University of Virginia Library

THE TOURNAMENT.

I.

Enter a Herald.
Herald.
The tournament begins; the hammers sound,
The coursers run about the measured field;
The shimmering armour throws its sheen around;
Quaint fancies are depicted on each shield.
The fiery helmets, with the wreaths amield,
Support the ramping lioncel or bear,
With strange devices, Nature may not yield,
Unseemly to all order doth appear,
Yet that to men, who think and have a sprite,
Make knowen that the phantasies unright.

II.

[Herald]
I, son of honour, 'spenser of her joys,
Must quickly go to give the spears around;
With aventayle and borne I men employ,
Who without me would fall unto the ground.
So the tall oak the ivy twisteth round,
So the nesh flow'r grows in the woodland shade.
The world by difference is in order found,
Without unlikeness nothing could be made;
As in the bowke naught only can be done,
So in the weal of kind all things are parts of one.

III.

Enter Sir Simon de Bourtonne.
[Sir Simon de Bourtonne]
Herald, by heav'n, these tilters stay too long,
My phantasy is dying for the fight;
The minstrels have begun the third war-song,
Yet not a spear of them doth greet my sight.
I fear there be no man worthy my might.
I lack a Guid, a William to entilt.
To run against a feeble-bodied knight,
It gets no glory if his blood be spilt.
By heaven and Mary, it is time they're here.
I like not idly thus to wield the spear.

IV.

Her.
Methinks I hear their slogan's din from far.

Bour.
Ah! soon my shield and tilting-lance are bound;
Eftsoons command my Squyër to the war.
I fly before to claim a challenge-ground.

[Exit.
Her.
Thy valorous acts would many men astound,
Hard is their fate encountering thee in fight;
Against all men, thou bearest to the ground,
Like the hard hail doth the tall rushes pight.
As when the morning-sun doth drink the dew,
So do thy valorous acts drink each knight's hue.

V.

The Lists. Enter the King, Syrr Symonne de Bourtonne, Syrr Hugo Ferraris, Syrr Ranulph Neville, Syrr Lodovick de Clynton, Syrr Johan de Berghamme, and other Knights, Heralds, Minstrels, and Servitors.
King.
The barganette! ye minstrels, tune the string,
Some action dire of ancient kings now sing.

VI.

Minst.
William, the Norman's flower, but England's thorn,
The man whose might activity had knit,
Snatched up his long strung bow and shield aborne,
Commanding all his hommageres to fight.
Go, rouse the lion from his secret den,
Let thy floes drink the blood of anything but men.

VII.

[Minst.]
In the treed forest do the knights appear,
William with might his bow en-iron'd plies;
Loud dins the arrow in the wolfin's ear;
He riseth battent, roars, he pants, he dies;
Forslagen at thy feet let wolfins be,
Let thy floes drink their blood, but do not brethren sle.

VIII.

[Minst.]
Through the mirk shade of twisting trees he rides,
The frighted owlet flaps her eve-specked wing,
The lording toad in all his passes bides;
The pois'nous adders at him dart the sting.
Still, still he passes on, his steed a-strod,
Nor heeds the dangerous way if leading unto blood.

IX.

[Minst.]
The lioncel, from sultry countries brought,
Couching beneath the shelter of the briar,
At coming din doth raise himself distraught,
He looketh with an eye of flames of fire.
Go, stick the lion to his secret den,
Let thy floes drink the blood of anything but men.

X.

[Minst.]
With pacing step the lion moves along,
William his iron-woven bow he bends,
With might alych the rolling thunder strong,
The lion in a roar his sprite forth sends.
Go, slay the lion in his blood-stained den,
But be thine arrow dry from blood of other men.

XI.

[Minst.]
Swift from the thicket starts the stag away,
The couraciers as swift do after fly.
He leapeth high, he stands, he keeps at bay,
But meets the arrow, and eftsoons doth die.
Forslagen at thy foot let wild beasts be,
Let thy floes drink their blood, yet do not brethren sle.

XII.

[Minst.]
With murder tired, he slings his bow alyne.
The stag is ouch'd with crowns of lily flowers.
Around their helms they green vert do entwine,
Joying and revelous in the greenwood bowers.
Forslagen with thy flo let wild beasts be,
Feast thee upon their flesh, do not thy brethren sle.

XIII.

King.
Now to the tourney; who will first affray?

Her.
Nevylle, a baron, be that honour thine.

Bour.
I claim the passage.

Nev.
I contest thy way.

Bour.
Then there's my gauntlet on my gaberdine.

Her.
A lawful challenge, knights and champions digne,
A lawful challenge! Let the slogan sound. [Sir Simon and Nevylle tilt.

Nevylle is going, man and horse, to ground. [Nevylle falls.

My lords, how doughtily the tilters join!
Ye champions, here Symonne de Bourtonne fights,
One hath he quash'd; assail him, O ye knights.

XIV.

Fer.
I will against him go. My squire, my shield!
Or one or other will do mickle scethe;
Before I do depart the listed field,
Myself or Bourtonne hereupon will blethe.
My shield!

Bour.
Come on, and fit thy tilt-lance ethe.
When Bourtonne fights, he meets a doughty foe. [They tilt. Ferraris falls.

He falleth; now, by heaven, thy wounds do smethe;
I fear me, I have wrought thee mickle wo.

Her.
Bourtonne his second beareth to the field.
Come on, ye knights, and win the honour'd shield.

XV.

Bergh.
I take the challenge; squire, my lance and steed.
I, Bourtonne, take the gauntlet; for me stay.
But, if thou fightest me, thou shalt have meed.
Some other I will champion to affray;
Perchance from them I may possess the day,
Then shall I be a foeman for thy spear.
Herald, unto the ranks of knightès say,
De Berghamme waiteth for a foeman here.

Clin.
But long thou shalt not 'tend. I do thee 'fy;
Like foraying levin shall my tilt-lance fly.

[Berghamme and Clinton tilt. Clinton falls.

XVI.

Bergh.
Now, now, sir knight, attour thy beaver'd eyne,
I have borne down, and eft do gauntlet thee.
Quickly begin, and wryn thy fate or mine,
If thou discomfit, it will doubly be.

[Bourtonne and Berghamme tilt. Berghamme falls.
Her.
Symonne de Bourtonne now hath borne down three,
And by the third had honour of a fourth.
Let him be set aside, till he doth see
A tilting for a knight of gentle worth.
Here come strange knightès, and, if courteous they,
It well beseems to give them right of fray.

XVII.

1st Kn.
Strangers we be, and humbly do we claim
The honour in this tourney for to tilt;
Thereby to prove from cravens our good name,
Bewraying that we gentle blood have spilt.

Her.
Ye knights, of courtesy these strangers say,
Be ye full willing for to give them fray?

[Five Knights tilt with the strange Knight, and are all overthrown.

XVIII.

Bour.
Now, by Saint Mary, if on all the field
Y-crased spears and helmets were besprent,
If every knight did hold a piercèd shield,
If all the field with champions' blood were stent,
Yet to encounter him I am content.
Another lance, Marshal, another lance.
Albeit he with flames of fire y-brent,
Yet Bourtonne would against his val advance.
Five now have fallen down beneath his spear,
But he shall be the next that falleth here.

XIX.

[Bour.]
By thee, Saint Mary, and thy Son I swear,
That in what place yon doughty knight shall fall
Beneath the strong push of my outstretched spear,
There shall arise a holy church's wall,
The which in honour, I will Mary call,
With pillars large, and spire full high and round,
And this I faithfully will stand to all,
If yonder stranger falleth to the ground.
Stranger, be boune; I champion you to war;
Sound, sound the slogans, to be heard from far.

[Bourtonne and the Stranger fight. Stranger falls.

XX.

King.
The morning-tilts now cease.

Her.
Bourtonne is king.
Display the English banner on the tent.
Round him, ye minstrels, songs of achments sing.
Ye heralds, gather up the spears besprent;
To king of tourney-tilt be all knees bent.
Dames fair and gentle, for your loves he fought;
For you the long tilt-lance, the sword he shent;
He jousted, having only you in thought.
Come, minstrels, sound the string, go on each side,
Whilst he unto the king in state doth ride.

XXI.

Minst.
When Battle, smoking with new quickened gore,
Bending with spoils and bloody dropping head,
Did the dark wood of ease and rest explore,
Seeking to lie on Pleasure's downy bed,
Pleasure, dancing from her wood,
Wreath'd with flowers of eglantine,
From his visage washed the blood,
Hid his sword and gaberdine.

XXII.

[Minst.]
With such an eye she sweetly him did view,
Did so y-corven every shape to joy,
His sprite did change unto another hue,
His arms, nor spoils, might any thoughts employ.
All delightsome and content,
Fire enshooting from his eyne,
In his arms he did her hent,
As the night-shade doth entwine.

XXIII.

[Minst.]
So, if thou lovest Pleasure and her train,
Unknowledging in what place her to find,
This rule y-spende, and in thy mind retain;
Seek Honour first, and Pleasure lies behind.