University of Virginia Library

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.”

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 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.”

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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!

Imprented at London, by me Wyllyam Copland.