 | The seven sages of Rome |  |
1
THE SEVEN SAGES OF ROME
This boke ys callyd the vij sages of Rome.
Herkenythe lodynges curteys and hende
Howe thys gentylle geste shalle ende.
Sum tyme there was an Emperoure,
That ladde hys lyfe with moche honowre,
Hys name was Dioclician,
And was a wonder riche man,
And was Emperoure of Rome,
A nobylle man and a wyse of dome.
He hadde an Emporas to wyfe,
Men wyste non fayrer on lyue.
A sone they hadde hym bytwyne,
No fayrer chylde ne myght bene.
But soone aftyr thenne
The Emporas dyde and went henne
The chylde wax to vij yere olde,
Wyse of speche ande dedys bolde,
Florentyne hys name was,
Herkenythe nowe a wonder cas.
Hys Fadyr was olde and ganne to hoore,
His sone thoo he sette to lore,
And lette byfore hym com sone
The vij sagys that were yn Rome.
To hem he thought his sone take
Forto knowe the letters blacke,
For they were wysyst men leryde
That were Amonge alle mydylerthe
The Emperoure sayde anon
To the maysterys eurychone
“Whiche of you wille take my sone
To teche hym wysdome, as ye cone?”
Howe thys gentylle geste shalle ende.
Sum tyme there was an Emperoure,
That ladde hys lyfe with moche honowre,
Hys name was Dioclician,
And was a wonder riche man,
And was Emperoure of Rome,
A nobylle man and a wyse of dome.
He hadde an Emporas to wyfe,
Men wyste non fayrer on lyue.
A sone they hadde hym bytwyne,
No fayrer chylde ne myght bene.
But soone aftyr thenne
The Emporas dyde and went henne
The chylde wax to vij yere olde,
Wyse of speche ande dedys bolde,
Florentyne hys name was,
Herkenythe nowe a wonder cas.
Hys Fadyr was olde and ganne to hoore,
His sone thoo he sette to lore,
And lette byfore hym com sone
The vij sagys that were yn Rome.
To hem he thought his sone take
Forto knowe the letters blacke,
For they were wysyst men leryde
That were Amonge alle mydylerthe
The Emperoure sayde anon
To the maysterys eurychone
“Whiche of you wille take my sone
To teche hym wysdome, as ye cone?”
2
Bancillas thoo spake byfore,
The eldyste man with lockys hoore, [OMITTED]
And sayde “certys, take me thy sone,
And moche thonke j wylle the cone,
And j wylle teche the alle the lawys,
That j canne and my felowys.
That dar j, syre, take yn honde
In vij yere, j vnderstonde.”
The eldyste man with lockys hoore, [OMITTED]
And sayde “certys, take me thy sone,
And moche thonke j wylle the cone,
And j wylle teche the alle the lawys,
That j canne and my felowys.
That dar j, syre, take yn honde
In vij yere, j vnderstonde.”
Sone in a while aftyr that
A mayster spake of sympylle state,
Nother the moste, nother the leste,
But as hym semyd aldyr beste. [OMITTED]
Anxulles was hys ryght name,
A better clerke was non of fame.
“Syr, he sayde to the Emperoure,
Take me thy sone peramoure,
And as y am a trewe man,
I shalle teche hym that j canne,
And that my felowys canne alle so,
In vij yere withowtyn anny moo.”
A mayster spake of sympylle state,
Nother the moste, nother the leste,
But as hym semyd aldyr beste. [OMITTED]
Anxulles was hys ryght name,
A better clerke was non of fame.
“Syr, he sayde to the Emperoure,
Take me thy sone peramoure,
And as y am a trewe man,
I shalle teche hym that j canne,
And that my felowys canne alle so,
In vij yere withowtyn anny moo.”
The iij mayster was a lyght man
With louesum lere as whytte as swanne,
Hys here was cryspe and noo thyng rous,
His name was callyd Lentyllous.
He sayde anon to the kyng
“Take sone thyne into my kepyng
And j wylle swere the an othe
That j can and felowys bothe
Uppon payne of lemys and lyfe,
I shalle teche hym in yerys v.”
With louesum lere as whytte as swanne,
Hys here was cryspe and noo thyng rous,
His name was callyd Lentyllous.
He sayde anon to the kyng
“Take sone thyne into my kepyng
3
That j can and felowys bothe
Uppon payne of lemys and lyfe,
I shalle teche hym in yerys v.”
The iiij mayster a redman was,
Men hym callyd Malquydras.
He was but of xv yere olde,
He was a wysse man and a bolde.
“Syr, he sayde, nowe herkenythe vnto me,
My felowys wyt ys nott in me,
Nothyr of hyr wyt in noo wyse
I wylle not make noo marchantyse;
But take me thy sone, Syr Emperoure, [OMITTED]
And j shalle hym teche in yerys iiij. [OMITTED]
Al that j canne of clergye
Of mone and sterre and of the skye.”
Men hym callyd Malquydras.
He was but of xv yere olde,
He was a wysse man and a bolde.
“Syr, he sayde, nowe herkenythe vnto me,
My felowys wyt ys nott in me,
Nothyr of hyr wyt in noo wyse
I wylle not make noo marchantyse;
But take me thy sone, Syr Emperoure, [OMITTED]
And j shalle hym teche in yerys iiij. [OMITTED]
Al that j canne of clergye
Of mone and sterre and of the skye.”
The v mayster was wyse of dome,
Hys name was callyd Catonne of Rome.
He made Catonne, jwis,
That many a chylde of leryde ys,
And “syr, he sayde vnto the kynge,
Take thy sone vnto my techynge.
I wylle that he be nought becaughte,
Thy sones wyt ne knowe j noughte, [OMITTED]
Nother of hys age, nothyr of hys blode,
But, syr, j shalle teche hym goode
Also moche thoroughe goddys sonde,
As he may welle vnderstonde
And as hys wit wylle hym helpe,
Othyr wyse wylle j not yelpe,
So that by the ende of vij yere
No chylde noo where shalle be hys pere.”
Hys name was callyd Catonne of Rome.
He made Catonne, jwis,
That many a chylde of leryde ys,
And “syr, he sayde vnto the kynge,
Take thy sone vnto my techynge.
I wylle that he be nought becaughte,
Thy sones wyt ne knowe j noughte, [OMITTED]
Nother of hys age, nothyr of hys blode,
But, syr, j shalle teche hym goode
Also moche thoroughe goddys sonde,
As he may welle vnderstonde
And as hys wit wylle hym helpe,
Othyr wyse wylle j not yelpe,
4
No chylde noo where shalle be hys pere.”
The vj mayster spake thoo anon,
The fayreste man of euery-chon,
Gesse was hys name hote,
A comely ma[n] fro toppe to foote. [OMITTED]
“Syr, he sayde to the kynge,
Take me thy sone so yonge.
I shalle teche hym in yerys iij
Al that j canne whythe herte free,
And so ye shulle, syr, for hys lore bolde
Euyrmore to me beholde.”
The fayreste man of euery-chon,
Gesse was hys name hote,
A comely ma[n] fro toppe to foote. [OMITTED]
“Syr, he sayde to the kynge,
Take me thy sone so yonge.
I shalle teche hym in yerys iij
Al that j canne whythe herte free,
And so ye shulle, syr, for hys lore bolde
Euyrmore to me beholde.”
The vij mayster hette Maxious,
A ryght wyse man and a vertuous,
All his lyf with moche honowre
He hadde seruyde the Emperoure,
“Syr, he sayde, in alle wyse
A ryght wyse man and a vertuous,
All his lyf with moche honowre
He hadde seruyde the Emperoure,
“Syr, he sayde, in alle wyse
1
Here begynneth þe prologes of vij sages or vij wise masters which were named as here after ffolowith.
In olde Days ther was a man,
His name was Dyoclesyan,
Of Rome and of all þe honowr
He was lorde and Emprowr.
An Empresse he had full gent,
That was called Mylycent.
A chylde they had betwen them two,
The ffayrest þat myght on erthe goo.
The Emperyse passed henne
The comvne way of all men.
Tho was [t]he sone vij yere olde,
Wise, ffayre, and eke bolde,
Fflorentyne his name was,
Herkeneth now a wondre caas.
The emperowr began to hore,
His name was Dyoclesyan,
Of Rome and of all þe honowr
He was lorde and Emprowr.
An Empresse he had full gent,
That was called Mylycent.
A chylde they had betwen them two,
The ffayrest þat myght on erthe goo.
The Emperyse passed henne
The comvne way of all men.
Tho was [t]he sone vij yere olde,
Wise, ffayre, and eke bolde,
Fflorentyne his name was,
Herkeneth now a wondre caas.
The emperowr began to hore,
He thowght to sett his son to lore,
He lett call and beffore hym come
Seven þe wyseste þat were in Rome,
He sayd to them “lordynges gent,
After you j haue sente,
For ye be þe wyseste men leryd
That be in all medyllerde.
My son j will betake to you
To teche hym well for your prowe.
Whiche of you shall j hym betake
To teche hym the lettres blake?”
Bancyllas than spake beffore,
The eldeste man with lokkes hore;
He lett call and beffore hym come
Seven þe wyseste þat were in Rome,
He sayd to them “lordynges gent,
After you j haue sente,
For ye be þe wyseste men leryd
That be in all medyllerde.
My son j will betake to you
To teche hym well for your prowe.
Whiche of you shall j hym betake
To teche hym the lettres blake?”
2
The eldeste man with lokkes hore;
Bothe was he lene and longe,
And most jentyll them amonge.
Of gramar he do cowld all þe pars
And also of all the vij ars.
He spake ffirst to the Emperowr,
A ffayrer worde with myche honowr.
“Sir, he said, take me your childe,
I will to hym be meke and mylde,
I will hym teche very ffayne
All that j can to hym sayne.
I will hym take on hand right here,
That he shall in vij yere
Lerne ynowgh of euery lore.
My lorde what wolde ye aske more?”
Anon right after that
Spake a master of medyll state,
And most jentyll them amonge.
Of gramar he do cowld all þe pars
And also of all the vij ars.
He spake ffirst to the Emperowr,
A ffayrer worde with myche honowr.
“Sir, he said, take me your childe,
I will to hym be meke and mylde,
I will hym teche very ffayne
All that j can to hym sayne.
I will hym take on hand right here,
That he shall in vij yere
Lerne ynowgh of euery lore.
My lorde what wolde ye aske more?”
Anon right after that
Spake a master of medyll state,
Not with the leste, ne with þe meste,
But as it becom hym beste.
His lokkes were whit and hore,
But of clargy he cowld more
Than any other that men knewe.
He was jn party pale of hewe,
Ancyllas was his right name,
He was a clarke of gret ffame.
He said “take your sonne to me
And j will suerly siker the,
As j am clarke and trewe man,
I will hym teche as well as j can
And of that my felowes can also
With in thys vj yere and mo.”
But as it becom hym beste.
His lokkes were whit and hore,
But of clargy he cowld more
Than any other that men knewe.
He was jn party pale of hewe,
Ancyllas was his right name,
He was a clarke of gret ffame.
He said “take your sonne to me
And j will suerly siker the,
As j am clarke and trewe man,
I will hym teche as well as j can
And of that my felowes can also
With in thys vj yere and mo.”
After hym spake Lentilius than,
Lene of flesshe and somdele wan
Lene of flesshe and somdele wan
The child he desired thoo
Fforthe with hym þat he myght goo;
And thus he said to þe emperowr
“Take me your sonne, paramowr,
And j will take charge vpon an othe
All that j can and my felowes bothe,
I will hym teche, vpon my lyff,
Sone vppon this yeres ffyve.”
Fforthe with hym þat he myght goo;
And thus he said to þe emperowr
“Take me your sonne, paramowr,
3
All that j can and my felowes bothe,
I will hym teche, vpon my lyff,
Sone vppon this yeres ffyve.”
The iiijth master a rede man was,
His name was Malendryas.
He was of twenty wynter olde,
Prudent, wise, and of speche bolde.
“Sir, he said, harken to me
His name was Malendryas.
He was of twenty wynter olde,
Prudent, wise, and of speche bolde.
“Sir, he said, harken to me
And take good hede what j say to the.
With non of them in no wise
Make this day marchandyse,
But take hym to me and j will hym teche;
Off euery maner mannes speche
I will hym teche in yeres ffowr,
That all men shall hym honowr.
He shall lern all maner clergyse,
That any tonge can devise.”
With non of them in no wise
Make this day marchandyse,
But take hym to me and j will hym teche;
Off euery maner mannes speche
I will hym teche in yeres ffowr,
That all men shall hym honowr.
He shall lern all maner clergyse,
That any tonge can devise.”
Now of the vth tell we than
That hight Caton þe wise man.
A boke that Caton called ys
Makyth children warre and wise.
Caton sayd “over all thyng,
Take me your sonne in kepyng.
Makyth children warre and wise.
Caton sayd “over all thyng,
Take me your sonne in kepyng.
The childys will knowe ye nowght,
Full esyly he muste be vp browght,
Ffor he ys tender of fflesche and blode,
Full esyly he muste be vp browght,
Ffor he ys tender of fflesche and blode,
In goodly wise j will teche hym good
As myche as he may vnderstonde,
Whan that j haue hym vnder honde.
To you make j no more speche,
As well as j can, j will hym teche.”
[OMITTED]
An other master come anon,
The ffayrest of them euerychon,
As myche as he may vnderstonde,
Whan that j haue hym vnder honde.
To you make j no more speche,
As well as j can, j will hym teche.”
4
The ffayrest of them euerychon,
Jesse was his name jhoote,
Withowt weme ffrom hede to fote.
His here was yelow as the safferon,
He loked lustely as a ffawcon.
“Sir, he sayd vnto the kynge,
Lett your yonge son to me bryng,
I will hym teche with will ffree
That within this yeres three,
In clargy j shall hym bolde,
Withowt weme ffrom hede to fote.
His here was yelow as the safferon,
He loked lustely as a ffawcon.
“Sir, he sayd vnto the kynge,
Lett your yonge son to me bryng,
I will hym teche with will ffree
That within this yeres three,
In clargy j shall hym bolde,
That euer to me thow shalt be behold.”
The vij master hight Maxius,
A right wise man and a vertuous,
A right wise man and a vertuous,
All his lyff with gret honowr
He had serued the emprowr.
“Sir, he sayd, in all wise
For þe mede of mi seruise
He had serued the emprowr.
“Sir, he sayd, in all wise
Tac me þi sone to loke and lore;
Of mi seruise kep i nammore;
And i þe wille þonke conne,
And al þe clergie vnder sonne
Ich wille in to his bodi diȝt,
Boþe bi dai and bi niȝt.”
5
He strok his berd, and schok his ȝerde,
And on hem made milde chere
And spak that hi alle miȝte ihere:
“Þonke i ȝou kan, gode lordingges,
Of ȝoure gentil answerungges
I kan ȝou thonke of ȝoure speche,
Þat ȝe desire mi sone to teche,
Ȝoure compaignie is fair and gent,
Nel ich hit departe verraiment.”
He tok his sone bi þe hond anon,
An bitauȝte him to hem euerichon.
Þai vnderfengen him wiȝ cher blithe
And þonged him a þousand sithe.
Þe seuen wise wiȝ gret glorie,
Þat child ladde to consistorie,
Þat is a stede wiȝ inne Rome,
Þer men makeȝ wise dome.
Þis seuen wise men, in boke,
Here conseil þere to gider toke,
Þat he scholde nowt in Rome bilaue
For Burgeis, maiden, oþer knaue
Miȝte him in som riot sette
Þat al his lore he scholde lette
Þer þai toke to gideres alle
Þai wolde make a riche halle
Wiȝouten Rome in on verger
A mile þennes, bi o riuer,
6
A mile long al About.
Alle tres þer inne were,
Þat ani frut an erthe bere.
Amideward þai fo[un]den a space
An euene and a grene place
Þer inne þai set an halle anon,
Boþe of lim and of ston
Quaire hit was wiȝ chaumbres seuene,
Was non fairer in to heuene.
Þe halle was a midewerd
Þe fairest of þis midelerd.
Þerinne was paint, of Donet þre pars,
And eke alle þe seuen ars.
Þe firste was grammarie,
Musike and astronomie,
Geometrie and ars [metr]ike
Rettorike and ek fisike.
Þe segh was in þe halle
Þe ars to bihelden alle.
Whan o maister him let, anoþer him tok,
He was euer vpon his bok,
And to his lore tok gret kepe,
But whan he ete, oþer he slepe.
Þe ferȝe ȝer, hit was no dout,
Wiȝ his maister he gan to despout,
Þe fifte ȝe[r] he gan argument
Of þe sterre and of þe firmament.
7
Ȝif he ware wis and wer.
Leues þai tok, sextene,
Of Juy þat were grene.
Vnder ech stapel of his bed
Þat he niste four þai hid.
Þe child ȝede to bedde a niȝt
And ros arliche a morewen apliȝt.
Hise maistres him bifore stode,
Open hefd, wiȝ outen hode.
Þe child lokede here and tar,
Vp and doun, and eueri whar.
Hise maistres askede wat him was.
“Par fai, he seide, a ferli cas.
Oþer ich am of wine dronke,
Oþer þe firmament is isonke,
Oþer we[x]en is þe grounde
Þe þiknes of four leues rounde.
So muche to niȝt heyer i lai
Certes þanne ȝisterdai.”
Þe maistres þo wel vnderstode
He coude inow of alle gode.
Þe seuende ȝer so tok he on,
He passede his maistres euerichon.
To gider þai made gret solas,
Ac sone hem fil a ferli cas.
8
A riche man and wis of dome,
Hise barons comen to him on a dai,
And “Sire, par nostre fai,
Ȝe libbeȝ an a lenge lif,
Ȝe scholde take a gentil wif
Þat ȝou mit som solas do,
And biȝeten children mo.
Inow ȝe habben of werldes won,
To make hem riche euerichon.”
Þemperour was wel ipaied,
Wiȝ þat þe . . . . . . had seid
Sone he let him puruai
An emperice of gret noblai.
He went him self and sent his sond
Wide whar, in to fele lond
Fort þat þai ani founde.
A dammeisele of gret mounde
Þai brouwte here to fore þemperour.
He segh sche was of feir colour,
He wot sche was of hegȝ parage,
Anon þai asked þe mariage.
Þai weren iwedded bi commun dome
Anon in þe gise of Rome,
And louede hem þourg alle þing,
Herkneȝ nou a selli tiding!
Þing ihid ne þing istole,
Ne mai nowt longe be for hole.
9
But Godes owen priuete.
Som squier or som seriant nice
Had itold þemperice
Al of þemperoures sone,
Hou he wiȝ þe maistres wone.
And hire schildre scolde be bastards
And he schal haue al þe wardes
Vnder hest and vnder hond
Of þempire and al þe lond.
Þan couþe sche boþe qued an god
And sone sche gan to pekke mod,
And þoughte, so stepmoder doþ
In to falsenesse torne soþ
And brew swich a beuerage
Þat scholde Florentin bicache.
Ac mani weneȝ oþer to hirte
And on hem selue falleȝ a[l] þe smerte.
Þemperour and his wif
Þat he louede als his lif,
In chaumbre to gidere þai sete
Gladliche þai dronke and ete.
“Sire, ȝhe saide, gentil emperour
I þe loue wiȝ fin amour
And þou nowt me sikeli.
Sire i[ch] wil telle þe whi.
10
And made me emperice of Rome,
Þi make at bord and at bedde,
And o þing þou hast fram[me] hedde.
Þou hast a sone to scole itauȝt,
Lat me him se, warn me him nauȝt
Hit is þi sone and þin air,
A wis child and a fair.
Þi most time þou hast ben kyng
Þou drawest fast to þin e[n]ding.
Fond we, sire, in joie libbe
And haue joie of oure sibbe.
For þi sone i tel mine
Alse wel als tou dost þine.
Parauenture hit mai falle so,
Þat neuer eft ne tit vs mo.
Ȝif þou me louest ani wiȝt
Let me of him han a siȝt.”
“Certes, dame, seide þemperour,
Hit ne schal nowt be long soiour.
To morewe, ar vndertide of dai,
Þou schalt him sen, par ma fai.”
And sche seide, wiȝ chere blithe,
“Graunt merci, sire, a þousend sithe.”
A morewe þemperour gan rise,
And cloþed him in riche gise,
Messagers he clepede to,
And quik þai com toforn him bo.
He scharged hem wiȝ his message,
And bad hem grete þe seuen sage.
11
Mi sone þat þai atire fair,
And brenge him hom in faire manere,
For ich wil quik of him here,
Hou he had sped þis seue ȝer
Me þinkeȝ longe þat ner er.”
Þe messagers a non forht sprong
I not bi waie ȝif þai song
Til þai come to þat inne
Þer þe maistres woned inne.
And as we finden writen in bok,
Aiþer oþer be þe hond tok,
And in þai wente riȝt euene,
And founde þe maistres alle seuene,
Disputend, in hire latyn
Wiȝ þat child Florentyn.
Þe messagers on knes hem sette,
And þe seuen wise þai grette
In þemperours bihelue,
And þe child be him selue,
And seide þat emperour het,
His sone þat þai bringge him sket
To Rome toun to his presens.
“Ȝour trauail and ȝoure despens
He wil aquite for ech a ȝer
After þat ȝhe worthi wer.”
Þe messagers were wel come,
And bi þe hond quik ynome
12
What þe sonne gan to helde.
Hout wente þe maistres seuene
And bihelden vp toward heuene.
Þai seghe þe constillacioun
Þe wisest in þat so was Katoun;
He gan to loke in þe mone,
And seide þat him þoughte sone.
“Lordinges, he saide, for godes sond,
To mi telling vnderstond.
Þenperour to ous had sent,
To brenge him his sone gent.
Ȝif we him bring biforn our lord,
He sterueȝ ate ferste word,
Þat he schal in court speke.
Þanne he wil of ous be wreke,
To drawe ous oþer to hongi sone,
Þis i se wel in þe mone.”
Þe oþer saide wiȝ outen oþ
Þat Catoun hem saide soht.
Schild Florentin was lered in boke,
And in a [s]ter he gan to loke,
Whiche þat sat next þe mone,
And saide þat him þoughte sone,
13
Of þat sterre þe toknyng.
Þanne saide þe maistres to Florentin
“What sex tou, leue child, þar in?”
He saide, “maister, i schal wel liuen,
Ȝif i mai, þis daies seuen,
Kepe me fram answering,
I mai liue to god ending,
And sauue me to warisoun
And ȝou fram destruccioun.”
Þe maistres han wel devise
Þ[e] childes tale was god and wise.
Þan seide maister Bancillas,
“Her is now a ferli cas.
Counseil we al her vpon
Hou þat we mai best don.”
Þan seide þe schild, “Saunz fail,
Ich ȝou riȝt wil counseil.
Þis seuen daies i nel nowt speke
Nowt a word of mi mowht breke.
And ȝe beȝ maistres gode and wise,
In al þis werld of mest prise.
Litel ȝe conne, par ma fai,
But echon of ȝo mai saue me a dai.
Þe aiȝteden dai ich me selue
So þe ax pelt in þe helue
Þat schal hewe þe wai a two
Þat had wrout me þis wo.”
Þan saide maister Bancillas
“So God me helpe and Seint Nicholas,
14
“And i, quaþ Catoun, par ma fai,
Schal þe warant anoþer also.”
Alle þe maistres speken þo,
Þai wald, wit and resoun,
Saue þe child fram destruccioun,
Fram schame and fram vilani.
“Maistres he saide, graunt merci.
Certes, hi[t] bihoueȝ so
For i sschal þoli mochel wo
Gret despit and strong turment,
But ȝe be queinte of argument.”
Wiȝ þis word þai ben alle
Departed and comen to halle
And maked at ese þe messagers
Wiȝ god semblant and glade chers.
And whan hit com to time of niȝt,
To riche bed þai were idiȝt
And Florentin þe schild also
To his bed he gan to go.
And þouȝt al niȝt her and tar,
Hou þat he miȝt be wis and war
To ouercome þe emperice
Þat he nere nowt iholden nice.
Þe niȝt passeȝ, þe dai comen is,
Þe seuen maistres arisen iwis.
Þe maistres and þe messagers
Habbeȝ greiþed here destre[r]s
15
And went hem forht anon riȝt.
Þai dede hem out of þat gardin,
Þat is icleped þe bois of seint Martin
And here way toke to Rome.
Þe maistres here wai aȝen nome.
Tiding had þemperour
His sone com wiȝ gret honur
Anon he let a stede diȝt
And rod him aȝen wiȝ mani a kniȝt
Whan he him seghȝ þan was he bliȝe
And kest him wel mani a siþe.
Kniȝt and erl and mani baroun
Kiste þe emperours soun,
And ladde him wiȝ gret noblais
To þemperour palais.
Þe emperice him wil honur,
Do him sende in to hire bour
Scho ladde fram bour to bour
And dede here mene make retour
16
Wil ȝe nou ihere of wommannes wrenche?
Þe emperice was queinte in dede,
And hire wrenche and in hire falshede.
Ȝhe and þe schild alone wer þan,
Was wiȝ hem non oþer man.
Be his side ȝhe set hire fast,
On him sche gan her egȝen kast
And saide: “mi leue suete grom,
Swiþe welcome be þou hom.
I haue icast to þe mi loue
Of al worhtlich þing aboue.
Þi louerd þe emperour is old,
Of kinde, of bodi he is cold.
I swere, bi sonne and bi mone,
Wiȝ me ne hadde he neuer to done.
But for ich herde telle of þi pris,
Þat þou were hende, gentil, and wis.
For to haue wiȝ þe acord,
Ich am iwedded to þi lord.
Kes me, lemman, and loue me,
And i þi soget wil ibe.
So god me helpe, for he hit wot,
To þe ich haue ikept mi maidenhod”
Sche kest here armes aboute his swere
Ac he made lourand chere,
And drowȝ awai wiȝ al his miȝt,
He wold his lord don non vnriȝt.
17
Al achaunged was hire blod,
And saide to him “sweting fre
Whil nel tou nowt speke wiȝ me?”
For no þing þat sche miȝtte do,
O word nolde he speken her to.
Þan þe emperice wex wroþ,
Sche tar hire her and ek here cloþ,
Here kirtel, here pilche of ermine,
Here keuerchefs of silk, here smok o line,
Al togidere, wiþ boþe fest,
Sche to rent bineþen here brest.
Wiȝ boþe honden here ȝaulew here
Out of þe tresses sche hit tere,
And ssche tocragged hire visage,
And gradde “harow” wiȝ gret rage.
In halle was þemperour,
“Who had þe don þis desonur?”
“Bot þis deuel þat her is,
Hadde me ner ihonisscht, iwis!
Hadde ich ben a while stille
Wiȝ me he hadde don his wille.
18
Par force he hadde me forht inome.
Lo hou he ad me torent
Mi bodi and mi face isschent.
He ne was neuere of þi blod,
Lat him binde, for he is wod.
A fend he is in kinde of man,
Binde him, sire, and lede han,
For wod of wit i schal be,
Ȝif ich lengere on him see.”
“He sschal abigge,” saide þemperour,
And cleped forht a turmentour
Quik he het his sone take,
And spoili him of cloþes nake,
And beten him wiȝ scourges stronge,
And afterward him hegȝe anhonge.
“Bleþeliche” þe boies quaþe,
And tok þe schild, swithe rathe,
And ladde him forht þourgh þe halle,
Among þerles and barons alle.
Euele þai gonnen him bisen,
Gentil ronnen hem bitwen,
And asked anon of þis cas.
Þai saide, here lordes heste hit was
Anon þai ronnen in to þe bour,
Biforn here lord þe emperour,
19
Wiȝouten counseil and rede,
And bad him, þat þilke sorewe
Most be respit til amorewe,
“And þanne saue him oþer slen,
Bi conseil of þi gentil men.”
Þe emperour þan spared his sone,
And let him caste in his prisone.
Þe emperice was fol wroȝ,
Þat þe child was spared, for soht,
And wel mochel hit here traid,
Sche þought wel more þanne ȝhe said.
An euen late þe emperour
Was browt to bedde wiȝ honur
Þe emperice his worhtli fere
To him cam wiȝ lourand chere
And þe emperour asked why
Ȝhe made semblant so sori.
“O sire, ȝe saide, no wonder nis,
For now to londe icomen is
He þat schal, in þin eld age
Binime þe þin heritage.”
“Pais, dame, who sschal þat be?”
“Þin howen sone, i segge þe.”
“Min owen sone? dame, nay,
Ne schalt tou neuere se þat dai
Þat he schal haue ani miȝt
Me for to don vnriȝt.”
20
To dai þo hast him fram deþ ispeled,
Ase wel mot hit like þe
Als dede þe pinnote tre
Of his ympe þat he forht browte.”
Þe emperour lai and more þougȝte
And bad hire wiȝ semblaunt fre
Tellen him of þat ilche tre,
And of þe ympe al þe cas.
“Whilom a riche burgeis was
And woned her in Rome toun,
A riche man of gret renoun
He hadde bihinden his paleys
A fair gardin of noblays
Ful of appel tres and of pirie,
Foules songe þer inne murie.
Amideward þat gardyn fre,
So wax a pinnote tre,
Þat hadde fair bowes and frut
Þer vnder was al his dedut.
He made þer vnder a grene bench
And drank þer vnder mani a sscench.
Certes þer inne was al his plaiyng
In time of solas and his resting.
So bifel vpon a dai,
Þe burgeis fram home tok his wai,
21
And bileued oute al a ȝare.
Al so sone so he miȝte
Homward he gan him diȝte.
Whan he was liȝ[t] at his in,
Quik he wente to his gardin,
His fair tre for to sen.
Þanne segȝ he wexe a litel stren,
A ȝong ympe vt of his rote,
Fair hit him þougȝte and swote.
Ac þat ympe þat so sprong,
Hit was sschort and no þing long.
Þe burgeis cleped his gardiner
“Lo he saide, lo me her.
Seste þou þis ympe of gret mounde
Kanst þou me telle, gode bounde,
Whi hit is so schort wering?”
“Ȝa, sire, he saide, be heuene king!
Þe grete bouȝ þat ouer him is
So him bisschadeweȝ, iwis,
Þat hit mai haue no þedom.”
“Steȝe vp, he saide, mo gode grom,
And hak awai þe grete bouȝ,
Þat hit ne do min ympe no wouȝ.”
Þe gardiner, as his louerd het,
Hew awai þe bouȝ al swet,
And asked ȝif hit was wel ido.
Anoþer he bad him kit þer to
22
Min himpe iolifliche spring.”
Nou ben hise bowes awai isschore,
And mochel of his beaute forlore.
Þe ympe had roum, and wexeȝ fast.
Þe olde tre his vertu gan acast.
For no wonder hit nis,
Of þe maister rote hit is
Out ispronge and out isshet,
And his bowes awai iket.
Þar fore þat olde tre les his pride,
And asered bi þat o side.
Þe gode burgeis on a dai,
His ympe þriuende he sai,
Fair iwoxe and fair isprad,
But þe olde tre was al abrad.
He clepid his gardener þo
And asked whi þe olde tre verd so.
He answerede, als he wel couþe,
“Sikerliche, ich telle þe nouþe,
Þe ȝonge impe þat wide springes,
Had large roum in alle þingges,
And for þe elde tre is so ihewed,
Hit so wikked and so sschrewed.”
Þe burgeis seide, “Seþþe þe elde
Biginneȝ so to vnbelde
Hewe him to þe grounde doun riȝt,
Lat þe ȝonge tre atire, a pliȝt.
23
And þe ȝonge tre forht idrawe.
Gode sire, gent and fre,
Þat olde tre bitokneȝ þe.
Þe ȝonge bitoknez þi sone wode,
Þat is ispronge out of þi blode.
He sschal be sone forht idrawe,
And maister, and þou his knaue.
Hit wil wel sone ben ido,
But þou take kep þerto;
And but þou do, þou ne hast no miȝt.
Þat i biseke to oure driȝt,
Þat als hit mote fare bi þe,
As dede bi þe pinnote tre.”
“Certes dame, þou seist for nowt,
I ne sschal neuere so ben bicauȝt.
Ich þe bihote, sikerliche,
He schal to morewe erliche,
To deȝ be don, and þat is riȝt.”
And þous passede þe ferste niȝt.
24
And mani baroun of gret honur.
Men vndede þe gates of þe paleis,
In com goende mani burgeis.
Sone was fild paleys and tour,
In com goind þemperour.
“Goht, he seiȝ, to þe prisone,
And fechcheȝ forht mine sone,
And quik þat he ware anhonge,
On heghe galewes and on stronge.”
Þe boies ȝede a non doun,
And fesched þe child out of prisoun
And ladde him forht þour þe halle,
Among þe erles and barouns alle,
For þat schild, þat naked was,
Mani bede þemperice euel gras.
Þan com ridend Bancillas,
Þe childes firste maister he was,
25
Þerfore he was in herte vnglad.
He rod to þemperours halle,
And liȝte and passede þe kniȝtes alle,
And fint sone þemperour,
And “Sire, saide, Deu vous doint boniour.”
Þemperour saide, “God þe defende,
Fram god dai and fram god ende!”
Þan seide maister Bancillas,
“Whi artou wroht, and for what cas?
Wiltou sle þin owen child?
Ne were þou wone be god and mild?”
“Hit nis no wonder, saide þemperour,
Þou sschalt ben anhonged, þou loseniour!
For to þe and þine fere
I bitok mi sone to lere,
For to han itauȝt him god,
And ȝe han imad him wod.
Mi wif he wolde haue forleyn,
Hit nis no wonder þough i haue trayn.
He schal þerfore ben islawe,
And afterward al to drawe.”
Þan seide maister Bancillas,
“Sire þat were now a sori cas.
26
Ȝit he had nowt agelt his lif.
Sauue ȝoure grace, wene ich hit nowt,
Hit euere com in his þout.”
Þemperour saide, “i fond hire to rent,
Hire her, and hire face ischent;
And who is founde hond habbing,
Hit nis non nede of witnessing!”
Saide Bancillas, “Hit nis non hale
To leue stepmoderes tale.
Ȝif þou him slest, bi hire purchas,
On þe falle swich a cas,
As fel vpon a gentil kniȝt,
And of his graihond þat was so wiȝt.”
“O Maister, for godes mounde,
Hou bifel þe kniȝt of his grehonde?”
“Þer while, sire þat i tolde þis tale,
Þi sone miȝte þolie dethes bale;
Þanne were mi tale forlore.
Ac of sende þi sone þerfore,
And ȝif him respit of his bale,
And þou sschalt here a foul fair tale.”
Þemperour saide, “Respit i graunt.
Fech him hider a serjaunt.”
Quik ran þe messager
Wiȝ god semblant and glade cher,
27
As he was lad to prisoun sti.
“Maister, seide þemperour, tel þis cas.”
“Bleþeliche,” saide sire Bancillas.
“Sire, whilom was in þis cite
In a dai of þe trinete
A swiþe noble strong burdis,
Of men þat were of noble pris.
In a mede was þis torney,
Of men þat were of gret noblai.
Þe knyȝt in þe mede hadde o maner,
Al biclosed wiȝ o riuer,
Of chaumbres and of hegȝe halle
Of old werk, forcrased alle.
Þe kniȝt hadde a fair leuedi,
A wel fair child sche hadde him bi.
Hit hadde of þre norices keping:
Þe ferste ȝaf hit soukeȝing,
Þat oþer norice him scholde baþe,
Whan hit was time, late and raþe,
Þe þridde norice him sscholde wassche,
Þe child was keped tendre an nessche.
28
Þ[er] nas no better in lond ifound.
Alle þe bestes þat ran to
He tok, boþe hert and ro.
He was so hende and wel itauȝt,
He nolde ȝiue him for non auȝt.
Þe kniȝt was lopen on his stede,
And armed wel in iren wede,
Þe sscheld aboute his nekk, þe spere on his hond
And burdised wiȝ þe kniȝtes of þe lond.
Þe leuedi stod in pointt tournis,
For to bihelde þe burdis.
Þe norice went out of þe halle,
And set þe cradel vnder þe walle.
Mani stede þer ran and lep,
To hem toke gode kep.
An Addre was norissched in þe wal
And herde þe riding and þe noise al,
And pelt out here heued to se þat wonder,
And segh þat schild ligge þer vnder.
He crep to grounde quik a non,
In þe cradel þe child to slon.
Þe graihond seghȝ þe adder red,
Grislich, rough, strong, and qued.
Anon he gan hire to asail,
And hente here in his mouþ saun fail.
Þe adder so þe grehound stang,
And he feled þe bite so strang.
29
Vpon þe cradel ȝhe fleiȝ anon,
And was aboute þe child to sting,
And þe greihond com ȝerne flingging,
And hente þe adder in strong ger
And flapped here al aboute his er.
Bitwene þe adder and þe grehound
Þe cradel turnd vp so doun on ground.
Vp so doun in hire feghȝting,
Þat þe child lai diueling.
Þe stapeles hit vp held al quert,
Þat þe child nas nowt ihert.
Þaddre so þe greihoun bot,
Bi þe side, god hit wot.
He cried and on þe cradel lep,
And bledde þer on a wel gret hep.
And whan þe smert was al igon,
To þat addre he sterte a non,
And bi þe bodi he him hent
And al to peces here to rent.
Þe grehound wolde nowt sessed be
Til þat adder ware toren of þre,
And al þe place þer aboute,
Was wel blodi wiȝ outen doute.
Þe burdis to ȝede, þe folk gan hom tee,
And þe norices alle þre
Þe cradel and þe child þai found
Vp so doun vpon þe ground.
30
Þe norice was sori in hert
And ech of hem vnderstode
Þat þe greihond was wod,
And hadde þat faire child islawe,
Awai þai gonne fle and drawe,
Als hit were wode wimmen.
Þe leuedi com hom aȝen
And asked hem what hem was.
Anon þai telde here al þe cas.
Þai lowen on þat greihond hende,
Hit was pite, so god mamende.
Þe leuedi when sche herde þis,
A swone sche fil a doun, iwis.
Þe kniȝt com fram þe iusting fare,
Anon asked hem what hem ware.
“Sire, quadȝ ȝhe, ich wille bi ded,
I nelle neuer ete bred,
For þi greihond þat is so wilde,
Haþ islawe oure faire childe.
And but ȝe willen him slen anon,
Riȝt now ich wille mi lif forgon.
Þe kniȝt, for rage, in to halle set,
His hende graihond þer he met,
Þat him welcomed wiȝ fot and tail,
Þe kniȝt drowȝ his swerd saunz fail,
Þe graihond on þe rigge he hit,
In to þe grounde he him slit.
31
In to his halle grim and wroþ.
Of þe adder he fond mani tronsoun
And þe cradel vp so doun.
He turneȝ þe cradel and fint þe child quik,
Hol and sond, and haþ ferlich.
He seghȝ þe adder þe graihound slowȝ,
He hadde slawen his greihond wiȝ wouȝ.
He cride and made mochel sorewe,
“Ne be þat man neuere iborewe,
But in euel water adreint,
Þat euer leue wimmannes pleint.”
Eft he makeȝ a gret cri,
And he clepeȝ þe leuedi,
And on þe kniȝtes and sweines also,
And pleined him of his mochel wo,
And sschewede his child hol and sound,
And slawen was his gode graihond,
For his prouesse and his god dede,
Al for his fole wiues rede.
“O grehound, he seide, wiȝt and strong,
I schal mi selue abigge þat wrong,
And tache oþer kniȝtes saun fail,
To leue here leuedis conseil.”
He set him doun in þat þrawe,
Als quik he dede his sschon of drawe,
32
And wente him forht al barfot,
Wiȝ outen leue of wif and child,
And wente into a Forest wild,
In to desert fram alle men;
Wolde he neuer come aȝen.
He þolede mani a biter stounde
For þe wrong of his greihonde.
So falle on þe, sire emperour,
Swich arm and sschame and desonur,
Ȝif þou do þi sone vnriȝt,
Als to þe greihound dede þe kniȝt.
Þourgȝ þe counseil of hiis wif
He sloughȝ his greihond nowt geltif.”
“O maister, bi peter þat ich haue souȝt,
So schal hit bifalle nowt.
Nou bi god þat i schal serue
To dai more ne schal he sterue.”
Þe court wente, þe maister tok leue,
Hit gan sone to wexen eue.
Þemperour com to chaumbre a non,
Þemperice him loured vpon.
Þemperour saide, “Dame, artou wroȝ?”
“Ȝe, sire, ȝe saide, for soht.”
“Tel me now, sweting fre.”
“Þou wost wel, so mot ich se,
33
And þou ne kanst me þank non.
Þou clepest þi sone, he is þe deuel,
He sschal þe do wel mochel iuel.
But þou me of him wil awreke,
Al folk mot hit wite and speke.
He mot þe bringge to swich ending,
Als hadde þe bor for his cracheing.”
“Þe bor, dame, tel þat me,
Whi for cracheing deied he?”
“Sire nou þou wilt wite þat cas,
Ich wille þe telle hou hit was.
Sire, quaþ þe leuedi, here bi west
Þer was a fair riche forest.
A bor was norisscht þar inne,
Fram a pig to a swine.
Of þe bor was swich los
To gon þerinne ech man agros.
Ne dorst þer come kniȝt ne swein.
In þe forest was a plein,
And in þe pleyn a tre of hawes
Þat ripe were be þo dawes.
Þe bor hem gan ful sone asmelle,
Ech [dai] he het þer of his felle.
In þat forest woned an herd,
Þat of bestes loked an sterd.
O best him was arauȝt,
Wide war he hit hadde isouȝt.
34
And þouȝte to haue þer of some.
Ful he gaderede his barm,
Ȝet ne þouȝt he of non harm.
In his oþer lappe he gaderede some,
Þe felle bor bicam to come.
Þe herde him seghȝ and was of drad,
He dorst nowt fle, he was so mad.
Vp to þe hawe tre he steghȝ,
Þe bor him com swiȝe neghȝ.
And he ne findeȝ hawe non,
As he was iwont to don.
He loked vp and segȝ þe herd
He criede and makede rewli rerd.
He wette his tossches and his fet,
Þe erþe wiȝ his snowte he bet.
Þourh þe mouht þe fom was wiȝt,
Þe tussches in þe tre he smit.
Þe tre aresede as hit wold falle,
Þe herde was sori adrad wiþ alle.
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And he gan sone on knes fo falle.
Þ[o] iseþȝ þe herd man
Þat þe bor falle bigan.
35
And com him self doun bi a bowe.
Wiȝ þe left hond he heng,
And wiȝ þe riȝt hond on þe bor he feng.
He clew þe bor on þe rigge,
And he bigan a doun to ligge.
He clewe him eft vpon þe wombe,
He fil adoun als a lombe.
He lek his eghen and gan to slape,
Þe knif drouȝ þe herde knape.
Out he drouȝ scharp an long,
Þe bor to þe herte he stong.
Þe [herd] þous wiȝ his long knif
Biraft þe bor of his lif.
He went him forþ and let him ligge.
Lo, sire emperour, i þe sigge,
Þou art þe bor, þi maister þe clawes,
Wiȝ fals resoun and wikkede sawes,
And on þe he whetteȝ his teȝ,
Til þai þe bringge to þi deȝ.
Wiȝ clawing þai sculle þe desceiue,
Til þai þe sle wiȝ deþes glaiue.”
“Certes, dame i sigge no,
Hit schal neuere bifalle so.
36
Wiȝ outen ani more derai.”
And sche saide, ones oþer twiis,
“Gentil sire, graunt mercys.
God ȝif þe þer to strengþe and miȝt
To deȝe him do er hit be niȝt.
Þe niȝt passede, þe dai com,
Þe heghe emperour of Rom
Went adoun of his tour,
Wiȝ herte wroþ and gret irour.
Men vn[l]ek gate and halle dore,
Barouns entrede in a store.
37
In com gon þemperour,
Biforen hem alle, in grete traye.
He het mani a wikke boie
His son lede toward þe hangging:
Hit was ido wiȝ outen letting.
And riȝt amide ward þe pres
Com ride maister Ancilles,
Þat þe childes oþer maister was,
And iseȝ þat ferli cas.
Toward þe halle he gan driue,
And highede þider fast and bliue.
38
And gret him sone wiȝ honur.
Þemperour sikerliche
On him loked litherliche,
And to þe maister he saide þore
“Maugre haue þou for þi lore!
Þou hast iserued wikked mede,
Þou schalt hit haue, so Crist me spede.”
Þan saide maister Ancilles,
“For godes loue, sire, hold þi pes.
Wiltou sle þin owen sone,
To ben milde hit was þi wone.”
“Hit nis no wonder, saide þemperour,
Þou schalt ben anhonged, þou vile loseniour.
Ich tok þe mi sone to lore
For to teche him wisdom more
39
His speche is loren, ich am desmaid,
Mi wif he wolde haue forht itake,
To deȝ, he seide, he schal ben don wiȝ wrake.”
Þan seide þe maister, “hit is non hale
To leue stepmoderes tale,
For here bolt is sone ischote,
More to harm þan to note.
Ȝif þou him [sle] bi hire purchas,
On þe falle swich a cas,
Als fil on Ypocras þe gode clerk,
Þat slow his neueu wiȝ fals werk.”
“Maister, he saide, tel me þat cas
Of þe scoler and of Ypocras.”
Ancilles said als so tit
“Þi sone to dai mak þou quit,
Til to morewe hit be dai liȝt,
And i þe scha telle a non riȝt,
Wiȝ gret felonie and wiȝ wouhȝ
Hou Ypocras his neuen slowȝ.”
“I schal him respite,” saide þemperour,
And het anon, wiȝ outen soiour
Men scholde aȝen fechche his sone
And caste him into presone.
Þe child was brout in to þe toun
Wiȝ a fair processioun
40
Nou ginneȝ þe tale of Ypocras.
Sire, Ypocras was maister here
Of leche craft was non his pere.
He hadde wiȝ him his neueu
Þat schild lere of his vertu.
He segh þe child so queinte of lore,
He wolde techen him nammore.
He þouȝte wel, at a score,
He sscholde passi him bifore.
Þe child aparceiued wel þis
And held hit in his herte, iwis.
His emes werk he gan aspie,
Til he couþe al his maistrie.
Þo Ypocras wel he fond
Bi craft of þe childes hond,
Þat he couþe al his mastrie,
And brast neȝ for onde and vie.
So bifel vpon a time [a þ]ing,
Of Hongrie þe riche king
Hadde swich a sone gent,
To Ypocras anon he sent,
41
And habbe gold ful a male.
Ypocras wende ne miȝt
But cleped his neueu a non riȝt,
And bad him wenden to þat lond,
And þat schild take an hond.
And whan he hadde so ido,
He sscholde aȝen comen him to
Þe schild was set on a palefrai
And forht he tok þe riȝte way.
And whan he com to þat lond
Þe king him tok bi þe hond
And ladde him to his sike childe,
Now Crist of heuene be ous milde.
Þe ȝongeman seȝ þe childes peyne
And tasted his senewe and his veyne,
He takeȝ an vrinal for to sen,
He ne seȝ nowt of þe kyng, but of þe quen.
And of þe child, god hit wite,
He seȝ hit was a mis biȝete.
He gan þe leuedi aside drawe,
“Dame, he saide, be aknawe
What man had biȝete þis child?”
“What, ȝe saide, artou wild?
Who sschulde him biȝete but þe kyng?”
“Dame, he saide, þat is soht no þing.
42
“Let, ȝhe saide, swich wordes ben,
Oþer i schal do bete þe so,
Þat þo schalt neuere ride ne go.”
“Dame, he saide, bi swiche tale
Þi sone scha[l] neuere more ben hale.
Ac tel me, dame, al þe cas,
Hou þe child biȝeten was.”
Belami, ȝhe saide, so.”
“Par fai, dame, he saide, no,”
And schok his heued vpon þe quen.
“Dame, he saide, þai ȝhe wille me slen,
I ne mai do þi sone no bot,
But ȝif i wite þe sothe rot,
Of what man hit was biȝete.”
“Maister, ȝhe saide, þat mai no man wite.
Ȝif mi conseil were vnhele,
Ich were islawe bi riȝte skele.”
“Dame, he seide, so mot ich þe,
I nelle neuere biwraie þe.”
“O maister, ȝhe seide, so hit bifel,
Þis enderdai, in on Aueril,
43
Wel atired, in riche wede,
Wiȝ mi louerd for to plai,
And so he dede, mani a dai.
Þat ich erl i gan to loue
Al erthliche þing aboue,
And so, par gret druri,
I let þat erl ligge me bi,
And þous hit was on me biȝete:
A, leue maister, let no man wite!”
Nai, dame, for sothe, iwis,
But for he was biȝeten amis,
Hit mot boþe drink and ete
Contrarius drink, contrarius mete:
Beues flesch and drinke þe broþt.”
He ȝaf þe child anon þer of,
Þe child warisscht fair and wel,
Þe kyng ȝaf him mani a juel,
To þe leche, of silver and goold,
Als mochel als he nime wold.
He wente hom wiȝ þat eiȝte
And Ypocras, anon riȝt,
He asked ȝif þe schild was sound.
“Ȝe sire, he saide, bi seint Simond.”
44
“Bef and broþ gode a[nd] fine.”
“What þan was he an auetrol?”
“Þou seist soht, sire, be mi pol.”
Quaþ Ypocras, “Bi þe gode dome,
Þou art bicome al to wis a grome.”
Þer he þouȝte, aȝen resoun,
To don him strong tresoun.
So bifel, vpon a dai,
He and his neueu ȝede to plai,
In a fair grene gardin,
Þer in wex mani an herbe fin.
On þei seȝen in þe grounde,
Þat was an herbe of gret mounde.
He tok and schewid hit Ypocras
And he seide a better þer was,
For he wald his neueu bikeche.
Þe child stoupede swich on to reche,
Þer while Ypocras wiȝ a knif
Binom þat schild his swete lif,
And let him birie sikerliche,
Als he were storuen sodainliche.
And sone þer after, swiþe ȝerne,
He let alle hise bokes berne.
45
He ouer seȝ alle þing.
He sent Ypocras for his tresoun
Sone þer after þe menesoun.
Wel wist Ypocras, for his qued,
Þat he scholde sone be ded.
For al þat heuer he miȝte do,
His menesoun miȝt nowt staunche þo.
He let of sende moche and lite,
Hise neyebours him to visite,
And tolde al riȝt a non,
Hou his deȝ wa[s] comen him on,
Wiȝ gret riȝt and nowt wiȝ wouȝ,
For his neueu þat he slowȝ.
An empti tonne he let fet
And of water of a pet
He let hit fille to þe mouþe,
For he walde hise werkes were couþe.
Þe tresoun he gan hem alle reherse.
In a þousand stede he let þe tonne perce,
And þo he hadde mad holes so fele,
In ech he pelt a dosele
46
And euerich doseil he braid oute,
No drope of water vt com þan,
Meruaile hadde mani a man.
“Lo, he saide, water hi can stop,
Þat hit ne mai nowt bi bores drop,
Ac i ne mai nowt stop mi menesoun
And þat is al for mi tresoun,
Wiȝ gret riȝt and nowt wiȝ wouȝ
For mi neueu þat i slow.
Ich him slow sikerliche,
For he was wiser man þan iche.
Ich ne no man vnder sonne
Me ȝif help nou ne conne,
But mi neueu aliue ware.
Riȝt is þat ich hennes fare.”
Lo, saide þe maister, hou Ypocras
Destrued his lif and solas.
Sire emperour, tak hede and loke,
He slow his neueu and brent his boke,
Miȝt hit him ani þing profite?”
“Nai, saide þemperour, moche ne lite.”
47
I biseke god omnipotent,
Þat ȝif þou do þi sone to ded
And hise maistres, be þi wiues red,
Þat on þe falle swich a cas,
As dede on maister Ypocras.”
Þe maister had so isped,
Þemperour sone was his frend.
Þe maister was owai inome
Þemperour was to chaumbre icome.
Þer he fond his emperice,
Wiȝ lourand chere and wiȝ nice,
Hond wringging and loude koupe,
And here visage al biwope.
“Dame he saide, pluk vp þi cher,
Oþer tel me whi þou makest swich cher.”
“Sire, ȝhe saide, hit is wonder non,
Hi se þi honur al igon.
48
Allas, allas, þat i was boren,
And þat i schal þis dai ise,
Þat we sschulle departed be.”
“What, dame, is hit comen þerto
We sscholle be departed so?”
“Ȝe, sire, bi Adam and bi Eue,
For þou nelt nowt me ileue
Of him þat þou clepest þi sone
Certes, he had þe deueles wone.
He þe procureȝ, niȝt and dai,
Al þe sschame þat he mai.
Þine barouns and þine gentil men,
Alle þai holden þe aȝen.
Þai sschal wel sone, for nithe an hete,
Put þe out of þi kinges sete,
And sette him stede inne þine,
Þat ware mi deȝ and mi pine.
Ich hadde leuere to ben an honge,
Þan þat i scholde liue so longe.”
A, hou wimmen conne hit make,
Whan þai wil ani man lake.
“Ac, sire, ȝif hit falle so,
Þat þempire is diȝt him to,
On þe falle swich a cas,
As dede on him, þat his heued was
49
Wiȝ felonie and wiȝ wrong.”
“O dame, who miȝt þat be
Wolde do his fader swich vilte?
Tel hit me, for god aboue!”
“Lat be, sire, for mi loue,
Þou ne louest nowt of mi telling,
Hit schal þe rewe bi heuene kyng.”
“Ȝis, dame, he saide, lat here þe speke,
And ich wil sone þe awreke.
Sei on, dame!” and ssche bigan
To tellen als a fals wimman.
Aemperour was in þes toun,
A riche man, of gret renoun,
Octouien was his name,
Wide sprong his riche fame.
Gold and siluer to wille he wan,
And more he hadde þan ani man.
He made Cressent, þat riche tour,
Þer inne he pult his tresor.
Seue wise men þer were in Rome,
Þe fiue out of londe [he] nome,
50
To kepe Rome wiȝ riȝtful dome.
Þat on was boþe curteis an hende,
Lef to ȝiue and lef to spende;
And þat oþer lef to pinche,
Boþe he was scars and chinche.
And als we finden writen in boke,
Þemperour him tauȝt his tresor to loke,
And he hit kept bi al his miȝt,
Boþe bi daies an bi niȝt.
For þe wrecche man, saun fail,
Wende þe erþe sscholde him fail.
Þe large wise wiste wel
Of his tresor eche a del.
He saide to his sone “tak a pike,
To niȝt þou schalt wiȝ me strike.”
“Whider” seide his sone.
“Þer of haue þou no þing to done.
Arise vp quik, and wiȝ me go,
And do als tou sest me do.”
For þai went wiȝoute soiour,
To Cressent, þat riche tour,
An hole þai bregen, al wiȝ ginne,
And boþe þai wenten þer inne,
51
Als þe moche als þai miȝt bere,
And beren hit hom wel on hast,
And maden hem large whiles hit last.
A morewe aros þat sinatour,
And sithen tobregen his louerdes tour,
And beren was awai þat tresour,
Þerfore he made gret dolour.
He ne made no pleint to no man,
But stopped þe hole anon aȝen,
For he þouwte wel þat hit left,
Wolde come aȝen eft.
For þef of steling wil nowt blinne,
Til he honge bi þe chinne.
Niȝ euene bi þe hole,
Þer þe catel was istole,
Þe wise man dede make a dich
Ful of lim and of pich,
Þat ȝif he aȝen wald come,
Þat þe traitur sscholde bi nome.
Þe stolen catel ispended is,
Þe wise bicomeȝ a fol, iwis.
52
To þat tour þat hiȝt Cressent.
An hole þay broken al bis[t]ore,
Þe fader lep in bifore,
In to þe limed diche,
Loude he gan to crie and skriche,
And saide, “Sone, com her þou nowt,
For ich ham nomen and bicauȝt.”
“Hou so, fader, ich wil fechche help.”
“Nai, sone, mak þer of no ȝelp.
Her ne geȝ help ne red,
For sikerliche ich am ded.”
“A, leue fader, what sschal i do?”
“Sone, wiȝ þin hond þi swerd tak to
And hastiliche gird of min heued!”
“Nai arst mi lif scholde me bi bireued,
Ar ich mi fader scholde sle.”
“Sikerliche, sone, hit mot so be,
53
Beȝ ischent wiȝ outen fine.
Bettere hit is þat ich on passe,
Þan al mi ken, more and lasse.
Smit of min heued wiȝ þi sword,
Schalt tou neuer here þer of no word.
Hit ginneȝ to dawe, highe þe henne,
Forȝiue i þe al þat sinne.”
His fader heued he smot of þare,
And awai wiȝ him hit bare.
Ac he ne wiste, for non nede,
Whar he miȝte hit best ihede.
But als he com bi a gong
Amidde þe pit he hit slong,
And wente hom and made wo,
His brethren and his sustren also.
A morewe aros þat sinatour,
And segh to broken his louerdes tour,
And seȝ þer stonde an[e] heuedles man,
Knowe him nowt he ne can.
He loked bifore and bihinde,
Knowleching ne couþe he finde.
He let him drawe out of þe pit,
And his fet set faste iknit,
54
And hete to Rome drawen his cors
And ȝif ani weped oþer cride,
He het him nime þat ilche tide.
“Quicliche breng him me bifore,
For of þat kyn he was ibore.”
Þe heuedles bodi, also skete,
Was idrawe þourgh eueri strete.
Fort he come aȝen þe paleis
Þat auȝte þe ded burgeis,
Þere was cri an wail a wo,
Of broþer and of suster al so.
Þe sone þat wiste of al þat dede
Stirt him in in gret drede,
He braid out his knif on heghȝ
And smot him selue þourȝhout þe þegȝ.
Þe kinges seriaunt faste hide
To nime þat folk þat faste cride.
Þai sschewed iwonded here broþer,
Þai seide þai wepte for non oþer.
Þai seghen alle þe wonded man,
And leued hem wel and went oȝan.
55
Aȝen resoun and riȝt skille
Was nowt þe boi of wit bireued
Whan he tok his fader heued,
In a vil gonge slong hit inne?
He miȝ[t] han don a better ginne,
Ibiried hit ower preueliche.”
“Þou saist soþ, dame, sikerliche,
An vnkynde boi hit was.”
“Ȝa, on þi heued falle þat cas!
Þi sone, þe deuel him mote anhonge,
But he cast þin heued in a gonge.”
“Dame, i schal ȝeme me fram care,
Certes, to morewe he sschal forht fare.”
“Sire, i leue þe nowt, sikerliche.”
“Ȝis, dame, hardiliche!”
“Graunt merci, ȝhe saide, sire gent”
And kist him to acordement,
And let here word swithe sone,
And ȝede to bedde mid idone.
Certes, to morewe he sschal forht fare.”
“Sire, i leue þe nowt, sikerliche.”
“Ȝis, dame, hardiliche!”
56
And kist him to acordement,
And let here word swithe sone,
And ȝede to bedde mid idone.
Dioclician, þemperour,
A morewe wente out of his tour,
And let ofsende his gentil knaue,
No man ne most him saue,
And het him lede forht sikerlik
And bidelue him also quik
Þat he neuer, for no þing,
Herde of him more tiding.
He was forht lad wiȝ boies felle,
Þe burgeis, and þe dammeisele,
Þai gunne arere swich a cri,
Þat hit schillede in to þe ski,
And saide, “Wail awai, whi, wiȝ wronge,
Schal þemperours sone ben an honge!”
Þan com ridende Lentilioun,
A wis maister and a fair faȝoun.
Þe childes þridde maister hadde iben,
For reuþe he ne miȝt him nowt isen.
And þemperour wel sone he fond,
He gret him faire, ich vnderstond.
Þemperour saide, “So god me spede.
Traitour, þe sschal be quit þi mede.
For mi sones mislerning
Ȝhe sschulle habbe euel ending.”
“O sire emperour of pr[i]s,
In dedes þou sscholdest be war and wis.
Ȝif þou wilt þi sone sschende,
Wiȝ outen assent of barouns hende,
And dost vs qued for oure godnesse,
On þe falle swich a destresse,
So dede on þe riche gome,
Þat wiȝ his wif was ouer come.”
O tel me, maister, hou ani wimman
Miȝte bigile ani man?”
“Bleþeliche, sire, so god me amende,
Ȝif þou wilt þi sone of sende,
For ȝif he were þer wiles islawe,
For nowt i telde þe mi tale.”
Þe riche emperour, al so sket,
His sone aȝen fechche he het.
Þe child was don þe presoun in,
Þe maister his tale he gan agin.
“Þer was a burgeis in þis toun
A morewe wente out of his tour,
And let ofsende his gentil knaue,
No man ne most him saue,
And het him lede forht sikerlik
And bidelue him also quik
Þat he neuer, for no þing,
Herde of him more tiding.
He was forht lad wiȝ boies felle,
Þe burgeis, and þe dammeisele,
Þai gunne arere swich a cri,
Þat hit schillede in to þe ski,
And saide, “Wail awai, whi, wiȝ wronge,
Schal þemperours sone ben an honge!”
57
A wis maister and a fair faȝoun.
Þe childes þridde maister hadde iben,
For reuþe he ne miȝt him nowt isen.
And þemperour wel sone he fond,
He gret him faire, ich vnderstond.
Þemperour saide, “So god me spede.
Traitour, þe sschal be quit þi mede.
For mi sones mislerning
Ȝhe sschulle habbe euel ending.”
“O sire emperour of pr[i]s,
In dedes þou sscholdest be war and wis.
Ȝif þou wilt þi sone sschende,
Wiȝ outen assent of barouns hende,
And dost vs qued for oure godnesse,
On þe falle swich a destresse,
58
Þat wiȝ his wif was ouer come.”
O tel me, maister, hou ani wimman
Miȝte bigile ani man?”
“Bleþeliche, sire, so god me amende,
Ȝif þou wilt þi sone of sende,
For ȝif he were þer wiles islawe,
For nowt i telde þe mi tale.”
59
His sone aȝen fechche he het.
Þe child was don þe presoun in,
Þe maister his tale he gan agin.
A riche man of gret renoun,
Þat wolde spouse no ne[y]hebours schild,
But wente fram hom as a moppe wild.
He let his negheboures child for o vice,
And wente fram hem als moppe and nice,
60
Was ful of vices swithe fele.
He seghȝ hire fair and auenaunt,
And wiȝ here fader made couenant
For to habben hire to wiue
And euere more to riȝte liue.
He spoused hire and ladde hire hom,
Hire forme lemman hire after com,
Þat hire serued mani a stounde,
Whan on slepe was þe [hus]bounde.
Þan was þe lawe in Rome toun,
Þat wheþer lord or garsoun,
Þat after corfu bi founde rominde
Faste men scholden hem nimen and binde
And kepen him til þe sonne vprising,
And þan bifore þe fo[l]k him bring
And þourgh toun him villiche driue.
Þe burgeis aparseiued of his wiue
Fele niȝtes was gon him fram,
And in þe dawiyng aȝen ȝhe cam.
He saide nowt, wel longe while,
But euer he souchede him of gile.
61
And ȝede to bedde blithe and glade,
And lai stille als he slepe sone
Sche stal awai mididone
And wente to here lotebi,
And he hit aparseiued sikerli,
And went him out and segh an herd
Al to gider hou sche misferd,
And wente him in out of þe strete
And schet þe dore swiþe skete,
And spak out ate windowe
And saide “Dame, god ȝiue þe howe,
Þis þou ne miȝt forsake for non nede,
Ich haue inome þe in þis dede
Wiȝ þi lechour wiȝ him þou go,
Of þe ne kep i neuere mo.”
A, lat me in, sire, paramour,
Men sschal sone ringe corfour.”
“Nai, dame, ich þe forsake,
In þe foli þou worst itake.
Al þi ken schal witen and sen,
What mester womman þou hauest iben.”
62
Ich wille bicome wod and wilde,
But þou me in lete, ich wille telle,
Ich wille me drenchen in þe welle.”
“Drenche þi selue oþer anhonge,
For here þou hauest liued to longe.”
Ȝe tok vp a gret ston
And wente to þe welle anon,
And saide after a wommannes wrenche,
“Her now, sire, i schal me adrenche.”
Ȝe let þe ston falle in þe welle
And sterte vnder þe dore wel snelle.
Þe seli man bigan to grede,
“Allas, wat sschal me to rede!”
Anon riȝtes he wente him owt,
And soughte his wif in þe welle about,
And swiþe loude he bigan to crie,
And ȝhe stert in wel an hiȝe,
And sschitte þe dore swithe fast,
And he gan vp his heued cast,
“What, he saide, who is þare?”
“Ich, ȝe saide, god ȝiue kare!
Is hit nou time, bi þi snoute,
For to ben þous longe þer oute?”
63
Ich wende þou haddest ben adreint.
Lat me in, dame, paramour,
Men sschal sone ringe corfour.”
“Þe deuel honge me þanne bi þe toþ,
Þe waites sscholle wel se þe soþ
Þat þou art and hold lechour
And comest hom after corfour.
Þou schalt suffre kare and howe,
And drinke þat þou hast ibrowe.”
Wiȝ þat þe waites come ride,
And hi herden hou þai gon schide
And corfour belle ringge gan.
Inomen was þat seli man,
And neuer of him no qued ne herde,
Þai wist ful wel hou hit ferde.
Þai beden his wif, as ȝe was hende,
Leten him [in] ar corfu ende.
Ȝe answere[d] as malicious
“He comeȝ nou fram þe hore hous!
Þous he is wonet me to serue,
On euele deþe mot he sterue!
Ich haue ihid his schame er þis,
I nel nammore nou, iwis.”
64
Þe burgeis was lad forht wiȝ wrong.
What helpeȝ hit lenger tale,
Þat niȝt he sat wel sore akale,
And his wif lai warme abedde,
And solas of hire lemman fredde.
Amorewe þe burgeis was forþ ifet,
And his honden biforen him knet,
And þourgh þe toun he was ilad,
Lohtliche driuen and bigrad,
Ase a þef. Þis meschaunce,
Gelteles he suffred þis penaunce.
Sire, couþe þis woman of gile?”
“Ȝa, sche was a traitour vile,
And wel werse þan an hound!”
“Sire, mo swiche þer beȝ ifound,
And þi self had on swich!
Ȝe wil þe traie sikerlich,
Ȝif þou dost after her red,
Þat þou dost þi sone to ded.
Þat chaunce falle þe iliche,
Þat bifel þe burgeis riche.”
65
I nel nowt do bi here to niȝt.”
Þe child bileft stille in prisoun,
Þe maister went out of þe toun
And hadde mani a blessing,
For his disciple deliuering.
Whan men leke windowe and gate
Þemperour com to chaumbre late.
Þemperice bigan to loure
Lohtliche on þemperoure
“Dame, he saide, what haileþ þe,
Swich semblaunt for to make me?”
“Ȝit sschal hit falle ous so bitwene
Þat mani a man hit sschal hit sene
As bitwene þe leuedi and þe stiward,
And þe king in o foreward.”
“What forward was þat? Telle hit me
As þou wilt to me lef be.”
66
Mi tale ne mot nowt forþ
Telle ich þe ensaumple neuer so god,
Þou me haldest of wit wod.
Þerfore ich wille holde me stille,
And suffri wel þat man þe spille.”
“Nai, dame, lat here þe speke,
And ich þe wille ful wel awreke,
So ich hit finde profitable,
And soþ i seie, wiȝ outen fable.”
“Nou ben sene, sire and ihere!
A king was whilom of gret powere.
Al Poile and Calabre lond
Al he held hit in his hond.
Wimmen he louede swiþe lite,
And usede sinne sodomiȝte
So long he pleiede wiȝ ȝong man,
A swele in his membres cam þan.
Þe skin miȝt hit nowt helde,
Ne he ne miȝte him selue welde.
He fil sik in godes wreche,
He let ofsenden him a leche
67
He laide a plastre vnder his ribbe.
Barli bred he et for gode,
And barli water, þat was isode,
Til he hadde of his membres bote.
Þan saide þe leche ar ȝe mote
Haue womman to pleie ariȝt,
Ȝif ȝe wil be hol apliȝt.”
“I schal wel” and cleped his stiward
And he com als a leopard.
“Lo me her, sire, what wil ȝe?”
“But a lemman fech þou me,
Þat i miȝt to niȝt wiȝ plai!”
“I ne wot non, sire, in þis contrai,
Þat be þi bodi ligge dar,
For þi los is boren so far,
Þat þine membres ben to swolle.”
“Bihote hem pans an handfolle.
Bihot twenti mark som leuedi
O niȝt for to ligge me bi.”
Þanne þout þat stiward coueitous,
Þat siluer schal bileue wiȝ ous.
68
And saide sche most on his arnede gon.
“Bletheliche, sire, ac whide[r]ward?”
“To þe king, saide þe stiward.
Þou schalt plaie wiȝ him in derk,
And winne ous gode twenti mark.”
“A, sire, sche saide, fi! fi!
Hit is foul man to liggen bi,
And þat wot euerich womman wel.”
“Þou schalt, bi seint Michel!
Who þat seluer winne nelle,
Lese he mot wiȝ riȝt skille.
Þou sschalt ous þe penies winne,
Oþer i þe sschal driue out of min inne.”
“O nedes he sschal, þat nedes mot,
Hit nis nowt mi wille, god hit wot.
But hit is skil, riȝt and lawe,
To do bi me as bi þin awe.”
To þe kinges chaumbre he went aȝain,
And drof out boþe kniȝt and swayn.
Blewe out þe torches and let in his wif.
To þe king sche wente bilif
69
Þe king þe leuedi in armes hent.
What helpeȝ hit ani more seid?
Þat niȝt he was ful wel apaid.
Þe wrecche stiward ne miȝt nowt slape,
Ac in þe moreweinge he gan v[p]rape.
To þe kingges chaumbre he went saun fail,
Þe king, þat niȝt, hadde ben in trauail,
In trewe loue wit outen arm,
And slep in þe leuedis arm.
Þe stiward made moche sorewe,
Til hit were half wai midmorewe.
He held him self mochel wrechche!
Þous þe king bigan to wechche,
And saide, “Sire, vp, vp, hit is dai!
Lat þat leuedi wende a wai!”
70
For me lest ȝit ful wel slape,
And pleie twies and ones,
For to hele mine bones.”
“Nai, sire, hit is mi leuedi,
Þat al niȝt haþ laien þe bi.”
“Belamy, he saide, is hit þi wif?”
“Ȝea, sire, he saide, be mi lif.”
“O traitour, fiȝ, a puteyn!
Whi had þi wif bi me lain?”
“Sire, for þe wi[nu]ng of þi mone.”
“Þerfore, he saide, yuel mote þou þe!
Þou hast bitraid þi wif and me,
Dwelle þou, [t]il ich arisen be,
I schal þi vile false cors
Do drawe wiȝ wilde hors.
Out of mi lond i rede þou flee,
Þat i þe neuer eft isee.
For abide þou min vprist,
Þou be honged bi Jesu Crist!”
71
And fley awai wiȝ mochel strif.
Iwis he was al forlore,
He com aȝein neuere more.
Þe king aros whan him list
And kep þe leuedi wiȝ þe best,
And held hire two ȝer oþer þre,
And siþen ȝaf hire, wiȝ riche fe,
To a riche erl of þat lond,
Sche was nowt bicauȝt, ich vnderstond.
Sire, and so wil hit fare bi ȝou
Whan ȝe han loren ȝoure vertu.
Out of londe þou best idriue
Schal ich þe neuere ise til i liue.
No forse on me, after an emperour
Mai me wedde a vauasour.
I mai liue a wel god lif,
Þai i be nowt an emperours wif.
Ac falle chaunce ase hard,
As dede þe couaitous stiward,
72
But þou do als i rede þe.”
“Par fai, dame, þat is skil,
I wil do bi þe, ȝif god wil.”
“Sire, ȝhe saide, wiȝ outen fail,
Þou dost bi a god counseil.”
Morewe cam, as ȝhe nowe here,
Þemperour aros, wiȝ foule chere,
In to his palais he wente ȝare,
And his barouns he fond þare.
Biforen hem alle, in grete traye
He het mani a wikke boye
His sone toward þe deþe bringge.
Hit was ido wiȝ outen letting.
Toward deȝ he was ibrout,
Mani a man hit of þout.
Þourgh Rome stretes, wide and side,
Þe ferthe maister þer com ride.
Malquidras was his name
In his herte was no game.
His disciple louted him to,
Þe maistres hert brast neȝ for wo.
He went in to þe halle flet,
Þemperour wel faire he gret.
Þemperour him missaide þan,
“Merci, sire, saide þe wise man.
Sire what haue we þe misgelt?
Oure gode dede schal ben iuel iȝelt.”
“Sire, quaþ þemperour, be min hed,
Worthi art to suffri ded,
For to þe and þine fere,
I bitok mi sone to lere,
For to han itauȝt him god,
And ȝe han imade him wod.
Mi wif he wolde haue forlai,
Þerfore ȝe sschulle al dai.”
“O, sire emperour of pris,
In dedes þou sscholdest ben war and wis.
Ȝif þou wilt sone slo,
Wiȝ outen assent of barons mo,
And for oure godnesse do vs qued,
Swich a cas fal on þin heued,
As hadde þe olde wise of his wiue,
Er þou parte out of þis liue.”
“O maister þat was wel isaid,
Hou was þat olde man itraid?”
“He was nowt bitraid, for he wis was.”
“A! leue maister, tel me þe cas.”
“Bleþeliche, wiȝ outen strif,
So þou respite þi sones lif,
Til to morewe þat hit be dai,
Þan i þe schal þe tale sai.”
Þemperour Dioclician
His sone aȝen hiȝt fechche þan,
And into presoun he was icast.
Þe maister ginneȝ his tale in hast.
“Whilom was a man old wis
And hadde inow of worldes pris.
In his ȝouþe in middel of his liue
He hadde iwedded two iolif wiues.
He liuede and boþe hem ouer bod
And was longe in his wideuhod.
He liuede so longe þat he hor was,
And hadde of womman no solas.
His seriauntz ofte to him come,
And of alangenes him vndernome,
And [bad] him take a wif jolif,
To solace wiȝ his olde lif.
Bi her rede he tok a ȝong womman,
Ase wone is of old man
Ȝong womman for to spouse
And þanne be wraw and gelouse.
Litel þai mai do wiȝ outen gabbe,
Þat ȝong womman wolde habbe.
Al so ferde þat olde wise,
He dede his wif wel smal seruise.
Þe ȝonge wif, vp on a dai,
Com to chirche, par ma fai,
And fond hire moder þare,
And tolde hire al of here kare.
And saide, “Moder, i þolie a cas,
Mi louerd doþ me no solas.
Ich moste haue som oþer loue!”
“Nai, dowter, for god aboue!
Old men ben felle and queinte,
And wikkede wrenches conne ateinte.
Misdo nowt, doughter, but do bi rede!”
“Lat ben, moder, for hit is nede.”
“Doughter, þe louerd ha[þ] o gardin,
A wel fair ympe is þar in.
A fair herber hit ouer spredeȝ,
Al his solas þer inne he ledeȝ.
Nou ne bereþ hit lef non,
And whan þi louerd is out igon,
Doughter, tak þi gardiner,
And lat it hewe to þe fer.
And ȝif he saiȝ to þe ani resoun
Answere him wiȝ þis enchesoun,
Þat þou dest hit is, for þe nones,
To warme bi his colde bones.”
“Dame, ȝhe saide, hit sschal ben don.”
Hom sche wente swiþe a non,
And al maugre þe gardiner,
Þe ympe was hewe to þe fer.
Þe gode burgeis was hom icome,
And goþ to his gardin, as was his wone,
And fond his ympe vp ihewe
“O, þouȝte he, her was a sscherewe!”
Ȝhe saide sche dede hit for non arm,
But for he sscholde his bones warm.
He hit tok on iuel strong,
But he ne monede hit nowt long.
He wentte to bedde and tok solas,
Þat niȝt neuer þe better hir nas.
I wil do bi þe, ȝif god wil.”
“Sire, ȝhe saide, wiȝ outen fail,
Þou dost bi a god counseil.”
Morewe cam, as ȝhe nowe here,
Þemperour aros, wiȝ foule chere,
In to his palais he wente ȝare,
And his barouns he fond þare.
73
He het mani a wikke boye
His sone toward þe deþe bringge.
Hit was ido wiȝ outen letting.
Toward deȝ he was ibrout,
Mani a man hit of þout.
Þourgh Rome stretes, wide and side,
Þe ferthe maister þer com ride.
Malquidras was his name
In his herte was no game.
His disciple louted him to,
Þe maistres hert brast neȝ for wo.
He went in to þe halle flet,
Þemperour wel faire he gret.
Þemperour him missaide þan,
“Merci, sire, saide þe wise man.
Sire what haue we þe misgelt?
Oure gode dede schal ben iuel iȝelt.”
74
Worthi art to suffri ded,
For to þe and þine fere,
I bitok mi sone to lere,
For to han itauȝt him god,
And ȝe han imade him wod.
Mi wif he wolde haue forlai,
Þerfore ȝe sschulle al dai.”
“O, sire emperour of pris,
In dedes þou sscholdest ben war and wis.
Ȝif þou wilt sone slo,
Wiȝ outen assent of barons mo,
And for oure godnesse do vs qued,
Swich a cas fal on þin heued,
As hadde þe olde wise of his wiue,
Er þou parte out of þis liue.”
“O maister þat was wel isaid,
Hou was þat olde man itraid?”
“He was nowt bitraid, for he wis was.”
“A! leue maister, tel me þe cas.”
“Bleþeliche, wiȝ outen strif,
So þou respite þi sones lif,
75
Þan i þe schal þe tale sai.”
Þemperour Dioclician
His sone aȝen hiȝt fechche þan,
And into presoun he was icast.
Þe maister ginneȝ his tale in hast.
“Whilom was a man old wis
And hadde inow of worldes pris.
In his ȝouþe in middel of his liue
He hadde iwedded two iolif wiues.
He liuede and boþe hem ouer bod
And was longe in his wideuhod.
He liuede so longe þat he hor was,
And hadde of womman no solas.
His seriauntz ofte to him come,
And of alangenes him vndernome,
And [bad] him take a wif jolif,
To solace wiȝ his olde lif.
76
Ase wone is of old man
Ȝong womman for to spouse
And þanne be wraw and gelouse.
Litel þai mai do wiȝ outen gabbe,
Þat ȝong womman wolde habbe.
Al so ferde þat olde wise,
He dede his wif wel smal seruise.
Þe ȝonge wif, vp on a dai,
Com to chirche, par ma fai,
And fond hire moder þare,
And tolde hire al of here kare.
And saide, “Moder, i þolie a cas,
Mi louerd doþ me no solas.
Ich moste haue som oþer loue!”
“Nai, dowter, for god aboue!
Old men ben felle and queinte,
And wikkede wrenches conne ateinte.
Misdo nowt, doughter, but do bi rede!”
“Lat ben, moder, for hit is nede.”
“Doughter, þe louerd ha[þ] o gardin,
A wel fair ympe is þar in.
A fair herber hit ouer spredeȝ,
Al his solas þer inne he ledeȝ.
77
And whan þi louerd is out igon,
Doughter, tak þi gardiner,
And lat it hewe to þe fer.
And ȝif he saiȝ to þe ani resoun
Answere him wiȝ þis enchesoun,
Þat þou dest hit is, for þe nones,
To warme bi his colde bones.”
“Dame, ȝhe saide, hit sschal ben don.”
Hom sche wente swiþe a non,
And al maugre þe gardiner,
Þe ympe was hewe to þe fer.
Þe gode burgeis was hom icome,
And goþ to his gardin, as was his wone,
And fond his ympe vp ihewe
“O, þouȝte he, her was a sscherewe!”
Ȝhe saide sche dede hit for non arm,
But for he sscholde his bones warm.
He hit tok on iuel strong,
But he ne monede hit nowt long.
78
Þat niȝt neuer þe better hir nas.
Þe ȝonge wif anoþer dai
To chirche tok þe riȝte wai,
And fond eft hire moder þare
And of blisse sche was al bare,
For neiþer be niȝt no be dai
Hire louerd nolde wiȝ hire plai.
“Ich mot louie, ȝhe saide, dame!”
“O doughter, hit were gret sschame,
Ȝif þou sscholdest þi gode kende
Þourgh dede of vilainie sschende.
For ȝif þou dost a folie,
Þi louerd hit wile sone aspie
And he him wolde fellich awreke.
Herkne doughter what i schal speke:
A grai bichche þi louer[d] ginneȝ louie
Ouer alle oþer bestes aboue;
And whan ȝe sit bi þe glede
And þe bichche liþ in þi grede,
Mak þe wroþ and draw þi knif
And binim þe bichche here lif;
And loke þou be þer after queynt,
And were þe wiȝ a wiues pleint.”
Þe ȝonge saide hit sscholde be so,
Hom ssche gan hire wai to go.
Was hit nowt longe afterwar[d]
Þe ȝonge leuedi and hire lord
Sete an euen bi þe fer,
Biforen hem stod here squier.
Ȝe hadde on a pilche of pris
And a chaisel þer on iwis.
Þe bichche lai in hire barm,
Sche plaide and hit dede here harm.
Sche drow a knif and here smot,
Þe bichche daide, god hit wot,
And pilche and cheisel al bibled.
Þe lord ros and ȝede to bed.
For al hire wrenche and al here ginne,
Þe more loue sche ne miȝt awinne.
Þe þridde time to scherche sche went
And hire moder þer sche fint
And saide, “Dame, for al þi lore,
I finde loue neuer þe more.
Moder, ich mot louie al gat.”
“Doughter, ich rede þat þou lat!
Ac, tel me, doughter, for god aboue,
What man hastou ment to loue?”
“Dame, ȝhe saide, þe prest, bi skil.”
“Nai, doughter, ȝif god wil,
While þou miȝt haue squier or kniȝt.”
“Nai, moder, mi trewþe i pliȝt,
I nelle come in no kniȝtes bedde,
He hit wile make wide ikedde,
And i þe saie, sikerliche,
Þe prest i mai loue priueliche.”
“Nai, doughter, her a queinte ginne,
Þi louerdes loue hou schalt winne.
Þi louerd schal sone make a fest
Of riche men and honest.
Þou schalt be bisaie, þat ilke dai.
Honge at þi gerdel mani a kai
And sette þe haiest ate bord,
In a chaier aȝen þi lord.
Þi kai in þe cloþ make þou fast,
After, stirt vp an hast,
Þai þou felle coppe oþer cloþ.
Go forþ and strif nowt þer of.
And þan þou schalt sone ise
What þer of wil be.”
Þe ȝonge wif to hire moder said
“Hit sschal be don, bi Marie maid,
And wite i sschal, moder, bi þan,
Ȝif he wil plaie, þat olde man.”
Wel sone þer after, sikerli,
Þe olde kniȝt and te leuedi,
A wel fair feste þai made þare,
O frendes þat hem leue ware.
Sire, what helpeȝ hit longe tale?
Þe wif seruede of bred and ale,
And after set hire adoun sone,
Þe kai made moche to done,
For sche feld boþe cloþ and cop,
Naþeles þai ware gadered vp.
Swithe sore sche him atraid,
Certes he was wel iuel ipaid.
Whanne þe gestes weren at ais,
Þai wenten hom fram his paleis.
Morewe com, ac now ihere!
Þe louerd let make a gret fere
And let of sende a neyghebour,
Ich vnderstonde a god barbour
And fet his wif forþ for hot
And hire misdedes hire atwot,
And saide, he moste chasti hire ginne,
For iuel blod was hire wiȝ inne.
Hit moste be quik ilaten out,
Þat ssche ne helde hire nowt so stout
Wer here lef, were hire loþ,
Of hire he spoiled eurich cloþ.
Þo hire kertel was of idrawe
Þo wende ssche wel to ben islawe,
An saide ȝhe sscholde die also swiþe,
For ȝhe neuer lat blod in hire liue.
Þer of ne stod him non owe,
He rent hir smok to þe elbowe
And sithen set hire on a stol,
For he ne wolde nowt ssche were a fol.
And gan to smiten hire on þe [v]eyn
And sche bledde wiȝ gret meyn,
Grete disschfolles two.
Als swithe here arm was staunched þo,
He dede þat oþer arm forht drawe,
Þan wende sscho wel to ben islawe
And loude ssche gan to wepe and crie.
“Hit helpeȝ þe nowt, be Seinte Marie”
Þe barbour in þe veyne hire smot,
Sche bledde wel til ssche was hot
Þe þridde disscful vpriȝt,
Anon ȝhe les colour and miȝt.
Þe louerd hit seghȝ and dede hire staunche,
And in a bed he dede here launche,
And saide, “Þries þou breddest wod,
Þerfore þou bleddest þre disschfoul of blod,
And ȝif þou bredest wod ani more,
Ȝit i sschal dubble þi sore.”
To chirche tok þe riȝte wai,
And fond eft hire moder þare
And of blisse sche was al bare,
For neiþer be niȝt no be dai
Hire louerd nolde wiȝ hire plai.
“Ich mot louie, ȝhe saide, dame!”
“O doughter, hit were gret sschame,
Ȝif þou sscholdest þi gode kende
Þourgh dede of vilainie sschende.
For ȝif þou dost a folie,
Þi louerd hit wile sone aspie
And he him wolde fellich awreke.
Herkne doughter what i schal speke:
A grai bichche þi louer[d] ginneȝ louie
Ouer alle oþer bestes aboue;
And whan ȝe sit bi þe glede
And þe bichche liþ in þi grede,
Mak þe wroþ and draw þi knif
And binim þe bichche here lif;
79
And were þe wiȝ a wiues pleint.”
Þe ȝonge saide hit sscholde be so,
Hom ssche gan hire wai to go.
Was hit nowt longe afterwar[d]
Þe ȝonge leuedi and hire lord
Sete an euen bi þe fer,
Biforen hem stod here squier.
Ȝe hadde on a pilche of pris
And a chaisel þer on iwis.
Þe bichche lai in hire barm,
Sche plaide and hit dede here harm.
Sche drow a knif and here smot,
Þe bichche daide, god hit wot,
And pilche and cheisel al bibled.
Þe lord ros and ȝede to bed.
80
Þe more loue sche ne miȝt awinne.
Þe þridde time to scherche sche went
And hire moder þer sche fint
And saide, “Dame, for al þi lore,
I finde loue neuer þe more.
Moder, ich mot louie al gat.”
“Doughter, ich rede þat þou lat!
Ac, tel me, doughter, for god aboue,
What man hastou ment to loue?”
“Dame, ȝhe saide, þe prest, bi skil.”
“Nai, doughter, ȝif god wil,
While þou miȝt haue squier or kniȝt.”
“Nai, moder, mi trewþe i pliȝt,
I nelle come in no kniȝtes bedde,
He hit wile make wide ikedde,
And i þe saie, sikerliche,
Þe prest i mai loue priueliche.”
“Nai, doughter, her a queinte ginne,
Þi louerdes loue hou schalt winne.
Þi louerd schal sone make a fest
Of riche men and honest.
81
Honge at þi gerdel mani a kai
And sette þe haiest ate bord,
In a chaier aȝen þi lord.
Þi kai in þe cloþ make þou fast,
After, stirt vp an hast,
Þai þou felle coppe oþer cloþ.
Go forþ and strif nowt þer of.
And þan þou schalt sone ise
What þer of wil be.”
Þe ȝonge wif to hire moder said
“Hit sschal be don, bi Marie maid,
And wite i sschal, moder, bi þan,
Ȝif he wil plaie, þat olde man.”
Wel sone þer after, sikerli,
Þe olde kniȝt and te leuedi,
A wel fair feste þai made þare,
O frendes þat hem leue ware.
Sire, what helpeȝ hit longe tale?
Þe wif seruede of bred and ale,
82
Þe kai made moche to done,
For sche feld boþe cloþ and cop,
Naþeles þai ware gadered vp.
Swithe sore sche him atraid,
Certes he was wel iuel ipaid.
Whanne þe gestes weren at ais,
Þai wenten hom fram his paleis.
Morewe com, ac now ihere!
Þe louerd let make a gret fere
And let of sende a neyghebour,
Ich vnderstonde a god barbour
And fet his wif forþ for hot
And hire misdedes hire atwot,
83
For iuel blod was hire wiȝ inne.
Hit moste be quik ilaten out,
Þat ssche ne helde hire nowt so stout
Wer here lef, were hire loþ,
Of hire he spoiled eurich cloþ.
Þo hire kertel was of idrawe
Þo wende ssche wel to ben islawe,
An saide ȝhe sscholde die also swiþe,
For ȝhe neuer lat blod in hire liue.
Þer of ne stod him non owe,
He rent hir smok to þe elbowe
And sithen set hire on a stol,
For he ne wolde nowt ssche were a fol.
And gan to smiten hire on þe [v]eyn
And sche bledde wiȝ gret meyn,
Grete disschfolles two.
Als swithe here arm was staunched þo,
He dede þat oþer arm forht drawe,
Þan wende sscho wel to ben islawe
84
“Hit helpeȝ þe nowt, be Seinte Marie”
Þe barbour in þe veyne hire smot,
Sche bledde wel til ssche was hot
Þe þridde disscful vpriȝt,
Anon ȝhe les colour and miȝt.
Þe louerd hit seghȝ and dede hire staunche,
And in a bed he dede here launche,
And saide, “Þries þou breddest wod,
Þerfore þou bleddest þre disschfoul of blod,
And ȝif þou bredest wod ani more,
Ȝit i sschal dubble þi sore.”
Sche wende to deghȝe, sche was a gast,
And sent after here moder on hast.
Hire moder com and sche saide,
“A, mercy, moder, for Mari maide!
I schal deghȝe, nou red me red.”
“Doughter, what schal þat ised?
Þou most me telle what is þis.”
“Mi louerd me haþ neȝ slawen iwis.
For mine þre vnwrast dede
Þre disschfol of blod he let me blede,
Þat i ne mai liue, bi godes ore.”
“Doughter, lest þe loue more?”
“Nai, moder, bi god almiȝt,
I nelle neiþer louie clerk ne kniȝt.”
“No, doughter, i seide ful wel,
Þat olde men beȝ queynte and fel,
Þai conne more qued biþenche,
Þan þou kanst do wiȝ ani wrenche.
Hold þe to þine hosebounde,
And þou sschalt haue al þe mounde.”
And sent after here moder on hast.
Hire moder com and sche saide,
“A, mercy, moder, for Mari maide!
I schal deghȝe, nou red me red.”
“Doughter, what schal þat ised?
Þou most me telle what is þis.”
“Mi louerd me haþ neȝ slawen iwis.
For mine þre vnwrast dede
Þre disschfol of blod he let me blede,
85
“Doughter, lest þe loue more?”
“Nai, moder, bi god almiȝt,
I nelle neiþer louie clerk ne kniȝt.”
“No, doughter, i seide ful wel,
Þat olde men beȝ queynte and fel,
Þai conne more qued biþenche,
Þan þou kanst do wiȝ ani wrenche.
Hold þe to þine hosebounde,
And þou sschalt haue al þe mounde.”
Lo sire, quad Malquidras,
Ne was þis a wonder cas?
Þries misdede þis womman bald,
And þre vengaunces he hire ȝald.
Þerfore sche hadde elles idon,
Þat had ben werst of eurichon.
Þe prest hi kaste hire loue to,
Þat noman miȝt haue vndo.
So fareȝ þe quen wiȝ hire resoun,
Wiȝ hire lesinges and fals tresoun
Þi sone to deþ for to bring;
Ac ȝif þou leuest hire lesing,
Þan þe falle a werse aprise,
As dede to þat elde wise.”
“Par fai, maister, þat ware lawe,
Ne was þis a wonder cas?
Þries misdede þis womman bald,
And þre vengaunces he hire ȝald.
Þerfore sche hadde elles idon,
Þat had ben werst of eurichon.
Þe prest hi kaste hire loue to,
Þat noman miȝt haue vndo.
So fareȝ þe quen wiȝ hire resoun,
Wiȝ hire lesinges and fals tresoun
86
Ac ȝif þou leuest hire lesing,
Þan þe falle a werse aprise,
As dede to þat elde wise.”
To dai ne schal he nowt be slawe.”
Þe maister out of toune rit,
Þe child bileft in prisoun pit.
Þe dai is gon, and comen þe niȝt,
Þemperour wente to chaumbre apliȝt.
His emperice þer he fond,
Sore wepe and wrong hire hond.
“Ma dame, saide þemperour,
Whi makest þou swich scher and foul lour?”
“Sire, no wonder þouȝ ich am [wroȝ],
Þou dost þing þat me is loht.
87
Of falsenesse and of trecherie.
So dede Cressus þe riche man,
Gold and siluer to wille he wan
Bi losengerie an bi engin,
Ac hit turned him to euel fin.”
“Ma dame, he saide, tel þat me
Of sire Cressus, hou ended he?”
“Bleþeliche, sire, so mot ich þe,
So þat ȝe wil þe better be.
Uirgil was whilom a clerk
Þat coude of nigramancie werk.
He made a fair coniuring
Amideward Rome cheping,
Þat no man quenche ne miȝt
Wiȝ no water i ȝou pliȝt.
Alle þe poure men of þe lond
Warmed hem þer bi fot and hond,
And made here mete bi þat fir,
Þat was a þing of gret matir.
88
He kest a man of cler latoun
And in his hond an arblast heldand
And þer inne a quarel taisand,
And in his foreheued was writen wiȝ blac,
Lettres þat þis word spak:
“Ȝif me smiteȝ ani man,
I sschete him anon aȝan.”
So hit bifel on a dai
A lumbard com wiȝ gret noblai
And seȝ þe merueile saunz dout
And saide to þe folk about
“Wil ȝe þat i smite þis man
To loke what he do can?”
And þai saide ȝa, and he him smette
Þe ymage in þe fir sschette.
Þ[e] fir aqueinte for euere mo,
Sire, was þis wel ido?
“Nai, dame, he saide, bi heuene king,
Þat was no riȝt wis doing.”
“No sire, ȝhe saide, wiȝ outen fail,
Ac Virgil dede ȝit more meruail.
Vpon þe est ȝate of þe toun
He made a man of fin latoun
89
Vpon þe ȝate on þe west wal
Virgil kest an ymage oþer,
Riȝt als hit were his owen broþer,
Þat al þe folk of Rome said
Wiȝ þat bal to gider þai plaid.
Þat on hit hente þat oþer hit þrew,
Mani a man þe soþe iknew.
Amideward þe cite on a stage
Virgil made anoþer ymage,
Þat held a mirour in his hond,
And ouer segȝ al þat lond.
Who wolde pes, who wolde bataille
Quik he warned þe toun, saunz faile.
Aboute Rome seuen Jurneys
Þous he warned niȝt and dais,
And þo þat were rebel ifounde,
Þe Romains gadered hem in a stounde,
Þai wente þider quik a non
And destrued here fon.
Þe kyng of Poile hadde gret enuie
Þat þe Romains made swich maistrie
90
Aȝen Rome in batail spede,
Þat he ne was euer more biwraid,
Ouercomen, venkud and bitraid.
Upon a dai he send his sond
After alle þe wise men of his lond,
And tolde hem alle his greuaunce
And saide he wolde hegliche auaunce
Who miȝt þat ymage fel a doun,
He wolde him ȝif his warisoun.
Twei clerkes, breþer, þat were in Rome
Þat maistri on honde þai nome,
And þe king hem made seur
Of warisoun and gret hon[o]ur.
Þai dede þe king fille twei forcers
Of riche gold and of clers
And dede his lade wiȝ priuete
In to Rome þat riche cite.
Þat o forcer þai doluen nowt late
In Rome ate est ȝate
Vnder þe ymage þat þe bal held.
Þis was a dede queinte and beld.
91
Þai bidoluen in þe mold
Vnder þe west gate þat noman wist.
Þis was a dede of queint list.
Amorewen þai sschewed hem in Rome
And biforn Sire Cressus come
An said, “Al hail, sir emperour,
It falleȝ to þe tol of tresour.
We conne to do þe vnderstonde
Of hid tresor in þi londe.
Ȝif þou wilt half parte wiȝ ous,
Þou sschalt hit haue, Sire Cressus!”
Þemperour saide, “Þat i uot,
Ich haue forlorn þat eueri grot,
And þerfore frendes i graunt ȝou,
Þat ȝe mai finde wiȝ ȝoure vertu,
Þe haluendel in alle þingge.
Go we aboute þe findinge.”
“Nai, certes, saide þe elderer broþer,
Arst we mote don anoþer,
Ich mot mete a sweuen to night,
And to morewen, what hit is liȝt,
Sire, þou sschalt haue þine wille.”
Þous þai were þat niȝt stille.
92
Sire Cressus to þe est ȝate went.
Þe clerkes doluen in þe mold
And fond a forcer ful of gold.
And ȝaf hit vp to þemperour
And he hit feng wiȝ gret honur.
Amorewe þe ȝonger saide wel euen
“Sire to niȝt me mette a sweuen
A richcher forcer þan þat
We sschulle finde ate west ȝate.”
Quik wente þider þemperour
And hise barouns of gret honur
And þer þai doluen in þe gronde
A riche forcer þer þai founde
Ful of red gold igraue
And vp to þemperour þai hit [ȝ]aue.
Þemperour held hem so wise
In al þe werld was hire pris.
Þan swor þe eldere, “Bi blod and bones
Haue ich to niȝt imet ones,
I schal þe finde tresor, i telle,
Is no richer fram hennes to helle.”
Þai ȝede to bedde and risen amorewe
Þemperour to mochel sorewe
93
“Vnder þe ymage þat halt þe mirour
In al Poile ne Romanye
Ne is so mochel tresorie.
Moste we delue þer vnder,
Þou sscholdest habbe gold a wonder.”
“Nai, quaþ þemperour, for eȝte non
Þat ymage wolde ich misdon.”
Þan seide þe ȝonger to þemperour
“Þer is al Virgiles tresour.
We sschulle þe ymage so vndersette
Þat we ne sschal hit no þing lette,
And whan we han þe gold in þe grounde,
We sscholle hit make as we hit founde,
For we beþ mazouns queinte of cast.”
Þan saide Cressus, “Goht an hast.”
Þai bigonne hire werk saunz dout
And sette postes al about,
And bigan to mini vnder.
Herkneȝ now a selkouȝ wonder!
94
Þe fondement to brast anon.
Al dai þai mined doun riȝt
Til hit come to þe niȝt.
“On þe morewe, þai saide to Cressus stille,
Of gold þou sschalt haue þi wille.”
Þemperour wente to his palais,
Clerkes al so and mani burgeis,
Ech man wente to his inne,
Þe clerkes þoughte anoþer ginne.
Whanne ech man slepen, grete and smale,
Þe clerkes to þe stage stale,
And bet a fir strong and sterk.
Þe fir fleghȝ vp in to þe werk,
And falsed þe siment and þe ston,
Þe ymage ouer þrew anon.
And þo þe clerkes seghȝen þis,
Awai þai flowen for sothe iwis.
Amorewe þemperour aros,
Of þis dede him sore agros
In his herte was kare and howe,
Awai he wolde han iflowe.
Þe smale and þe poeple of Rome
To sire Cressus þai nome sone
95
He hadde iloren Romes prise.
Þai ladde forth in þat stounde
And to a table fast him bounde,
And red gold quik þai melte
And nose and mouht ful þai helte
And eren and eȝen also,
Þer whiles a drope wolde in go,
And saide “Sire, for godes loue,
Þou hast mad þral þat was aboue.
Nou artou ful, nou make þe heit,
Nou wiltou nammore coueit.”
Nou is he ded wiȝ mochel schame.”
“O, þou seist soþ, he saide, dame.”
“Ȝa, sire, for his lesingges
Þat he leued twaie false gadelinges
He turned to wel iuel fin.
Sire, swich sschal be ending þin.”
“Nai, dame he saide, ȝif god wile.”
“Ȝis, sire, sche saide, bi riȝt skile,
96
Þat þe maistres conne to þe lie,
And desire to make þin air,
He þat sschal þe schende vair,
For he is þe fendes chike,
Þer whiles he liueȝ þou mai sike.”
“Dame, i sschal kepe me fram kare,
Riȝt to morewe he sschal forþ fare.”
“Sire, sche saide, bi Seint Michel,
Þanne dost þou wisliche and wel.”
97
Þemperour aros wiȝ wroþ chere,
And to his paleys he gan wende,
Riȝt biforen his barouns hende.
He let brenge forht his owen sone,
And whan he com out of prisoun
Amideward Rome toun,
Þan com riden maister Catoun.
Þe folk of Rome on him gan crie
And saide “Catoun, kiþe þi maistrie,
Help þi disciple in þis nede.”
Catoun liȝt a doun of his stede
And grette þemperour on his kne,
And vneþe he wold him se.
He seide to him “Maister Catoun,
Þou hast me don wel gret traisoun
98
I bitok me sone to lere.
Ȝe tauȝte him to nimen forþ min emperice.”
“Sire, quaþ Catoun, swich wordes beȝ nice.”
“And his speche is forlore.”
“Nai, sire, and he finde ȝoure grace bifore.
Þi wif wolde he forlain haue nowt,
Ȝif þou hit leuest, þou art bicouȝt.
99
On þe falle swich a destresse
And swich a maner vileynie,
As hadde þe burgeis for his pie.”
“O maister, he saide, what, what?
I þe praie, tel me þat!”
“Sire, he saide, what helpeȝ hit mi sawe,
Ȝif þi sone þer whiles beþ islawe?
Ac let him fechche quik aȝain
And i þe sschal mi tale sain.”
Þe emperour of Rome, Dioclician,
His sone he het fechche anon.
Nou everich man þat loueȝ his tale,
Lestne wel Catones tale!
100
A riche man of gret renoun.
Marchaunt he was of gret auoir
And had a wif was queint and fair.
But sche was fikel vnder hir lok,
And hadde a parti of Eue smok.
And manie ben ȝit of hire kinne,
Þat ben al bilapped þer inne!
Þe burgeis hadde a pie in his halle,
Þat couþe telle tales alle
Apertlich, in freinch langage,
And heng in a fair cage
And seþ lemmans comen and gon,
And teld hire louerd sone anon.
And for þat þe pie hadde isaid,
Þe wif was ofte iuel ipaid.
And þe burgeis louede his pie,
For he wiste he couþe nowt lie.
So hit bifil, vpon a dai,
Þ[e] burgeis fram home tok his wai,
And wente aboute his marchaundise,
Þe wif waited anon hire prise,
And sente here copiner fore;
And whanne he com to þe halle dore,
101
For þe wreiing of þe pie.
Þe wif him bi þe hond hent,
And in to chaumbre anon þai went.
Þe pie bigan to grede anon,
“Ȝa, now mi louerd is out igon,
Þou comest hider for no gode,
I schal ȝou wraie bi þe rode!”
Þe wif þouȝt schent ȝe was,
A wrenche ȝhe þouȝte naþelas,
And clepede a maide to make here bed,
And after, bi hir boþer red,
A laddre þai sette þe halle to,
And vndede a tile or two.
Ouer þe pie þai gan handel
A cler bacyn and a candel.
A pot ful of water cler
Þai sschadde vpon þe pies swer.
Wiȝ bacyn beting and kandel liȝt
Þa bobbed þe pie bi niȝt
And water on him gan schenche:
Þis was on of wommannes wrenche.
102
Awai stal þe ȝongeman.
Men vnlek dore and windowe
Þe pie him sschok wiȝ mochel howe,
For ssche was fain þat hit was dai
Þe copiner was went his wai.
Þe gode burgeis was him icome
In to þe halle þe wai he nome.
Þe pie saide “bi god almiȝt
Þe copiner was her to niȝt
And haþ idon þe mochel sschame,
Imad an hore of oure dame!
And ȝit hit had ben to niȝt
Gret rain and þonder briȝt.
Sehthen ich was brid in mi nest.
I ne hadde neuere so iuel rest.”
Þe wif haþ þe tale iherd
And þouȝte wel to ben amered,
And saide “Sire þou hast outrage
To leue a pie in a kage.
To niȝt was þe weder fair and cler
And þe firmament wel fair,
And sche saiþ hit haþ ben þonder.
103
But ich be awreke of here swiþe,
Ne schal i neuer ben womman bliþe.”
Þe godeman askede his neȝebours
Of þat niȝt and of þe ours
And þai saide þat al þat niȝt
Was þe weder cler and briȝt.
Þe burgeis saide þe pie
Ne scholde him nammore lie.
Nammo wordes he þar spak,
But also swiþe his nekke tobrak.
And whanne he seȝ his pie ded
For sorewe coude he no Red.
He seȝgh hir . . . . and his cage
He þouȝte of gile and of outrage.
He wente him out, þe ladder he segȝ
And vp to þe halle Rof he stegȝ.
Þe pot wiȝ þe water he fond,
Þat he brak wiȝ his hond,
And manie oþer trecherie
Þat was idon to his pie.
He went him doun wiȝ outen oþ
In his herte grim and wroþ.
104
His wif ate dore he bet,
And bad hir go þat ilche dai
On alder twenti deuel wai.
Lo sire, he saide, for a foles red,
Þe pie þat saide soht, was ded.
Hadde he taken god conseil
His pie hadde ben hol and hail.
And also fareȝ þin emperice
Þourȝ here resoun sscherewed and nice
Sche goþ aboute, dai and niȝt,
Þi sone to deþe for to diȝt.
And he be ded, verraiment,
Ne worþ þer non amendement.
Bi here rede ne do þou nout,
Ȝif þou do, þou art bicouȝt.
Al þe werld þe spise,
Ȝif þou do bi here and lete þe wise.”
Anon þemperour saide þan,
“Catoun, bi him þat made man,
Don ich wille after þi sawe,
To dai ne sschal he nowt be slawe.”
105
Vpon his palefrai lep Catoun,
And hadde mani a blessing,
For his desciples deliuering.
Þe niȝt is comen, þe dai is gon,
Þemperour wente to chaumbre anon.
His quen þanne aȝen him nam,
Wiȝ semblant ase a wroþ wimman.
“Dame, he saide, pluk vp þi cher,
Oþer tel me whi þou makest swich cher?”
106
Þe sschulle sschende þi maistres seuene
Þat makeȝ þe to loue þi fo,
For þi ich wille nou fram þe go.
Ac ȝif þou dost more bi hire leuing,
Falle on þe ase dede on Herowde þe king
Þat les his siȝt in wonder wise,
Þerfore þou miȝt sore agrise.”
“Dame, he saide, on ech manere,
Þat ilche tale ich moste here.”
“Bleþeliche, sire, so mot ich þe,
So þat ȝhe wolde þe better be.
An emperour was in Rome,
Þe richest man of Cristendome,
Herowdes was his riȝte name,
Wide isprongge his riche fame.
107
Als ȝe han, of grete prise.
Al þat þemperour dede or þout,
Bi here conseil al he hit wrout.
So her was arered in þis toun,
Bi here rede and bi hire costom,
Þat who þat mette a sweuen aniȝt,
He scholde come amorewe apliȝt
And brenge a besaund to offring,
And of his sweuen haue vndoing.
So longe þai vsed þis errour
Þai were richcher þan þemperour.
So hit bifel vpon a dai,
Als he went vpon his plai,
And whan he com to Rome ȝate,
And wolde wenden out þer ate,
He bicam blind so ston.
His maistres he ofsente anon,
And asked whi he miȝt nowt se,
Whan he sscholde out of Rome te?
Þai asked respit a fourten niȝt,
Bi þan þai trowede þat þai miȝt
In hire bokes finde resoun
And answeren him wiȝ riȝt enchesoun.
108
He wente him hom to his tour,
And þe maistres hom went,
And hire bokes went and trent,
Ac þai ne couþe nowt ifinde,
Whi þemperour was blinde.
Þai souȝte conseil fer and neȝ,
Ase man þat is queinte.
So on a dai after þan,
Þai mette wiȝ an hold man,
And tolde him al hire conseil,
And he answered saunz fail,
“In al þe werld nis man liu[i]nd
Þat couþe ȝou þat sothe find,
But ȝif hit ware child on,
Þat neuer hadde fader non.
For he can telle soþes alle,
Þat ben don in bour and halle.
Ȝif ȝhe þat schild finde mowe
He schal ȝou telle, ich wille auowe.”
Þe maistres wolde no leng abide,
To seche þe schild þai gonne ride.
On a dai þai com þer Merlin pleid,
And on of his felawes him traid,
109
And cleped him sschrewe faderles,
And saide he was of þe fendes kinde,
Hise felawes euer misdoinde.
“Daþeit haue þou, quaþ child Merlin,
Al to loude þou spak þi Latin.
Seue maistres i se her come,
Þat han me souȝt, al fram Rome,
Þai han wiȝ me mochel to done,
Ich wil hem helpe swiþe sone.”
Wiȝ þat com a man of þat lond,
And brouȝt a besaund in his hond,
To whom þat Merlin saide þous:
“Man, þou art ful merueilous,
Þou woldest haue vndoing
Of þi toniȝtes meting.
Forþi þou woldest þat o besaund offer;
Bere hit hom in to þi coffer,
And i sschal telle and nowt ne lie,
What þi meting signefie.
Þou mettest to niȝt in þi donghel
Sprong a water out of a wel,
110
And seruede þe and þi neyȝebour.
I wil þe saie þe sothe word,
Þe welle bitokneȝ a gold hord.
Go delue anon in þi donghel,
Þou sschalt hit finde swiþe snel.”
Þanne he dalf þer inne anon,
And fond of gold ful god won.
He ȝaf þe maistres of þe gold,
Ase moche ase þai nime wold
And also his neȝhebour,
He made him riche of þat tresour.
But Merlin saide, bi heuene king,
He wolde þer of no þing.
Þe maistres out of toune nome,
And ladden Merlin toward Rome,
And asked wiȝ milde mouþe
Ȝif he þe sothe telle couþe
Whi þemperour miȝt nowt se
Whanne he sccholde out of Rome te.
“Ȝa, saide Merlin, sikerli,
Ich kan telle him ful wel whi.”
Þe maistres were glad of þis
And to Rome þai went iwis.
Þe dai was comen þat hem was set,
Anon wiȝ þemperour þai met
111
Quaþ Herowdes, “Þat is soþ þing.
Tel me hastilich and sket
Þing þat ȝhe me bihet.”
“Lo sire we han a schild ibrowt
Þat schal þe telle al þi þowt.
Lo her, sire, a litel page,
Þat schal sai þe þi corage.”
Quaþ þemperour “of lime and lond,
Wil ye his tale take an hond?”
“Ȝa, on al þat we haue or haue mowe,
Þe childes tale we wil auowe.”
“Tel me, he saide, child Merlin!”
“Sir, lad me arst to chaumbre þin.”
Þemperour him ladde anon
In to chaumbre of lim and ston,
And whanne þai were þer inne ischet,
Merlin his tonge wiȝ wit whet,
112
“Þou hast, he saiþ, her in þi bour
Fer vnder þi bed adoun,
A gret boiland cauderoun
Wiȝ seuen walmes boiland
Þe walmes han þe abland
And þer whiles þai boilland be
Sire, þou ne schalt neuer ise,
And ȝif þai mai ben queint ariȝt,
Þou miȝt wel haue þi siȝt.
Þemperour had wonder of þis,
And let remue his bed, iwis,
And tok ten men oþer twelue,
And het hem in þe grounde delue.
Þai deden ase here louerd hem het,
And doluen alle þere ful sket.
Þai ne hadde doluen but a stounde,
Þat þe caundroun was ifounde,
113
Þo was ileued þe schildes steuen.
Quad þemperour, “forsothe iwis,
Bi þe i wil don after þis.
Ac telle me, child, som resouns,
What bitokneȝ þis boilouns?”
“Sire, do out þi folk ichon,
And ich wil þe telle swiþe anon.”
Þemperour anon riȝt
Drof out boþe clerk and kniȝt.
Þanne beginneȝ þe child Merlin
To telle þemperour swich Latin:
“Sire, he said, bi god in heuen,
Þise boilouns þat boilen seuen,
Bitoknen þine seuen wise,
Þat han iwrowt aȝen þe assise.
Þai han arrered custumes newe,
Þat þe mai wel sore rewe.
Be hit oþer clerk or kniȝt,
And him mete a sweuene anight,
He comeþ amorewe ich vnderstonde,
And brengeȝ a besaund in his honde
And to þe maistres hire sweuene telle.
Þai hit vndo after her wille.
Þai respounde ase hem likeȝ,
Þous þai mani man biswikeȝ.
And for þat ilche senne, i finde,
Þat þou art bicome blinde.”
“Nou tel me child, þin entent,
What mai me to amendement?”
“Leue sire, for mi loue,
Bi on of hem mi tale proue.
Leue sire, takeȝ þemprise,
And takeȝ þe eldest of þe wise,
Lat smite atwo his nekke bon,
Þe grettest walm schal quenche a non.”
Þemperour dede be þe schildes lore,
Þe eldest maister was slein þerfore.
His heued was in to þe caundroun cast,
Þe greste walm queynte on hast.
Þo þemperour wiste þis,
He let sle alle seuene iwis.
Þe water bicom faire and liþe,
Þemperour þerof was bliþe.
Anon he wichss þerof his hond,
And ouer seȝ al þe lond.
Bi þe i wil don after þis.
Ac telle me, child, som resouns,
What bitokneȝ þis boilouns?”
“Sire, do out þi folk ichon,
And ich wil þe telle swiþe anon.”
Þemperour anon riȝt
Drof out boþe clerk and kniȝt.
Þanne beginneȝ þe child Merlin
To telle þemperour swich Latin:
“Sire, he said, bi god in heuen,
Þise boilouns þat boilen seuen,
Bitoknen þine seuen wise,
Þat han iwrowt aȝen þe assise.
Þai han arrered custumes newe,
114
Be hit oþer clerk or kniȝt,
And him mete a sweuene anight,
He comeþ amorewe ich vnderstonde,
And brengeȝ a besaund in his honde
And to þe maistres hire sweuene telle.
Þai hit vndo after her wille.
Þai respounde ase hem likeȝ,
Þous þai mani man biswikeȝ.
And for þat ilche senne, i finde,
Þat þou art bicome blinde.”
“Nou tel me child, þin entent,
What mai me to amendement?”
115
Bi on of hem mi tale proue.
Leue sire, takeȝ þemprise,
And takeȝ þe eldest of þe wise,
Lat smite atwo his nekke bon,
Þe grettest walm schal quenche a non.”
Þemperour dede be þe schildes lore,
Þe eldest maister was slein þerfore.
His heued was in to þe caundroun cast,
Þe greste walm queynte on hast.
Þo þemperour wiste þis,
He let sle alle seuene iwis.
Þe water bicom faire and liþe,
Þemperour þerof was bliþe.
Anon he wichss þerof his hond,
And ouer seȝ al þe lond.
And sire, so fare maistres þine,
Þai schul þe bringe to mochele pine.
Þai han so iblent þe,
Þat þou miȝt nowt þat soþe ise.
Ac ȝif þou dost more bi here rede,
To swiche blendnesse mote þai þe lede,
As hadde Herowdes þe king,
Þat was neȝ browt to iuel ending.”
“Nai, dame, he saide, þou art wilde,
Þai schul þe bringe to mochele pine.
116
Þat þou miȝt nowt þat soþe ise.
Ac ȝif þou dost more bi here rede,
To swiche blendnesse mote þai þe lede,
As hadde Herowdes þe king,
Þat was neȝ browt to iuel ending.”
Fram swiche schame god me schilde!
For hem i schal me ful wel kepe,
Of hem ne ȝiue i nowt an hepe.”
“Sire, sche saide, þou hast god riȝt,
Þai ben about, dai and niȝt,
Þe to bigile an bitraie.”
Cokkes crewe and hit was daie,
Þemperour aros anon,
And wente to his halle of ston,
And ase þemperour, verraiment,
117
Þe sexte maister com in to þe halle,
And hendeliche he grette hem alle,
And saide, “Sire, þou art wel nice,
To leue so mochel þin emperice.
Whanne þou leuest hire so,
Þat þou wilt þi sone slo,
Þanne mot hit so fare bi þe,
As bi a sschereue of þis countre,
118
In þe wombe, [h]e les hi[s] lif.
Quaþ þemperour, “In alle maner,
Þat ilche tale ich moste her.”
“Leue sire, what helpeȝ mi tale,
Ȝif þi sone þolieþ deþes bale?
Ȝif him to dai longes rest,
Ich schal þe telle a newe gest,
Swich a tale i þe telle can,
Ne schal tou neuer leue wimman.”
Þemperour hete him let
And his sone aȝen fet.
Þe child was pult in presoun,
Þe maister ginneȝ his resoun.
“Sire, he saide, þou miȝt me leue,
Hit was a kniȝt, a riche sscherreue,
And [had a] ȝong jolif wif
Þat he louede has his lif,
And ssche him bi vnderstonding,
Louede him wel in alle þing.
So on a dai him and his wif
119
Fair hit was and of egge scharp,
And þai on gamen gonne carp.
Þe kniȝt his wif in þe wombe carf,
For doel þer of a morewe starf.
He dede gret foli, cert,
Or to tendre was hi[s] hert.
Sone amorewe erliche
[H]e was biwaked richeliche
And wel faire browt on erthe
After þat [h]e was werthe.
Þe leuedi saide for no wenne
Sche ne wolde neuer wende þenne
But as hir louerd for hi[r] daide
Sche wolde be ded an bi him laide.
120
And comen to hire to make solas
And saiden, “Dame, gent and fre
Of þi selue haue pite,
For þou art fair and ȝong, saunz fail
And maist þe werld mochel auail.
Some kniȝt þe wedde of noblai
And haue wiȝ him moche to plai,
Gode children biȝeten and faire,
Gentil dame, debonaire,
Lete awai þi mourning,
And tak þe to som conforting.”
“Þat wil i do for no wele,
Ac die ich wille on his beriele.”
Ȝhe saide “allas, and wailawo,
Nel ich hennes neuere go,
Ne confor take neuer mo.”
Here frendes were sori þo,
A logge þai made vpon his graue,
121
And maked hi[r] a ful fair fer,
And fond hire þat niȝt stouer,
And left here alone,
And sche made reuli mone.
Þat ich dai þai were inome,
Þe þre þeues, bi commun dome.
Þe þre þeues were kniȝtes
Þat were ihonged anon riȝtes,
For þai hadde þe countre anuwed,
And wiþ robberie destrwed,
Anhonged were alle þre.
A kniȝt of þe countre held his fe
For to loke þe þre kniȝttes
Vpon þe galewes þre niȝtes.
He com to þe galewes armed wel
Boþe in iren and in stel
For to make þe ferst niȝt ward,
Þe weder was cold and froward.
122
And was war wiȝouten doute
Of þe fir in þe chirche hawe
And þider ward he gan to drawe
For to haue som warmyng,
And fond þe leuedi doel makying,
And bad ȝhe sscholde late him in.
Ȝhe saide, ȝhe nolde, bi seint Johain.
“A ȝis, he seide, leue dame,
I nelle þe do harm, ne sschame.”
He swor as he was gentil kniȝt,
Sche let him in anon riȝt.
He sat and warmed him bi þe fer,
He biheld þe leuedis cher,
And seȝ swich semblant ȝe made
And saide, “Dame, þou art a gade,
Þat þou mournest for þe ded
Þat mai þe do noþer god ne qued.
123
Swich mourning þan wil þe smerte.
Of þis mourning þou hast vnriȝt,
Þou scholdest louye som gentil kniȝt,
Þat þe miȝt do sum solas.”
And sche saide, “allas, allas,
He was so smal and so gent,
I ne mai loue non oþer, verraiment.”
Ne hadde he seten þer but a while
He þouȝte men miȝte don him gile.
He priked to þe galewes wiȝ his fole,
And fond þat a þef was istole.
Þo was him wo, veraiment,
He scholde lese his auauncement,
But he miȝte finde þe þridde,
Þe þef þat heng þe twaie amidde.
He [þouȝt] þat wimmen couþe red
To help men at her ned.
Ȝhe ne was nowt fer, but somdel neȝ,
He telde hire þe sorewe þat he dreȝ,
124
For þat he was in gret mourning.
Ȝhe saide, “sire, ich wille helpen þe,
So þat þou wille spousi me.”
“Ȝis, dame, he saide, preciouse,
Ȝif þou me helpe, ich wille þe spouse.”
Ȝe let here sorewe awai gon,
And saide, “Help, lemman, anon,
Help delf vp mi lord þat was,
He schal vs helpen in þis cas,
And honge we him in his entaile!”
Here red was don, saunz faille,
Hit ne mai nowt ben forhole,
Þai baren him forþ for him was stole.
Þanne saide þe kniȝtt to þe leuedi,
“Who mai þis kniȝt hongi?
I þe segge, bi heuene king,
I nolde him honge for no þing.
125
I schol be coward icleped wiȝ riȝt.”
“Sire, ȝhe saide, ich wil fol fawe
Heghe him honge and vpdrawe.”
Þe leuedi dede in wode gere
A Rop aboute hire lordes swere,
And drow him vp and heng him fast,
Þe kniȝt of hire dedes was agast,
And saide, “Dame, be gode mounde,
Þe stolen kniȝt hadde a wonde
In his heued þat was biknawe,
Whar bi him knewe heghe and lowe.
And but þi louerd swich on haue,
I þe sai, so god me saue,
Sone wiȝ inne litel while
Worht iparceiued oure gile.”
“Sire, sche saide, tak þi swerd
And in þe heued smit mi louerd,
Þanne schal hit ben non vnderstonding,
But it was he þat er þar hing.”
“Nai, dame, for moche ne lite,
Þe dede kniȝt wolde i nowt smite.”
126
And ich him schal, wiȝ min hond, teche
Hou godes grame com to toune,
Riȝt amide ward his croune.”
Þe leuedi tok and smot wiȝ mayn,
Al amide ward þe brayn.
Þanne þe kniȝt wel vnderstod,
Þat fals and fikel was hire blod,
And saide, “ȝit vnliche [h]e beȝ.
Broken were his fore teȝ.”
“Sire, sche saide, smit hem out.”
“Nai, dame, he saide wiþ outen dout.
Þan wil ich,” ȝhe saide, and tok a ston
And smot hem out euerichon.
Whan þis dede was ido,
Þe leuedi saide þe kniȝt to
“Sire, now ich haue iwonne þi loue!”
“Nai, dame, he saide, bi god aboue,
For gold no siluer, lond ne house,
127
For also woldestou serue me,
Hase þou hast don þi louerd so fre.
Þou hast itawt me a newe ran,
Þat i schal neuer leue wimman.
For þere þai make semblant fairest,
Þai wil bigile þe alþerformest!”
Sire and on þe falle swich a strif
Als dede þe sscherreue of his wif,
Ȝif þou for þin emperice wild
Wolle sle þin owen child.
Ac, sire, abid til anoþer morewe,
On hire schal falle alle þe sorewe.
And whanne þou herest þi sone speke,
Riȝtfulliche þou him awreke.”
Þemperour saide, “so ich schal.”
128
Some to castel, and some to tour,
Þemperour wente to his bour.
Þemperice made semblant ille,
For sche ne hadde nowt hire wille.
His owen men naþelas,
Made wel god solas.
Þemperour was browt abedde,
Wiȝ riche baudekines ispredde,
Þemperice him com to,
Als sche was ar iwont to do,
129
Whi men made folen feste?”
“Nai, dame, he saide, gent and fre,
I þe praie þanne telle hit me.”
130
And for to strwre seinte Petres sate,
Þat is to seie, cristendom to felle,
And cristenmen to aquelle.
Þe folk hem ful wel held,
Wise of speche, of dede beld.
“To vii wise men toke we þis toun,
To kep hit fram destructioun.”
131
To vij wise men to biwake.
A moneþ þai kept hit,
Ase we findeȝ in þe writ.
Whan hit com to þe moneȝ ende,
Þai ne miȝt hit no lenger defende,
But ase þai dide a fair queintise,
Herkneȝ now in what wise.
A man þer was, so seiȝ þe Rime,
132
He was on of þe seuen wise,
Þer he dede a fair queintise.
He let him make a garnement,
Ase blak ase ani arnement,
And heng þer on squirel tail,
A þousand and mo, wiȝ outen fail.
A viser ȝit he made more,
Two faces bihinde and two bifore,
133
And ij nosys in eyther halfe,
More horrybeler thenne any calfe,
And the tonge also there on rede,
As euyr was brennynge lede.
He sent to the Soudans, samfayle,
He shulde be redy to byde batayle,
And they answeryd alle in haste,
They shulde ben redy leste and moste.
A morowe come thys Junyus
And stode in a toure that het Crassus,
The hyest toure that was ouyr the walle,
That men myght see hym ouyr alle.
Than hadde he made a woundyr merrovre,
And bare with hym in to the toure,
And vppon hys hede dede that vysoure,
And lokyd apon the merroure clere,
And ij swerdys he ganne owte brayde,
And skyrmyde faste and on layde,
And made more noyse and boste
More horrybeler thenne any calfe,
And the tonge also there on rede,
As euyr was brennynge lede.
He sent to the Soudans, samfayle,
He shulde be redy to byde batayle,
And they answeryd alle in haste,
They shulde ben redy leste and moste.
A morowe come thys Junyus
And stode in a toure that het Crassus,
The hyest toure that was ouyr the walle,
That men myght see hym ouyr alle.
Than hadde he made a woundyr merrovre,
And bare with hym in to the toure,
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And lokyd apon the merroure clere,
And ij swerdys he ganne owte brayde,
And skyrmyde faste and on layde,
And made more noyse and boste
Then wolde a kyng and hys hoste.
The saresonys behelde hyt,
They were ny woode and owte of wyt,
The myrrowre grete noyse made,
That alle they were in grete drade.
The saresonys behelde hyt,
They were ny woode and owte of wyt,
The myrrowre grete noyse made,
That alle they were in grete drade.
The gatys of Rome were vppe caste,
And they went owte faste,
And Emperoure and hys men
Slayne of them by ix or x,
And thys Junyus, in his wyse,
Sauyde Rome with hys quentyse.
And they went owte faste,
135
Slayne of them by ix or x,
And thys Junyus, in his wyse,
Sauyde Rome with hys quentyse.
In a monythe that comythe in the yere,
That men calle hit Janyuer.
The fyrste day thereof, jwis
Junyus wrotte that ylke prys.
That men calle hit Janyuer.
The fyrste day thereof, jwis
Junyus wrotte that ylke prys.
And thus shull[e] the vij wyse
Dyssayue the thorowe hyr quentyse!
Ye shalle be fayne, or ye sterue,
Oppon youre kneys them to serue,
For in ham certeys ys alle youre tryste,
Ye wene eche of hem be as cryste.”
Whenne the Emperoure hyrde hir speche
“Dame, he sayde, wylle ben awreke”
And sayde hys sone shulde be slawe
And hys maysters jhange an drawe.
Anon commandyd hym forthe brynge,
And sle hym withowte lettynge,
Dyssayue the thorowe hyr quentyse!
Ye shalle be fayne, or ye sterue,
Oppon youre kneys them to serue,
136
Ye wene eche of hem be as cryste.”
Whenne the Emperoure hyrde hir speche
“Dame, he sayde, wylle ben awreke”
And sayde hys sone shulde be slawe
And hys maysters jhange an drawe.
Anon commandyd hym forthe brynge,
And sle hym withowte lettynge,
137
And they lad hym thorowe the toune.
There come hys mayster Maxencyon
There come hys mayster Maxencyon
And say that chylde to dethe warde.
He gretyd the Emperoure with wordys harde
“Syr, he sayde, withowtyn fabylle,
Youre herte ys nothynge sadde ne stabylle!
Nowe þou wylte thy son slene,
And othyr whyle hym drawe and fleen,
Anothyr whyle þou wylt hym saue:
Thys ys the maner alle of a kna[u]e;
And yf he mote tyl to morowe lyfe,
For alle thys worlde þou woldyste hym gyfe.
Ye beleue to moche youre wyfes tale:
That bryngethe you in moche bale!
And yf þou done aftyr hyr rede,
Thy fayr sone moste be dede.
Ryght so mot hit fare by the,
As fylle by an Erle of farre contre.”
He gretyd the Emperoure with wordys harde
“Syr, he sayde, withowtyn fabylle,
Youre herte ys nothynge sadde ne stabylle!
Nowe þou wylte thy son slene,
And othyr whyle hym drawe and fleen,
Anothyr whyle þou wylt hym saue:
Thys ys the maner alle of a kna[u]e;
138
For alle thys worlde þou woldyste hym gyfe.
Ye beleue to moche youre wyfes tale:
That bryngethe you in moche bale!
And yf þou done aftyr hyr rede,
Thy fayr sone moste be dede.
Ryght so mot hit fare by the,
As fylle by an Erle of farre contre.”
“Nowe, mayster, quothe the Emperour,
Telle me that tale for thy honoure!”
“Yes, quothe the mayster, welle fayne!
Then saue thy sone certayne,
And tylle tomorowe gyf hym respyte;
Thenne wylle he hym self aquyte!
Thanne shalt þou the sothe jsee,
Ho hathe the wronge, thy wyf or he,
For to morowe he shalle speke
And ryght fully thanne be awreke.”
“I graunt welle, quothe the Emperoure,
By Jesu Cryste oure sauyoure;
And whether of whom hathe the wronge,
He shalle in dethe dy stronge.
Telle me that tale for thy honoure!”
“Yes, quothe the mayster, welle fayne!
Then saue thy sone certayne,
And tylle tomorowe gyf hym respyte;
Thenne wylle he hym self aquyte!
139
Ho hathe the wronge, thy wyf or he,
For to morowe he shalle speke
And ryght fully thanne be awreke.”
“I graunt welle, quothe the Emperoure,
By Jesu Cryste oure sauyoure;
And whether of whom hathe the wronge,
He shalle in dethe dy stronge.
Nowe, mayster, bothe curtays and fre,
Of that Erle þou telle me.”
Nowe thynkythe the mayster for certayne
To quyt the Emperice tale agayne,
And hys ensampylle fayre he spake.
And put the blame apon hyr backe,
Of that Erle þou telle me.”
Nowe thynkythe the mayster for certayne
To quyt the Emperice tale agayne,
And hys ensampylle fayre he spake.
And put the blame apon hyr backe,
140
“Sir, he sayde, j wylle not lye,
In the Kyngdome of Houngerye
There was a woundyr doughty knyght;
In the Kyngdome of Houngerye
There was a woundyr doughty knyght;
He dremyde a dreme vppon a nyght
That he louyd a lady fre,
That he louyd a lady fre,
But he ne wyste in what contree,
But welle he wyste, yf he myght
Vppon hyr haue any syght,
Of hyr he shulde haue knowynge
And that thorowe hys nyghtes dremynge;
But welle he wyste, yf he myght
Vppon hyr haue any syght,
Of hyr he shulde haue knowynge
And that thorowe hys nyghtes dremynge;
And ryght so, syr, that lady free,
Suche a dremynge dremyde she
That a knyght she had in honde,
But she ne wyste in what londe,
Ne in what contre was hys dwellynge;
For hym she made grete mornynge.
Suche a dremynge dremyde she
That a knyght she had in honde,
But she ne wyste in what londe,
141
For hym she made grete mornynge.
The knyght wente withowtyn lette
To seche the lady that he of mette;
He ne wyste where to fynde that lady schene,
Therefore the more was alle hys tene.
Hys waye he rode monythes iij,
No tydyng yet of hyr hyrde he;
So far hathe the knyght hys way jnome,
That into Poyle he ys jcome.
There besyde a castelle he fonde,
An Erle hit was, j vndyrstonde;
The Erle hathe a gentyl wyfe
That he louyd as hys lyfe,
And for gelous he lette hyr be sett
In a toure welle faste jshytte;
She come not owt day ne nyght
To play hyr with swayne ne knyght.
Anothyr Erle agayn hym tho
Warred and dyd hym moche woo,
And thought to dystrye alle hys londe,
And thought to halde hit in hys honde,
And soo there come rydyng thys knyght,
That had sought the lady bryghte;
He lokyd vppe into the toure
And say that lady as whyte as flowre;
And anon as he hyr say,
He began to syng and make play,
To seche the lady that he of mette;
He ne wyste where to fynde that lady schene,
Therefore the more was alle hys tene.
Hys waye he rode monythes iij,
No tydyng yet of hyr hyrde he;
So far hathe the knyght hys way jnome,
That into Poyle he ys jcome.
There besyde a castelle he fonde,
An Erle hit was, j vndyrstonde;
142
That he louyd as hys lyfe,
And for gelous he lette hyr be sett
In a toure welle faste jshytte;
She come not owt day ne nyght
To play hyr with swayne ne knyght.
Anothyr Erle agayn hym tho
Warred and dyd hym moche woo,
And thought to dystrye alle hys londe,
And thought to halde hit in hys honde,
And soo there come rydyng thys knyght,
That had sought the lady bryghte;
He lokyd vppe into the toure
And say that lady as whyte as flowre;
143
He began to syng and make play,
And whenne she hyrde hym syng there,
Vnnethe she myght forbere
That she ne hadde callyd hym thore.
In hyr herte she began to seke sore,
Sho wolde haue callyd hym anon,
But for hyr lorde she dryst not don
That sate by nethe sykerly
Vndyr the toure to make hym mery.
The knyght come forthe, withowtyn lette,
The Erle in kneys he grette,
And sayde, “syr, j am a knyght
That in many contreys j was holde wyght,
But there j dar not com nowe
For a knyght that j there slowe,
And, syr, yf thy wylle be,
Here j wylle abyde with the.”
“Welcome, sayde the Erle tho,
I haue nede of the and of mo,
For many enemys j haue withowte
That dystryethe my londe aboute.”
Vnnethe she myght forbere
That she ne hadde callyd hym thore.
In hyr herte she began to seke sore,
Sho wolde haue callyd hym anon,
But for hyr lorde she dryst not don
That sate by nethe sykerly
Vndyr the toure to make hym mery.
144
The Erle in kneys he grette,
And sayde, “syr, j am a knyght
That in many contreys j was holde wyght,
But there j dar not com nowe
For a knyght that j there slowe,
And, syr, yf thy wylle be,
Here j wylle abyde with the.”
“Welcome, sayde the Erle tho,
I haue nede of the and of mo,
For many enemys j haue withowte
That dystryethe my londe aboute.”
So that with the Erle dwellyd that knyght,
And wan hys londe ayenne in fyght;
And slayne hys enemys in fyghtynge,
The Erle louyd hym ouyr alle thynge,
And toke hym hys goodys into hys hande,
And made hym stywarde ouyr alle hys lande.
So oppon a day with moche honoure
The knyght come playnge by the toure
That the lady was yn jdone,
Sho lokyd owte and saye hym sone,
And wan hys londe ayenne in fyght;
145
The Erle louyd hym ouyr alle thynge,
And toke hym hys goodys into hys hande,
And made hym stywarde ouyr alle hys lande.
So oppon a day with moche honoure
The knyght come playnge by the toure
That the lady was yn jdone,
Sho lokyd owte and saye hym sone,
And toke a letter jwretyn fulle ryght,
And caste hit downe before the knyght.
The knyght toke the letter anon
And vndyde hit and lokyd there on.
He hadde wounder whoo hit threwe,
But there by the lady he knewe,
And that he shulde with hyr play
For any thyng that any man couthe say.
The knyght thought hym full stylle
Howe he myght haue hyr at wylle,
146
And vndyde hit and lokyd there on.
He hadde wounder whoo hit threwe,
But there by the lady he knewe,
And that he shulde with hyr play
For any thyng that any man couthe say.
The knyght thought hym full stylle
Howe he myght haue hyr at wylle,
And to the Erle he went fulle euenne,
And prayde hym to gyf hym leuenne
To make a chambyr byfore the toure
That may ben for my honoure.
The Erle thought non euyl thon
And grauntyd the knyght to done son;
And prayde hym to gyf hym leuenne
To make a chambyr byfore the toure
That may ben for my honoure.
147
And grauntyd the knyght to done son;
The knyght toke workemen anon
And made a chambyr of lyme and ston,
And made a chambyr of lyme and ston,
Thenne thought he vppon sum quente gynne
Howe he myght to that lady wynne.
Howe he myght to that lady wynne.
Thenne was there a mason fre,
The slyeste man that myght be;
The knyght aftyr the mason sent
And sayde to hym al hys entent.
148
The knyght aftyr the mason sent
And sayde to hym al hys entent.
“May j telle the of my preuyte?”
“Ye, syr, sayde the mason fre,
Boldely syr your wylle ysayne
And j shalle you neuyr bewreyne.”
The knyght sayde “sythe hit ys so,
“Ye, syr, sayde the mason fre,
Boldely syr your wylle ysayne
And j shalle you neuyr bewreyne.”
The knyght sayde “sythe hit ys so,
I wylle the telle what þou moste doo;
For in thys toure there ys a lady,
That j haue louyd fulle hertely,
And in that toure þou moste make
An hoole for that ladys sake,
That j may loude and stylle
Gon to hyr and doo my wylle.”
For in thys toure there ys a lady,
That j haue louyd fulle hertely,
149
An hoole for that ladys sake,
That j may loude and stylle
Gon to hyr and doo my wylle.”
The mason sayde hit shulde ben done,
And a preuy hoole he made sone.
150
Whenne he hadde done hys queyntyse,
Fulle euylle he quyttyde hys seruyse;
The knyght hym slowe there, certayne,
For he shulde hym not bewrayne;
Fulle euylle he quyttyde hys seruyse;
The knyght hym slowe there, certayne,
For he shulde hym not bewrayne;
And whenne he hadde don so sykerly
He went vppe to that fayre lady.
He went vppe to that fayre lady.
Whenne sche hym sawe she made blys,
And kyste many sythys jwis,
And wyste that hit was that gentyl knyght
Of whom hyr dremyng was a nyght.
“Syr, she sayde, welcome ye be,”
And so tyl hyr answeryde he,
And sayde, “lemman lady,
God the saue allemyghty.”
He toke hyr in hy[s] armys two
And dyd with hyr that he wolde do.
Whenne he hadde done hys lykyng,
And kyste many sythys jwis,
And wyste that hit was that gentyl knyght
Of whom hyr dremyng was a nyght.
“Syr, she sayde, welcome ye be,”
And so tyl hyr answeryde he,
And sayde, “lemman lady,
God the saue allemyghty.”
151
And dyd with hyr that he wolde do.
Whenne he hadde done hys lykyng,
The lady toke hym hyr golde rynge,
For he shulde thyngke hyr vppon.
He toke hys leue and went anon,
And wente as he cam certayne,
And stoppyd the hole faste agayne,
And wente as he cam certayne,
And stoppyd the hole faste agayne,
And to hys lorde he went yare,
Ryght as no thyng a mys were.
Thenne wasche they, and went to mete,
And as they to gedyr sete,
The Erle sawe hys golde rynge there,
Ryght as no thyng a mys were.
152
And as they to gedyr sete,
The Erle sawe hys golde rynge there,
And hadde grete wondyr howe hit were,
For the Erle hadde for grete loue
That golde ryng to hys wyf youe.
For the Erle hadde for grete loue
That golde ryng to hys wyf youe.
The Erle was curtays and welle jthaught,
And to the knyght sayde ryght naught,
But whenne the Erle hadde etyn anon,
Towarde hys towre he gan gone,
To wyt where the ryng was;
The knyght was ware of that cas,
And to the knyght sayde ryght naught,
But whenne the Erle hadde etyn anon,
Towarde hys towre he gan gone,
To wyt where the ryng was;
The knyght was ware of that cas,
153
And wente thedyr byfore certayne,
And toke the lady the rynge agayne.
The erle com to hyr wel ȝare
And axyde of hyr howe she dyd fare,
The lady answeryd hyr lorde thenne
“Ishytt j am fro alle men,
Comforte of man haue j no dele
Howe shalle j thanne fare wele.”
Comforte of man haue j no dele
Howe shalle j thanne fare wele.”
“Lemman, sayde the Erle tho,
Wher haste þou my golde ryng do?”
154
Tho answeryde that lady sone
“What haue ye there with to done?
Hyt ys not a way, j say trewly,
Lo, here hit ys alredy.”
And shewyde hym the ryng samfayle,
“What haue ye there with to done?
Hyt ys not a way, j say trewly,
Lo, here hit ys alredy.”
And shewyde hym the ryng samfayle,
The Erle hadde thereof grete meruayle,
For lyke hit was that golde rynge
That the knyght hathe withowte lesynge.
The Erle dwellyd wythe hyr al nyghte
For joye of the rynges syght,
And for alle that, withowtyn lye,
Blereyd were bothe hys yee.
A morowe he ros fulle erly,
And lefte a bedde that fayre lady;
For lyke hit was that golde rynge
That the knyght hathe withowte lesynge.
155
For joye of the rynges syght,
And for alle that, withowtyn lye,
Blereyd were bothe hys yee.
A morowe he ros fulle erly,
And lefte a bedde that fayre lady;
He sent aftyr that knyght preste
To hunt with hym in the foreste.
“Nay, certes, sayde the knyght tho,
I may not nowe with you go,
For me ys broughte a newe thynge,
That ys goode to my lykynge;
For my frendys haue won my pes
In my contray, withowtyn les,
Al with ryght and not with woo
For a knyght that j dyd slo.
Myne owne lemman hathe me sought
And tydyng therof to me jbrought..
I may not nowe with you go,
For me ys broughte a newe thynge,
That ys goode to my lykynge;
156
In my contray, withowtyn les,
Al with ryght and not with woo
For a knyght that j dyd slo.
Myne owne lemman hathe me sought
And tydyng therof to me jbrought..
Therefor, syr, to morowe at mete
I pray you, syr, with me to ete
And comforte hyr as can ye.”
“Gladdely, quothe the Erle so fre,
I wylle hyr chere and eke solas,
Al that j may er that sho pas,
And to thy lemman thys same day
I come to solas hyr that j may;
And whenne the lykythe sende aftyr me,
Anon j wol come to the.”
And whyle the Erle in the woode was
For to hunt and haue solas,
The knyght hys owne howse gan dyght
With ryche clothys jmade a ryght,
I pray you, syr, with me to ete
And comforte hyr as can ye.”
“Gladdely, quothe the Erle so fre,
I wylle hyr chere and eke solas,
Al that j may er that sho pas,
And to thy lemman thys same day
I come to solas hyr that j may;
And whenne the lykythe sende aftyr me,
Anon j wol come to the.”
157
For to hunt and haue solas,
The knyght hys owne howse gan dyght
With ryche clothys jmade a ryght,
And aftyr that he gan to gon
To that lady hym sylfe alone,
And bought hyr in to hys hous
As thoughe hit were hys owne spouse,
And made hyr done of hyr robe anon
That she had tho hyr vppon,
And dyd on a robe of countray,
To that lady hym sylfe alone,
And bought hyr in to hys hous
As thoughe hit were hys owne spouse,
And made hyr done of hyr robe anon
That she had tho hyr vppon,
And dyd on a robe of countray,
Suche another they neuyr say,
There was no man farre ne ny
That euyr aftyr that robe sey,
And hyr fyngers he dyd vppon
Ryche golde ryngys ful many on,
Hyr hede he dyght fulle gaylyche
With kerchyffes and with garlondes ryche,
At shorte wordys, withowtyn mo,
The knyght dygysyd hyr so
That hyr lorde ne non othyr wyght
Ne shulde knowe hyr a ryght.
Sone aftyr thys fro huntyng come
The Erle and hys mayny home.
The knyght hadde alle redy dyght
Mete and drynke jnowe, j plyght;
He fet the Erle to hys hous thanne,
And made hym wasche with hys lemman,
And aftyrwarde togedyr hem set,
And made hys owne wyf hys met.
The Erle hyr comfortyd and welle wende he
Hyt hadde ben a lady of farre contre,
And alle the whyle that he by hyr was,
Ofte he lokyd in hyr face,
And moche woundyr euyr hadde he
What fayre lady hyt myght be,
For she was moche lyke hys wyf
That he louyd as hys owne lyf;
And that lady neuyr the las
Made the Erle grete solas,
And bade hym ete and be glad,
And euyr he sat as he were mad,
And thought hys toure was so stronge
That no man myght done hym wronge,
Ne come to hys wyf at morne ne eve
Withowte hys loue and hys leue,
And thought in herte fulle preuylyche
That meny woman ys othyr lyche,
Al as was thys golde rynge so fre
That he had jwent that hys hit had be.
Amasyd he was of hys lady yonge
As he was of that golde rynge.
The knyght comfortyd the Erle so fre
And bade hym ete and mery be.
Thenne sayd the Erle “knyght, for thy curtesy,
Of whennys ys thys fayre lady?”
Thenne sayde the knyght with wordys fre
“Hyt ys a lady of my contre.
She ys my lemman, withowte lesynge,
She hathe me brought goo[d] tydynge,
And that j may wende hyr whythe
Into my contray in pes and grethe.
Therefore, syr, j wyl home gone
To vysyte my frendys euerychon.”
Whenne they hadde etyn and made them glad,
The Erle in thought semyd mad,
Tylle that he in hys towre were
To speke with that lady dere,
For lyke sho was that lady
That sate hym by.
Anon as the Erle was jwent,
The knyght toke the lady gent,
And dyd on hir robe agayne,
And lad hyr in the toure certayne.
Vnnethe the knyght was agon,
That the Erle cam jn anon,
And there he founde hys lady
In hyr chambyr alle redy.
Certes, thenne was he gladde
And sone aftyr he was alle madde,
For lyke hyr was that lady
That at the mete sate hym by.
With hys wyfe he was al nyght
And dyde vnto hyr as was ryght.
So dyde he aftyr neuyr mo
And sone aftyr hit fylle so:
The knyght hyrede hym a shype yare,
And shypmen that were thare,
And lete hys armure ther yn bere,
Al hys harnysse and hys gere.
There was no man farre ne ny
That euyr aftyr that robe sey,
And hyr fyngers he dyd vppon
Ryche golde ryngys ful many on,
158
With kerchyffes and with garlondes ryche,
At shorte wordys, withowtyn mo,
The knyght dygysyd hyr so
That hyr lorde ne non othyr wyght
Ne shulde knowe hyr a ryght.
Sone aftyr thys fro huntyng come
The Erle and hys mayny home.
The knyght hadde alle redy dyght
Mete and drynke jnowe, j plyght;
He fet the Erle to hys hous thanne,
And made hym wasche with hys lemman,
And aftyrwarde togedyr hem set,
And made hys owne wyf hys met.
The Erle hyr comfortyd and welle wende he
159
And alle the whyle that he by hyr was,
Ofte he lokyd in hyr face,
And moche woundyr euyr hadde he
What fayre lady hyt myght be,
For she was moche lyke hys wyf
That he louyd as hys owne lyf;
And that lady neuyr the las
Made the Erle grete solas,
And bade hym ete and be glad,
And euyr he sat as he were mad,
And thought hys toure was so stronge
That no man myght done hym wronge,
Ne come to hys wyf at morne ne eve
Withowte hys loue and hys leue,
160
That meny woman ys othyr lyche,
Al as was thys golde rynge so fre
That he had jwent that hys hit had be.
Amasyd he was of hys lady yonge
As he was of that golde rynge.
The knyght comfortyd the Erle so fre
And bade hym ete and mery be.
Thenne sayd the Erle “knyght, for thy curtesy,
Of whennys ys thys fayre lady?”
Thenne sayde the knyght with wordys fre
“Hyt ys a lady of my contre.
She ys my lemman, withowte lesynge,
She hathe me brought goo[d] tydynge,
161
Into my contray in pes and grethe.
Therefore, syr, j wyl home gone
To vysyte my frendys euerychon.”
Whenne they hadde etyn and made them glad,
The Erle in thought semyd mad,
Tylle that he in hys towre were
To speke with that lady dere,
For lyke sho was that lady
That sate hym by.
Anon as the Erle was jwent,
The knyght toke the lady gent,
And dyd on hir robe agayne,
And lad hyr in the toure certayne.
162
That the Erle cam jn anon,
And there he founde hys lady
In hyr chambyr alle redy.
Certes, thenne was he gladde
And sone aftyr he was alle madde,
For lyke hyr was that lady
That at the mete sate hym by.
With hys wyfe he was al nyght
And dyde vnto hyr as was ryght.
So dyde he aftyr neuyr mo
And sone aftyr hit fylle so:
The knyght hyrede hym a shype yare,
And shypmen that were thare,
And lete hys armure ther yn bere,
Al hys harnysse and hys gere.
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A morne ros the Erle fro that lady swete,
And allone in bedde hyr lete,
And to chyrche he gan fare
And allone in bedde hyr lete,
And to chyrche he gan fare
For to hyre hys masse there;
And sone aftyr that anon
The knyght into the toure gan gon,
And brought the lady adowne fulle sone
In to hys hous as he was wone,
And appareyleyd hyr fayre jwys
With clothys aftyr hyr deuyse,
And went anon vnto hys lorde,
And bade hym with mylde worde,
And bade hym by hys leue
To hefe hys lemman to ben wyue.
Syr, that same fayre lady
That at the mete sat hym by,
He was in wylle to wedde hyr thanne
That longe had ben hys lemman.
“Certeys, quothe the Erle, hit ys my wylle
Alle that you ax to fullefylle.”
And aftyr that anon ryghtys
Aftyr hyr went too gentyll knyghtys
And fette that lady to chyrche sone,
As he was wounte to done.
The Erle toke the lady blyf
And gaf the knyght to hys wyf.
The preste was there alle redy
And spousyd the knyght and the lady;
And whenne the mas was jdone,
The knyght name the lady anone
And lad hyr with grete solas
To hauyn there the shyppe was.
Anon as they come thare,
They fonde the shyppe al yare;
The Erle anon toke by the honde
Hys wyf that stode vppon the stronde,
And bade the knyght shulde hyr take
Forto ben hys worldely make.
The knyght of the Erle toke the lady
And sayde “my lorde, graunt mercy.”
The maryner hys shyppe gan loke,
And at the Erle there leue they toke,
And saylyd forthe in hyr way.
The Erle hys wyf laste ther say,
And worthy he ys to lesse hys play
That fro hym geuythe hyt away,
As the Erle gaf hys wyf;
Therefore he lad in sorowe hys lyf.
Whanne the knyght was thys gon,
The Erle wente home anon,
And went into hys toure fulle ryght
Forto sene hys lady bryght,
And whenne he was in the toure an hy,
Al a boute he caste hys ye,
And whanne he sawe not hys lady,
He made sorowe jnowe certaynely.
He began to make revly mon,
For sorowe he ne wyste what to done.
To be ware to late he beganne
Therefore hym scornyd meny a man.”
Tho sayde the mayster that tolde thys
“Syr Emperoure, quothe he jwis,
For ye farythe as dyd he:
Whenne thy wyfe spekythe to the,
Ye leuythe hyr bothe day and nyght,
Yee, more thenne youre owne syght.
And j telle in goode fay,
[Y]e shalle knowe to morowe day
Ho ys gylty in thys stryffe,
And sone aftyr that anon
The knyght into the toure gan gon,
And brought the lady adowne fulle sone
In to hys hous as he was wone,
And appareyleyd hyr fayre jwys
With clothys aftyr hyr deuyse,
And went anon vnto hys lorde,
And bade hym with mylde worde,
And bade hym by hys leue
To hefe hys lemman to ben wyue.
164
That at the mete sat hym by,
He was in wylle to wedde hyr thanne
That longe had ben hys lemman.
“Certeys, quothe the Erle, hit ys my wylle
Alle that you ax to fullefylle.”
And aftyr that anon ryghtys
Aftyr hyr went too gentyll knyghtys
And fette that lady to chyrche sone,
As he was wounte to done.
The Erle toke the lady blyf
And gaf the knyght to hys wyf.
The preste was there alle redy
And spousyd the knyght and the lady;
And whenne the mas was jdone,
The knyght name the lady anone
And lad hyr with grete solas
To hauyn there the shyppe was.
165
They fonde the shyppe al yare;
The Erle anon toke by the honde
Hys wyf that stode vppon the stronde,
And bade the knyght shulde hyr take
Forto ben hys worldely make.
The knyght of the Erle toke the lady
And sayde “my lorde, graunt mercy.”
The maryner hys shyppe gan loke,
And at the Erle there leue they toke,
And saylyd forthe in hyr way.
The Erle hys wyf laste ther say,
And worthy he ys to lesse hys play
That fro hym geuythe hyt away,
As the Erle gaf hys wyf;
Therefore he lad in sorowe hys lyf.
Whanne the knyght was thys gon,
The Erle wente home anon,
And went into hys toure fulle ryght
Forto sene hys lady bryght,
166
Al a boute he caste hys ye,
And whanne he sawe not hys lady,
He made sorowe jnowe certaynely.
He began to make revly mon,
For sorowe he ne wyste what to done.
To be ware to late he beganne
Therefore hym scornyd meny a man.”
Tho sayde the mayster that tolde thys
“Syr Emperoure, quothe he jwis,
For ye farythe as dyd he:
Whenne thy wyfe spekythe to the,
Ye leuythe hyr bothe day and nyght,
Yee, more thenne youre owne syght.
And j telle in goode fay,
[Y]e shalle knowe to morowe day
167
Thy sone othyr thy owne wyf.”
“That lykethe me, quothe the Emperoure,
By godde that ys my sauyoure
And whenne j wote hoo hathe the wronge
He shalle dy in dethe fulle stronge
“That lykethe me, quothe the Emperoure,
By godde that ys my sauyoure
And whenne j wote hoo hathe the wronge
He shalle dy in dethe fulle stronge
If he shalle speke than am j fayne,
Thys day shalle not my sone be slayne.”
And to morowe, syr, he shalle telle
Thys day shalle not my sone be slayne.”
And to morowe, syr, he shalle telle
Why thy wyffe wolde hym quelle.”
“That wolde j see, quothe the Emperoure
Leuyr then al the worldys tresoure.”
The day passyd, the nyght came,
And euery man hys wey name,
“That wolde j see, quothe the Emperoure
Leuyr then al the worldys tresoure.”
The day passyd, the nyght came,
And euery man hys wey name,
168
The Emperice made sorowe and wo
For the child shulde speke so.
For the child shulde speke so.
A morowe aros the Emperoure,
And went to chyrche with honour,
And went to chyrche to hire masse
With hys lordys bothe more and lesse.
Alle the lordys of that contre,
Of lordys and ladys grete plente,
Come to chyrche that same day
To hyre what the chylde wolde saye.
Alle that myght thedyr areche
Come to hyre the chyldys speche,
And hys maysters euerychon
Come thedyr alle at one,
And aftyr the Emperoure ys masse
The chylde was dyght with grete rychesse,
And ij of the maysters yare
Fette forthe the chylde there,
And went to chyrche with honour,
And went to chyrche to hire masse
With hys lordys bothe more and lesse.
Alle the lordys of that contre,
Of lordys and ladys grete plente,
Come to chyrche that same day
To hyre what the chylde wolde saye.
169
Come to hyre the chyldys speche,
And hys maysters euerychon
Come thedyr alle at one,
And aftyr the Emperoure ys masse
The chylde was dyght with grete rychesse,
And ij of the maysters yare
Fette forthe the chylde there,
And was set alle in a fayre plas
Ryght before the fadyrs face.
Ryght before the fadyrs face.
He prayde to god whythe goode wylle
That the pepylle moste ben stylle;
Thenne stode the chylde vppe anon
Byfore hem euerychon
And sayde to hys fadyr fulle revly
That the pepylle moste ben stylle;
Thenne stode the chylde vppe anon
Byfore hem euerychon
170
“For goddys loue, syr, marcy!
Syr, þou myght wete yf þou wylte
With wronge ye wolde haue me spylte.
I shalle you telle withowtyn lacke
Why that j noo rather spake.
For j and my maysters alle
Sawe in the mone what shulde falle,
And yf j hadde erste jspoke
In grete sorowe j hadde ben loke,
And my maysters euerychon
For me to dethe shulde haue ben don.
But, syr, wounder j haue of the
That þou woldyst serue soo me
As dyde a man of wyckyde blode
That caste hys sone in to the salte flode
Syr, þou myght wete yf þou wylte
With wronge ye wolde haue me spylte.
I shalle you telle withowtyn lacke
Why that j noo rather spake.
For j and my maysters alle
Sawe in the mone what shulde falle,
And yf j hadde erste jspoke
In grete sorowe j hadde ben loke,
And my maysters euerychon
For me to dethe shulde haue ben don.
But, syr, wounder j haue of the
That þou woldyst serue soo me
171
That caste hys sone in to the salte flode
For that he sayde þat he shulde be
A rycher man than euyr was he.”
The Emperoure sayde “my sone so dyre,
Nowe wolde j thys tale hyre,
And thy tale telle me anon
As alle the maysters haue don.
Eche hathe tolde hys tale for the,
For þou shuldyste jsauyd be.”
The Emperoure sayde “my sone so dyre,
Nowe wolde j thys tale hyre,
And thy tale telle me anon
As alle the maysters haue don.
Eche hathe tolde hys tale for the,
For þou shuldyste jsauyd be.”
“Certeys, quothe the chylde, j shalle fullefylle,
And telle my tale at youre wylle.
And telle my tale at youre wylle.
Sir, sum tyme in Rome cytte
Was a man of grete poste
That hadde a sone wyse and bolde,
Of xv wynter he was olde;
And apon a day hys fadyr and he
Saylyd to gedyr in the see:
Towarde an yle they wolde wynde,
And ryght vppon hyr shippys ende
Lyght ij rauenys and made a crye:
The goode man hadde wondyr sykerly.
Thenne sayde the fadyr to the sone
“What may be thys moche mone,
That thys rauenys dothe thys crye?
I ne wot what hyt may sygnyfye.”
“No fadyr, sayde the chylde, jwys,
I wotte what hyr cryynge ys:
For they say thus in hyr steuyn
That thoroughe the myght of god of heuyn
I shalle so ryche a man be,
That with youre yeen ye shall se,
Was a man of grete poste
172
Of xv wynter he was olde;
And apon a day hys fadyr and he
Saylyd to gedyr in the see:
Towarde an yle they wolde wynde,
And ryght vppon hyr shippys ende
Lyght ij rauenys and made a crye:
The goode man hadde wondyr sykerly.
Thenne sayde the fadyr to the sone
“What may be thys moche mone,
That thys rauenys dothe thys crye?
I ne wot what hyt may sygnyfye.”
“No fadyr, sayde the chylde, jwys,
I wotte what hyr cryynge ys:
For they say thus in hyr steuyn
That thoroughe the myght of god of heuyn
173
That with youre yeen ye shall se,
The whylys my hondys waschyn bene,
Ye shalle be fayne to holde the bason,
Ye shalle be fayne to holde the bason,
And my modyr, withowtyn fayle,
Shalle serue me of the towele.”
For thes wordes the Fadyr was wrothe
And hys sone was hym lothe.
“Sone, he sayde, what shalte þou
Be ryccher man then j am nowe?
Shalle serue me of the towele.”
For thes wordes the Fadyr was wrothe
And hys sone was hym lothe.
“Sone, he sayde, what shalte þou
Be ryccher man then j am nowe?
Nay, certys, that shalle not be,”
And caste hys sone in to the see.
Whenne the chylde was in the see flode,
He cryde to god with mylde mode,
174
He cryde to god with mylde mode,
God hyrde that chylde and gaf hym grace,
He come to londe in a fayre place,
Vppon a fayre roche of stone.
iiij dayes mete ete he non,
Mete ne drynke ne othyr thynge,
But foulys he hyrde mery synge.
The foulys sayde in hir songe
“Chylde, thynke the not to longe,
But Jesus Cryste hathe hyrde the bone
And wolle the helpe fulle welle sone.
Sone aftyr by that place so wylde
Came a fyscher and sawe the chylde,
He come to londe in a fayre place,
Vppon a fayre roche of stone.
iiij dayes mete ete he non,
Mete ne drynke ne othyr thynge,
But foulys he hyrde mery synge.
The foulys sayde in hir songe
“Chylde, thynke the not to longe,
But Jesus Cryste hathe hyrde the bone
And wolle the helpe fulle welle sone.
Sone aftyr by that place so wylde
175
And saye the chylde, god hit wote.
Anon he toke hym in to hys bote,
And ledde hym thens xxx myle
Vnto a castelle, a welle stronge pyle,
And solde the chylde there so snelle
To the constabylle of the castelle.
For hym he gaf xx pounde
Of goode mony, hoole and sounde.
Anon he toke hym in to hys bote,
And ledde hym thens xxx myle
Vnto a castelle, a welle stronge pyle,
And solde the chylde there so snelle
To the constabylle of the castelle.
For hym he gaf xx pounde
Of goode mony, hoole and sounde.
The constabylle louyd welle that chylde,
For hit was bothe meke and mylde;
And in that contre there was a kynge,
That makyd mykylle mornynge,
For the rauenys cryde on hym ay,
Whether he went by nyght or day;
For hit was bothe meke and mylde;
And in that contre there was a kynge,
That makyd mykylle mornynge,
For the rauenys cryde on hym ay,
Whether he went by nyght or day;
176
For moche woundyr hadde þe kyng
What myght betoken hyr cryyng;
And apon a day he sente hys sonde
Aftyr the wysyste man of hys londe
To wyt of hym trewly
What betokenythe the rauenys cry.
What myght betoken hyr cryyng;
And apon a day he sente hys sonde
Aftyr the wysyste man of hys londe
To wyt of hym trewly
What betokenythe the rauenys cry.
The chylde bethought hym anon
To the kyngys corte for to gon,
To the kyngys corte for to gon,
Sum maner goode ther to lere
And the kyngys wylle to hyre.
And the kyngys wylle to hyre.
Whenne the lordys were jcome euerychone,
The kynge stode hym vp anon
“Lordynges, he sayde, j shalle telle you,
If any of you can telle me nowe,
Why thys rauenys cry on me
Nyght and day where euer j be,
If any of you can telle me blythe,
My doughter he shalle haue to wyfe,
And halfe my londe by my day,
And afterwarde alle, parmafay.”
The kyng hadde sayde hys wylle,
Alle the lordys stodyn fulle stylle.
There was no man, withowte lesynge,
That couthe there of telle the kynge;
The kynge stode hym vp anon
177
If any of you can telle me nowe,
Why thys rauenys cry on me
Nyght and day where euer j be,
If any of you can telle me blythe,
My doughter he shalle haue to wyfe,
And halfe my londe by my day,
And afterwarde alle, parmafay.”
The kyng hadde sayde hys wylle,
Alle the lordys stodyn fulle stylle.
There was no man, withowte lesynge,
That couthe there of telle the kynge;
But the chylde couthe fulle welle,
And bade the constabil of the castelle:
“Gone, ax the kynge anon ryght,
If he wolde holde that he hyght,”
And bade the constabil of the castelle:
“Gone, ax the kynge anon ryght,
If he wolde holde that he hyght,”
178
And he wolde telle in alle thyng
What betokenythe the rauenys cryynge.
What betokenythe the rauenys cryynge.
Tho sayde the kynge “by goddys ore,
I wylle holde, and moche more
He shalle haue ho telle hit me
What the rauenys cryynge be.”
And with that worde the chylde vpstode
Among hem alle with mylde mode
I wylle holde, and moche more
He shalle haue ho telle hit me
What the rauenys cryynge be.”
And with that worde the chylde vpstode
Among hem alle with mylde mode
And sayde “lordyngys euerychone,
See ye the rauyn that stont alone,
That makythe so moche mornyng and sorowe
Bothe in eue and in morowe.
Tylle j hit to the, syr kynge,
That ys the famal, withowte lesynge;
See ye the rauyn that stont alone,
That makythe so moche mornyng and sorowe
Bothe in eue and in morowe.
179
That ys the famal, withowte lesynge;
And also, syr, there stondythe twyne
Bothe togedyr, as j you seyne.
Ye seythe welle, syrys, euerychone,
The more crythe the lasse apone.
The grete rauyn that before ys, jwys,
Yonde female alone was make ys;
She dwellede with hym xxx yere,
The female that stondythe alone here;
And that grete rauyn blacke
Yonde female alone hadde forsake,
For hit was tho a dyre yere
And scars of vytayle and of stouyre.
The grete rauyn the femalle forsoke
And the lytylle rauyn to make hyr toke;
And in hys cryyng he saythe, per fay,
He wylle neuyr latte hyr a way
Tylle the dome be gyf of the
Hos make that she shalle be.
Whenne they hadde hyrde youre wylle,
That ye haue sayde thorowe skylle,
Whyche of hem hyr shalle haue,
Bothe togedyr, as j you seyne.
Ye seythe welle, syrys, euerychone,
The more crythe the lasse apone.
The grete rauyn that before ys, jwys,
Yonde female alone was make ys;
She dwellede with hym xxx yere,
The female that stondythe alone here;
And that grete rauyn blacke
Yonde female alone hadde forsake,
For hit was tho a dyre yere
And scars of vytayle and of stouyre.
The grete rauyn the femalle forsoke
And the lytylle rauyn to make hyr toke;
And in hys cryyng he saythe, per fay,
He wylle neuyr latte hyr a way
180
Hos make that she shalle be.
Whenne they hadde hyrde youre wylle,
That ye haue sayde thorowe skylle,
Whyche of hem hyr shalle haue,
He wylle nomore aftyr the craue,
Ne neuyr more vppon the crye,
But in hyr wey they wylle flye.”
The kyng thorowe the baronys wylle
Gaf the dome thorowe goode skylle
That she shulde ben hys fere
That kepte hyr in the dyre yere,
Ne neuyr more vppon the crye,
But in hyr wey they wylle flye.”
The kyng thorowe the baronys wylle
Gaf the dome thorowe goode skylle
That she shulde ben hys fere
That kepte hyr in the dyre yere,
And sayde he shulde hyr forgo
That wolde not kepe hyr in hyr wo
Whanne the derthe was harde and felle,
For he ne rought, for sothe to telle,
To what dethe she hadde ben brought
And therefore nowe he gete hyr nought.
Whanne the ylder rauyn of the too
Herde the dome jgyf was soo,
He made suche a crye anon,
That they woundryde euerychon;
And made sorowe, and fly away,
That neuyr men of hym say.
That othyr rauyne toke the femele,
And euyr aftyr they ferde wele.
That wolde not kepe hyr in hyr wo
181
For he ne rought, for sothe to telle,
To what dethe she hadde ben brought
And therefore nowe he gete hyr nought.
Whanne the ylder rauyn of the too
Herde the dome jgyf was soo,
He made suche a crye anon,
That they woundryde euerychon;
And made sorowe, and fly away,
That neuyr men of hym say.
That othyr rauyne toke the femele,
And euyr aftyr they ferde wele.
Whenne the kyng sawe alle thys,
182
He gaf the chylde ys doughter, jwys,
And halfe hys kyngdome by hys day,
And alle aftyr hym, the sothe to say.
Alle the lordys hym loue began,
For he was so wyse a man.
In shorte tyme, withowte lesynge,
The chylde hymselfe was made kynge,
And the fadyr that hym begate
Ne hys modyr wyste not of thate;
But, as we fynde in gestys jwryte,
Into suche pouert they were jsmete,
For shame they fledde bothe fram home
And into that contrey they come,
There hyr sone was lorde and kynge;
And alle aftyr hym, the sothe to say.
Alle the lordys hym loue began,
For he was so wyse a man.
In shorte tyme, withowte lesynge,
The chylde hymselfe was made kynge,
And the fadyr that hym begate
Ne hys modyr wyste not of thate;
But, as we fynde in gestys jwryte,
Into suche pouert they were jsmete,
For shame they fledde bothe fram home
And into that contrey they come,
183
And there they made hyr dwellynge;
And soo the kynge lay there bysyde,
And wyste hit in a lytylle tyde,
And wyste hit in a lytylle tyde,
And vppon a day he callyd hym to
Two seruantys, and bade them go,
And bade hem jnquere aftyr a man
That late was come into cuntre thanne
From hys cuntreye newe there to wone,
That hytte Barnarde norysshe sone:
Two seruantys, and bade them go,
And bade hem jnquere aftyr a man
That late was come into cuntre thanne
From hys cuntreye newe there to wone,
That hytte Barnarde norysshe sone:
I wylle to morne dyne with hym there.”
The seruantys wente bothe jfere,
And aftyr withynne a lytylle stonde
The goode man there they fonde,
And gretyn hym with chere gladde,
And tolde hym as the kyng hym bade.
184
And aftyr withynne a lytylle stonde
The goode man there they fonde,
And gretyn hym with chere gladde,
And tolde hym as the kyng hym bade.
“Leve syres, answeryde he,
The kyng ys welcome to me,
And in hert j am welle sory,
For j am noo thyng redy
To welcome my lorde the kynge
For j am not at my lykynge;
But suche goode as j haue,
Hyt ys redy to hym, god me saue.”
The kyng ys welcome to me,
And in hert j am welle sory,
For j am noo thyng redy
To welcome my lorde the kynge
For j am not at my lykynge;
But suche goode as j haue,
Hyt ys redy to hym, god me saue.”
185
A morowe the kyng thedyr came,
And with hys fadyr hys jn he name;
He and hys baronys euerychone
Wente to mete with hym anon.
And with hys fadyr hys jn he name;
He and hys baronys euerychone
Wente to mete with hym anon.
Thenne brought hys fadyr a bason
Of metelle bothe goode and fyne,
And hys modyr a fayre towayle,
And wolde haue seruyd hym, samfayle,
Fulle mekely at hys waschynge,
And wolde haue seruyd hym, samfayle,
Fulle mekely at hys waschynge,
But that wolde not suffer the kynge,
[And] bade a seruande take the towelle thare
Of the modyr that hym bare.
186
Of the modyr that hym bare.
And sayde “fadyr, nowe falle hit ys
That j tollde you sum tyme, jwis,
That j tollde you sum tyme, jwis,
Whenne ye me caste into the see,
For j sayde that j shulde be
A ryccher man than euyr ye were:
I am your sone byfore you here.”
Whenne hys fadyr hyrde thys,
He was fulle sore adrad, jwis,
For to haue bene sone aslawe
Or ellys hangyde or drawe.
For j sayde that j shulde be
A ryccher man than euyr ye were:
I am your sone byfore you here.”
Whenne hys fadyr hyrde thys,
He was fulle sore adrad, jwis,
For to haue bene sone aslawe
Or ellys hangyde or drawe.
187
“Sir, sayde the chylde of mykylle honour
To hys fadyr the Emperoure,
Thus me thynkythe, fadyr, by goddys tre,
That ye wolde thys fare by me;
To hys fadyr the Emperoure,
Thus me thynkythe, fadyr, by goddys tre,
That ye wolde thys fare by me;
And also lytylle gylte haue j
As hadde the chylde, certenly,
That was for hys sothe sawe
Caste in to the seys wawe:
So caste ye me thorowe treson
With moche wo in youre preson
For my goodenys and my wysdome,
Whenne that j fro schole come;
But thoughe j come to grete honoure,
Thenne ye ben my fadyr Emperoure.
Wene ye that ye wolde me greue?
Nay, fadyr, ye may me leue,
Hangyd rathyr shulde j be,
Ere j dede suche shame to the;
But certys, fadyr, whenne j home come,
Youre wyf into hyr boure nome,
And bade j shulde lyen hyr by,
And for j nolde, certaynly,
As hadde the chylde, certenly,
That was for hys sothe sawe
Caste in to the seys wawe:
So caste ye me thorowe treson
With moche wo in youre preson
For my goodenys and my wysdome,
Whenne that j fro schole come;
But thoughe j come to grete honoure,
Thenne ye ben my fadyr Emperoure.
Wene ye that ye wolde me greue?
Nay, fadyr, ye may me leue,
Hangyd rathyr shulde j be,
Ere j dede suche shame to the;
But certys, fadyr, whenne j home come,
188
And bade j shulde lyen hyr by,
And for j nolde, certaynly,
She rente hyr clothys alle bydene,
For encheson, that j shulde wene,
That j hadde hyr jnforsyd soo;
But certeys er j hadde soo do,
For encheson, that j shulde wene,
That j hadde hyr jnforsyd soo;
But certeys er j hadde soo do,
Rathyr my dethe j wolde thole
And to haue ben brent alle to cole.
And to haue ben brent alle to cole.
“Dame, quothe the Emperoure at o brayde,
Ys hit sothe that my sone hathe sayde?”
“Ye, sys, she sayde, jwys,
Youre sone saythe noo thyng a mys;
Ys hit sothe that my sone hathe sayde?”
“Ye, sys, she sayde, jwys,
Youre sone saythe noo thyng a mys;
For certeys, syr, done youre lykynge:
On me he saythe noo lesynge,
189
For j me drad, sayde she,
That [h]e shulde dystrye me
Whenne that he to age come,
And take fro me the Emperice of Rome;
That [h]e shulde dystrye me
Whenne that he to age come,
And take fro me the Emperice of Rome;
Therefore hit was alle in my thought
Hym to dethe ha[u]e jbrought.
“Dame, quothe [the] Emperoure, by synt Martyn,
Hym to dethe ha[u]e jbrought.
190
That ordeynyste for my chylde,
Þou shalte haue be Mary mylde;
And for þou haste opon hym lowen,
Þou shalt drynke as þou haste browyn.”
Hys lordys he callyd to hym euerychon,
An they come to hym anon,
“Lordelyngys, he sayde, j commaunde you,
A grete fyre that ye lete make nowe
To brenne there yn thys womman soo felle
For certes, she hathe hyt deseruyd welle,
Sythe she ordaynyd syche treson
To sle my sone agayne reson.”
A grete fyre that ye lete make nowe
To brenne there yn thys womman soo felle
For certes, she hathe hyt deseruyd welle,
Sythe she ordaynyd syche treson
To sle my sone agayne reson.”
Anon they ordaynyd a fyre fulle bryght,
That was bothe huge ande grete to hys syght,
And bonde the ladys hondys fulle harde,
And thenne castynne the Emperyce in the mydwarde;
And thys was the Emperice jbrent,
As welle worthy was by juggement;
And clerkys tellyd in hyr wretynge
That was bothe huge ande grete to hys syght,
191
And thenne castynne the Emperyce in the mydwarde;
And thys was the Emperice jbrent,
As welle worthy was by juggement;
And clerkys tellyd in hyr wretynge
Of falssenys comythe euylle endynge;
Ande the chylde aftyr leuyde fulle long,
And louyd euyr troughthe, and hatyd wronge,
And louyd euyr troughthe, and hatyd wronge,
And alle hys lyftyme with moche honoure
He kepte hys fadyr the Emperoure;
And whenne that hys fadyr dede was,
He lete make a nobylle plas,
And a fayre Abbeye he lete begynne,
And vij schore monkys brought there yn,
And euyr more to rede and synge
For hys fadyr, withowte lesynge;
And tho was the chylde made Emperoure,
And kept hys londe with grete honoure.
Of al knyghtys he bare the prys,
And among alle men moste wys,
And moste he louyde stedefastenys,
In worde and dede, more and les,
And therefore god gaffe hym goode lyf,
And brought hym fayre owte of stryf.
Nowe haue ye hyrde euery man
Of the Emperoure Deoclycyan,
And allso of hys fals wyfe,
And howe the chylde come owt of stryffe,
And of the maysters ye haue hyrde,
The wysyte men of alle mydelle hyrthe,
Howe they sauyde the chylde so yonge
Thorowe hyr wysdome and hyr connynge;
And nowe ben dede the maysters vij,
Jesus, that ys kyng of heuyn,
Graunte vs er we hens wende
He kepte hys fadyr the Emperoure;
And whenne that hys fadyr dede was,
He lete make a nobylle plas,
And a fayre Abbeye he lete begynne,
And vij schore monkys brought there yn,
And euyr more to rede and synge
For hys fadyr, withowte lesynge;
And tho was the chylde made Emperoure,
And kept hys londe with grete honoure.
192
And among alle men moste wys,
And moste he louyde stedefastenys,
In worde and dede, more and les,
And therefore god gaffe hym goode lyf,
And brought hym fayre owte of stryf.
Nowe haue ye hyrde euery man
Of the Emperoure Deoclycyan,
And allso of hys fals wyfe,
And howe the chylde come owt of stryffe,
And of the maysters ye haue hyrde,
The wysyte men of alle mydelle hyrthe,
Howe they sauyde the chylde so yonge
Thorowe hyr wysdome and hyr connynge;
And nowe ben dede the maysters vij,
Jesus, that ys kyng of heuyn,
Graunte vs er we hens wende
Housel and shryfte and goode ende,
The blysse of heuyn aboue,
Jesu, for hys modyr loue.
The blysse of heuyn aboue,
Jesu, for hys modyr loue.
Amen.
Expliciunt septem sapientes.
133
The tonge was made as rede
As it were of fyry glede.
He cryed to þe sowdan, saunse fayll,
And bade hym be redy to batayll.
The sowdan answered anon:
“We ben redy euerychone.”
As it were of fyry glede.
He cryed to þe sowdan, saunse fayll,
And bade hym be redy to batayll.
The sowdan answered anon:
“We ben redy euerychone.”
The morow can and this Junyus
Stode in a towr that hight Cressus,
The strengest towr vpon the wall,
Stode in a towr that hight Cressus,
The strengest towr vpon the wall,
Ther men myght se hym over all.
He had made a myrrowr,
He had made a myrrowr,
Which he bare vp in to the towr;
He set hym ther on, verament,
And dide on his garment;
He set hym ther on, verament,
And dide on his garment;
134
He dide also on his visowr
And loked in his myrrowr.
Two swordes he owt brayde
Two swordes he owt brayde
And fast with them he on layde,
He made more noyse and more boste
Than wolde half a gret oste.
The sarasyns þat loked on it
Were nygh owt of ther wit;
He made more noyse and more boste
Than wolde half a gret oste.
The sarasyns þat loked on it
Were nygh owt of ther wit;
The myrrowr gan so fast rowt
That all þe people were in dowt.
By the myrrowr they vnderstode
That it was god þat dyed on rode.
In gret drede they flede echon,
Ther durste abide non.
The yates were vndo of Rome
And all people ther at owt come.
The emprowr overtoke his ffoon
And slew them down euerychone;
And thus Junyus the wysse
Wane the mastry by quayntise;
Therfor he hadde gret honowr,
And was made emprowr.
Ther is a moneth in the yere
That all þe people were in dowt.
By the myrrowr they vnderstode
That it was god þat dyed on rode.
In gret drede they flede echon,
Ther durste abide non.
The yates were vndo of Rome
And all people ther at owt come.
135
And slew them down euerychone;
And thus Junyus the wysse
Wane the mastry by quayntise;
Therfor he hadde gret honowr,
And was made emprowr.
Ther is a moneth in the yere
That is cleped Jenyfere.
Sire, than thou shalt fall in bale,
And an other shall haue thy power all,
And thus shall the vij wise
Disceyve the with ther quayntyse.
And an other shall haue thy power all,
And thus shall the vij wise
Disceyve the with ther quayntyse.
Thou shalt be fayn or thow sterve
On thy knees them to serue.
On thy knees them to serue.
136
So mote it be, to god j pray,
But yf thy son dye thys day.”
The emprowr harde her speke,
The emprowr harde her speke,
And sayd anon he wold be awreke,
And bade anon his son forth brynge,
And bade sle hym withowt lettynge,
After hym went many a servant
And browght hym with mornyng semblant.
The kyng comaundyd blyve
That he shuld be browght owt of live.
Tho ca[m] master Maxius ride
And bade the folk they shuld abide,
After hym went many a servant
And browght hym with mornyng semblant.
The kyng comaundyd blyve
That he shuld be browght owt of live.
137
And bade the folk they shuld abide,
“Tyll j haue spokyn with þe kyng
And ye shall haue good tydyng.”
They stode still, all and some;
The master to the emprowr is come,
He was a master withowt lak,
Ffor hardly to þe emprowr he spake
And ye shall haue good tydyng.”
They stode still, all and some;
The master to the emprowr is come,
He was a master withowt lak,
Ffor hardly to þe emprowr he spake
And sayd “evill mot thow cheve
Thyn empryse yf thow beleve.
Thyn empryse yf thow beleve.
She is, he sayd, sotyll and false,
In her wordes and dedes alse,
In her wordes and dedes alse,
And by thyn empryse own will
This day thou woldest thy son spill,
And yf he myght till to morow leve,
For all þe werld þou woldest hym not geve.
This day thou woldest thy son spill,
138
For all þe werld þou woldest hym not geve.
Yf þou hym sleest, so fall on the
As fell on an erle of ferre contre.
Myche more he loved his wiff
Than he dide his won lyff.”
Than says the emprowr anon
As fell on an erle of ferre contre.
Myche more he loved his wiff
Than he dide his won lyff.”
Than says the emprowr anon
“He was a fole, by seynt John!
Tell me the tale, j pray the,
Tell me the tale, j pray the,
And this day j will warant the
My son from deth for to quyte,
And of his lyff hym respite.”
“Sire, than shalt thow beleve me,
Thy wyff hath more gilt than he,
Ffor to morow he shall speke
And rightfully hymself awreke.”
Quod the emprowr “withowt othe,
My son from deth for to quyte,
And of his lyff hym respite.”
139
Thy wyff hath more gilt than he,
Ffor to morow he shall speke
And rightfully hymself awreke.”
Quod the emprowr “withowt othe,
Yf j may know the sothe
Who hath wrong and who hath right,
After the lawe jugement shall be dight.”
He bade his seriantes forthe gon
And brynge to hym his son anon;
They went anon and dide all thus,
Than sayd the emprowr to Maxius
“Master, tell me all the caas,
How the erle disseved was.”
Who hath wrong and who hath right,
After the lawe jugement shall be dight.”
He bade his seriantes forthe gon
And brynge to hym his son anon;
They went anon and dide all thus,
Than sayd the emprowr to Maxius
“Master, tell me all the caas,
How the erle disseved was.”
Maxius tale of an erle how a knyght disseyved hym of his wiff.
140
In the kyngdom of Hungrye
Somtyme ther was a dowty knyght,
Riche he was and stronge in fight.
In a nyght as he a slepe was,
He dremed he was jn suche a caas;
A lady shuld hym love well
That dwellyd in a stronge castell.
She was a full gret lady,
But he wyste not in what contrey
He shuld fynd that lady bryght,
But myght he of her haue a sight,
Of her he shuld haue knowlegynge,
He wyste well by his dremynge.
In a nyght as he a slepe was,
He dremed he was jn suche a caas;
A lady shuld hym love well
That dwellyd in a stronge castell.
She was a full gret lady,
But he wyste not in what contrey
He shuld fynd that lady bryght,
But myght he of her haue a sight,
Of her he shuld haue knowlegynge,
He wyste well by his dremynge.
Whan he had this dreme mett,
Forth he went sone after that,
All a moneth he travayled sore
And he was of his purpose never þe nere.
So dremed that lady ther she was,
To her shuld fall suche a caas:
After a knyghtes love she shuld fonde,
But she wyste not in what londe,
That she shuld fynde his wonnynge;
Forth he went sone after that,
All a moneth he travayled sore
And he was of his purpose never þe nere.
So dremed that lady ther she was,
To her shuld fall suche a caas:
After a knyghtes love she shuld fonde,
But she wyste not in what londe,
141
Therfor she was in myche mornynge.
The knyght his way hath ynome
And to a castel is he come.
An erle þerover lorde was,
Stowte and bold in euery caas.
He had a lady to his wyff,
That he loved better than his lyff;
Ffor jolesye that lady flowr
He shete her faste in a towre,
Þat she myght not owt day ne nyght
To play her with swayn ne knyght.
An other erle agayn hym tho
Warred and dide hym myche woo;
He dysstroyed so his londe
An erle þerover lorde was,
Stowte and bold in euery caas.
142
That he loved better than his lyff;
Ffor jolesye that lady flowr
He shete her faste in a towre,
Þat she myght not owt day ne nyght
To play her with swayn ne knyght.
An other erle agayn hym tho
Warred and dide hym myche woo;
He dysstroyed so his londe
That it was nygh owt of his honde.
Than com rydyng þat jentyll knyght,
That had sowght that lady bryght.
With ther spekyng þat lady flowr
Loked down owt of the towr,
And also this jentyll knyght
Loked vp to þat lady bryght,
Whan he her sigh for joy he songe,
Moche myrthe þe knyght made amonge;
And whan she harde hym syng ther,
That had sowght that lady bryght.
With ther spekyng þat lady flowr
Loked down owt of the towr,
143
Loked vp to þat lady bryght,
Whan he her sigh for joy he songe,
Moche myrthe þe knyght made amonge;
And whan she harde hym syng ther,
Vnneth she cowld herself forbere,
But þat she shuld hym speke to,
But þat she shuld hym speke to,
But for her lorde she durste not soo.
Than wyste þe knyght by þat sight,
Hit was she þat he dremed of by nyght;
And she wyste also by all thynge
That he shuld her ease of her dremynge.
He badde vndo at the gate
Sone he was latt in ther at.
The knyght on knees fayre hym sett,
Hit was she þat he dremed of by nyght;
And she wyste also by all thynge
That he shuld her ease of her dremynge.
He badde vndo at the gate
Sone he was latt in ther at.
144
And the erle ther he gret,
And sayd, “sir, j am a knyght,
And a man þat hath had to do with fight
In my contrey a knyght j slowe,
And j dare never com ther nowe.
I wold, yf your will were,
In this contrey dwell with you here.”
“Welcome, sayd þe erle to hym thoo,
I haue nede to the and many moo.
Ffull many a foo j haue withowt
That distroy my londe abowt.
With good will ye shall bide here.”
“Gramarcy, said þe knyght, by seynt Richere,
Than shall j at your lyvery be,
At hors, armes, and in ffee.”
This erle and þe knyght to batell be gon
Ffor to be awroken of ther ffoon;
The knyght hym so well bare than,
And sayd, “sir, j am a knyght,
And a man þat hath had to do with fight
In my contrey a knyght j slowe,
And j dare never com ther nowe.
I wold, yf your will were,
In this contrey dwell with you here.”
“Welcome, sayd þe erle to hym thoo,
I haue nede to the and many moo.
Ffull many a foo j haue withowt
That distroy my londe abowt.
With good will ye shall bide here.”
“Gramarcy, said þe knyght, by seynt Richere,
Than shall j at your lyvery be,
At hors, armes, and in ffee.”
This erle and þe knyght to batell be gon
Ffor to be awroken of ther ffoon;
145
The erle loved hym more than any man;
He toke his rodde in his honde
He toke his rodde in his honde
And made hym styward of his londe.
So this knyght vpon a day
Went vp and down hym to play
Went vp and down hym to play
By þe towr wher þat lady was
Ffor to haue of her solas.
This lady in þe towr on high
Loked down and þe knyght sigh;
She toke a see risshe and threw down right,
Vpon the gretter ende it pight,
This knyght þerto toke good kepe,
And toke vp þe risshe beffore his ffete,
And full trewly he than knewe
Ffor to haue of her solas.
This lady in þe towr on high
Loked down and þe knyght sigh;
She toke a see risshe and threw down right,
Vpon the gretter ende it pight,
146
And toke vp þe risshe beffore his ffete,
And full trewly he than knewe
That þe lady down it threwe.
Then he longid, þe sothe to say,
Howe that he myght with her play;
Then he longid, þe sothe to say,
Howe that he myght with her play;
But euer more he held hym styll,
And thowght how he myght haue his will
Of that lady þat he ther sigh
In the towr that was so high.
On a tyme as they sat at the borde,
Bothe the knyght and the lorde,
“Sir, quod the knyght, j pray ye,
And thowght how he myght haue his will
Of that lady þat he ther sigh
In the towr that was so high.
On a tyme as they sat at the borde,
Bothe the knyght and the lorde,
“Sir, quod the knyght, j pray ye,
A place that ye will graunt me
To byld a chambre by your towr
Therin to dwell for your honowr.
Graunt me, sir, so god ye save,
That j may myn ease haue.”
“Sire, said the erle thoo,
That þou askeste j grant ther too,
To fulfill in all thynge,
That to me ys longyng.”
“Sir, quod the knyght, god thank you;
That you me love, j fele nowe.”
Carpenters were fett anon
And masons for to hewe þe ston.
A ffayre hows in that stede
The knyght anon arrered in dede.
Whan he had this hows made,
In his hart he was full glade.
Than he bethowght with what gyn
To byld a chambre by your towr
Therin to dwell for your honowr.
147
That j may myn ease haue.”
“Sire, said the erle thoo,
That þou askeste j grant ther too,
To fulfill in all thynge,
That to me ys longyng.”
“Sir, quod the knyght, god thank you;
That you me love, j fele nowe.”
Carpenters were fett anon
And masons for to hewe þe ston.
A ffayre hows in that stede
The knyght anon arrered in dede.
Whan he had this hows made,
In his hart he was full glade.
Than he bethowght with what gyn
That fayre lady for to wyn.
So it beffell that in the town
Dwellid a newe mason,
And comen he was from ferre Contre,
Ther was no slyer man than he.
The knyght that mason to hym fett,
And by his side he hym sett.
Than sayd this knyght to þe mason
“Thow art welcom to this town,
But, master mason, may j truste the
To tell to the my pryvyte?”
“Ye, sir, hardely your will ye say,
Ffor j you shall never bewray.”
“Thow seieste well, quod þe knyght anon,
I will the tell howe it moste gon.
Ther dwellith a lady in this towr
That me loveth paramowr,
And j for her am nere dede;
Master mason, canste thow any rede
To perce thorow this high towr,
And brynge adown þat lady flowr.
Me thynkith myn harte well breke,
Tyll that j may with her speke.
Master, canste thow any quayntyse,
An hole in this wall to devise
That j myght vp to her goo?
My love were thyn for euermoo.”
Than sayd the mason “hold you still,
And you shall spek with her your ffyll.”
The mason went home, and fett his toole,
And in the tour he made an hole,
That he and she both lowde and still
Might come togeder at ther will.
Whan the knyght knewe of this
He made myche joy and blis;
But he quytte evyll the masons seruyse
Ffor he hym slowgh for his quayntise.
The mason that helped hym therto,
So it beffell that in the town
Dwellid a newe mason,
148
Ther was no slyer man than he.
The knyght that mason to hym fett,
And by his side he hym sett.
Than sayd this knyght to þe mason
“Thow art welcom to this town,
But, master mason, may j truste the
To tell to the my pryvyte?”
“Ye, sir, hardely your will ye say,
Ffor j you shall never bewray.”
“Thow seieste well, quod þe knyght anon,
I will the tell howe it moste gon.
Ther dwellith a lady in this towr
That me loveth paramowr,
And j for her am nere dede;
Master mason, canste thow any rede
149
And brynge adown þat lady flowr.
Me thynkith myn harte well breke,
Tyll that j may with her speke.
Master, canste thow any quayntyse,
An hole in this wall to devise
That j myght vp to her goo?
My love were thyn for euermoo.”
Than sayd the mason “hold you still,
And you shall spek with her your ffyll.”
The mason went home, and fett his toole,
And in the tour he made an hole,
That he and she both lowde and still
Might come togeder at ther will.
Whan the knyght knewe of this
He made myche joy and blis;
150
Ffor he hym slowgh for his quayntise.
The mason that helped hym therto,
The knyght hym slewe whan he had do.
After that he went anon
After that he went anon
In to the towr made of ston,
And came ther this lady was;
She shone as bryght as any glas.
Whan she hym sigh, she made hym blis
And eyther other than gan kysse
For she thowght it was the knyght
And came ther this lady was;
She shone as bryght as any glas.
Whan she hym sigh, she made hym blis
And eyther other than gan kysse
For she thowght it was the knyght
That she dremed of vpon a nyght
She sayd “sire, welcome ye be”
And in this maner answered he:
“My love and my hertes ease,
God the save from disease.”
He toke her in his armes twoo
And dide all that he wold doo.
When they had do ther will,
A down went þe knyght full styll,
Ffor he wold not ther be ynome,
Whan his lorde vp shuld come,
And at ther departynge
This lady hym toke a good gold rynge,
And bade his hart shuld o[n] her stonde,
While he had it on his honde.
She sayd “sire, welcome ye be”
And in this maner answered he:
“My love and my hertes ease,
God the save from disease.”
151
And dide all that he wold doo.
When they had do ther will,
A down went þe knyght full styll,
Ffor he wold not ther be ynome,
Whan his lorde vp shuld come,
And at ther departynge
This lady hym toke a good gold rynge,
And bade his hart shuld o[n] her stonde,
While he had it on his honde.
Anon this knyght stopped all
The holes that were in the wall,
And went to his lorde anon
As sone as ever he myght gon,
And as they spoke of many a thynge,
The erle was ware of this rynge,
The holes that were in the wall,
And went to his lorde anon
As sone as ever he myght gon,
152
The erle was ware of this rynge,
On the knyghtes fynger as it was;
Than was the erle in sory caas,
Than was the erle in sory caas,
For he had geven to his lady
This rynge for gret love trewly,
Wherfor he wondred myche tho,
How this knyght was come ther to;
But he was so well bethowght
This rynge for gret love trewly,
Wherfor he wondred myche tho,
How this knyght was come ther to;
But he was so well bethowght
That to the knyght he sayd nowght.
He thowght his lyff was nygh gon,
Tyll he to his lady come
To wytt wher this rynge was.
The knyght was ware of that caas,
To the lady he went anon,
And was ther affore þe erle come;
Anon the rynge he to her caste,
And went a down jn gret haste.
Sone after the erle, her lorde, come,
And for the rynge he asked anon,
And in what estate that she were
By herself to leve ther.
She sayd “sire, right nowght for sothe,
This dwellyng lytill good it dothe,
Thus alone ffrom all men
To wytt wher this rynge was.
The knyght was ware of that caas,
153
And was ther affore þe erle come;
Anon the rynge he to her caste,
And went a down jn gret haste.
Sone after the erle, her lorde, come,
And for the rynge he asked anon,
And in what estate that she were
By herself to leve ther.
She sayd “sire, right nowght for sothe,
This dwellyng lytill good it dothe,
Thus alone ffrom all men
In good estate how shuld j be then?
Why axe ye sir, sayd this lady,
As ye me leve, tell me whye?”
“Dame, sayd the erle tho,
Ffor good love j it do,
Ffor j wold not day ne nyght
That any man shuld do to þe vnright.
Why axe ye sir, sayd this lady,
As ye me leve, tell me whye?”
“Dame, sayd the erle tho,
Ffor good love j it do,
Ffor j wold not day ne nyght
That any man shuld do to þe vnright.
154
My swete byrde and my derlynge,
May j se that same rynge
That j vnto your new yeres gift gaff?”
“Ye, sire, she sayd, it is ffull saff;
May j se that same rynge
That j vnto your new yeres gift gaff?”
“Ye, sire, she sayd, it is ffull saff;
Loo it is here ffast by
At your will all redye.”
The rynge of gold she tok her lorde
At your will all redye.”
The rynge of gold she tok her lorde
Betwen them two than was accorde.
Myche wondred the erle of this,
Myche wondred the erle of this,
The rynge he toke agayn ywis,
155
And he lay with her that nyght
Ffor joye of the rynges sight.
In morowe he rose anon,
Down of the towr he gan gon,
Right anon to þe chirch he wente,
And after that knyght he sente.
The knyght anon his way nome,
The erle sayd he was welcome.
“An hontyng we will in to þe foreste
To take ther som wild beste.”
Nay, sire, sayde the [knyght] thoo,
With you may j not go,
Ffor j haue harde a newe tydynge
Whiche is to me right good lykynge:
In my contrey, it is no lesse,
My frendes haue made my pees.
Down of the towr he gan gon,
Right anon to þe chirch he wente,
And after that knyght he sente.
The knyght anon his way nome,
The erle sayd he was welcome.
“An hontyng we will in to þe foreste
To take ther som wild beste.”
Nay, sire, sayde the [knyght] thoo,
With you may j not go,
Ffor j haue harde a newe tydynge
Whiche is to me right good lykynge:
156
My frendes haue made my pees.
Suche tydynges they haue me browght,
My lady that me wide hath sowght.
Home j moste to my Contre,
Therfor, sire, for charyte,
That ye wold with me dyne this day;
My lady with you shall sytt, parffay,”
My lady that me wide hath sowght.
Home j moste to my Contre,
Therfor, sire, for charyte,
That ye wold with me dyne this day;
My lady with you shall sytt, parffay,”
“Gladly, sayd þe erle, by Mary,
I will her bere Companye.
I will her bere Companye.
Your lady and you bothe this day,
I will you chere as well as j may.”
Whan it is tyme, send after me,
I will you chere as well as j may.”
Whan it is tyme, send after me,
And gladly j will come to the.”
The while þe erle an hontyng was,
157
Besyar than he no man was,
The knyght his hows gan dight
The knyght his hows gan dight
With all the riches that he myght,
With clothes of golde that ryche be,
And dyueris metes gret plente,
And after into the towr he went,
Ther was that lady fayre and gent,
He browght her down in to his hows,
As hit had been his own spouse.
With clothes of golde that ryche be,
And dyueris metes gret plente,
And after into the towr he went,
Ther was that lady fayre and gent,
He browght her down in to his hows,
As hit had been his own spouse.
He lett do of her robe anon
That she ffirst hade vpon,
He clothed her in þe gise of his contrey,
Suche was ther never say,
That she ffirst hade vpon,
He clothed her in þe gise of his contrey,
Suche was ther never say,
On her ffyngers he made do on
Rynges withe stones many on,
Her hed he dressed wondreliche
With garlandes, kyrcheves, and stones riche,
Rynges withe stones many on,
158
With garlandes, kyrcheves, and stones riche,
That her lorde ne non other wight
Shuld her know well a right.
Shuld her know well a right.
The knyght ffett þe erle anon,
And made hym wasshe with his lemon,
And afterward togeder them sett,
He made his wiff his own bett.
The erle her chered and well wente he
That she hade ben of þe knyghtes contre.
All the while he by her was,
He behelde her in the face,
And made hym wasshe with his lemon,
And afterward togeder them sett,
He made his wiff his own bett.
The erle her chered and well wente he
159
All the while he by her was,
He behelde her in the face,
He thowght she loked lyke his wyff,
That he loved as his lyff,
But that lady in all caas
To hym made right gret solas.
She bade hym ete and be glad,
But ever he satt as he were made,
That he loved as his lyff,
But that lady in all caas
To hym made right gret solas.
She bade hym ete and be glad,
But ever he satt as he were made,
160
But he thowght pryvyliche
That many a woman was oþer liche.
161
Whan they hade eten and don,
The erle asked leve to gon;
Longe he thowght þat he was ther,
Of his lady he was in ffere,
Longe he thowght þat he was ther,
Of his lady he was in ffere,
Whan the erle home went,
The knyght toke that lady gent,
And dide her tyre anon,
And caste her own rayment her vpon;
The kyght was sotill and slye,
And browght her in to þe towr on hye.
Vnneth the knyght was gon,
But that þe erle in come;
Anon he loked ffaste in hye,
And fonde his lady ther redy;
Than was he in hart gladde,
That beffore was nygh madde.
He thowght she was like his lady,
That at mete satt hym by;
Therfor he lay ther that nyght,
Tyll on the morow þe day was light.
The knyght toke that lady gent,
And dide her tyre anon,
And caste her own rayment her vpon;
The kyght was sotill and slye,
And browght her in to þe towr on hye.
162
But that þe erle in come;
Anon he loked ffaste in hye,
And fonde his lady ther redy;
Than was he in hart gladde,
That beffore was nygh madde.
He thowght she was like his lady,
That at mete satt hym by;
Therfor he lay ther that nyght,
Tyll on the morow þe day was light.
The knyght had a ship all yare,
Shipmen ynowe ther in þer ware,
Anon he dide to shipe brynge
His armure and all his oþer thynge
That he had in that Castell;
And was shipped ffayre and well.
Shipmen ynowe ther in þer ware,
Anon he dide to shipe brynge
His armure and all his oþer thynge
163
And was shipped ffayre and well.
The erle to chirche on þe morow went,
Whan that god hym tyme sent;
Whan that god hym tyme sent;
The knyght went vp in to þe towr,
And browght down that lady fflowr,
And browght down that lady fflowr,
Well reparayled at his devise,
Of her he thowght a gret pryse.
He ledde her to the erle blyve
Of her he thowght a gret pryse.
He ledde her to the erle blyve
And badde hym geve her to his wyve,
164
Ffor she loved hym beffore,
He her loved myche the more.
Than sayd the erle with good will
Than sayd the erle with good will
“All thy desyre j shall fulfill.”
And he toke his wyff blyve,
And gaff to þe knyght to wyve.
The preste was redy anon tho,
And wedded them togeder both two.
Whan the masse was come to ende,
They toke leve ffor to wende.
He ladde þat lady with solas
To the haven ther þe shippe was.
And gaff to þe knyght to wyve.
The preste was redy anon tho,
And wedded them togeder both two.
Whan the masse was come to ende,
They toke leve ffor to wende.
He ladde þat lady with solas
To the haven ther þe shippe was.
165
The erle toke that lady bryght
By þe honde and toke her to þe knyght,
The knyght toke that lady then
And said “gramarcy, sir, by all men.”
And said “gramarcy, sir, by all men.”
The shippe in haste went a way,
Ther the erle his wiff laste say.
Ther the erle his wiff laste say.
Whan the knyght was gon,
The erle went forthe anon
Vnto the towr full right
To speke with his lady bright.
Whan þat he cam vp an hye,
The erle went forthe anon
Vnto the towr full right
To speke with his lady bright.
166
His lady no thynge þer he sye.
He began to crye and wepe sore,
He began to crye and wepe sore,
He wyste not what to do more.
To late wisedom he began,
Therfor hym skorned many a man,
Therfor hym skorned many a man,
And so do ye, for sothe ywys,
Wherof in londe myche wondre is,
That ye will triste so myche your wiff
Ffor to bynyme your sone his lyff.
Ffor to bynyme your sone his lyff.
To morow ye shall the sothe ffonge.
Who hath þe right and who þe wronge.”
167
Than sayd þe emprowr “j the thanke,
Whan j knowe who hath þe wranke,
He shall passe by the dome
That we nowe vse in Rome.”
That we nowe vse in Rome.”
“To morow, quod þe master, he shall tell
Why the empryse wold hym quell.”
“That j desyre, sayd the kynge
Why the empryse wold hym quell.”
“That j desyre, sayd the kynge
More than any other thynge.”
168
The child was kepte as it beffell.
Whan þe empryse this hath harde,
Full sore than she was afferde,
Whan that child speke shuld,
To shame he her brynge wold.
The emprowr lett not for that,
He went to bedde in good estate;
All nyght he lay by his wyff,
But she was dredfull of her lyff.
In morowe rose the emprowr
From his bed in gret honowr,
To chirche he went and harde masse
With his meynye more and lasse;
Erles, barons, and knyghtes,
To cowrt They com anon rightes,
169
To here þe emprowrs son speke.
The childes masters euerychon,
Thether they com right anon.
Whan don was all the masse,
The emprowr to cowrt gan passe,
And bade men shuld his son brynge
Beffore hym withowt tarynge.
Ffull well the child was dight,
His colowr was ffayre and bryght,
They browght þe child in to þe place
Right beffore his ffaders face.
The noyse of folk was very gret,
Therfor he wold not spek yet.
Whan the folk were all still,
Than he myght be harde well,
170
“Ffader haue on me marcye!
Thow shalt knowe, yf thow wilt,
Why þe empryse me wold haue spilte.
A gret reason j haue for me
Why j wold not speke to the.
Myself and my masters all
Sye that it was lyk to fall,
Yf j hade spoken or this,
Anon j had be dede, ywis,
Ffor ye wold haue don by me
171
Þat his son in to the see threwe
Ffor a Cawse þe whiche he knewe,
Ffor he sayd he shuld be richar knowen
Than ever his fader was beforn.”
Than sayd the emprowr “my son dere,
Thy tale fayn wold j here.
Tell on, son, j pray þe, Anon,
As thy masters beffore haue don.
Euerych hath told a tale for the
By cawse thow shuldest not dede be.”
“Sir, sayde þe child, j shall you tell,
And no thynge to you lye j nell.” Fflorentes tale of þe two crowes and drenchyng of the childe.
“Ther was a man in this Contre
That hade a child, full wise was he,
172
A jentyll child and eke bolde.
So on a day his ffader and he
Togeder sayled in to the see.
When they in þe see were lende,
Two crowes satt on þe shippes ende,
And so wondrely they longe gradde,
That myche mervayll all they hadde.
Than sayd þe fader as he satt,
“Lorde, what betokneth all that,
That the crowes so longe crye?
I know not what it may signyfye.”
Than sayd his son to hym ywis
“I know, fader, what þer crying is.
They synge thus in ther stevyn
That with þe grace of god in hevyn
173
That with your eyen ye shall se,
That ye shall be redy ther to,
Yf j will suffre you it to do,
Whan j shall wasshe to hold þe basyn,
While men giff me water þerin.
And yet they synge more of me,
As j shall now tell the:
That my moder, withowt fayll,
To me shall hold the towayll.”
Than was the fader full wrothe,
Anon his son was to hym lothe,
And sayd to hym “sone, shalt thow
Be of more degre than j am nowe?”
“Ye, sir, he sayd, for sothe, ywis,
The Crowes synge þat trewth it is.”
The ffader was in a badde thowght,
And thowght his son to bryng to nowght;
Anon he caste hym in to the see,
174
Whan the child was in the flode,
He eyled no thynge but goode,
But jn all that he myght do,
Jesu Criste he called to;
And after that full sone
Owr lorde harde the childes bone,
Thorow his swete holy grace
Browght hym to a drye place,
Vpon a roche þat nygh hym was.
Ffowr dayes ther he was,
He had no Comfort of no thynge,
But wild fowles þat he harde synge,
That sayd to hym in ther songe
“Child, thynk not this tym longe,
Ffor god hath harde thy bone
And the he will helpe full sone.”
Anon after as it was godes will,
The see was bothe fayre and still,
175
And sone þat yonge child he sigh;
Anon he toke hym in to his bote,
Glad he was of hym, god wote.
He ladde hym to a castell stronge,
Thirty myle thens longe,
And ther he solde this child full well
To the constable of the castell.
Whan he had the child bowght,
Into the castell he hym browght,
Therin to dwell all his lyff.
He loved hym well, so dide his wyff.
In that tyme þer was a kynge,
That was in full gret mornynge,
Ffor iij ravens þat on hym gradde,
That nyght ne day no pees he hade.
He myght nother ride ne gon,
But euer they Cryed hym vpon.
176
Wondred why it shuld be.
On a tyme the kyng bethowght
And his cownsayll togeder he browght,
Ffor to haue some wysyng
What myght betoken that gretyng.
Thyder com both baron and knyght
And many a squyre full well dight;
The Constable of the castell
To the Cowrt com, the sothe to tell;
The child prayed his master tho,
That he myght with hym go.
The master sayd “so mot j the,
Gladly thow shalt go with me.”
The kynges will for to here
Fforth they went bothe in ffere.
Whan they were to cowrt com,
The barony all and some,
The kyng than vp stode
Amonge all his lordes in still mode,
177
Can tell the sothe nowe
Why thes rauens make this Crye,
I will hym for euer avauncy.
He shall haue half my londe,
And my ffayre dowghter by the honde,
Ffor to haue her to his wyff,
And all my londe after my lyff.”
Whan the kynge had sayd his will,
All the baronye satt full still;
Non of them that were ther
Therof cowld gyve hym non answere.
Than sayd the child prevyly
To his master full wisely
“Yf j myght speke with the kynge,
I wolde hym tell his askynge.”
178
As sone as he myght gon
“I haue a childe, sir kynge,
That will tell you your askynge,
Yf ye will gyf hym your dowghter to wif
And all your londe after your lyff.”
“Yes, sayd þe kynge, and more wyth all,
Ffor he shall haue my goodes all,
With that j may the sothe see
What this mervayll myght be.”
Than stode vp the child anon
Beffore the barons euerychone,
Hym behelde baron and knyght,
For he was of hewe bryght.
“Lordynges, he sayd, echon,
Ye se the rauen þat sittith alone:
179
Ther of siker may ye be;
And ye see the other twey,
Ffor sothe tercellis bothe be they.
This stryff hath laste yore,
Therfor þe lesse Crieth on þe more.
The gretter rauen þat yonder js
The formaylle beffore had ywis.
So it beffell this other yere
That all thyng was full dere,
Therfor he forsoke her tho,
And she wyste not wheþer to go.
Whan he had her forsake,
The yonge rauen her tok to make,
And hath her kepte to this day.
Ffor no thyng he will let her a way,
180
Who shall her trewe make be.
Whan they know who shall be þer make,
Ther flight a way they will take.
And anon by the barons assent
The kyng gaff rightfull jugement,
And said he shuld her take,
And kepe her þat was her make,
In dere tyme that her toke,
Whan her firste mak her forsoke.
181
Harde the Dome yeven so,
He made a gret Crye anon
Wher at they wondred euerychon,
And in gret sorow he flewe away,
And never after non man hym say.
The other raven and his make
An other way he gan take,
And ever as they dide fflo,
They made eyther other gle.
Whan the kyng had sene this,
He made myche joy and blis.
Anon beffore the barons all,
That were than in the hall,
182
And his seruyse well he quytt.
As his first covenant was
The kyng it helde in euery caas.
His dowghter by the honde he nome,
And gaf her to þe child with half his kyngdom,
And whan he shuld forgo his lyff,
He gaff all to hym and to his wyff.
Vpon a day þe child bethowght
Vpon his fader þat hym vp browght
And also on his moder dere,
That in pouerte ffallen were,
And of þer londe they com sone,
And in to ther sonnes londe they com,
183
And they it wyste no thynge.
Ther they levyd after longe,
And full lytill they had to vnderfonge.
On a tyme the kynge esspied that,
Wher they dwellid and in what estate,
Two seriantes he called anon,
And badde them jn to the town gon
To aske after suche a man
That newe to the town cam
Ffrom ferre contrey þer to won,
That hight Gerard noryses sone.
“Yf ye may fynd hym ther,
Byd them make þer chambre yare,
With hym j will to morow dyne
Wyth two knyghtes or thre of myne.”
184
Thether as þer lorde them sent,
And sayd withowt lesynge
“You greteth well owr lorde þe kynge
By vs twayn þat be com in fere,
That to morow he will dyne here.”
“My leve brother, sayd he,
Welcom shall be þe kynge to me,
But in hart j am sory
That j haue no thynge redy,
That me behoveth in all thynge
For to serve with suche a kynge.
All that j haue, lowde and still,
Shall be at the kynges will.”
185
His fader sayd “welcom be your grace.”
Anon as he was down light,
His fader hym lade in anon right.
Anon he wisshe his hondes ther
In water which was fayre and clere;
His knyghtes gaff water to hym,
His ffader wold haue holden þe basyn,
But he wolde not in no manere
Suffre that it so were.
Than cam his moder, withowt fayle,
And browght forthe a ffayre towayll
To wipe his hondes after his wasshynge,
But he wold not suffre her for no thynge.
186
The towayle to the kynge dide bere.
Whan this wassheyng was all don,
The kyng to his fader spak sone:
“Sire, he said, now ffallen ys,
As j to you sayd or this,
Whan j spak with you laste
And was in to the ssee caste;
Ffor j sayd j shuld be
Richar man than ever were ye.”
Whan his fader herde this,
Sore he was afferde, ywis,
To be hangid and to drawe,
Or with som oþer payn slawe.
But not for that they mad them glad
With suche deyntes as they had.
187
Withowt reason ye wold haue slayn me
I haue ben in paynes stronge
And all together it was wronge
No more gilty j than he
That was caste in to the see.
Thowgh j com to more honowr
Then ye be in now, father emprowr,
I will you never the more greve;
Ther of ye may me well beleve.
Nother for erneste ne for game,
I will never wayte you no shame;
188
Desired j shuld haue layn her by,
And for j wold not fulfill
Her desyre and wykkyd will,
Herselfe she all totare ywis,
And bare in hond þat j dide this.
All that she dide in her owtrage
To put me from myn herytage.
Withowt gilt j shuld haue ben slayn,
Which had ben agayn þe lawe sertayn.
Rather j wold to deth haue gon
Than j that dede wold haue don.
God it wote and owr lady,
I badde her never vylany,
But she me had bewyched soo
That had j spok a worde or twoo
Or that this day had be com,
My lyff than she had nome.
Of her self ye shall spye
That j here of no worde lye.”
“Ys this soth?” sayd þe emperrowr then.
“Ye sire, he sayd, by all men.”
The Emperowr sent for þe emperres
And chargid her to tell how it was.
She knowledged in all thynge
Þat she wold fayn his son to deth brynge,
189
Wherfor j am now in dispayre;
And also sore j drede me
That he wold haue distroyed the,
Whan he to his age had come,
And haue dreven þe owt of Rome
And vndo all thyn honowr
And haue made hym self emperowre
Ffor this it was in my thought
That j wold hym to deth haue browght.
My lorde, on knees j pray the,
This gilt þat thow wilt forgeve me.”
“Nay, said þe emprowr, by god almyght,
I shall neuer forgeve the right.
All thy knelyng is for nowght;
By hym that me dere hath bowght,
190
As thow to hym haddeste ment.
Thow art beknowen affore vs all,
Therfor a fowle deth on the shall fall.”
The emperrowr called his tormentowrs,
And comaundyd with gret furowrs
To bynd her fast to a stake,
And than a ffyre abowt her make,
And brenne her for [t]he treason
Þa she dide to my son withowt reason.
This was done with good will,
And they stode never longe still.
They made a fyre clere and bright,
That was in many a mannes sight;
191
Which she was bownd to full harde;
Than she right sore bowght
The treason þat she beffore had sowght.
In what Contrey þat man doth wende,
Ever flashede hath evyll ende.
Fflorent was ladde with gret honour
With his ffather into þe towr,
And lyved ther yeres longe
In gret welth and myrth amonge.
His masters had for ther lore
And that they wold aske and more.
After his fader he was kynge,
And had right good endyng.
192
In heven that we may haue a place,
And so j hope hade Florentyne,
Godes blessyng mot ye haue and myne,
And that it may ever so be
Amen, Amen, ffor charyte!
Thus endith of the vij sages of Rome which was drawen
owt of crownycles and owt of wrytyng of old men and many
a notable tale is therin as ye beffore sayde.
Quod Richard Hill.
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