Amis and Amiloun :: :: University of Virginia Library

Amis and Amiloun

[section]

Amys and Amylion

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

[_]

Square brackets denote editorial insertions or emendations.

Amys and Amylion

For goddes loue in trinyte
Al þat ben hend herkeniþ to me,
I pray ȝow, par amoure,
What sum-tyme fel beȝond þe see
[Of] two barons of grete bounte
And men of grete honoure;
Her faders were barons hende,
Lordinges com of grete kynde
And pris men in toun and tour;
To here of þese children two
How þey were in wele and woo
Ywys it is grete doloure.

In weele and woo how þey gan wynd
& how vnkouth þey were of kynd,
Þe children bold of chere,
And how þey were good & hend
And how ȝong þei becom frend
In cort þere þey were,
And how þey were made knyȝt
And how þey were trouþ plyȝt,

Þe children boþ in fere,
And in what lond þei were born
And what þe childres name worn
Herkeneþ and ȝe mow here.

In Lumbardy, y vnderstond,
Whilom bifel in þat lond,
In romance as we reede,
Two barouns hend wonyd in lond
And had two ladyes free to fond,
Þat worthy were in wede;
Of her hend ladyes two
Twoo knaue childre gat þey þoo
Þat douȝty were of dede,
And trew weren in al þing,
And þerfore Ihesu, heuyn-king,
Ful wel quyted her mede.

Þe children-is names, as y ȝow hyȝt,
In ryme y wol rekene ryȝt
And tel in my talkyng;
Boþ þey were getyn in oo nyȝt
And on oo day born a-plyȝt,
For soth with-out lesyng;
Þat oon baroun son, ywys
Was ycleped childe Amys
At his cristenyng;
Þat oþur was clepyd Amylyoun,

Þat was a childe of grete renoun
And com of hyȝe ofspryng.

The children gon þen þryue,
Fairer were neuer noon on lyue,
Curtaise, hende, and good;
When þey were of ȝeres fyue,
Alle her kyn was of hem blyþ,
So mylde þey were of mood;
When þey were seuyn ȝere olde,
Grete ioy euery man of hem tolde
To beholde þat frely foode;
When þey were twel ȝere olde,
In al þe londe were noon so bolde,
So faire of boon and blood.

In þat tyme, y vnderstond,
A duk wonyd in þat lond,
Prys in toun and toure;
Frely he let [sende his sonde],
After erles, barouns, fre and bond,
And ladies bryȝt in boure;
A ryche fest he wolde make
Al for Ihesu Cristes sake

Þat is oure sauyoure;
Muche folk, as y ȝow saye,
He lete after sende þat daye
With myrth [and] grete honoure.

Thoo barouns twoo, þat y of tolde,
And her sones feire and bolde
To court þey com ful ȝare.
When þey were comyn, ȝong and olde,
Mony men gan hem byholde
Of lordynges þat þere were,
Of body how wel þey were pyȝt,
And how feire þey were of syȝt,
Of hyde and hew and here;
And al þey seide with-out lesse
Fairer children þan þey wesse
Ne sey þey neuer ȝere.

In al þe court was þer no wyȝt,
Erl, baroun, squyer, ne knyȝt,
Neither lef ne loothe,
So lyche þey were both of syȝt
And of waxing, y ȝow plyȝt—
I tel ȝow for soothe—

In al þing þey were so lyche
Þer was neither pore ne ryche,
Who so beheld hem both,
Fader ne moder þat couþ say
Ne knew þe hend children tway
But by þe coloure of her cloþ.

Þat riche douke his fest gan hold
Wiþ erles & wiþ barouns bold,
As ȝe may listen & liþe,
Fourtenniȝt, as me was told,
[With meet and drynke, meryst on mold]
To glad þe bernes bliþe;
Þer was mirþe & melodye
& al maner of menstracie
Her craftes for to kiþe;
Opon þe fiftenday ful ȝare
Þai token her leue forto fare
& þonked him mani a siþe.

Þan þe lordinges schuld forþ wende,
Þat riche douke comly of kende
Cleped to him þat tide
Þo tvay barouns, þat were so hende,

& prayd hem al-so his frende
In court þai schuld abide,
& lete her tvay sones fre
In his seruise wiþ him to be,
Semly to fare bi his side;
& he wald dubbe hem kniȝtes to
& susten hem for euer mo,
As lordinges proude in pride.

Þe riche barouns answerd ogain,
& her leuedis gan to sain
To þat douke ful ȝare
Þat þai were boþe glad & fain
Þat her leuely children tvain
In seruise wiþ him ware.
Þai ȝaue her childer her blisceing
& bisouȝt Ihesu, heuen king,
He schuld scheld hem fro care,
& oft þai þonked þe douke þat day
& token her leue & went oway,
To her owen cuntres þai gun fare.

Þus war þo hende childer, ywis,
Child Amiloun & child Amis,
In court frely to fede,
To ride an hunting vnder riis;

Ouer al þe lond þan were þai priis
& worþliest in wede.
So wele þo children loued hem þo,
Nas neuer children loued hem so,
Noiþer in word no in dede;
Bitvix hem tvai, of blod & bon,
Trewer loue nas neuer non,
In gest as so we rede.

On a day þe childer war & wiȝt
Treweþes to-gider þai gun pliȝt,
While þai miȝt liue & stond
Þat boþe bi day & bi niȝt,
In wele & wo, in wrong & riȝt,
Þat þai schuld frely fond
To hold to-gider at eueri nede,
In word, in werk, in wille, in dede,
Where þat þai were in lond,
Fro þat day forward neuer mo
Failen oþer for wele no wo:
Þer-to þai held vp her hond.

Þus in gest as ȝe may here,
Þo hende childer in cuntre were,

Wiþ þat douke for to abide;
Þe douke was bliþe & glad of chere,
Þai were him boþe leue & dere,
Semly to fare bi his side.
Þo þai were fiften winter old,
He dubbed boþe þo bernes bold
To kniȝtes in þat tide,
& fond hem al þat hem was nede,
Hors & wepen & worþly wede,
As princes prout in pride.

Þat riche douke, he loued hem so,
Al þat þai wald he fond hem þo,
Boþe stedes white & broun,
Þat in what stede þai gun go,
Alle þe lond spac of hem þo,
Boþe in tour & toun;
In to what stede þat þai went,
To iustes oþer to turnament,
Sir Amis & sir Amiloun,
For douhtiest in eueri dede,
Wiþ scheld & spere to ride on stede,
Þai gat hem gret renoun.

Þat riche douke hadde of hem pris,
For þat þai were so war & wiis

& holden of gret bounte.
Sir Amiloun and sir Amis,
He sett hem boþe in gret office,
In his court for to be;
Sir Amis, as ȝe may here,
He made his chef botelere,
[For he was hend and fre,]
& sir Amiloun of hem alle
He made chef steward in halle,
To diȝt al his meine.

In to her seruise when þai were brouȝt,
To geten hem los þam spared nouȝt,
Wel hendeliche þai bigan;
Wiþ riche & pouer so wele þai wrouȝt,
Al þat hem seiȝe wiþ word & þouȝt,
Hem loued mani a man;
For þai were so bliþe of chere,
Ouer al þe lond fer & nere
Þe los of loue þai wan,
& þe riche douke, wiþ-outen les,
Of alle þe men þat oliue wes
Mest he loued hem þan.

Þan hadde þe douke, ich vnderstond,
A chef steward of alle his lond,
A douhti kniȝt at crie,
Þat euer he proued wiþ niþe & ond
For to haue brouȝt hem boþe to schond
Wiþ gile & trecherie.

For þai were so gode & hende,
& for þe douke was so wele her frende,
He hadde þer-of gret envie;
To þe douke wiþ wordes grame
Euer he proued to don hem schame
Wiþ wel gret felonie.

So wiþ-in þo ȝeres to
A messanger þer com þo
To sir Amiloun, hende on hond,
& seyd hou deþ hadde fet him fro
His fader & his moder al-so
Þurch þe grace of godes sond.
Þan was þat kniȝt a careful man,
To þat douke he went him þan
& dede him to vnderstond
His fader & his moder hende
War ded, & he most hom wende,
For to resaiue his lond.

Þat riche douke, comly of kende,
Answerd oȝain wiþ wordes hende
& seyd, “So god me spede,
Sir Amiloun, now þou schalt wende
Me nas neuer so wo for frende
Þat of mi court out ȝede.
Ac ȝif euer it bifalle so
Þat þou art in wer & wo

& of min help hast nede,
Saueliche com or send þi sond,
& wiþ al mi powere of mi lond
Y schal wreke þe of þat dede.

Þan was sir Amiloun ferli wo
For to wende sir Amis fro,
On him was al his þouȝt.
To a gold-smitþe he gan go
& lete make gold coupes to,
For þrehundred pounde he hem bouȝt,
Þat boþe were of o wiȝt,
& boþe of o michel, ypliȝt;
Ful richeliche þai were wrouȝt,
& boþe þai weren as liche, ywis,
As was Sir Amiloun & sir Amis,
Þer no failed riȝt nouȝt.

When þat sir Amiloun was al ȝare,
He tok his leue for to fare,
To wende in his iorne.
Sir Amis was so ful of care,
For sorwe & wo & sikeing sare
Al-mest swoned þat fre.

To þe douke he went wiþ dreri mode
& praid him fair, þer he stode,
& seyd, “Sir, par charite,
Ȝif me leue to wende þe fro,
Bot ȝif y may wiþ mi broþer go,
Mine hert, it brekeþ of þre!”

Þat riche douke, comly of kende,
Answerd oȝain wiþ wordes hende
& seyd wiþ-outen delay,
“Sir Amis, mi gode frende,
Wold ȝe boþe now fro me wende?
Certes,” he seyd, “nay!
Were ȝe boþe went me fro,
Þan schuld me waken al mi wo,
Mi ioie were went oway.
Þi broþer schal in to his cuntre;
Wende wiþ him in his iurne
& com oȝain þis day!”

When þai were redi forto ride,
Þo bold bernes for to abide
Busked hem redy boun.
Hende, herkeneþ! Is nouȝt to hide,
So douhti kniȝtes, in þat tide
Þat ferd out of þat toun,

Al þat day as þai rade
Gret morning boþe þai made,
Sir Amis & Amiloun,
& when þai schuld wende otvain,
Wel fair to-gider opon a plain
Of hors þai liȝt adoun.

When þai were boþe a-fot liȝt,
Sir Amiloun, þat hendi kniȝt,
Was riȝt-wise man of rede
& seyd to sir Amis ful riȝt,
“Broþer as we er trewþe-pliȝt
Boþe wiþ word & dede,
Fro þis day forward neuer mo
To faily oþer for wele no wo,
To help him at his nede,
Broþer, be now trewe to me,
& y schal ben as trewe to þe,
Also god me spede!

Ac broþer, ich warn þe biforn,
For his loue, þat bar þe croun of þorn
To saue al man-kende,
Be nouȝt oȝain þi lord forsworn,
& ȝif þou dost, þou art forlorn
Euer more wiþ-outen ende.

Bot euer do trewþe & no tresoun
& þenk on me, sir Amiloun,
Now we asondri schal wende.
&, broþer, ȝete y þe forbede
Þe fals steward felawerede,
Certes, he wil þe schende!”

As þai stode so, þo breþeren bold,
[Sir Amiloun] drouȝ forþ tvay coupes of gold,
Ware liche in al þing,
& bad sir Amis þat he schold
Chese wheþer he haue wold,
Wiþ-outen more duelling,
& seyd to him, “Mi leue broþer,
Kepe þou þat on & y þat oþer,
For godes loue, heuen king;
Lete neuer þis coupe fro þe,
Bot loke her-on & þenk on me,
It tokneþ our parting.”

Gret sorwe þai made at her parting
& kisten hem wiþ eiȝen wepeing,
Þo kniȝtes hende & fre.
Aiþer bitauȝt oþer heuen king,
& on her stedes þai gun spring
& went in her iurne.

Sir Amiloun went hom to his lond
& sesed it al in to his hond,
Þat his elders hadde be,
& spoused a leuedy briȝt in bour
& brouȝt hir hom wiþ gret honour
& miche solempnete.

Lete we sir Amiloun stille be
Wiþ his wiif in his cuntre—
God leue hem wele to fare—
& of sir Amis telle we;
When he com hom to court oȝe,
Ful bliþe of him þai ware;
For þat he was so hende & gode,
Men blisced him, boþe bon & blod,
Þat euer him gat & bare,
Saue þe steward of þat lond,
Euer he proued wiþ niþe & ond
To bring him in-to care.

Þan on a day bifel it so
Wiþ þe steward he met þo,
Ful fair he gret þat fre.
“Sir Amis,” he seyd, “þe is ful wo
For þat þi broþer is went þe fro,
&, certes, so is me.

Ac of his wendeing haue þou no care,
Ȝif þou wilt leue opon mi lare,
& lete þi morning be,
& þou wil be to me kende,
Y schal þe be a better frende
Þan euer ȝete was he.

“Sir Amis,” he seyd, “do bi mi red,
& swere ous boþe broþerhed
& pliȝt we our trewþes to;
Be trewe to me in word & dede,
& y schal, so god me spede,
Be trewe to þe al so.”
Sir Amis answerd, “Mi treuþe y pliȝt
To sir Amiloun, þe gentil kniȝt,
Þei he be went me fro.
Whiles þat y may gon & speke,
Y no schal neuer mi treuþe breke,
Noiþer for wele no wo.

For bi þe treuþe þat god me sende,
Ichaue him founde so gode & kende,
Seþþen þat y first him knewe,
For ones y pliȝt him treuþe, þat hende,
Where so he in warld wende,
Y schal be to him trewe;

& ȝif y were now forsworn
& breke mi treuþe, y were forlorn,
Wel sore it schuld me rewe.
Gete me frendes whare y may,
Y no schal neuer bi niȝt no day
Chaunge him for no newe.”

Þe steward þan was egre of mode,
Al-mest for wretþe he wex ner wode
& seyd, wiþ-outen delay,
& swore bi him þat dyed on rode:
“Þou traitour, vnkinde blod,
Þou schalt abigge þis nay.
Y warn þe wele,” he seyd þan,
“Þat y schal be þi strong foman
Euer after þis day!”
Sir Amis answerd þo,
“Sir, þer-of ȝiue y nouȝt a slo;
Do al þat þou may!”

Al þus þe wrake gan biginne,
& wiþ wretþe þai went atvinne,
Þo bold bernes to.
Þe steward nold neuer blinne

To schende þat douhti kniȝt of kinne,
Euer he proued þo.
Þus in court to-gider þai were
Wiþ wretþe & wiþ loureand chere
Wele half a ȝere & mo,
& afterward opon a while
Þe steward wiþ tresoun & gile
Wrouȝt him ful michel wo.

So in a time, as we tel in gest,
Þe riche douke lete make a fest
Semly in somers tide;
Þer was mani a gentil gest
Wiþ mete & drink ful onest
To serui by ich a side.
Miche semly folk was samned þare,
Erls, barouns, lasse & mare,
& leuedis proude in pride.
More ioie no miȝt be non
Þan þer was in þat worþly won,
Wiþ blisse in borwe to bide.

Þat riche douke, þat y of told,
He hadde a douhter fair & bold,

Curteise, hende & fre.
When sche was fiften winter old,
In al þat lond nas þer non yhold
So semly on to se,
For sche was gentil & auenaunt,
Hir name was cleped Belisaunt,
As ȝe may liþe at me.
Wiþ leuedis & maidens briȝt in bour
Kept sche was wiþ honour
& gret solempnite.

Þat fest lasted fourten niȝt
Of barouns & of birddes briȝt
& lordinges mani & fale.
Þer was mani a gentil kniȝt
& mani a seriaunt, wise & wiȝt,
To serue þo hende in [hale].
Þan was þe boteler, sir Amis,
Ouer al yholden flour & priis,
Trewely to telle in tale,
& douhtiest in eueri dede
& worþliest in ich a wede
& semliest in sale.

Þan þe lordinges schulden al gon
& wende out of þat worþli won,
In boke as so we rede,
Þat miri maide gan aske anon
Of her maidens euerichon
& seyd, “So god ȝou spede,
Who was hold þe douȝtiest kniȝt
& semlyest in ich a siȝt
& worþliest in wede,
& who was þe fairest man
Þat was yholden in lond þan,
& douȝtiest of dede?”

Her maidens gan answere ogain
& seyd, “Madame, we schul þe sain
Þat soþe bi Seyn Sauour:
Of erls, barouns, kniȝt & swain
Þe fairest man & mest of main
& man of mest honour,
It is sir Amis, þe kinges boteler;
In al þis warld nis his per,
Noiþer in toun no tour;
He is douhtiest in dede
& worþliest in eueri wede
& chosen for priis & flour.”

Belisaunt, þat birdde briȝt,
When þai hadde þus seyd, ypliȝt,
As ȝe may listen & liþe,
On sir Amis, þat gentil kniȝt,
Ywis, hir loue was al aliȝt,
Þat no man miȝt it kiþe.
Wher þat sche seiȝe him ride or go,
Hir þouȝt hir hert brac atvo,
Þat hye no spac nouȝt wiþ þat bliþe;
For hye no miȝt niȝt no day
Speke wiþ him, þat fair may,
Sche wepe wel mani a siþe.

Þus þat miri maiden ȝing
Lay in care & loue-morning
Boþe bi niȝt & day;
As y ȝou tel in mi talking,
For sorwe sche spac wiþ him no þing,
Sike in bed sche lay.

Hir moder come to hir þo
& gan to frain hir of hir wo,
Help hir ȝif hye may;
& sche answerd wiþ-outen wrong,
Hir pines were so hard & strong,
Sche wald be loken in clay.

Þat riche douke in o morning
& wiþ him mani a gret lording,
As prince prout in pride,
Þai diȝt him wiþ-outen dueling,
For to wende on dere-hunting,
& busked hem for to ride.
When þe lordinges euerichon
Were went out of þat worþli won—
In herd is nouȝt to hide—
Sir Amis, wiþ-outen les,
For a malady þat on him wes,
At hom he gan to abide.

When þo lordinges were out ywent
Wiþ her men hende & bowes bent,
To hunte on holtes hare,
Þan sir Amis, verrament,

He bileft at hom in present,
To kepe al þat þer ware.
Þat hendi kniȝt biþouȝt him þo,
In-to þe gardin he wold go,
For to solas him þare.
Vnder a bouȝ as he gan bide,
To here þe foules song þat tide,
Him þouȝt a blisseful fare.

Now, hende, herkeneþ, & ȝe may here
Hou þat þe doukes douhter dere
Sike in hir bed lay.
Hir moder com wiþ diolful chere
& al þe leuedis þat þer were,
For to solas þat may:
“Arise vp,” sche seyd, “douhter min,
& go play þe in to þe gardin
Þis semly somers day;
Þer may þou here þe foules song
Wiþ ioie & miche blis among,
Þi care schal wende oway.”

Vp hir ros þat swete wiȝt,
In-to þe gardine sche went ful riȝt
Wiþ maidens hende & fre.
Þe somers day was fair & briȝt,

Þe sonne him schon þurch lem of liȝt,
Þat semly was on to se.
Sche herd þe foules gret & smale,
Þe swete note of þe niȝtingale
Ful mirily sing on tre;
Ac hir hert was so hard ibrouȝt,
On loue-longing was al hir þouȝt,
No miȝt hir gamen no gle.

& so þat mirie may wiþ pride
Went in-to þe orchard þat tide,
To slake hir of hir care.
Þan seyȝe sche sir Amis biside,
Vnder a bouȝ he gan abide,
To here þo mirþes mare.
Þan was sche boþe glad & bliþe,
Hir ioie couþe sche noman kiþe,
When þat sche seiȝe him þare;
& þouȝt sche wold for noman wond
Þat sche no wold to him fond
& tel him of hir fare.

Þan was þat may so bliþe o mode,
When sche seiȝe were he stode,

To him sche went, þat swete,
& þouȝt, for alle þis warldes gode,
Bot ȝif hye spac þat frely fode,
Þat time no wold sche lete.
& as tite as þat gentil kniȝt
Seiȝe þat bird in bour so briȝt
Com wiþ him for to mete,
Oȝaines hir he gan wende,
Wiþ worde boþe fre & hende
Ful fair he gan hir grete.

Þat mirie maiden sone anon
Bad hir maidens fram hir gon
& wiþ-drawe hem oway;
& when þai were to-gider al-on,
To sir Amis sche made hir mon
& seyd opon hir play,
“Sir kniȝt, on þe mine hert is brouȝt,
Þe to loue is al mi þouȝt
Boþe bi niȝt & day;
Þat bot þou wolt mi leman be,
Ywis, min hert brekeþ a þre,
No lenger libben y no may.

“Þou art,” sche seyd, “a gentil kniȝt,
& icham a bird in bour briȝt,
Of wel heiȝe kin ycorn,
& boþe bi day & bi niȝt
Mine hert so hard is on þe liȝt,
Mi ioie is al forlorn;
Pliȝt me þi trewþe þou schalt be trewe
& chaunge me for no newe
Þat in þis world is born,
& y pliȝt þe mi treuþe al-so,
Til god & deþ dele ous ato,
Y schal neuer be forsworn.”

Þat hende kniȝt stille he stode
& al for þouȝt chaunged his mode
& seyd wiþ hert fre,
“Madame, for him þat dyed on rode,
Astow art comen of gentil blode
& air of þis lond schal be,
Biþenke þe of þi michel honour;
Kinges sones & emperour
Nar non to gode to þe;
Certes, þan were it michel vnriȝt,

Þi loue to lain opon a kniȝt
Þat naþ noiþer lond no fe.

“& ȝif we schuld þat game biginne,
& ani wiȝt of al þi kinne
Miȝt it vndergo,
Al our ioie & worldes winne
We schuld lese, & for þat sinne
Wretþi god þer-to.
& y dede mi lord þis deshonour,
Þan were ich an iuel traitour;
Ywis, it may nouȝt be so.
Leue madame, do bi mi red
& þenk what wil com of þis dede:
Certes, no þing bot wo.”

Þat mirie maiden of gret renoun
Answerd, “Sir kniȝt, þou nast no croun;
For god þat bouȝt þe dere,
Wheþer artow prest oþer persoun,
Oþer þou art monk oþer canoun,
Þat prechest me þus here?
Þou no schust haue ben no kniȝt,
To gon among maidens briȝt,
Þou schust haue ben a frere!
He þat lerd þe þus to preche,
Þe deuel of helle ichim biteche,
Mi broþer þei he were!

“Ac,” sche seyd, “bi him þat ous wrouȝt,
Al þi precheing helpeþ nouȝt,
No stond þou neuer so long.
Bot ȝif þou wilt graunt me mi þouȝt,
Mi loue schal be ful dere abouȝt
Wiþ pines hard & strong;
Mi kerchef & mi cloþes anon
Y schal torende doun ichon
& say wiþ michel wrong,
Wiþ strengþe þou hast me todrawe;
Ytake þou schalt be þurch londes lawe
& dempt heiȝe to hong!”

Þan stode þat hendy kniȝt ful stille,
& in his hert him liked ille,
No word no spac he þo;
He þouȝt, “Bot y graunt hir wille,
Wiþ hir speche sche wil me spille,
Er þan y passe hir fro;
& ȝif y do mi lord þis wrong,
Wiþ wilde hors & wiþ strong
Y schal be drawe al-so.”
Loþ him was þat dede to don,

& wele loþer his liif forgon;
Was him neuer so wo.

& þan he þouȝt, wiþ-outen lesing,
Better were to graunt hir asking
Þan his liif for to spille.
Þan seyd he to þat maiden ȝing,
“For godes loue, heuen king,
Vnderstond to mi skille.
Astow art maiden gode & trewe
Biþenk hou oft rape wil rewe
& turn to grame wel grille,
& abide we al þis seuenniȝt,
As icham trewe gentil kniȝt,
Y schal graunt þe þi wille.”

Þan answerd þat bird briȝt
& swore, “Bi Ihesu, ful of miȝt,
Þou scapest nouȝt so oway.
Þi treuþe anon þou schalt me pliȝt,
Astow art trewe gentil kniȝt,
Þou schalt hold þat day.”
He graunted hir hir wil þo,
& pliȝt hem trewþes boþe to,

& seþþen kist þo tvai.
Into hir chaumber sche went ogain,
Þan was sche so glad & fain,
Hir ioie sche couþe no man sai.

Sir Amis þan wiþ-outen duelling,
For to kepe his lordes coming,
Into halle he went anon.
When þai were comen fram dere-hunting
& wiþ him mani an heiȝe lording
In to þat worþly won,
After his douhter he asked swiþe;
Men seyd þat sche was glad & bliþe,
Hir care was al agon.
To eten in halle þai brouȝt þat may,
Ful bliþe & glad þai were þat day
& þonked god ichon.

When þe lordinges, wiþ-outen les,
Hendelich were brouȝt on des
Wiþ leuedis briȝt & swete,
As princes þat were proude in pres,

Ful richeliche serued he wes
Wiþ menske & mirþe to mete.
When þat maiden þat y of told,
Among þe birdes þat were bold,
Þer sche sat in her sete,
On sir Amis, þat gentil kniȝt,
An hundred time sche cast hir siȝt,
For no þing wald sche lete.

On sir Amis, þat kniȝt hendy,
Euer more sche cast hir eyȝe,
For no þing wold sche spare.
Þe steward ful of felonie,
Wel fast he gan hem aspie,
Til he wist of her fare,
& bi her siȝt he parceiued þo
Þat gret loue was bi-tvix hem to,
& was agreued ful sare,
& þouȝt he schuld in a while
Boþe wiþ tresoun & wiþ gile
Bring hem in to care.

Þus, ywis, þat miri may
Ete in halle wiþ gamen & play

Wele four days oþer fiue,
Þat euer when sche sir Amis say,
Al hir care was went oway,
Wele was hir o liue.
Wher þat he sat or stode,
Sche biheld opon þat frely fode,
No stint sche for no striue;
& þe steward for wretþe sake
Brouȝt hem boþe in ten & wrake,
Wel iuel mot he þriue.

Þat riche douke opon a day
On dere-hunting went him to play,
& wiþ him wel mani a man;
& Belisaunt, þat miri may,
To chaumber þer sir Amis lay,
Sche went, as sche wele kan;
& þe steward, wiþ-outen les,
In a chaumber bisiden he wes
& seiȝe þe maiden þan
In-to chaumber hou sche gan glide;
For to aspie hem boþe þat tide,
After swiþe he ran.

When þat may com in-to þat won,
Sche fond sir Amis þer al-on,

“Hail,” sche seyd, þat leuedi briȝt,
“Sir Amis,” sche sayd anon,
“Þis day a seuenniȝt it is gon,
Þat trewþe we ous pliȝt.
Þerfore icham comen to þe,
To wite, astow art hende & fre
& holden a gentil kniȝt,
Wheþer wiltow me forsake
Or þou wilt trewely to me take
& hold as þou bihiȝt?”

“Madame,” seyd þe kniȝt ogain,
“Y wold þe spouse now ful fain
& hold þe to mi wiue;
Ac ȝif þi fader herd it sain
Þat ich hadde his douhter forlain,
Of lond he wald me driue.
Ac ȝif ich were king of þis lond
& hadde more gode in min hond
Þan oþer kinges fiue,
Wel fain y wald spouse þe þan;
Ac, certes, icham a pouer man,
Wel wo is me o liue!”

“Sir kniȝt,” seyd þat maiden kinde,
“For loue of Seyn Tomas of Ynde,

Whi seystow euer nay?
No be þou neuer so pouer of kinde,
Riches anouȝ y may þe finde
Boþe bi niȝt & day.”
Þat hende kniȝt biþouȝt him þan
& in his armes he hir nam
& kist þat miri may;
& so þai plaid in word & dede,
Þat he wan hir maidenhede,
Er þat [she] went oway.

& euer þat steward gan abide
Al-on vnder þat chaumber side,
Hem for to here.
In at an hole, was nouȝt to wide,
He seiȝe hem boþe in þat tide
Hou þai seten yfere.
& when he seyȝe hem boþe wiþ siȝt,
Sir Amis & þat bird briȝt,
Þe doukes douhter dere,
Ful wroþ he was & egre of mode,
& went oway, as he were wode,
Her conseil to vnskere.

When þe douke come in to þat won
Þe steward oȝain him gan gon,

Her conseyl forto vnwrain,
“Mi lord, þe douke,” he seyd anon,
“Of þine harm, bi Seyn Jon,
Ichil þe warn ful fain;
In þi court þou hast a þef,
Þat haþ don min hert gref,
Schame it is to sain,
For, certes, he is a traitour strong,
When he wiþ tresoun & wiþ wrong
Þi douhter haþ forlain!”

Þe riche douke gan sore agrame:
“Who haþ,” he seyd, “don me þat schame?
Tel me, y þe pray!”
“Sir,” seyd þe steward, “bi Seyn Jame,
Ful wele y can þe tel his name,
Þou do him hong þis day;
It is þi boteler, sir Amis,
Euer he haþ ben traitour, ywis,
He haþ forlain þat may.
Y seiȝe it me self, for soþe,
& wil aproue biforn hem boþe,
Þat þai can nouȝt say nay!”

Þan was þe douke egre of mode,
He ran to halle, as he were wode,

For no þing he nold abide.
Wiþ a fauchoun scharp & gode
He smot to sir Amis þer he stode,
& failed of him biside.
In-to a chaumber sir Amis ran þo
& schet þe dore bi-tven hem to
For drede his heued to hide.
Þe douke strok after swiche a dent
Þat þurch þe dore þat fauchon went,
So egre he was þat tide.

Al þat euer about him stode,
Bisouȝt þe douke to slake his mode,
Boþe erl, baroun & swain;
& he swore bi him þat dyed on rode
He nold for al þis worldes gode
Bot þat traitour were slain.
“Ich haue him don gret honour,
& he haþ as a vile traitour
Mi douhter forlain;
Y nold for al þis worldes won
Bot y miȝt þe traitour slon
Wiþ min hondes tvain.”

“Sir,” seyd sir Amis anon,
“Lete þi wretþe first ouergon,

Y pray þe, par charite!
& ȝif þou may proue, bi Sein Jon,
Þat ichaue swiche a dede don,
Do me to hong on tre!
Ac ȝif ani wiþ gret wrong
Haþ lowe on ous þat lesing strong,
What bern þat he be,
He leiȝþ on ous, wiþ-outen fail,
Ichil aproue it in bataile,
To make ous quite & fre.”

“ȝa,” seyd þe douke, “wiltow so,
Darstow in to bataile go,
Al quite & skere ȝou make?”
“ȝa, certes, sir!” he seyd þo,
“& here mi gloue y ȝiue þer to,
He leiȝe on ous wiþ wrake.”
Þe steward stirt to him þan
& seyd, “Traitour, fals man,
Ataint þou schalt be take;
Y seiȝe it me self þis ich day,
Where þat sche in þi chaumber lay,
ȝour noiþer it may forsake!”

Þus þe steward euer gan say,
& euer sir Amis seyd, “Nay,
Ywis, it nas nouȝt so!”
Þan dede þe douke com forþ þat may,
& þe steward wiþstode al way
& vouwed þe dede þo.
Þe maiden wepe, hir hondes wrong,
& euer swore hir moder among,
“Certain, it was nouȝt so!”
Þan seyd þe douke, “Wiþ-outen fail,
It schal be proued in batail
& sen bitven hem to.

Þan was atvix hem take þe fiȝt
& sett þe day a fourtenniȝt,
Þat mani man schuld it sen.
Þe steward was michel of miȝt,
In al þe court was þer no wiȝt,
Sir Amis borwe durst ben.
Bot for þe steward was so strong,
Borwes anowe he fond among,
Tventi al bidene.
Þan seyd þai alle wiþ resoun,

Sir Amis schuld ben in prisoun,
For he no schuld nowhar flen.

Þan answerd þat maiden briȝt
& swore bi Ihesu, ful of miȝt,
Þat were michel wrong,
“Takeþ mi bodi for þat kniȝt,
Til þat his day com of fiȝt,
& put me in prisoun strong.
Ȝif þat þe kniȝt wil flen oway
& dar nouȝt holden vp his day,
Bataile of him to fong,
Do me þan londes lawe
For his loue to be todrawe
& heiȝe on galwes hong.”

Hir moder seyd wiþ wordes bold
Þat wiþ gode wil als sche wold
Ben his borwe al-so,
His day of bataile vp to hold,
Þat he as gode kniȝt schold
Fiȝt oȝain his fo.
Þus þo leuedis fair & briȝt
Boden for þat gentil kniȝt

To lain her bodis to.
Þan seyd þe lordinges euerichon,
Þat oþer borwes wold þai non,
Bot graunt it schuld be so.

When þai had don, as y ȝou say,
& borwes founde wiþ-outen delay,
& graunted al þat þer ware,
Sir Amis sorwed niȝt & day,
Al his ioie was went oway,
& comen was al his care,
For þat þe steward was so strong
& hadde þe riȝt & he þe wrong
Of þat he opon him bare.
Of his liif ȝaf he nouȝt,
Bot of þe maiden so michel he þouȝt,
Miȝt noman morn mare.

For he þouȝt þat he most nede,
Ar þat he to bataile ȝede,
Swere an oþ biforn,
Þat al so god schuld him spede
As he was giltles of þat dede,
Þat þer was on him born;
& þan þouȝt he, wiþ-outen wrong,
He hadde leuer to ben anhong

Þan to be forsworn.
Ac oft he bisouȝt Ihesu þo,
He schuld saue hem boþe to,
Þat þai ner nouȝt forlorn.

So it bifel opon a day
He mett þe leuedi & þat may
Vnder an orchard side.
“Sir Amis,” þe leuedy gan say,
“Whi mornestow so wiþ-outen play?
Tel me þat soþe þis tide.
No drede þe nouȝt,” sche seyd þan,
“For to fiȝt wiþ þi foman,
Wheþer þou wilt go or ride,
So richeliche y schal þe schrede,
Þarf þe neuer haue of him drede,
Þi bataile to abide.”

“Madame,” seyd þat gentil kniȝt,
“For Ihesus loue, ful of miȝt,
Be nouȝt [wroþ] for þis dede.
Ich haue þat wrong & he þe riȝt,
Þerfore icham aferd to fiȝt,
Al so god me spede,
For y mot swere, wiþ-outen faile,
Al so god me spede in bataile,

His speche is falshede,
& ȝif y swere, icham forsworn,
Þan liif & soule icham forlorn;
Certes, y can no rede!”

Þan seyd þat leuedi in a while,
“No mai þer go no noþer gile
To bring þat traitour doun?”
“Ȝis, dame,” he seyd, “bi Seyn Gile!
Her woneþ hennes mani a mile
Mi broþer, sir Amiloun,
& ȝif y dorst to him gon,
Y dorst wele swere bi Seyn Jon,
So trewe is þat baroun,
His owhen liif to lese to mede,
He wold help me at þis nede,
To fiȝt wiþ þat feloun.”

“Sir Amis,” þe leuedi gan to say,
“Take leue to morwe at day
& wende in þi iurne.
Y schal say þou schalt in þi way
Hom in to þine owhen cuntray,
Þi fader, þi moder to se;
& when þou comes to þi broþer riȝt,
Pray him, as he is hendi kniȝt
& of gret bounte,
Þat he þe batail for ous fong

Oȝain þe steward þat wiþ wrong
Wil stroie ous alle þre.”

A morwe sir Amis made him ȝare
& toke his leue for to fare
& went in his iurnay.
For noþing nold he spare,
He priked þe stede þat him bare
Boþe niȝt & day.
So long he priked wiþ-outen abod
Þe stede þat he on rode
In a fer cuntray
Was ouercomen & fel doun ded;
Þo couþe he no better red,
His song was, “Waileway!”

& when it was bifallen so,
Nedes a-fot he most go,
Ful careful was þat kniȝt.
He stiked vp his lappes þo,
In his way he gan to go,
To hold þat he bihiȝt;
& al þat day so long he ran,
In to a wilde forest he cam
Bitven þe day & þe niȝt.
So strong slepe ȝede him on,
To win al þis warldes won,
No ferþer he no miȝt.

Þe kniȝt, þat was so hende & fre,
Wel fair he layd him vnder a tre
& fel in slepe þat tide.
Al þat niȝt stille lay he,
Til a-morwe men miȝt yse
Þe day bi ich a side.
Þan was his broþer, sir Amiloun,
Holden a lord of gret renoun
Ouer al þat cuntre wide,
& woned fro þennes þat he lay
Bot half a iorne of a day,
Noiþer to go no ride.

As sir Amiloun, þat hendi kniȝt,
In his slepe he lay þat niȝt,
In sweuen he mett anon
Þat he seiȝe sir Amis bi siȝt,
His broþer, þat was treweþe-pliȝt,
Bilapped among his fon;
Þurch a bere wilde & wode
& oþer bestes, þat bi him stode,
Bisett he was to slon;
& he alon among hem stode
As a man þat couþe no gode;
Wel wo was him bigon.

When sir Amiloun was awake,
Gret sorwe he gan for him make
& told his wiif ful ȝare
Hou him þouȝt he seiȝe bestes blake

About his broþer wiþ wrake
To sle wiþ sorwe & care.
“Certes,” he seyd, “wiþ sum wrong
He is in peril gret & strong,
Of blis he is ful bare.”
& þan seyd he, “For soþe ywis,
Y no schal neuer haue ioie no blis,
Til y wite hou he fare.”

As swiþe he stirt vp in þat tide,
Þer nold he no leng abide,
Bot diȝt him forþ anon,
& al his meine bi ich a side
Busked hem redi to ride,
Wiþ her lord for to gon;
& he bad al þat þer wes,
For godes loue held hem stille in pes,
He bad hem so ich-chon,
& swore bi him þat schop man-kende,
Þer schuld no man wiþ him wende,
Bot himself al-on.

Ful richeliche he gan him schrede
& lepe astite opon his stede,
For noþing he nold abide.
Al his folk he gan forbede
Þat non so hardi were of dede,
After him noiþer go no ride.

So al þat niȝt he rode til day,
Til he com þer sir Amis lay
Vp in þat forest wide.
Þan seiȝe he [a] weri kniȝt forgon
Vnder a tre slepeand alon;
To him he went þat tide.

He cleped to him anon riȝt,
“Arise vp, felawe, it is liȝt
& time for to go!”
Sir Amis biheld vp wiþ his siȝt
& knewe anon þat gentil kniȝt,
& he knewe him al-so.
Þat hendi kniȝt, sir Amiloun,
Of his stede liȝt adoun,
& kist hem boþe to.
“Broþer,” he seyd, “whi listow here
Wiþ þus mornand chere?
Who haþ wrouȝt þe þis wo?”

“Broþer,” seyd sir Amis þo,
“Ywis, me nas neuer so wo
Seþþen þat y was born;
For seþþen þat þou was went me fro,
Wiþ ioie & michel blis al-so
Y serued mi lord biforn.

Ac þe steward ful of envie,
Wiþ gile & wiþ trecherie,
He haþ me wrouȝt swiche sorn;
Bot þou help me at þis nede,
Certes, y can no noþer rede,
Mi liif, it is forlorn!”

“Broþer,” seyd sir Amiloun,
“Whi haþ þe steward, þat feloun,
Ydon þe al þis schame?”
“Certes,” he seyd, “wiþ gret tresoun
He wald me driuen al adoun
& haþ me brouȝt in blame.”
Þan told sir Amis al þat cas,
Hou he & þat maiden was
Boþe to-gider ysame,
& hou þe steward gan hem wrain,
& hou þe douke wald him haue slain
Wiþ wretþe & michel grame.

& al-so he seyd, ypliȝt,
Hou he had boden on him fiȝt,
Batail of him to fong,
& hou in court was þer no wiȝt,
To saue þo tvay leuedis briȝt,
Durst ben his borwe among,
& hou he most, wiþ-outen faile,
Swere, ar he went to bataile,

It war a lesing ful strong;
“& forsworn man schal neuer spede;
Certes, þer-fore y can no rede,
‘Allas’ may be mi song!”

When þat sir Amis had al told,
Hou þat þe fals steward wold
Bring him doun wiþ mode,
Sir Amiloun wiþ wordes bold
Swore, “Bi him þat Judas sold
& died opon þe rode,
Of his hope he schal now faile,
& y schal for þe take bataile,
Þei þat he wer wode;
ȝif y may mete him ariȝt,
Wiþ mi brond, þat is so briȝt,
Y schal sen his hert blode!

Ac broþer,” he seyd, “haue al mi wede,
& in þi robe y schal me schrede,
Riȝt as þe self it ware;
& y schal swere so god me spede
As icham giltles of þat dede,
Þat he opon þe bare.”
Anon þo hendi kniȝtes to
Alle her wede chaunged þo,
& when þai were al ȝare,
Þan seyd sir Amiloun, “Bi Seyn Gile,

Þus man schal þe schrewe bigile,
Þat wald þe forfare!

Broþer,” he seyd, “wende hom now riȝt
To mi leuedi, þat is so briȝt,
& do as y schal þe sain;
& as þou art a gentil kniȝt,
Þou ly bi hir in bed ich niȝt,
Til þat y com ogain,
& sai þou hast sent þi stede ywis
To þi broþer, sir Amis;
Þan wil þai be ful fain,
Þai wil wene þat ich it be;
Þer is non þat schal knowe þe,
So liche we be boþe tvain!”

And when he hadde þus sayd, ypliȝt,
Sir Amiloun, þat gentil kniȝt,
Went in his iurnay,
& sir Amis went hom anon riȝt
To his broþer leuedi so briȝt,
Wiþ-outen more delay,
& seyd hou he hadde sent his stede
To his broþer to riche mede
Bi a kniȝt of þat cuntray;
& al þai wende of sir Amis
It had ben her lord, ywis,
So liche were þo tvay.

When þat sir Amis hadde ful ȝare
Told him al of his care,
Ful wele he wend þo,
Litel & michel, lasse & mare,
Al þat euer in court ware,
Þai þouȝt it hadde ben so.
& when it was comen to þe niȝt,
Sir Amis & þat leuedi briȝt,
To bed þai gun go;
& whan þai were to-gider ylayd,
Sir Amis his swerd out braid
& layd bitvix hem tvo.

Þe leuedi loked opon him þo
Wroþlich wiþ her eiȝen tvo,
Sche wend hir lord were wode.
“Sir,” sche seyd, “whi farstow so?
Þus were þou nouȝt won to do,
Who haþ changed þi mode?”
“Dame,” he seyd, “sikerly,
Ich haue swiche a malady
Þat mengeþ al mi blod,
& al min bones be so sare,
Y nold nouȝt touche þi bodi bare
For al þis wardles gode!”

Þus, ywis, þat hendy kniȝt
Was holden in þat fourtenniȝt

As lord & prince in pride;
Ac he forȝat him neuer a niȝt,
Bitvix him & þat leuedi briȝt
His swerd he layd biside.
Þe leuedi þouȝt in hir resoun,
It hadde ben hir lord, sir Amiloun,
Þat hadde ben sike þat tide;
Þer-fore sche held hir stille þo
& wold speke wordes no mo,
Bot þouȝt his wille to abide.

Now, hende, herkeneþ, & y schal say
Hou þat sir Amiloun went his way;
For no-þing wold he spare.
He priked his stede niȝt & day,
As a gentil kniȝt, stout & gay,
To court he com ful ȝare
Þat selue day, wiþ-outen fail,
Þat was ysett of batail,
& sir Amis was nouȝt þare.
Þan were þo leuedis taken bi hond,
Her iuggement to vnderstond,
Wiþ sorwe & sikeing sare.

Þe steward houed opon a stede
Wiþ scheld & spere, bataile to bede,
Gret bost he gan to blawe;
Bifor þe douke anon he ȝede

& seyd, “Sir, so god þe spede,
Herken to mi sawe!
Þis traitour is out of lond ywent;
Ȝif he were here in present,
He schuld ben hong & drawe;
Þerefore ich aske iugement,
Þat his borwes be to-brent,
As it is londes lawe.”

Þat riche douke, wiþ wreþe & wrake,
He bad men schuld þo leuedis take
& lede hem forþ biside;
A strong fer þer was don make
& a tonne for her sake,
To bren hem in þat tide.
Þan þai loked in to þe feld
& seiȝe a kniȝt wiþ spere & scheld
Com prikeand þer wiþ pride.
Þan seyd þai euerichon, ywis,
“Ȝonder comeþ prikeand sir Amis!”
& bad þai schuld abide.

Sir Amiloun gan stint at no ston,
He priked among hem euerichon,
To þat douke he gan wende.
“Mi lord þe douke,” he seyd anon,
“For schame lete þo leuedis gon,
Þat er boþe gode & hende,

For ich am comen hider to-day
For to sauen hem, ȝiue y may,
& bring hem out of bende,
For, certes, it were michel vnriȝt
To make roste of leuedis briȝt;
Ywis, ȝe eren vnkende.”

Þan ware þo leuedis glad & bliþe,
Her ioie couþe þai noman kiþe,
Her care was al oway;
& seþþen, as ȝe may list & liþe,
In-to þe chaunber þai went aswiþe,
Wiþ-outen more delay,
& richeliche þai schred þat kniȝt
Wiþ helme & plate & brini briȝt,
His tire, it was ful gay.
& when he was opon his stede,
Þat god him schuld saue & spede
Mani man bad þat day.

As he com prikand out of toun,
Com a voice fram heuen adoun,
Þat noman herd bot he,
& sayd, “Þou kniȝt, sir Amiloun,
God, þat suffred passioun,
Sent þe bode bi me;
Ȝif þou þis bataile vnderfong,
Þou schalt haue an euentour strong

Wiþ-in þis ȝeres þre;
& or þis þre ȝere ben al gon,
Fouler mesel nas neuer non
In þe world, þan þou schal be!

Ac for þou art so hende & fre,
Ihesu sent þe bode bi me,
To warn þe anon;
So foule a wreche þou schalt be,
Wiþ sorwe & care & pouerte
Nas neuer non wers bigon.
Ouer al þis world, fer & hende,
Þo þat be þine best frende
Schal be þi most fon,
& þi wiif & alle þi kinne
Schul fle þe stede þatow art inne,
& forsake þe ichon.”

Þat kniȝt gan houe stille so ston
& herd þo wordes euerichon,
Þat were so gret & grille.
He nist what him was best to don,
To flen, oþer to fiȝting gon;
In hert him liked ille.
He þouȝt, “Ȝif y beknowe mi name,
Þan schal mi broþer go to schame,
Wiþ sorwe þai schul him spille.
Certes,” he seyd, “for drede of care

To hold mi treuþe schal y nouȝt spare,
Lete god don alle his wille.”

Al þe folk þer was, ywis,
Þai wend it had ben sir Amis
Þat bataile schuld bede;
He and þe steward of pris
Were brouȝt bifor þe iustise
To swere for þat dede.
Þe steward swore þe pople among,
As wis as he seyd no wrong,
God help him at his nede;
& sir Amiloun swore & gan to say
As wis as he neuer kist þat may,
Our leuedi schuld him spede.

When þai hadde sworn, as y ȝou told,
To biker þo bernes were ful bold
& busked hem for to ride.
Al þat þer was, ȝong & old,
Bisouȝt god ȝif þat he wold
Help sir Amis þat tide.
On stedes þat were stiþe & strong
Þai riden to-gider wiþ schaftes long,
Til þai toschiuerd bi ich a side;
& þan drouȝ þai swerdes gode
& hewe to-gider, as þai were wode,
For noþing þai nold abide.

Þo gomes, þat were egre of siȝt,
Wiþ fauchouns felle þai gun to fiȝt
& ferd as þai were wode.
So hard þai hewe on helmes briȝt
Wiþ strong strokes of michel miȝt,
Þat fer bi-forn out stode;
So hard þai hewe on helme & side,
Þurch dent of grimly woundes wide,
Þat þai sprad al of blod.
Fram morwe to none, wiþ-outen faile,
Bitvixen hem last þe bataile,
So egre þai were of mode.

Sir Amiloun, as fer of flint,
Wiþ wretþe anon to him he wint
& smot a stroke wiþ main;
Ac he failed of his dint,
Þe stede in þe heued he hint
& smot out al his brain.
Þe stede fel ded doun to grounde;
Þo was þe steward þat stounde
Ful ferd he schuld be slain.
Sir Amiloun liȝt adoun of his stede,
To þe steward a-fot he ȝede
& halp him vp ogain.

“Arise vp, steward,” he seyd anon,
“To fiȝt þou schalt a-fot gon,

For þou hast lorn þi stede;
For it were gret vilani, bi Seyn Jon,
A liggeand man for to slon,
Þat were yfallen in nede.”
Þat kniȝt was ful fre to fond
& tok þe steward bi þe hond
& seyd, “So god me spede,
Now þou schalt a-fot go,
Y schal fiȝt a-fot al-so,
& elles were gret falshed.”

Þe steward & þat douhti man
Anon to-gider þai fiȝt gan
Wiþ brondes briȝt & bare;
So hard to-gider þai fiȝt þan,
Til al her armour o blod ran,
For noþing nold þai spare.
Þe steward smot to him þat stounde
On his schulder a gret wounde
Wiþ his grimly gare,
Þat þurch þat wounde, as ȝe may here,
He was knowen wiþ reweli chere,
When he was fallen in care.

Þan was sir Amiloun wroþ & wode,
Whan al his armour ran o blode,

Þat ere was white so swan;
Wiþ a fauchoun scharp & gode
He smot to him wiþ egre mode
Al so a douhti man,
Þat euen fro þe schulder-blade
In-to þe brest þe brond gan wade,
Þurch-out his hert it ran.
Þe steward fel adoun ded,
Sir Amiloun strok of his hed,
& god he þonked it þan.

Alle þe lordinges þat þer ware,
Litel & michel, lasse & mare,
Ful glad þai were þat tide.
Þe heued opon a spere þai bare;
To toun þai diȝt hem ful ȝare,
For noþing þai nold abide;
Þai com oȝaines him out of toun
Wiþ a fair processioun
Semliche bi ich a side.
Anon þai ladde him to þe tour
Wiþ ioie & ful michel honour,
As prince proude in pride.

In to þe palais when þai were gon,
Al þat was in þat worþli won

Wende sir Amis it ware.
“Sir Amis,” seyd þe douke anon,
“Bifor þis lordinges euerichon
Y graunt þe ful ȝare,
For Belisent, þat miri may,
Þou hast bouȝt hir ful dere to day
Wiþ grimli woundes sare;
Þer-fore y graunt þe now here
Mi lond & mi douhter dere,
To hald for euer mare.”

Ful bliþe was þat hendi kniȝt
& þonked him wiþ al his miȝt,
Glad he was & fain;
In alle þe court was þer no wiȝt
Þat wist wat his name it hiȝt,
To saue þo leuedis tvain,
Leches swiþe þai han yfounde,
Þat gun to tasty his wounde
& made him hole ogain,
Þan were þai al glad & bliþe
& þonked god a þousand siþe
Þat þe steward was slain.

On a day sir Amiloun diȝt him ȝare
& seyd þat he wold fare
Hom in to his cuntray
To telle his frendes, lasse & mare,

& oþer lordinges þat þere ware,
Hou he had sped þat day.
Þe douke graunted him þat tide
& bede him kniȝtes & miche pride,
& he answerd, “Nay.”
Þer schuld noman wiþ him gon,
Bot as swiþe him diȝt anon
& went forþ in his way.

In his way he went alone,
Most þer noman wiþ him gon,
Noiþer kniȝt no swain.
Þat douhti kniȝt of blod & bon,
No stint he neuer at no ston
Til he com hom ogain;
& sir Amis, as y ȝou say,
Waited his coming eueri day
Vp in þe forest plain;
& so þai mett to-gider same,
& he teld him wiþ ioie & game
Hou he hadde þe steward slain,

& hou he schuld spousy to mede
Þat ich maide, worþli in wede,
Þat was so comly corn.
Sir Amiloun liȝt of his stede,
& gan to chaungy her wede,
As þai hadde don biforn.
“Broþer,” he seyd, “wende hom ogain.”
& tauȝt him hou he schuld sain,

When he com þer þai worn.
Þan was sir Amis glad & bliþe
& þanked him a þousand siþe
Þe time þat he was born.

& when þai schuld wende ato,
Sir Amis oft þonked him þo
His cost & his gode dede.
“Broþer,” he seyd, “ȝif it bitide so
Þat þe bitide care oþer wo,
& of min help hast nede,
Sauelich com oþer sende þi sond,
& y schal neuer lenger wiþstond,
Al so god me spede;
Be it in periil neuer so strong,
Y schal þe help in riȝt & wrong,
Mi liif to lese to mede.”

A sonder þan þai gun wende;
Sir Amiloun, þat kniȝt so hende,
Went hom in þat tide
To his leuedi þat was vnkende,
& was ful welcome to his frende,
As prince proude in pride;
& when it was comen to þe niȝt,
Sir Amiloun & þat leuedi briȝt
In bedde were layd biside;
In his armes he gan hir kis
& made his ioie & michel blis,
For noþing he nold abide.

Þe leuedi astite asked him þo
Whi þat he hadde farn so
Al þat fourtenniȝt,
Laid his swerd bitven hem to,
Þat sche no durst nouȝt for wele no wo
Touche his bodi ariȝt.
Sir Amiloun biþouȝt him þan
His broþer was a trewe man,
Þat hadde so done, apliȝt.
“Dame,” he seyd, “ichil þe sain
& telle þe þat soþe ful fain,
Ac wray me to no wiȝt.”

Þe leuedi astite him frain gan,
For his loue, þat þis warld wan,
Telle hir whi it ware.
Þan astite þat hendy man,
Al þe soþe he teld hir þan,
To court hou he gan fare,
& hou he slouȝ þe steward strong,
Þat wiþ tresoun & wiþ wrong
Wold haue his broþer forfare,
& hou his broþer þat hendy kniȝt
Lay wiþ hir in bed ich niȝt
While þat he was þare.

Þe leuedi was ful wroþ, ypliȝt,
& oft missayd hir lord þat niȝt

Wiþ speche bitvix hem to,
& seyd, “Wiþ wrong & michel vnriȝt
Þou slouȝ þer a gentil kniȝt;
Ywis, it was iuel ydo!”
“Dame,” he seyd, “bi heuen king,
Y no dede it for non oþer þing
Bot to saue mi broþer fro wo,
& ich hope, ȝif ich hadde nede,
His owhen liif to lesse to mede,
He wald help me al-so.”

Al þus, in gest as we sain,
Sir Amis was ful glad & fain,
To court he gan to wende;
& when he come to court oȝain
Wiþ erl, baroun, kniȝt & swain,
Honourd he was, þat hende.
Þat riche douke tok him bi hond
& sesed him in alle his lond,
To held wiþ-outen ende;
& seþþen wiþ ioie opon a day
He spoused Belisent, þat may,
Þat was so trewe & kende.

Miche was þat semly folk in sale,
Þat was samned at þat bridale
When he hadde spoused þat flour,
Of erls, barouns, mani & fale,
& oþer lordinges gret & smale,
& leuedis briȝt in bour.

A real fest þai gan to hold
Of erls & of barouns bold
Wiþ ioie & michel honour;
Ouer al þat lond est & west
Þan was sir Amis helden þe best
& chosen for priis in tour.

So wiþ-in þo ȝeres to
A wel fair grace fel hem þo,
As god almiȝti wold;
Þe riche douke dyed hem fro
& his leuedi dede al-so,
& grauen in grete so cold.
Þan was sir Amis, hende & fre,
Douke & lord of gret pouste
Ouer al þat lond yhold.
Tvai childer he biȝat bi his wiue,
Þe fairest þat miȝt bere liue,
In gest as it is told.

Þan was þat kniȝt of gret renoun
& lord of mani a tour & toun
& douke of gret pouste;
& his broþer, Sir Amiloun,
Wiþ sorwe & care was driuen adoun,
Þat ere was hende & fre;
Al so þat angel hadde him told,
Fouler messel þar nas non hold
In world þan was he.
In gest to rede it is gret rewþe,

What sorwe he hadde for his treuþe
Wiþ-in þo ȝeres þre.

& er þo þre ȝere come to þende
He no wist whider he miȝt wende,
So wo was him bigon;
For al þat were his best frende,
& nameliche al his riche kende,
Bicom his most fon;
& his wiif, for soþe to say,
Wrouȝt him wers boþe niȝt & day
Þan þai dede euerichon.
When him was fallen þat hard cas,
A frendeleser man þan he was
Men nist no-whar non.

So wicked & schrewed was his wiif,
Sche brac his hert wiþ-outen kniif,
Wiþ wordes harde & kene,
& seyd to him, “Þou wreche chaitif,
Wiþ wrong þe steward les his liif,
& þat is on þe sene;
Þer-fore, bi Seyn Denis of Fraunce,
Þe is bitid þis hard chaunce,
Daþet who þe bimene!”
Wel oft times his honden he wrong,
As man þat þenkeþ his liif to long,
Þat liueþ in treye & tene.

Allas, allas! þat gentil kniȝt
Þat whilom was so wise & wiȝt,
Þat þan was wrouȝt so wo,
Þat fram his leuedi, fair & briȝt,
Out of his owhen chaumber a-niȝt
He was yhote to go,
& in his owhen halle o-day
Fram þe heiȝe bord oway
He was ycharged al-so
To eten at þe tables ende;
Wald þer no man sit him hende,
Wel careful was he þo.

Bi þan þat half ȝere was ago
Þat he hadde eten in halle so
Wiþ gode mete & wiþ drink,
His leuedi wax ful wroþ & wo
& þouȝt he liued to long þo—
Wiþ-outen ani lesing—
“In þis lond springeþ þis word,
Y fede a mesel at mi bord,
He is so foule a þing,
It is gret spite to al mi kende,
He schal no more sitt me so hende,
Bi Ihesus, heuen king!”

On a day sche gan him calle
& seyd, “Sir, it is so bifalle,

For soþe, y telle it te,
Þat þou etest so long in halle,
It is gret spite to ous alle,
Mi kende is wroþ wiþ me.”
Þe kniȝt gan wepe & seyd ful stille,
“Do me where it is þi wille,
Þer noman may me se;
Of no more ichil þe praye,
Bot of a meles mete ich day,
For seynt charite.”

Þat leuedi, for hir lordes sake,
Anon sche dede men timber take,
For noþing wold sche wond,
& half a mile fram þe gate
A litel loge sche lete make,
Biside þe way to stond.
& when þe loge was al wrouȝt,
Of his gode no wold he noȝt,
Bot his gold coupe an hond.
When he was in his loge alon,
To god of heuen he made his mon
& þonked him of al his sond.

In-to þat loge when he was diȝt,
In al þe court was þer no wiȝt
Þat wold serue him þare,
To saue a gentil child, ypliȝt,

Child Owaines his name it hiȝt,
For him he wepe ful sare.
Þat child was trewe & of his kende,
His soster sone, he was ful hende;
He sayd to hem ful ȝare,
Ywis, he no schuld neuer wond
To seruen him fro fot to hond,
While he oliues ware.

Þat child, þat was so fair & bold,
Owaines was his name ytold,
Wel fair he was of blode.
When he was of tvelue ȝere old,
Amoraunt þan was he cald,
Wel curteys, hend & gode.
Bi his lord ich niȝt he lay
& feched her liuere euer day
To her liues fode.
When ich man made gle & song,
Euer for his lord among
He made dreri mode.

Þus Amoraunt, as y ȝou say,
Com to court ich day,
No stint he for no striue.
Al þat þer was gan him pray

To com fro þat lazer oway,
Þan schuld he the & þriue.
& he answerd wiþ milde mode
& swore bi him þat dyed on rode
& þoled woundes fiue,
For al þis worldes gode to take
His lord nold he neuer forsake
Whiles he ware oliue.

Bi þan þe tvelmoneþ was al gon,
Amorant went in-to þat won
For his lordes liueray;
Þe leuedi was ful wroþ anon
& comaunde hir men euerichon
To driue þat child oway,
& swore bi him þat Judas sold,
Þei his lord for hunger & cold
Dyed þer he lay,
He schuld haue noiþer mete no drink,
No socour of non oþer þing
For hir after þat day.

Þat child wrong his honden tvain
& weping went hom ogain
Wiþ sorwe & sikeing sare.
Þat godeman gan him frain
& bad him þat he schuld him sain
& telle him whi it ware.

& he answerd & seyd þo,
“Ywis, no wonder þei me be wo,
Mine hert, it brekeþ for care;
Þi wiif haþ [sworn] wiþ gret mode
Þat sche no schal neuer don ous gode;
Allas, hou schal we fare?”

“A, god help!” seyd þat gentil kniȝt,
“Whilom y was man of miȝt,
To dele mete & cloþ,
& now icham so foule a wiȝt
Þat al þat seþ on me bi siȝt,
Mi liif is hem ful loþ.
“Sone,” he seyd, “lete þi wepeing,
For þis is now a strong tiding,
Þat may we se for soþ;
For, certes, y can non oþer red,
Ous bihoueþ to bid our brede,
Now y wot hou it goþ.”

Amorwe astite as it was liȝt,
Þe child & þat gentil kniȝt
Diȝt hem for to gon,
& in her way þai went ful riȝt
To begge her brede, as þai hadde tiȝt,
For mete no hadde þai none.

So long þai went vp & doun
Til þai com to a chepeing-toun,
Fiue mile out of þat won,
& sore wepeand fro dore to dore,
& bad here mete for godes loue,
Ful iuel couþe þai þer-on.

So in þat time, ich vnderstond,
Gret plente was in þat lond,
Boþe of mete & drink;
Þat folk was ful fre to fond
& brouȝt hem anouȝ to hond
Of al kines þing;
For þe gode man was so messaner þo,
& for þe child was fair al-so,
Hem loued old & ȝing,
& brouȝt hem anouȝ of al gode;
Þan was þe child bliþe of mode
& lete be his wepeing.

Þan wex þe gode man fote so sare
Þat he no miȝt no forþer fare
For al þis worldes gode;
To þe tounes ende þat child him bare
& a loge he bilt him þare,
As folk to chepeing ȝode;
& as þat folk of þat cuntray
Com to chepeing eueri day,
Þai gat hem liues fode;
& Amoraunt oft to toun gan go
& begged hem mete & drink also,
When hem most nede at-stode.

Þus in gest rede we
Þai duelled þere ȝeres þre,
Þat child & he al-so,
& liued in care & pouerte
Bi þe folk of þat cuntre,
As þai com to & fro,
So þat in þe ferþ ȝere
Corn bigan to wex dere,
Þat hunger bigan to go,
Þat þer was noiþer eld no ȝing
Þat wald ȝif hem mete no drink,
Wel careful were þai þo.

Amorant oft to toun gan gon,
Ac mete no drink no gat he non,
Noiþer at man no wiue.
When þai were to-gider al-on,
Reweliche þai gan maken her mon,
Wo was hem o liue;
& his leuedi, for soþe to say,
Woned þer in þat cuntray
Nouȝt þennes miles fiue,
& liued in ioie boþe niȝt & day,
Whiles he in sorwe & care lay,
Wel iuel mot sche þriue!

On a day, as þai sete alon,
Þat hendi kniȝt gan meken his mon
& seyd to þe child þat tide,—
“Sone,” he seyd, “þou most gon

To mi leuedi swiþe anon,
Þat woneþ here biside,
Bid hir, for him þat died on rode,
Sende me so michel of al mi gode,
An asse, on to ride,
& out of lond we wil fare
To begge our mete wiþ sorwe & care,
No lenger we nil abide.”

Amoraunt to court is went
Bifor þat leuedi fair & gent,
Wel hendeliche seyd hir anon,
“Madame,” he seyd, “verrament,
As me[s]sanger mi lord me sent,
For him-self may nouȝt gon,
& praieste wiþ milde mode
Sende him so michel of al his gode
As an asse to riden opon,
& out of lond we schulen yfere,
No schal we neuer com eft here,
Þei hunger ous schuld slon.”

Þe leuedi seyd sche wald ful fain
Sende him gode asses tvain,
Wiþ þi he wald oway go
So fer þat he neuer eft com ogain.
“Nat, certes, dame,” þe child gan sain,
“Þou sest ous neuer eft mo.”

Þan was þe leuedi glad & bliþe
& comaund him an asse as swiþe
& seyd wiþ wretþe þo,
“Now ȝe schul out of lond fare,
God leue ȝou neuer to com here mare,
& graunt þat it be so.”

Þat child no lenger nold abide,
His asse astite he gan bistride
& went him hom ogain,
& told his lord in þat tide
Hou his leuedi proude in pride
Schameliche gan to sain;
Opon þe asse he sett þat kniȝt so hende,
& out of þe cite þai gun wende;
Þer of þai were ful fain.
Þurch mani a cuntre, vp an doun,
Þai begged her mete fram toun to toun,
Boþe in winde & rain.

Ouer al þat lond þurch godes wille
Þat hunger wex so gret & grille,
As wide as þai gun go;
Al-mest for hunger þai gan to spille,
Of brede þai no hadde nouȝt half her fille,
Ful careful were þai þo.
Þan seyd þe kniȝt opon a day,
“Ous bihoueþ selle our asse oway,

For we no haue gode no mo,
Saue mi riche coupe of gold,
Ac certes, þat schal neuer be sold,
Þei hunger schuld me slo.”

Þan Amoraunt & sir Amiloun,
Wiþ sorwe & care & reweful roun
Erliche in a morning
Þai went him til a chepeing-toun,
& when þe kniȝt was liȝt adoun,
Wiþ-outen ani duelling,
Amoraunt went to toun þo,
His asse he ladde wiþ him also
& sold it for fiue schilling.
& while þat derþ was so strong,
Þer wiþ þai bouȝt hem mete among,
When þai miȝt gete no þing.

& when her asse was ysold
For fiue schilling, as y ȝou told,
Þai duelled þer dayes þre;
Amoraunt wex strong & bold,
Of fiftene winter was he old,
Curtays, hende & fre.
For his lord he hadde grete care,
& at his rigge he diȝt him ȝare
& bare him out of þat cite;
& half a ȝere & sum del mare

About his mete he him bare,
Yblisced mot he be.

Þus Amoraunt, wiþ-outen wrong,
Bar his lord about so long,
As y ȝou tel may.
Þat winter com so hard & strong,
Oft, “Allas!” it was his song,
So depe was þat cuntray;
Þe way was so depe & slider,
Oft times boþe to-gider
Þai fel doun in þe clay.
Ful trewe he was & kinde of blod
& serued his lord wiþ mild mode,
Wald he nouȝt wende oway.

Þus Amoraunt, as y ȝou say,
Serued his lord boþe niȝt & day
& at his rigge him bare.
Oft his song was, “Waileway!”
So depe was þat cuntray,
His bones wex ful sare.
Al her catel þan was spent,
Saue tvelf pans, verrament,
Þerwiþ þai went ful ȝare
& bouȝt hem a gode croude-wain,
His lord he gan þer-in to lain,
He no miȝt him bere namare.

Þan Amoraunt crud sir Amiloun
Þurch mani a cuntre, vp & doun,

As ȝe may vnderstond;
So he com to a cite toun,
Þer sir Amis, þe bold baroun,
Was douke & lord in lond.
Þan seyd þe kniȝt in þat tide,
“To þe doukes court here biside
To bring me þider þou fond;
He is a man of milde mode,
We schul gete ous þer sum gode
Þurch grace of godes sond.

“Ac, leue sone,” he seyd þan,
“For his loue, þat þis world wan
Astow art hende & fre,
Þou be aknowe to no man
Whider y schal, no whenes y cam,
No what mi name it be.”
He answerd & seyd, “Nay.”
To court he went in his way,
As ȝe may listen at me,
& bifor al oþer pouer men
He crud his wain in to þe fen;
Gret diol it was to se.

So it bifel þat selue day,—
Wiþ tong as y ȝou tel may,—
It was midwinter tide,
Þat riche douke wiþ gamen & play
Fram chirche com þe riȝt way
As lord & prince wiþ pride.

When he com to þe castel-gate,
Þe pouer men þat stode þer-ate
Wiþdrouȝ hem þer beside.
Wiþ kniȝtes & wiþ seriaunce fale
He went in-to þat semly sale
Wiþ ioie & blis to abide.

In kinges court, as it is lawe,
Trumpes in halle to mete gan blawe,
To benche went þo bold.
When þai were semly set on rowe,
Serued þai were opon a þrowe,
As men miriest on mold.
Þat riche douke, wiþ-outen les,
As a prince serued he wes
Wiþ riche coupes of gold,
& he þat brouȝt him to þat state
Stode bischet wiþ-outen þe gate,
Wel sore of-hungred & cold.

Out at þe gate com a kniȝt
& a seriaunt wise & wiȝt,
To plain hem boþe yfere,
& þurch þe grace of god almiȝt
On sir Amiloun he cast a siȝt,
Hou laiþ he was of chere.
& seþþen biheld on Amoraunt,
Hou gentil he was & of fair semblaunt,
In gest as ȝe may here.
Þan seyd þai boþe, bi Seyn Jon,

In al þe court was þer non
Of fairehed half his pere.

Þe gode man gan to him go,
& hendeliche he asked him þo,
As ȝe may vnderstond,
Fram wat lond þat he com fro,
& whi þat he stode þer þo,
& whom he serued in lond.
“Sir,” he seyd, “so god me saue,
Icham here mi lordes knaue,
Þat liþ in godes bond;
& þou art gentil kniȝt of blode,
Bere our erand of sum gode
Þurch grace of godes sond.”

Þe gode man asked him anon,
Ȝif he wald fro þat lazer gon
& trewelich to him take;
& he seyd he schuld, bi Seyn Jon,
Serue þat riche douke in þat won,
& richeman he wald him make;
& he answerd wiþ mild mode
& swore bi him þat dyed on rode
Whiles he miȝt walk & wake,
For to winne al þis warldes gode,
His hende lord, þat bi him stode,
Schuld he neuer forsake.

Þe gode man wende he hadde ben rage,
Or he hadde ben a fole-sage
Þat hadde his witt forlorn,
Oþer he þouȝt þat his lord wiþ þe foule visage

Hadde ben a man of heiȝe parage
& of heiȝe kinde ycorn.
Þer-fore he nold no more sain,
Bot went him in to þe halle ogain
Þe riche douke biforn,
“Mi lord,” he seyd, “listen to me
Þe best bourd, bi mi leuete,
Þou herdest seþþen þou were born.”

Þe riche douke badde him anon
To telle bi-forn hem euerichon
Wiþ-outen more duelling.
“Now sir,” he seyd, “bi Seyn Jon,
Ich was out atte gate ygon
Riȝt now on mi playing;
Pouer men y seiȝe mani þare,
Litel & michel, lasse & mare,
Boþe old & ȝing,
& a lazer þer y fond;
Herdestow neuer in no lond
Telle of so foule a þing.

“Þe lazer liþ vp in a wain,
& is so pouer of miȝt & main
O fot no may he gon;
& ouer him stode a naked swain,
A gentiler child, for soþe to sain,
In world no wot y non.
He is þe fairest gome
Þat euer Crist ȝaf cristendome
Or layd liif opon,
& on of þe most fole he is

Þat euer þou herdest speke, ywis,
In þis worldes won.”

Þan seyd þe riche douke ogain,
“What foly,” he seyd, “can he sain?
Is he madde of mode?”
“Sir,” he seyd, “y bad him fain
Forsake þe lazer in þe wain,
Þat he so ouer stode,
& in þi seruise he schuld be,
Y bihete him boþe lond & fe,
Anouȝ of warldes gode;
& he answerd & seyd þo
He nold neuer gon him fro;
Þer-fore ich hold him wode.”

Þan seyd þe douke, “Þei his lord be lorn,
Par auentour, þe gode man haþ biforn
Holpen him at his nede,
Oþer þe child is of his blod yborn,
Oþer he haþ him oþes sworn
His liif wiþ him to lede.
Wheþer he be fremd or of his blod,
Þe child,” he seyd, “is trewe & gode,
Also god me spede.
Ȝif ichim speke er he wende,
For þat he is so trewe & kende,
Y schal quite him his mede!”

Þat douke astite, as y ȝou told,
Cleped to him a squier bold
& hendelich gan him sain:
“Take,” he sayd, “mi coupe of gold,
As ful of wine astow miȝt hold
In þine hondes tvain,
& bere it to þe castel-ȝate,
A lazer þou schalt finde þerate
Liggeand in a wain.
Bid him, for þe loue of Seyn Martin,
He and his page drink þis win,
& bring me þe coupe ogain.”

Þe squier þo þe coupe hent,
& to þe castel-gat he went,
& ful of win he it bare.
To þe lazer he seyd, verrament,
“Þis coupe ful of win mi lord þe sent,
Drink it, ȝiue þou dare.”
Þe lazer tok forþ his coupe of gold,
Boþe were ȝoten in o mold,
Riȝt as þat selue it ware,
Þer-in he pourd þat win so riche;
Þan were þai boþe ful yliche
& noiþer lesse no mare.

Þe squier biheld þe coupes þo,
First his & his lordes al-so,
Whiles he stode hem biforn,
Ac he no couþe neuer mo
Chese þe better of hem to,
So liche boþe þai worn.

In-to halle he ran ogain,
“Certes, sir,” he gan to sain,
“Mani gode dede þou hast lorn,
& so þou hast lorn þis dede now;
He is a richer man þan þou,
Bi þe time þat god was born.”

Þe riche douke answerd, “Nay.
Þat worþ neuer bi niȝt no day,
It were oȝaines þe lawe!”
“Ȝis, sir,” he gan to say,
“He is a traitour, bi mi fay,
& were wele worþ to drawe.
For when y brouȝt him þe win,
He drouȝ forþ a gold coupe fin,
Riȝt as it ware þi nawe;
In þis world, bi Seyn Jon,
So wise a man is þer non
Asundri schuld hem knawe.”

“Now, certes,” seyd sir Amis þo,
“In al þis world were coupes nomo
So liche in al þing,
Saue min & mi broþers al-so,
Þat was sett bitvix ous to,
Token of our parting;
& ȝif it be so, wiþ tresoun
Mine hende broþer, sir Amiloun,
Is slain, wiþ-outen lesing.
& ȝif he haue stollen his coupe oway,

Y schal him sle me self þis day,
Bi Ihesu, heuen king!”

Fram þe bord he resed þan
& hent his swerd as a wode man
& drouȝ it out wiþ wrake,
& to þe castel gat he ran;
In al þe court was þer no man
Þat him miȝt atake.
To þe lazer he stirt in þe wain
& hent him in his honden tvain
& sleynt him in þe lake,
& layd on, as he were wode,
& al þat euer about him stode
Gret diol gan make.

“Traitour!” seyd þe douke so bold,
“Where haddestow þis coupe of gold
& hou com þou þer to?
For bi him at Judas sold,
Amiloun, mi broþer, it hadde in wold,
When þat he went me fro!”
“Ȝa, certes, sir,” he gan to say,
“It was his in his cuntray,
& now it is fallen so;
Bot certes, now þat icham here,
Þe coupe is mine, y bouȝt it dere,
Wiþ riȝt y com þer to.”

Þan was þe douke ful egre of mod;
Was noman þat about him stode
Þat durst legge on him hond;
He spurned him wiþ his fot

& laid on, as he were wode,
Wiþ his naked brond,
& bi þe fet þe lazer he drouȝ
& drad on him in þe slouȝ;
For no þing wald he wond,
& seyd, “Þef, þou schalt be slawe,
Bot þou wilt be þe soþe aknawe,
Where þou þe coupe fond.”

Child Amoraunt stode þe pople among
& seye his lord wiþ wouȝ & wrong
Hou reweliche he was diȝt.
He was boþe hardi & strong,
Þe douke in his armes he fong
& held him stille vp-riȝt.
“Sir,” he seyd, “þou art vnhende
& of þi werkes vnkende,
To sle þat gentil kniȝt.
Wel sore may him rewe þat stounde
Þat euer for þe toke he wounde
To saue þi liif in fiȝt.

“And ys thi brother, sir Amylioun,
That whilom was a noble baroun
Bothe to ryde and go,
And now with sorwe ys dreue adoun;
Nowe god þat suffred passioun
Breng him oute of his wo!
For the of blysse he ys bare,
And thou yeldyst him all with care
And brekest his bones a two;
That he halp the at thi nede,

Well euell aquitest thou his mede,
Alas, whi farest thou so?”

When sir Amis herd him so sain,
He stirt to þe kniȝt ogain,
Wiþ-outen more delay,
& biclept him in his armes tvain,
& oft, “Allas!” he gan sain;
His song was “Waileway!”
He loked opon his scholder bare
& seiȝe his grimly wounde þare,
As Amoraunt gan him say.
He fel aswon to þe grounde
& oft he seyd, “Allas þat stounde!”
Þat euer he bode þat day.

“Allas,” he seyd, “mi ioie is lorn,
Vnkender blod nas neuer born,
Y not wat y may do;
For he saued mi liif biforn,
Ichaue him ȝolden wiþ wo & sorn
& wrouȝt him michel wo.
“O broþer,” he seyd, “par charite,
Þis rewely dede forȝif þou me,
Þat ichaue smiten þe so!”
& he forȝaue it him also swiþe
& kist him wel mani a siþe,
Wepeand wiþ eiȝen tvo.

Þan was sir Amis glad & fain,
For ioie he wepe wiþ his ain

& hent his broþer þan,
& tok him in his armes tvain,
Riȝt til he come in-to þe halle oȝain,
No bar him no noþer man.
Þe leuedi þo in þe halle stode
& wend hir lord hadde ben wode,
Oȝaines him hye ran.
“Sir,” sche seyd, “wat is þi þouȝt?
Whi hastow him in-to halle ybrouȝt,
For him þat þis world wan?”

“O dame,” he seyd, “bi Seyn Jon,
Me nas neuer so wo bigon,
Ȝif þou it wost vnderstond,
For better kniȝt in world is non,
Bot al-most now ichaue him slon
& schamely driuen to schond;
For it is mi broþer, sir Amiloun,
Wiþ sorwe & care is dreuen adoun,
Þat er was fre to fond.”
Þe leuedi fel aswon to grounde
& wepe & seyd, “Allas þat stounde!”
Wel sore wrengand hir hond.

As foule a lazer as he was,
Þe leuedi kist him in þat plas,
For noþing wold sche spare,
& oft time sche seyd, “Allas!”
Þat him was fallen so hard a cas,
To liue in sorwe & care.

Into hir chaumber she gan him lede
& kest of al his pouer wede
& baþed his bodi al bare,
& to a bedde swiþe him brouȝt
Wiþ cloþes riche & wele ywrouȝt;
Ful bliþe of him þai ware.

& þus in gest as we say,
Tvelmoneþ in her chaumber he lay,
Ful trewe þai ware & kinde.
No wold þai nick him wiþ no nay,
What so euer he asked niȝt or day,
It nas neuer bihinde;
Of euerich mete & eueri drink
Þai had hem-selue, wiþ-outen lesing,
Þai were him boþe ful minde.
& biþan þe tvelmonþ was ago,
A ful fair grace fel hem þo,
In gest as we finde.

So it bifel opon a niȝt,
As sir Amis, þat gentil kniȝt,
In slepe þouȝt as he lay,
An angel com fram heuen briȝt
& stode biforn his bed ful riȝt
& to him þus gan say:

Ȝif he wald rise on Cristes morn,
Swiche time as Ihesu Crist was born,
& slen his children tvay,
& alien his [broþer] wiþ þe blode,
Þurch godes grace, þat is so gode,
His wo schuld wende oway.

Þus him þouȝt al þo þre niȝt
An angel out of heuen briȝt
Warned him euer more
Ȝif he wald do as he him hiȝt,
His broþer schuld ben as fair a kniȝt
As euer he was biforn,
Ful bliþe was sir Amis þo,
Ac for his childer him was ful wo,
For fairer ner non born.
Wel loþ him was his childer to slo,
& wele loþer his broþer forgo,
Þat is so kinde ycorn.

Sir Amiloun met þat niȝt also
Þat an angel warned him þo
& seyd to him ful ȝare,
Ȝif his broþer wald his childer slo,
Þe hert blod of hem to
Miȝt bring him out of care.
A morwe sir Amis was ful hende
& to his broþer he gan wende
& asked him of his fare;
& he him answerd oȝain ful stille,

“Broþer, ich abide her godes wille,
For y may do na mare.”

Al so þai sete to-gider þare
& speke of auentours, as it ware,
Þo kniȝtes hende & fre,
Þan seyd sir Amiloun ful ȝare,
“Broþer, y nil nouȝt spare
To tel þe in priuite
Me þouȝt to-niȝt in mi sweuen
Þat an angel com fram heuen;
For soþe, he told me
Þat þurch þe blod of [þin] children to
Y miȝt aschape out of mi wo,
Al hayl & hole to be!”

Þan þouȝt þe douk, wiþ-outen lesing,
For to slen his childer so ȝing,
It were a dedli sinne;
& þan þouȝt he, bi heuen king,
His broþer out of sorwe bring,
For þat nold he nouȝt blinne.
So it bifel on Cristes niȝt,
Swiche time as Ihesu, ful of miȝt,
Was born to saue man-kunne,
To chirche to wende al þat þer wes,

Þai diȝten hem, wiþ-outen les,
Wiþ ioie & worldes winne.

Þan þai were redi for to fare,
Þe douke bad al þat þer ware,
To chirche þai schuld wende,
Litel & michel, lasse & mare,
Þat non bileft in chaumber þare,
As þai wald ben his frende,
& seyd he wald him-selue þat niȝt
Kepe his broþer þat gentil kniȝt
Þat was so god & kende.
Þan was þer non þat durst say nay;
To chirche þai went in her way,
At hom bileft þo hende.

Þe douke wel fast gan aspie
Þe kays of þe noricerie,
Er þan þai schuld gon,
& priueliche he cast his eiȝe
& aparceiued ful witterlye
Where þat þai hadde hem don.
& when þai were to chirche went,
Þan sir Amis, verrament,
Was bileft al-on.
He tok a candel fair & briȝt

& to þe kays he went ful riȝt
& tok hem oway ichon.

Alon him self, wiþ-outen mo,
Into þe chaumber he gan to go,
Þer þat his childer were,
& biheld hem boþe to,
Hou fair þai lay to-gider þo
& slepe boþe yfere.
Þan seyd him-selue, “Bi Seyn Jon,
It were gret reweþe ȝou to slon,
Þat god haþ bouȝt so dere!”
His kniif he had drawen þat tide,
For sorwe he sleynt oway biside
& wepe wiþ reweful chere.

Þan he hadde wopen þer he stode,
Anon he turned oȝain his mode
& sayd wiþ-outen delay,
“Mi broþer was so kinde & gode,
Wiþ grimly wounde he schad his blod
For mi loue opon a day;
Whi schuld y þan mi childer spare,
To bring mi broþer out of care?
O, certes,” he seyd, “nay!
To help mi broþer now at þis nede,
God graunt me þer-to wele to spede,
& Mari, þat best may!”

No lenger stint he no stode,
Bot hent his kniif wiþ dreri mode
& tok his children þo;
For he nold nouȝt spille her blode,
Ouer a bacine fair & gode
Her þrotes he schar atvo.
& when he hadde hem boþe slain,
He laid hem in her bed ogain,
—No wonder þei him were wo—
& hilde hem, þat no wiȝt schuld se,
As noman hadde at hem be;
Out of chaumber he gan go.

& when he was out of chaumber gon,
Þe dore he steked stille anon
As fast as it was biforn;
Þe kays he hidde vnder a ston
& þouȝt þai schuld wene ichon
Þat þai hadde ben forlorn.
To his broþer he went him þan
& seyd to þat careful man,
“Swiche time as god was born,
Ich haue þe brouȝt mi childer blod,
Ich hope it schal do þe gode
As þe angel seyd biforn.”

“Broþer,” sir Amiloun gan to say,
“Hastow slayn þine children tvay?

Allas, whi destow so?”
He wepe & seyd, “Waileway!
Ich had leuer til domesday
Haue liued in care & wo!”
Þan seyd sir Amis, “Be now stille;
Ihesu, when it is his wille,
May send me childer mo.
For me of blis þou art al bare;
Ywis, mi liif wil y nouȝt spare,
To help þe now þer-fro.”

He tok þat blode, þat was so briȝt,
& alied þat gentil kniȝt,
Þat er was hend in hale,
& seþþen in bed him diȝt
& wreiȝe him wel warm, apliȝt,
Wiþ cloþes riche & fale.
“Broþer,” he seyd, “ly now stille
& falle on slepe þurch godes wille,
As þe angel told in tale;
& ich hope wele wiþ-outen lesing,
Ihesu, þat is heuen king,
Schal bote þe of þi bale.”

Sir Amis let him ly alon
& in to his chapel he went anon,
In gest as ȝe may here,
& for his childer, þat he hadde slon,
To god of heuen he made his mon
& preyd wiþ rewely chere

Schuld saue him fram schame þat day,
& Mari, his moder, þat best may,
Þat was him leue & dere;
& Ihesu Crist, in þat stede
Ful wele he herd þat kniȝtes bede
& graunt him his praiere.

A morwe astite as it was day,
Þe leuedi com home al wiþ play
Wiþ kniȝtes ten & fiue;
Þai souȝt þe kays þer þai lay;
Þai founde hem nouȝt, þai were oway,
Wel wo was hem o-liue.
Þe douk bad al þat þer wes
Þai schuld hold hem still in pes
& stint of her striue,
& seyd he hadde þe keys nome,
Schuld noman in þe chaumber come
Bot him self & his wiue.

Anon he tok his leuedi þan
& seyd to hir, “Leue leman,
Be bliþe & glad of mode;
For bi him þat þis warld wan,
Boþe mi childer ich haue slan,
Þat were so hende & gode;
For me þouȝt in mi sweuen
Þat an angel com fram heuen

& seyd me þurch her blode
Mi broþer schuld passe out of his wo;
Þer-fore y slouȝ hem boþe to,
To hele þat frely fode.”

Þan was þe leuedi ferly wo
& seiȝe hir lord was al-so;
Sche comfort him ful ȝare,
“O lef liif,” sche seyd þo,
“God may sende ous childer mo,
Of hem haue þou no care.
Ȝif it ware at min hert rote,
For to bring þi broþer bote,
My lyf y wold not spare.
Shal noman oure children see,
To-morrow shal þey beryed bee
As þey faire ded ware!”

Þus þe lady faire & bryȝt
Comfort hur lord with al hur myȝt,
As ȝe mow vnderstonde;
And seth þey went boþ ful ryȝt
To sir Amylion, þat gentyl knyȝt,
Þat ere was free to fonde.
When sir Amylion wakyd þoo,
Al his fowlehed was agoo

Þrouȝ grace of goddes sonde;
Þan was he as feire a man
As euer he was ȝet or þan,
Seþ he was born in londe.

Þan were þey al bliþ,
Her ioy couþ noman kyth,
Þey þonked god þat day.
As ȝe mow listen and lyth,
Into a chamber þey went swyþ,
Þer þe children lay;
With-out wemme and wound
Hool and sound þe children found,
And layen to-geder and play.
For ioye þey wept, þere þey stood,
And þanked god with myld mood,
Her care was al [away].

When sir Amylion was hool & fere
And wax was strong of powere
Boþ to goo and ryde,
Child Oweys was a bold squyer,
Blithe and glad he was of chere,
To serue his lord beside.
Þan saide þe knyȝt vppon a day,
He wolde hoom to his contray,
To speke with his wyf þat tyde;
And for she halp him so at nede,
Wel he þouȝt to quyte hur mede,
No lenger wold he abyde.

Sir Amys sent ful hastely
After mony knyȝt hardy,
Þat douȝty were of dede,
Wel fyue hundred kene and try,
And other barons by and by
On palfray and on steed.
He preked both nyȝt and day
Til he com to his contray,
Þer he was lord in lede.
Þan had a knyȝt of þat contre
Spoused his lady, bryȝt of ble,
In romaunce as we rede.

But þus, in romaunce as y ȝow say,
Þey com hoom þat silf day
Þat þe bridal was hold;
To þe ȝates þey preked with-out delay,
Anon þer began a soory play
Among þe barouns bold.
A messengere to þe hal com
And seide her lord was com hom
As man meriest on molde.
Þan wox þe lady blew and wan,
Þer was mony a sory man,
Boþ ȝong and olde.

Sir Amys and sir Amylion
And with hem mony a stout baron
With knyȝtes & squyers fale,
With helmes & with haberyon,
With swerd bryȝt and broun,
Þey went in to þe hale.

Al þat þey þere arauȝt,
Grete strokes þere þey cauȝt,
Boþ grete and smale.
Glad and blyþ were þey þat day,
Who so myȝt skape away
[And fle fro that bredale].

[When thei had with wrake
Droue oute both broun and blake]
Out of þat worthy woon,
Sir Amylyon for his lady sake
& grete logge he let make
Boþ of lym and stoon.
Þere-yn was þe lady ladde
And with bred and water was she fed,
Tyl her lyue-days were goon.
Þus was þe lady brouȝt to dede,
Who þerof rouȝt, he was a queede,
As ȝe haue herd echoon.

Þen sir Amylion sent his sond
To erles, barouns, fre and bond,
Boþ feire and hende.
When þey com, he sesed in hond
Child Oweys in al his lond,
Þat was trew and kynde;
And when he had do þus, ywys,
With his brother, sir Amys,
Aȝen þen gan he wende.
In muche ioy with-out stryf
To-geder ladde þey her lyf,
Tel god after hem dide sende.

100

Anoon þe hend barons tway,
Þey let reyse a feire abbay
And feffet it ryȝt wel þoo,
In Lumbardy, in þat contray,
To senge for hem tyl domesday
And for her eldres also.
Boþ on oo day were þey dede
And in oo graue were þey leide,
Þe knyȝtes boþ twoo;
And for her trewþ and her godhede
Þe blisse of heuyn þey haue to mede,
Þat lasteþ euer moo.

Amen.