,
A thousande pounde of my treasure,
Where-through that ye may honoure wynn
And be the greatest of your kynne.
I pray to God and Our Lady,
Sende you the whele of vyctory,
That my father so fayne may be,
That he wyll wede me vnto thee,
And make the king of this countré,
To haue and holde in honesté,
Wyth welth and wynne to were the crowne,
And to be lorde of toure and towne,
That we might our dayes endure
In parfyte loue that is so pure.
And if we may not so come to,
Other wyse then must we do;
And therfore, squyer, wende thy way,
And hye the fast on thy iournay,
And take thy leue of Kinge and Quene,
And so to all the courte bydene.
Ye shall not want at your goyng
Golde nor syluer nor other thyng.
This seuen yere i shall you abyde,
Betyde of you what so betyde;
Tyll seuen yere be comen and gone
I shall be mayde all alone.”
The squyer kneled on his kne,
And thanked that lady fayre and fre;
And thryes he kyssed that lady tho,
And toke his leue, and forth he gan go.
Ryght in her closet there she stode,
“By Hym that dyed on a tre,
Thou shalt neuer be deceyued for me;
Though i for thee should be slayne,
Squyer, i shall the loue agayne.
Go forth, and serue my father the Kynge,
And let be all thy styll mournynge;
Let no man wete that ye were here,
Thus all alone in my arbere;
If euer ye wyll come to your wyll,
Here and se, and holde you styll.
Beware of the stewarde, i you praye:
He wyll deceyue you and he maye;
For if he wote of your woyng,
He wyl bewraye you vnto the Kynge;
Anone for me ye shall be take
And put in pryson for my sake;
Than must ye nedes abyde the lawe,
Perauenture both hanged and drawe.
That syght on you i would not se
For all the golde in Christenté.
For and ye my loue should wynne,
727
And other dedes of armes to done,
Through whiche ye may wynne your shone;
And ryde through many a peryllous place
As a venterous man, to seke your grace,
Ouer hylles and dales and hye mountaines,
In wethers wete, both hayle and raynes,
And yf ye may no harbroughe se,
Than must ye lodge vnder a tre,
Among the beastes wyld and tame,
And euer you wyll gette your name;
And in your armure must ye lye,
Eeuery nyght than by and by,
And your meny euerychone,
Till seuen yere be comen and gone;
And passe by many a peryllous see,
Squyer, for the loue of me,
Where any war begynneth to wake,
And many a batayll vndertake,
Throughout the land of Lumbardy,
In euery cytie by and by.
And be auised, when thou shalt fight,
Loke that ye stand aye in the right;
And yf ye wyll, take good hede,
Yet all the better shall ye spede;
And whan the warre is brought to ende,
To the Rodes then must ye wende;
And, syr, i holde you not to prayes
But ye there fyght thre Good Frydayes;
728
Than are ye worthy a knyght to be,
And to bere armes than are ye able,
Of gold and goules sete with sable;
Then shall ye were a shelde of blewe,
In token ye shall be trewe,
With vines of golde set all aboute,
Within your shelde and eke without,
Fulfylled with ymagery,
And poudred with true loues by and by.
In the myddes of your sheld ther shal be set
A ladyes head, with many a frete;
Aboue the head wrytten shall be
A reason for the loue of me:
Both O and R shall be therin:
With A and M it shall begynne.
The baudryke that shall hange therby
Shall be of white, sykerly;
A crosse of reed therin shall be,
In token of the Trynyté.
Your basenette shall be burnysshed bryght,
Your ventall shal be well dyght;
With starres of golde it shall be set
And couered with good veluet.
A coronall clene coruen newe,
And oy[s]tryche fethers of dyuers hewe.
Your plates vnto you[r] body shal be enbraste,
Sall syt full semely in your waste.
Your cote-armoure of golde full fyne,
And poudred well with good armyne.
Thus in your warres shall you ryde,
With syxe good yemen by your syde,
729
More ferther behoueth to you to wende,
And ouer many perellous streme,
Or ye come to Ierusalem,
Through feytes and feldes and forestes thicke,
To seke where Christe were dead and quycke.
There must you drawe your swerde of were;
To the sepulchre ye must it bere,
And laye it on the stone,
Amonge the lordes euerychone;
And offre there florences fyue,
Whyles that ye are man on lyue;
And offre there florences thre,
In tokenyng of the Trynyté;
And whan that ye, syr, thus haue done,
Than are ye worthy to were your shone;
Than may ye say, syr, by good ryght,
That you ar proued a venturous knyght.
I shall you geue to your rydinge
A thousande pounde to your spendinge;
I shall you geue hors and armure,
A thousande pounde of my treasure,
Where-through that ye may honoure wynn
And be the greatest of your kynne.
I pray to God and Our Lady,
Sende you the whele of vyctory,
That my father so fayne may be,
That he wyll wede me vnto thee,
And make the king of this countré,
To haue and holde in honesté,
Wyth welth and wynne to were the crowne,
And to be lorde of toure and towne,
730
In parfyte loue that is so pure.
And if we may not so come to,
Other wyse then must we do;
And therfore, squyer, wende thy way,
And hye the fast on thy iournay,
And take thy leue of Kinge and Quene,
And so to all the courte bydene.
Ye shall not want at your goyng
Golde nor syluer nor other thyng.
This seuen yere i shall you abyde,
Betyde of you what so betyde;
Tyll seuen yere be comen and gone
I shall be mayde all alone.”
The squyer kneled on his kne,
And thanked that lady fayre and fre;
And thryes he kyssed that lady tho,
And toke his leue, and forth he gan go.
The Kinges steward stode full nye
In a chambre fast them bye,
And hearde theyr wordes wonder wele,
And all the woyng euery dele.
He made a vowe to Heauen-kynge
For to bewraye that swete thynge,
And that squyer taken shoulde be
And hanged hye on a tre;
And that false stewarde full of yre,
Them to betraye was his desyre.
He bethought hym nedely,
Euery daye by and by,
How he myght venged be
On that lady fayre and fre,
For he her loued pryuely,
And therfore dyd her great enuye.
Alas! it tourned to wrother heyle
That euer he wyste of theyr counsayle.
In a chambre fast them bye,
And hearde theyr wordes wonder wele,
And all the woyng euery dele.
He made a vowe to Heauen-kynge
For to bewraye that swete thynge,
And that squyer taken shoulde be
And hanged hye on a tre;
And that false stewarde full of yre,
Them to betraye was his desyre.
He bethought hym nedely,
Euery daye by and by,
How he myght venged be
On that lady fayre and fre,
For he her loued pryuely,
And therfore dyd her great enuye.
731
That euer he wyste of theyr counsayle.
But leue we of the stewarde here,
And speke we more of that squyer,
Howe he to his chambre went
Whan he past from that lady gente.
There he araied him in scarlet reed
And set his chaplet vpon his head,
A belte about his sydes two,
With brode barres to and fro;
A horne about his necke he caste,
And forth he went at the last
To do hys office in the hall
Among the lordes both great and small.
He toke a white yeard in his hande;
Before the Kynge than gane he stande,
And sone he sat hym on his knee
And serued the Kynge ryght royally
With deynty meates that were dere,
With partryche, pecoke, and plouere,
With byrdes in bread ybake,
The tele, the ducke, and the drake,
The cocke, the curlewe, and the crane,
With fesauntes fayre—theyr were no wane,—
Both storkes and snytes ther were also,
And venyson freshe of bucke and do,
And other deyntes many one,
For to set afore the Kynge anone.
And when the squyer had done so,
He serued the hall to and fro.
Eche man hym loued in honesté,
Hye and lowe in theyr degre;
So dyd the Kyng full sodenly,
And he wyst not wherfore nor why.
The Kynge behelde the squyer wele
And all his rayment euery dele;
He thought he was the semylyest man
That euer in the worlde he sawe or than.
Thus sate the Kyng and eate ryght nought,
But on his squyer was all his thought.
And speke we more of that squyer,
Howe he to his chambre went
Whan he past from that lady gente.
There he araied him in scarlet reed
And set his chaplet vpon his head,
A belte about his sydes two,
With brode barres to and fro;
A horne about his necke he caste,
And forth he went at the last
To do hys office in the hall
Among the lordes both great and small.
He toke a white yeard in his hande;
Before the Kynge than gane he stande,
And sone he sat hym on his knee
And serued the Kynge ryght royally
With deynty meates that were dere,
With partryche, pecoke, and plouere,
With byrdes in bread ybake,
The tele, the ducke, and the drake,
The cocke, the curlewe, and the crane,
With fesauntes fayre—theyr were no wane,—
Both storkes and snytes ther were also,
And venyson freshe of bucke and do,
And other deyntes many one,
For to set afore the Kynge anone.
And when the squyer had done so,
He serued the hall to and fro.
Eche man hym loued in honesté,
732
So dyd the Kyng full sodenly,
And he wyst not wherfore nor why.
The Kynge behelde the squyer wele
And all his rayment euery dele;
He thought he was the semylyest man
That euer in the worlde he sawe or than.
Thus sate the Kyng and eate ryght nought,
But on his squyer was all his thought.
Anone the stewarde toke good hede,
And to the Kyng full soone he yede,
And soone he tolde vnto the Kynge
All theyr wordes and theyr woynge;
And how she hyght hym lande and fe,
Golde and syluer great plentye,
And how he should his leue take
And become a knight for her sake:
“And thus they talked bothe in fere,
And i drewe me nere and nere.
Had i not come in, verayly,
The squyer had layne her by;
But whan he was ware of me,
Full fast away can he fle.
That is sothe: here my hand
To fight with him while i may stand.”
And to the Kyng full soone he yede,
And soone he tolde vnto the Kynge
All theyr wordes and theyr woynge;
And how she hyght hym lande and fe,
Golde and syluer great plentye,
And how he should his leue take
And become a knight for her sake:
“And thus they talked bothe in fere,
And i drewe me nere and nere.
Had i not come in, verayly,
The squyer had layne her by;
But whan he was ware of me,
Full fast away can he fle.
That is sothe: here my hand
To fight with him while i may stand.”
The Kyng sayd to the steward tho,
“I may not beleue it should be so;
Hath he be so bonayre and benyngne,
And serued me syth he was younge,
And redy with me in euery nede,
Bothe true of word and eke of dede,
I may not beleue, be nyght nor daye,
My doughter dere he wyll betraye,
Nor to come her chambre nye,
That fode to longe with no foly;
Though she would to hym consente,
That louely lady fayre and gente,
I truste hym so well, withouten drede,
That he would neuer do that dede
But yf he myght that lady wynne
In wedlocke to welde, withouten synne;
And yf she assent him tyll,
The squyer is worthy to haue none yll;
For i haue sene that many a page
Haue become men by mariage;
Than it is semely that squyer
To haue my doughter by this manere,
And eche man in his degre
Become a lorde of ryaltye,
By fortune and by other grace,
By herytage and by purchace:
Therfore, stewarde, beware hereby;
Defame hym not for no enuy:
It were great reuth he should be spylte,
Or put to death withouten gylte
(And more ruthe of my doughter dere,
For chaungyng of that ladyes chere.
I woulde not for my crowne so newe
That lady chaunge hyde or hewe);
Or for to put thyselfe in drede,
But thou myght take hym with the dede.
For yf it may be founde in thee
That thou them fame for enmyté,
Thou shalt be taken as a felon
And put full depe in my pryson,
And fetered fast vnto a stone
Tyl xii yere were come and gone,
And drawen wyth hors throughe the cyté,
And soone hanged vpon a tre.
And thou may not thyselfe excuse:
This dede thou shalt no wise refuse;
And therfore, steward, take good hed
How thou wilt answere to this ded.”
The stewarde answered with great enuy,
“That i haue sayd, that i wyll stand therby;
To suffre death and endlesse wo,
Syr Kynge, i wyl neuer go therfro;
For yf that ye wyll graunt me here
Strength of men and great power,
I shall hym take this same nyght
In the chambre with your doughter bright;
For i shall neuer be gladde of chere
Tyll i be venged of that squyer.”
“I may not beleue it should be so;
Hath he be so bonayre and benyngne,
And serued me syth he was younge,
And redy with me in euery nede,
Bothe true of word and eke of dede,
I may not beleue, be nyght nor daye,
My doughter dere he wyll betraye,
Nor to come her chambre nye,
733
Though she would to hym consente,
That louely lady fayre and gente,
I truste hym so well, withouten drede,
That he would neuer do that dede
But yf he myght that lady wynne
In wedlocke to welde, withouten synne;
And yf she assent him tyll,
The squyer is worthy to haue none yll;
For i haue sene that many a page
Haue become men by mariage;
Than it is semely that squyer
To haue my doughter by this manere,
And eche man in his degre
Become a lorde of ryaltye,
By fortune and by other grace,
By herytage and by purchace:
Therfore, stewarde, beware hereby;
Defame hym not for no enuy:
It were great reuth he should be spylte,
Or put to death withouten gylte
(And more ruthe of my doughter dere,
For chaungyng of that ladyes chere.
I woulde not for my crowne so newe
That lady chaunge hyde or hewe);
Or for to put thyselfe in drede,
But thou myght take hym with the dede.
For yf it may be founde in thee
That thou them fame for enmyté,
Thou shalt be taken as a felon
And put full depe in my pryson,
734
Tyl xii yere were come and gone,
And drawen wyth hors throughe the cyté,
And soone hanged vpon a tre.
And thou may not thyselfe excuse:
This dede thou shalt no wise refuse;
And therfore, steward, take good hed
How thou wilt answere to this ded.”
The stewarde answered with great enuy,
“That i haue sayd, that i wyll stand therby;
To suffre death and endlesse wo,
Syr Kynge, i wyl neuer go therfro;
For yf that ye wyll graunt me here
Strength of men and great power,
I shall hym take this same nyght
In the chambre with your doughter bright;
For i shall neuer be gladde of chere
Tyll i be venged of that squyer.”
Than sayd the Kynge full curteysly
Unto the stewarde, that stode hym by,
“Thou shalte haue strength ynough with the,
Men of armes xxx and thre,
To watche that lady muche of pryce,
And her to kepe fro her enemyes.
For there is no knyght in Chrystenté
That wolde betray that lady fre,
But he should dye vnder his shelde,
And i myght se hym in the feldde;
And therfore, stewarde, i the pray,
Take hede what i shall to the say;
And if the squiere come to-night
For to speke with that lady bryght,
Let hym say whatsoeuer he wyll,
And here and se and holde you styll;
And herken well what he wyll say
Or thou with him make any fray;
So he come not her chambre win,
No bate on hym loke thou begyn;
Though that he kysse that lady fre
And take his leaue ryght curteysly,
Let hym go, both hole and sounde,
Without wemme or any wounde;
But-yf he wyl her chamber breke,
No worde to hym that thou do speke.
But yf he come with company
For to betraye that fayre lady,
Loke he be taken soone anone,
And all his meyné euerychone,
And brought with strength to my pryson
As traytour, thefe, and false felon;
And yf he make any defence,
Loke that he neuer go thence,
But loke thou hew hym also small
As flesshe whan it to the potte shall.
And yf he yelde hym to thee,
Brynge him bothe saufe and sounde to me:
I shall borowe, for seuen yere
He shall not wedde my doughter dere.
And therfore, stewarde, i thee praye
Thou watche that lady nyght and daye.”
The stewarde sayde the Kyng vntyll,
“All your byddyng i shall fulfyll.”
Unto the stewarde, that stode hym by,
“Thou shalte haue strength ynough with the,
Men of armes xxx and thre,
To watche that lady muche of pryce,
And her to kepe fro her enemyes.
For there is no knyght in Chrystenté
That wolde betray that lady fre,
But he should dye vnder his shelde,
And i myght se hym in the feldde;
And therfore, stewarde, i the pray,
Take hede what i shall to the say;
And if the squiere come to-night
For to speke with that lady bryght,
Let hym say whatsoeuer he wyll,
And here and se and holde you styll;
And herken well what he wyll say
735
So he come not her chambre win,
No bate on hym loke thou begyn;
Though that he kysse that lady fre
And take his leaue ryght curteysly,
Let hym go, both hole and sounde,
Without wemme or any wounde;
But-yf he wyl her chamber breke,
No worde to hym that thou do speke.
But yf he come with company
For to betraye that fayre lady,
Loke he be taken soone anone,
And all his meyné euerychone,
And brought with strength to my pryson
As traytour, thefe, and false felon;
And yf he make any defence,
Loke that he neuer go thence,
But loke thou hew hym also small
As flesshe whan it to the potte shall.
And yf he yelde hym to thee,
Brynge him bothe saufe and sounde to me:
I shall borowe, for seuen yere
He shall not wedde my doughter dere.
And therfore, stewarde, i thee praye
Thou watche that lady nyght and daye.”
The stewarde sayde the Kyng vntyll,
“All your byddyng i shall fulfyll.”
The stewarde toke his leaue to go.
The squyer came fro chambre tho:
Downe he went into the hall.
The officers sone can he call,
Both vssher, panter, and butler,
And other that in office were;
There he them warned sone anone
To take vp the bordes euerychone.
Than they dyd his commaundement,
And sythe vnto the Kyng he went;
Full lowe he set hym on his kne,
And voyded his borde full gentely;
And whan the squyre had done so,
Anone he sayde the Kynge vnto,
“As ye are lorde of chyualry,
Geue me leue to passe the sea,
To proue my strenthe with my ryght hande
On Godes enemyes in vncouth land,
And to be knowe in chyualry,
In Gascoyne, Spayne, and Lumbardy,
In eche batayle for to fyght,
To be proued a venterous knyght.”
The Kyng sayd to the squyer tho,
“Thou shalt haue good leue to go;
I shall the gyue both golde and fe
And strength of men to wende with thee;
If thou be true in worde and dede,
I shall thee helpe in all thy nede.”
The squyer thanked the Kyng anone
And toke his leue and forth can gone,
With ioye and blysse and muche pryde,
Wyth all his meyny by his syde.
He had not ryden but a whyle,
Not the mountenaunce of a myle,
Or he was ware of a vyllage.
Anone he sayde vnto a page,
“Our souper soone loke it be dyght:
Here wyll we lodge all to-nyght.”
They toke theyr ynnes in good intente,
And to theyr supper soone they wente.
Whan he was set and serued at meate,
Than he sayd he had forgete
To take leue of that lady fre,
The Kynges doughter of Hungré.
The squyer came fro chambre tho:
Downe he went into the hall.
The officers sone can he call,
Both vssher, panter, and butler,
And other that in office were;
736
To take vp the bordes euerychone.
Than they dyd his commaundement,
And sythe vnto the Kyng he went;
Full lowe he set hym on his kne,
And voyded his borde full gentely;
And whan the squyre had done so,
Anone he sayde the Kynge vnto,
“As ye are lorde of chyualry,
Geue me leue to passe the sea,
To proue my strenthe with my ryght hande
On Godes enemyes in vncouth land,
And to be knowe in chyualry,
In Gascoyne, Spayne, and Lumbardy,
In eche batayle for to fyght,
To be proued a venterous knyght.”
The Kyng sayd to the squyer tho,
“Thou shalt haue good leue to go;
I shall the gyue both golde and fe
And strength of men to wende with thee;
If thou be true in worde and dede,
I shall thee helpe in all thy nede.”
The squyer thanked the Kyng anone
And toke his leue and forth can gone,
With ioye and blysse and muche pryde,
Wyth all his meyny by his syde.
He had not ryden but a whyle,
Not the mountenaunce of a myle,
Or he was ware of a vyllage.
Anone he sayde vnto a page,
“Our souper soone loke it be dyght:
Here wyll we lodge all to-nyght.”
737
And to theyr supper soone they wente.
Whan he was set and serued at meate,
Than he sayd he had forgete
To take leue of that lady fre,
The Kynges doughter of Hungré.
Anone the squyer made him yare,
And by hymselfe forth can he fare;
Without strength of his meyné,
Vnto the castell than went he.
Whan he came to the posterne gate,
Anone he entred in thereat,
And his drawen swerd in his hande.
There was no more with him wolde stande:
But it stode with hym full harde,
As ye shall here nowe of the stewarde.
He wende in the worlde none had bene
That had knowen of his pryuité;
Alas! it was not as he wende,
For all his counsayle the stewarde [kende].
He had bewrayed him to the Kyng
Of all his loue and his woyng;
And yet he laye her chambre by,
Armed with a great company,
And beset it one eche syde,
For treason walketh wonder wyde.
The squyer thought on no mystruste;
He wende no man in the worlde had wyste;
But yf he had knowen, ne by Saynt Iohn,
He had not come theder by his owne!
Or yf that lady had knowen his wyll,
That he should haue come her chamber tyll,
She would haue taken hym golde and fe,
Strength of men and royalté.
But there ne wyst no man nor grome
Where that squyer was become,
But forth he went hymselfe alone,
Amonge his seruauntes euerychone.
Whan that he came her chambre to,
Anone he sayde, “Your dore vndo!
Undo,” he sayde, “nowe, fayre lady!
I am beset with many a spy.
Lady as whyte as whales bone,
There are thyrty agaynst me one.
Undo thy dore, my worthy wyfe!
I am besette with many a knyfe.
Undo your dore, my lady swete!
I am beset with enemyes great;
And, lady, but ye wyll aryse,
I shall be dead with myne enemyes.
Vndo thy dore, my frely floure!
For ye are myne, and i am your.”
And by hymselfe forth can he fare;
Without strength of his meyné,
Vnto the castell than went he.
Whan he came to the posterne gate,
Anone he entred in thereat,
And his drawen swerd in his hande.
There was no more with him wolde stande:
But it stode with hym full harde,
As ye shall here nowe of the stewarde.
He wende in the worlde none had bene
That had knowen of his pryuité;
Alas! it was not as he wende,
For all his counsayle the stewarde [kende].
He had bewrayed him to the Kyng
Of all his loue and his woyng;
And yet he laye her chambre by,
Armed with a great company,
And beset it one eche syde,
For treason walketh wonder wyde.
The squyer thought on no mystruste;
He wende no man in the worlde had wyste;
But yf he had knowen, ne by Saynt Iohn,
He had not come theder by his owne!
Or yf that lady had knowen his wyll,
That he should haue come her chamber tyll,
She would haue taken hym golde and fe,
Strength of men and royalté.
738
Where that squyer was become,
But forth he went hymselfe alone,
Amonge his seruauntes euerychone.
Whan that he came her chambre to,
Anone he sayde, “Your dore vndo!
Undo,” he sayde, “nowe, fayre lady!
I am beset with many a spy.
Lady as whyte as whales bone,
There are thyrty agaynst me one.
Undo thy dore, my worthy wyfe!
I am besette with many a knyfe.
Undo your dore, my lady swete!
I am beset with enemyes great;
And, lady, but ye wyll aryse,
I shall be dead with myne enemyes.
Vndo thy dore, my frely floure!
For ye are myne, and i am your.”
That lady with those wordes awoke;
A mantell of golde to her she toke;
She sayde, “Go away, thou wicked wyght:
Thou shalt not come here this nyght,
For i wyll not my dore vndo
For no man that cometh therto.
There is but one in Christenté
That euer made that forwarde with me;
There is but one that euer bare lyfe,
That euer i hight to be his wyfe;
He shall me wedde, by Mary bryght,
Whan he is proued a venterous knyght,
For we haue loued this seuen yere:
There was neuer loue to me so dere.
There lyeth on me both kyng and knyght,
Duke, erles, of muche might.
Wende forth, squyer, on your waye,
For here ye gette none other praye;
For i ne wote what ye should be,
That thus besecheth loue of me.”
“I am your owne squyr,” he sayde,
“For me, lady, be not dysmayde.
Come i am full pryuely
To take my leaue of you, lady.”
“Welcome,” she sayd, “my loue so dere,
Myne owne dere heart and my squyer;
I shall you geue kysses thre,
A thousand pounde vnto your fe,
And kepe i shall my maydenhede ryght
Tyll ye be proued a venturous knyght.
For yf ye should me wede anone,
My father wolde make slee you soone.
I am the Kynges doughter of Hungré,
And ye alone that haue loued me,
And though you loue me neuer so sore,
For me ye shall neuer be lore.
Go forth, and aske me at my kynne,
And loke what graunt you may wynne;
Yf that ye gette graunt in faye,
Myselfe therto shall not say nay;
And yf ye may not do so,
Otherwyse ye shall come to.
Ye are bothe hardy, stronge, and wight;
Go forth and be a venterous knight.
I pray to God and our Lady
To send you the whele of victory,
That my father so leue ye be,
That [he] wyll profer me to thee.
I wote well it is lyghtly sayd,
‘Go forth, and be nothyng afrayde.’
A man of worshyp may not do so:
He must haue what neds him vnto;
He must haue gold, he must haue fe,
Strength of men and royalté.
Golde and syluer spare ye nought
Tyll to manhode ye be brought;
To what batayll soeuer ye go,
Ye shall haue an hundreth pounde or two;
And yet to me, syr, ye may saye
That i woulde fayne haue you awaye,
That profered you golde and fe
Out of myne eye syght for to be.
Neuerthelesse it is not so:
It is for the worshyp of vs two.
Though you be come of symple kynne,
Thus my loue, syr, may ye wynne:
Yf ye haue grace of victory,
As euer had Syr Lybyus or Syr Guy,
Whan the dwarfe and mayde Ely
Came to Arthoure, kyng so fre.
As a kyng of great renowne
That wan the lady of Synadowne,
Lybius was graunted the batayle tho;
Therfore the dwarfe was full wo,
And sayd, ‘Arthur, thou arte to blame.
To bydde this chylde go sucke his dame
Better hym semeth, so mote i thryue,
Than for to do these batayles fyue
At the chapell of Salebraunce!’
These wordes began great distaunce;
The[y] sawe they had the victory;
They kneled downe and cryed mercy;
And afterward, syr, verament,
They called hym knyght absolent:
Emperours, dukes, knyghtes, and quene,
At his commaundement for to bene.
Suche fortune with grace now to you fall,
To wynne the worthyest within the wall,
And thynke on your loue alone,
And for to loue that ye chaunge none.”
A mantell of golde to her she toke;
She sayde, “Go away, thou wicked wyght:
Thou shalt not come here this nyght,
For i wyll not my dore vndo
For no man that cometh therto.
There is but one in Christenté
That euer made that forwarde with me;
There is but one that euer bare lyfe,
That euer i hight to be his wyfe;
He shall me wedde, by Mary bryght,
Whan he is proued a venterous knyght,
For we haue loued this seuen yere:
There was neuer loue to me so dere.
There lyeth on me both kyng and knyght,
Duke, erles, of muche might.
Wende forth, squyer, on your waye,
For here ye gette none other praye;
For i ne wote what ye should be,
739
“I am your owne squyr,” he sayde,
“For me, lady, be not dysmayde.
Come i am full pryuely
To take my leaue of you, lady.”
“Welcome,” she sayd, “my loue so dere,
Myne owne dere heart and my squyer;
I shall you geue kysses thre,
A thousand pounde vnto your fe,
And kepe i shall my maydenhede ryght
Tyll ye be proued a venturous knyght.
For yf ye should me wede anone,
My father wolde make slee you soone.
I am the Kynges doughter of Hungré,
And ye alone that haue loued me,
And though you loue me neuer so sore,
For me ye shall neuer be lore.
Go forth, and aske me at my kynne,
And loke what graunt you may wynne;
Yf that ye gette graunt in faye,
Myselfe therto shall not say nay;
And yf ye may not do so,
Otherwyse ye shall come to.
Ye are bothe hardy, stronge, and wight;
Go forth and be a venterous knight.
I pray to God and our Lady
To send you the whele of victory,
That my father so leue ye be,
That [he] wyll profer me to thee.
I wote well it is lyghtly sayd,
‘Go forth, and be nothyng afrayde.’
A man of worshyp may not do so:
740
He must haue gold, he must haue fe,
Strength of men and royalté.
Golde and syluer spare ye nought
Tyll to manhode ye be brought;
To what batayll soeuer ye go,
Ye shall haue an hundreth pounde or two;
And yet to me, syr, ye may saye
That i woulde fayne haue you awaye,
That profered you golde and fe
Out of myne eye syght for to be.
Neuerthelesse it is not so:
It is for the worshyp of vs two.
Though you be come of symple kynne,
Thus my loue, syr, may ye wynne:
Yf ye haue grace of victory,
As euer had Syr Lybyus or Syr Guy,
Whan the dwarfe and mayde Ely
Came to Arthoure, kyng so fre.
As a kyng of great renowne
That wan the lady of Synadowne,
Lybius was graunted the batayle tho;
Therfore the dwarfe was full wo,
And sayd, ‘Arthur, thou arte to blame.
To bydde this chylde go sucke his dame
Better hym semeth, so mote i thryue,
Than for to do these batayles fyue
At the chapell of Salebraunce!’
These wordes began great distaunce;
741
They kneled downe and cryed mercy;
And afterward, syr, verament,
They called hym knyght absolent:
Emperours, dukes, knyghtes, and quene,
At his commaundement for to bene.
Suche fortune with grace now to you fall,
To wynne the worthyest within the wall,
And thynke on your loue alone,
And for to loue that ye chaunge none.”
Ryght as they talked thus in fere,
Theyr enemyes approched nere and nere,
Foure and thyrty armed bryght
The steward had arayed hym to fyght.
The steward was ordeyned to spy
And for to take them vtterly.
He wende to death he should haue gone;
He felled seuen men agaynst hym one;
Whan he had them to grounde brought,
The stewarde at hym full sadly fought.
So harde they smote together tho,
The stewardes throte he cut in two,
And sone he fell downe to the grounde
As a traitour vntrewe, with many a wound.
The squyer sone in armes they hente,
And of they dyd his good garmente,
And on the stewarde they it dyd,
And sone his body therin th[e]y hydde,
And with their swordes his face they share,
That she should not knowe what he ware;
They cast hym at her chambre dore,
The stewarde that was styffe and store.
Whan they had made that great affraye,
Full pryuely they stale awaye;
In arme the[y] take that squyer tho
And to the Kynges chambre can they go,
Without wemme or any wounde,
Before the Kynge bothe hole and sounde.
As soone as the Kynge him spyed with eye,
He sayd, “Welcome, sonne, sykerly!
Thou hast cast thee my sonne to be;
This seuen yere i shall let thee.”
Theyr enemyes approched nere and nere,
Foure and thyrty armed bryght
The steward had arayed hym to fyght.
The steward was ordeyned to spy
And for to take them vtterly.
He wende to death he should haue gone;
He felled seuen men agaynst hym one;
Whan he had them to grounde brought,
The stewarde at hym full sadly fought.
So harde they smote together tho,
The stewardes throte he cut in two,
And sone he fell downe to the grounde
As a traitour vntrewe, with many a wound.
The squyer sone in armes they hente,
And of they dyd his good garmente,
And on the stewarde they it dyd,
And sone his body therin th[e]y hydde,
And with their swordes his face they share,
That she should not knowe what he ware;
They cast hym at her chambre dore,
The stewarde that was styffe and store.
Whan they had made that great affraye,
Full pryuely they stale awaye;
In arme the[y] take that squyer tho
742
Without wemme or any wounde,
Before the Kynge bothe hole and sounde.
As soone as the Kynge him spyed with eye,
He sayd, “Welcome, sonne, sykerly!
Thou hast cast thee my sonne to be;
This seuen yere i shall let thee.”
Leaue we here of this squyer wight,
And speake we of that lady bryght,
How she rose, that lady dere,
To take her leue of that squyer.
Also naked as she was borne,
She stod her chambre dore beforne.
“Alas,” she sayd, “and weale away!
For all to long nowe haue i lay;”
She sayd, “Alas, and all for wo!
Withouten men why came ye so?
Yf that ye wolde haue come to me,
Other werninges there might haue be.
Now all to dere my loue is bought,
But it shall neuer be lost for nought;”
And in her armes she toke hym there,
Into the chamber she dyd hym bere;
His bowels soone she dyd out drawe,
And buryed them in Goddes lawe.
She sered that body with specery,
Wyth wyrgin waxe and commendry;
And closed hym in a maser tre,
And set on hym lockes thre.
She put him in a marble stone
With quaynt gynnes many one,
And set hym at hir beddes head;
And euery day she kyst that dead.
Soone at morne, whan she vprose,
Unto that dead body she gose;
Therfore wold she knele downe on her kne
And make her prayer to the Trynité,
And kysse that body twyse or thryse,
And fall in a swowne or she myght ryse.
Whan she had so done,
To chyrche than wolde she gone;
Than would she here masses fyue,
And offre to them whyle she myght lyue:
“There shall none knowe but Heuen-kynge
For whome that i make myne offrynge.”
And speake we of that lady bryght,
How she rose, that lady dere,
To take her leue of that squyer.
Also naked as she was borne,
She stod her chambre dore beforne.
“Alas,” she sayd, “and weale away!
For all to long nowe haue i lay;”
She sayd, “Alas, and all for wo!
Withouten men why came ye so?
Yf that ye wolde haue come to me,
Other werninges there might haue be.
Now all to dere my loue is bought,
But it shall neuer be lost for nought;”
And in her armes she toke hym there,
Into the chamber she dyd hym bere;
His bowels soone she dyd out drawe,
And buryed them in Goddes lawe.
She sered that body with specery,
Wyth wyrgin waxe and commendry;
And closed hym in a maser tre,
And set on hym lockes thre.
She put him in a marble stone
With quaynt gynnes many one,
And set hym at hir beddes head;
And euery day she kyst that dead.
Soone at morne, whan she vprose,
Unto that dead body she gose;
743
And make her prayer to the Trynité,
And kysse that body twyse or thryse,
And fall in a swowne or she myght ryse.
Whan she had so done,
To chyrche than wolde she gone;
Than would she here masses fyue,
And offre to them whyle she myght lyue:
“There shall none knowe but Heuen-kynge
For whome that i make myne offrynge.”
The Kyng her father anone he sayde:
“My doughter, wy are you dysmayde,
So feare a lady as ye are one,
And so semely of fleshe and bone?
Ye were whyte as whales bone;
Nowe are ye pale as any stone.
Your ruddy read as any chery,
With browes bent and eyes full mery;
Ye were wont to harpe and syng,
And be the meriest in chambre comyng;
Ye ware both golde and good veluet,
Clothe of damaske with saphyres set;
Ye ware the pery on your head,
With stones full oryent, whyte and read;
Ye ware coronalles of golde,
With diamoundes set many a foulde;
And nowe ye were clothes of blacke;
Tell me, doughter, for whose sake?
If he be so poore of fame
That ye may not be wedded for shame,
Brynge him to me anone ryght:
I shall hym make squyer and knight;
And yf he be so great a lorde
That your loue may not accorde,
Let me, doughter, that lordynge se;
He shall have golde ynoughe with thee.”
“Gramercy, father, so mote i thryue,
For i mourne for no man alyue.
Ther is no man, by Heuen-kyng,
That shal knowe more of my mournynge.”
“My doughter, wy are you dysmayde,
So feare a lady as ye are one,
And so semely of fleshe and bone?
Ye were whyte as whales bone;
Nowe are ye pale as any stone.
Your ruddy read as any chery,
With browes bent and eyes full mery;
Ye were wont to harpe and syng,
And be the meriest in chambre comyng;
Ye ware both golde and good veluet,
Clothe of damaske with saphyres set;
Ye ware the pery on your head,
With stones full oryent, whyte and read;
Ye ware coronalles of golde,
With diamoundes set many a foulde;
And nowe ye were clothes of blacke;
Tell me, doughter, for whose sake?
If he be so poore of fame
That ye may not be wedded for shame,
Brynge him to me anone ryght:
I shall hym make squyer and knight;
And yf he be so great a lorde
That your loue may not accorde,
Let me, doughter, that lordynge se;
He shall have golde ynoughe with thee.”
“Gramercy, father, so mote i thryue,
744
Ther is no man, by Heuen-kyng,
That shal knowe more of my mournynge.”
Her father knewe it euery deale,
But he kept it in counsele:
“To-morowe ye shall on hunting fare,
And ryde, my doughter, in a chare;
It shal be couered with veluet reede,
And clothes of fyne golde al about your hed,
With dam[a]ske white and asure-blewe,
Wel dyapred with lyllyes newe;
Your pomelles shal be ended with gold,
Your chaynes enameled many a folde;
Your mantel of ryche degre,
Purpyl palle and armyne fre;
Jennettes of Spayne, that ben so wyght,
Trapped to the ground with veluet bright;
Ye shall haue harpe, sautry, and songe,
And other myrthes you amonge;
Ye shall haue rumney and malmesyne,
Both ypocrasse and vernage wyne,
Mountrose and wyne of Greke,
Both algrade and respice eke,
Antioche and bastarde,
Pyment also and garnarde;
Wyne of Greke and muscadell,
Both claré, pyment, and rochell.
The reed your stomake to defye,
And pottes of osey set you by.
You shall haue venison ybake,
The best wylde foule that may be take.
A lese of grehound with you to streke
And hert and hynde and other lyke.
Ye shal be set at such a tryst
That herte and hynde shall come to your fyst,
Your dysease to dryue you fro,
To here the bugles there yblow
With theyr bugles in that place,
And seuenscore raches at his rechase;
Homward thus shall ye ryde,
On haukyng by the ryuers syde,
With goshauke and with gentyll fawcon,
With egle-horne and merlyon.
Whan you come home, your men amonge,
Ye shall haue reuell, daunces, and songe;
Lytle chyldren, great and smale,
Shall syng as doth the nyghtyngale.
Than shall ye go to your euensong,
With tenours and trebles among;
Threscore of copes, of damaske bryght,
Full of perles th[e]y shal be pyght;
Your aulter clothes of taffata,
And your sicles all of taffetra.
Your sensours shal be of golde,
Endent with asure many a folde.
Your quere nor organ songe shall wante
With countre-note and dyscant,
The other halfe on orgayns playeng,
With yonge chyldren full fayre syngyng.
Than shall ye go to your suppere,
And sytte in tentes in grene arbere,
With clothes of Aras pyght to the grounde,
With saphyres set and dyamonde.
A cloth of golde abought your heade,
With popiniayes pyght, with pery read,
And offycers all at your wyll:
All maner delightes to bryng you tyll.
The nightingale sitting on a thorne
Shall synge you notes both euen and morne.
An hundreth knightes truly tolde
Shall play with bowles in alayes colde,
Your disease to driue awaie:
To se the fisshes in poles plaie;
And then walke in arbere vp and downe,
To se the floures of great renowne:
To a draw-brydge than shall ye,
The one halfe of stone, the other of tre;
A barge shall mete you full ryght
With xxiiii ores full bryght,
With trompettes and with claryowne,
The fresshe water to rowe vp and downe.
Than shall ye go to the salte fome,
Your maner to se, or ye come home,
With lxxx shyppes of large towre,
With dromedaryes of great honour,
And carackes with sayles two,
The sweftest that on water may goo,
With galyes good vpon the hauen,
With lxxx ores at the fore stauen.
Your maryners shall synge arowe
‘Hey, how, and rumbylawe.’
Than shall ye, doughter, aske the wyne,
With spices that be good and fyne,
Gentyll pottes with genger grene,
With dates and deynties you betwene,
Forty torches, brenynge bryght,
At your brydges to brynge you lyght.
Into your chambre they shall you brynge,
With muche myrthe and more lykyng.
Your costerdes couered with whyte and blewe,
And dyapred with lyles newe.
Your curtaines of camaca all in folde,
Your felyoles all of golde.
Your tester-pery at your heed,
Curtaines with popiniayes white and reed.
Your hyllynges with furres of armyne,
Powdred with golde of hew full fyne.
Your blankettes shall be of fustyane,
Your shetes shall be of clothe of Rayne.
Your head-shete shall be of pery pyght
With dyamondes set and rubyes bryght.
Whan you are layde in bedde so softe,
A cage of golde shall hange alofte,
With longe peper fayre burnning,
And cloues that be swete smellyng,
Frankensence and olibanum,
That whan ye slepe the taste may come.
And yf ye no rest may take,
All night minstrelles for you shall wake.”
“Gramercy, father, so mote i the,
For all these thinges lyketh not me.”
Vnto her chambre she is gone,
And fell in sownyng sone anone
With much sorow and sighing sore;
Yet seuen yeare she kept hym thore.
But he kept it in counsele:
“To-morowe ye shall on hunting fare,
And ryde, my doughter, in a chare;
It shal be couered with veluet reede,
And clothes of fyne golde al about your hed,
With dam[a]ske white and asure-blewe,
Wel dyapred with lyllyes newe;
Your pomelles shal be ended with gold,
Your chaynes enameled many a folde;
Your mantel of ryche degre,
Purpyl palle and armyne fre;
Jennettes of Spayne, that ben so wyght,
Trapped to the ground with veluet bright;
Ye shall haue harpe, sautry, and songe,
And other myrthes you amonge;
Ye shall haue rumney and malmesyne,
Both ypocrasse and vernage wyne,
Mountrose and wyne of Greke,
Both algrade and respice eke,
Antioche and bastarde,
Pyment also and garnarde;
Wyne of Greke and muscadell,
Both claré, pyment, and rochell.
The reed your stomake to defye,
745
You shall haue venison ybake,
The best wylde foule that may be take.
A lese of grehound with you to streke
And hert and hynde and other lyke.
Ye shal be set at such a tryst
That herte and hynde shall come to your fyst,
Your dysease to dryue you fro,
To here the bugles there yblow
With theyr bugles in that place,
And seuenscore raches at his rechase;
Homward thus shall ye ryde,
On haukyng by the ryuers syde,
With goshauke and with gentyll fawcon,
With egle-horne and merlyon.
Whan you come home, your men amonge,
Ye shall haue reuell, daunces, and songe;
Lytle chyldren, great and smale,
Shall syng as doth the nyghtyngale.
Than shall ye go to your euensong,
With tenours and trebles among;
Threscore of copes, of damaske bryght,
Full of perles th[e]y shal be pyght;
Your aulter clothes of taffata,
And your sicles all of taffetra.
Your sensours shal be of golde,
Endent with asure many a folde.
Your quere nor organ songe shall wante
With countre-note and dyscant,
The other halfe on orgayns playeng,
746
Than shall ye go to your suppere,
And sytte in tentes in grene arbere,
With clothes of Aras pyght to the grounde,
With saphyres set and dyamonde.
A cloth of golde abought your heade,
With popiniayes pyght, with pery read,
And offycers all at your wyll:
All maner delightes to bryng you tyll.
The nightingale sitting on a thorne
Shall synge you notes both euen and morne.
An hundreth knightes truly tolde
Shall play with bowles in alayes colde,
Your disease to driue awaie:
To se the fisshes in poles plaie;
And then walke in arbere vp and downe,
To se the floures of great renowne:
To a draw-brydge than shall ye,
The one halfe of stone, the other of tre;
A barge shall mete you full ryght
With xxiiii ores full bryght,
With trompettes and with claryowne,
The fresshe water to rowe vp and downe.
Than shall ye go to the salte fome,
Your maner to se, or ye come home,
With lxxx shyppes of large towre,
With dromedaryes of great honour,
And carackes with sayles two,
The sweftest that on water may goo,
With galyes good vpon the hauen,
With lxxx ores at the fore stauen.
Your maryners shall synge arowe
‘Hey, how, and rumbylawe.’
747
With spices that be good and fyne,
Gentyll pottes with genger grene,
With dates and deynties you betwene,
Forty torches, brenynge bryght,
At your brydges to brynge you lyght.
Into your chambre they shall you brynge,
With muche myrthe and more lykyng.
Your costerdes couered with whyte and blewe,
And dyapred with lyles newe.
Your curtaines of camaca all in folde,
Your felyoles all of golde.
Your tester-pery at your heed,
Curtaines with popiniayes white and reed.
Your hyllynges with furres of armyne,
Powdred with golde of hew full fyne.
Your blankettes shall be of fustyane,
Your shetes shall be of clothe of Rayne.
Your head-shete shall be of pery pyght
With dyamondes set and rubyes bryght.
Whan you are layde in bedde so softe,
A cage of golde shall hange alofte,
With longe peper fayre burnning,
And cloues that be swete smellyng,
Frankensence and olibanum,
That whan ye slepe the taste may come.
And yf ye no rest may take,
All night minstrelles for you shall wake.”
“Gramercy, father, so mote i the,
For all these thinges lyketh not me.”
Vnto her chambre she is gone,
And fell in sownyng sone anone
With much sorow and sighing sore;
748
But leue we of that lady here,
And speake we more of that squyer,
That in pryson so was take
For the Kinges doughters sake.
The Kyng hymselfe, vpon a daye,
Full pryuely he toke the waye;
Vnto the pryson sone he came;
The squyer sone out he name,
And anone he made hym swere
His counsayl he should neuer discure.
The squyer there helde vp his hande
His byddyng neuer he should withstande:
The Kyng him graunted ther to go
Upon his iorney to and fro,
And brefely to passe the sea,
That no man weste but he and he;
And whan he had his iurnay done,
That he wolde come full soone;
“And in my chambre for to be,
The whyles that i do ordayne for thee;
Than shalt thou wedde my doughter dere
And haue my landes, both farre and nere.”
And speake we more of that squyer,
That in pryson so was take
For the Kinges doughters sake.
The Kyng hymselfe, vpon a daye,
Full pryuely he toke the waye;
Vnto the pryson sone he came;
The squyer sone out he name,
And anone he made hym swere
His counsayl he should neuer discure.
The squyer there helde vp his hande
His byddyng neuer he should withstande:
The Kyng him graunted ther to go
Upon his iorney to and fro,
And brefely to passe the sea,
That no man weste but he and he;
And whan he had his iurnay done,
That he wolde come full soone;
“And in my chambre for to be,
The whyles that i do ordayne for thee;
Than shalt thou wedde my doughter dere
And haue my landes, both farre and nere.”
The squyer was full mery tho,
And thanked the Kynge, and forth gan go.
The Kyng hym gaue both lande and fe.
Anone the squyer passed the se.
In Tuskayne and in Lumbardy,
There he dyd great chyualry.
In Portyngale nor yet in Spayne
There myght no man stan[d] hym agayne;
And where that euer that knyght gan fare,
The worshyp with hym away he bare.
And thus he trauayled seuen yere
In many a land, both farre and nere;
Tyll on a day he thought hym tho
Unto the Sepulture for to go;
And there he made his offerynge soone,
Right as the Kinges doughter bad him don.
Than he thought hym on a day
That the Kynge to hym dyd saye.
He toke his leue in Lumbardy,
And home he came to Hungry.
Unto the Kynge soone he rade,
As he before his couenaunce made,
And to the Kyng he tolde full soone
Of batayles bolde that he had done,
And so he did the chyualry
That he had sene in Lumbardy.
To the Kynge it was good tydande;
Anone he toke him by the hande,
And he made him full royall chere,
And sayd, “Welcome, my sonne so dere!
Let none wete of my meyné
That out of prison thou shuldest be,
But in my chamber holde the styll,
And i shall wete my doughters wyll.”
And thanked the Kynge, and forth gan go.
The Kyng hym gaue both lande and fe.
Anone the squyer passed the se.
In Tuskayne and in Lumbardy,
There he dyd great chyualry.
In Portyngale nor yet in Spayne
There myght no man stan[d] hym agayne;
And where that euer that knyght gan fare,
The worshyp with hym away he bare.
And thus he trauayled seuen yere
In many a land, both farre and nere;
749
Unto the Sepulture for to go;
And there he made his offerynge soone,
Right as the Kinges doughter bad him don.
Than he thought hym on a day
That the Kynge to hym dyd saye.
He toke his leue in Lumbardy,
And home he came to Hungry.
Unto the Kynge soone he rade,
As he before his couenaunce made,
And to the Kyng he tolde full soone
Of batayles bolde that he had done,
And so he did the chyualry
That he had sene in Lumbardy.
To the Kynge it was good tydande;
Anone he toke him by the hande,
And he made him full royall chere,
And sayd, “Welcome, my sonne so dere!
Let none wete of my meyné
That out of prison thou shuldest be,
But in my chamber holde the styll,
And i shall wete my doughters wyll.”
The Kynge wente forth hymselfe alone
For to here his doughters mone,
Right vnder the chambre window,
There he might her counseyle knowe.
Had she wyst, that lady fre,
That her father there had be,
He shulde not, withouten fayle,
Haue knowen so muche of her counsayle;
Nor nothing she knew that he was there.
For to here his doughters mone,
Right vnder the chambre window,
There he might her counseyle knowe.
Had she wyst, that lady fre,
That her father there had be,
He shulde not, withouten fayle,
Haue knowen so muche of her counsayle;
Nor nothing she knew that he was there.
Whan she began to carke and care,
Unto that body she sayd tho,
“Alas that we should parte in two!”
Twyse or thryse she kyssed that body,
And fell in sownynge by and by.
“Alas!” than sayd that lady dere,
“I haue the kept this seuen yere;
And now ye be in powder small,
I may no lenger holde you with all.
My loue, to the earth i shall the brynge,
And preestes for you to reade and synge.
Yf any man aske me what i haue here,
I wyll say it is my treasure.
Yf any man aske why i do so,
‘For no theues shall come therto’:
And, squyer, for the loue of the,
Fy on this worldes vanyté!
Farewell golde, pure and fyne;
Farewell veluet and satyne;
Farewell castelles and maners also;
Farewell huntynge and hawkynge to;
Farewell reuell, myrthe, and play;
Farewell pleasure and garmentes gay;
Farewell perle and precyous stone;
Farewell my iuielles euerychone;
Farewell mantell and scarlet reed;
Farewell crowne vnto my heed;
Farewell hawkes and farewell hounde;
Farewell markes and many a pounde;
Farewell huntynge at the hare;
Farewell harte and hynde for euermare.
Nowe wyll i take the mantell and the rynge
And become an ancresse in my lyuynge:
And yet i am a mayden for thee,
And for all the men in Chrystenté.
To Chryst i shall my prayers make,
Squyer, onely for thy sake;
And i shall neuer no masse heare
But ye shall haue parte in feare:
And euery daye whyles i lyue,
Ye shall haue your masses fyue,
And i shall offre pence thre,
In tokenynge of the Trynyté.”
And whan this lady had this sayde,
In sownyng she fel at a brayde.
Unto that body she sayd tho,
“Alas that we should parte in two!”
Twyse or thryse she kyssed that body,
750
“Alas!” than sayd that lady dere,
“I haue the kept this seuen yere;
And now ye be in powder small,
I may no lenger holde you with all.
My loue, to the earth i shall the brynge,
And preestes for you to reade and synge.
Yf any man aske me what i haue here,
I wyll say it is my treasure.
Yf any man aske why i do so,
‘For no theues shall come therto’:
And, squyer, for the loue of the,
Fy on this worldes vanyté!
Farewell golde, pure and fyne;
Farewell veluet and satyne;
Farewell castelles and maners also;
Farewell huntynge and hawkynge to;
Farewell reuell, myrthe, and play;
Farewell pleasure and garmentes gay;
Farewell perle and precyous stone;
Farewell my iuielles euerychone;
Farewell mantell and scarlet reed;
Farewell crowne vnto my heed;
Farewell hawkes and farewell hounde;
Farewell markes and many a pounde;
Farewell huntynge at the hare;
Farewell harte and hynde for euermare.
Nowe wyll i take the mantell and the rynge
And become an ancresse in my lyuynge:
And yet i am a mayden for thee,
And for all the men in Chrystenté.
To Chryst i shall my prayers make,
Squyer, onely for thy sake;
And i shall neuer no masse heare
But ye shall haue parte in feare:
751
Ye shall haue your masses fyue,
And i shall offre pence thre,
In tokenynge of the Trynyté.”
And whan this lady had this sayde,
In sownyng she fel at a brayde.
The whyle she made this great mornynge,
Vnder the wall stode har father the Kynge.
“Doughter,” he sayde, “you must not do so,
For all those vowes thou must forgo.”
“Alas, father, and wele awaye!
Nowe haue ye harde what i dyde saye.”
“Doughter, let be all thy mournynge:
Thou shalt be wedede to a kynge.”
“Iwys, father, that shall not be
For all the golde in Christenté;
Nor all the golde that euer God made
May not my harte glade.”
“My doughter,” he sayde, “dere derlynge,
I knowe the cause of your mourny[n]g:
Ye wene this body your loue should be.
It is not so, so mote i the!
It was my stewarde, Syr Maradose,
That ye so longe haue kept in close.”
“Alas! father, why dyd ye so?”
“For he wrought you all thys wo.
He made reuelation vnto me
That he knewe all your pryuyté,
And howe the squyer, on a day,
Unto your chambre toke the way,
And ther he should haue lyen you bi,
Had he not come with company;
And howe ye hyght hym golde and fe,
Strengthe of men and royalté;
And than he watched your chambre bryght,
With men of armes hardy and wyght,
For to take that squyer,
That ye haue loued this seuen yere;
But as the stewarde strong and stout
Beseged your chambre rounde about,
To you your loue came full ryght,
All alone about mydnight.
And whan he came your dore vnto,
Anone ‘Lady,’ he sayde, ‘vndo,’
And soone ye bade hym wende awaye,
For there he gate none other praye:
And as ye talked thus in fere,
Your enemyes drewe them nere and nere;
They smote to him full soone anone.
There were thyrty agaynst hym one:
But with a bastarde large and longe
The squyer presed into the thronge;
And so he bare hym in that stounde,
His enemyes gaue hym many a wounde.
With egre mode and herte full throwe,
The stewardes throte he cut in two;
And than his meyné all in that place
With their swordes they hurte his face,
And than they toke him euerichone
And layd him on a marble stone
Before your dore, that ye myght se,
Ryght as your loue that he had be.
And sone the squier there they hent,
And they dyd of his good garment,
And did it on the stewarde there,
That ye wist not what he were.
Thus ye haue-kept your enemy here
Pallyng more than seuen yere;
And as the squyer there was take
And done in pryson for your sake.
And therfore let be your mourning;
Ye shal be wedded to a kyng,
Or els vnto an emperoure,
With golde and syluer and great treasure.”
“Do awaye, father, that may not be,
For all the golde in Chrystenté.
Alas! father,” anone she sayde,
“Why hath this traytour me betraid?
Alas!” she sayd, “i haue great wrong
That i haue kept him here so long.
Alas! father, why dyd ye so?
Ye might haue warned me of my fo;
And ye had tolde me who it had be,
My loue had neuer be dead for me.”
Anone she tourned her fro the Kyng,
And downe she fell in dead sownyng.
Vnder the wall stode har father the Kynge.
“Doughter,” he sayde, “you must not do so,
For all those vowes thou must forgo.”
“Alas, father, and wele awaye!
Nowe haue ye harde what i dyde saye.”
“Doughter, let be all thy mournynge:
Thou shalt be wedede to a kynge.”
“Iwys, father, that shall not be
For all the golde in Christenté;
Nor all the golde that euer God made
May not my harte glade.”
“My doughter,” he sayde, “dere derlynge,
I knowe the cause of your mourny[n]g:
Ye wene this body your loue should be.
It is not so, so mote i the!
It was my stewarde, Syr Maradose,
That ye so longe haue kept in close.”
“Alas! father, why dyd ye so?”
“For he wrought you all thys wo.
He made reuelation vnto me
That he knewe all your pryuyté,
And howe the squyer, on a day,
Unto your chambre toke the way,
And ther he should haue lyen you bi,
Had he not come with company;
And howe ye hyght hym golde and fe,
Strengthe of men and royalté;
And than he watched your chambre bryght,
752
For to take that squyer,
That ye haue loued this seuen yere;
But as the stewarde strong and stout
Beseged your chambre rounde about,
To you your loue came full ryght,
All alone about mydnight.
And whan he came your dore vnto,
Anone ‘Lady,’ he sayde, ‘vndo,’
And soone ye bade hym wende awaye,
For there he gate none other praye:
And as ye talked thus in fere,
Your enemyes drewe them nere and nere;
They smote to him full soone anone.
There were thyrty agaynst hym one:
But with a bastarde large and longe
The squyer presed into the thronge;
And so he bare hym in that stounde,
His enemyes gaue hym many a wounde.
With egre mode and herte full throwe,
The stewardes throte he cut in two;
And than his meyné all in that place
With their swordes they hurte his face,
And than they toke him euerichone
And layd him on a marble stone
Before your dore, that ye myght se,
Ryght as your loue that he had be.
And sone the squier there they hent,
And they dyd of his good garment,
And did it on the stewarde there,
That ye wist not what he were.
753
Pallyng more than seuen yere;
And as the squyer there was take
And done in pryson for your sake.
And therfore let be your mourning;
Ye shal be wedded to a kyng,
Or els vnto an emperoure,
With golde and syluer and great treasure.”
“Do awaye, father, that may not be,
For all the golde in Chrystenté.
Alas! father,” anone she sayde,
“Why hath this traytour me betraid?
Alas!” she sayd, “i haue great wrong
That i haue kept him here so long.
Alas! father, why dyd ye so?
Ye might haue warned me of my fo;
And ye had tolde me who it had be,
My loue had neuer be dead for me.”
Anone she tourned her fro the Kyng,
And downe she fell in dead sownyng.
The Kyng anone gan go,
And hente her in his armes two.
“Lady,” he sayd, “be of good chere:
Your loue lyueth and is here;
And he hath bene in Lombardy,
And done he hath great chyualry,
And come agayne he is to me;
In lyfe and health ye shall him se.
He shall you wede, my doughter bryght:
I haue hym made squier and knyght;
He shal be a lorde of great renowne,
And after me to were the crowne.”
“Father,” she sayd, “if it so be,
Let me soone that squyer se.”
And hente her in his armes two.
“Lady,” he sayd, “be of good chere:
Your loue lyueth and is here;
And he hath bene in Lombardy,
And done he hath great chyualry,
And come agayne he is to me;
In lyfe and health ye shall him se.
He shall you wede, my doughter bryght:
I haue hym made squier and knyght;
He shal be a lorde of great renowne,
And after me to were the crowne.”
“Father,” she sayd, “if it so be,
Let me soone that squyer se.”
754
The squyer forth than dyd he brynge,
Full fayre on lyue an[d] in lykynge.
As sone as she saw him with her eye,
She fell in sownyng by and by.
The squyer her hente in armes two,
And kyssed her an hundreth tymes and mo.
There was myrth and melody
With harpe, getron, and sautry,
With rote, ribible, and clokarde,
With pypes, organs, and bumbarde,
Wyth other mynstrelles them amonge,
With sytolphe and with sautry songe,
With fydle, recorde, and dowcemere,
With trompette and with claryon clere,
With dulcet pipes of many cordes;
In chambre reuelyng all the lordes
Unto morne, that it was daye.
Full fayre on lyue an[d] in lykynge.
As sone as she saw him with her eye,
She fell in sownyng by and by.
The squyer her hente in armes two,
And kyssed her an hundreth tymes and mo.
There was myrth and melody
With harpe, getron, and sautry,
With rote, ribible, and clokarde,
With pypes, organs, and bumbarde,
Wyth other mynstrelles them amonge,
With sytolphe and with sautry songe,
With fydle, recorde, and dowcemere,
With trompette and with claryon clere,
With dulcet pipes of many cordes;
In chambre reuelyng all the lordes
Unto morne, that it was daye.
The Kyng to his doughter began to saye,
“Haue here thy loue and thy lyking,
To lyue and ende in Gods blessinge;
And he that wyll departe you two,
God geue him sorow and wo!
A trewe[r] louer than ye are one
Was neuer [yet of] fleshe ne bone;
And but he be as true to thee,
God let him neuer thryue ne thee.”
The Kyng in herte he was full blithe;
He kissed his doughter many a sithe,
With melody and muche chere;
Anone he called his messengere,
And commaunded him soone to go
Through his cities to and fro
For to warne his cheualry
That they should come to Hungry,
That worthy wedding for to se,
And come vnto that mangeré.
That messenger full sone he wente
And did the Kinges commaundemente.
Anone he commaunded bothe olde and yonge
For to be at that weddyng,
Both dukes and erles of muche myght,
And ladyes that were fayre and bryght.
As soone as euer they herde the crye,
The lordes were full soone redy;
With myrth and game and muche playe
They wedded them on a solempne daye.
A royall feest there was holde,
With dukes and erles and barons bolde,
And knyghtes and squyers of that countré,
And sith with all the comunalté.
And certaynly, as the story sayes,
The reuell lasted forty dayes;
Tyll on a day the Kyng himselfe
To hym he toke his lordes twelfe,
And so he dyd the squyer,
That wedded his doughter dere;
And euen in the myddes of the hall,
He made him kyng among them al;
And all the lordes euerychone,
They made him homage sone anon;
And sithen they reuelled all that day
And toke theyr leue and went theyr way,
Eche lorde vnto his owne countré,
Where that hym [semed] best to be.
That yong man and the Quene his wyfe,
With ioy and blysse they led theyr lyfe;
For also farre as i haue gone,
Suche two louers sawe i none:
Therfore blessed may theyr soules be,
Amen, Amen, for charyté!
“Haue here thy loue and thy lyking,
To lyue and ende in Gods blessinge;
And he that wyll departe you two,
God geue him sorow and wo!
A trewe[r] louer than ye are one
Was neuer [yet of] fleshe ne bone;
And but he be as true to thee,
God let him neuer thryue ne thee.”
The Kyng in herte he was full blithe;
He kissed his doughter many a sithe,
With melody and muche chere;
Anone he called his messengere,
And commaunded him soone to go
Through his cities to and fro
For to warne his cheualry
That they should come to Hungry,
That worthy wedding for to se,
755
That messenger full sone he wente
And did the Kinges commaundemente.
Anone he commaunded bothe olde and yonge
For to be at that weddyng,
Both dukes and erles of muche myght,
And ladyes that were fayre and bryght.
As soone as euer they herde the crye,
The lordes were full soone redy;
With myrth and game and muche playe
They wedded them on a solempne daye.
A royall feest there was holde,
With dukes and erles and barons bolde,
And knyghtes and squyers of that countré,
And sith with all the comunalté.
And certaynly, as the story sayes,
The reuell lasted forty dayes;
Tyll on a day the Kyng himselfe
To hym he toke his lordes twelfe,
And so he dyd the squyer,
That wedded his doughter dere;
And euen in the myddes of the hall,
He made him kyng among them al;
And all the lordes euerychone,
They made him homage sone anon;
And sithen they reuelled all that day
And toke theyr leue and went theyr way,
Eche lorde vnto his owne countré,
Where that hym [semed] best to be.
That yong man and the Quene his wyfe,
With ioy and blysse they led theyr lyfe;
For also farre as i haue gone,
Suche two louers sawe i none:
Therfore blessed may theyr soules be,
Amen, Amen, for charyté!
Finis. Thus endeth undo your doore, otherwise called the squyer of lowe degre.
877
SIR CLEGES
Will ye lystyn, and ye schyll here
Of eldyrs that before vs were,
Bothe hardy and wyȝt,
In the tyme of kynge Vtere,
That was ffadyr of kynge A[r]thyr,
A semely man in siȝt.
He hade a knyȝt, þat hight Sir Cleges;
A dowtyar was non of dedis
Of the Rovnd Tabull right.
He was a man of hight stature
And therto full fayre of ffeture,
And also of gret myȝt.
Of eldyrs that before vs were,
Bothe hardy and wyȝt,
878
That was ffadyr of kynge A[r]thyr,
A semely man in siȝt.
He hade a knyȝt, þat hight Sir Cleges;
A dowtyar was non of dedis
Of the Rovnd Tabull right.
He was a man of hight stature
And therto full fayre of ffeture,
And also of gret myȝt.
A corteysear knyȝt than he was on
In all the lond was there non;
He was so ientyll and fre.
To men þat traveld in londe of ware
And wern fallyn in pouerté bare,
He yaue both gold and ffee.
The pore pepull he wold releve,
And no man wold he greve;
Meke of maners was hee.
His mete was ffre to euery man
That wold com and vesite hym than;
He was full of plenté.
In all the lond was there non;
He was so ientyll and fre.
To men þat traveld in londe of ware
And wern fallyn in pouerté bare,
He yaue both gold and ffee.
The pore pepull he wold releve,
And no man wold he greve;
Meke of maners was hee.
His mete was ffre to euery man
That wold com and vesite hym than;
He was full of plenté.
The knyȝt hade a ientyll wyffe;
There miȝt non better bere life,
And mery sche was on siȝte.
Dame Clarys hight þat ffayre lady;
Sche was full good, sekyrly,
And gladsum both day and nyȝte.
Almus gret sche wold geve,
The pore pepull to releue;
Sche cherisschid many a wiȝt.
For them hade no man dere,
Rech ar pore wethyr they were;
They ded euer ryght.
There miȝt non better bere life,
And mery sche was on siȝte.
Dame Clarys hight þat ffayre lady;
Sche was full good, sekyrly,
And gladsum both day and nyȝte.
Almus gret sche wold geve,
The pore pepull to releue;
Sche cherisschid many a wiȝt.
For them hade no man dere,
Rech ar pore wethyr they were;
They ded euer ryght.
879
Euery yer Sir Cleges wold
At Cristemas a gret ffest hold
In worschepe of þat daye,
As ryall in all thynge
As he hade ben a kynge,
Forsoth, as i you saye.
Rech and pore in þe cuntré abouȝt
Schuld be there, wythoutton douȝtt;
There wold no man say nay.
Mynsstrellis wold not be behynde,
For there they myȝt most myrthis fynd;
There wold they be aye.
At Cristemas a gret ffest hold
In worschepe of þat daye,
As ryall in all thynge
As he hade ben a kynge,
Forsoth, as i you saye.
Rech and pore in þe cuntré abouȝt
Schuld be there, wythoutton douȝtt;
There wold no man say nay.
Mynsstrellis wold not be behynde,
For there they myȝt most myrthis fynd;
There wold they be aye.
Mynsstrellys, whan þe ffest was don,
Wythoutton yeftis schuld not gon,
And þat bothe rech and good:
Hors, robis, and rech ryngis,
Gold, siluer, and othyr thyngis,
To mend wyth her modde.
Ten yere sech ffest he helde
In the worschepe of Mari myld
And for Hym þat dyed on the rode.
Be that, his good began to slake
For the gret ffestis that he dede make,
The knyȝt ientyll of blode.
Wythoutton yeftis schuld not gon,
And þat bothe rech and good:
Hors, robis, and rech ryngis,
Gold, siluer, and othyr thyngis,
To mend wyth her modde.
Ten yere sech ffest he helde
In the worschepe of Mari myld
And for Hym þat dyed on the rode.
Be that, his good began to slake
For the gret ffestis that he dede make,
The knyȝt ientyll of blode.
To hold the feste he wold not lett;
His maners he ded to wede sett;
He thowȝt hem out to quyȝtt.
Thus he ffestyd many a yere
Many a knyȝt and squire
In the name of God all-myȝt.
So at the last, the soth to say,
All his good was spent awaye;
Than hade he but lyȝt.
Thowe his good were ner[h]and leste,
Yet he thowȝt to make a feste;
In God he hopyd ryght.
His maners he ded to wede sett;
He thowȝt hem out to quyȝtt.
Thus he ffestyd many a yere
Many a knyȝt and squire
In the name of God all-myȝt.
So at the last, the soth to say,
All his good was spent awaye;
Than hade he but lyȝt.
Thowe his good were ner[h]and leste,
880
In God he hopyd ryght.
This rialté he made than aye,
Tyll his maneris wern all awaye;
Hym was lefte but on,
And þat was of so lytyll a value
That he and his wyffe trewe
Miȝt not leve thereon.
His men that wern mekyll of pride
Gan slake awaye on euery syde;
With hym there wold dwell non
But he and his childyrn too;
Than was his hart in mech woo,
And he made mech mone.
Tyll his maneris wern all awaye;
Hym was lefte but on,
And þat was of so lytyll a value
That he and his wyffe trewe
Miȝt not leve thereon.
His men that wern mekyll of pride
Gan slake awaye on euery syde;
With hym there wold dwell non
But he and his childyrn too;
Than was his hart in mech woo,
And he made mech mone.
And yt befell on Crestemas evyn,
The knyȝt bethowȝt hym full evyn;
He dwellyd be Kardyfe syde.
Whan yt drowe toward the novn,
Sir Cleges fell in svounnyng sone,
Whan he thowȝt on þat tyde
And on his myrthys þat he schuld hold
And howe he hade his maners sold
And his renttis wyde.
Mech sorowe made he there;
He wrong his handis and wepyd sore,
And ffellyd was his pride.
The knyȝt bethowȝt hym full evyn;
He dwellyd be Kardyfe syde.
Whan yt drowe toward the novn,
Sir Cleges fell in svounnyng sone,
Whan he thowȝt on þat tyde
And on his myrthys þat he schuld hold
And howe he hade his maners sold
And his renttis wyde.
Mech sorowe made he there;
He wrong his handis and wepyd sore,
And ffellyd was his pride.
And as he walkyd vpp and dovn
Sore syȝthyng, he hard a sovne
Of dyvers mynstrelsé:
Of trompus, pypus, and claraneris,
Of harpis, luttis, and getarnys,
A sitole and sawtré,
Many carellys and gret davnsyng;
On euery syde he harde syngyng,
In euery place, trewly.
He wrong his hondis and wepyd sore;
Mech mone made he there,
Syghynge petusly.
Sore syȝthyng, he hard a sovne
Of dyvers mynstrelsé:
Of trompus, pypus, and claraneris,
881
A sitole and sawtré,
Many carellys and gret davnsyng;
On euery syde he harde syngyng,
In euery place, trewly.
He wrong his hondis and wepyd sore;
Mech mone made he there,
Syghynge petusly.
“Lord Ihesu,” he seyd, “Hevyn-kynge,
Of nowȝt Thou madyst all thynge;
I thanke The of Thy sond.
The myrth that i was wonte to make!
At thys tyme for Thy sake,
I fede both fre and bond.
All that euer cam in Thy name
Wantyd neythyr wyld nere tame
That was in my lond;
Of rech metis and drynkkys good
That myȝt be gott, be the rode,
For coste i wold not lend.”
Of nowȝt Thou madyst all thynge;
I thanke The of Thy sond.
The myrth that i was wonte to make!
At thys tyme for Thy sake,
I fede both fre and bond.
All that euer cam in Thy name
Wantyd neythyr wyld nere tame
That was in my lond;
Of rech metis and drynkkys good
That myȝt be gott, be the rode,
For coste i wold not lend.”
As he stod in mornyng soo,
His good wyffe cam hym vnto,
And in hyr armys hym hent.
Sche kyssyd hym wyth glad chere;
“My lord,” sche seyd, “my trewe fere,
I hard what ye ment.
Ye se will, yt helpyth nowȝt
To make sorowe in youre thowȝt;
Therefore i pray you stynte.
Let youre sorowe awaye gon,
And thanke God of hys lone
Of all þat He hath sent.
His good wyffe cam hym vnto,
And in hyr armys hym hent.
Sche kyssyd hym wyth glad chere;
“My lord,” sche seyd, “my trewe fere,
I hard what ye ment.
Ye se will, yt helpyth nowȝt
To make sorowe in youre thowȝt;
Therefore i pray you stynte.
Let youre sorowe awaye gon,
882
Of all þat He hath sent.
For Crystis sake, i pray you blyne
Of all the sorowe þat ye ben in,
In onor of thys daye.
Nowe euery man schuld be glade;
Therefore i pray you be not sade;
Thynke what i you saye.
Go we to oure mete swyth
And let vs make vs glade and blyth,
As wele as we may.
I hold yt for the best, trewly;
For youre mete is all redy,
I hope, to youre paye.”
Of all the sorowe þat ye ben in,
In onor of thys daye.
Nowe euery man schuld be glade;
Therefore i pray you be not sade;
Thynke what i you saye.
Go we to oure mete swyth
And let vs make vs glade and blyth,
As wele as we may.
I hold yt for the best, trewly;
For youre mete is all redy,
I hope, to youre paye.”
“I asent,” seyd he tho,
And in with hyr he gan goo,
And sumwatt mendyd hys chere.
But neuerþeles hys hart was sore,
And sche hym comforttyd more and more,
Hys sorewe away to stere.
So he began to waxe blyth
And whypyd away hys teris swyth,
That ran dovn be his lyre.
Than they wasschyd and went to mete
Wyth sech vitell as they myȝt gett
And made mery in fere.
And in with hyr he gan goo,
And sumwatt mendyd hys chere.
But neuerþeles hys hart was sore,
And sche hym comforttyd more and more,
Hys sorewe away to stere.
So he began to waxe blyth
And whypyd away hys teris swyth,
That ran dovn be his lyre.
Than they wasschyd and went to mete
Wyth sech vitell as they myȝt gett
And made mery in fere.
Whan they hade ete, the soth to saye,
Wyth myrth they droffe þe day away,
As will as they myȝt.
Wyth her chyldyrn play they ded
And after soper went to bede,
Whan yt was tyme of nyȝt.
And on the morowe they went to chirch,
Godis service for to werch,
As yt was reson and ryȝt.
[Up þei ros and went þeþer,
They and þer chylder togeþer,
When þei were redy dyȝht.]
Wyth myrth they droffe þe day away,
As will as they myȝt.
Wyth her chyldyrn play they ded
And after soper went to bede,
Whan yt was tyme of nyȝt.
And on the morowe they went to chirch,
883
As yt was reson and ryȝt.
[Up þei ros and went þeþer,
They and þer chylder togeþer,
When þei were redy dyȝht.]
Sir Cleges knelyd on his kne;
To Ihesu Crist prayed he
Becavse of his wiffe:
“Gracius Lord,” he seyd thoo,
“My wyffe and my chyldyrn too,
Kepe hem out of stryffe!”
The lady prayed for hym ayen
That God schuld kepe hym fro peyne
In euerlastyng lyf.
Whan service was don, hom they went,
And thanked God with god entent,
And put away penci[ffe].
To Ihesu Crist prayed he
Becavse of his wiffe:
“Gracius Lord,” he seyd thoo,
“My wyffe and my chyldyrn too,
Kepe hem out of stryffe!”
The lady prayed for hym ayen
That God schuld kepe hym fro peyne
In euerlastyng lyf.
Whan service was don, hom they went,
And thanked God with god entent,
And put away penci[ffe].
Whan he to hys place cam,
His care was will abatyd than;
Thereof he gan stynt.
He made his wife afore hym goo
And his chyldyrn both to;
Hymselfe alone went
Into a gardeyne there besyde,
And knelyd dovn in þat tyde
And prayed God veramend,
And thanked God wyth all hys hartt
Of his dysese and hys povertt,
That to hym was sent.
His care was will abatyd than;
Thereof he gan stynt.
He made his wife afore hym goo
And his chyldyrn both to;
Hymselfe alone went
Into a gardeyne there besyde,
And knelyd dovn in þat tyde
And prayed God veramend,
And thanked God wyth all hys hartt
Of his dysese and hys povertt,
That to hym was sent.
As he knelyd on hys knee
Vnderneth a chery-tre,
Makyng hys preyere,
He rawȝt a bowe ouer hys hede
And rosse vpe in that stede;
No lenger knelyd he there.
Whan þe bowe was in hys hand,
Grene leves thereon he fonde,
And rovnd beryse in fere.
He seyd, “Dere God in Trenyté,
What manere of beryse may þis be,
That grovyn þis tyme of yere?
Vnderneth a chery-tre,
Makyng hys preyere,
He rawȝt a bowe ouer hys hede
884
No lenger knelyd he there.
Whan þe bowe was in hys hand,
Grene leves thereon he fonde,
And rovnd beryse in fere.
He seyd, “Dere God in Trenyté,
What manere of beryse may þis be,
That grovyn þis tyme of yere?
Abowȝt þis tyme i sey neuer ere,
That any tre schuld frewȝt bere,
As for as i haue sowȝt.”
He thowȝt to taste yf he cowþe;
And on he put in his mowth,
And spare wold he nat.
After a chery þe reles was,
The best þat euer he ete in place,
Syn he was man wrowȝt.
A lytyll bowe he gan of-slyve,
And thowȝt to schewe yt to his wife,
And in he yt browȝt.
That any tre schuld frewȝt bere,
As for as i haue sowȝt.”
He thowȝt to taste yf he cowþe;
And on he put in his mowth,
And spare wold he nat.
After a chery þe reles was,
The best þat euer he ete in place,
Syn he was man wrowȝt.
A lytyll bowe he gan of-slyve,
And thowȝt to schewe yt to his wife,
And in he yt browȝt.
“Loo! dame, here ys newelté;
In oure gardeyne of a chery-tre
I fond yt, sekerly.
I am aferd yt ys tokynnyng
Of more harme that ys comynge;
For soth, thus thynkkyth me.”
[His wyfe seyd, “It is tokenyng
Off mour godness þat is comyng;
We schall haue mour plenté.]
But wethyr wee haue les or more,
Allwaye thanke we God therefore;
Yt ys best, trewly.”
In oure gardeyne of a chery-tre
I fond yt, sekerly.
I am aferd yt ys tokynnyng
Of more harme that ys comynge;
For soth, thus thynkkyth me.”
[His wyfe seyd, “It is tokenyng
Off mour godness þat is comyng;
We schall haue mour plenté.]
But wethyr wee haue les or more,
Allwaye thanke we God therefore;
Yt ys best, trewly.”
885
Than seyd the lady with good chere,
“Latt vs fyll a panyer
Of þis þat God hath sent.
To-morovn, whan þe day doþe spryng,
Ye schill to Cardyffe to þe kynge
And yeve hym to present;
And sech a yefte ye may haue there
That þe better wee may fare all þis yere,
I tell you, werament.”
Sir Cleges gravntyd sone thereto:
“To-morovn to Cardiffe will i goo,
After youre entent.”
“Latt vs fyll a panyer
Of þis þat God hath sent.
To-morovn, whan þe day doþe spryng,
Ye schill to Cardyffe to þe kynge
And yeve hym to present;
And sech a yefte ye may haue there
That þe better wee may fare all þis yere,
I tell you, werament.”
Sir Cleges gravntyd sone thereto:
“To-morovn to Cardiffe will i goo,
After youre entent.”
On the morovn, whan yt was lyȝt,
The lady hade a panere dyght;
Hyr eldest son callyd sche:
“Take vpp thys panyere goodly
And bere yt forth esyly
Wyth thy fadyr fre!”
Than Sir Cleges a staffe toke;
He hade non hors—so seyth þe boke—
To ryde on hys iorny,
Neythyr stede nere palfray,
But a staffe was hys hakenay,
As a man in pouerté.
The lady hade a panere dyght;
Hyr eldest son callyd sche:
“Take vpp thys panyere goodly
And bere yt forth esyly
Wyth thy fadyr fre!”
Than Sir Cleges a staffe toke;
He hade non hors—so seyth þe boke—
To ryde on hys iorny,
Neythyr stede nere palfray,
But a staffe was hys hakenay,
As a man in pouerté.
Sir Cleges and his son gent
The right waye to Cardiffe went
Vppon Cristemas daye.
To the castell he cam full right,
As they were to mete dyȝt,
Anon, the soth to saye.
In Sir Cleges thowȝt to goo,
But in pore clothyng was he tho
And in sympull araye.
The portere seyd full hastyly,
“Thou chorle, withdrawe þe smertly,
I rede the, without delaye;
The right waye to Cardiffe went
Vppon Cristemas daye.
To the castell he cam full right,
As they were to mete dyȝt,
Anon, the soth to saye.
In Sir Cleges thowȝt to goo,
But in pore clothyng was he tho
And in sympull araye.
886
“Thou chorle, withdrawe þe smertly,
I rede the, without delaye;
Ellys, be God and Seint Mari,
I schall breke thyne hede on high;
Go stond in beggeris rowȝt.
Yf þou com more inward,
It schall þe rewe afterward,
So i schall þe clowȝt.”
“Good sir,” seyd Sir Cleges tho,
“I pray you, lat me in goo
Nowe, without dowȝt.
The kynge i haue a present browȝtt
From Hym þat made all thynge of nowȝt;
Behold all abowȝt!”
I schall breke thyne hede on high;
Go stond in beggeris rowȝt.
Yf þou com more inward,
It schall þe rewe afterward,
So i schall þe clowȝt.”
“Good sir,” seyd Sir Cleges tho,
“I pray you, lat me in goo
Nowe, without dowȝt.
The kynge i haue a present browȝtt
From Hym þat made all thynge of nowȝt;
Behold all abowȝt!”
The porter to the panere went,
And the led vppe he hentt;
The cheryse he gan behold.
Will he wyst, for his comyng
Wyth þat present to þe kyng,
Gret yeftis haue he schuld.
“Be Hym,” he seyd, “that me bowȝt,
Into thys place comste þou nott,
As i am man of mold,
The thyrde part but þou graunte me
Of þat the kyng will yeve þe,
Wethyr yt be syluer or gold.”
And the led vppe he hentt;
The cheryse he gan behold.
Will he wyst, for his comyng
Wyth þat present to þe kyng,
Gret yeftis haue he schuld.
“Be Hym,” he seyd, “that me bowȝt,
Into thys place comste þou nott,
As i am man of mold,
The thyrde part but þou graunte me
Of þat the kyng will yeve þe,
Wethyr yt be syluer or gold.”
Sir Cleges seyd, “I asent.”
He yaue hym leve, and in he went,
Wythout more lettyng.
In he went a gret pace;
The vsschere at the hall-dore was
Wyth a staffe stondynge,
In poynte Cleges for to smyȝt:
“Goo bake, þou chorle,” he seyd, “full tyȝt,
Without teryyng!
I schall þe bette euery leth,
Hede and body, wythout greth,
Yf þou make more pressynge.”
He yaue hym leve, and in he went,
Wythout more lettyng.
In he went a gret pace;
The vsschere at the hall-dore was
887
In poynte Cleges for to smyȝt:
“Goo bake, þou chorle,” he seyd, “full tyȝt,
Without teryyng!
I schall þe bette euery leth,
Hede and body, wythout greth,
Yf þou make more pressynge.”
“Good sir,” seyd Sir Cleges than,
“For Hys loue þat made man,
Sese youre angrye mode!
I haue herr a present browȝt
From Hym þat made all thynge of nowȝt,
And dyed on the rode.
Thys nyȝt in my gardeyne yt grewe;
Behold wethyr it be false or trewe;
They be fayre and good.”
The vsschere lyfte vp þe lede smartly
And sawe the cheryse verily;
He marveld in his mode.
“For Hys loue þat made man,
Sese youre angrye mode!
I haue herr a present browȝt
From Hym þat made all thynge of nowȝt,
And dyed on the rode.
Thys nyȝt in my gardeyne yt grewe;
Behold wethyr it be false or trewe;
They be fayre and good.”
The vsschere lyfte vp þe lede smartly
And sawe the cheryse verily;
He marveld in his mode.
The vsschere seyd, “Be Mari swet,
Chorle, þou comste not in yett,
I tell þe sekyrly,
But þou me graunte, without lesyng,
The thyrd part of þi wynnyng,
Wan þou comste ayen to me.”
Sir Cleges sey non othyr von;
Thereto he grauntyd sone anon;
It woll non othyr be.
Than Sir Cleges with hevi chere
Toke hys son and hys panere;
Into the hall went he.
Chorle, þou comste not in yett,
I tell þe sekyrly,
But þou me graunte, without lesyng,
The thyrd part of þi wynnyng,
Wan þou comste ayen to me.”
Sir Cleges sey non othyr von;
Thereto he grauntyd sone anon;
It woll non othyr be.
Than Sir Cleges with hevi chere
888
Into the hall went he.
The styward walkyd there withall
Amonge the lordis in þe hall,
That wern rech on wede.
To Sir Cleges he went boldly
And seyd, “Ho made the soo hardi
To com into thys stede?
Chorle,” he seyd, “þou art to bold!
Wythdrawe the with thy clothys old
Smartly, i the rede!”
“I haue,” he seyd, “a present browȝt
From oure Lord, that vs dere bowȝt
And on the rode gan blede.”
Amonge the lordis in þe hall,
That wern rech on wede.
To Sir Cleges he went boldly
And seyd, “Ho made the soo hardi
To com into thys stede?
Chorle,” he seyd, “þou art to bold!
Wythdrawe the with thy clothys old
Smartly, i the rede!”
“I haue,” he seyd, “a present browȝt
From oure Lord, that vs dere bowȝt
And on the rode gan blede.”
The panyere he toke the styward sone,
And he pullyd out the pyne [anon],
As smertly as he myȝt.
The styward seyd, “Be Mari dere,
Thys sawe i neuer thys tyme of yere,
Syn i was man wrowȝt.
Thou schalt com no nere the kynge,
But yf thowe graunt me myn askyng,
Be Hym þat me bowȝt:
The thyrd partt of the kyngis yefte,
That will i haue, be my threfte,
Ar forthere gost þou nott!”
And he pullyd out the pyne [anon],
As smertly as he myȝt.
The styward seyd, “Be Mari dere,
Thys sawe i neuer thys tyme of yere,
Syn i was man wrowȝt.
Thou schalt com no nere the kynge,
But yf thowe graunt me myn askyng,
Be Hym þat me bowȝt:
The thyrd partt of the kyngis yefte,
That will i haue, be my threfte,
Ar forthere gost þou nott!”
Sir Cleges bethowȝt hym than,
“My part ys lest bethwyxt þes men,
And i schall haue no thynge.
For my labor schall i nott get,
But yt be a melys mete.”
Thus he thouȝt syynge.
He seyd, “Harlot, hast þou noo tonge?
Speke to me and terye nat longe
And graunte me myn askynge,
Ar wyth a staffe i schall þe wake,
That thy rebys schall all toquake,
And put þe out hedlynge.”
“My part ys lest bethwyxt þes men,
And i schall haue no thynge.
For my labor schall i nott get,
But yt be a melys mete.”
Thus he thouȝt syynge.
889
Speke to me and terye nat longe
And graunte me myn askynge,
Ar wyth a staffe i schall þe wake,
That thy rebys schall all toquake,
And put þe out hedlynge.”
Sir Cleges sey non othyr bote,
But his askyng graunte he most,
And seyd with syynge sore,
“Whatsoeuer the kyng reward,
Ye schyll haue the thyrd part,
Be yt lesse ar more.”
[When Sir Cleges had seyd þat word,
The stewerd and he wer acorde
And seyd to hym no more.]
Vpe to the desse Sir Cleges went
Full soborly and with good entent,
Knelynge the kynge beforn.
But his askyng graunte he most,
And seyd with syynge sore,
“Whatsoeuer the kyng reward,
Ye schyll haue the thyrd part,
Be yt lesse ar more.”
[When Sir Cleges had seyd þat word,
The stewerd and he wer acorde
And seyd to hym no more.]
Vpe to the desse Sir Cleges went
Full soborly and with good entent,
Knelynge the kynge beforn.
Sir Cleges oncowyrd the panyere
And schewed the kynge the cheryse clere,
On the grovnd knelynge.
He seyd, “Ihesu, oure savyore,
Sent the thys frewȝt with honore
On thys erth growynge.”
The kynge sye thes cheryse newe;
He seyd, “I thanke Cryst Ihesu;
Thys ys a fayre neweynge.”
He commaunndyd Sir Cleges to mete,
And aftyrward he thowȝt with hym to speke,
Wythout any faylynge.
And schewed the kynge the cheryse clere,
On the grovnd knelynge.
He seyd, “Ihesu, oure savyore,
Sent the thys frewȝt with honore
On thys erth growynge.”
The kynge sye thes cheryse newe;
He seyd, “I thanke Cryst Ihesu;
Thys ys a fayre neweynge.”
He commaunndyd Sir Cleges to mete,
And aftyrward he thowȝt with hym to speke,
Wythout any faylynge.
The kynge thereof made a present
And sent yt to a lady gent
Was born in Cornewayle.
Sche was a lady bryght and schene
And also ryght will besene,
Wythout any fayle.
The cheryse were servyd thorowe þe hall;
Than seyd þe kynge, þat lord ryall:
“Be mery, be my cunnsell!
And he þat browȝt me þis present,
Full will i schall hym content;
Yt schall hym will avayle.”
And sent yt to a lady gent
Was born in Cornewayle.
890
And also ryght will besene,
Wythout any fayle.
The cheryse were servyd thorowe þe hall;
Than seyd þe kynge, þat lord ryall:
“Be mery, be my cunnsell!
And he þat browȝt me þis present,
Full will i schall hym content;
Yt schall hym will avayle.”
Whan all men were mery and glade,
Anon the kynge a squire bade,
“Brynge nowe me beforn
The pore man þat the cheryse browȝt!”
He cam anon and teryde natt,
Wythout any skorn.
Whan he cam before the kynge,
On knese he fell knelynge,
The lordis all beforn.
To the kyng he spake full styll;
“Lord,” he seyd, “watte ys your will?
I am youre man fre-born.”
Anon the kynge a squire bade,
“Brynge nowe me beforn
The pore man þat the cheryse browȝt!”
He cam anon and teryde natt,
Wythout any skorn.
Whan he cam before the kynge,
On knese he fell knelynge,
The lordis all beforn.
To the kyng he spake full styll;
“Lord,” he seyd, “watte ys your will?
I am youre man fre-born.”
“I thanke the hartyly,” seyd þe kynge,
“Of thy yeft and presentynge,
That þou haste nowe idoo.
Thowe haste onowryd all my fest,
Old and yonge, most and lest,
And worschepyd me also.
Wattsooeuer þou wolt haue,
I will the graunnte, so God me saue,
That thyne hart standyth to.
[Wheþer it be lond our lede
Or oþer gode, so God me spede,
How-þat-euer it go.”]
“Of thy yeft and presentynge,
That þou haste nowe idoo.
Thowe haste onowryd all my fest,
Old and yonge, most and lest,
And worschepyd me also.
Wattsooeuer þou wolt haue,
I will the graunnte, so God me saue,
That thyne hart standyth to.
[Wheþer it be lond our lede
Or oþer gode, so God me spede,
How-þat-euer it go.”]
891
He seyd, “Gramarcy, lech kynge!
Thys ys to me a comfortynge,
I tell you sekyrly.
For to haue lond or lede
Or othyr reches, so God me spede,
Yt ys to mech for me.
But seth i schall chese myselfe,
I pray you graunt me strokys xii
To dele were lykyth me;
Wyth my staffe to pay hem all
To myn aduerseryse in þe hall,
For Send Charyté.”
Thys ys to me a comfortynge,
I tell you sekyrly.
For to haue lond or lede
Or othyr reches, so God me spede,
Yt ys to mech for me.
But seth i schall chese myselfe,
I pray you graunt me strokys xii
To dele were lykyth me;
Wyth my staffe to pay hem all
To myn aduerseryse in þe hall,
For Send Charyté.”
Than aunsswerd Hewtar þe kynge,
“I repent my grauntynge
That i to þe made.
God!” he seyd, “so mott i thee,
Thowe haddyst be better haue gold or fee;
More nede thereto þou hade.”
Sir Cleges seyd with awaunt,
“Lord, yt ys youre owyn graunte;
Therefore i am full glade.”
The kynge was sory therefore,
But neuer the lesse he grauntyd hym there;
Therefore he was full sade.
“I repent my grauntynge
That i to þe made.
God!” he seyd, “so mott i thee,
Thowe haddyst be better haue gold or fee;
More nede thereto þou hade.”
Sir Cleges seyd with awaunt,
“Lord, yt ys youre owyn graunte;
Therefore i am full glade.”
The kynge was sory therefore,
But neuer the lesse he grauntyd hym there;
Therefore he was full sade.
Sir Cleges went into þe hall
Amonge þe gret lordis all,
Without any more.
He sowȝt after the prowȝd styward,
For to yeve hym hys reward,
Becavse he grevyd hym sore.
He yaffe the styward sech a stroke,
That he fell dovn as a bloke
Before all þat therein were,
And after he yafe hym othyr thre;
He seyd, “Sire, for thy corteci,
Smyȝte me no more!”
Amonge þe gret lordis all,
Without any more.
He sowȝt after the prowȝd styward,
For to yeve hym hys reward,
Becavse he grevyd hym sore.
He yaffe the styward sech a stroke,
That he fell dovn as a bloke
Before all þat therein were,
892
He seyd, “Sire, for thy corteci,
Smyȝte me no more!”
Out of the hall Sir Cleges went;
Moo to paye was hys entent,
Wythout any lett.
He went to þe vsschere in a breyde:
“Haue here sum strokys!” he seyde,
Whan he wyth hym mete,
So þat after and many a daye
He wold warn no man þe waye,
So grymly he hym grett.
Sir Cleges seyd, “Be my threft,
Thowe haste the thyrd part of my yefte,
As i the behight.”
Moo to paye was hys entent,
Wythout any lett.
He went to þe vsschere in a breyde:
“Haue here sum strokys!” he seyde,
Whan he wyth hym mete,
So þat after and many a daye
He wold warn no man þe waye,
So grymly he hym grett.
Sir Cleges seyd, “Be my threft,
Thowe haste the thyrd part of my yefte,
As i the behight.”
Than he went to the portere,
And iiii strokys he yaue hym there;
His part hade he tho,
So þat after and many a daye
He wold warn no man þe waye,
Neythyr to ryde nere goo.
The fyrste stroke he leyde hym on,
He brake in to hys schuldyr bon
And his on arme thereto.
Sir Cleges seyd, “Be my threfte,
Thowe haste the thyrd parte of my yefte;
The comnaunnte we made soo.”
And iiii strokys he yaue hym there;
His part hade he tho,
So þat after and many a daye
He wold warn no man þe waye,
Neythyr to ryde nere goo.
The fyrste stroke he leyde hym on,
He brake in to hys schuldyr bon
And his on arme thereto.
Sir Cleges seyd, “Be my threfte,
Thowe haste the thyrd parte of my yefte;
The comnaunnte we made soo.”
The kynge was sett in hys parlore
Wyth myrth, solas, and onor;
Sir Cleges thedyr went.
An harpor sange a gest be mowth
Of a knyȝt there be sowth,
Hymselffe, werament.
Than seyd the kynge to þe harpor,
“Were ys knyȝt Cleges, tell me here;
For þou hast wyde iwent.
Tell me trewth, yf þou can:
Knowyste þou of þat man?”
The harpor seyd, “Yee, iwysse:
Wyth myrth, solas, and onor;
Sir Cleges thedyr went.
An harpor sange a gest be mowth
Of a knyȝt there be sowth,
893
Than seyd the kynge to þe harpor,
“Were ys knyȝt Cleges, tell me here;
For þou hast wyde iwent.
Tell me trewth, yf þou can:
Knowyste þou of þat man?”
The harpor seyd, “Yee, iwysse:
Sum tyme forsoth i hym knewe;
He was a knyȝt of youris full trewe
And comly of gesture.
We mynstrellys mysse hym sekyrly,
Seth he went out of cunntré;
He was fayre of stature.”
The kynge sayd, “Be myn hede,
I trowe þat Sir Cleges be dede,
That i lovyd paramore.
Wold God he were alyfe;
I hade hym levere than othyr v,
For he was stronge in stowre.”
He was a knyȝt of youris full trewe
And comly of gesture.
We mynstrellys mysse hym sekyrly,
Seth he went out of cunntré;
He was fayre of stature.”
The kynge sayd, “Be myn hede,
I trowe þat Sir Cleges be dede,
That i lovyd paramore.
Wold God he were alyfe;
I hade hym levere than othyr v,
For he was stronge in stowre.”
Sir Cleges knelyd before þe kynge;
For he grauntyd hym hys askynge,
He thanked hym cortesly.
Specyally the kynge hym prayed,
To tell hym whye tho strokis he payed
To hys men thre.
He seyd þat he myȝt nat com inward,
“Tyll euerych i graunttyd þe thyrd partt
Of þat ye wold yeve me.
With þat i schuld haue nowȝt myselfe;
Werefore i yaue hem strokis xii;
Me thowt yt best, trewly.”
For he grauntyd hym hys askynge,
He thanked hym cortesly.
Specyally the kynge hym prayed,
To tell hym whye tho strokis he payed
To hys men thre.
He seyd þat he myȝt nat com inward,
“Tyll euerych i graunttyd þe thyrd partt
Of þat ye wold yeve me.
With þat i schuld haue nowȝt myselfe;
Werefore i yaue hem strokis xii;
Me thowt yt best, trewly.”
The lordes lowe, both old a[nd] yenge,
And all that wern with þe kynge,
They made solas inowe.
The kynge lowe, so he myȝt nott [sitte];
He seyd, “Thys ys a noble wyȝt,
To God i make a wove.”
He sent after his styward:
“Hast þou,” he seyd, “thy reward?
Be Cryst, he ys to lowe.”
The styward seyd with lokes grym,
[“I thynke neuer to haue ado with hym;]
The dewle hym born on a lowe!”
And all that wern with þe kynge,
894
The kynge lowe, so he myȝt nott [sitte];
He seyd, “Thys ys a noble wyȝt,
To God i make a wove.”
He sent after his styward:
“Hast þou,” he seyd, “thy reward?
Be Cryst, he ys to lowe.”
The styward seyd with lokes grym,
[“I thynke neuer to haue ado with hym;]
The dewle hym born on a lowe!”
The kynge seyd to hym than,
“What ys thy name? tell me, good man,
Nowe anon rygh[t]!”
“I higȝt Sir Cleges, soo haue i blysse;
My ryght name yt ys iwysse;
I was ȝoure owyn knyȝt.”
“Art thou Sir Cleges, þat servyd me,
That was soo ientyll and soo fre
And so stronge in fyght?”
“Ye, sir lord,” he seyd, “so mott i thee;
Tyll God in hevyn hade vesyte me,
Thus pouerte haue me dyȝt.”
“What ys thy name? tell me, good man,
Nowe anon rygh[t]!”
“I higȝt Sir Cleges, soo haue i blysse;
My ryght name yt ys iwysse;
I was ȝoure owyn knyȝt.”
“Art thou Sir Cleges, þat servyd me,
That was soo ientyll and soo fre
And so stronge in fyght?”
“Ye, sir lord,” he seyd, “so mott i thee;
Tyll God in hevyn hade vesyte me,
Thus pouerte haue me dyȝt.”
The kynge yaue hym anon ryȝt
All þat longed to a knyȝt,
To rech hys body wyth;
The castell of Cardyffe he yaue hym thoo
[With all þe pourtenans þerto,
To hold with pes and grythe.
Than he made hym hys stuerd
Of all hys londys afterwerd,
Off water, lond, and frythe.
A cowpe of gold he gafe hym blythe,
To bere to Dam Clarys, hys wyfe,
Tokenyng of ioy and myrthe.]
All þat longed to a knyȝt,
To rech hys body wyth;
The castell of Cardyffe he yaue hym thoo
[With all þe pourtenans þerto,
To hold with pes and grythe.
Than he made hym hys stuerd
Of all hys londys afterwerd,
Off water, lond, and frythe.
895
To bere to Dam Clarys, hys wyfe,
Tokenyng of ioy and myrthe.]
The last page of the Edinburgh manuscript is lacking. The Oxford manuscript has two more stanzas. The king makes Sir Cleges' son a squire. They return to Dame Clarice and live long and happy lives thereafter.
933
ROBERT OF SICILY
Princes proude þat beþ in pres,
I wol ou telle þing not lees.
In Cisyle was a noble kyng,
Fair and strong and sumdel ȝyng;
He hedde a broþer in grete Roome,
Pope of al Cristendome;
Anoþer he hedde in Alemayne,
An emperour, þat Saraȝins wrouȝte payne.
Þe kyng was hote Kyng Robert;
Neuer mon ne wuste him fert.
He was kyng of gret honour,
For þat he was conquerour;
In al þe world nas his peer,
Kyng ne prince, fer ne neer;
And for he was of chiualrie flour,
His broþer was mad emperour;
His oþer broþer, Godes vikere,
Pope of Rome, as i seide ere.
Þe pope was hote Pope Vrban:
He was good to God and man.
Þe emperour was hote Valemounde;
A strengur weorreour nas non founde
After his broþer of Cisyle,
Of whom þat i schal telle a while.
I wol ou telle þing not lees.
In Cisyle was a noble kyng,
Fair and strong and sumdel ȝyng;
He hedde a broþer in grete Roome,
Pope of al Cristendome;
Anoþer he hedde in Alemayne,
An emperour, þat Saraȝins wrouȝte payne.
Þe kyng was hote Kyng Robert;
Neuer mon ne wuste him fert.
He was kyng of gret honour,
For þat he was conquerour;
In al þe world nas his peer,
Kyng ne prince, fer ne neer;
And for he was of chiualrie flour,
934
His oþer broþer, Godes vikere,
Pope of Rome, as i seide ere.
Þe pope was hote Pope Vrban:
He was good to God and man.
Þe emperour was hote Valemounde;
A strengur weorreour nas non founde
After his broþer of Cisyle,
Of whom þat i schal telle a while.
Þe Kyng þhouȝte he hedde no peer
In al þe world, fer no neer,
And in his þouȝt he hedde pryde,
For he was nounpeer in vch a syde.
In al þe world, fer no neer,
And in his þouȝt he hedde pryde,
For he was nounpeer in vch a syde.
At midsomer, a Seynt Iones Niht,
Þe Kyng to churche com ful riht
For to heeren his euensong.
Hym þouhte he dwelled þer ful long:
He þouhte more in worldes honour
Þen in Crist, vr saueour.
In Magnificat he herde a vers;
He made a clerk hit him rehers
In langage of his owne tonge;
In Latyn he nuste what heo songe.
Þe vers was þis, i telle þe:
“Deposuit potentes de sede,
Et exaltauit humiles.”
Þis was þe vers, wiþouten les.
Þe Kyng to churche com ful riht
For to heeren his euensong.
Hym þouhte he dwelled þer ful long:
He þouhte more in worldes honour
Þen in Crist, vr saueour.
In Magnificat he herde a vers;
He made a clerk hit him rehers
In langage of his owne tonge;
In Latyn he nuste what heo songe.
Þe vers was þis, i telle þe:
“Deposuit potentes de sede,
Et exaltauit humiles.”
Þis was þe vers, wiþouten les.
Þe clerk seide anon riht,
“Sire, such is Godes miht
Þat he may make heyȝe lowe
And lowe heiȝe, in luytel þrowe;
God may do, wiþoute lyȝe,
His wil, in twynklyng of an eiȝe.”
“Sire, such is Godes miht
Þat he may make heyȝe lowe
And lowe heiȝe, in luytel þrowe;
God may do, wiþoute lyȝe,
His wil, in twynklyng of an eiȝe.”
935
Þe Kyng seide, wiþ herte vnstable,
“Al ȝor song is fals and fable;
What mon haþ such pouwer
Me to bringe lowe in daunger?
I am flour of chiualrye;
Myn enemys i may distruye;
No mon lyueþ in no londe
Þat me may wiþstonde;
Þen is þis a song of nouht!”
Þis errour he hedde in þouȝt,
And in his þouht a sleep him tok
In his pulput, as seiþ þe bok.
“Al ȝor song is fals and fable;
What mon haþ such pouwer
Me to bringe lowe in daunger?
I am flour of chiualrye;
Myn enemys i may distruye;
No mon lyueþ in no londe
Þat me may wiþstonde;
Þen is þis a song of nouht!”
Þis errour he hedde in þouȝt,
And in his þouht a sleep him tok
In his pulput, as seiþ þe bok.
Whon þat euensong was al don,
A kyng ilyk him out gan gon,
And alle men wiþ hym gan wende;
Kyng Robert lafte out of mynde.
A kyng ilyk him out gan gon,
And alle men wiþ hym gan wende;
Kyng Robert lafte out of mynde.
Þe newe kyng was, as i ou telle,
Godes angel, his pruide to felle.
Godes angel, his pruide to felle.
Þe angel in halle ioye made,
And alle men of hym weore glade.
Þe Kyng wakede þat lay in churche:
His men he þouhte wo to worche
For he was laft þer alon
And derk niht him fel vppon.
He gan crie after his men:
Þer nas non þat spak aȝen;
But þe sexteyn, atten eende,
Of þe churche to him gan wende,
And seide, “What dost þou nouþe her,
Þou false þef, þou losenger?
Þou art her wiþ ffelenye,
Holy churche to robbye!”
And alle men of hym weore glade.
Þe Kyng wakede þat lay in churche:
His men he þouhte wo to worche
For he was laft þer alon
And derk niht him fel vppon.
He gan crie after his men:
Þer nas non þat spak aȝen;
But þe sexteyn, atten eende,
Of þe churche to him gan wende,
And seide, “What dost þou nouþe her,
Þou false þef, þou losenger?
Þou art her wiþ ffelenye,
Holy churche to robbye!”
He seide, “Foule gadelyng,
I am no þef; i am a kyng!
Opene þe churche-dore anon,
Þat i mowe to my paleis gon!”
I am no þef; i am a kyng!
936
Þat i mowe to my paleis gon!”
Þe sexteyn þouhte anon wiþ-þan
Þat he was sum wood man,
And wolde þe chirche dilyueret were
Of hym, for he hedde fere,
And openede þe chirche-dore in haste.
Þe Kyng bygon to renne out faste,
As a mon þat was wood.
At his paleys ȝate he stood,
And heet þe porter gadelyng,
And bad hym come in hiȝing,
Anon þe ȝates vp to do.
Þe porter seide, “Ho clepeþ so?”
He onswerde anon þo,
“Þou schalt witen ar i go:
Þi kyng i am: þou schalt knowe!
In prison þou schalt ligge lowe,
And ben anhonged and todrawe
As a traytur bi þe lawe.
Þou schalt wel witen i am kyng!
Open þe ȝates, gadelyng!”
Þat he was sum wood man,
And wolde þe chirche dilyueret were
Of hym, for he hedde fere,
And openede þe chirche-dore in haste.
Þe Kyng bygon to renne out faste,
As a mon þat was wood.
At his paleys ȝate he stood,
And heet þe porter gadelyng,
And bad hym come in hiȝing,
Anon þe ȝates vp to do.
Þe porter seide, “Ho clepeþ so?”
He onswerde anon þo,
“Þou schalt witen ar i go:
Þi kyng i am: þou schalt knowe!
In prison þou schalt ligge lowe,
And ben anhonged and todrawe
As a traytur bi þe lawe.
Þou schalt wel witen i am kyng!
Open þe ȝates, gadelyng!”
Þe porter seide, “So mot i þe,
Þe Kyng is mid his meyné!
Wel i wot, wiþoute doute,
Þe Kyng nis not now wiþoute.”
Þe porter com into halle,
Bifore þe newe kyng aknes gan falle,
And seide, “Þer is atte ȝate
A nyce fool icome late;
He seiþ he is lord and kyng,
And clept me foule gadelyng.
Lord, what wol ȝe þat i do:
Leten him in, or leten him go?”
Þe Kyng is mid his meyné!
Wel i wot, wiþoute doute,
Þe Kyng nis not now wiþoute.”
Þe porter com into halle,
Bifore þe newe kyng aknes gan falle,
And seide, “Þer is atte ȝate
A nyce fool icome late;
He seiþ he is lord and kyng,
And clept me foule gadelyng.
Lord, what wol ȝe þat i do:
Leten him in, or leten him go?”
Þe angel seide in haste,
“Do him come in swiþe faste,
For my fol i wole him make
Forte he þe nome of kyng forsake.”
“Do him come in swiþe faste,
For my fol i wole him make
937
Þe porter com to þe ȝate,
And him he called, in to late.
He smot þe porter whon he com in
Þat blod barst out of mouþ and chyn.
Þe porter ȝeld him his trauayle:
Him smot aȝeyn, wiþouten fayle,
Þat noese and mouþ barst a-blood;
Þenne he semed almost wod.
And him he called, in to late.
He smot þe porter whon he com in
Þat blod barst out of mouþ and chyn.
Þe porter ȝeld him his trauayle:
Him smot aȝeyn, wiþouten fayle,
Þat noese and mouþ barst a-blood;
Þenne he semed almost wod.
Þe porter and his men in haste
Kyng Robert in a podel caste;
Vnsemely heo maden his bodi þan,
Þat he nas lyk non oþer man,
And brouht him bifore þe newe kyng
And seide, “Lord, þis gadelyng
Me haþ smyte withoute decert:
He seiþ he is vr kyng apert.
Þis harlot ouȝte, for his sawe,
Ben ihonged and todrawe,
For he seiþ non oþer word
Bote þat he is boþe kyng and lord.”
Kyng Robert in a podel caste;
Vnsemely heo maden his bodi þan,
Þat he nas lyk non oþer man,
And brouht him bifore þe newe kyng
And seide, “Lord, þis gadelyng
Me haþ smyte withoute decert:
He seiþ he is vr kyng apert.
Þis harlot ouȝte, for his sawe,
Ben ihonged and todrawe,
For he seiþ non oþer word
Bote þat he is boþe kyng and lord.”
Þe angel seide to Kyng Robert,
“Þou art a fol, þat art not ffert
Mi men to don such vilenye;
Þi gult þou most nede abuye.
What art þou?” seide þe angel.
Qwath Robert, “Þou schalt wite wel
Þat i am kyng, and kyng wol be!
Wiþ wronge þou hast my dignité.
Þe Pope of Roome is my broþer,
And þe Emperour myn oþer:
Heo wol me wreke, for soþ to telle;
I wot heo nulle not longe dwelle!”
“Þou art a fol, þat art not ffert
Mi men to don such vilenye;
Þi gult þou most nede abuye.
What art þou?” seide þe angel.
Qwath Robert, “Þou schalt wite wel
Þat i am kyng, and kyng wol be!
Wiþ wronge þou hast my dignité.
Þe Pope of Roome is my broþer,
And þe Emperour myn oþer:
Heo wol me wreke, for soþ to telle;
I wot heo nulle not longe dwelle!”
“Þow art my fol,” seide þe angel;
“Þou schal be schoren, euerichdel,
Lych a fool, a fool to be.
Wher is now þi dignité?
Þi counseyler schal ben an ape,
And o cloþing ou worþ ischape:
I schal him cloþen as þi broþer
Of o cloþing: hit is non oþer.
He schal beo þin owne feere:
Sum wit of him þou miht lere!
Houndes, how so hit falle,
Schulen eten wiþ þe in halle;
Þou schalt eten on þe ground;
Þin assayour schal ben an hound,
To assaye þi mete bifore þe.
Wher is now þi dignité?”
He heet a barbur him bifore,
Þat as a fool he schulde be schore
Al around, lich a frere,
An honde-brede boue eiþer ere,
And on his croune make a crois.
He gan crie and make nois:
He swor þei schulde alle abuye,
Þat him dude such vileynye;
And euere he seide he was lord,
And vche mon scorned him for þat word,
And vche mon seide he was wod;
Þat proued wel he couþe no good,
For he wende in none wyse
Þat God Almihti couþe deuyse
Him to bringe to lower stat;—
Wiþ o drauht he was chekmat!
Wiþ houndes eueri niht he lay,
And ofte he criȝede weylaway
Þat he euere was ibore,
For he was a mon forlore.
Þer nas in court grom ne page
Þat of þe Kyng ne made rage,
For no mon ne mihte him knowe:
He was defygured in a þrowe.
So lowe er þat was neuer kyng;
Allas, her was a deolful þing,
Þat him scholde for his pryde
Such hap among his men betyde!
Hunger and þurste he hedde grete,
For he ne moste no mete ete
But houndes eeten of his disch,
Wheþer hit weore fflesch or ffisch.
He was to deþe neiȝ ibrouht
For hunger, ar he miht eten ouht
Wiþ houndes þat beþ in halle;
How miȝt him hardore bifalle?
And whon hit nolde non oþur be,
He eet wiþ houndes gret plenté.
“Þou schal be schoren, euerichdel,
Lych a fool, a fool to be.
938
Þi counseyler schal ben an ape,
And o cloþing ou worþ ischape:
I schal him cloþen as þi broþer
Of o cloþing: hit is non oþer.
He schal beo þin owne feere:
Sum wit of him þou miht lere!
Houndes, how so hit falle,
Schulen eten wiþ þe in halle;
Þou schalt eten on þe ground;
Þin assayour schal ben an hound,
To assaye þi mete bifore þe.
Wher is now þi dignité?”
He heet a barbur him bifore,
Þat as a fool he schulde be schore
Al around, lich a frere,
An honde-brede boue eiþer ere,
And on his croune make a crois.
He gan crie and make nois:
He swor þei schulde alle abuye,
Þat him dude such vileynye;
And euere he seide he was lord,
And vche mon scorned him for þat word,
And vche mon seide he was wod;
Þat proued wel he couþe no good,
For he wende in none wyse
Þat God Almihti couþe deuyse
Him to bringe to lower stat;—
Wiþ o drauht he was chekmat!
Wiþ houndes eueri niht he lay,
And ofte he criȝede weylaway
Þat he euere was ibore,
For he was a mon forlore.
Þer nas in court grom ne page
939
For no mon ne mihte him knowe:
He was defygured in a þrowe.
So lowe er þat was neuer kyng;
Allas, her was a deolful þing,
Þat him scholde for his pryde
Such hap among his men betyde!
Hunger and þurste he hedde grete,
For he ne moste no mete ete
But houndes eeten of his disch,
Wheþer hit weore fflesch or ffisch.
He was to deþe neiȝ ibrouht
For hunger, ar he miht eten ouht
Wiþ houndes þat beþ in halle;
How miȝt him hardore bifalle?
And whon hit nolde non oþur be,
He eet wiþ houndes gret plenté.
Þe angel was kyng, him þhouȝte long;
In his tyme was neuer wrong,
Tricherie, ne falshede, ne no gyle
Idon in þe lond of Cisyle.
Alle goode þer was gret plenté:
Among men loue and charité;
In his tyme was neuer strif
Bitwene mon and his wyf;
Vche mon louede wel oþer:
Beter loue nas neuere of broþer.
Þenne was þat a ioyful þing
In londe to haue such a kyng;
Kyng he was þreo ȝeer and more.—
Robert ȝeode as mon forlore.
In his tyme was neuer wrong,
Tricherie, ne falshede, ne no gyle
Idon in þe lond of Cisyle.
Alle goode þer was gret plenté:
Among men loue and charité;
In his tyme was neuer strif
Bitwene mon and his wyf;
Vche mon louede wel oþer:
Beter loue nas neuere of broþer.
Þenne was þat a ioyful þing
In londe to haue such a kyng;
Kyng he was þreo ȝeer and more.—
Robert ȝeode as mon forlore.
Seþþe hit fel vppon a day
A luytel bifore þe moneþ of May,
Sire Valemound, þe Emperour,
Sende lettres of gret honour
To his broþer, of Cisyle Kyng,
And bad him come withouten lettyng,
Þat heo mihten beo boþe isome
Wiþ heore broþer, Pope of Rome.
Hym þhouȝte long heo weore atwinne;
He bad him lette for no wynne,
Þat he neore of good aray
In Roome an Holy Þoresday.
A luytel bifore þe moneþ of May,
Sire Valemound, þe Emperour,
Sende lettres of gret honour
940
And bad him come withouten lettyng,
Þat heo mihten beo boþe isome
Wiþ heore broþer, Pope of Rome.
Hym þhouȝte long heo weore atwinne;
He bad him lette for no wynne,
Þat he neore of good aray
In Roome an Holy Þoresday.
Þe angel welcomede þe messagers
And ȝaf hem cloþes riche of pers,
Furred al wiþ ermyne;
In Cristendom is non so fyne;
And al was chouched mid perré.
Better was non in Cristianté.
Such cloþ, and hit weore to dihte,
Al Cristendom hit make ne mihte.
Of þat wondrede al þat lond,
Hou þat cloþ was wrouȝt wiþ hond;
Wher such cloþ was to selle,
Ne ho hit maade, couþe no mon telle.
And ȝaf hem cloþes riche of pers,
Furred al wiþ ermyne;
In Cristendom is non so fyne;
And al was chouched mid perré.
Better was non in Cristianté.
Such cloþ, and hit weore to dihte,
Al Cristendom hit make ne mihte.
Of þat wondrede al þat lond,
Hou þat cloþ was wrouȝt wiþ hond;
Wher such cloþ was to selle,
Ne ho hit maade, couþe no mon telle.
Þe messagers wenten with þe Kyng
To grete Rome, wiþoute lettyng.
Þe ffool Robert also went,
Cloþed in lodly garnement,
Wiþ ffoxes tayles mony aboute:
Men miht him knowen in þe route!
To grete Rome, wiþoute lettyng.
Þe ffool Robert also went,
Cloþed in lodly garnement,
Wiþ ffoxes tayles mony aboute:
Men miht him knowen in þe route!
Þe angel was cloþed al in whit;
Nas neuer seyȝe such samyt;
And al was chouched myd perles riche:
Neuer mon seiȝ none hem liche.
Al was whit, atyr and steede;
Þe steede was feir þer he ȝede;
So feir a steede as he on rod
Nas neuer mon þat euer bistrod.
Nas neuer seyȝe such samyt;
And al was chouched myd perles riche:
Neuer mon seiȝ none hem liche.
Al was whit, atyr and steede;
Þe steede was feir þer he ȝede;
941
Nas neuer mon þat euer bistrod.
Þe angel com to Roome sone,
Real, as fel a kyng to done;
So real kyng com neuere in Rome;
Alle men wondrede wheþen he come.
His men weore realliche diht:
Heore richesse con seye no wiht.
Of cloþus, gurdeles, and oþer þing,
Eueriche sqyȝer þhouȝte a kyng,
And alle ride of riche aray
Bote Kyng Robert, as i ow say:
Alle men on him gon pyke,
For he rod al oþer vnlyke:
An ape rod of his cloþing,
In tokne þat he was vnderlyng.
Þe Pope and þe Emperour also
And oþer lordes mony mo
Welcomede þe angel as for kyng,
And made ioye of his comyng.
Þeose þreo breþeren made cumfort;
Þe angel was broþer mad bi sort;
Wel was þe Pope and Emperour
Þat hedden a broþur of such honour!
Real, as fel a kyng to done;
So real kyng com neuere in Rome;
Alle men wondrede wheþen he come.
His men weore realliche diht:
Heore richesse con seye no wiht.
Of cloþus, gurdeles, and oþer þing,
Eueriche sqyȝer þhouȝte a kyng,
And alle ride of riche aray
Bote Kyng Robert, as i ow say:
Alle men on him gon pyke,
For he rod al oþer vnlyke:
An ape rod of his cloþing,
In tokne þat he was vnderlyng.
Þe Pope and þe Emperour also
And oþer lordes mony mo
Welcomede þe angel as for kyng,
And made ioye of his comyng.
Þeose þreo breþeren made cumfort;
Þe angel was broþer mad bi sort;
Wel was þe Pope and Emperour
Þat hedden a broþur of such honour!
Forþ con sturte Kyng Robert
As ffol and mon þat nas not fert,
And criȝede wiþ ful egre speche
To his breþeren to don him wreche
Of him þat haþ with queynte gyle
His coroune and lond of Cisyle.
Þe Pope ne þe Emperour nouþer
Þe ffol ne kneuȝ not for heor broþer.
Þo was he more fol iholde,
More þen er a þousend folde,
To cleyme such a breþerhede:
Hit was holde a foles dede.
Kyng Robert bigon to maken care,
Muche more þen he dude are,
Whon his breþeren nolde him knowe;
“Allas,” quaþ he, “nou am i lowe!”
For he hopede, bi eny þing,
His breþeren wolde ha mad him kyng;
And whon his hope was al ago,
He seide allas and weilawo!
He seide allas þat he was bore,
For he was a mon forlore:
He seide allas þat he was mad,
For of his lyf he was al sad.
Allas! allas! was al his song:
His heer he tar, his hondes wrong,
And euere he seide, “Allas, allas!”—
And þenne he þouȝte on his trespas:
He þouȝte on Nabugodonosore,
A noble kyng was him bifore:
In al þe world nas his peer,
Forte acounte, fer ne neer.
Wiþ him was Sire Olyferne,
Prince of knihtes stout and steorne.
Olyferne swor euermor
By God Nabugodonosor,
And seide þer nas no God in londe
But Nabugodonosor, ich vnderstonde;
Þerfore Nabugodonosor was glad
Þat he þe name of God had,
And louede Olofern þe more;
And seþþe hit greued hem boþe sore.
Olofern dyȝede in dolour:
He was slaye in hard schour.
Nabugodonosor lyuede in desert;
Dorst he nouȝwher ben apert;
Fyftene ȝer he liuede þare,
With rootes, gras, and euel fare,
And al of mos his cloþing was;
“Al com þat bi Godes gras:
He criȝede merci with delful chere:
God him restored as he was ere!
Nou am i in such caas,
And wel worse þen he was.
Whon God ȝaf me such honour
Þat i was clepet conquerour,
In eueri lond of Cristendome
Of me men speke wel ilome,
And seiden nouȝwher was my peer
In al þe world, fer ne neer.
For þat name i hedde pride:
And angels þat gonne from ioye glyde,
And in twynklyng of an eiȝe
God binom heore maystrie,
So haþ he myn, for my gult;
Now am i wel lowe ipult,
And þat is riht þat i so be!
Lord, on þi fool þow haue pité!
I hedde an errour in myn herte,
And þat errour doþ me smerte;
Lord, i leeued not on þe.
On þi fol þou haue pité!
Holy Writ i hedde in dispyt;
For þat is reued my delyt—
For þat is riht a fool i be!
Lord, on þi fool þou haue pité!
Lord, i am þi creature;
Þis wo is riht þat i dure,
And wel more, ȝif hit may be.
Lord, on þi fool þou haue pité!
Lord, i haue igult þe sore!
Merci, Lord: i nul no more;
Euere þi fol, Lord, wol i be.
Lord, on þi fol [þou] haue pité!
As ffol and mon þat nas not fert,
And criȝede wiþ ful egre speche
To his breþeren to don him wreche
Of him þat haþ with queynte gyle
His coroune and lond of Cisyle.
Þe Pope ne þe Emperour nouþer
Þe ffol ne kneuȝ not for heor broþer.
Þo was he more fol iholde,
More þen er a þousend folde,
To cleyme such a breþerhede:
942
Kyng Robert bigon to maken care,
Muche more þen he dude are,
Whon his breþeren nolde him knowe;
“Allas,” quaþ he, “nou am i lowe!”
For he hopede, bi eny þing,
His breþeren wolde ha mad him kyng;
And whon his hope was al ago,
He seide allas and weilawo!
He seide allas þat he was bore,
For he was a mon forlore:
He seide allas þat he was mad,
For of his lyf he was al sad.
Allas! allas! was al his song:
His heer he tar, his hondes wrong,
And euere he seide, “Allas, allas!”—
And þenne he þouȝte on his trespas:
He þouȝte on Nabugodonosore,
A noble kyng was him bifore:
In al þe world nas his peer,
Forte acounte, fer ne neer.
Wiþ him was Sire Olyferne,
Prince of knihtes stout and steorne.
Olyferne swor euermor
By God Nabugodonosor,
And seide þer nas no God in londe
But Nabugodonosor, ich vnderstonde;
Þerfore Nabugodonosor was glad
Þat he þe name of God had,
And louede Olofern þe more;
And seþþe hit greued hem boþe sore.
Olofern dyȝede in dolour:
He was slaye in hard schour.
Nabugodonosor lyuede in desert;
Dorst he nouȝwher ben apert;
943
With rootes, gras, and euel fare,
And al of mos his cloþing was;
“Al com þat bi Godes gras:
He criȝede merci with delful chere:
God him restored as he was ere!
Nou am i in such caas,
And wel worse þen he was.
Whon God ȝaf me such honour
Þat i was clepet conquerour,
In eueri lond of Cristendome
Of me men speke wel ilome,
And seiden nouȝwher was my peer
In al þe world, fer ne neer.
For þat name i hedde pride:
And angels þat gonne from ioye glyde,
And in twynklyng of an eiȝe
God binom heore maystrie,
So haþ he myn, for my gult;
Now am i wel lowe ipult,
And þat is riht þat i so be!
Lord, on þi fool þow haue pité!
I hedde an errour in myn herte,
And þat errour doþ me smerte;
Lord, i leeued not on þe.
On þi fol þou haue pité!
Holy Writ i hedde in dispyt;
For þat is reued my delyt—
For þat is riht a fool i be!
Lord, on þi fool þou haue pité!
Lord, i am þi creature;
Þis wo is riht þat i dure,
And wel more, ȝif hit may be.
944
Lord, i haue igult þe sore!
Merci, Lord: i nul no more;
Euere þi fol, Lord, wol i be.
Lord, on þi fol [þou] haue pité!
“Blisful Marie, to þe i crie,
As þou art ful of cortesye;
Preye þi Sone, þat dyed for me;
On me, his fol, þow haue pité.
Blisful Marie, ful of graas,
To þe i knowe my trespas;
Prey þi Sone, for loue of þe,
On me, his fool, he haue pité!”
He seide no more, “Allas, allas!”
But þonked Crist of his gras,
And þus he gon himself stille,
And þonked Crist mid good wille.
Þen Pope, Emperour, and Kyng
Fyue wikes made heore dwellyng.
Whon fyue wykes weore agon,
To heore owne lond heo wolden anon,
Boþe Emperour and þe Kyng;
Þer was a feir departyng.
As þou art ful of cortesye;
Preye þi Sone, þat dyed for me;
On me, his fol, þow haue pité.
Blisful Marie, ful of graas,
To þe i knowe my trespas;
Prey þi Sone, for loue of þe,
On me, his fool, he haue pité!”
He seide no more, “Allas, allas!”
But þonked Crist of his gras,
And þus he gon himself stille,
And þonked Crist mid good wille.
Þen Pope, Emperour, and Kyng
Fyue wikes made heore dwellyng.
Whon fyue wykes weore agon,
To heore owne lond heo wolden anon,
Boþe Emperour and þe Kyng;
Þer was a feir departyng.
Þe angel com to Cisyle,
He and his men in a while.
Whon he com into halle,
Þe fool anon he bad forþ calle;
He seide, “Fool, art þow kyng?”
“Nay, sire,” quaþ he, “wiþoute lesyng.”
“What artou?” seide þe angel.
“Sire, a fol; þat wot i wel,
And more þen fol, ȝif hit may be;
Kep i non oþer dignité.”
Þe angel into chaumbre went,
And after þe fol anon he sent;
He bad his men out of chaumbre gon:
Þer lafte no mo but he alon
And þe fol þat stod him bi.
To him he seide, “Þou hast merci:
Þenk, þou weore lowe ipult,
And al was for þin owne gult.
A fool þou weore to Heuene-kyng;
Þerfore þou art an vnderlyng.
God haþ forȝiuen þi mysdede;
Euere herafter þou him drede!
I am an angel of renoun,
Isent to kepe þi regioun;
More ioye me schal falle
In heuene, among my feren alle,
In an houre of a day,
Þen in eorþe, i þe say,
In an hundred þousend ȝeer,
Þeiȝ al þe world fer and neer,
Weore myn at my lykyng!
I am an angel, þou art kyng.”
He went in twynklyng of an eȝe;
No more of him þer nas seȝe.
He and his men in a while.
Whon he com into halle,
Þe fool anon he bad forþ calle;
He seide, “Fool, art þow kyng?”
“Nay, sire,” quaþ he, “wiþoute lesyng.”
“What artou?” seide þe angel.
“Sire, a fol; þat wot i wel,
And more þen fol, ȝif hit may be;
Kep i non oþer dignité.”
Þe angel into chaumbre went,
And after þe fol anon he sent;
He bad his men out of chaumbre gon:
Þer lafte no mo but he alon
945
To him he seide, “Þou hast merci:
Þenk, þou weore lowe ipult,
And al was for þin owne gult.
A fool þou weore to Heuene-kyng;
Þerfore þou art an vnderlyng.
God haþ forȝiuen þi mysdede;
Euere herafter þou him drede!
I am an angel of renoun,
Isent to kepe þi regioun;
More ioye me schal falle
In heuene, among my feren alle,
In an houre of a day,
Þen in eorþe, i þe say,
In an hundred þousend ȝeer,
Þeiȝ al þe world fer and neer,
Weore myn at my lykyng!
I am an angel, þou art kyng.”
He went in twynklyng of an eȝe;
No more of him þer nas seȝe.
Kyng Robert com into halle;
His men he bad anon forþ calle.
And alle weore at his wille
As to heore lord, as hit was skille.
He louede God and holi churche,
And euere he þouhte wel to worche.
He regned after two ȝer and more,
And louede God and his lore.
Þe angel ȝaf him in warnyng
Of þe tyme of his diȝing.
Whon tyme com to dyȝe son,
He let write hit riht anon—
Hou God myd his muchel miht
Made him lowe, as hit was riht.
Þis storie he sende eueridel
To his breþeren vnder his seel;
And þe tyme whon he schulde dye
Þat tyme he diȝede as he gon seye.
Al þis is writen, withouten lyȝe,
At Roome, to ben in memorie
At Seint Petres Chirche, i knowe;
And þus is Godes miht isowe,
Þat heiȝe beoþ lowe, þeiȝ hit be ille,
And lowe heiȝe, at Godes wille.
Crist, þat for vs gon dye,
In his kynereche let vs ben heiȝe,
Euermore to ben aboue,
Þer is ioye, cumfort, and loue.
His men he bad anon forþ calle.
And alle weore at his wille
As to heore lord, as hit was skille.
He louede God and holi churche,
And euere he þouhte wel to worche.
He regned after two ȝer and more,
And louede God and his lore.
Þe angel ȝaf him in warnyng
Of þe tyme of his diȝing.
Whon tyme com to dyȝe son,
He let write hit riht anon—
Hou God myd his muchel miht
Made him lowe, as hit was riht.
Þis storie he sende eueridel
To his breþeren vnder his seel;
And þe tyme whon he schulde dye
946
Al þis is writen, withouten lyȝe,
At Roome, to ben in memorie
At Seint Petres Chirche, i knowe;
And þus is Godes miht isowe,
Þat heiȝe beoþ lowe, þeiȝ hit be ille,
And lowe heiȝe, at Godes wille.
Crist, þat for vs gon dye,
In his kynereche let vs ben heiȝe,
Euermore to ben aboue,
Þer is ioye, cumfort, and loue.
Amen.
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