THE CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH 
 POETS -***=^^ mted&> 
 
 Jessie L.Weston **] 
 
Wmtll Iftmvmitg ptag 
 
 PROM THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 FISKE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE BEQUEST OF 
 
 Millard 3Ftske 
 
 Librarian of the University 1868-1883 
 1905 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 1203.W53 1914 
 
 The chief Middle English poets; selected 
 
 3 1924 013 293 588 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013293588 
 
THE CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
THE CHIEF 
 
 MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 g>electeti ^oemjs 
 
 NEWLY RENDERED AND EDITED, WITH NOTES 
 AND BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES 
 
 BY 
 
 JESSIE L. WESTON 
 
 BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 <E\)t KtoerstSe JJreas CarairtSp 
 
 f\ 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY JESSIE L. WESTON 
 ALL RIGHTS . RESERVED 
 
 tEbe JUbecSflre JSresa 
 
 CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 U.S.* 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The selection of texts to be included in this volume has been a matter of much 
 careful consideration. I already possessed a fist of works of the period, drawn up 
 for my guidance by Professor Schofield; a questionnaire, circulated by Messrs. 
 Houghton Mifflin Company among the leading professors of English literature in 
 America, brought forth numerous valuable additional suggestions; finally, I referred 
 the list of translations, then practically completed, to Professor W. P. Ker, who, 
 on his part, suggested other additions. The collection may thus claim to be fairly 
 ' representative of the best American and English opinion, and as such will, it is hoped, 
 meet the requirements of the majority of students of our common literature. 
 
 But if I have been guided by others in the choice of the texts, for the manner in 
 which they are presented I am myself responsible. It has seemed to me desirable 
 to give the poems as much as possible in their entirety, or, that being impracticable, 
 in complete and representative episodes. I am, and always have been, strongly of 
 opinion that to compile such a manual as the present on the lines of short extracts 
 only results in inflicting injustice alike on the student and on the author. I have at 
 present before me a work designed for the use of students of English literature, where 
 Amis and Amiloun and Sir Tristrem are represented by five and a half stanzas 
 allotted to each, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and Pearl by three and a few lines, 
 breaking off in the midst of a section; in one case not even at a full stop! Is it pos- 
 sible for any student to form an opinion of the style and merits of an author from 
 such a collection of " shreds and patches"? Or is it fair to such poets as, for example, 
 Layamon, or the author of Pearl, to present them in such a mutilated form? On the 
 other hand, the continued utility of such compilations as those of Ritson and Weber, 
 which, in spite of their age (both have been published for more than a century) and 
 many critical imperfections, are still consulted by scholars, seems to me an argument 
 in favor of printing the complete texts. 
 
 So far as possible the collection has been arranged to include all the principal 
 branches of English mediaeval literature; in the "Chronicles" section special atten- 
 tion has been given to Layamon, both on account of the real poetical merit of his 
 work, and also for its critical interest. As is well known, his account of the found- 
 ing of the Round Table is unique, and of extreme value as throwing light upon the 
 character of Arthurian tradition before it came under the influence of the ideals 
 of chivalric romance. Again, Arthur's dream as related here should be compared 
 with the version of the Thornton Marie Arthure, given in my volume entitled Ro- 
 mance, Vision, and Satire (Boston, 1912). Layamon's version is distinctly the more 
 vigorous and dramatic. It is interesting, too, to compare his account of the closing 
 scenes of Arthur's life, and his testimony to the persistent belief of the folk in the 
 hero's return, with the more polished version of the same themes given in the Har- 
 leian M. A.; both are fine, but there is a note of poignant reality and regret in Laya- 
 mon's fines which seem to place the writer in a closer and more intimate relation 
 
vi PREF/.CZ 
 
 with his theme; we may suspect that the Saxon priest of the twelfth century was not 
 altogether disinclined to share the belief of the folk among whom he lived, while to 
 the unknown poet of the fourteenth century Arthur was a poetic tradition, and no 
 more. 
 
 The "Introduction," given from each of the "Chronicles," throws an interesting 
 light on the aim and purpose (indirectly also on the personality) of the writers, and 
 the sources they employed. 
 
 The "Legendaries" form so important a section of our mediaeval literature, and 
 were so active a factor in the instruction and edification of our forefathers, that it 
 seemed well they should be fully represented. Saint Dunstan and Saint Thomas 
 were included in my original scheme; they are of historical interest, and, in the 
 case of the latter, of decided literary merit. On the advice of Professor Ker I have 
 added Saint Brandon, which affords a notable example of the Wonder-Voyage, a 
 favorite theme in all literatures; examples of the Northern Legendary, and Lives of 
 the Saints in their earlier and independent form. Of the "Romances" here given, 
 Amis and Amiloun and Arthur and Merlin were added as the result of the question- 
 naire, and Syr PercyveUe on the suggestion of Professor Ker; this romance is so inter- 
 esting a factor in the criticism of the evolution of an important romantic cycle that 
 it is as well to render it more easily accessible than it is at present. 
 
 To the section devoted to works of edification I have added the Bestiary, on my 
 own initiative, as its quaint lore has so strongly colored mediaeval art and teaching. 
 
 The "Lyrical and Religious" section has grown with the progress of the work; in 
 looking up isolated texts, I frequently, in the same volume, came across poems which 
 seemed to me too good to be omitted from our collection. As it stands now I hope it 
 may be found fairly representative of the different branches of a singularly rich and 
 varied literature, and as / such receive the kindly welcome of scholars. 
 
 In conclusion, my thanks are due to all those scholars who, by advice and sugges- 
 tion, have contributed towards the formation and completion of the work; I only 
 trust that, in the form it has finally assumed, it may prove to them of enduring inter- 
 est and utility. 
 
 J. L. W. 
 
 Pabis, December, 1918. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 HISTORICAL 
 
 Latamon 1 
 
 Introduction 1 
 
 King Leir 1 
 
 The Founding of the Round Table 11 
 
 The Passing of Arthur 13 
 
 Robert of Gloucester's Chronicle 20 
 
 Introduction 20 
 
 Robert op Brunne's Chronicle . . . . — 25 
 
 Introduction 25 
 
 Barbour's Bruce 26 
 
 Introduction 26 
 
 In Praise of Freedom 27 
 
 James of Douglas 27 
 
 How the Bruce crossed Loch Lomond 28 
 
 How Aymer de Valence, and John of Lorn chased the Bruce with Hound and Horn . 29 
 
 How King Robert was hunted by the Sleuth-Hound 31 
 
 Lament for King Edward I • . . 32 
 
 LEGENDARIES 
 
 The Life of Saint Dunstan 37 
 
 The Death of Saint Thomas X Becket 41 
 
 Saint Brandan , 57 
 
 Saint Cecilia 72 
 
 Placidas (Saint Eustace) 78 
 
 Owain Miles 83 
 
 Owain's Visit to Paradise 83 
 
 ROMANCES, 
 
 King Horn 93 
 
 Havelok the Dane 110 
 
 Arthur and Merlin 119 
 
 The Choosing of Arthur 119 
 
 Richard Cceur de Lion 123 
 
 His Parentage 123 
 
 How Richard won the Name of Cceur de Lion 126 
 
 Sir Orfeo 133 
 
 Sir Tristrem 141 
 
 Amis and Amiloun 174 
 
 Sir Launfal 204 
 
 Sir Amadace 216 
 
 ywain and gawain ... 228 
 
 The Winning of the Lady of the Fountain 228 
 
 Syr Percyvelle of Galles 236 
 
 Sir Lancelot 262 
 
 The Maid of Ascolot 262 
 
 The Death of Arthur 269 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 TALES 
 
 The Fox and the Wolf 275 
 
 The Land op Cockaigne 279 
 
 The Seven Sages op Rome 281 
 
 Tale II 281 
 
 Tale XI 283 
 
 PROVERBIAL AND DIDACTIC 
 
 Precepts of Alfred 289 
 
 The Proverbs of Hendtnge -. 294 
 
 The Sacrilegious Carollers 298 
 
 The Debate of the Body and the Soul 304 
 
 The Owl and Nightingale 310 
 
 A Bestiary 825 
 
 The Lion 325 
 
 The Eagle 325 
 
 The Serpent 326 
 
 The Ant 327 
 
 The Hart 328 
 
 The Fox 329 
 
 The Spider 330 
 
 The Whale 331 
 
 The Sirens 331 
 
 The Elephant 332 
 
 The Turtle Dove 333 
 
 The Panther 333 
 
 The Dove 334 
 
 RELIGIOUS AND LYRICAL 
 
 Hymn of Saint Godric 337 
 
 Ormulum 337 
 
 Dedication 337 
 
 A Good Orisoun of Our Ladie 341 
 
 A Love Rune 843 
 
 A Hymn to the Virgin 845 
 
 A Song on the Passion 346 
 
 Quia Amore Langueo 347 
 
 Filius Regis Mortuus Est 349 
 
 Lyrics 351 
 
 Alisoun 351 
 
 A Spring Song 351 
 
 Winter Song 352 
 
 Love-Longing 352 
 
 Religious Poems 353 
 
 The Sweetness of Jesus • 353 
 
 Prayer at the Elevation 354 
 
 Orison to the Five Joys of Our Lady 355 
 
 A Miracle of Our Lady 355 
 
 Against my Will I take My Leave 357 
 
 Deo Gratias 358 
 
 Mane Nobiscum, Domine 359 
 
CONTENTS ix 
 
 Truth is Ever Best 360 
 
 Salve, Sancta Parens! 361 
 
 Cabols 362 
 
 Omnes de Saba venient 362 
 
 Mater, ora filium 362 
 
 To--day was born Our Saviour 363 
 
 All of a Rose, a lovely Rose 363 
 
 Amice Christi, Johannes 363 
 
 What shall I sing but Hoy! 364 
 
 This very night 365 
 
 Ltbics by Richard Rolle of Hampole 366 
 
 The Five Joys of the Vihgin Mary 367 
 
 NOTES 375 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 385 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 393 
 
 INDEX OF TITLES 395 
 
THE CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 HISTORICAL 
 
CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 LAYAMON 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 These was a priest of yore, 
 Layamon, the name he bore; 
 The son of Leuca he — 
 God to him gracious be — 
 At Ernley that priest did dwell 
 Where the churches be builded well; 
 There, upon Severn's flood, 
 The place, it seemed him good, 
 To Radestone was it nigh — 
 There he read books, verily, 
 And the thought upon him fell, 
 In his mind he pondered well, 
 How folk might by him be told 
 Of the noble deeds of old; 
 How men those folk did call, 
 Whence they had come withal, 
 Who first did England hold 
 As their own, in days of old, 
 After that flood was spent 
 Which God on the world had sent, 
 When every soul was drowned, 
 And no man alive was found 
 Save Noah, I trow, and Shem, 
 And Japhet and Ham with them; 
 These four, each one with his wife, 
 In the ark, they kept in life. 
 Layamon, as I understand, 
 He journeyed far thro' the land, 
 And sought for each noble book, 
 Which he as his model took; 
 The English book, to wit, 
 Which erst by Saint Bede was writ; 
 And one of Latin lore, 
 By Saint Albin made of yore, 
 And eke by fair Austin wrought 
 Who Baptism hither brought. 
 
 And a third book he took alway 
 
 Which he 'twixt the twain did lay — 
 
 ('T was a French clerk made that same, 
 
 Wace, did men call his name, 4 o 
 
 And well did he write, I wis! 
 
 And he offered that book of his 
 
 To Eleanor, Henry's queen — 
 
 A high king was he, I ween.) 
 
 He laid those books adown, 
 
 That priest, hight Layamon, 
 
 He turned the leaves carefully, 
 
 And looked on them lovingly, 
 
 (God be gracious to him, I pray!) 
 
 Then a pen he took that day so 
 
 And he wrote upon parchment fair 
 
 The true words together there, 
 
 And of these three books, anon, 
 
 For our use hath he made but one. 
 
 Now Layamon doth beseech 
 
 That good men, all and each, 
 
 For the love of God on high, 
 
 Who this book read verily, 
 
 And learn its runes alway, 
 
 That in soothfast words they pray 60 
 
 That his soul, who did him beget, 
 
 May in endless bliss be set, 
 
 And his mother's soul also, 
 
 Who bare him, such bliss may know; 
 
 And for Layamon pray that he 
 
 May hereafter the better be! 
 
 KING LEIR 1 
 
 Afteb Bladud came Leir 
 His son, whom he held full dear; 
 He held this lordly land - 8 
 Long time in his own hand, 
 
 > Ed. Madden, vol. I, p. 133. 
 
CHIEF MIDDLE iiWliUSH i'OETS 
 
 Sixty winters past — 
 So long did his life-days last. 
 A goodly burg he wrought 
 Through the counsel his wise men brought, 
 And he called that castle fair 
 E'en by the name he bare; 10 
 
 Kaer-Leir he the burg did call, 
 ('T was dear to his heart withal,) 
 But when men speak thereof to-day 
 Leirchestre do they say. 
 Of yore, in the olden days, 
 'T was a burg right fair to praise, 
 Since then much woe hath it seen, 
 Mickle sorrow its lot hath been, 
 For 't was all destroyed and undone, 
 And its folk they were slain, each 
 one. 20 
 
 Thus sixty winters all told 
 Leir did his kingdom hold. 
 The queen, his wife, she bore 
 Three daughters, and no child more; 
 The king he had ne'er a son, 
 (Sorrow therefrom he won,) 
 Who heir to his honour should be 
 He had but these daughters three. 
 And thus were they hight; Gornoille, 
 Then Regau, the third Cordoille; 30 
 The youngest sister was she 
 And fairest of all the three, 
 
 ' To her father's heart was she near, 
 E'en as his life was dear. 
 
 ' The king, he waxed old in days, 
 And feeble in strength always, 
 And much did he vex his mind 
 What counsel 't were best to find, 
 And who should the kingdom hold 
 
 'When he should be under mould. 40 
 And thus he himself bethought, 
 (Evil thereby he wrought,) 
 "My realm in three will I share 
 Betwixt tflfese my daughters fair; 
 To my children I '11 give my land 
 To have, and to hold in their hand. 
 But first will I search and see 
 The which of them best loves me, 
 And she shall have largest measure 
 Of my goodly lands and treasure." 50 
 
 In this manner, the king, he thought, 
 
 And even thereafter wrought, 
 
 For he bade Gornoille come near, 
 
 The first of his daughters dear, 
 
 And forth she came from her bower 
 
 To her father the self-same hour. 
 
 And these words did the old king say 
 
 As he sat on his throne that day : 
 
 "Gornoille, hearken and speak, 
 
 Soothfast words do I seek, 60 
 
 Very dear art thou to me, 
 
 Say, am I dear to thee? 
 
 What worth dost thou set this hour 
 
 On me, and my kingly power?" 
 
 Wary was Gornoille there, 
 
 As women be everywhere, 
 
 And she answered a fair leasing 
 
 Unto her father the king: 
 
 "Hearken, dear father and lord, 
 
 By the god I have aye adored, 70 
 
 (So help me Apollin to-day, 
 
 For my trust is in him alway,) 
 
 I wot that I love thee more 
 
 Than this world and its treasure store; 
 
 Yet more would I say to thee, 
 
 Thou art dearer than life to me! 
 
 This do I say thee for sooth, 
 
 Thou shalt hold it for very truth." 
 
 And Leir, the king, hearkened and heard, 
 
 He believed his daughter's word, 80 
 
 And this was the answer told 
 
 From the lips of that father old: 
 
 "I say to thee, Gornoille, here, 
 
 Gentle daughter and dear, 
 
 Right goodly shall be thy meed 
 
 As fitting for goodly deed : 
 
 I am old and feeble grown, 
 
 Great love to me thou hast shown, 
 
 I am dearer than life to thee — 
 
 Now this land will I deal in three, qo 
 
 And thine be the larger part, 
 
 Daughter dear to my heart! 
 
 And for lord will I give thine hand 
 
 To the highest thane in my land." 
 
 The old king, he spake thereafter 
 
 With Regau, his second daughter: 
 
 "Regau, my daughter dear, 
 
LAYAMON 
 
 Rede me thy counsel here, 
 
 Before all my folk say to me 
 
 How dear to thy heart I be!" 100 
 
 Then wisely she played her part, 
 
 And made answer, with mouth, not with 
 
 heart: 
 "One limb of thine do I love 
 All on this earth above, 
 Yea, dearer than life it were" — 
 But no word of truth spake she there 
 No more than her sister had done. 
 Yet the lies they spake, each one, 
 Their father for truth did hold: 
 Then he answered, King Leir the old,zio 
 For his daughter pleased him well — 
 "The third part of my land will I tell 
 To thine hand, and at my behest 
 Choose thy lord where thou likest best." 
 Yet the king he was not content, 
 On his folly he still was bent; 
 To come to his presence he bade 
 Cordoille, the third fair maid, 
 ^(The youngest was she in sooth, 
 
 And the wisest in words of truth, 120 
 
 And the king he loved her more 
 
 Than the twain who had come before). 
 
 Cordoille, who had hearkened and heard, 
 
 Knew that false was her sisters' word, 
 
 And she sware upon oath that day 
 
 That never a lie would she say, 
 
 Nor the truth from her father hide 
 
 Were he lief, were he loth, that tide. 
 
 In this wise spake Leir, the king, 
 
 (HI rede was he following,) 130 
 
 "Now from thy lips will I hear, 
 
 Cordoille my daughter dear, 
 
 /Apollin be good to thee!) 
 
 How dear is my life to thee? " 
 
 Then answered Cordoille the daughter, 
 
 With mirth, and aye with laughter, 
 
 "My father is dear to me 
 
 As thy daughter is dear to thee, 
 
 Soothfast my love, I ween, 
 
 For the kinship us twain between. 140 
 
 As I hope for mercy alway 
 
 This more I to thee will say; 
 
 Thou art worth as much, I trow, 
 
 As that which thou holdest now, 
 And methinks the tale of thy treasure 
 Shall be e'en of men's love the measure; 
 For right soon are they loathed of all 
 Whom misfortune doth aye befall." 
 Thus, the maiden, she spake her will, 
 And afterward held her still. 150 
 
 The king, he was wroth at her word, 
 It pleased him ill what he heard, 
 For aye in his heart he thought 
 That to shame him the maiden sought; 
 He thought that she held him light, 
 And less dear he was in her sight 
 Than he was to her sisters twain — 
 But to leasing they aye were fain! 
 Then King Leir, he waxed black withal, 
 Black as a funeral pall, 160 
 
 So changed his skin and his hue 
 As the anger within him grew, 
 And he fell aback in a swoon — 
 But he lifted him up full soon. 
 The maiden feared when he spake, 
 With ill words his wrath out-brake: 
 "Hearken, Cordoille, to me, 
 My will here I tell to thee; 
 My dearest daughter wast thou, 
 I count thee most hateful now! 170 
 
 Never a foot of my land 
 Shall be given into thine hand! 
 In two portions my realm shall fall 
 And thy sisters shall hold it all. 
 But care shall thy portion be, 
 And thy dwelling with misery, 
 For ne'er had I dreamt this thing 
 That thou shame upon me should'st 
 
 bring! 
 Henceforth art thou dead to me, 
 From my sight do I bid thee flee: 180 
 To thy sisters my land I give, 
 For such is my will, while I live, 
 Cornwall's duke, he with Regau shall 
 
 share, 
 And the Scotch king wed Gornoille fair, 
 All mine shall be their's evermore, 
 Yea, all that I ruled afore!" 
 And thus the old king he wrought 
 In such wise as he had thought; 
 
CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Oft was that maiden sad, 
 
 But never more cause she had ! igo 
 
 She was heavy at heart and sore 
 
 For the anger her father bore; 
 
 She gat her into her bower, 
 
 Where she hid her many an hour, 
 
 But never a lie would she tell 
 
 Though she loved her father well. 
 
 Shamefast that gentle maid, 
 
 From her father she shrank afraid; 
 
 Wise rede she found at that tide, 
 
 In her bower did she still abide, 200 
 
 And wept, and lamented her sore 
 
 For the sorrow of heart she bore. 
 
 Thus one day after another 
 
 It passed, each like to the other. 
 
 In France was a king, I ween, 
 
 A rich man, and warrior keen, 
 
 Aganippus was he hight, 
 
 Chief of the folk, that knight. 
 
 Young was the king at that tide, 
 
 Nor as yet had he found a bride. 210 
 
 He sent messengers at this same, 
 
 And unto Britain they came, 
 
 Even to Leir, the king. 
 
 Fair greeting they here did bring 
 
 From their chief, — Would Leir hearken 
 
 his prayer 
 And give him Cordoille the fair, 
 He would have her to crown her as queen, 
 And do all that should best to her seem, 
 Even all she desired at her word. 
 From wayfaring men had he heard 220 
 How men spake of that maiden fair, 
 Of the fairness and fame she bare 
 E'en before the French king's throne — 
 Of the beauty that was her own, 
 Of her honour and patient mind, 
 Of her courteous ways and kind, 
 In all the land of King Leir 
 Was there none men might call her peer. 
 In this wise Aganippus, the king, 
 To King Leir did greeting bring. 230 
 King Leir, he himself bethought, 
 And fitting answer he sought; 
 He bade his scribes to write 
 
 And a letter right well indite, 
 
 And he sent it forthwith by hand 
 
 Into the French king's land; 
 
 Thus ran King Leir, his writ, — 
 
 Wide spread the news of it — 
 
 "To Aganippus, France's chief, 
 
 Leir of Britain, this brief — 240 
 
 All honour I wish to thee still 
 
 For thy good deed, and right good will, 
 
 And the message so fair and meet 
 
 With which thou myself didst greet. 
 
 But I do thee well to wit, 
 
 Here, by my royal writ, 
 
 That my lordly land and fair 
 
 I have given, in equal share, 
 
 To my daughters, each a part, 
 
 For the twain are dear to my heart. 25° 
 
 A third daughter I have, I trow, 
 
 But her dwelling I know not now, 
 
 For she hath despised me 
 
 And angered me bitterly; 
 
 For a wretch she doth me hold, 
 
 And because I be waxen old 
 
 Hath she put me to open shame, 
 
 The greater shall be her blame! 
 
 Of all my folk or my land 259 
 
 Which I hold, or may hold, in my hand 
 
 No whit, so I swear to thee, 
 
 Of this shall her portion be. 
 
 But an if thou desire that maid, 
 
 (She is very fair be it said,) 
 
 I herewith yield ye consent; 
 
 In a ship shall the maid be sent, 
 
 With the clothes that she with her bore, 
 
 Of me shall she have no more. 
 
 If thou wilt take her alway 
 
 I will do even this that I say. 270 
 
 Now thou know'st of my wrath the 
 
 ground — 
 I pray thou abide whole and sound." 
 This writing to France they bring, 
 Straight to that noble king, 
 He bade them open and read, 
 Dear were its runes, indeed. 
 The king he deemed awhile 
 That the words were but words of guile; 
 That King Leir, her father old, 
 
LAYAMON 
 
 The maiden would fain withhold, 280 
 
 And the madder grew his desire, 
 
 And the flame of his love waxed higher, 
 
 And he spake to his barons thus, 
 
 The folk-king, Aganippus : 
 
 "A rich man enow I be, 
 
 I care not for lands or fee, 
 
 Never shall it be said 
 
 That King Leir refused me the maid; 
 
 But I will have her, I ween, 
 
 For consort, and noble queen. aB0 
 
 Her father his lands may hold 
 
 And keep all his silver and gold, 
 
 I ask no treasure of his, 
 
 Mine own be enow, I wis! 
 
 I ask but the maid Cordoille, 
 
 With her shall I have my will." 
 
 With writ and with word once more 
 
 His folk he sent to this shore, 
 
 And again to King Leir made prayer 
 
 To send him his daughter fair, 300 
 
 And he would receive her well 
 
 In honour, as queen, to dwell. 
 
 The old king, he no whit stayed, 
 
 He took that noble maid 
 
 But with the clothes she ware, 
 
 And he bade her hence to fare 
 
 O'er the sea, that maiden good; 
 
 Stern was her father's mood ! 
 
 But the French king, of heart so mild, 
 
 He welcomed the maiden child; 310 
 
 His folk, they deemed it right, 
 
 And they crowned her queen forth-right. 
 
 Thus Cordoille must with them dwell, 
 
 And the people loved her well. 
 
 But her father, Leir, the king, 
 
 In this land had his harbouring, 
 
 And had given his daughters dear 
 
 All his land, and all his gear. 
 
 He gave first Gornoille's hand 
 
 To the king of the Scottish land, 320 
 
 Maglaunus the prince was hight, 
 
 Great was his power and his might! 
 
 And Cornwall's duke thereafter 
 
 Did he wed to Regau his daughter. 
 
 But soon there chanced this thing 
 
 That the duke and the Scottish king 
 
 In secret together spake, 
 And thus did they counsel take, 
 That they would rule all the land 
 And have it in their own hand; 330 
 
 And to Leir, the king, they would give, 
 For the while that he yet might live, 
 Food for his days and his nights, 
 With forty hired knights. 
 And further there should be found 
 What was fitting in hawk and hound, 
 That through the land he might ride 
 And ever in bliss abide 
 The while that his life should last — 
 This counsel made they fast; 340 
 
 But e'en as their word they spake 
 Thereafter that word they brake; 
 And erstwhile it pleased the king, 
 And thereafter did sorrow bring. 
 
 King Leir, he deemed it well 
 
 With the Scottish folk to dwell, 
 
 With Maglaunus the king, his son, 
 
 Since the elder daughter he won. 
 
 Right welcome the king was made 
 
 And many fair words were said; 3S0 
 
 They furnished him there forth-right 
 
 With forty household knights, 
 
 With horses, and eke with hounds, 
 
 All that was meet they found. 
 
 But soon after it so befell 
 
 That Gornoille bethought her well 
 
 As to what were the wiser rede, 
 
 For evil it seemed, indeed, 
 
 That her father maintained these 
 
 knights — 
 And she spake to her lord by night 360 
 As the twain in bed they lay, 
 And thus she began to say — 
 "My lord give me counsel now, 
 (Dearest of men art thou !) 
 Of my father would I complain ; 
 Methinks that he be not sane, 
 For honour is he unfit 
 For now hath he lost his wit; 
 Methinks that so old he be 
 He doteth full speedily. 370 
 
 Now here hath he forty knights, 
 
CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 390 
 
 He keepeth them days and nights; 
 
 Here doth he hold these thanes 
 
 And with them their serving swains, 
 
 Their hounds and their hawks, I trow, 
 
 Thereof cometh harm enow ! 
 
 For never elsewhere do they wend, 
 
 And ever the more do they spend, 
 
 But blithe of heart do they live 
 
 And take the good that we give. 380 
 
 Well-doing ever we sow, 
 
 And naught but unthank do we know ! 
 
 Mischief they do evermore, 
 
 For they beat our men full sore, 
 
 My father he hath in his maisnie 
 
 Of idle men too many. 
 
 Now thus doth it seem me just, 
 
 The fourth part we forth will thrust, 
 
 Of thirty he'll yet be lord 
 
 Enow to serve at the board. 
 
 Ourselves we have cooks enow 
 
 For the kitchen service, I trow ! 
 
 Ourselves we have butlers still 
 
 And cup-bearers at our will; 
 
 Let some of this folk forth fare 
 
 As it please th them, otherwhere, 
 
 As mercy I hope and implore 
 
 I will suffer it never more!" 
 
 When he heard, King Maglaunus, 
 
 That his queen she spake to him thus,4oo 
 
 He answered the lady there 
 
 In noble speech and fair; 
 
 "Lady, thou doest ill, 
 
 Hast thou not treasure at will? 
 
 But keep thou thy father in bliss, 
 
 He liveth not long, I wis. 
 
 For it may be that foreign kings 
 
 Should hear of us evil things, 
 
 That we had dealt with him thus 
 
 And shame should it bring upon us. 410 
 
 But let him keep them still, 
 
 All his folk, at his will. 
 
 And this, forsooth, is my rede,' 
 
 For right soon shall he be dead, 
 
 And then shall we have in our hand 
 
 The better half of his land!" 
 
 But Gornoille would have her will, 
 
 And she said, "My lord, hold thee still, 
 
 Leave it all in my hand 
 
 And I will dismiss this band." 420 
 
 She sent them all with guile 
 
 To their hostelry the while; 
 
 Thence she bade them depart with speed, 
 
 Since she would them no longer feed — 
 
 Many, I ween, of the thanes, 
 
 And many too of the swains 
 
 Who were servants to Leir, the king, 
 
 And whom he did hither bring. 
 
 And when the king heard thereof 
 
 In sooth he waxed very wroth, 430 
 
 Sadly the old king spake, 
 
 Bitter complaint did he make; 
 
 Thus said the old king good, 
 
 (Sorrowful was his mood!) "1 
 
 "Now woe to that man betide 
 
 Who hath honour, and lands so wide, 
 
 And all to his child doth give 
 
 The while that he still doth live 
 
 And may rule, for ere life be spent 
 
 Methinks he may sore repent! 440 
 
 But now will I take my way 
 
 To Cornwall without delay, 
 
 Counsel I think to hear 
 
 From Regau, my daughter dear, 
 
 Duke Hemeri hath her hand 
 
 And half of my goodly land." 
 
 Forth did King Leir wend 
 
 To Britain's southernmost end, 
 
 To Regau his daughter fair, 
 
 For counsel failed him there. 450 
 
 When the king to Cornwall came, 
 
 They welcomed him at the same; 
 
 There a full half year did he dwell 
 
 With his knights, and thought it well. 
 
 Then Regau spake craftily 
 
 To her lord, Duke Hemeri, 
 
 "My lord, hearken thou to me, 
 
 In good sooth I say to thee 
 
 We have done but a foolish thing 
 
 In receiving Leir, the king, 460 
 
 And these thirty knights of his, 
 
 It displeaseth me sore, I wis! 
 
 Send we twenty away, 
 
 Ten knights may serve him alway, 
 
 For ever they drink and they eat, 
 
LAYAMON 
 
 I find in them naught that is meet!" 
 
 Hemeri, the duke, he said, 
 
 (His old father he there betrayed,) 
 
 "So sure as I be alive 
 
 Of knights shall he have but five, 470 
 
 With them hath he folk enow, 
 
 He doeth naught, I trow; 
 
 And if that his will be so 
 
 Right soon shall he from us go!" 
 
 And as they had planned withal 
 
 Even so did the matter fall; 
 
 They took from the king his knights 
 
 And the folk that was his by rights, 
 
 But five of his men they left, 
 
 Of the others was he bereft. 480 
 
 When King Leir of this was ware, 
 
 Woe was his portion there; 
 
 Troubled at heart was he, 
 
 He lamented him bitterly. 
 
 Thus did he speak that day, 
 
 And with sorrowful mien did say — 
 
 "Weal, Weal, Weal, Weal, 
 
 With men dost thou falsely deal, 
 
 When on thee most their trust is laid 
 
 By thee are they most betrayed! 4Q0 
 
 Two years, they have scarcely flown 
 
 Since, a rich king, I held mine own; 
 
 Many knights were under my sway; 
 
 Now I live to see the day 
 
 That I sit here stripped and bare; 
 
 Bereft of all must I fare! 
 
 Woe is me that I saw this land! 
 
 I were better in Gornoille's hand, 
 
 My goodly daughter and fair; 
 
 With her folk I tarried there, S oo 
 
 Thirty knights would she give, 
 
 In some wise I might fitly live; 
 
 From her country I needs must go, 
 
 I deemed it were better so, 
 
 But the worse hath been my share! 
 
 To Scotland again will I fare, 
 
 With my daughter again to speak, 
 
 At her hand will I pity seek 
 
 If honour she will not give — 
 
 Yet let her once more receive 51° 
 
 Me, and these five, my knights, 
 
 I will dwell with her days and nights, 
 
 And a short while endure this strife, 
 
 No whit long shall last my life!" 
 
 Thus Leir, the king, fared forth 
 
 To his daughter who dwelt in the North; 
 
 She harboured him full three nights, 
 
 Her father, and these his knights; 
 
 The fourth day an oath she sware, 
 
 By all the Powers that were, 520 
 
 That no more should he have of right 
 
 Than but one serving knight, 
 
 An he liked it not he might fare 
 
 And seek harbourage other-where. 
 
 Full oft Leir had woeful been, 
 
 Never worse than then, I ween! 
 
 Thus spake Leir, the king, — 
 
 Sorrow his heart did wring, — 
 
 "Alas, Death, where art thou? 
 
 Why dost thou not slay me now? 530 
 
 I wot Cordoille spake sooth, 
 
 Now do I know it for truth — 
 
 My youngest daughter was she 
 
 And very dear to me, 
 
 Yet thereafter she was to me loth 
 
 For these the words she quoth — 
 
 ' The man who hath little, I deem, 
 
 Shall be held in light esteem, 
 
 And methinks of men's love the measure 
 
 Is even the tale of thy treasure!' 540 
 
 Well spake that maiden young, 
 
 Wisdom lay on her tongue ! 
 
 The while I my kingdom held 
 
 My face men with joy beheld; 
 
 For my land, and for my fee, 
 
 My earls they fell to my knee. 
 
 Now am I wretched enow 
 
 And beloved of no man, I trow! 
 
 My daughter spake truth to me 
 
 I believe her verily! 550 
 
 And these, her sisters twain, 
 
 To lie were they ever fain 
 
 When they said they held me near, 
 
 Their own life was not so dear. 
 
 But Cordoille, my daughter young, 
 
 She said with truthful tongue, 
 
 That she loved me e'en as a daughter 
 
 Were bound to love her father; 
 
 What more were I fain to hear 
 
8 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 From the lips of a daughter dear? s&> 
 
 I will fare hence speedily 
 
 And get me across the sea; 
 
 To Cordoille I think to turn, 
 
 Her will I am fain to learn. 
 
 Her truthful speech did I blame, 
 
 Therefrom I won mickle shame, 
 
 For now all my succour lies 
 
 In the one I did erst despise. 
 
 I look for no worse at her hand 
 
 Than that she forbid me her land." 570 
 
 King Leir, he fared to the sea — 
 
 But a single servant had he — 
 
 To a ship he went straightway, 
 
 Never man knew him that day. 
 
 Over the sea they won 
 
 To a haven they came anon, 
 
 Forth went Leir, the king, 
 
 But one swain in his following; 
 
 He asked where the queen might lie, 
 
 They were fain to come her nigh? 580 
 
 And the folk, forthwith they showed 
 
 Where the queen of that land abode. 
 
 A field the king had found; 
 
 There he rested upon the ground. 
 
 His swain he alone would send, 
 
 (He was e'en a trusty friend,) 
 
 Cordoille, the queen, to seek 
 
 And in secret with her to speak. 
 
 Thus he said :" Queen, all hail to thee! 
 
 Thy father's swain I be; 590 
 
 Thy father the sea hath crossed, 
 
 For all his land hath he lost; 
 
 Thy sisters the realm have ta'en, 
 
 Foresworn; I ween, are the twain. 
 
 He cometh, in truth and in deed, 
 
 To this land, of very need ; 
 
 Help him now in thy might, 
 
 As thy father, it is but right!" 
 
 Then the queen, fair Cordoille, 
 
 For a while, she sat very still. 603 
 
 Then the red to her cheek did flow 
 
 As if from the wine draught's glow — 
 
 (The swain he sat at her feet, 
 
 Right soon he found counsel meet.) 
 
 At length all her heart out-brake, 
 
 'T was very good that she spake — 
 
 "Apollin, fair thanks to thee, 
 
 That my father hath come to me. 
 
 Tidings right glad I hear 
 
 That he liveth, my father dear! 610 
 
 Of me shall he have good rede 
 
 An I be not afore that dead! 
 
 Now, good swain, hearken to me, 
 
 Hear what I say to thee: 
 
 I will give now unto thy care 
 
 A coffer rich and fair; 
 
 Pennies therein be found, 
 
 I wot, to a hundred pound. 
 
 I give unto thee a steed 
 
 Right good, and strong at need 620 
 
 To carry this treasure here 
 
 E'en to my father dear. 
 
 Say that from me ye bear 
 
 A goodly greeting, and fair, 
 
 And bid him without delay 
 
 To some fair burg to find his way, 
 
 And in some rich town, or street, 
 
 To take him a lodging meet. 
 
 There shall ye buy for him first 
 
 That which may please him most, 630 
 
 What he needeth to drink and to eat, 
 
 And vesture fitting and meet. 
 
 Hawks and hounds as he needs 
 
 And the very best of steeds. 
 
 And be to his household told 
 
 Forty good knights and bold, 
 
 In garments rich and fair — 
 
 Then shall ye a bath prepare, 
 
 And a couch, and bed him soft, 
 
 And bleed him little and oft. 640 
 
 If silver be lacking thee, 
 
 Then ask it again of me, 
 
 And he shall have at my hand 
 
 Enough from this my land. 
 
 Of his old land never again 
 
 Shall he speak to knight or thane. 
 
 When forty days be gone 
 
 Ye shall make it known, anon, 
 
 To this, my lord so dear, 
 
 That Leir the king be here, 650 
 
 He hath crossed the water to me 
 
 My land and kingdom to see. 
 
LAYAMON 
 
 And I, I will take it so 
 
 As if naught thereof did I know; 
 
 With my lord I'll towards him ride 
 
 And rejoice that we meet that tide; 
 
 So shall it be known of none 
 
 That he be not newly come. 
 
 But thus shalt thou writing bring 
 
 Unto my lord the king. 660 
 
 Take thou this money from me 
 
 And see that well-spent it be; 
 
 And if thou dost wisely deal 
 
 It shall be to thy good and weal!" 
 
 The swain took the money there 
 
 And swift to his lord did fare, 
 
 Even to Leir, the king, 
 
 And the tidings did truly bring 
 
 To where on the field he lay 
 
 Resting for grief that day. 670 
 
 When all to the king was told 
 
 Of good comfort was Leir the old; 
 
 Truly he spake with voice 
 
 In these words did he there rejoice — 
 
 "Thus .Good after Evil betides, 
 
 Well is he who its coming abides!" 
 
 To a fair burg his way he made 
 
 Right so as the queen him bade, 
 
 There he did right wisely and well 
 
 All things, e'en as she did tell. 680 
 
 And when it came at last 
 
 That the forty days were past, 
 
 Then took to him King Leir 
 
 The knights he held most dear, 
 
 To the French king they greeting bore, 
 
 (He was his son-inJaw,) 
 
 And sent word to him by their hand 
 
 That King Leir had come to his land 
 
 And speech with his daughter prayed, — 
 
 She was dear to him, he said. 6go 
 
 Aganippus, he was fain 
 
 That Leir had crossed the main; 
 
 Toward him he went forth-right, 
 
 And led with him many a knight, 
 
 And his fair queen, Cordoille. 
 
 Then had King Leir his will; 
 
 Together they met in bliss 
 
 With many a clasp and kiss, 
 
 To the burg they took their way — 
 
 Joy was with them that day — 700 
 
 They bade the" trumpets blow, 
 And the pipes sound loud and low, 
 Throughout the castle hall 
 Were hangings of silken pall; 
 The boards that were spread for food 
 Glittered with gold so good; ! 
 Gold rings, and golden bands 
 Each man ware on arms and hands. 
 Fiddle and harp were strung 
 And men to their music sung. 710 
 
 The king set men on the wall 
 And bade them proclaim over all 
 And declare that Leir, the king, 
 In this land now made sojourning, — 
 "And thus saith Aganippus, 
 He that is chief over us, 
 That now unto Leir the king 
 Ye all shall obedience bring; 
 Lord shall he be in this land 
 And have it all in his hand 720 
 
 Even as many year 
 As it please him to tarry here. 
 And Aganippus, our king, 
 He shall be but Leir's underling. 
 He who would live and thrive 
 Hold this peace while he be alive! 
 And if any this covenant break 
 Swift vengeance the king will take. 
 And he chargeth all who have heard 
 To hearken, and keep his word!" 730 
 And the folk they quoth: "We will 
 Keep the king's peace, loud and still!" 
 And thus for that same year 
 They did, even as ye hear, 
 In peace and loyalty, 
 And with mickle fealty. 
 When another year was come, 
 Then would King Leir fare home. 
 He was fain to see this land, 
 And prayed leave at the French king's 
 hand. 740 
 
 Then the king Aganippus 
 Answered his father thus: 
 "Thou shalt never leave my coast 
 Save with a mickle host. 
 Of my folk I will thee lend; 
 
CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Five hundred ships will I send 
 
 Filled with the best of my knights 
 
 And all they may need for the fight. 
 
 And thy daughter Cordoille, I ween, 
 
 Who is of this kingdom queen, 750 
 
 She, too, shall sail with thee 
 
 With an army, across the sea. 
 
 Now haste to that land amain 
 
 Where thou didst aforetime reign, 
 
 And if there be any still 
 
 Fain to withstand thy will 
 
 And take from thee thy right 
 
 And thy kingdom, then shalt thou fight, 
 
 And slay them, and take the land, 
 
 And set it in Cordoille's hand, 760 
 
 That it be hers to have and to hold 
 
 Whenever thy days be told." 
 
 These words said Aganippus, 
 
 And Leir, he did even thus, 
 
 In everything he wrought 
 
 E'en as his friend had taught. 
 
 O'er the sea he gat him here 
 
 With Cordoille his daughter_dear, 
 
 Peace did he swear alway 
 
 With those who would own his sway, 770 
 
 And he felled with his great might 
 
 All who would with him fight. 
 
 Thus all the kingdom and land 
 
 He won again to his hand 
 
 And freely to Cordoille gave 
 
 Who was queen from across the wave. 
 
 Thus was the wrong made good — 
 
 And so for a while it stood, 
 
 Leir the king this land, 
 
 For three years held in his hand. 780 
 
 Then came the end of his day, 
 
 The king, he lifeless lay; 
 
 In Leicestre, so 't is said, 
 
 His daughter the body laid, 
 
 In the temple of Janus, to wit, 
 
 In the book may ye read of it. 
 
 And Cordoille, she held the land, . 
 
 With high strength, five years in her 
 
 hand, 
 Five years as queen did she reign — 
 Then tidings came o'er the main , 790 
 That the French king was dead, I ween, 
 
 And widowed was Cordoille, the queen. 
 
 So men did the tidings bring 
 
 Unto the Scottish king, 
 
 That dead the French king lay, 
 
 And Leir, too, was dead alway; 
 
 Through Britain then did he send, 
 
 To Cornwall, at its south end, 
 
 The strong duke did he command 
 
 To harry the Southern land, 800 
 
 And he would sally forth 
 
 And conquer again the North. 
 
 For he deemed it a mickle shame 
 
 And held it to them for blame, 
 
 That a queen should have all in her 
 
 hand 
 And rule as king in the land, 
 While their sons should landless be 
 Who in sooth were better than she, 
 Since their mothers the elder were 
 And their's was the greater share. 810 
 "No more will we suffer this wrong, 
 But the land shall to us belong, 
 For our sons we the realm will win." — 
 Thus did they the war begin. 
 Mischief came swift thereon ; 
 Of their men, her sisters' sons 
 Led an army against her there — 
 These were the names they bare, 
 Morgan, and Cunddegis — 
 Oft they led their folk, I wis, 820 
 
 Oft they fought, oft they won the 
 
 day, 
 Oft they lost — so it went alway, 
 Till at last the Britons were slain, 
 And Cordoille was captive ta'en. 
 Their aunt they in prison cast, 
 In a torture house full fast. 
 Wrathful the woman's mood, 
 They vexed her more than was good, 
 Until she became so wroth, 
 To her very self was she loth, 830 
 
 And she took a long sharp knife 
 And therewith did she end her life. 
 But this was an evil rede 
 That she slew herself, indeed, 
 And thus the kingdom and land 
 Fell to her nephews' hand. 
 
LAYAMON 
 
 ii 
 
 THE FOUNDING OF THE ROUND 
 TABLE 1 
 
 It chanced on a Yule-tide day 
 That King Arthur in London lay; 
 There had come to him at that tide 
 Vassals from far and wide; 
 From Scotland, and Britain bold, 
 From Ireland, and Iceland cold, 
 From every folk and land 
 That had bowed them to Arthur's hand. 
 They had sent their highest thanes, 
 With their horses and serving swains: 10 
 And beside the folk that, still, 
 Bowed them to Arthur's will, 
 Came seven kings' sons, I ween, 
 With seven hundred knights so keen. 
 
 Now each man thought in his heart 
 
 That to him fell the higher part, 
 
 And each man deemed that he were 
 
 Better than this, his peer; 
 
 The folk came from diverse lands 
 
 And envy came with their bands — so 
 
 This one held him of high degree, 
 
 This other, much higher than he! 
 
 Then they blew the trumpets' blast, 
 
 And they set the boards full fast, 
 
 And bare water to young and old 
 
 In basons of good red gold. 
 
 Soft were the cloths in the hall, 
 
 Of white silk woven all. 
 
 There Arthur sat in his pride, 
 
 With Wenhavere, the queen, at his side, 
 
 And the guests in order right, 31 
 
 First earl, then baron, then knight, , 
 
 Each found his appointed seat 
 
 As the king's men deemed it meet. 
 
 There were men right nobly born 
 
 Who did service that Yule-tide morn, 
 
 And bare the meat forth-right 
 
 To each gay and gallant knight. 
 
 Then they turned them toward the thanes, 
 
 And below those still, the swains, 40 
 
 Thus served they, one and all, 
 
 The folk in King Arthur's hall. 
 
 > Ed. Madden, vol. II, p. S32. 
 
 Thus all for a space went well — 
 But after, a change befell, 
 For the folk, they fell to strife, 
 And blows were among them rife. 
 First they threw the loaves of bread, 
 And then, when the last was sped, 
 The bowls of silver-shine 
 Filled with the good red wine. 50 
 
 Thereafter with fists they fought 
 Each the neck of his foeman sought. 
 Then sprang forth a young man there, — 
 (From Winet land did he fare 
 As hostage to Arthur's hand, 
 The king's son of Winet land, 
 Rumaret was his father hight — ) 
 And out spake that gallant knight, 
 And cried on the king that hour; 
 "Lord Arthur, get to thy bower, 60 
 
 And take with thee Wenhavere, 
 And the kinsmen thou holdest dear, 
 And we shall fight out this fray 
 With the foreign folk to-day!" 
 And e'en as he spake the word 
 He leapt to the royal board - N 
 Where lay the sharp knives keen, 
 For the service of king and queen; 
 Three knives he grasped in his hand, 
 And he smote the chief of the band 70 
 And clave the neck of the knight 
 Who first began the fight, 
 With a blow so swift and sore 
 That his head rolled e'en to the floor. 
 Thereafter he slew another, 
 Even that first thane's brother, 
 Ere the swords might come to the hall 
 Seven men had he slain in all. 
 'T was a grim and a grisly fight, 
 Each man would the other smite, 80 
 Blood gushed forth at every stroke, 
 Bale was upon the folk. 
 
 Then forth from the king's bower strode 
 
 Arthur in wrathful mood, 
 
 And with him a hundred knights 
 
 In helmet and burnie bright; 
 
 Each bare in his strong right hand 
 
 A gleaming white steel brand. 
 
12 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Then Arthur, king most dear, 
 
 Cried so that all might hear: «o 
 
 "Sit ye down, sit ye down, each one, 
 
 As ye love your lives, sit down! 
 
 He that will not while yet he may 
 
 I doom him to death straightway ! 
 
 Now take me that self-same man 
 
 Who first this fight began; 
 
 Round his neck put a withy stout, 
 
 And draw him the hall without 
 
 To the moorland and marsh hard by; 
 
 There shall ye let him lie! 100 
 
 Then seek out his next of kin, 
 
 All such as be here within, 
 
 And with your broad swords keen 
 
 Shall ye strike off their heads, I ween ! 
 
 Then take ye his women-folk, 
 
 And with swift, and with cunning, stroke 
 
 Carve off their noses there 
 
 That they be no longer fair. 
 
 And thus will I bring to shame 
 
 The kindred of which he came! no 
 
 And if it be brought to my ear, 
 
 Or I otherwise chance to hear, 
 
 That one of my house or hold, 
 
 High or low, or young or old, 
 
 Shall hereafter awaken strife 
 
 For this slaughter, I swear on my life, 
 
 Neither gold, nor goodly steed, 
 
 Nor treasure, nor warlike weed, 
 
 Shall be ransom for that man's head 
 
 That he be not swiftly dead, «o 
 
 Or horses his limbs shall draw — 
 
 So speak I the traitor's law! 
 
 Bring me the hallows here, 
 
 On them will I soothly swear, 
 
 And so shall ye too, my knights, 
 
 And all who were at this fight. " 
 
 First Arthur, the noblest of kings, 
 He swore by the holy things; 
 Then earls, and barons, and thanes, 
 And last of them all, the swains, 130 
 A solemn oath they swore 
 To wake that strife never more. 
 Then the dead men, one and all, 
 They bare them from out the hall, 
 
 And laid them low in the earth — 
 Then the trumpets they blew with mirth. 
 Each of them, were he lief or loth, 
 Must needs take water and cloth, 
 And they sat them, at one accord 
 Once more, adown to the board, 140 
 For they feared King Arthur's hand, 
 Noblest of kings on land ! 
 The cupbearers went their round, 
 The harpers made merry sound, 
 The glee-men sang songs so good, 
 The folk were in gladsome mood; 
 Thus for full seven days all told 
 King Arthur his feast did hold. 
 
 Thereafter I 'Id have ye know, 
 
 To Cornwall the king would go, 150 
 
 And there cometh to him anon 
 
 A crafty and skilful man, 
 
 And he met the king in the way, 
 
 And in greeting fair did say: 
 
 "Arthur, all hail to thee now! 
 
 Noblest of kings art thou, - 
 
 I am thine own true man, 
 
 To serve thee as well I can. 
 
 I have journeyed in many a land, 
 
 Right skilful is this, mine hand, 160 
 
 In craft of wood, or of tree, — 
 
 But now it was told to me 
 
 The slaughter thy knights had wrought, 
 
 When of late at thy board they fought, 
 
 And how, on mid-winter's day, 
 
 Mickle pride wrought murderous play; 
 
 For that each man by right of kin, 
 
 And high lineage, would sit within. 
 
 Now I will for thee, lord, prepare 
 
 A board exceeding fair, 170 
 
 Where sixteen hundred may sit, 
 
 And more, if it seem thee fit. 
 
 And all they shall turn about, 
 
 So that no man shall be without, 
 
 But without and within shall they be, 
 
 Man against man, verily! 
 
 And when thou to ride art fain, 
 
 Thou shalt carry it in thy train; 
 
 And when thou shalt hold thee still, 
 
 Thou shalt stablish it at thy will; 180 
 
LAYAMON 
 
 '3 
 
 And never shalt thou fear more, 
 So long as the world endure, 
 That for envy a moody knight 
 Shall raise at thy board a fight, 
 Of high or of low degree 
 All men there shall equal be!" 
 
 Then they bade men timber win 
 That he might the board begin; 
 For the space of four weeks he wrought 
 Ere the work to an end he brought, 100 
 Then when a high day was come 
 The folk he called, every one; 
 And Arthur himself, the lord, 
 Sat him down at the new-wrought board, 
 And he bade every gallant knight . 
 Take his place at his side forth-right, 
 And when each had found his seat, 
 And all were sat down to meat, 
 Then each man spake with the other 
 In such wise as he were his brother. 200 
 In order they sat about, 
 And no man- was left without; 
 No knight, whatsoe'er his race, 
 But found there a fitting place, 
 Were he high, were he low, in that hall 
 Was a place for each and all. 
 And each man, he quaffed at the board 
 The drink that was there outpoured, 
 Nor thought he might call for other 
 Than the draught that would serve his 
 brother. sio 
 
 Now this was that very Round Table 
 
 Of which Britons oft-times fable; 
 
 And many a lie shall ye hear 
 
 Of Arthur that king so dear; 
 
 But I think me 't is ever so 
 
 That the custom of men doth go, 
 
 He that loveth his friend, I ween, 
 
 For his honour is over-keen, 
 
 Nor shall deem it a shame to lie 
 
 If he win him more praise thereby! no 
 
 The songs that the songmen sing 
 
 Of Arthur, the noble king, 
 
 All lies, are they not, nor all sooth, 
 
 But this do I hold for the truth, 
 
 There was never such other lord 
 
 So mighty in deed and in word, 
 
 For so ye may find it writ 
 
 In his history, every whit, 
 
 From the first to the last, how things 
 
 Fell out for Arthur, the king. 230 
 
 Neither more nor less may ye read, 
 
 But all these, his acts, and his deeds. 
 
 The Britons, they loved him well, 
 
 And many a tale they tell, 
 
 And many a wondrous thing 
 
 Concerning Arthur, the king, 
 
 Such as never were wrought by man 
 
 Since ever the world began ! 
 
 Yet he who would speak but the truth 
 
 He may find, in very sooth, 240 
 
 Enough to shape goodly rhymes 
 
 Of Arthur, the king, and his times. 
 
 THE PASSING OF ARTHUR 1 
 
 A-horse to the king's host drew 
 
 A knight, both good and true, 
 
 Tidings he thought to bring 
 
 To Arthur, the Britons' king, 
 
 Of Modred his sister's son — 
 
 A welcome glad he won 
 
 From the king, who thought to hear 
 
 That which should bring him cheer. _, 
 
 Arthur lay long that night 
 
 And spake with that youthful knight, 10 
 
 But never a word did he say 
 
 Of that which had chanced alway. 
 
 When it came to the morrow's morn, 
 And the folk, they stirred with the dawn, 
 Then Arthur arose from his bed; 
 He stretched his arms over his head, 
 Then he stood, and he sat again, 
 E'en as one for misease is fain. 
 Then asked him that goodly knight, 
 "Lord, how hast thou passed the night? " 
 And Arthur, the king so good, n 
 
 Made answer in troubled mood: 
 "Last night, as I lay on sleep 
 
 > Ed. Madden, vol. in, p. 117. 
 
14 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 In my tent, and slumbered deep, 
 
 There came such a dream to me 
 
 As hath vexed me right bitterly — 
 
 Methought men lifted me there, 
 
 And raised me high in air, 
 
 Until that the roof-tree tall 
 
 I bestrode, of a lofty hall, 3 o 
 
 I sat there as I would ride, — 
 
 And below me, stretched out wide, 
 
 I saw all my goodly land; 
 
 Before me, sword in hand, 
 
 Sat Walwain, my kinsman true. 
 
 Then Modred towards us drew, 
 
 With him came a goodly throng; 
 
 In his hand was an axe so strong 
 
 And with mighty strokes he felled 
 
 The posts that the hall upheld. 40 
 
 And then I saw Wenhavere, 
 
 (Woman to me most dear,) 
 
 With her hands the roof she tare 
 
 Of that hall, so great and fair, 
 
 Till the building rocked and swayed, 
 
 And I fell to the ground dismayed; 
 
 And there my right arm I brake — 
 
 'Take that!' so Modred spake. 
 
 Then in ruins fell that hall, 
 
 And it bare Walwain in its fall 50 
 
 From the roof-tree e'en to the ground, 
 
 And he brake both arms at that stound. 
 
 Then I gripped my sword so good 
 
 In my left hand, as best I could, 
 
 And smote off Modred's head, 
 
 On the wold he fell down dead. 
 
 In pieces I hewed the queen 
 
 With my sword blade, good and keen, 
 
 And, methought, her corse at last 
 
 In a deep black pit I cast. 60 
 
 My folk, they had fled away, 
 
 And I knew not, by Christ, that day 
 
 Whither they all had gone — 
 
 But methought I stood alone 
 
 On a moor-land bleak and cold; 
 
 I wandered afar on the wold, 
 
 Gryphons I saw, I trow, 
 
 And grisley fowls enow! 
 
 Then over the down to me 
 
 Came a beast, most fair to see, 70 
 
 A golden lion, methought 
 
 'Twas a work that God's hand had 
 
 wrought! 
 The beast came to me forthright, 
 By the middle it gripped me tight, 
 And carried me o'er the land 
 Till we came to the salt sea strand, 
 And I saw the waves of the sea 
 How they drave right heavily. 
 Then the lion the flood would swim, 
 Bearing me ever with him, 80 
 
 But scarce were we come in the sea 
 Ere the waves bare him far from me. 
 Then a great fish came in my need, 
 And bare me to land with speed; 
 I was wet and weary, I trow, 
 For sorrow, and sick enow ! 
 And then must I needs awake, 
 My heart did within me quake. 
 Then a heat and a trembling fell, 
 And I burned as with fires of Hell! «o 
 Thus all night long have I lain 
 And dreamed that dream o'er again, 
 'T is a token true, I wis, 
 That vanished is all my bliss, 
 And, while life be left to me, 
 Grief shall my portion be! 
 Alas! that I have not here 
 Wenhavere my queen so dear. " 
 Then out spake that youthful knight: 
 "My lord, thou doest not right, 100 
 
 No man should so read a dream 
 As to turn it to sorrow, I ween ! 
 For of all kings, I know full well, 
 Who under the welkin dwell, 
 To whose rule the people bow, 
 The richest and wisest art thou ! 
 And if it should chance to be, 
 (May Christ keep it far from thee !) 
 That Modred, thy sister's son, 
 The heart of thy queen had won , no 
 
 And had taken thy wife and thy land, 
 And had set them all in his hand, 
 (All thou didst leave in his care 
 When thou thoughtest afar to fare,) 
 And were thus for a traitor shown, — 
 Still migh test thou hold thine own, 
 
LAYAMON 
 
 *5 
 
 And avenge thyself by war, 
 
 And rule thy folk as before, 
 
 And the men who this wrong had done 
 
 Thou could'st slay them every one, 120 
 
 Yea, and sweep them clean from the 
 
 ground, 
 So that none should alive be found ! " 
 Arthur, he answered then: 
 (Noblest was he of men,) 
 " So long as ' ever ' may be 
 Ne'er do I think to see 
 The day that my kinsman dear, 
 The man to my heart most near, 
 Hath ever such treason planned 
 As to seize my crown and my land; 130 
 Or Wenhavere, my queen and love, 
 Shall other than steadfast prove! 
 Such work they would ne'er begin, 
 Tho' they thought thus the world to 
 
 win!" 
 As he spake the word, forthright 
 There answered that gallant knight: 
 "I speak but the truth, my King, 
 For I am thine underling, 
 Even thus hath Modred done, 
 The heart of thy queen hath he won, 140 
 And all Britain, and thy fair land, 
 Hath he taken in his own hand. 
 As king and queen do they reign 
 Nor deem thou shalt come again, 
 'T is a far cry to the Roman shore, 
 From thence shalt thou come no more! 
 But I am thy man O King ! 
 And I saw this evil thing, 
 To thyself have I brought this word, 
 And the truth, e'en as thou hast heard, 
 My head in pledge will I lay, 151 
 
 'T is sooth and no lie, that I say, 
 But even thus have they done, 
 Thy queen and thy sister's son, 
 Modred hath taken thy throne, 
 Thy land, and thy wife, for his own!" 
 
 Then never man stirred of all . 
 Those knights in King Arthur's hall, 
 Right sorrowful was their mood 
 For the grief of their king so good. 160 
 
 Downcast and sad of mien 
 Were the British men, I ween ! 
 'T was thus for a space, and then 
 Rose a clamour of angry men, 
 Till all far and wide might know 
 Of the Britons' wrath and woe! 
 In sooth might ye there have heard 
 Full many a threatening word, 
 Doom to the faithless pair, 
 Modred and the queen, they sware, 170 
 And the men who held with the twain 
 They all should be swiftly slain. 
 Then Arthur cried thro' the hall, 
 Fairest of Britons all, 
 "Sit ye down, and hold ye still 
 My knights, and hearken my will, 
 Strange words do I think to say, 
 To-morrow, when it be day, 
 By Christ, His power, and His grace, 
 Will I get me forth from this place. 1S0 
 To Britain I take my way, 
 And there will I Modred slay, 
 And the queen with fire will I burn; 
 And to loss and to ruin turn 
 All that have joined their hand 
 With them, and this treason planned. 
 But here will I leave in my place 
 Hoel, the fair of face, 
 (The first of my kinsmen he, 
 And dearest of men to me,) 190 
 
 With half of my army bold 
 That this kingdom he keep and hold, 
 And all this goodly land 
 That I late have set in mine hand. 
 And when I have vengeance ta'en 
 I will turn me to Rome again, 
 And my lands so wide and fair 
 Will I give into Walwain's care. 
 No empty threat do I make 
 But my life on my word I stake, 200 
 I will fell my foes every one, 
 Who this treason and wrong have done! " 
 Then Walwain arose in the ring, 
 He was kinsman unto the king, 
 Wrathful and stern his mood, 
 And he spake, "O almighty God, 
 Who dost judgment and doom award, 
 
i6 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And this middle earth dost guard, 
 
 How did this thing begin? 
 
 Why hath Modred wrought this sin? 210 
 
 Now ye folk, lend to me the ear; 
 
 This day I forsake him here, 
 
 I myself will his Doomsman be, 
 
 (So the Lord grant it unto me!) 
 
 Higher than e'er another 
 
 With this hand will I hang my brother! 
 
 And the queen I will judge by God's law, 
 
 Wild horses her limbs shall draw. 
 
 For never shall I be blithe 
 
 The while that I be alive aao 
 
 Till I right mine uncle and lord 
 
 To the best of my hand and sword!" 
 
 The Britons made answer then 
 
 With one voice, as valiant men : 
 
 "Our weapons are keen and bright, 
 
 To-morrow we march forthright!" 
 
 Then, since the Lord willed it so, 
 
 To-morrow they forth would go, 
 
 Arthur moved with the dawning light, 
 
 And with him his valiant knights, 230 
 
 One half of the folk must stay, 
 
 And one half marched with him alway. 
 
 Thus he led his men through the land 
 
 Till they came at the last to Whitsand; 
 
 Ships, full many and good, 
 
 Ready in harbour stood, 
 
 But a fortnight full his host 
 
 It lay becalmed on that coast, 
 
 Till the weather changed once more, 239 
 
 And the wind blew fresh from the shore. 
 
 Now in Arthur's host that day 
 Was one who would traitor play, 
 And when he heard men speak 
 Of the vengeance they thought to wreak, 
 Forthwith he took his swain, 
 And he bade him haste amain, 
 And bear to Wenhavere the word 
 Of how Arthur the tale had heard, 
 And how he would come ere long, 
 With a mickle host, and strong; aso 
 
 And how he had sworn an oath 
 To take vengeance upon them both. 
 
 The queen came to Modred then, 
 (Dearest to her of men,) 
 And told to him everything 
 Concerning Arthur the king, 
 How he would act in that day, 
 And how he the twain would slay. 
 Then Modred sent speedily 
 To Saxland across the sea, 260 
 
 And he prayed that Childerich, 
 A monarch exceeding rich, 
 Would swiftly to Britain fare, 
 (Of the land should he have his share — ) 
 And he prayed of the king that tide 
 To send messengers far and wide, 
 East, West, and South, and North, 
 And bid all his knights fare forth, 
 Even all they met on their way, — 
 And to get them without delay 270 
 
 To Britain, and part of the land 
 Would he give into Childerich's hand; 
 North of the Humber all 
 Should be his without recall, 
 If he men to his aid would bring 
 Against Arthur his lord and king. 
 Childerich helped him in need, 
 To Britain he came with speed; 
 And Modred called on his men 
 To gather for battle then, 280 
 
 There were sixty thousand all told, 
 Hardy warriors and bold, 
 Who were come out of Heathennesse 
 For King Arthur's sore distress, 
 For Modred they came to fight, 
 That evil and traitorous knight! 
 And when all were come to the place, 
 Of every folk and race, 
 Rank upon rank did they press, 
 One hundred thousand, no less, ■ 290 
 Of heathen, or Christian, that morn 
 Were with Modred the false and fore- 
 sworn. 
 Now Arthur and all his host, 
 At Whitsand they lay, on the coast, 
 Too long seemed those fourteen days — 
 And Modred he knew always 
 What Arthur he planned and he wrought, 
 For tidings each day were brought 
 
LAYAMON 
 
 17 
 
 From the army that lay by the sea — 
 Then the rain, it rained steadily, 300 
 And the wind, it shifted at last, 
 And blew from the east full blast, 
 And Arthur gat him aboard 
 With every knight and lord; 
 And he bade his shipmen steer 
 For Romney, and have no fear, 
 There he thought him to land, and then 
 March inland with all his men. 
 When they came to the haven and shore 
 Modred was there before, 310 
 
 And ere ever the dawn grew bright 
 The hosts they had fallen to fight, 
 And they fought through the live-long 
 
 day, 
 Full many there lifeless lay! 
 Some of them fought on the land, 
 And some on the salt sea strand, 
 Some from the ships' deck cast 
 Sharp spears, which flew full fast. 
 Walwain, he went before, 
 And cleared their path to the shore, 320 
 Eleven thanes did he slay 
 With Childerich's son, that day, 
 Whom his father had hither brought — 
 When the sun his rest had sought 
 Bowed was each British head 
 For Walwain lay there dead 
 And robbed of his life-days all — 
 (Through a Saxon earl did he fall, 
 Sorry be that man's soul!) 
 To Arthur 't was bitter dole, 330 
 
 Full sorrowful was his mood, 
 And he spake, that chieftain good, 
 (Mightiest of Britons he — ) 
 "I have lost, ah, woe is me! 
 Walwain whom I loved so well, 
 E'en so did my dream foretell, 
 I deemed it would sorrow bring! 
 Now slain is Angel the king, 
 Who was mine own darling, and thane, 
 And my sister's son, Walwain, 340 
 
 Ah, woe is me for this morn, 
 I would I had ne'er been born ! 
 Now up from your ships, and fight 
 Asye ne'er yet have fought, my knights !" 
 
 Then, even at his command, 
 
 His warriors leapt to the land, 
 
 Sixty thousand all told, 
 
 Stalwart Britons and bold, 
 
 And they brake through Modred's host, 
 
 Well nigh he himself was lost! 350 
 
 Then Modred, he 'gan to flee 
 
 And his men followed speedily, 
 
 'T was a marvel to see how they fled, 
 
 The fields rocked beneath their tread, 
 
 And the stones in the river course 
 
 Jarred 'neath the blood-streams' force! 
 
 Full well had they ended that fight 
 
 Were it not for the coming of night, 
 
 Had the darkness but made delay 
 
 All their foes had been slain that day. 360 
 
 The night fell between the twain — 
 
 O'er the hills Modred fled amain, 
 
 He fled so far and so fast 
 
 That to London he came at last, 
 
 But they knew, the burghers stout, 
 
 How the matter had fallen out, 
 
 And bade him and his followers all 
 
 Abide there, without the wall. 
 
 Modred, he might not stay, 
 
 But to Winchester took his way, 370 
 
 And they gave him shelter there 
 
 And all that with him did fare. 
 
 But Arthur, with all his might, 
 
 Pursued after him forth-right, 
 
 And to Winchester came ere long 
 
 With a mickle host and strong; 
 
 With his army he sat him down, 
 
 And shut Modred within the town. 
 
 When Modred saw him so nigh 
 
 He bethought him craftily, 380 
 
 And oft he turned in his mind 
 
 What counsel he there might find. 
 
 And there, on that self-same night, 
 
 He called unto him his knights, 
 
 And bade them to arm them straight 
 
 And march out of the city gate, 
 
 For there would he make a stand 
 
 And fight for the crown and the land. 
 
 And unto the burghers he swore 
 
 Free law for evermore 350 
 
i8 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Would they stand by him at his need 
 And help him with act and deed. 
 And thus, when it waxed to light, 
 All ordered they stood for fight. 
 Arthur beheld this thing, 
 Wroth was the Britons' king: 
 Then the trumpet blast rang clear, 
 And his men came together there, 
 And he prayed of his thanes forth-right, 
 And of every noble knight, 400 
 
 To help him, and fight right well, 
 That he might all his foemen fell; 
 And to level the city wall, 
 And to hang the burghers all. 
 Together they marched, as one man, 
 And sternly the fight began. 
 Then Modred, again he thought 
 In his heart, and counsel sought, 
 And he did in his danger there 
 E'en as he did elsewhere, 410 
 
 With the best could he traitor play 
 For treason he wrought alway! 
 He worked a betrayal grim 
 On the comrades who fought for him; 
 For he called from among the rest 
 The knights whom he loved the best, 
 And the friends whom he held most 
 
 dear 
 Of the folk who were with him there, 
 And he stole from the fight away — 
 The Devil led him that day! 4*> 
 
 And left his good folk on the land, 
 To be slain there by Arthur's hand. 
 Thus all day long they fought, 
 That their lord was nigh they thought, 
 And they deemed that he took good heed 
 To succour them in their need. 
 But Modred, he went his way 
 On the road that toward Hampton lay, 
 And made for the haven then — 
 (Wickedest he of men! — ) 430 
 
 Of the ships he took speedily 
 All that were fitted for sea, 
 And the steersmen, one and all, 
 That no harm should his ships befall; 
 Thus Modred, that traitorous king, 
 Did they safe into Cornwall bring. 
 
 And Arthur his army cast 
 Bound Winchester, fair and fast, 
 And all the folk did he slay — 
 Sorrow was their's that day ! — 440 
 
 He spared no soul that drew breath, 
 Young or old, all he put to death. 
 Thus the people to loss he turned, 
 And the city with fire he burned. 
 And then he bade them withal 
 To break down the city wall; 
 And thus was fulfilled the word, 
 Aforetime from Merlin heard: 
 "Winchester, woe unto thee, 
 For swallowed of earth shalt thou be!" 
 Thus Merlin the seer foretold, 451 
 
 Wisest wizard of old! 
 
 In York the queen abode, 
 Bight sorrowful was her mood, 
 Saddest of women, I ween, 
 Was Wenhavere, Arthur's queen! 
 For she heard men say for sooth, 
 And knew them for words of truth, 
 How that Modred, he ever fled, 
 And Arthur behind him sped, 460 
 
 Woe was upon her that morn 
 That ever she had been born ! 
 From York did she take her flight, 
 In secret, by shades of night, 
 And to Caerleon made her way 
 Swiftly, without delay, 
 Not for all this world's treasure-store 
 Would she look upon Arthur more. 
 Thus with but two knights in her train 
 At Caerleon she drew rein, 470 
 
 To the city she came by night, 
 And they hooded her there forth-right, 
 •And a nun must she henceforth be, 
 Saddest of women she! 
 Then men of the queen knew naught, 
 Where she went, or what fate she sought; 
 E'en when many years had flown 
 The truth might by none be known. 
 And never a book may tell 
 In what wise her death befell, 480 
 
 And if in the water's flow 
 She cast herself, none may know. 
 
LAYAMON 
 
 19 
 
 In Cornwall was Modred then, 
 
 And he gathered to him his men; 
 
 To Ireland he sent with speed 
 
 Messengers in his need, 
 
 To Scotland, to Saxland, too, 
 
 Help from them all he drew. 
 
 He bade them come to his land, 
 
 All who would win to their hand 490 
 
 Silver, or gold, or fee — 
 
 Thus he guarded him prudently, 
 
 As a wise man will ever do 
 
 When need forceth him thereto. 
 
 Tidings to Arthur they bring, 
 
 (Was never so wroth a king!) 
 
 How Modred in Cornwall sped, — 
 
 That a mighty host he led, 
 
 And there he thought to abide 
 
 Till Arthur should 'gainst him ride. 500 
 
 Then messengers Arthur sent, 
 
 Through the breadth of his land they 
 
 went, 
 And they bade every living knight 
 In the land, who had strength to fight, 
 To arm him, and come straightway. — 
 But if he would traitor play, 
 And hold with Modred, then 
 The king would have none of such 
 
 men. 
 And whoever should take no heed 
 To do Arthur's will with speed sio 
 
 Should be burnt alive on the land, 
 Or slain, at the king's command. 
 Then towards the army sped 
 A folk unnumbered, 
 A-horse and afoot they came, 
 Thick as the falling rain. 
 To Cornwall marched Arthur the king, 
 With a mighty following. 
 And when Modred the tidings knew 
 Toward him he swiftly drew — s*o 
 
 Countless the folk that day, 
 O'er many of them were fey ! 
 To the Tamar their face they set, 
 By the river those armies met, 
 Camelford, did they call that shore,' 
 And the name dureth ever more! 
 Arthur, he reckoned then 
 
 On his side, sixty thousand men, 
 But more by thousands were they 
 Who stood by Modred that day ! 53' 
 No longer would Arthur abide 
 But thitherward would he ride; 
 Bold were his knights and fleet, 
 They hasted their fate to meet! 
 On the banks of the Tamar river 
 The armies they came together, 
 The banners above them flew, 
 The ranks together drew, 
 Their long swords flash in the light, 
 Hard on the helms they smite; 540 
 
 The sparks sprang beneath the stroke, 
 The spears, they shivered and broke; 
 Cloven each goodly shield, 
 The shafts they splinter and yield; 
 The folk they fought passing well, 
 Their number no man might tell; 
 Tamar, it ran on flood 
 Swollen with streams of blood. 
 Never might man in the fight 
 Know one from the other knight, 550 
 Who did better, or who did worse, 
 So mingled the battle's course, 
 For each, as he might, would slay, 
 Were he swain, were he knight, that 
 
 day! 
 There was Modred of life-days reft, 
 On the field was he lifeless left, 
 And with him all of his knights 
 Were slain in that fearsome fight. 
 There too were slain, I ween, 
 Full many good knights and keen, 560 
 King Arthur's warriors brave 
 High and low, all found there their 
 
 grave, 
 With every British lord 
 Who sat at Arthur's board, 
 And the men who bowed to his hand 
 Of every kin and land. 
 And Arthur was smitten sore, 
 Of spear wounds that day he bore 
 Fifteen, so deep, and so wide, 
 In the least gash two gloves might ye 
 
 hide! 570 
 
 When it came to the end of the strife 
 
20 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Nor more were there left on life, 
 Of two hundred thousand men 
 Who lay hewn in pieces then, 
 Save only Arthur, the king, 
 And two knights of his following. 
 And Arthur was smitten sore, 
 Wondrous the wounds he bore! 
 Then a young knight came to the king, 
 He was one of his kith and kin, — S 8o 
 Son to Cador the keen, 
 Who earl of Cornwall had been, 
 Constantine was he hight, 
 Arthur he loved that knight — 
 The king looked his face toward 
 As he lay on the bloody sward, 
 And thus he spake to the lad 
 With sorrowful heart and sad: 
 "Constantine, thou art welcome now, 
 Cador's son wert thou, 590 
 
 I leave thee my kingdom here, 
 Guard thou my Britons dear 
 .So long as thy life shall last — 
 And see that they still hold fast 
 The laws that in my day stood, 
 And King Uther's laws so good. 
 But to Avalon will I fare, 
 A maiden, she ruleth there, 
 By name Argante the queen, 
 Fairest of elves I ween! 600 
 
 My wounds shall she handle and heal, 
 Turning my woe to weal, 
 For sound is he who hath quaffed 
 At her hand a healing draught! 
 And then will I come again 
 
 And once more o'er my kingdom reign, 
 
 And dwell with my Britons dear 
 
 In great joy, and mickle cheer!" t 
 
 And e'en as the words he said 
 
 Swift o'er the sea there sped 610 
 
 A little boat, and low, 
 
 That came with the wavelets' flow. 
 
 Within were two women fair 
 
 Who a wondrous semblance bare; 
 
 They took up Arthur the king, 
 
 And swift to the boat did bring, 
 
 Soft they laid down his head, 
 
 And swiftly from thence they sped. 
 
 Ah! then was fulfilled the word 
 
 From Merlin the prophet heard 6*> 
 
 That sorrow and woe should spring 
 
 From the passing of Arthur the king. 
 
 But the British folk, they say 
 
 That Arthur, he lives alway, 
 
 That held by a fairy spell, 
 
 In Avalon doth he dwell; 
 
 And each Briton's hope is strong 
 
 That he cometh again ere long! 
 
 And there liveth no mother's son 
 
 Who desire of women hath won, 630 
 
 Who knoweth a better lore 
 
 Or of Arthur can tell ye more. 
 
 But whilom was a wizard wight, 
 
 Merlin that man was hight, 
 
 And he said in words of truth, 
 
 (For ever his sayings were sooth,) 
 
 That Arthur shall come again, 
 
 And once more o'er the Britons reign! 
 
 ROBERT OF GLOUCESTER'S CHRONICLE 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 England, it is a right good land, I ween of lands the best, 
 
 'T is set in one end of the world, and lieth toward the West; 
 
 The sea, it girts it all about, it stands as doth an isle, 
 
 Thus of their foes they have less doubt, save that they come thro' guile 
 
 The people of that self-same land — as hath been seen of old. 
 
 From South to North the land is long, eight hundred miles full told, 
 
ROBERT OF GLOUCESTER'S CHRONICLE 
 
 He who would cross from East to West two hundred miles must wend, 
 
 So is the mid-land measure told, 't is less toward the end. 
 
 And here in England all good things in plenty may ye see 
 
 Save thro' wrong-doing of the folk the years the worser be. 
 
 For England, it is full enow of fruit, and trees so green, 
 
 Of woodland, and of parks so fair, joyful to see, I ween; 
 
 And birds and beasts, both wild and tame, ye sure shall find them there 
 
 With fishes too, both salt and fresh, and many a river fair! 
 
 And wells of water, sweet and cold, pastures and meads wide-spread, 
 
 And mines of silver and of gold, of tin, and eke of lead, 
 
 Of steel, of iron, and of brass; garners of good corn full, 
 
 And wheat have they, and therewithal the very best of wool. 
 
 And waters have they there enow, above all others three' 
 
 (Across the land to sea they run, e'en as its arms they be,) 
 
 Whereon the ships may safely sail, and from the sea may wend 
 
 To land with merchandise enow, and reach to either end. 
 
 Two be the Severn and the Thames, Humber the third they call, 
 
 And these, e'en as I said to ye, run thro' the land withal. 
 
 The Humber runneth to the North, a goodly stream and wide, 
 
 South- West, I trow, the Severn's course, the Thames, on the East side, 
 
 So that enow of merchandise from distant lands, I wis, 
 
 Is borne by them thro' England, the folk, they nothing miss. 
 
 And many a smaller isle there be that lieth off this land 
 
 But three there be above them all, so do I understand. 
 
 That which they call the Isle of Man lies in the Irish sea, 
 
 And the great Isle of Orkney shall North of Scotland be, 
 
 South, toward Normandy, the third the Isle of Wight they call, 
 
 These be the three best islands, and the best known of all. 
 
 The earliest lords and masters who dwelt within that land 
 
 They reared the towns and cities that chief in England stand; 
 
 London, and York, and Lincoln. Leicester, the names they bore, 
 
 Colchester, Canterbury, Bristol, and Worcester, four, 
 
 And Chichester, and Cambridge, with Cirencester, these three 
 
 With Dorchester, and Winchester, and Gloucester, next shall be. 
 
 Other great towns be found there, in Wales, the sooth to say, 
 
 And thus it was in England when Britons there held sway. 
 
 Men have made war on England, thither as conquerors come, 
 
 First, mighty lords they ruled it, the Emperors of Rome, 
 
 They fought, and eke they won it, and held it at that same; 
 
 The Picts and Scots thereafter, from North to England came, 
 
 They warred, and wide they wasted, yet won not all they sought; 
 
 Then Angles came, and Saxons, by Britons hither brought 
 
 Against these foes to help them — they gained the upper hand 
 
 Against these self-same Britons, and took from them their land. 
 
 And since that time in England the warfare scarce may cease, 
 
 First, thro' the folk of Denmark, who be not yet at peace, 
 
 England oft-times they won it, and held by mastery — 
 
CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Fifthly, the land was conquered by folk from Normandy 
 
 And still they dwell among us, and shall for evermore — 
 
 The book hereafter telleth of all this woe so sore. 
 
 The Britons were the first folk who landed on this shore, 
 
 The kingdom they divided, and gave to rulers four; 
 
 The kings of Kent, and Wessex, and of Northumberland, 
 
 And of the March, this last king, he ruled the middle land. 
 
 The Saxons, and the English, when they the land had won 
 
 In shires five and thirty they parted it anon, 
 
 Sussex, I trow, and Surrey, Essex, and Kent they be, 
 
 And Berkshire next, and Hampshire, and Middlesex, these three. 
 
 Then Dorsetshire, and Wiltshire, and Somerset, also, 
 
 And Devonshire and Cornwall, with Gloucestershire ye know. 
 
 Then Shropshire nigh to Worcester, thereafter Hereford, 
 
 With Warwickshire, and Cheshire, Derby, and eke Stafford; 
 
 And Lincolnshire, and Bedford, and also Huntingdon, 
 
 Buckingham, and Northampton, and Oxenford, anon. 
 
 Norfolk there is, and Suffolk, and Cambridge-shire also, 
 
 And Hertfordshire, and Leicester, and Nottingham thereto. 
 
 York and Carlisle, Northumberland, these three complete the tale — ■ 
 
 These shires be all in England, without the March of Wales. 
 
 With that there be in England Bishoprics seventeen, 
 
 Carlisle they be, and Durham, and York, so do I ween, 
 
 Ely, and Canterbury, Norwich, and Rochester, 
 
 With London, too, and Salisbury, Chichester, Winchester, 
 
 Of Lincoln, and of Chester, and Worcester, last there be 
 
 Bath, Hereford, and Exeter — these be the final three. 
 
 With that, Wales too, hath bishops, but three alone, no more, 
 
 Saint David first, then Landaff, the third is of Bangor. 
 
 But York and Canterbury, Archbishoprics are they, 
 
 They of Carlisle, and Durham, must York's decrees obey; 
 
 The others all of England with those of Wales, the three, 
 
 They all shall owe allegiance to Canterbury's see. 
 
 When Saxons ruled in England, tho' they in power did thrive, 
 But seven kings they made here, and afterward but five; 
 Northumbria, and East Anglia, these be the names of two, 
 The kings of Kent, and Wessex, and of the March also. 
 Who ruled the March, I think me, at that time had the best, — 
 The greater part of England, that lieth toward the West, 
 Both Worcestershire and Warwick, with Gloucester to him fell, 
 ('T was well nigh all one Bishopric, of Worcester, so men tell.) 
 And Derbyshire, and Cheshire, and Staffordshire, those three 
 Again be held together, and make one Bishop's see, 
 The Bishopric of Chester, yet more to him was told, 
 Since Shropshire, and the half share of Warwick did he hold. 
 And this king, too, had Hereford, one bishopric it is, 
 
ROBERT OF GLOUCESTER'S CHRONICLE 23 
 
 (But Shropshire forms the half part of that same see, I wis. 100 
 
 Of Gloucester part, and Warwick) nor this, I trow, was all, 
 
 For still more land as portion unto the March did fall; 
 
 Northamptonshire, and Buckingham, and Oxfordshire also, 
 
 With Leicestershire, and Lincoln, and Hertford, shall ye know. 
 
 One Bishopric 't is counted, of Lincoln is the see, 
 
 Whilom it was of Dorchester, that shall by Oxford be. 
 
 And Nottinghamshire also fell to that same king's share — 
 
 (Unto York's see 't is reckoned, altho' it be not there — ) 
 
 And thereto Wales was added, 't is a great land I ween, 
 
 And all this, of aforetime, the March of Wales hath been. no 
 
 But for the land 'twixt Humber and Thames, that land, I wis, 
 
 Is reckoned unto Lincoln, within that see it is. 
 
 The Bishopric of Lincoln, and West of all that land, 
 
 Who ruled the March, that monarch had all that in his hand. 
 
 The King of Wessex, Wiltshire he held beneath his sway 
 
 With Dorsetshire and Berkshire, one Bishopric are they 
 
 By Salisbury's Bishop holden — and Sussex, too, was his, 
 
 The Weald, and with it Chichester, a Bishopric it is. 
 
 Southamptonshire and Surrey be 'neath one Bishop's power, 
 
 The Bishopric of Winchester — it standeth to this hour. 120 
 
 With Somerset, that erstwhile belonged to Wells, I trow, 
 
 Of Bath too, is that Bishop, ye know it well enow. 
 
 Yet had the King of Wessex all Devonshire, I wis, 
 
 And Cornwall, in the bishopric of Exeter it is. 
 
 The King of Kent, he ruled then o'er all the Kentish land 
 
 Two Bishoprics they had then, and still the same they stand, 
 
 The one is Canterbury, that ranks the first of all, 
 
 The next place on the West side to Rochester doth fall. 
 
 The King of the East Angles, o'er Norfolk did he reign, 
 
 The Bishopric is Norwich; Suffolk was his again, 130 
 
 Thereto the see of Ely, in Ely's isle it is, 
 
 And Cambridgeshire was reckoned unto his land, I wis. 
 
 Northumbria's king was ruler, so do I understand, 
 
 Of all beyond the Humber, up to the Scottish land. 
 
 All these were kings aforetime where now one bears the crown 
 
 For that the King of Wessex put all the others down, 
 
 Sithen, alone he ruled there, as doth our King indeed, 
 
 Here in this book 't is written, and men the tale may read. 
 
 In Canterbury's country most fish be found, I wis; 
 
 Round Salisbury most hunting of the wild beasts there is; 140 
 
 Most ships be found at London; at Winchester, most wine; 
 
 Most sheep and kine in Hereford; and Worcester's fruit is fine; 
 
 From Coventry the soap comes; in Gloucester iron is found; 
 
 And lead and tin in Exeter, and all that country round. 
 
 The fairest woods hath Yorkshire; Lincoln, the fairest men; 
 
 And Huntingdon and Cambridge, the most of marsh and fen. 
 
24 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Ely, of places fairest; best to sight, Rochester; 
 
 Facing toward France there standeth the land of Chichester; 
 
 Norwich doth face toward Denmark; Chester, the Irish shore; 
 
 And Durham looks toward Norway; so doth it run, my lore. iso 
 
 Three Wonders be in England, and three alone, I wot, 
 
 The one be the Bath waters, that evermore are hot, 
 
 And ever freshly springing, be the chill ne'er so great, 
 
 Of such baths there be many, alike in house and street. 
 
 On Salisbury's plain it standeth, the second, strange it is, 
 
 Stonehenge its name, no marvel shall greater be, I wis; 
 
 Upright and high it standeth, 't is wondrous all to see, 
 
 The stones they be so mighty, that greater none may be, 
 
 Others lie high above them, that men may sorely fear, 
 
 And in their hearts may wonder who did them first uprear? 160 
 
 For neither strength nor cunning, I trow, that work might do; 
 
 And men shall speak hereafter of these same wonders two 
 
 How that they first were fashioned — The other wonder is 
 
 Upon a hill, they call it the Peak, the wind, I wis, 
 
 Up from the earth it cometh, e'en as thro' holes it were, 
 
 And thro' these holes it bloweth so that it taketh there 
 
 Great cloths, aloft it bears them, if so they be anigh, 
 
 And here and there it blows them, up in the air on high. 
 
 And of fair roads full many there be throughout that land 170 
 
 But four above all others, so do I understand, 
 
 The Kings of old, they made them, and by them men may wend 
 
 From the one end of England right to the other end. 
 
 From South to North it runneth, the first, 't is Erning Street; 
 
 From East to West who travels must go by Ykenilde Street; 
 
 From Dover up to Chester by Watling Street men fare 
 
 From South-east unto North-west, a long road, and a fair; 
 
 The fourth, it is the longest, it starteth from Totness, 
 
 From the one end of Cornwall, and goeth to Caithness, 
 
 From South-west to the North-east, even to England's end, 
 
 By many good towns the Fossway, so is it called, doth wend. 180 
 
 So clean a land is England, and from all whoredom free 
 
 The fairest men in all the world in England born shall be; 
 
 So clean they be midst others, so fair and pure, I ween, 
 
 In every land men know them, where'er they may be seen. 
 
 So clean be all that country, so pure men's blood, that ne'er 
 
 The evil men call "Holy Fire" may find an entrance there; 
 
 That ill men's limbs devoureth, e'en as tho' burned by flame, 
 
 But men of France in such case may rid them of that same, 
 
 If they be brought to England — whereby they well may see 
 
 That England is the best land, e'en as I tell to ye. i 90 
 
ROBERT OF BRUNNE'S CHRONICLE 
 
 25 
 
 ROBERT OF BRUNNE'S CHRONICLE 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Lordings all who now be here 
 
 Lend to this, my tale, an ear, 
 
 England's story, hearken it, 
 
 As Robert Mannynge found it writ, 
 
 Into English, as 't is spoke, 
 
 Turned it, for the simple folk 
 
 (Who in this land were not few, ^ 
 
 And nor French nor Latin knew) 
 
 For their solace and their glee 
 
 When in fellowship they be. 10 
 
 For 't is wise that of their land 
 
 Men should read and understand, 
 
 Know what folk that land first won, 
 
 From what race it was begun. 
 
 Good it is for many things 
 
 Men should hear the deeds of kings, 
 
 Who were fools, and who were wise, 
 
 Who most cunning in devise, 
 
 Who did wrong, and who did right, 
 
 Kept the peace, or strove in fight. 20 
 
 Of their deeds shall be my saw — 
 
 Of what time, and of what law, 
 
 I from step to step will say 
 
 Even from Sir Noah's day; 
 
 From Noah unto ^Eneas, 
 
 And the folk that 'twixt them was; 
 
 From .(Eneas until Brutus came 
 
 (From whom Britain took its name) — 
 
 Till Cadwallader we see, 
 
 Last of British princes he! 30 
 
 All the race, and all the fruit 
 
 Sprung from Brutus is the Brut, 
 
 The right Brut is told no more 
 
 When the Britons' rule is o'er. 
 
 After them the English band 
 
 Won the lordship of this land, 
 
 North and South, and East and West, 
 
 That men call the English Oeste. 
 
 When they first to Britain came 
 
 Saxons did they call their name, 40 
 
 Saxons, English, differ naught, — 
 
 Sandwich the first land they sought, 
 
 Vortigern, who then held sway 
 
 Suffered them to land alway, 
 
 Brothers twain led them in fight, 
 
 Hengist, Horsa, were they hight, 
 
 These the heads, to whom we trace 
 
 This, our English folk and race. 
 
 And as heathen dwelt they here 
 
 Well nigh for two hundred year so 
 
 Ere the christian Faith they knew 
 
 From the lips of Austin true, 
 
 Mid the Britons in much woe, 
 
 Slaughter, slander, threat, and throe. 
 
 Ye these deeds may hear right well 
 
 E'en as Piers the tale doth tell; 
 
 Master Wace in French, to wit, 
 
 Turned the Brut, in Latin writ, 
 
 From ^Eneas, till there came 
 
 Cadwallader, there left the same. 60 
 
 I, what Master Wace doth say 
 
 Tell in English, that same way. 
 
 Wace doth all the Latin rhyme, 
 
 Piers, he skipped it many a time; 
 
 Wace, the Brut throughout he reads, 
 
 Piers, tells all the English deeds; 
 
 And where Master Wace doth fail 
 
 Piers, he oft begins his tale, 
 
 Tells the English history, 
 
 As he says then, so say I. 70 
 
 So, as they have writ and said, 
 
 Have I all in English laid, 
 
 Even in such simple speech 
 
 As be easiest for each, 
 
 Not for those my care alway 
 
 Who can speak, or harp a lay, 
 
 But for love of simple men 
 
 Who strange English may not ken. 
 
 Many hear good English rhymes 
 
 Who their sense know not oft-times, 80 
 
 Save they know what here is meant 
 
 All my pains were but ill-spent; 
 
 Yet for praise I wrote it not, 
 
 But for layman's use, I wot! 
 
26 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Were it made in rhyme couvi, 
 Rhymes alternate, strange, since they 
 Who read English yet be few 
 Who can turn a couplet true, 
 This, in couvS, or baston, 
 Had been past the wit of some, q, 
 
 So that many who should hear 
 Should not read my meaning clear. 
 I have seen, in song, and tale, 
 Of Ercildoun, and of Kendale, 
 None be told as they were wrought, 
 In the saying they seem naught. 
 In Sir Tristrem ye may see, 
 Of all Gestes the best it be, 
 Of all tales that e'er were made 
 If men say what Thomas said; » 
 
 None I hear thus tell the tale, 
 Of the couplets, some, they fail, 
 So, for all their cunning speech, 
 , Of his labour faileth each. 
 But for pride the tale they say 
 Deeming none be such as they; 
 That which they desire withal 
 That same fame shall perish all, 
 'T is in such strange speech, I wis, 
 Many know not what it is. m 
 
 Thus it irketh me the more 
 In strange rhymes to travail sore, 
 All too dull my wit to learn 
 In strange speech my rhymes to turn, 
 
 And forsooth, I knew it naught, 
 
 This strange English that they wrought, 
 
 And men prayed me many a time 
 
 I would write in easy rhyme, 
 
 Saying: "If strange words ye use 
 
 Many shall to hear refuse," 120 
 
 (For the names be strange, I trow, 
 
 Such as men they use not now.) 
 
 Thus, for folk who simple be, 
 
 And would gladly, hearken me, 
 
 I in simple speech began 
 
 For love of the unlearned man, 
 
 Telling of the chances bold 
 
 That were said and done of old; 
 
 For my toll I ask no meed 129 
 
 Save your prayers when ye shall read. 
 
 Therefore, all ye Iordings lay, 
 
 For whose sake I wrought alway, 
 
 Pray to God He shew me grace. 
 
 I have worked for your solace, 
 
 Should men blame, of Brunne I came, 
 
 Robert Mannynge is my name, 
 
 God in Heaven bless him still 
 
 Who doth name me with good-will. 
 
 In Third Edward's time was I 
 
 When I wrote this history, 140 
 
 In Sixille's house dwelt anon — 
 
 Then Dan Robert, of Malton, 
 
 Bade me, for my comrade's sake, 
 
 Write, that we might solace make. 
 
 BARBOUR'S BRUCE 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Stories we read right willingly, 
 Altho' they naught but fables be, 
 So should a truthful tale of old, 
 An it were well and fitly told, 
 Be doubly good to hear, I trow — 
 Pleasant the telling were enow, 
 Twofold that pleasure, if right well 
 Ye tell the thing as it befell; 
 And truth, when it shall please the ear 
 Is found by men right good to hear. 10 
 
 Therefore I fain would set my will, 
 If so my wit suffice me still, 
 To write a story true of old 
 That men may aye in memory hold, 
 So that it live in this, my rhyme, 
 Nor be forgot thro' length of time. 
 For such old tales, to him who reads, 
 Do represent the valiant deeds 
 Of stalwart folk, who lived of yore, 19 
 E'en as they chanced their face before; 
 And we their memory sure should prize 
 Who in their days were brave and wise, 
 
BARBOUR'S BRUCE 
 
 27 
 
 And in great travail passed their life — 
 In battle oft, and sternest strife 
 Did win of chivalry the praise 
 Avoiding false and cowardly ways. 
 For such was our King Robert's part, 
 Hardy was he of hand and heart, 
 And good Sir James of Douglas, who 
 Was in his time a knight so true, 30 
 So valiant, and so free of hand, 
 Men sang his praise in many a land. 
 Of them this book I fain would write, 
 God give me Grace that I, aright 
 May treat my theme that ne'er thro' me 
 Aught but the truth therein shall be. 
 
 IN PRAISE OF FREEDOM 
 
 Alas! that folk who once were free, 
 And wont in freedom aye to be, 
 Thro' their mischance and folly great 
 Were fallen on such woeful state, 
 Had made him judge who erst was foe — 
 What greater sorrow might man know? 
 Ah, Freedom is a noble thing ! 
 Freedom a man to joy doth bring, 
 Freedom to man sweet solace gives, 
 He lives at ease who freely lives! 10 
 
 A noble heart may find no ease, 
 In life is naught that shall him please, 
 If Freedom fails, for to be free 
 Above all things desired shall be. 
 Only the man who lived before 
 In Freedom, knows the anguish sore, 
 The wrath, the wretchedness and pain 
 That 's coupled with foul thralldom's 
 
 chain. 
 But let him once have tested it 
 And then I trow he well shall wit, so 
 And Freedom prize, and dearer hold 
 Than all of this world's wealth in gold; 
 Thus evermore things opposite 
 The worth of each doth bring to light. 
 And naught the thrall his own may call 
 For that he has abandoned all 
 Unto his lord, whoe'er he be — 
 Yet is he still in no wise free 
 To live as pleaseth him, or do 
 
 That which his heart inclines him to. 30 
 Hereof do clerks a question take 
 And often disputation make, 
 That, if a man shall bid his thrall 
 Do aught, and that his wife, withal, 
 Doth come, her right of him to pray, 
 Shall he his lord's command let stay, 
 First pay his debt, ere that he go 
 His lord's commandment for to do? 
 Or shall he leave his wife unpaid 
 Till that his lord's will be obeyed? 40 
 I trow that question they may try 
 Who be more skilled in subtlety, 
 But since they think there lieth strife 
 Betwixt the rights of wedded life 
 And a lord's bidding to his thrall, 
 Ye need no words from me withal 
 The ills of thralldom well to see — 
 For men may know, who wedded be, 
 That marriage is the hardest band 
 That any man may take on hand. 50 
 But thralldom shall be worse than 
 
 death — 
 For while a thrall may draw his breath 
 It mars his life in flesh and bone, 
 Death vexeth him but once alone. 
 In short, it passeth telling all 
 The sore condition of a thrall! 
 
 JAMES OF DOUGLAS 
 
 Thus Douglas to Saint Andrews came, 
 The Bishop, courteous, at that same 
 Received him, gave unto his care 
 His knives, to carve before him there. 
 He clad him well, in raiment fit, 
 And gave him lodging fair to wit. 
 There many days did Douglas dwell; 
 Men for his bounty loved him well 
 For he was in his ways most fair, 
 Courteous and wise and debonaire, 10 
 True and large-hearted aye was he, 
 And o'er all things loved loyalty. 
 'T is well if men their love thus give, 
 By loyalty men righteous live; 
 A man, if he but loyal be 
 Of virtue hath sufficiency, 
 
28 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Without it, none his worth shall prize, 
 Altho' he valiant be and wise, 
 For nothing else where that doth fail 
 May be of value, nor avail ao 
 
 To make a man so good that he 
 Shall for "a good man" holden be. 
 But Douglas was in all things leal, 
 At all times he disdained to deal 
 In treachery, or falsehood's part, 
 But on high honour set his heart, 
 And bare him in such wise that dear 
 Was he to all who came him near. 
 Yet was he not so fair to see 
 That he for beauty praised might be, 30 
 In visage was he somewhat gray, 
 And had black hair, as I heard say; 
 But in his limbs well-shapen all, 
 Large-boned, broad-shouldered, he, 
 
 withal: 
 Lean was his body, shapen well 
 As those who saw him love to tell; 
 When he was blithe, then gracious he, 
 Gentle and meek in companie, 
 On battlefield, his folk declare 
 Another countenance he ware! 40 
 
 And in his speech he lisped somewhat, 
 But that became him well, I wot, 
 With Hector good, of Troy, might he 
 In many things well likened be; 
 For Hector's hair was black, I trow, 
 Strong-limbed was he, well made enow, 
 And Hector lisped, e'en as did he, 
 And was fulfilled of loyaltie, 
 And was a wise and courteous knight 
 Of manhood true, and mickle might, so 
 Yet none who lived on earth I dare 
 With Hector, truly, to compare 
 For in his days the deeds he wrought 
 Much love and honour to him brought. 
 
 HOW THE BRUCE CROSSED LOCH 
 LOMOND l 
 
 The king, he would no longer stay, 
 But to Loch Lomond took his way, 
 The third day to their goal they came, 
 
 1 Book it, 405. 
 
 But found no vessel at that same, 
 Which might them o'er the waters bear 
 I trow right woeful then they were. 
 The loch was broad they well must 
 
 know, 
 At heart they feared them much, also, 
 To meet their foes, who spread full wide; 
 Therefore, along the water's side, 10 
 Full eagerly about they cast, 
 Till James of Douglas, at the last, 
 A little boat, half-sunken, found, 
 And drew it with all speed to ground. 
 But 't was so small, that boat, that ne'er 
 More than three men at once 't would 
 
 bear. 
 They tell the king thereof, and he, 
 I trow, was glad exceedingly; 
 He first into the boat hath gone, 
 Douglas with him, the third was one 20 
 Who rowed them swift that water o'er, 
 And set them dry upon the shore. 
 He rowed so often to and fro 
 Fetching them over, two by two, 
 That in the space of night and day 
 Safely across the loch were they; 
 For some of them could swim full fair, 
 And on their back a burden bear, 
 By force of swimming, and of oar, 
 They and their goods across they bore. 
 The king, the while, right merrily, 31 
 Read to his men, who sat him nigh, 
 The tale of valiant Fierabras, 
 How that in strife vanquished he was, 
 In doughty wise, by Olivere; 
 And how, one while, the douze peres, 
 Were fast besieged in Egrimore — 
 When King Lavyne, the walls before, 
 With many thousands round them lay — 
 And but eleven then were they, 40 
 
 One woman with them — Sore bestead, 
 They wist not where to look for bread, 
 Save what they from their foes might 
 
 take, 
 And yet such brave defence did make 
 That they the tower held manfully, 
 Until Richard of Normandy, 
 Maugre his foes, might warn the king, 
 
BARBOUR'S BRUCE 
 
 29 
 
 Who was right joyful of this thing, 
 For that he deemed they had been slain — 
 Wherefore he turned him back again, so 
 Won Mantrybill, passed Flagote's flood, 
 Lavyne and all his host withstood, 
 And vanquished them right manfully! 
 And in this wise his knights set free, 
 And won the Nails, and eke the Spear, 
 And Crown of Thorns, as ye may hear; 
 And of the Cross, a portion fair 
 He won him by his valour there. 
 In this wise did the Scottish king, 59 
 To his men's hearts, fresh courage bring 
 With knightly game, and solace good, 
 Till all had safely passed the flood. 
 
 HOW AYMER DE VALENCE, AND 
 JOHN OF LORN CHASED THE 
 BRUCE WITH HOUND AND 
 HORN 1 
 
 Sir Atmer had great companie 
 Of noble men of high degree, 
 From England, and from Lothian; 
 And he had also with him then 
 John of Lorn, with all his might 
 Of valiant men, and good in fight, 
 More than eight hundred with him go — 
 A sleuth-hound had he there, also, 
 Which no man from a trail might bring — 
 And some men say, I trow, the king 10 
 For coursing once that dog had had, 
 And aye so mickle of him made, 
 He 'Id feed the hound with his own hand, 
 Take him where'er he went on land — 
 And that the dog he loved him so, 
 That he would never from him go — 
 How John of Lorn, he gat that hound, 
 Thereof I never mention found, 
 But this men say of certainty, 
 The dog should in his keeping be. 20 
 He thought thro' him to take the king — 
 The dog loved him o'er everything, 
 And ne'er for chance that him befell, 
 The Bruce's scent, he knew right well, 
 
 > Book vi, 476. 
 
 Would that dog ever change or miss. 
 This John of Lorn did hate, I wis, 
 The king, for John of Comyn's sake, 
 His uncle, — Fain the king to take, 
 He valued not his life a straw 
 So that he fitting vengeance saw. 30 
 The Warden, then, Sir Aymery, 
 With John of Lorn in company, 
 And many another goodly knight, 
 (One of them Thomas Randolph 
 
 hight,— ) 
 In Cumnok came to seek the king — 
 The Bruce had knowledge of that thing; 
 His force had greater waxed by then, 
 He had with him three hundred men. 
 His brother too, with him did fare, 
 And James of Douglas, he was there. 40 
 Sir Aymer's army well he saw, 
 The plain they held, and eke the lawe, 
 For battle all, in fair array — 
 At the king's heart small doubt there lay 
 That all his foemen he saw there, 
 For none beside them had he care; 
 Wherein he wrought right foolishly, 
 For John of Lorn, with subtlety, 
 Thought from behind to seize the king — 
 Therefore, with all his gathering, 50 
 
 Behind a hill he took his way 
 Holding himself in ambush aye; 
 Thus came he to the king full nigh; 
 Ere he his coming did espy, 
 Well nigh upon the king he fell — 
 Sir Aymer, with his men, right well, 
 Pressed on their foes so hardily 
 The king, he was in jeopardy, 
 Beset he was on either side, 
 By foes, who hard to slay him tried; 60 
 And e'en the lesser force, that day, 
 More than sufficed his men to slay. 
 Seeing how strait they on him pressed, 
 He thought him well what course were 
 
 best, 
 And quoth: "My Lords, we have no 
 
 might 
 To-day to hold our own in fight, 
 Divide we now, in parties three, 
 Thus all will not assailed be, 
 
3° 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And in three parties go our way." 
 Further, he did his council say 70 
 
 Betwixt them there, full privily, 
 Where their next hiding-place should be. 
 With that, they gat them on their way, 
 In parties' three they fled that day. 
 But John of Lorn, he came full fain, 
 There, whence the Bruce his flight had 
 
 ta'en, 
 The hound set on his track straightway, 
 That lingered not, nor made delay, 
 But held the track where he fled fast, 
 E'en as by sight — The dog, he cast 80 
 About, tracks twain, he left them there, 
 Knowing the path whereon to fare — 
 The king, he saw the hound that tide, 
 He kept the line, nor swerved aside, 
 And knew what dog that same should be, 
 Therefore he bade his companie 
 In the three bands to make their way, 
 And this they did without delay, 
 Holding their road in parties three — 
 The hound, he showed his mastery, go 
 For ne'er he swerved aside, but led 
 Straight on the track where Bruce, he 
 
 fled. 
 The king perceiv6d at that same, 
 His foemen still behind him came, 
 'T was him they followed, not his men — 
 He gat to him assurance then 
 That he was known — for that cause, he 
 Now bade his men, right hastily, 
 To scatter, and to go his way 
 Each man alone — and so did they, 100 
 Each on his several way has gone — 
 The king, he had with him but one, 
 His foster-brother, no man more, 
 The twain, they fled their foes before; 
 The hound, he still pursued the king, 
 And swerved not, for their severing, 
 But followed on the track full fast, 
 Knowing right well which way he past. 
 When John of Lorn thus surely saw 
 The hound his course thus straight to 
 
 draw, no 
 
 And follow hard the twain, he knew 
 One was the king, by tokens true. 
 
 He chose five of his soldiers then, 
 Who hardy were, and valiant men, 
 And who right swift of foot should be, 
 Swiftest of all his companie, 
 Bade them pursue the Bruce, "That so 
 He may in no wise pass ye fro' — " 
 Swift as they heard that counselling 
 They followed hard upon the king, 120 
 So speedily their way they make 
 That soon they did their foes o'ertake; 
 The king, he saw them draw anear, 
 Methinks, he deemed it sorry cheer, 
 He thought, an they were men of might, 
 They would in such wise stay his flight, 
 Force him to make so long a stand, 
 He were o'er-ta'en by all the band; 
 But might he dread no other foe 
 Than five, then do I surely know 130 
 Of them were he in little dread — 
 Then to his fellow, as they fled, 
 He said: "Yon five come speedily, 
 Well nigh o'er-taken now are we, 
 Say, canst thou give me help in fight? 
 Assailed shall we be forthright!" 
 "Yea, Sire," he said, "asbestlmay" — 
 The king quoth: " 'T is well, by my fay, 
 I see they draw to us full near, 
 No further will I, but right here 140 
 I'll make my stand, while breath doth 
 
 last, 
 And try their valour fair and fast." 
 The king, he stood there sturdily, 
 And the five foemen, speedily, 
 Came with great clamour, menacing; 
 Three of them set upon the king, 
 While t'ward his man the other two, 
 With sword in hand, they swiftly go. 
 The king, these foemen who him sought 
 Hath met, on one his vengeance wrought 
 In such wise that he shore away 151 
 Cheek, ear, and shoulder on that day. 
 So swift he smote, so dizzily. 
 The twain who saw, thus suddenly, 
 Their fellow fall, for very fear 
 They held them back, nor drew so near. 
 The king, with that he glanced aside, 
 And saw the other twain, that tide, 
 
BARBOUR'S BRUCE 
 
 3i 
 
 'Gainst his man sturdily to fight — 159 
 With that, he left his two, forthright, 
 And t'ward those who his man would slay 
 Full swift and light he leapt that day, 
 The head of one he off hath ta'en, 
 Then turned him to his foes again, 
 Who set on him right hardily — 
 He met the first so eagerly, 
 That with his sword, that sharply shore, 
 The arm he from the body tore. 
 What strokes they smote I cannot tell, 
 But to the king it chanced so well 170 
 That, tho' he travail had, and pain, 
 Four of his foemen hath he slain. 
 His foster-brother true, that day, 
 The fifth from life hath reft away; 
 And when the king saw of that five 
 Not one was left on ground alive, 
 To his companion did he say: 
 "Well hast thou helped me now, i-fay!" 
 "To say so pleasures ye," quoth he, 
 "Too great a share ye took to ye 180 
 Who slew five, where I slew but one!" 
 The king quoth: "So the game did run, 
 Better than thou I here might do, 
 Of leisure more had I thereto; 
 Those fellows twain, who dealt with thee, 
 When they saw me assailed by three 
 No more of me they went in dread, 
 Deeming I were too sore bestead, 188 
 And e'en because they feared me not, 
 Could I harm them the more, I wot." 
 With that, the king, he looked near by, 
 Saw John of Lorn, his company, 
 That with the hound came on full fast; 
 Straightway into the wood they passed, 
 There, with his comrade would he lie, 
 God save them for His great Mercie! 
 
 HOW KING ROBERT WAS HUNTED 
 BY THE SLEUTH-HOUND » 
 
 The king hath sought the wood withal, 
 Covered with sweat, and redeless all, 
 Straight thro' the wood, and without 
 fail, 
 
 1 Book vii, 78. 
 
 He held him downward to a vale, 
 Where thro' the wood a stream doth 
 
 flow — 
 Thither in haste the king doth go, 
 Full fain was he to rest him there, 
 He said he might no further fare — 
 His man quotha "Sire, that may not be, 
 Abide ye here ye soon shall see 10 
 
 Five hundred, yearning ye to slay, 
 'Gainst two, I trow too many they! 
 Since we may aid us not with might 
 Help that we get us hence by sleight." 
 The king quoth: "Since wilt have it so, 
 Go on, and I will with thee go; 
 But I have oft-times heard men say 
 Would one thro' water take his way, 
 Wading a bow-shot long, that he 
 Could from a sleuth-hound shake him 
 
 iree, 20 
 
 For dog and leader should him lose — 
 I rede that we this sleight now choose, 
 For were yon Devil's hound away 
 I 'Id care not for the rest, i-fay!" 
 
 As he devised have they done; 
 Straight to the water have they gone, 
 Along the stream their way they make, 
 Then, once again, to woodland take, 
 And flee, as aye before that day. — 
 Then John of Lorn, with great array, 30 
 Hath come unto that place, I trow, 
 Wherein his men were slain but now, 
 And when he saw them lying dead, 
 He sware with mickle grief that stead, 
 He would have vengeance for their blood, 
 In other ways take payment good. 
 He thought to dwell no longer there, 
 But on the king's track straight would 
 
 fare. 
 They follow true, until at last 
 They find the water where he passed, 40 
 The sleuth-hound might no further go — 
 Long time he wavered to and fro, 
 Nor led them truly here nor there. 
 Then John of Lorn was well aware 
 Of how the hound had lost the trail — 
 He quoth: "This shall us naught avail, 
 
32 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 The wood, it is both broad and wide, 
 And he hath gone far by this tide, 
 Therefore I rede we turn again, 
 And weary us no more in vain." so 
 
 With that he called his companie, 
 Back to the host his way took he. 
 
 Thus he escaped, the noble king; 
 But other-wise some tell this thing, 
 And say that his escape befell 
 Not thro' his wading, for they tell 
 How the king had an archer true, 
 Who, when he his lord's peril knew, 
 How he was left with ne'er a man, 
 Ever on foot beside him ran 60 
 
 Till he into the wood was gone — 
 Then said he to himself alone, 
 
 That he would there behind him stay, 
 And see if he the hound might slay. 
 For, an that dog should live, he knew 
 Full well he 'Id follow, fast and true, 
 The king's track, till they found him 
 
 fair — 
 Full well he wist they 'Id slay him there; 
 And, since his lord he fain would aid, 
 His life he on the venture laid. 70 
 
 Hidden within a bush he lay 
 Until the sleuth-hound passed his way, 
 Then, with an arrow, he him slew, 
 And forthwith to the wood withdrew. 
 But whether his escape befell 
 As first I said, or as these tell, 
 I wot not, but I know one thing, 
 At that stream he escaped, the king. 
 
 LAMENT FOR KING EDWARD I 
 
 All men that be of heart full true 
 Hearken awhile to this my song 
 Of dole, that Death has dealt anew, 
 (I needs must sigh and sorrow long — ) 
 I sing a knight, so brave and strong, 
 Of whom God now hath done His Will, 
 Methinks that Death hath wrought us 
 
 wrong 
 That he so soon lies cold and still. 
 
 I trow all England well doth know 
 Of whom that song is which I sing, to 
 Edward our king, now lieth low, 
 Thro' all the world his name doth ring! 
 The truest man in everything, 
 Wary in war was he, and wise, 
 For him our hands we needs must wring, 
 Of Christendom he bare the prize! 
 
 Before that this, our king, was dead, 
 He spake as one oppressed with care : 
 "Clerks, knights, and barons," so he 
 
 said, 
 "I charge ye by the oath ye sware ao 
 That ye to England now be true; 
 
 I die, my life is well nigh done, 
 Aid ye my son, crown him anew, 
 For he is nighest to the throne." 
 
 "Here I bequeath my heart aright 
 That it be ta'en, as I devise, 
 Across the sea; let Hugh be dight 
 With fourscore knights, all men of prize, 
 Who wary be in war, and wise 
 Against the Paynim for to fight; 30 
 
 To raise the Cross, that lowly lies, 
 Myself I'd given, an I might." 
 
 O ! King of France, thou workedst ill 
 
 When to such deed didst set thy hand 
 
 To hinder thus King Edward's will 
 
 To go unto the Holy Land. 
 
 Our king, he fain had given command 
 
 All England so to rule, I wis, 
 
 That, faring to the Holy Land, 
 
 We thus had won us Heavenly Bliss. 40 
 
 A messenger, the Pope he sought, 
 And told him that our king was dead, 
 The letter that he there had brought, 
 
LAMENT FOR KING EDWARD I 
 
 33 
 
 The Pope himself he took, and read. 
 I trow his heart became as lead — 
 He spake a word of honour there: 
 "Alas!" he said, "is Edward dead? 
 Of Christendom the flower he bare!" 
 
 The Pope, he to his chamber went, 
 For sorrow he might speak no more, 50 
 Straight for his Cardinals he sent 
 Who well were versed in Holy lore, 
 And both the less, and eke the more, 
 He bade them both to read and sing — 
 Then might ye see a dole full sore, 
 How many a man his hands did wring. 
 
 Saint Peter's Pope, he stood at Mass, 
 And there, with great solemnity, 
 The soul departed did he bless; 
 "King Edward, honoured shalt thou 
 be! 60 
 
 God grant that thy son after thee 
 May end what thou hast well begun, 
 The Holy Cross, once wrought of tree, 
 Full fain thou hadst Its freedom 
 
 "Jerusalem, thou here hast lost 
 The Flower of all chivalrie, 
 
 King Edward from this life hath passt 
 Alas, that he so soon must die ! 
 He would have raised again on high 
 Our banners brought unto the ground,7o 
 Full long we needs must call and cry 
 Ere such a king again be found!" 
 
 Now Edward of Carnarvon, he, 
 The king of England shall be hight, 
 God grant that he no worse man be 
 Than was his sire, nor less of might 
 To see the poor man hath his right, 
 And counsel good to understand; 
 He shall not fail for faithful knights 
 To help him rule our English land. 80 
 
 But tho' my tongue were made of steel, 
 And this, my heart, of molten brass, 
 The goodness I might ne'er reveal 
 That did with our King Edward pass. 
 King, whom men hailed as conqueror 
 In every fight thou fought, I wis, 
 God bringeth thee to that honour 
 That ever was, and ever is, 
 And lasteth aye without an end — 
 To God, and this, Our Lady, pray go 
 That he to Jesu's Bliss us send 
 Amen, Amen, for Charite! 
 
LEGENDARY 
 
THE LIFE OF SAINT DUNSTAN 
 
 Saint Dcnstan was of English blood, and born on English earth; 
 
 Our Lord a wonder wrought for him ere yet he came to birth; 
 
 While he was in his mother's womb, all on a Candlemas, 
 
 When folk enow were in the church, for so the manner was, 
 
 And as they stood there with their lights, as men are wont to now, 
 
 The tapers went out every one, and none wist why, or how. 
 
 The lights one while they burnt right well — and then the lights were out, — 
 
 The folk they stood in wonder great, and also in great doubt, 
 
 And each to other spake, and asked, what might the meaning be 
 
 That thus the light that each one bare was quenched so suddenly? i C 
 
 And as they stood and spake thereof, in marvel great, each one, 
 
 Saint Dunstan's mother's taper burst forth into flame anon, 
 
 The while she held it in her hand, and wist not whence the flame! 
 
 The folk, they stood, and gazed thereon, and wondered at that same, 
 
 And none knew whence it came, that light, but deemed 't was of God's Grace, 
 
 Therefrom they kindled all anew their lights throughout that place. 
 
 And wherefore did Our Lord and God the light from Heaven send, 
 
 And all the folk that stood around their tapers therefrom tend, 
 
 Save to foretell of that fair child, ere yet he came to birth, 
 
 How that his saintly name should shed a light on English earth? ac 
 
 Nine hundred years and twenty-five, whenas this child was born, 
 
 Had passed since Our Dear Lord saw light on Holy Christmas morn, 
 
 It was the coronation year of our King Athelstan, 
 
 His mother's name was Cymfath, his father's Heorstan; 
 
 And when the child was born, I wot, his parents took good heed, 
 
 They gave him to the good monks' care, to nourish, and to feed. 
 
 At Glastonbury was he taught his Credo, and for prayer 
 
 The Pater Noster, — there he waxed a goodly child and fair; 
 
 Small care had he for worldly things, for righteousness he yearned, 
 
 And all men who heard tell of him, for joy, their hearts, they burned. 31 
 
 When he to man's estate had come, at Canterbury's throne 
 
 He sought Saint Aldhelm, who the lad as nephew fain would own, 
 
 Great joy he had of him, I trow, his gladness waxed the more 
 
 The more he of his goodness knew, and of his wisdom's lore. 
 
 For very pride and love, the youth he speedily did bring 
 
 Unto the lord of all the land, to Athelstan the king; 
 
 Thereof the king had joy enow, and granted him this boon, 
 
 Of anything that he might ask it should be done right soon. 
 
 He prayed of him an Abbey there, e'en where he first was brought, 
 
 Beside the town of Glastonbury — the king refused him naught, 4 
 
38 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 But granted him forthwith that boon, and after him also 
 
 Edmund, his brother, who was king, and had the power thereto. 
 
 To Glastonbury soon he went, Saint Dunstan, that good man, 
 
 Since both the kings they gave him leave, Edmund, and Athelstan. 
 
 His house at Glastonbury soon in order fair he set, 
 
 For much he made of law and rule, which ne'er had been as yet. 
 
 That Abbey fair was founded first four hundred years, they say, 
 
 And fifty three, ere Dunstan good had seen the light of day; 
 
 For monks were there, or so folk say, ere yet Saint Patrick came, 
 
 Or Austin upon English earth had lit the sacred flame. so 
 
 Two hundred years and fifty two, had passed since that glad morn, 
 
 (At Patrick's death,) when Our Dear Lord of Virgin Maid was born, — 
 
 But all the monks who first were there dwelt each one separately, 
 
 As men before the foes of Christ must to the desert flee. — 
 
 Saint Dunstan, and Saint Adelwold, God willed it so alway, 
 
 Received the gift of priesthood both upon the self -same day; 
 
 To Glastonbury, speedily, Dunstan his way did wend, 
 
 And Abbot did they make him there — His life he fain would mend, 
 
 And since he would not with his will a moment idle be, 
 
 A smithy there beside his cell he made him privily, 60 
 
 And when his orisons he needs must leave for weariness 
 
 With hand he fain would labour there, to flee from idleness. 
 
 The while his life-time might endure he served the poor alway, 
 
 And all day long, for love of God, he took of them no pay. 
 
 And while he sat there at his work, his hands wrought at his trade, 
 
 His heart was aye with Jesus Christ, his lips they ever prayed, 
 
 So that his labour was, I ween, but one, and yet threefold, 
 
 His hands at work, his heart with God, his lips, his bedes they told. 
 
 Therefore the Devil had of him envy and hatred great, — 
 
 One time he to the smithy came, whenas the day waxed late, 70 
 
 E'en as the sun was going down, and there, in woman's guise, 
 
 He spake to him about his work, in gay and gladsome wise. 
 
 And told him how she had with him much work that must be done — 
 
 Trifling, she changed her theme, and spake another tale anon. 
 
 That holy man, he marvelled, as her words flew here and there, 
 
 He sat him still, and wondered much what meaning this might bear. 
 
 Then he bethought him how it was, and for his tongs did reach, 
 
 And laid them in the furnace hot, and spake with gentle speech 
 
 Until the tongs were all red-hot, then, ere she was aware, • 
 
 He gripped the Devil by the nose, and held her fast and fair! 80 
 
 He held and shook her by the nose, until the fire out-sprung, 
 
 The Devil wriggled here and there, yet fast Saint Dunstan clung, 
 
 She yelled and hopped, and tugged amain, and made full grisley cheer, 
 
 (Had he but known, for all his wealth he had not come anear!) 
 
 So with his tongs he blew her nose, and vexed the fiend full sore — 
 
 But now the dusk had come, 't was night, and he could see no more, 
 
 The fiend was glad and blithe enow to 'scape from out his hand, 
 
THE LIFE OF SAINT DUNSTAN 39 
 
 He flew, and cried the welkin thro', men heard o'er all the land: 
 "Out! Out! What hath the bald-head done? What hath the bald-head done?" 
 Thro' all the land the foul fiend's cry, men heard it every one! 90 
 
 But since the Saint he found at home, who blew his nose so sore, 
 Thither, to cure him of his cold, he hied him never more ! 
 
 Dunstan, the holy Abbot, he had great fame and power, 
 
 The while King Edmund lived and reigned he was his counsellor; 
 
 But when, after King Edmund's death, the years had come and gone, 
 
 And Edwyn, he was crowned king, then it fell out anon 
 
 That Edwyn hearkened evil rede, and evil ways would go, 
 
 With holy Dunstan he was wroth, which wrought him mickle woe; 
 
 He drave him from his Abbey forth, and did him shame the while, 
 
 But aye the more he did him wrong the more the good man smiled. 100 
 
 He drave him forth from English earth, as outlaw must he fare, 
 
 The good man, he went forth with joy, he took but little care, 
 
 To Saint Amand, beyond the sea, he gat him then, I trow, 
 
 And in the Abbey long time dwelt, with ease and peace enow. 
 
 But when King Edwyn's life was done, Edgar the crown must win, 
 
 For that he was his brother born, and therefore next of kin; 
 
 A man of holy life was he, who well loved Holy Kirk, 
 
 And when men gave him counsel good thereafter would he work. 
 
 Men told him of Saint Dunstan whom the king drave from the land 
 
 Unjustly, for his righteousness — thereto he set his hand, no 
 
 And sent his messengers anon, and bade him come again, 
 
 For of his counsel and his rede, he, Edgar, was full fain. 
 
 Saint Dunstan, he came home again, the king received him well, 
 
 And gave him back his Abbey fair, wherein in peace to dwell. 
 
 The King, he shewed him favour great, his rede would gladly hear, 
 
 And much of Dunstan's goodness spake the folk, both far and near. 
 
 It chanced that Worcester's bishop soon thereafter came to die, 
 
 Archbishop Odo, and the King, held counsel privily, 
 
 Dunstan, the holy Abbot, a bishop made they there, 
 
 To raise Tiim higher in God's law, tho' 'gainst his will it were. 120 
 
 Some of Archbishop Odo the reason fain would know 
 
 Wherefore he made him Bishop, and did such favour shew? 
 "'Tis fitting" quoth Sir Odo, "because that after me 
 
 Dunstan shall be Archbishop, as men shall surely see." 
 "What meanest thou," quoth the other, "dost know what shall befall? 
 
 Thou mayest not see beyond thy foot, 't is God Who ruleth all!" 
 "Dear Friend" the good man answered him, "thou chidest me for naught, 
 
 For well I know what my Lord Christ within my mouth hath brought, 
 
 And thus He saith about this thing, and by His leave I say 
 
 What shall befall in Holy Church when I be passed away." 130 
 
 Thereafter unto Dunstan the see of London fell, 
 
 Worcester and London both he ruled as Bishop, passing well. 
 
 Ere long Archbishop Odo died, in Canterbury's need 
 
4 o CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 King Edgar and the Pope of Rome together sought good rede, 
 
 And that good man Saint Dunstan, Archbishop made they there, 
 
 And all the folk who were his friends right glad of it they were. 
 
 The Christian Faith on English earth he built it up anew, 
 
 The laws and rites of Holy Church he 'stablished fast and true; 
 
 He set it fast through England that every priest must choose 
 
 To free himself from taint of lust, or else his church to lose. 140 
 
 The story saith that Oswald, bishop of Worcester then, 
 
 And Adelwold of Rochester, who both were holy men, 
 
 These bishops twain, and Dunstan, they all were of one rede, 
 
 Of one mind with King Edgar to do this goodly deed. 
 
 These bishops three, they journeyed throughout the English land, 
 
 And each light priest, they cast him out, none might their will withstand, 
 
 Their churches, and their worldly goods, they took them there and then, 
 
 And thro' the Pope's grant these, their goods, bestowed on poorer men. 
 
 And eight and forty Abbeys, for monk and eke for nun, 
 
 They 'stablished throughout England with this, the treasure won. 150 
 
 So all was better ordered than e'er it was of old, 
 
 For when good men be masters good deeds ye may behold ! 
 
 And good were these three bishops who ruled in days of yore, 
 
 England is better for their lives, and shall be evermore. 
 
 Our Lord, He gave Saint Dunstan on earth such special grace 
 That one time as he was in prayer, all in a lonely place, 
 His father, and his mother both, in Heavenly joy and bliss, 
 Altho' the twain were dead, he saw right openly, I wis! 
 No greater love Our Lord and God to any man might shew 
 Than thus to grant him, while in life, His hidden things to know! 160 
 
 For as he lay another time upon his bed, at night, 
 The joy of Heaven he beheld, and Heavenly mansions bright; 
 He heard the angels sing a song, the gate of Heaven within, 
 Even as when in Holy Church the choir doth Mass begin; 
 "Kyrie Eleison," so it rang, the wondrous note and song, 
 The holy man who hearkened this he deemed the time not long ! 
 And well might he to Heaven come, whenas his life should end, 
 To whom, while he was yet on earth, God did such visions send ! 
 The harp, methinks, he loved right well, and well thereon he played, — 
 One day he sat in solace, and a goodly lay he made; 170 
 
 The harp he hung upon the wall, when it was time to eat, 
 And when it was in safety brought, he sat him down to meat. 
 Of Heaven he 'gan think anon, the joys that we shall share, 
 The gladsome bliss of Paradise, the Saints who wait us there. 
 He sat as he were in a trance, and from the flesh were brought — 
 The harp which hung upon the wall, whereon he little thought, 
 Took knowledge of his holy dreams — dead tree it was alway — 
 And by God's Will 't was as it heard what never tongue might say, 
 For by itself it 'gan to harp a joyous strain, I wis, 
 
SAINT THOMAS A BECKET 41 
 
 Which men yet sing in Holy Church, whereof the English is: 180 
 
 "Rejoice all holy souls to-day who have in Heaven your seat, 
 Who followed on Our Dear Lord's way, and for His Love so sweet 
 Have shed your blood, for thereby ye your crown in Heaven have won, 
 And reign as Kings for evermore with Christ, God's Only Son ! " 
 This Antiphon, that gladsome is, the folk they heard it all, 
 Whenas the harp sang by itself, there, hanging on the wall. 
 Great grace Our Lord He shewed him then, when e'en the lifeless tree 
 Sang of the joys that waited him when he in Heaven should be! 
 Lord! Praised for evermore Thy Grace, and praised Thy Might also, 
 Who for Thy Saint, while yet on earth, such miracles didst shew! ' 190 
 
 Now when this holy man had lived on earth full many a day, 
 
 And nigh unto his death had come, as well he knew alway, 
 
 On Holy Thursday he fell sick, as it fell in that year, 
 
 He called unto him all his friends, the men to him most dear, 
 
 And those who did him service too, he called them every one, 
 
 And there forgave them any wrong that they to him had done. 
 
 And there assoiled them of their sins — So in God's Hands he lay 
 
 Throughout the Holy Thursday, and eke through the next day. 
 
 Then on the Saturday he called to him the brethren all 
 
 And bade them all "Farewell," and said what should them next befall; 200 
 
 And bade them give him the last rites, and Corpus Domini, 
 
 Therewith his soul this world forsook, and passed to Heaven high. 
 
 Nine hundred years and eighty eight, I ween, had passed on earth, 
 
 Since Our Dear Lord from Mary Maid took Human Flesh, and Birth. 
 
 Now sweet our lord, Saint Dunstan, grant us with thee to fare 
 
 In Heaven's bliss, where Angel bands thy ransomed spirit bare! 
 
 THE DEATH OF SAINT THOMAS A BECKET 
 
 Saint Thomas, then, he sighed full sore, for he did understand 
 
 That he for all too long had been out of the English land, 
 
 And, tho' it were against his will, it seemed him an ill deed 
 
 That thus his Bishopric had lacked for rule, and eke for rede. 
 
 Unto the King of France he went, and to good men and fair, 
 
 And from them all his leave he took, to England would he fare. 
 
 He thanked them for the honour all that they to him had done, 
 
 And so with love, and escort fair, he went his way anon. 
 
 With honour great he leaveth France, England to seek withal, 
 
 And at a haven did abide, that men shall Whitsand call. 10 
 
 The letters that he bare from Rome to England did he send 
 
 To spread the sentence far and wide ere that he thither wend; 
 
 Of York th' Archbishop was condemned, and so, I trow, should be 
 
 The Bishops twain, of London town and him of Salisbury. 
 
42 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH 'POETS 
 
 He excommunicated them in that they wrong had done 
 
 Crowning the young King in the See that was Saint Thomas' own. 
 
 But when those tidings came to them they waxed full wroth, I trow, 
 
 Heaped threats upon this holy man, and woe to him did vow. 
 
 Saint Thomas turned him to the ship, to England would he fare 
 
 When that a man from out that land of goodwill met him there: 20 
 
 "Ah Sire!" he cried, "for love of God, pass not the sea, I pray, 
 In England there be many knights full ready thee to slay, 
 In every haven he in wait against thee many a one, 
 And if thou com'st among them now thou shalt be slain anon!" 
 
 "Nay, certes," quoth Saint Thomas then, "I will no longer bide, 
 But get me back to England now, betide what may betide, 
 And tho' they tear me limb from limb tarry will I no more, 
 Too long have I been absent now, and that doth rue me sore! 
 The souls committed to my care, six years and more, I wis, 
 Have been without my watch and ward, Alas, too long it is! 30 
 
 Right well I know I shall be slain, nor long the time shall be, 
 And, for the sake of Holy Church, I'll take death joyfully. 
 Now pray for me to Jesu Christ, this do for charitie, 
 But above all, one thing alone I bid thee pray for me, 
 That God doth me, of His good Grace, to Canterbury send, 
 That, quick or dead, to mine own church once more my way I wend; 
 If that I come not there alive, ere that I martyred be 
 My body dead be thither brought, pray God to grant it me!" 
 Then dolefully his leave he took, to ship he there hath gone 
 Thanking them for the honour all that they to him had done; 40 
 
 Coihmending France to Jesu Christ, he blessed it ere he passed, 
 The folk there made a dole enow, long did their sorrow last. 
 At Dover were there knights who heard how that he came again 
 And made them ready that when he should land, he might be slain; 
 Sir Benald de Warenne was one, with him Randolf de Broke, 
 And Gervase too, the sherriff there, much folk with him he took, 
 At Dover they, this holy man, on landing from the sea 
 Would take, save he should do their will slain should he surely be. 
 But unto Sandwich drave the ship, and there to harbour came, 
 His foes at Dover lay in wait with threatening at that same. so 
 
 On the ship's sail, this holy man, he bade them set on high 
 A Cross, sown fast unto the sail, that men from far might spy, 
 That of his banner was the sign, for other had he none — 
 The men who stood on Sandwich beach beheld the cross anon : 
 
 "Our Bishop Thomas hither-ward doth sail, as well we see!" 
 Altho' the ship was far from land they wist who it should be. 
 The cry, it spreadeth far and wide, the folk together ran, 
 And ere the ship had gained the shore there met him many a man. 
 They cried their thanks on Jesu Christ that they him living see 
 And welcomed him with joy enow, nor greater bliss might be. 60 
 
 'T was the third day of Advent, the Christmas Feast before, 
 
SAINT THOMAS A BECKET 43 
 
 That this good man, Saint Thomas, did land upon our shore; 
 The seventh year since that he first had left the English land, 
 Banished for six years and one month, was he, I understand. 
 Eleven hundred years it was, and sixty more, and ten, 
 Since that God, from His mother's womb, was born on earth mid men. 
 Tidings to Dover do they bear unto the knightly band 
 That Thomas, holy man, had now at Sandwich come to land; 
 Then swift to Sandwich did they go, Saint Thomas found anon 
 And with a threatening mien, I trow, they welcomed him each one; 70 
 
 And said: "Why hast thou thus thy way once more to England ta'en 
 In that thou dost disturb the land soon as thou com'st again? 
 Yea, and upsetteth Holy Church, as all men well may see, 
 Would'st Bishops excommunicate who thine own fellows be. 
 Thou should'st by all law love the peace, and cherish and hold dear, 
 Yet peace was never in this land since thou wast Bishop here! 
 Would'st thou do well, undo this deed, we counsel thee, right soon, 
 Or men, I trow, shall do to thee as should to such be done!" 
 'My dear friends," quoth Saint Thomas then, "the sooth it is to say 
 That judgment did I give of right, and not of wrong alway, 80 
 
 By leave of this my lord the King, that each man have his right, 
 And who such trespass great hath done should make amends forthright. 
 For, an it were so soon condoned, against all right and law, 
 'T would prejudice full sore my church this judgment to withdraw." 
 Then when the knights they heard him say the King agreed thereto 
 They did forsake their angry mood, and threatenings great also, 
 And did beseech him courteously to cancel his decree, 
 And 'twixt his fellows and the King to cherish charitie; 
 And respite now, of this their prayer, they granted at that same 
 So that Saint Thomas with the morn to Canterbury came. 90 
 
 Then, with the morn, Saint Thomas doth to Canterbury fare 
 The country all with joy and bliss came out to greet him there, 
 For every priest, his parish all, he summoned, end to end, 
 That they should in procession fair to meet th' Archbishop wend. 
 In many a procession then, I trow, all fairly found, 
 With Cross and lighted tapers fair to meet him are they bound, 
 With cross, and tapers all alight, as many as might be, 
 And thanks they gave to Jesu Christ that they him, living, see. 
 Then loud they chimed, the bells, I trow, whenas to town he came 
 And loudly, to their instruments, their song rose at that same. 100 
 
 Yea, men might hear no other thing, the noise it was so loud, 
 No greater joy, I trow, was made afore by any crowd. 
 As on Palm Sunday Christ, our Lord, was met with honour high 
 When to Jerusalem He rode, and to His Death drew nigh, 
 So was Saint Thomas, as methinks, men might hereafter see 
 For that Our Lord had willed his death like to His Own should be. 
 Then, ere Saint Thomas, holy man, came to his church that day, 
 The monks in fit procession there they met him on the way. 
 
44 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 He from his palfrey lighted down, and then the monks each one, 
 To the High Altar, fittingly, they led him up anon, no 
 
 And when he in the church had done all that was there to do 
 Then with his men, so courteously, he to his inn did go. 
 Now ere Saint Thomas long had been within his palace hall 
 These self -same knights they came again answer to crave withal; 
 They did beseech him, as before, to loose the ban that day, 
 And these three Bishops to absolve, who 'neath the judgment lay. 
 Then quoth Saint Thomas: "Nay, Beaufrire, herein I can do naught, 
 For that the doom wherein they lie the Pope on them hath brought, 
 And I may not undo his deed, ye wot, in any place; 
 
 But none the less, in that I have such trust in this, his grace, iao 
 
 I will absolve them in this form, to wit, that henceforth they 
 Assurance give to Holy Church they will her laws obey, 
 Submit to Holy Church's Head — this form, I trow, or none!" 
 The Knights who hearkened well his words, to chiding fell anon, 
 As they none other answer found in wrath they hence* did wend 
 That message to the Bishops bare who did them thither send. 
 The Bishops, they were wroth enow, their threats they fell full fast, 
 Natheless, the twain of them withdrew, and yielded at the last, 
 The Bishops both of Salisbury and London sware that they 
 Would yield themselves to Holy Church, and all her law obey. 130 
 
 But York's Archbishop, he withstood, with word and eke with deed, 
 And quoth: "Now shame his portion be who giveth us such rede, 
 That we should put us in his grace who was our foe of yore 
 For he hath done us many a shame, and now would do us more. 
 Altho' he may have power o'er you, yet hath he none o'er me 
 In that I too Archbishop am, ye wot, as well as he! 
 And I, I have a coffer good, that standeth whole and sound, 
 Therein shall be, as I think well, at least eight hundred pound, 
 That am I ready now to spend, nor much it seemeth me, 
 That we may lower this, his pride, of him avenged may be. 140 
 
 Now go we to the King anon, and tell him of this deed, 
 That if he peace be fain to have he find some other rede." 
 Then these three Bishops, hastily, across the sea they hied, 
 And came in safety to the King, ere it was Christmas-tide, 
 They found him there in Normandy, they knelt low on their knee, 
 Prayed him his honour to maintain, and their good lord to be, 
 They told him how that this good man, since that to land he came, 
 Disturbance wrought, alike in Church, and Kingdom, at that same, 
 And that he had, with mickle pride, his doom upon them laid, 
 Who, with his own consent, his son as King afore had made; 150 
 
 And how he, in despite of him, had done such evil deed, 
 That of the land he did outright refuse the laws to heed. 
 The King, whenas he heard the tale, for wrath was well nigh wood, 
 Awhile strode up and down the hall, awhile in thought he stood; 
 "If he doth excommunicate those who made my son King 
 
SAINT THOMAS A BECKET 45 
 
 The doom, it falleth first on me who did ordain this thing, 
 Now who would in such misery for long time lead his life? 
 This traitor, he doth ruin my realm, and brings me woe and strife!" 
 And oft-times did he curse those men he had to honour brought 
 That of the priest who was his foe they would avenge him naught, 160 
 
 The priest, who had his land disturbed, and sorrow on it laid — 
 As thus the King strode up and down, and as these words he said, 
 The knights, who hearkened all his words, they stood, and held them still, 
 And silent, in themselves they thought to do their master's will. 
 Then four of them, the fiercest there, they thought what they might do, 
 Sir Rainald de Fitzurse was one, Sir Hugh de Morville two, 
 Sir William Tracy was the third, the fourth, Richard de Brut, 
 Their names, for this, their wickedness, they ne'er shall be forgot. 
 They held their counsel secretly, o'er sea to take their way, 
 And, to fulfil the royal will, Saint Thomas would they slay. 170 
 
 Then, secretly, they gat them forth, that no man saw them go 
 And well nigh came unto the sea ere that the King did know; 
 But when the King, he understood, after them did he send, 
 And bade them leave their folly there, and back to him to wend; 
 But with no toil this messenger unto the knights hath won 
 For, ere he came unto the sea, they were far out thereon. 
 This wrought to Henry dole enow, that thus their way they went, 
 And spake not with the messenger whom after them he sent. 
 At Canterbury, Thomas good, upon midwinter's day, 
 
 He stood, and preached unto the folk as many a man doth say, 180 
 
 And in his sermon, suddenly, began to sigh full sore, 
 
 And made such dole and sorrow there that never man made more; , 
 
 And weeping, he beheld his tears, how fast they ran adown, 
 I trow that many an eye was wet that day throughout the town! 
 "My dear Friends:" quoth Saint Thomas, the while he wept full sore 
 " Your priest I now somewhile have been, but I shall be no more, 
 For that my end is well nigh come, nor long I here shall be, 
 But suffer death for Holy Church I must, right speedily. 
 For love of God, now pray for me, and Holy Church also 
 That now is well nigh brought to ground save God His Mercy show. 190 
 
 Yet would I fain be put to death, when so God's Will shall be, 
 For this, the right of Holy Church, ere that she ruined be." 
 Candle and book he took anon, and banned them then and there 
 Who on the rights of Holy Church made war, her foemen were, 
 Namely Sir Randolf, he of Broke, Robert of Broke also, 
 Who this, his See and Bishopric did wrongfully misdo. 
 For that, the while he was away, of wrong King Henry took 
 The Bishopric, and gave its lands to Randolf, he of Broke, 
 Who made Robert de Broke his clerk, for him to come and go, 
 And Warden under him to be, he wrought the land much woe, soo 
 
 And did destroy the Bishopric, and took to him its gold, 
 And of these goods, won wrongfully, had built to him a hold; 
 
46 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And therein, on that Christmas Day, when Thomas laid the ban, 
 
 He sat at meat, in noble state, and with him many a man. 
 
 TJnto his hounds he threw the bread, that there before him lay, 
 
 But every hound, he turned aside, the folk who saw it say. 
 
 Then took he to him other bread, and with it mixed anew 
 
 Bread from another's trencher, which to the dogs he threw, 
 
 And every bit he handled there the dogs, they let it he, 
 
 The other bread, they chose it out, and ate it greedily ! 
 
 The Curse, I trow, was on him seen, upon the self-same day, 
 
 The rightful vengeance of Our God, as all the folk must say, 
 
 When that the dogs the bread forsook that lay to them anear — 
 
 And Christmas-Day, methinks, it fell on Friday, in that year, 
 
 When these four wicked knights of whom the deed I tell to-day 
 
 Their way to England thus had ta'en Saint Thomas for to slay. 
 
 And on Saint Stephen's Day, those four to Saltwood Castle came 
 
 Six miles from Canterbury, there they 'lighted, at that same; 
 
 And unto them Randolf de Broke, he made his way anon, 
 
 That night they counsel took, I trow, how best the deed were done. 
 
 The morrow, ('twas on Child-Mass Day) as God the grace did send, 
 
 To Canterbury speedily, Randolf de Broke did wend, 
 
 (For of Saint Thomas he would know where he should be that tide 
 
 That he might flee them not, that day, nor might in safety hide.) 
 
 Those knights, I trow, when Tuesday came, they would no longer stay, 
 
 To Canterbury did they ride before the close of day, 
 
 About the time of Evensong they to Saint Thomas came 
 
 And boldly to his chamber they betook them at that same. 
 
 They came, and found him peacefully, there, in his chamber, stand, 
 
 With him his privy clerks, for they a council had on hand. 
 
 Then grimly, Sir Eainald Fitzurse, he did toward him wend, 
 
 And: "Sire:" he saith, "our lord, the king, doth us in message send, 
 
 And here, from him in Normandy, we this command have brought, 
 
 That thou should'st here his bidding do, and should'st delay thee naught, 
 
 And that thou go unto his son, for crowned king he is, 
 
 And should'st amend to him what thou his sire hast done amiss, 
 
 And swear thou wilt be true to him, and loyally wilt do 
 
 What, for the lands thou hold'st from him in chief thou needs must do; 
 
 The clerks, whom thou dost bring with thee, with thee in this must stand, 
 
 Swear to be true unto the king, or they must flee the land." 
 
 "Beau Sire," then answered this good man, "I think to tell no lie, 
 I'll do my homage to the king for this, my baronie, 
 But God wills not that Holy Church 'neath foot be trodden so 
 That I, or other of my clerks, should this thy bidding do. 
 Thou knowest well the laymen all who be within this land 
 They take upon them no such oath as here I understand, 
 By this thou thinkest Holy Church in servitude to bring 
 More than the lot of laity, nay, I swear no such thing!" 
 
 "I think me well," Sir Rainald quoth, "thou wilt obey in naught 
 
SAINT THOMAS A BECKET 47 
 
 This same behest, which unto thee we from the king have brought. 250 
 
 And now we bid, on his behalf, that thou absolve straightway 
 Those Bishops, whom beneath thy ban thou didst but lately lay." 
 
 "Beau Sire," he quoth, Saint Thomas, "'twas not my deed, I trow, 
 From his own mouth the Pope himself he hath condemned them now, 
 And thou know'st well that I may not the Pope's own deed undo — " 
 
 "The Pope's deed?" quoth Sir Rainald, "Nay, 'tis thy deed also!" 
 
 "Sooth" said Saint Thomas, "if the Pope those men to judgment brought 
 Who this my church have so misdone, it doth displease me naught!" 
 Sir Rainald made swift answer there: "By all thine acts dost shew 
 Thou would 'st annoy our lord, the king, and that thou art his foe, 260 
 
 And 't is thy will to work him harm, that do we clearly see, 
 Thou fain would'st take from him his crown, but that shall never be! 
 And king thou would'st be in his stead, but that thou shalt be ne'er!" 
 
 "Certes, Sire," quoth Saint Thomas, "that thought I cherished ne'er, 
 But rather would I be his friend and helper, an I may, 
 For him, and for his honour do I pray both night and day, 
 For there is no man on the earth whom I love more, I wis, 
 Than him, save but his father, who still my liege lord is. 
 Feast of Saint Mary Magdalene, in sooth I tell to thee, 
 
 A full accord was made betwixt my lord the King and me, 270 
 
 He gave me leave to ban all those who did in aught misdo 
 The Church that is his Mother, and naught else did I do!" 
 
 "Avaunt thee, priest," quoth Rainald, "too much, I trow, dost say 
 Thou would'st thine own lord slander, too clever thou alway! 
 Would'st say that he, my lord the king, would ban them, and disown 
 Those who had crowned his son as king? Was not the deed his own? 
 Was it not with his own consent, by no man's rede or lore? 
 Avaunt, Sir Priest, bethink thee, and say thou so no more!" 
 
 "Sir," said Saint Thomas, "thou know'st well that others had a share, 
 For thou wert present there thyself, as many others were, 280 
 
 Archbishops, Bishops, too, I ween, other great men and high, 
 Yea, well five hundred men and more, as thou didst see with eye!" 
 
 "Be still," then quoth that wicked knight "and hold thy tongue to-day, 
 Thou foully dost belie thy lord, woe him who thus doth say ! 
 Who should such slander suffer, and not avenge the deed? 
 Nay, by the faith I owe to God I'll teach thee other rede!" 
 With one consent, his fellows, their arms about they cast, 
 And fared as men who were nigh mad, their threats they fell full fast. 
 Then to the monks he turned anon, "Come forth!" he then did cry, 
 " 'T is the King's foe ye have in hold, he knows it verily, S go 
 
 To the King's will his body yield, or here do I declare 
 He taketh to him all your lands, your manors layeth bare!" 
 
 "Sir Rainald," quoth Saint Thomas, "dost think that I will flee? 
 Nay, j>ardS, I '11 not stir a foot, nor for the king nor thee!" 
 
 "By God, Sir Priest," quoth Rainald, "thou soon wast at a stay, 
 Thy flight, I trow, it were but short, nor far should'st go alway!" 
 
48 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Those knights, they wrathful were enow, they gat them forth anon, 
 
 And then, when they were fully armed they came again, each one, 
 
 With swords, and eke with axes, and other weapons more; 
 
 Robert of Broke, that wicked clerk, he went them all before, 
 
 To Canterbury's cloisters they came with all their might, 
 
 The monks were singing Compline, for now 't was nigh to night; 
 
 Then some, for the great noise they heard, they fell adown for fear, 
 
 And some began to run about, as tho' they witless were. 
 
 Saint Thomas took his Cross in hand, of other arms had none, 
 
 And therewith, with all boldness, towards his foes hath gone, 
 
 The monks, they cried upon Him there: "Now, Mercy, Sire," they say, 
 
 " For God's Sake, bide thee here, Our Lord may give thee rede alway, 
 Suffer us here to aid thee, or else with thee to die!" 
 And some, they would shut fast the door, when they their foes espy. 
 
 "Nay, leave that," quoth this holy man, "therein shall ye do wrong, 
 Sing on the service of Our Lord, and this, your Evensong, 
 No man of Holy Church should make a castle 'gainst his foe, 
 He leaveth fools to rave a stound, and in their folly go." 
 With that, on folly bent, the knights they rushed in speedily, 
 
 "Where is" they quoth, "that Bishop false, that traitor, where is he?" 
 Saint Thomas took the Cross in hand, and answer made anon : 
 
 "Behold me here, God's Priest am I, but traitor am I none! 
 Look ye for them who think to flee, or do your threatenings dread, 
 For not more ready are your swords here now to smite me dead 
 Than this, my heart, is ready here death from your hand to take, 
 And ne'er the rights of Holy Church for death will I forsake!" 
 The knights, they rushed on him anon, his cap from off his head, 
 His mantle from his back, they tare, reviling him that stead, 
 Sir Rainald de Fitzurse, I trow, doth close beside him go — 
 
 L "Sir Rainald," quoth Saint Thomas there, "what thinkest thou to do? 
 For oft have I done good to thee, and others too, I trow!" 
 The other quoth: "What I may do, thou learnest soon enow 
 Traitor! This will I do to thee, right swiftly shalt thou die!" 
 
 "In sooth," then quoth that holy man, "ready thereto am I, 
 Now for the rights of Holy Church to die were I full fain 
 If so that after this, my death, she should in peace remain. 
 But if, in sooth, 't is me ye seek, I pray ye, in Christ's Name 
 That ye come nigh no other man to work upon him shame, 
 In that none other guilty is of what ye put on me, 
 Blameless are all, save I alone, of that ye sure may be, 
 And therefore, since they blameless be, unharmed now let them wend — ' 
 The good man knelt down on his knee, he saw it was his end, 
 And to receive his martyrdom he bowed his head adown, 
 And soft and low, as some men heard, he spake his orisoun; 
 
 "Now to Our Lord, and Saint Marie, and eke Saint Dionis, 
 And all the patrons of this church where I be slain, I wis, 
 I here in death commend my soul, and Holy Church's right — " 
 
SAINT THOMAS A BECKET 49 
 
 While yet he prayed for Holy Church, he had none other might, 
 Sir Rainald de Fitzurse, of all the fiercest there was he, 
 Drew forth his sword, that holy man to smite right speedily, 
 But Edward Grim, of Grantboro', who was his clerk, they say 
 Stretched out his arm, for he was fain to help his lord that day; 
 The stroke his arm hath wounded sore, the blood it ran adown, 
 And with that self-same blow he smote Saint Thomas on the crown, 350 
 
 So that the blood adown his face, on the right side, did flow, 
 Then loud he cried, this wicked knight, "Now shall ye smite them low!" 
 Then Edward Grim, and all the men who stood the Bishop near 
 To the side altars then they ran, fleeing for very fear — 
 For e'en as with Our Lord it fared, when the Jews seized Him there, 
 All His disciples fled away, He wist not where they were — 
 For in the Gospels it is writ, Christ spake it verily, 
 
 'When men shall smite the Shepherd, then the sheep shall scattered be — " 
 And Christ for His disciples prayed that no man harm should do 
 To them, and so Saint Thomas, he, prayed for his monks also. 360 
 
 Another smote Saint Thomas, in that same wound I trow, 
 And made him look toward the ground, and his face downward bow; 
 In the same place, the third knight, a blow he smote anon 
 And prone he fell, the Bishop, his face upon the stone. 
 The fourth knight, then he smote him, in that same place again 
 And on the marble of the floor his sword point brake in twain, 
 For honour of the holy man who thus his death there met 
 That point, at Canterbury, the monks they keep it yet. 
 That stroke hath smitten off the skull, the crown from off the head, 
 So that, upon the pavement, the brains abroad were spread, 370 
 
 White brain, with red blood mingled, lay on the pavement there 
 And tho' 't was pity great to see, the colour, it was fair! 
 And it ran all around his head, e'en as a diadem, 
 And lay, in sooth for all to see, a marvel seemed it them! 
 For men, when they would paint a saint, I trow, forget it ne'er 
 But ever paint around his head a circle fit and fair 
 A diadem, or halo, and so men well might see 
 By this, the diadem of blood, that he a Saint should be. 
 Then, when the holy man was slain, the knights, they cried each one: 
 'This traitor now to death is brought, now go we hence anon, 380 
 
 This shall they see, the king's men, and all who with him be, 
 We on this traitor be avenged, as all men now may see, 
 He would be higher than the king, and fain had worn the crown, 
 And all the land have brought to naught, and now is he cast down!" 
 E'en so the Jews spake of Our Lord, when Him they fain would slay, 
 That He would make Himself a King, and Son of God alway. 
 Then when these wicked knights a space had from Saint Thomas gone 
 Robert de Broke bethought himself, and turned him back anon, 
 And thro' the skull he smote his sword, right far the head within 
 So that the skull was empty, no brain was left therein, 390 
 
50 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 E'en as the Jews they smote Our Lord, after His Death did take 
 
 A spear, and thro' His very Heart a fifth Wound there did make, 
 
 Those wicked men did in that stead Saint Thomas smite, I ween, 
 
 So that the skull was spread abroad, e'en as the crown had been. 
 
 For he was ne'er a man who deigned his head to turn aside, 
 
 Nor yield a foot unto his foe, but would the stroke abide, 
 
 Nor made he cry, nor uttered groan, but, gracious, bowed his head, 
 
 And held it steady, tho' his foes would smite it off that stead. 
 
 Those wicked knights, they wend anon unto his treasury, 
 
 The doors and coffers there they brake, and wreaked foul robbery. 
 
 They took his clothes, and eke his horse, and treasure, too, that day, 
 
 Charters, and private writings, in coffer locked away; 
 
 Randolf de Broke, he took them then, to the king now would wend 
 
 To Normandie, and say these knights they did the writings send, 
 
 Praying him deal as was his will, if there were any there 
 
 Against his royal right and will he should them straightway tear. 
 
 Among his treasures did they find two hair shirts rough that day 
 
 And vilely did they handle them, as worthless, cast away, 
 
 Yet, natheless, they bethought them there, and were afeared, I ween, 
 
 And softly spake between themselves, a good man had he been. 
 
 William of Tracy later told of this good man and true 
 
 To Exeter's good Bishop, when he was shrived anew, 
 
 That when Saint Thomas had been slain, and they from hence would go, 
 
 Well nigh they had waxed mad for fear, such horror did they know, 
 
 It seemed them, as they gat them hence, that, swift as they might fare, 
 
 The earth, it gaped to swallow them, all living as they were. 
 
 Then when Saint Thomas, he was slain, and hence the knights had gone, 
 
 Thro' Canterbury town, I trow, 't was known by all anon, 
 
 The folk, with cries so doleful, to church they ran, I wis, 
 
 Honoured that holy body, and ofttimes did it kiss. 
 
 The monks, they hasten thither, the holy body take, 
 
 On a fair bier they laid it, before the altar wake, 
 
 The face was white and clear enow, no blood was there within, 
 
 From the left half of his forehead to the left half of his chin 
 
 A little streak there was of blood, that o'er his nose did flow, 
 
 But no more blood was in his neck as well the folk did know. 
 
 The wound, it bled the long night thro', men took thereof, I ween, 
 
 To-day, in Canterbury church that blood may still be seen. 
 
 Yet he in no-wise changed his hue, for all that he bled there 
 
 Clear was he, of good colour, as tho' alive he were, 
 
 And, somewhat smiling with his mouth, lay as he were asleep — 
 
 The folk, they gathered thick around, the blood were fain to keep, 
 
 And gather up the drops that there had fallen to the ground, 
 
 And of that earth all soaked in blood, glad was he who it found. 
 
 That would no man deny them, and much they took away, 
 
 Who touched that holy body, a glad man he, that day. 
 
 Then, with the morn, those wicked knights, they arm themselves eftsoon, 
 
SAINT THOMAS A EECKET 5 i 
 
 Without the town took counsel, what now might best be done, 
 
 Fain had they ta'en that body, with horses drawn it there, 
 
 High on a gibbet hanged it, and said the law it were, 440 
 
 Unworthy he within a kirk or kirkyard for to lie — 
 
 The monks o'er much believed this, and feared them mightily, 
 
 And swift that body buried, in a place near beside, 
 
 With little pomp or ritual, they durst no longer bide. 
 
 But in Christ's Minster buried the body there anon, 
 
 Before Saint Austin's altar, and that of Baptist John. 
 
 The monks durst wait no longer, nor wash that body dear 
 
 But all unready, laid it low, and fled away for fear. 
 
 But, as they stript him of his clothes, the vesture, it did show 
 
 The clothing that beseemed a clerk, and other garb below, 450 
 
 For a monk's habit was beneath, e'en as they found it there 
 
 The cowl, and woollen robe, I trow, above the shirt of hair; 
 
 So that within he was a monk, tho' secular without, 
 
 And no man knew his secret who was with him about. 
 
 Next to his flesh his girdle bare of knots full many a one 
 
 That deep into his flesh they ate, some even to the bone. 
 
 Tho' shirt and breeches he might wear he little ease might feel 
 
 So tightly was he bound therein from shoulder e'en to heel, 
 
 Uneasily he needs must sit, uneasily must ride, 
 
 Uneasy would he lie at night, or turn on either side. 460 
 
 And all his flesh was full of worms, to add to other woe, 
 
 Never another creature so many worms might show, 
 
 For everywhere within his flesh they were so thickly set 
 
 That scarce the large ones for the small unto their meat might get, 
 
 But one upon the other crept, and twined them all about, 
 
 The small, they clave close to the flesh, the larger were without. 
 
 He died, eleven hundred years, and seventy and one 
 
 After Our Lord came down to earth, and took our flesh and bone; 
 
 And three and fifty years of age were counted to him there 
 
 And many a fair day had he lived, in woe, and eke in care. 470 
 
 The king was aye in Normandy, and of the deed knew naught, 
 
 But dole and sorrow made enow, whenas the news was brought, 
 
 In the castle of Argenteyne, he heard the tidings sore 
 
 And came not forth from out the gate for forty days and more; 
 
 In privacy he kept him, with weeping, and with woe, 
 
 And for no need that men might urge without the door would go, 
 
 Kicked naught of this world's doings, while spare his food should be, 
 
 Such dole and grief as there he made no man I trow, might see. 
 
 To Canterbury sent anon, all for this doleful deed, 
 
 And prayed the monks ful piteously for him to intercede, 480 
 
 He sent them word assuring them that naught of this he bade, 
 
 The knights had gone forth secretly, and nothing to him said, 
 
 He sent a message bidding them turn again speedily 
 
 But ere the man might come to them they were far out at sea. 
 
52 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And, as 't was good, unto the Pope, the king, he sent right soon 
 
 And prayed his counsel piteously, what now might best be done? 
 
 And for the love of God besought, in this his anguish, rede, 
 
 That he be shriven and absolved of this right wicked deed. 
 
 The Pope, I trow, had pity great in that he thus did send 
 
 And great joy, too, that he, his life was willing to amend, 490 
 
 Two cardinals he sent him, wise men they were, those two, 
 
 That he be shriven of this sin, and be absolved also, 
 
 And to absolve those bishops, who 'neath the ban yet lay — 
 
 Right welcome were those cardinals unto the king alway! 
 
 Then, dolefully, he prayed them absolve him of this deed, 
 
 That he would stable stand, and swear to follow all their rede. 
 
 And there upon the Hallows sware that he therein did naught, 
 
 Not by his will, nor his behest, Thomas to death was brought. 
 
 Nay, never for his father's death had he such sorrow sore, 
 
 Nor for his mother had he felt such grief as now he bore. sro 
 
 And that he would, with willing heart, the penance take and bear 
 
 That they should lay upon him, however hard it were. 
 
 For he was cause of this, his death, and of his woes also, 
 
 In that his knights, to please him, had brought him thereunto. 
 
 Then, when the cardinals, they saw he did repent that wrong 
 
 They shrived him there, and laid on him a penance stern and strong, 
 
 But all in secret, as 't was right that no man of it spoke 
 
 But this that I now tell ye was known to all the folk. 
 
 That he should send to Holy Land two hundred knights, to fight 
 
 A year long with the Templars, for Holy Church's right. 510 
 
 The Statutes, too, of Clarendon, he should revoke them all 
 
 'T was for their sake that holy man did thus, a martyr, fall. 
 
 And that, to Canterbury's See he wholly yield again 
 
 That which, wroth with Saint Thomas, he erst from it had ta'en. 
 
 And that those men should freely, and wholly, be forgiven 
 
 Whom of ill-will, for Thomas' sake, he from the land had driven. 
 
 The king, he granted all their will, the while he wept full sore 
 
 And said it was too little, prayed they 'Id lay on him more; 
 
 And saith: "Now here, of my good will my body may ye take 
 
 Give me a penance sharp enow, I will it not forsake." 520 
 
 Unto the church door did he go, to be absolved, I ween, 
 
 Holding himself unworthy within it to be seen. 
 
 Without the church door, piteous, he knelt him on his knee, 
 
 The cardinals, they willed not his body stript should be 
 
 But in some wise, above his clothes, they did absolve him there, 
 
 I trow, full many wept for grief of those who round him were. 
 
 Upon his son he laid behest with sorry cheer, that he 
 
 Fulfil his father's penance, if that unfit he be; 
 
 That, should he fall on feeble state, ere to the end he came, 
 
 He take the penance on himself, of good will, at that same. 53a 
 
 Thus that good man, Saint Thomas, to martyrdom was brought 
 
SAINT THOMAS A BECKET $3 
 
 And since then many a marvel for his sake hath been wrought. 
 Men wist in far Jerusalem that he to death was done 
 Within a fortnight of the day his earthly race was run, 
 For that a monk of that same land in his death-struggle lay 
 His abbot came unto him, ere yet he passed away, 
 Conjured him solemnly, that dead, he should, without debate, 
 Return again to him, and say what there should be his state. 
 The monk, he died soon after, e'en as it was God's Will, 
 And to the abbot came again, his bidding to fulfil, 540 
 
 And told him that, among the saved, in Heaven's joy was he, 
 And spake much of the gladness that he in Heaven did see, 
 And told him, in that self-same time that he to Heaven did come 
 Of Canterbury th' Archbishop had suffered martyrdom, 
 And that his soul, that self-same hour, to Heaven did ascend 
 And fair was the procession that did to greet him wend; 
 Of Patriarchs, of Angels, Apostles, too, also, 
 Martyrs, Confessors, Virgins, they did to meet him go, 
 They met and brought his holy soul unto Our Lord, anon, 
 With great rejoicing as He sat upon the Great White Throne. sso 
 
 His crown, it all was smitten off, and bloody was his head, 
 No brain was left within it, all with his blood was shed. 
 "Ah, Thomas, Thomas!" quoth Our Lord, "this lot is fallen to thee 
 To come thus to thy Lord's own Court, and in such guise to Me! 
 For thy good service will I give to thee such joy and bliss 
 As I gave to Saint Peter, who mine own Apostle is." 
 He set upon his head a crown, of gold so bright and good, 
 And well it showed, the gleaming gold, upon the crimson blood! 
 And greater joy there ne'er might be than was in Heaven withal 
 For Canterbury's Archbishop, whom men Saint Thomas call. 560 
 
 The Tuesday after Christ's Own Mass, the next as it did come, 
 That holy man, Saint Thomas, he suffered Martyrdom. 
 And when thou hearest of his death from English men, in sooth, 
 Thou shalt remember this my tale, and know 't was very truth!" 
 The abbot, on the morrow he of Saint Thomas thought, 
 The tale unto the Patriarch of Jerusalem he brought, 
 So that they, later in the year, right well did understand 
 Whenas the pilgrims thither came out of the English land, 
 And that these pilgrims told as truth all that the monk had seen 
 The very manner of his death, and when he slain had been. 570 
 
 Thus, in Jerusalem, I trow, Saint Thomas' death was known 
 Within a fortnight of the day that he to death was done. 
 When five years he had martyred been, so doth the story tell, 
 Between King Henry and his son a contest great befell, 
 The son waxed proud of this, his power, since he as king did reign 
 But lightly held his father, to war with him was fain. 
 Of England all the greater part they with the son did hold, 
 The kings of France and Scotland too, so in the tale 't was told, 
 
54 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Then this old man and feeble, much pain and grief he knew, 
 
 And laid it on his wicked deed, that men Saint Thomas slew. 580 
 
 From Normandy to England he gat him at that tide, 
 
 Ere he to Canterbury came nowhere would he abide. 
 
 When he was far without the wall from horse he 'lighted down 
 
 And all afoot, and barefoot, did wend him to the town, 
 
 And with his kirtle all ungirt, as folk might see that day, 
 
 He took his way unto the place wherein Saint Thomas lay. 
 
 His hands outstretched in sorrow, mercy did aye implore 
 
 And at his tomb he knelt adown with sighs and weeping sore, 
 
 In Orisons, with weeping, and fasting, there he lay 
 
 And thus beside that good man's tomb abode a night and day. 590 
 
 And each monk of the Minster he prayed to scourge him there 
 
 Each with a rod, and yet he thought the pain too little were. 
 
 And dolefully he prayed them, each one, for him to pray, 
 
 The evil laws that he had made he sware to put away; 
 
 And then he bade them sing a Mass, ere that he thence might wend, 
 
 In honour of Saint Thomas, that grace to him he send. 
 
 And even while this Mass was sung, as God did grant it so, 
 
 The King of Scotland, he was ta'en, who was his fiercest foe, 
 
 And many another too with him, who were his foes anon, 
 
 And they who thus were captive ta'en power against him had none. 600 
 
 So this king old and feeble, who had the lower place, 
 
 Was raised again to honour all by Saint Thomas' grace. 
 
 His son was put beneath him, little he won that tide 
 
 By warring 'gainst his father thro' this, his sorry pride. 
 
 By this a man may warning take that never, hastily, 
 
 He give his lands unto his son, while yet in life he be! 
 
 King Henry's son, thereafter, riiuch evil hath he wrought, 
 
 And long before his father died he to his death was brought, 
 
 Full sore he pined in sickness, his life it seemed him long, 
 
 And died at last a doleful death, in bitter pains and strong. 610 
 
 His brother too, Sir Geoffrey, the Earl of Brittany, 
 
 He fell in the same sickness, the self-same death had he, 
 
 So when he died, King Henry, of heir remained there none 
 
 Save this, their brother Richard, and after him was John. 
 
 But yet, Sir Geoffrey's children, by rightful law of land, 
 
 Were heirs unto the kingdom, so do I understand; 
 
 Of Brittany the maiden, his only daughter, she, 
 
 For this cause all her lifetime a prisoner must be. 
 
 And all four of those wicked knights, who did Saint Thomas slay 
 
 Died an ill death, and painful, small wonder 't was alway! 620 
 
 They were each one repentant, nay, never men were more, 
 
 For mercy on Saint Thomas, I trow, they cried full sore. 
 
 Soon after they had done this deed they from their goods did wend 
 
 To Holy Land betook them, their lives they would amend. 
 
 But William Tracy fared not forth with these his fellows three, 
 
 Deeming that he, in England, a penitent might be. 
 
SAINT THOMAS A BECKET 55 
 
 But very soon thereafter in sickness sore he fell 
 
 His flesh, it rotted on him, and evil did it smell; 
 
 So foul the stench, I trow me, that dole it was to see, 
 
 And for its very foulness no man might nigh him be. 630 
 
 His flesh, it rotted on him, each day it fell away, 
 
 Till that his bones were waxen bare, his joy was all away. 
 
 His flesh, with his own hands he tare from off him at the last, 
 
 And piece by piece he took it, and far from him he cast. 
 
 He tare, I trow, his hands and arms, till there was left thereon 
 
 No trace of flesh, but nothing more save sinews, and bare bone. 
 
 And many men, they deemed in truth he bare it willingly 
 
 To pay sin's debt, that so his soul in lesser peril be. 
 
 At last in bitter pain his soul did from his body wend 
 
 And, as it were God's Will alway, he made a godly end. ' 640 
 
 Thus, for their wicked deed, these knights, full soon they died each one 
 
 And in the third year after there was left living none. 
 
 For even as the Psalter saith, the men who treacherous be 
 
 They shall not live out half their days, and so we surely see; 
 
 E'en tho' they be repentant, as these knights were, I ween, 
 
 They shall not live out half their life, on them this well was seen. 
 
 Saint Thomas, now, that holy man, in earth he buried lay 
 
 Ere men might lay him in a shrine, I trow, for many a day; 
 
 For forty years therein he lay, and half a year should be 
 
 With eight days added thereunto ere brought from earth was he. 650 
 
 For God would wait a fitting time for such a holy thing 
 
 Till to a good archbishop was joined a godly king. 
 
 The king who came before him, and wicked was also, 
 
 He little thought within his day such godly deed to do; 
 
 But his young son, King Henry, he would not long delay, 
 
 Tho' young he was when made a king, the saint in shrine to lay. 
 
 Scarce thirteen years, I trow, had he, when that he did this thing 
 
 And in the fourth year this befell since that they made him king. 
 
 The good Archbishop, Stephen, he counselled him thereto 
 
 So it was by the rede of both that they this deed did do. 660 
 
 Honorious, he was Pope then, and thither would he send 
 
 From Borne, the Legate Pandolf, to bring this thing to end. 
 
 The Pope decreed a pardon to all who there would go 
 
 That for long years in England men no such pardon know. 
 
 To honour this, his body, the folk they came ere long 
 
 Of bishops, and of abbots, full many thither throng, 
 
 Of priors, and of parsons, and many a clerk also, 
 
 And many an earl and baron with knights did thither go; 
 
 The squires and serjants flocked there, and husbandmen enow, 
 
 And of the simple land folk, so many came, I trow, 670 
 
 That all the land about there, the country far and wide, 
 
 Might scarce contain the people who flocked from every side. 
 
 So these high men, and noble, elect this deed to do, 
 
 Were much in care, lest, for the press, they come not thereunto; 
 
56 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 So the Archbishop, Stephen, of whom but now I told, 
 And Salisbury's Bishop, Richard, they did a council hold, 
 E'en with the Prior Walter, head of the Convent he, 
 And thus they took their counsel to do it privilie; 
 So as men lay and slept by night, thereof had little thought, 
 They took those holy bones up, and in a coffin brought, 680 
 
 And set them in a secret place until the day they see 
 That it was cried throughout the land the grave should opened be. 
 July, the month, I think me, upon the seventh day, 
 It fell upon a Tuesday, so all the folk they say, 
 On that day to the Minster in order have they gone 
 With the young child, King Henry, the high men, every one. 
 And on that day, at underne, they to the body come, 
 And Pandolf, he hath gone the first, the Legate he, from Rome. 
 And the Archbishop Stephen, and from beyond the sea 
 From Rheims came the Archbishop, to this solemnitie. 690 
 
 Hubert de Brom, he followed, High Justice was he then 
 And four great lords came with him, all wise and noble men. 
 And they, upon their shoulders, the body take anon, 
 Of bishops, and of abbots, have many with them gone. 
 And thus to the High Altar of the Trinity they bare 
 The holy bones, and laid the chest in stately shrine and fair. 
 He was so young, King Henry, that there he durst do naught, 
 Nor help them bear the body lest that it hurt him aught, 
 The holy bones, they raised them on Tuesday, as men tell, 
 And all his life's chief happenings, on Tuesdays all they fell. 700 
 
 For on a Tuesday was he born, from mother's womb he came; 
 And even as men bring a thief, so was he brought with shame 
 On Tuesday to Northampton, to stand before the king, 
 And to receive his judgment — they say, who saw the thing, 
 That even worse than any thief the folk they served him there — 
 Banished was he on Tuesday, from England forth must fare; 
 At Ponteney, on a Tuesday, Our Lord to him did come 
 And to him spake a gracious word of this, his Martyrdom: 
 Saith Our Dear Lord: "Now Thomas, thro' shedding of thy blood 
 Shall all my Church be honoured!" Methinks these words be good. 710 
 Then back again to England on Tuesday did he come, 
 After he had been banished, to take his Martyrdom. 
 And thus at Canterbury, on Tuesday was he slain, 
 At last, upon a Tuesday, enshrined within that fane. 
 Thus seven things on Tuesday befell from first to last, 
 And therefore on a Tuesday doth many a man keep fast 
 And eat no flesh on Tuesday, others but one meal eat, 
 And go to Canterbury, to do him honour meet. 
 Now Jesu, for that great Love, on which Saint Thomas thought 
 Bring us unto those self -same joys that he so dearly bought! 720 
 
 Amen. 
 
SAINT BRAND AN 57 
 
 SAINT BRANDAN 
 
 Saint Brandan, that same holy man, he lived in this, our land, 
 
 A monk he was of strictest life, so do I understand, 
 
 In fasting and in penance lived, and Abbot was he there, 
 
 Over a thousand monks held rule, who all beneath him were. 
 
 And as it fell upon a day, by God's will and decree, 
 
 Another abbot came to him, Beryn by name was he; 
 
 Saint Brandan prayed of him anon that he would say that tide 
 
 What things soe'er he might have seen in other countries wide. 
 
 Then the good man, on hearing this, began to sigh eftsoon, 
 
 For heavy thought began to weep, and fell adown in swoon. 
 
 Between his arms Saint Brandan took that good man, at that same, 
 
 And kissed him oft, and called on him, till to himself he came. 
 
 "Father" he said, "for charity thou other rede must take, 
 Here for our solace art thou come, and not such dole to make; 
 Tell us the things that thou hast seen, as thou afar didst wend 
 Upon the seas of Ocean wide, where Our Lord did thee send." — 
 (Now is the sea of Ocean the greatest sea of all 
 The world it doth encircle, and all waters to it fall — ) 
 With that Beryn, the aged man, e'en from his heart so deep, 
 He told them all that he had found, the while he needs must weep. 
 He said he had a right good son, and Memok was his name, 
 
 "A monk he was, e'en as we be, therewith a man of fame; 
 His heart, it urged him forth to wend, to privy place and still» 
 Wherein he might dwell all alone, and thus might serve God's Will. 
 Thus by my will did he go forth, e'en as I tell ye now, 
 To a far island in the sea, that pleasant was enow, 
 It lies beside the Mount of Stones, the which is known full wide, 
 And that same monk, he liked it well, and there did long abide; 
 And in that time full many a monk he had beneath him there, 
 And I, when I heard tell thereof, I thither thought to fare. 
 And then a vision Our Sweet Lord unto that monk did send 
 Bidding him go to meet me, a three days' journey wend. 
 To ship, I trow, we went right soon, Eastward our way did trace 
 On the far sea of Ocean, as Our Lord sent us Grace. 
 Toward the East so far we sailed that we were come, at last, 
 To a place dim and dusky, with clouds all over-cast; 
 There we abode in darkness, for well nigh all the day, 
 Until it pleased Our Lord at last to speed us on our way. 
 A new land we beheld then, and thither turned our prow, 
 Brighter it was than sunshine, and joy there was enow; 
 The trees and herbs, so thickly they grew on either side, 
 And stones so fair and precious lay gleaming far and wide; 
 Each bush was full of blossom, and full of fruit each tree. 
 
58 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Save that it were in Heaven, such perfume ne'er might be! 
 
 Therein, with joy and gladness, a long time did we spend, 
 
 Yet but short while it seemed us — Nor might we find the end, — 
 
 We came unto a water, so clear and bright to see, 
 
 From Eastward ever springing, Westward it floweth free. 
 
 We stood and looked about us, nor crossing might we find, 
 
 A woman came toward us, so young, and fair, and kind, so 
 
 And bade us each one welcome in gentle words and sweet, 
 
 Each by his right name hailing, gracious she did us greet, 
 
 And said that Our Lord Jesus we now should thank aright — 
 
 'Who sheweth you His secrets, and therewithal His might; 
 This is the land He giveth, whenas the world shall end, 
 To those on earth He loveth, hither His dear ones wend. 
 One half on this shore lieth, ye see it is full wide, 
 And half beyond the water, upon the further side. 
 Ye may not pass that water, the other half to see, 
 
 A year long have ye been here, and meat-less all ye be; 60 
 
 Ye ate not, and ye drank not, nor sleep hath closed your eye, 
 Nor cold nor heat hath grieved you, or be ye low or high. 
 This is Our Lord's own Country, 't is He Who gives it light, 
 Thus day for aye endureth, and ne'er shall wane to night. 
 Had Adam 'gainst God's bidding transgressed not, then I ween 
 Herein had been his dwelling, here had his offspring been; 
 But now ye needs must turn again, ye may not linger here, 
 Tho' a short while ye deem it, here have ye dwelt a year.' 
 Then to our ship she brought us, and bade us there 'Farewell' — 
 The sea, it homeward bare us, her way we might not tell. 70 
 
 Against our will she left us, I trow it grieved us sore — 
 Back to the monks, our brethren, swiftly the ship us bore, 
 The monks, they came to meet us, when they our barque had seen, 
 And grieved were they, and wrathful, that we so long had been. 
 We said, in joy and gladness we for awhile did stand, 
 Before the gates of Paradise, in this, the Promised Land, 
 Which our Dear Lord hath promised to those He loveth here, 
 Where it is never night-fall, but ever daylight clear. 
 
 'Certes,' the monks, they answered, 'this we right well have seen, 
 By the sweet smell upon you, there have ye surely been.' " 80 
 
 Saint Brandan, when he heard this, awhile in thought stood still, 
 And in himself he pondered what now might be God's Will. 
 Then to his monks he turned him, and twelve he took that day, 
 Those unto whom he trusted, if need upon them lay. 
 The twelve he took to counsel, and privily he spake: 
 
 "A secret thing I purpose, whereof your rede I'ld take: 
 To seek the Land of Promise, an God will thither lead, 
 Now say, what is your counsel? Say, shall we do this deed?" 
 
 "Dear Father," spake the others, "our own will did we leave, 
 Our friends, and all our riches, and unto thee did cleave, go 
 
SAINT BRANDAN 59 
 
 We do as thou desirest; if so thy will shall be 
 
 With thee we '11 blithely journey, the Grace of God to see." 
 
 Then forty days they fasted, and penance sore they bare, 
 
 This, Our Lord's Grace, beseeching their voyage to prosper fair. 
 
 A great ship did they dight there, and then above it cast 
 
 A strong hood for a covering, and thereto nailed it fast. 
 
 And all without they pitched it, to keep it dry and fair, 
 
 Then went they to their brethren, and leave they prayed them there. 
 
 Sithen, in this, Our Lord's Name, forth to their ship they go, 
 
 The brethren left behind them, each one must sorrow know. 
 
 When they the ship had boarded, after them came there two 
 
 And straitly they besought them that they with them might go. 
 
 "That may ye," quoth Saint Brandan, "yet one shall at the end, 
 Repent of this, his coming, to Hell shall, living, wend." 
 This holy man, he went forth whither Our Lord should guide, 
 And these two monks, who came last, went with them at that tide. 
 On the great sea of Ocean forth do they row full fast, 
 In God's good guidance trusting, for naught are they aghast. 
 The sea, it drave their ship at will, the wind was strong and high, 
 And as the breeze it bare them, the ship sailed steadily, 
 Ever toward sun-rising, on a mid-summer day, 
 No man of them wist where he was, or where the land, it lay. 
 And thus, forthright, for forty days, the wind, it bare them fast, 
 Till that, upon the North-side, a great isle rose at last. 
 Of hard rock was it, great enow, and from the sea rose high, 
 Three days they sailed about it, ere that they might come nigh. 
 A little haven there they found, to land they get them there, 
 They went ashore as 'mazed men, who wist not where they were. 
 Then came to them a goodly hound, as guide he drew them near, •' 
 And fell down at Saint Brandan's feet, and made of him good cheer. 
 
 "Beaux Freres," then quoth Saint Brandan, "to fear have ye no need, 
 I trow this be a messenger, who will us rightly lead." 
 The hound, it led this holy man to a fair hall that day, 
 Noble it was, and high, and strong, within he leads the way; 
 The monks, they found within the hall a board, with cloths o'erspread, 
 Thereon was bread, with fish enow, they deemed they were well sped. 
 They sat them down, and ate full fast, much need had they each one, 
 And beds were there, all ready made, ere that their meal was done. 
 Then supper o'er, to bed they went, to rest them as was wise, 
 And tho' they weary were enow, full soon they 'gan arise, 
 And gat them to their ship again, where they afore had been, 
 And long time on the sea they were ere land again was seen. 
 They saw it, on the other side, rise fair from out the wave, 
 An island green, with pastures fair, thither their barque it drave. 
 Whenas they came to this fair land, and round about them spied, 
 The fairest sheep that e'er might be they saw on every side. 
 Each sheep was greater than an ox, and whiter none might be, 
 
60 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Great joy, it waxed within them, that they this sight might see. 
 
 Then came to them a goodly man, greeting he gave them fair, 
 
 And said: "The land where ye be come, ye saw aforetime ne'er, 140 
 
 I It is y'clept ' The Land of Sheep,' for here fair sheep they be 
 Mickle, and white, and great enow, as ye full well may see; 
 And fairer far than are your sheep, greater beyond compare, 
 The weather here is good enow, the pastures rich and rare; 
 For never winter vexeth us, nor here shall hay be found, 
 
 But each doth crop the herbage new as it doth spring from ground. 
 And men, they take not of their milk, that they the worser be, 
 For this and many another thing, they profit verilie. 
 From hence ye to a land shall fare, by this, Our Lord's good Grace, 
 
 II That is ' The Paradise of Birds,' and a right joyous place, 150 
 And there this Easter shall ye be, and Whitsuntide shall spend; 
 
 Now go ye forth in God's good Name, to bring this voyage to end." 
 Saint Brandan, and his brethren then, to ship they go anon, 
 And fast they row forth on the sea, with tempests many a one, 
 Till on the other side they saw an island great up-stand, 
 Their ship, I trow, by grace of God, it drew toward that land, 
 So that it almost came thereto, but on the rock did ride, 
 And came not close unto the isle, but lay the land beside. 
 Saint Brandan stayed within the ship, the monks, they wade to shore. 
 They thought to make them here a meal of what they had in store. 160 
 
 A fire they made, and boiled them fish all in a cauldron fast, 
 But ere the fish was cooked enow, somewhat were they aghast, 
 For as the fire, it burned right thro', the isle, it quaked anon, 
 And as in wrath it rose up there, the monks took fright each one, 
 Each after other to the ship they fled, as at that same, 
 He deemed himself best loved of God who soonest thither came! 
 And then they saw how this same isle fared thro' the sea full fast, 
 As a live thing leapt up and down, and fire from off him cast, 
 More than a two-mile distance swam while that it burned, the fire, 
 The monks, they saw the flame from far, and were in terror dire. 170 
 
 They cried upon Saint Brandan, what should this marvel be? 
 "Bide still," then quoth this holy man, "fear not for what ye see, 
 Ye deem it be an island, therein ye think amiss, 
 It is a fish of this great sea, the greatest that there is, 
 Jastoni, is he named, and seeketh, night and day, 
 To take his tail within his mouth, for size doth fail alway." 
 Then forth they rowed upon the sea, and Westward swift they fare 
 Three days, ere land it came in sight, somewhat they feared them there. 
 A right fair land they see then, where thick the flowers grow, 
 And much the sight rejoiced them, their barque they thither row. 180 
 
 Thro' this fair land they wandered, longer than I may tell, 
 A place they found within it, a very goodly well, 
 There stood a tree beside it, 't was broad and wide enow, 
 And white and fair the birdlings that sat on every bough; 
 
SAINT BRANDAN 61 
 
 So thick they perched upon it, ye scarce a leaf might see, 
 
 'T was joy and bliss sufficing to look on such a tree! 
 
 For joy he wept, Saint Brandan, and on his knee bent low 
 
 Praying that God the meaning of this strange sight would show. 
 
 - A small bird fluttered upward, and as he took his flight, 
 His wings were as a cithole, toward him came aright, 
 (Than instrument of music sweeter his wings they were — ) 
 He looked upon Saint Brandan with goodly cheer and fair; 
 "I bid ye," quoth Saint Brandan, "an messenger ye be, 
 Tell me of these, your doings, your nature show to me!" 
 Altho' it seemed a marvel, this bird he spake anon, 
 
 > And quoth: "We were aforetime angels in heaven, each one, 
 But e'en as we were fashioned, for this, his beauty's pride. 
 He, Lucifer, our master, full soon was put outside; 
 And many another with him the self -same doom did win; 
 And we, adown we fell then, yet not for any sin, 
 And not that we assented to what he did 'gainst right, 
 But only to bear witness to this, Our Sweet Lord's might. 
 Nor here in pain we're holden, in joy enow we be, 
 And somewhat of Our Dear Lord, His might and power, we see. 
 And on the earth we fly now, and thro' the air also, 
 As angels good or evil, methinks, may rightly do. 
 The good aid men to goodness, the evil, evil make — 
 Our day of rest is Sunday, and then such form we take 
 As white birds are we fashioned, as here ye well may see, 
 And honour God our Maker, here, on this spreading tree. 
 A twelvemonth hath passed over, since that ye forth did wend, 
 Six years more must ye journey ere this, your toil, may end. 
 When seven years ye 've voyaged, Our Lord shall send to ye 
 The sight that ye full long have sought, yet passed those years must be. 
 
 J And each year shall ye here with us the Feast of Easter hold 
 As now ye do, till ye at last the Promised Land behold." 
 Now it was on an Easter-day that they this venture knew, 
 The bird, he took his leave of them, and to his fellows flew. 
 The birds, when it was eventide, began their evensong, 
 And sweeter song there might not be, were God their ranks among! 
 The monks, they went to bed and sleep, when they had supper ta'en, 
 And when 't was time for Mattins, then they rose up again. 
 The birds, they sang their Mattins, they knew the fitting time, 
 The verses of the Psalter too, and sithen sang they Prime, 
 At Underne, and at Midday, at Nones, so sang they then, 
 At all the Hours throughout the day as fitting Christian men. 
 The monks, they in that land abode until eight weeks had flown, 
 And they the Feasts of Easter and Whitsuntide had known. 
 With Trinity there cometh that good man to them there 
 Who met them in the Land of Sheep, and showed its marvels fair; 
 Their ship he well had loaded, of meat and drink, a store, 
 
62 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Bade them Farewell right gently, and turned them from that shore. 
 
 When with his monks, Saint Brandan, once more a-ship was he, 
 
 The bird that erst spake with them, it sought them presently, 
 
 And spake: "Ye have been with us thro' this high Feast, I ween, 
 
 Great travail doth await ye ere land once more be seen, 
 
 Ye shall, full seven months ended, behold a goodly isle, 
 
 By name 't is called Abbey, it lies hence many a mile; 
 
 There with good men, and holy, Midwinter shall ye spend, 
 
 Your Easter shall be holden, as ye this year did wend, »4o 
 
 On that great Fish's back-bone, whereof your monks had fear, 
 
 The Feast with us be ended, e'en as it was this year." 
 
 Then, in God's Name, Saint Brandan, and these his monks, each one, 
 
 On the great sea of Ocean they sailed forth anon; 
 
 The wind, it tossed them up and down, they many a peril knew, 
 
 And of their lives waxed weary, nor wist they where to go. 
 
 For months they were upon the sea, which did them much torment, 
 
 Since they saw naught but water, and eke the firmament. 
 
 Then saw they land afar from them, as if an isle it were, 
 
 And strait they cried on Jesu Christ that He would bring them there. 250 
 
 Yet after that Saint Brandan the isle might first espy 
 
 For forty days they sailed about ere that they might come nigh, 
 
 So that they deemed their life was lost, the monks were much in fear, 
 
 And loud they cried on Jesu, that He would help them here. 
 
 A haven small and narrow they found there at the last, 
 
 Their ship, it scarce might come therein that they might anchor cast. 
 
 These monks to shore betook them, too long they 'd haven sought, 
 
 , And looked all round about them, 't was joyous to their thought; 
 J Then two fair wells they see there, the one was very clear, 
 Troubled and thick the other — The monks they went anear afo 
 
 To drink of that clear water, Saint Brandan spake straightway : 
 
 "Without the leave of others ye go not nigh to-day, 
 The leave of old men ancient, who be here thro' God's Will, 
 For they will share it with us, and therefore hold ye still." 
 A fair old man, and hoary, toward them came, I wis, 
 And gave them gracious greeting, and did Saint Brandan kiss; 
 Then forth with him he led them, by a fair way, and good, 
 Thro' many a pleasant pasture, to where an Abbey stood. 
 Saint Brandan looked about him, and asked what place it were? 
 What men should dwell within it? And how they had come there? 370 
 The old man held him silent, and answered not his prayer — 
 Then came a fair procession, a Cross before them bare, 
 With tapers lit beside it, monks were they, every one, 
 In choir-copes fairly vested, toward them came anon — 
 And fair was the procession, the abbot closed the band, 
 Gracious, he kissed Saint Brandan, and took him by the hand. 
 He and his monks he led them into a noble hall, 
 There in a row he set them, their feet he washed withal 
 
SAINT BRANDAN 63 
 
 In this, the troubled water, that they did first espy; 
 
 To the refectory led them, and set them down on high, 280 
 
 With these, his own monks, mingled, when each was in his seat, 
 
 Then one there came who served them, and brought to each his meat. 
 
 A fair white loaf he set there betwixt each two and two, 
 
 A white mess, as of herbs 't were, before them set also, 
 
 And sweeter food might none be, 't was known afore to none — 
 
 Of that clear well the waters, the monks have drunk each one. 
 
 "Be glad now:" quoth the abbot, "and take deep draughts and long 
 In love of this same water ye fain had ta'en with wrong; 
 Better it is to drink it in love, as now 't is brought, 
 Than as a thief to steal it, as was at first your thought. 290 
 
 This bread that here we eat of, we know not what it is, 
 
 ■J Each day a strange man brings it unto our store, I wis, 
 We trow by God's Grace only this food to us is brought, 
 Whoso in Jesu trusteth, methinks shall fail for naught. 
 We be Friars, four and twenty, when thus we take our seat 
 Twelve manchets white they bring us each day to this, our meat. 
 And on each holy Feast day, and Sundays too, I wis, 
 They bring us four and twenty, that every man hath his; 
 And what each brother leaveth that shall his supper be, 
 To-day for ye 't is doubled, as ye right well may see; 300 
 
 Nor here is all our Convent, there be who do not eat, 
 But by His Grace Our Dear Lord hath sent to all his meat. 
 
 ^IFrom out Saint Patrick's Abbey, in Ireland, so I ween, 
 For four-score years we dwell here, no man hath nigh us been, 
 Yet thro' His Grace, our Dear Lord hath fed us, every one, 
 And aye have we fine weather, and sickness is there none. 
 When we should do His Service, Our Lord, He sends us light, 
 Our tapers be not lessened, tho' burnt by day and night!" 
 They rose, and forth they gat them to church, thus after meat, 
 Twelve other Friars they met then, who thither go to eat; 310 
 
 "How is this?" quoth Saint Brandan. "Why were they not with us?" 
 
 "Dear Father:" quoth the Abbot, "of needs it must be thus, 
 For four and twenty only, hath our Refectory space, 
 Whenas that ye were with us then these might find no place, 
 While Evensong we're singing, then shall they sit and eat, 
 And after sing their office, when they have had their meat." 
 Saint Brandan saw that Altar, it seemed to him here, 
 With Chalice, and with cruets, all wrought of crystal clear; 
 The choir had seven tapers, nor more nor less, to wit, 
 The stalls were four and twenty wherein the monks should sit; 320 
 
 For four and twenty brethren there were, and each had his, 
 Midst of the choir the Abbot, he had his seat, I wis. 
 Saint Brandan asked the Abbot, "Now tell me, dear my brother, 
 Why do ye keep such silence that none speaks with the other?" 
 
 "Our Lord knows," quoth the Abbot, "that here we now have been 
 
64 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 For years four-score, and leading such life as ye have seen, 
 
 Nor was there one among us who spake, before to-day, 
 
 A word, save what was needed his Office well to say, 
 
 And none of us waxed feeble, and sickness fell on none — " 
 
 Saint Brandan, when he heard this, for joy he wept anon, 330 
 
 "Dear Father" thus he answered, "here may we bide with ye?" 
 
 "Ye wot well: " quoth the Abbot, "that may in no wise be, 
 Hath not our Lord well shown thee that which thou needs must do? 
 Thou needs must go to Ireland, thy brethren twelve also; 
 And at the Isle of Ankres, the thirteenth from thee wend, 
 To Hell alive, the fourteenth, and be there without end." 
 With that, a fiery arrow in at the window flew, 
 As tho' it were from Heaven, and trimmed the tapers true, 
 And then thro' that same window it passed, e'en as it came, 
 Long enow burned the tapers, nor wasted in the flame. 340 
 
 "Lord Christ," then quoth Saint Brandan, "I wonder in my thought, 
 •S How thus they burn, these tapers, and how they waste for naught?" 
 
 "Hast thou not," quoth the Abbot, "in Holy Scripture found 
 How Moses saw a thorn burn, from topmost twig to ground, 
 Yet aye the more it burned there, greener the leaves they were, 
 Dost thou not deem Our Lord be as mighty here as there?" 
 Those monks they were together till Christmas-tide was o'er, 
 Yea, e'en till after Twelfth-day, ere they set forth once more. 
 Then on the Feast of Hilary, Saint Brandan forth did wend 
 With his monks on the Ocean, tho' grace that God did send; 350 
 
 In grief enow they floated, tossed up and down they be, 
 Till Lent was well nigh ended, nor sign of land might see, 
 Till that, about Palm-Sunday, their glance around they cast, 
 And saw, in the dim distance as 't were a cloud at last. 
 The monks, thereof they wondered, what that same cloud, it were — 
 
 "Bide still" then quoth Saint Brandan, "aforetime were ye there, 
 There is our procurator, who did us good of yore, 
 Both in the Paradise of Birds, and Isle of Sheep, afore," 
 So that, at last, their vessel came to that Isle, I ween, 
 Upon the Maunday Thursday, in travail great they'd been. 360 
 
 The old man came toward them, and welcomed them anon, 
 Saint Brandan's feet, he kissed them, and then the monks', each one; 
 Sithen set them at supper, as fitting for the day, 
 Then all their feet he washed there, the Maund he would obey. 
 Thus Maunday did they keep there, and rested at that same 
 Throughout the whole Good Friday, till Easter Eve, it came; 
 On Easter Eve that old man bade them take ship anon, 
 Their Easter Mass to hold it that Fish's back upon. 
 After the Resurrection he bade them go once more 
 
 Unto the Paradise of Birds, where they had been afore. 370 
 
 These holy men, they sailed forth, God's Grace did guide their way 
 To this great Fish, in safety, they came the self-same day. 
 
SAINT BRANDAN 65 
 
 It stood still, as an island, their cauldron found they here, 
 As on its back they'd left it, e'en in that bye-gone year; 
 Lord Christ, to think such monster should in this wise stay still ^ 
 And suffer men upon it to come and go at will! 
 There, on its back, the holy men, abode throughout the night, 
 Sang Evensong, and Mattins, and then, with morning light, 
 Their Easter Mass they sang there, upon its back, each one, 
 And that great Fish, it stayed there as still as any stone. 38c 
 
 Then, when their Resurrection they'd kept with honour due, 
 And all the monks had sung there their Mass in order true, 
 About the time of Underne, to ship they took their way, 
 And to the Paradise of Birds they came the self-same day. 
 When the birds saw them coming, each one brake into song 
 With melody to greet them, as doth to Nones belong. 
 The Bird that erst spake with them, toward them winged his way, 
 His wings, they beat sweej; music, greeting he gave that day, 
 And quoth: "Ye ought to, thank Him, Our Lord Christ, with the best, 
 Who thus prepared four places whereon ye now may rest, 390 
 
 With our good Procurator your Maunday well to do, 
 Sithen, your Resurrection on that great fish, also, 
 And here with us full eight weeks, till Whitsuntide, to pass, 
 And in the Isle of Abbey Christmas to Candlemas. 
 But on the sea of Ocean in peril must ye wend 
 These other days, in travail, till seven years shall end. 
 And then the Land of Promise by God's Will shall ye see, 
 And forty days within it in bliss and joy shall be. 
 Thence, to the land ye came from ye shall thereafter wend, 
 In ease, and without travail, and there your lives shall end." 400 
 
 These holy men abode there, even to Trinitie, 
 The old man, their provider, he fed them plenteouslie, 
 And meat and drink he brought them, as he afore had done, 
 Therewith, their barque he loaded, and bade them sail anon. 
 These holy men, they went forth as God would send them there, 
 The Grace of God was with them, so might they better fare. 
 As thus one time they journeyed before a tempest's blast, 
 i A great Fish, and a grisley, the ship it followed fast, 
 And burning foam he spued forth from out his jaws so wide, 
 Each time it rose, the water, high o'er the vessel's side, 410 
 
 E'en as a house he wallowed, pursuing them so fast, 
 So fierce, I trow, his threatening, the monks were sore aghast. 
 They cried upon Saint Brandan, and on Our Lord also, 
 So swift he did pursue them well nigh he came thereto, 
 Well nigh did he o'ertake them, their lives for lost they hold, 
 A When, swimming from the West- ward, a great Fish they behold, 
 This evil fish it met with, and smote upon it fast 
 Till the foul back was cloven in three parts at the last. 
 Then the same way he came from, thither he turned again, — 
 
66 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 The monks gave thanks to Jesu, they of His aid were fain! 
 Long time these good men wandered upon the Ocean wide, 
 Till they were sore a-hungered, no meat had they that tide. 
 Then came a small bird flying, a great bough with him brought 
 Laden with ripe grapes, ruddy, their ship he straightway sought. 
 Thereon for. days full fourteen, they lived, and lacked for naught. 
 Then, when these grapes were finished, hunger, it vexed them sore, 
 An isle they saw beside them, therein of meat a store, 
 Full of fair trees that island, laden each bough they found 
 E'en with those grapes I spake of, they trailed upon the ground. 
 From ship he went, Saint Brandan, the grapes, he plucked them fast, 
 Aboard for food he bare them, for forty days they last. 
 
 - Soon came a Gryphon flying, pursued them on their way, 
 And in their ship assailed them, and fain he would them slay; 
 In dole these monks, they cried out, they deemed their life was o'er — 
 They saw that small bird flying toward them as before 
 'With whom they oft had spoken, in the Bird's Paradise, 
 Whenas Saint Brandan saw him the sight rejoiced his eyes; 
 This small bird smote the gryphon, and aimed his blow so high, 
 That with the first blow only he smote out either eye. 
 That evil beast, he slew it, dead in the sea it fell, 
 For none may harm the creature to whom God wisheth well! 
 These monks on sea they wandered, and sailed now here, now there, 
 - In one of these four places at each high Feast they were. 
 And one Feast of Saint Peter they joyful spake with tongue. 
 In honour of Saint Peter on sea they merry sung. 
 And in that place, it chanced then, so clear the sea they found 
 On either side about them they saw e'en to the ground, 
 They deemed the ground on each side with fish was all on heap 
 And all so still they lay there, as they had been asleep. 
 The monks beseech Saint Brandan from loud speech to refrain 
 Lest that the fish, awakened, should break the ship in twain. 
 
 "Why fear ye?" quoth Saint Brandan. '"Whereof are ye in dread? 
 The Master of the Fishes, on him ye were well sped, 
 Fire on his back ye kindled, and come there year by year." 
 Then, louder than aforetime, his song rang sweet and clear, 
 They started up, the fishes, as wakened from their sleep, 
 About the ship came thronging, as it were on an heap, 
 Thick on each side they floated, no water might ye see, 
 Beset the ship all round about, — from water were they free. 
 Around the barque lay thickly, and did it close pursue 
 Until his Mass Saint Brandan. had sung it fair and true; 
 Each on its way departed e'en as the Mass did end — 
 Yea, man may see great wonders who wide in world doth wend! 
 The wind, it was both strong and stiff, and drave their ship so fast, 
 While seven nights they sailed did that clear water last, 
 So that, as clear as it were land, they saw beneath the wave, 
 
SAINT BRANDAN 67 
 
 These good monks, much they wondered, and thanks to God they gave. 
 With that there came a South wind, and Northward fast they drew, 
 And long that wind was with them, for full eight days it blew; 
 Far, in the North, they saw it, a dismal land and dark, 470 
 
 It smoked as doth a smithy, thitherward drave their barque. 
 With that, they heard a blowing of many bellows there, 
 And beating great, and noise enow, e'en as it thunder were. 
 Sore vexed was then Saint Brandan, and crossed himself full fast, 
 With that came forth a wicked wight, full swiftly at the last, 
 ' All black was he, and burning, he looked upon the men, 
 Anon, he turned him back again, the monks were 'frighted then; 
 That evil wight gave forth a cry, that men might hear him wide, 
 Then of his like came many more, they thronged on either side, 
 With tongs, and eke with hammers, and all afire each one, 480 
 
 And swiftly to the water's edge, after the ship they run. 
 Then, since they might not come anigh, they 'gan to yell full fast, 
 Their hammers all a-burning, after the monks they cast, 
 That naught but flame about them, those men may hear or see, 
 The sea all round was burning, as tho' afire it be! 
 
 - Their casts came each on other, some missiles threw on high, 
 Thus threw they all around the ship, yet never came they nigh. 
 At last aback they turn them, since they might profit naught, — 
 And all the land they dwelt in, it was afire, they thought; 
 And all the sea around it, it burned and smoked full fast, 400 
 
 The smoke was thick, and stinking, and long time did it last, 
 Altho' that smoke was some part flame — When they could see no more, 
 Yet still they heard their yelling, the thieves, they wept full sore. 
 
 "What think ye?" quoth Saint Brandan: "Was this a merry pass? 
 No more we '11 come anigh there, one end of Hell it was, 
 The fiends, they deemed they had here, a good catch, so I wot, 
 But praised be Sweet Jesu, they drew a blank for lot!" 
 But still the South wind lasted, and still it drave them forth, 
 
 v Until a hole they saw there, afar, toward the North, 
 Of glowing smoke, and burning, and strong the stench withal, soo 
 
 The lowe thereof, it reached on high, as tho' it were a wall; 
 If in the other place was much, there was, I trow, much more! 
 One of the monks he then began to weep and wail full sore 
 For that his time, it now was come, nor might it be delayed, 
 Straightway he leapt from out the ship, amid the sea 'gan wade, 
 Ran fast upon the water, toward that fire drew near, 
 With dismal yells and doleful, great dole it was to hear: 
 
 "Alas!" he cried, "my wretched life, for now I see mine end, 
 In joy have I been with ye, but back I may not wend, 
 Accurst be she who bare me, the hour that I was born, 510 
 
 The father who begat me, for now am I forlorn!" 
 The fiends they came toward him, they held that wretch full fast, 
 And strongly did they bind him, and 'mid the furnace cast; 
 
68 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 'T was sooth he said, Saint Brandan, when that he forth would wend 
 
 That Grace should surely fail him, his sinful life to mend. 
 
 So fast it burned the mountain, that naught of it they know, 
 
 For that they still were distant, naught but the fiery glow. 
 
 The wind, to North it turned then, Southward it drave them fast, 
 
 On each side did it strongly blow till seven nights were past. 
 
 So long they sailed Southward until at last they see 5*> 
 
 A rugged rock in Ocean, washed over by the sea; 
 
 By water oft-times covered, and oft-times was it bare, 
 
 And as they drew anigh it they of a ghost were 'ware. 
 
 i They saw, on that rock seated, when the wave backward drew, 
 A wretched ghost all naked, and sore mis-ease he knew; 
 A cloth was spread above him, with two clasps, made full fast 
 Beneath his chin at one end, the wind it wide did cast, 
 That ever when the water withdrew, the cloth from high 
 Beat downward as the wind blew, and smote him in the eye. 
 The waves, they beat him also, before, and eke behind, 530 
 
 I trow a ghost more wretched a man might hardly find. 
 Then, in God's Name Saint Brandan conjured him, that he tell 
 His name, and his misdoing, and why this doom befell? 
 He quoth: "My name is Judas, a doleful ghost am I, 
 Who sold Our Lord for silver, with Him on earth was I, 
 But this is not my dwelling, Our Lord doth me this Grace, 
 Somewhat to ease my suffering He sets me in this place; 
 'T is not for good I did erst, but of His Mercy's store, 
 For never pain I suffer but I were worthy more! 
 
 For in that Hell that burneth, there, where ye saw it aye, 540 
 
 Therein have I my portion, to burn by night and day, 
 And there was I but lately when this, your brother, came, 
 And there was led to torment, and doom of endless flame. 
 And therefore Hell was joyful, and burned with such a glow, 
 For that he was come thither, it is their custom so 
 When any soul, it cometh at first within their thrall, 
 But I, thro' God's great Mercy from out their clutches fall; 
 Here am I every Sunday, from Saturday at eve 
 To Evensong on Sunday, and here they must me leave. 
 And at Midwinter also, till Twelfth Day, I may know 550 
 
 This ease, from dawn of Easter to Whitsunday, also. 
 And on Our Lady's Feast days, so full of Grace He is, 
 At other times my portion is cast in Hell, I wis, 
 With Pilate, and Herodias, Annas, and Caiaphas, 
 Now may the hour be cursed that born on earth I was! 
 For love of God I pray ye, now deal ye on this wise, 
 This night abide ye near me till that the sun shall rise, 
 And from the fiends protect me, who soon will come for me!" 
 
 "By God's Grace." quoth Saint Brandan, "thy shield we sure shall be, 
 But say, what may that cloth be, that hangeth o'er thee there?" s&> 
 
SAINT BRANDAN 69 
 
 "The while that I on earth was, and Our Lord's silver bare, 
 This cloth I gave a leper, and yet mine own 't was naught, 
 With pence of this my Master, and comrades, was it bought. 
 Since for God's Love I gave it, from me it is not ta'en, 
 The least man doeth for Him shall be repaid again. 
 Yet since the cost was others', so have I understood, 
 Altho' it hangs before me, it doth more harm than good, 
 For in mine eyes it beateth, and doth them hurt, I wis — 
 To give at cost of others man may be warned by this, 
 As many a rich man doeth, who oft with wrong doth take 570 
 
 Their goods from many a poor man, and alms thereof doth make. 
 That for God's Love they do it, it shall not be forgot, 
 Yet to their pain be turned, as they shall surely wot. 
 These clasps, also:" quoth Judas, "that o'er my head ye see, 
 To two priests did I give them, and therefore here they be, 
 Each man shall find that surely which he hath done for love — 
 The stone that here I sit on, lifted the waves above, 
 Once on a road I found it, where it was useless all, 
 Into a ditch I cast it, lest men should o'er it fall. 
 
 But few have been the good deeds whereof I now may tell, 580 
 
 The smallest one is garnered, either in Heaven or Hell!" 
 Now, since 't was eve of Sunday, the fiends came on the blast, 
 That ghost, to Hell to lead it, they howled and yelled full fast; 
 
 "Go hence," they said, "thou good man, here may'st thou nothing speed, 
 But let us take our comrade, to Hell we will him lead, 
 We dare not face our Master ere that we him have brought, 
 'T is time thou turned'st from him, thou shalt us hinder naught." 
 
 "Ye shall not," quoth Saint Brandan, "here do your Master's will, 
 Our Lord Christ doth forbid it, Who is more powerful still." 
 The fiends they quoth: "How dar'st thou before him name that Name? 59c 
 Betrayed he did, and sold Him, to death with mickle shame." 
 Saint Brandan quoth: "In His Name I bid ye, as I may, 
 To lay no hand upon him ere dawns to-morrow's day." 
 
 . Rueful, the fiends they yelled then, and homeward 'gan to flee, 
 Judas, he sadly thanked him, and dole it was to see. 
 The morrow, with the daylight, the fiends they thither hied, 
 With grisley yell, and weeping, full fast began to chide: 
 
 "Away," they said, "thou good man, accursed be the stound, 
 That thou drew nigh unto us, and that we thee here found, 
 Our Master, he hath plagued us right bitterly this night j 600 
 
 With strong pains, since we brought not, with us this sorry wight, 
 But for these coming six days we 'II double all his woe, 
 And so will we avenge us, to his own count 'twill go!" 
 Sore quaked that ghost so wretched, 't were dole to see, or tell, 
 The fiends, with them they took him, and led him into Hell. 
 Saint Brandan there forbade them, in this, Our Dear Lord's, Name, 
 That for this night of respite they do him greater shame. 
 
70 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Then with his monks, Saint Brandan, he put forth on the sea, 
 And by Our Lord's Grace journeyed Southward for days full three, 
 The fourth day, to the Southward they saw an isle rise high, 610 
 
 And when Saint Brandan saw it, full sorely did he sigh; 
 I "I trow that Paul, the Hermit, is in that isle I see, 
 
 For forty years he dwells here, and never meat hath he." 
 Whenas they reached the island ashore they went, each one, 
 That aged man, the Hermit, toward them came anon, 
 Down to his feet flowed thickly the hair of beard and head, 
 Hidden was all his body, that naught was bare that stead; 
 Naught else had he for raiment, his limbs for age were hoar — 
 Saint Brandan he beheld him, and there he wept full sore: 
 
 "Now living as an angel, a mortal man I see!" 6» 
 
 "Be still," then quoth the Hermit, "for God doth well by thee, 
 And shows, as to none other what these, His Secrets, be ! 
 A monk by his own labour, and toil, I trow, doth live, 
 But thou, by God's Grace only, what He to thee doth give! 
 In th' Abbey of Saint Patrick a monk was I, I wis, 
 And of his church a warden, where Purgatory is; 
 One day a man came to me, I asked who he might be? 
 He quoth, 'I am thine Abbot, have thou no fear of me!' 
 'No man save holy Patrick mine Abbot is,' I said; 
 
 'I am that man' he answered, ' be not for that afraid, 630 
 
 To-morrow, with the daylight,' quoth he 'to sea must wend, 
 There doth a ship await thee, that God to thee will send, 
 And in that ship shalt set forth, upon the sea so wide, 
 It to the place will lead thee, wherein thou shalt abide.' 
 Early next morn I rose up, to do his will was bound, 
 And to the sea-shore coming, full soon the ship I found. 
 I bade that ship sail with me, and straight we forth did wend, 
 In seven days to this island, Our Lord, He did me send. 
 Whenas from ship I landed, then, guided by God's Grace, 
 The way, aright I found it, that led me to this place. 640 
 
 , Sick, and alone, I came here, and comfort had I none — 
 On his hind feet an Otter, he came to me anon, 
 Betwixt his fore-feet brought me fire-iron, and flint, I trow, 
 Wherewith a fire to kindle, and good fish, too, enow. 
 He went his way, the Otter, and fire I made me there, 
 And cooked me fish, in God's Name, I had for three days fare. 
 And ever since, the third day, that Otter comes to me, 
 And brings me meat sufficient to last for days full three. 
 From out this hard rock, water springs at Our Lord's command, 
 Each day enough there floweth to drink and wash my hands. 650 
 
 But here, for thirty winters, I such a life had led 
 Ere first the well, it sprang forth, as ye see at this stead. 
 By this well have I lived now, a forty years, full told, 
 And ere that I came hither, full fifty was I old; 
 
SAINT BRANDAN 71 
 
 So that of years, one hundred, and twenty more, to-day 
 May to my lot be counted, God's Will be done, alway ! 
 Here I my death await now, when God the day shall send, 
 And bid me come unto Him, and from this world to wend. 
 But take now of this water, for thou hast need anon, 
 And wend forth on the Ocean, thy journey is not done, 660 
 
 For on the sea thou further for forty days must fare, 
 Thine Easter Mass be holden, as it was holden ere; 
 Thence, to the Land of Promise, believe me, shalt thou go, 
 For forty days abiding, its pleasures shalt thou know, 
 And, leaving it, shalt journey to thine own land again — " 
 With dole enow, those good men departed them in twain. -» 
 
 These holy men, they sailed forth, a tempest bare them fast, 
 For forty days to Southward the while that Lent did last, 
 To their good procurator, on Easter Eve, them bore 
 And joy enow he made them as he had done afore. 670 
 
 To the great Fish he led them, e'en as the evening fell, 
 All night, till Easter morning, they on its back did dwell. 
 There did they sing their Mattins, and Easter Mass anon — 
 The Fish began to move there, e'en as the Mass was done; 
 Bearing the monks forth with him, he swam forth very fast, 
 Cleaving the sea so strongly, the monks were sore aghast; 
 I trow it was a marvel, an one were there to see, 
 So great a beast forth faring, as 't were a great countrie! 
 Straight to the Paradise of Birds he bare the monks that day, 
 There whole and sound he left them, and went upon his way. 680 
 
 These monks, when they came thither, so glad and blithe they were — 
 Till Trinity was over, the while they stayed them there, 
 For their good procurator brought meat and drink enow, 
 As he had done aforetime, their ship he stored, I trow, 
 And also went forth with them where God should think to send — 
 Toward the east they sailed, and forty days they wend, 
 And when those days were finished, it 'gan to hail full fast, 
 And a thick mist enwrapped them, for long time did it last; 
 "Rejoice!" he quoth, their guide, then, "and make ye right good cheer, 
 This is the Land of Promise, I trow that we be here!" 690 
 
 When from this mist they came forth, and well might look around, 
 The land, it was the fairest that ever yet was found, 
 So clear it was, and sun-lit, it wrought them joy enow, 
 The trees with fruit were laden, that clustered on each bough; 
 With trees 't was set full thickly, and each was very fair, 
 And with ripe apples laden, as harvest-time it were. 
 And forty days they dwelt there, and did about it wend, 
 Nor of the land might find there, on either side, the end. 
 And evermore 't was daylight, and nevermore 't was night, 
 Nowhere where they had journeyed had they found so much light. 700 
 The air was ever" tempered, nor hot, nor yet too cold, 
 
72 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 The joy they found within it, it may by none be told. 
 They came to a fair water, nor might they further go, 
 But all the land beyond it for very fair they know. 
 A young man came toward them, goodly, and fair to see, 
 'T was God Who sent him to them, fairer no man might be, 
 Each one by name he welcomed, and kissed them one by one, 
 Did honour to Saint Brandan, and took his hand anon. 
 lc Lo! here," he said, "the country, that ye have sought so wide, 
 But yet Our Lord, He wills not that ye for long abide; 71c 
 
 Now ye have seen His Secrets, ye shall again to sea, 
 But load your barque with fruit now, since here ye may not be." 
 Then courteous, to Saint Brandan that young man spake: "Fair Friend, 
 To thine own land returning thou on thy way must wend, 
 This world, thou soon must leave it, thy life is near its end. 
 The water that thou seest, divides this land in two, 
 This half, right fair ye deem it, beyond, 't is even so — 
 Ye may not pass the bounds now, for that it is not right; 
 This fruit aye ripe abideth, this land is ever light, 
 
 And when, Our Lord, He willeth a man to Him to draw, 720 
 
 So that he well doth know Him, and understand His law, 
 That land to him He showeth, and when the world shall end, 
 The souls that be His chosen, they all shall thither wend.' ? 
 Saint Brandan and his monks there, of this fruit plucked full fast, 
 And precious stones took also, into their ship did cast; 
 Fair leave they then have taken, and when they this had done, 
 With weeping, grief, and dole enow, they did depart, anon, 
 And wended homeward on the sea, e'en as Our Lord did send, 
 And sooner came they home again than they did outward wend. 
 Their brethren, when they saw them, joyful were they indeed, 730 
 
 Saint Brandan, he, that holy man, full soon to death must speed, 
 For never after this same time, for this world cared he aught, 
 But as one of another world, he fared as aye in thought. 
 And soon he died in Ireland, after that self-same stound, 
 And sithen, many a miracle for his sake hath been found. 
 A right fair Abbey men have reared, where he was buried low — 
 God bring us to that self -same joy that this, His saint, doth know ! 
 
 Amen. 
 
 SAINT CECILIA 
 
 Christ Jesus, pitiful is He, 
 
 And to mankind of mercy free, 
 
 And showeth forth His power and might 
 
 Oft-times, as men may see with sight, 
 
 So that we may his marvels ken 
 
 Alike in women as in men. 
 
 But most in maidens we behold 
 Who to His bidding faithful hold, 
 As an ensample we may see 
 In Saint Cecilia, maiden free. 10 
 
 That maid was born of gentle blood, 
 Holy was she, and mild of mood, 
 
SAINT CECILIA 
 
 73 
 
 And in her heart full well she knew 
 The lore of her dear Lord, Jesu, 
 And unto Him did ever pray 
 And ceased not, by night or day. 
 Urban, the Pope, hath her baptized 
 In the true Faith of Jesus Christ. 
 Unto her friends right dear was she, 
 And all who should her comrades be 20 
 Because she was both fair and good, 
 And to all folk of gracious mood. 
 Her friends would wed her with a man 
 Who hight by name, Valerian, 
 A young man he, and fair of face, 
 And sprung from a right noble race, 
 Heathen he was, and unbaptized, 
 And knew naught of the law of Christ, 
 Nor other durst Cecilia do 29 
 
 Save what her friends, they told her to. 
 The day was set, they should be wed, 
 In cloth of gold fair robed that stead, 
 Therein Cecilia took no pride, 
 A cere-cloth 'neath it did she hide; 
 To outward show, rich raiment ware 
 Such as her friends for her prepare. 
 Thus on this wise, when they were wed, 
 Full many folk, their friends, they fed. 
 Whenas the bridal came to end, 39 
 
 And each man on his way would wend, 
 Cecilia to her chamber went, 
 Calling on God with good intent, 
 A sound they heard, that was full near, 
 Of Angels' song, and organs clear, 
 Music she made, their song among, 
 And in this wise Cecilia sung: 
 " Fiat cor meum, el corpus meum immacu- 
 
 latum, ut non confundar." 
 And this, I trow, the words shall mean : 
 "My heart, Lord! do thou make clean, 
 My body keep unstained within, 50 
 
 So that I be not lost thro' sin." 
 When in this wise she'd made her prayer 
 To God, with good intent, and fair, 
 She with her husband went to bed 
 As the law would, since she was wed, 
 But in her heart she purposed right 
 To keep her clean, if so she might. 
 So by her lord when she was laid 
 
 In this wise unto him she said : 
 "Sir, if it so thy will might be 60 
 
 A counsel would I give to thee, 
 That must be said now, with thy leave, 
 And, good my lord, in no wise grieve. 
 An Angel, Sir, of heaven bright, 
 My guardian is, by day and night, 
 A servant unto God is he — 
 I love him well, so doth he me, 
 And if he should be 'ware, this while, 
 That thou my body should'st defile, 
 Or carnal love should'st offer me, 70 
 For this will he be wroth with thee, 
 And vengeance will upon thee take 
 That thou all solace shalt forsake, 
 And lose of this, thy youth, the flower, 
 'T were well my lord, to dread his 
 
 power! " 
 Valerian, he waxed wroth that stead, 
 Nor durst her touch, for very dread, 
 Her words he deemed but sorry pay, 
 And in this wise he spake alway: 
 "Woman, if thou wilt that I trow 80 
 The words that thou did'st speak but 
 
 now, 
 Betwixt us twain here let me see 
 Him, who thou say'st so loveth thee, 
 So that I of myself may see 
 Whether in truth he angel be, 
 And servant unto Heaven's will. 
 If so, I'll do thy bidding still; 
 But if thou dost another love 
 Thy bane that bargain sure shall prove, 
 Nor he, nor thou, shall 'scape my wrath, 
 But I myself will slay ye both, 91 
 
 With mickle shame thy deed repay — " 
 An answer soft she gave alway, 
 "Good Sir," she said, "ne'er grieved be 
 If thou may'st not God's angel see, 
 For ne'er to man such vision fell 
 Save he believe, as I shall tell, 
 In God Who made all things below — 
 Himself did ne'er beginning know, 
 But is, and evermore shall be, 100 
 
 The most of might, of mercy free — 
 And in His dear Son, Jesus Christ — 
 Wilt thou believe, and be baptized, 
 
74 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Then say I, Sir, that thou shalt see 
 The angel, that I promise thee! 
 Now Sir, if thou wilt this essay 
 To Bishop Urban take thy way, 
 To tell him all these words be bold, 
 Recite the tale as I have told; 
 Tell him thy life from end to end, no 
 What is amiss shall he amend. 
 Then when thy troth is plighted true 
 He'll clothe thee all in clothing new, 
 Robes white and clean he '11 give to 
 ' thee — 
 
 Then shalt thou in my chamber see 
 That angel bright from heaven, I trow, 
 Who loves me, as I said but now, 
 And from him shalt thou surely have 
 Whatever thing thy heart doth crave." 
 Then thro' the Spirit's Grace, he rose, 
 And in all haste he swiftly goes 121 
 
 To the good Bishop Urban there, 
 And doth his tale straightway declare, 
 How with him, and his wife it stood — 
 When Urban this had understood, 
 He raised his hands to heaven's height, 
 And called on God, the most in might: 
 "Lord Jesu Christ, loved may'st Thou be 
 Who sowest seeds of chastity, 
 And counsel chaste to men dost give 130 
 Whereby their souls may ever live. 
 Take Thou the fruit now, as Thine own, 
 Of seed once in Cecilia sown, 
 It waxeth now, and multiplies, 
 As man may see in this same wise; 
 A spouse she took, with her to dwell, 
 Who, as a lion, was fierce and fell, 
 A rebel both by day and night 
 Who aye against Thy law did fight. 
 Thy servant now, she maketh him 140 
 Meek as a lamb, in soul and limb, 
 For were he not thus waxen meek 
 Salving of me he would not seek, 
 And since he hath salvation sought 
 Lord, save him, and deny him naught!" ( 
 Then, when his prayer had come to end, 
 Before them both they saw descend 
 An old man, clad in linen clean 
 And white, who stood the twain between, 
 
 Who in his hand a book did hold 150 
 All written o'er with letters gold. 
 Valerian when he saw that sight 
 Was vanquished by excess of light; 
 For dread he fell adown that stead 
 And lay as still as he were dead. 
 The old man then his right hand took 
 And raised him up, and bade him look 
 What writing this same book should 
 
 bear 
 Which he had brought unto him there. 
 Valerian did the letters trace, 160 
 
 And thus 't was written in that place : 
 "Unus Do/minus, Una Fides, Vnum 
 
 Baptisma." 
 And this is what the letters mean, 
 "One God is over all, I ween; 
 All folk shall to one Faith belong; 
 One Baptism cleanse all souls from 
 
 wrong." 
 Whenas Valerian this had read 
 The old man asked him, in that stead, 
 "What now thou readest, trow'st thou 
 
 well, 169 
 
 Or doubt within thy soul doth dwell?" 
 Then answered him Valerian: 
 "What more befitteth mortal man 
 Thro' book, or word of mouth indeed, 
 Then to believe a Heavenly rede? 
 And with my mind I now believe, 
 All that is written here receive." 
 Whenas Valerian this did say 
 The old man, he hath gone his way, 
 But how, they might no way devise — 
 Urban, Valerian doth baptize, 180 
 
 Bade him believe, with conscience clean, 
 All things that he had heard and seen. 
 Valerian promised with good will 
 That he his bidding would fulfil; 
 Then was he bade go, at that same, 
 Unto his wife, from whom he came, 
 And comfort her, as best he might — 
 Thus, to his wife he went forthright, 
 Into Cecilia's chamber went 
 To thank her that she had him sent 190 
 To get salvation from his sin 
 That he a new life might begin. 
 
SAINT CECILIA 
 
 75 
 
 Kneeling in prayer his wife he found, 
 And soon before her, at that stound, 
 He saw God's angel, shining bright, 
 That all the house it beamed with light, 
 And in his hand two crowns he brought 
 So fair, as ne'er on earth were wrought, 
 Gave one unto Cecilia, then 
 The other to Valerian, 200 
 
 And swift he set them on their head, 
 And spake unto them in that stead: 
 "Keep these, your crowns, ye twain be- 
 tween, 
 With body chaste, heart pure and clean, 
 From Paradise I have them brought, 
 For in that same place were they 
 
 wrought, 
 My Lord for you did them prepare." 
 Then to Valerian spake he there: 
 "Since that thou here consent dost give 
 By laws of Chastity to live, 210 
 
 Jesus, my Lord, of mercy free, 
 A message hath He sent by me, 
 Whate'er.from Him dost crave as boon, 
 Ask, and the same shalt have right soon, 
 What thing thou wilt — yet understood 
 That it shall be for thy soul's good." 
 Valerian then this boon besought: 
 "Of other thing now reck I naught, 
 This, above all, were sweet to me, 
 My brother dear from bale to free, 220 
 That He should help, my Lord Jesus, 
 My brother, that Tyburcius, 
 Shall this, His law, henceforth obey, 
 And be baptized, as I to-day, 
 That we may both uprightly live, 
 Our spirits wholly to Him give." 
 Whenas the angel this had heard 
 He to Valerian spake this word, 
 And said: "Thy will, it shall be done, 
 For that thou askest as thy boon 230 
 That which thy Lord likes better now 
 To give, than thou to ask, I trow! 
 For as my Lord, He hath won thee 
 Thro' this, thy wife, His servant free, 
 So, through thy prayer, He now shall 
 
 win 
 Thy brother from the bands of sin, 
 
 And thou and he together come 
 Unto the meed of Martyrdom." 
 When this was said, he went, I wis, 
 In glowing light, to heaven's bliss. 140 
 And then Valerian and his wife, 
 In holy wise they led their life; 
 And after this, as God deemed well, 
 Tyburcius, of whom I tell, 
 Valerian's brother, as I say, 
 He came to him upon a day, 
 To know how fared his brother dear, 
 He of his holiness did hear. 
 And as he entered this, their house, 
 He kissed his brother, and his spouse, 250 
 He kissed Cecilia, and spake thus: 
 "A perfume sweet there is 'midst us, 
 As rose and lily 't were,- 1 trow, 
 I ne'er have smelt the like ere now, 
 Nor scent so sweet was known of man." 
 Then answered him Valerian: 
 "Brother, since God doth think it meet 
 To send to thee this perfume sweet, 
 Herewith I boldly promise thee 
 If thou in Faith wilt steadfast be, 260 
 And Our Lord Jesus Christ adore, 
 As we who turn us to His lore, 
 Then shall be granted unto thee 
 God's angel both to hear and see, 
 And save thy soul, as now I say." 
 Tyburcius answered him straightway: 
 "If so I might God's angel see 
 No truer token might there be, 
 And this, His law, as guide I 'Id take." 
 Cecilia heard that thus he spake, 270 
 And fell adown, and kissed his feet, 
 Answering him with words so sweet: 
 "Now will I thee, where'er I wend, 
 Own as my cousin, and my friend, 
 For as the love of Jesu free 
 Did make thy brother yield to me, 
 So shall He turn thee, that thou take 
 His might, idolatry forsake. 
 And Sir, since thou be ready now 279 
 To plight thy troth, His truth to trow, 
 Now shalt thou with thy brother go 
 Unto the Bishop whom we know, 
 And all his bidding- shalt obey." 
 
7 6 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 As she deemed right they did straight- 
 way; 
 The Bishop he baptized him then, 
 And he became a holy man, 
 So that God granted him such grace 
 That he might see, in every place, 
 At will, God's angels come and go, 
 And all his pleasure to them show, 290 
 And aye from them might ask, and have, 
 What thing soe'er his soul might crave. 
 These brothers then, of whom ye hear, 
 Cecilia, whom they both held dear, 
 The three, in love they lived aright, 
 And honoured God with all their might. 
 Tyburcius and Valerian there, 
 Since now the twain baptized were, 
 To serve their God they held them 
 
 bound, 
 In field and town they preached that 
 stound, 300 
 
 Against the idols, less and more, 
 In which they put their trust of yore. 
 It were too long their life to tell, 
 The marvels all that to them fell, 
 This treatise, it shall show withal 
 What things did at their death befall, 
 What wonders God, for them, He 
 
 wrought, 
 When they to martyrdom were brought. 
 There lived a prince in that same land 
 Wherein they preached, I understand, 
 Whose faith was in idolatry, 311 
 
 And bare to them great enmity; 
 He said, with dole the twain he 'Id slay 
 Save they should change their rede 
 
 straightway. 
 He sent to fetch them at that same; 
 And when they to his presence came, 
 The law of Christ they preached that 
 
 day 
 So that the prince had naught to. say, 
 Nor had he power to do them ill, 319 
 But gave them leave to work their will. 
 A Christian he himself became, 
 And all his mesnie at that same, 
 And all those men were turned also 
 Who to the brethren harm would do. 
 
 Soon as Cecilia heard them tell 
 Of this same chance, how it befell, 
 Then unto them she soon hath sought, 
 And thither priests with her she brought, 
 Who there baptized them every one, 
 That they should keep Christ's law alone. 
 When this same prince, Maximius, 331 
 And all his men baptized were thus, 
 Cecilia words of comfort spake, 
 And bade them every way forsake 
 The idols they believed ere now, 
 And unto Jesu humbly bow; 
 She bade them leave lie works of night, 
 In heavenly armour clothe them bright, 
 She said: "Your course ye have fulfilled 
 Full worthily, as Christ hath willed, 340 
 Victors in a great fight are ye, 
 And therefore shall ye crowned be 
 With crowns which Christ Himself shall 
 
 give, 
 In bliss eternal aye shall live; 
 Therefore be not dismayed to take 
 Your martyrdom, for Christ's dear 
 
 sake." 
 They promised they would do Christ's 
 
 Will, 
 And all His bidding would fulfil. 
 Almachius then, this cursed king, 
 Whenas he heard of this same thing 330 
 Bade them to sacrifice each one, 
 Or else they should to death be done. 
 And since they would not work his will 
 With bitter pains he plagued them still, 
 And at the last, without delay, 
 Bade them smite off their heads that 
 
 day. 
 Thus he their bodies did torment, 
 But swift their souls to heaven they 
 
 went, 
 And many a man must see, I wis, 
 How angels led them into bliss, 360 
 
 And many folk, for that same sight 
 Turned Christian, and believed aright. 
 Maximius, that convert good, 
 He spake, as 'midst them all he stood, 
 He «aid: "I see their souls take flight 
 With angels, into Heaven's height, 
 
SAINT CECILIA 
 
 77 
 
 Borne up with wings, lest that they fall, 
 And like clean virgins are they all!" 
 Almachius, the king, heard tell, 
 Of all this marvel, how it fell, 370 
 
 And what Maximius had said, 
 And how his folk were sore afraid, 
 So with the morn he bade, the king, 
 Maximius, 'fore him to bring, 
 And torments sore on him he wrought 
 Until he too, to death was brought, 
 His soul, it went to heaven straightway 
 With solace more than I may say. 
 Almachius, that wicked king, 
 Whenas that he had done this thing, 380 
 And saw thus that Valerian, 
 And other saints were slain, each man, 
 Straightway bethought him, in his mood, 
 To take unto him all their good; 
 Sent to Valerian's house withal, 
 Since he was richest of them all, 
 And of Cecilia his wife, 
 They, with loud voice, and mickle strife, 
 Command she bring forth all the store 
 That was her husband's less and more; 
 "As traitor done to death is he, 391 
 
 And all his goods the king's shall be." 
 Cecilia did great mourning make, 
 And in such wise to them she spake 
 That all those men were turned to Christ, 
 And in His Name they were baptized, 
 Their idols all they there did leave, 
 And did on Jesus Christ believe, 
 As wise men worshipped Him that tide, 
 And in His service lived and died. 400 
 Whenas Almachius heard of this 
 For wrath nigh mad was he, I wis, 
 He bade Cecilia should be sought, 
 And in all haste before him brought, 
 And all her house commanded he 
 That burned with fire it straight should 
 
 be. 
 But first he asked in eager mood, 
 Where now was all Valerian's good? 
 She said, his riches did she take 
 To feed the poor, for Jesu's sake. 410 
 Then at her words so wroth waxed he 
 He bade that burned they all should be, 
 
 Her house and chattells, more and less, 
 And she herself, in that same stress. 
 And soon, at this, the king's desire, 
 Her dwelling did they set on fire. 
 And she herself in midst did stand, 
 And all about was fiery brand, 
 But all who looked on her, I ween, 419 
 Had deemed she in a bower had been, 
 A garden fair, with blossoms bright, — 
 So stood she thro' a day and night, 
 And ne'er her heart -felt prayers did 
 
 fail — 
 Whenas Almachius heard that tale, 
 He bade the messengers straightway 
 Smite off her head, nor make delay. 
 His doomsman to Cecilia went, 
 There as she stood, with good intent, 
 Then unto God her prayer she made, 
 And bowed her neck before the blade. 
 The custom was, in that countrie, 431 
 That but three strokes should smitten be, 
 But when three strokes he smote that 
 
 day 
 Her neck was not cut thro' alway, 
 Untouched some sinews were, and veins — 
 He left her thus, in bitter pains, 
 The law was, as I said afore, 
 He might give three strokes, and no 
 
 more. 
 And thus upon her knees she sat, 
 And lived for three days after that, 440 
 And maidens who with her had been 
 Straightway they came to her, I ween, 
 And all those days to them she spake 
 Bidding them all to comfort take. 
 Unto Pope Urban then she sent, 
 And told unto him her intent, 
 She quoth: "Sir, God hath granted me 
 Here, in this world, to live days three, 
 As I have prayed Him, this befell 
 That I my will to thee might tell. 450 
 My maidens all to thee I give 
 To guard them well, the while they live, 
 And teach them that they wisely work — 
 Now in my name build thou a kirk 
 Where these, my maidens, aye may 
 
 dwell, 
 
7» 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 With will and voice, to serve God well." 
 When this was said, with no delay 
 To God her spirit passed away; 
 And Urban, when she thus was dead, 
 He buried her in that same stead, 460 
 
 And made a kirk at great expense, 
 For worship great, and reverence 
 Of Jesus Christ, Our Saviour true, 
 To whom be honour ever due. 
 
 Amen, Amen. 
 
 PLACIDAS (SAINT EUSTACE) 
 
 All who love God's holy lore, 
 Old and young, and less and more, 
 Hearken now this stound, 
 Of a knight of heathen-ness, 
 Who had much of earthly bliss, 
 Many a golden pound. 
 
 And this knight, named Placidas, 
 With the Emperor Trajan was, 
 A wise man of rede; 
 With the rich that knight was good, 
 With the poor, of generous mood, 
 Righteous in his deed. 
 
 He of hunting knew enow, 
 
 In thick wood, 'neath forest bough, 
 
 On wild field and wold; 
 
 Thus, while hunting on a day 
 
 He a hart found, as he lay, 
 
 Right fair to behold. 
 
 Fairest of his kind was he, 
 There in wood, 'neath linden tree, 
 Great was he and tall; 
 Many a hart and hind also, 
 Great and small, did with him go, 
 Stateliest he of all. 
 
 That great hart, he fled away; 
 
 Placidas, by night and day, 
 
 Followed him alone, 
 
 To another monarch's land, 
 
 There the hart did, waiting, stand 
 
 On a rock of stone. 3° 
 
 High his horns he holdeth now. 
 There, beneath the woodland bough, 
 
 And spake: "Placidas, 
 Art a knight who huntest free, 
 Dost me chase, I fly from thee, 
 Ride a gentler pace! 
 
 " If betwixt my horns wilt look 
 
 Fairest sight aye writ in book 
 
 Thou forthright shalt see, 
 
 'T is the Cross of Christ I wis, 40 
 
 That shall bring thee unto bliss, 
 
 Christ, He hunteth thee!" 
 
 Of the light of Heaven, a gleam, 
 Brighter than the sunshine's beam, 
 O'er that hart was poured, 
 Spake that hart with tongue forthright 
 To that good and gentle knight, 
 Trow me, 't was Our Lord. 
 
 "Placidas, I tell thee now 
 
 Changed shall be thy name, and thou so 
 
 Shalt a Christian be; 
 
 Jesus Christ, of Heaven, He is 
 
 Who with thee doth speak, I wis, 
 
 Tarry not from Me. 
 
 " Take thy children, and thy wife, 
 
 Get thee forth withouten strife, 
 
 Swift baptized be; 
 
 And for ye I'll henceforth care, 
 
 Thou and she must sorrow bear 
 
 All for love of Me." 60 
 
 Bairns and wife he took straightway, 
 
 Gat him forth without delay 
 
 To the font of stone, 
 
 There to be baptized was fain, 
 
PLACIDAS (SAINT EUSTACE) 
 
 79 
 
 With his wife and children twain, 
 He was not alone. 
 
 Placidas, of old he hight, 
 
 Eustace, they baptized that knight — 
 
 "So I heard Christ say!" 
 
 To the woodland forth they fare, 70 
 
 All about they wander there, 
 
 Thank Our Lord alway. 
 
 As the knight, with comrades three, 
 
 Sat beneath a linden tree, 
 
 Fain to rest that stound, 
 
 There, beneath the greenwood bough 
 
 Tidings good he heard, I trow, 
 
 Brought from heaven to ground. 
 
 Spake to him an Angel bright: 79 
 
 "Hearken, Eustace, God's own knight, 
 Blessed may'st thou be, 
 These thy children and thy wife, 
 They shall each one win to life, 
 Endless bliss shall see. 
 
 " Tho* from land and folk did'st fly, 
 
 Hall and bower, and station high, 
 
 For that, sorrow not, 
 
 Since to Christendom hast ta'en 
 
 Oft the Fiend will seek full fain 
 
 This thy harm, I wot." 99 
 
 Quoth the Angel: "Wend God's way, 
 
 Watch thy soul by night and day, 
 
 And my rede believe, 
 
 One and all shall suffer thus, 
 
 For the love of Christ Jesus 
 
 Martyrdom receive." 
 
 To his house I trow, anon, 
 
 Swift as may be, hath he gone, 
 
 Wife and bairns also, 
 
 All his sheep to death were bitten, 100 
 
 And his steed by thunder smitten, 
 
 He afoot must go. 
 
 All he loved, they went him fro' 
 Save his wife.and children two, 
 
 They from land must wend; 
 Ere had dawned the light of day 
 Silent, went they on their way 
 By a woodland end. 
 
 Thus toward Egypt did they fare, 
 
 Sorely were they bowed with care, no 
 
 Love and sorrow bore 
 
 For the Christ Who all things made, 
 
 Who on earth was lowly laid, 
 
 With spear smitten sore. 
 
 To the sea-shore have they gone, 
 
 And a ship they found anon, 
 
 Would the water brave; 
 
 He aboard the ship would go 
 
 With his wife and children two. 
 
 Dark and stern the wave; iao 
 
 Saw the shipman that good knight 
 And his gentle lady bright, 
 Saw her fair and sheen, 
 Straightway saith unto him there: 
 "Whence had'st thou this woman 
 
 fair? 
 She '11 be mine, I ween!" 
 
 From the ship the knight he threw, 
 And with him his children two, 
 Woe for that he bore; 
 Loudly cried the lady there, 130 
 
 From her lord full loath to fare, 
 Wept and sorrowed sore. 
 
 Sat the knight down on a stone. 
 Saw his wife from him was gone, 
 Ta'en from him with wrong, 
 Quoth: "Alas that I was born!" 
 Deemed himself well nigh forlorn, 
 He had lived too long ! 
 
 On the ship his eyes he cast, 139 
 
 When from out his sight 't was passed, 
 
 Saw his children two, 
 
 Quoth: "Methinks my heart will bleed, 
 
 Motherless, how may I feed 
 
 Ye? full sore my woe!" 
 
80 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 So long fared he at that same 
 
 That he to a water came 
 
 Must thereover fare; 
 
 Wade he must, the stream was cold, 
 
 Wild, on either side, the wold, 
 
 Greater was his care. 150 
 
 "God of Might, my grief Thou know'st, 
 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
 
 Here I make my moan, 
 
 Of my wife who was so true, igo 
 
 Fair and gracious, bright of hue — 
 
 Now am I alone! 
 
 Thus one child he takes on arm, 
 Wot ye well, it took no harm, 
 Bare it to the strand; 
 To himself in grateful mood 
 Saith: "God's help is ever good, 
 That I understand! 
 
 "Of my children twain forlorn, 
 Whom wild beasts away have borne 
 None with me may bide! 
 To what land now shall I go? 
 How long must I live in woe? 
 Where my head may hide? 
 
 "Sit thee still, my son so dear, 
 
 I will fetch thy brother here, 
 
 Give thee meed this stead; 
 
 I will come to thee alway 160 
 
 E'en as quickly as I may, 
 
 Be thou not in dread." 
 
 "I of Job must think, I ween, 
 
 Who in bliss long time had been, 200 
 
 Sithen fell in care, 
 
 Lord, I pray, for love of Thee 
 
 Let me ne'er too sorry be, 
 
 Howsoe'er I fare. 
 
 He to wade the stream was fain, 
 To deep water came again, 
 Saw the further side; 
 How a lion fierce there came 
 Seized his young son at that same 
 With jaws gaping wide. 
 
 "Soul, now hast thou wept thy fill, 
 Weep no more, but hold thee still, 
 God's Help is full nigh." 
 With that came an Angel bright, 
 With soft voice unto the knight 
 Spake of God on high: 210 
 
 Thus the child away with him 
 
 Bare the lion, gaunt and grim, 170 
 
 Nigh he swooned there ! 
 
 There was he in water deep, 
 
 'T was no wonder he must weep, 
 
 Had enow of care! 
 
 "Be thou still and glad, Eustace, 
 God in Heaven prepares thy place, 
 Joyful shalt thou be; 
 These thy children and thy wife 
 They shall have eternal life, 
 Heaven's Bliss shall see." 
 
 When he came from out his swoon 
 
 Looked he up, and then right soon 
 
 Back to land turned he, 
 
 And a wonder saw he there, 
 
 For a wolf his child forth bare, 
 
 Down he fell on knee. 180 
 
 So long hath he gone his way 
 
 Saying prayers both night and day 
 
 Till a town he found, 
 
 Toil and travail knew anon 220 
 
 Since his money all Was gone 
 
 This his task that stound. 
 
 When he from his swoon uprose, 
 Looking up, he forward goes, 
 Nigh of wit forlorn, 
 Ever thought he of Christ's Pain, 
 How He died, and rose again, 
 Who for us was born. 
 
 With his arrows, bow, and horn, 
 Was he guardian of the corn 
 Eke by day and night, 
 Toll to take, and cattle mind; 
 Little knew he of that kind, 
 Hay ward he, and knight!. 
 
PLACIDAS (SAINT EUSTACE) 
 
 8r 
 
 Fifteen years abode he there 
 
 Ere that men wist who he were, 230 
 
 Sought had he been long; 
 
 Those the Emperor sent to seek 
 
 Were wise men, who well could speak, 
 
 Knights both stern and strong. 
 
 Thro' the corn one day came three 
 
 Riding, men alike to see, 
 
 There he did them meet; 
 
 Rode those knights on horses tall, 
 
 Mild their words and fair withal, 
 
 They the hayward greet. 240 
 
 Then the hayward blew his horn, 
 
 He was warden of the corn, 
 
 Toll he bade them yield, 
 
 Asked them what had brought them there ? 
 
 What they sought? And w*hy they fare 
 
 Over that wide field? 
 
 "Sir, three knights are we, and ride 
 
 On a quest both far and wide 
 
 After one we seek; 
 
 Emperor's counsellor, I ween, 250 
 
 Far and near he sought hath been, 
 
 None of him can speak. 
 
 " Of us all the wisest knight, 
 Placidas, by name he hight, 
 Hunting did he go, 
 Never since his home hath sought, 
 Ne'er were tidings of him brought, 
 None his fate might know. 
 
 "Here, methinks, he found shall be, 
 
 We deem surely thou art he, 260 
 
 By thy goodly cheer, 
 
 And thy nose a scar doth show 
 
 By the which we rightly know 
 
 Thee for comrade dear!" 
 
 "Nay," quoth he, "how may that be? 
 
 How may I be mate to ye 
 
 Who of goods have none?" 
 
 "To the Emperor must thou fare 
 
 And again that honour bear 
 
 Which was thine anon." 270 
 
 Eustace took his leave that tide, 
 With his comrades doth he ride, 
 To the court again; 
 Joy and bliss were his that while, 
 Trajan doth upon him smile 
 With knight, groom, and swain. 
 
 To his lord he told his care, 
 His' hard life, his scanty fare, 
 Even to the end; 
 Of the ventures he must meet, 
 Whether they were sad or sweet, 
 That God did him send. 
 
 280 
 
 Afterward, ere it was long, 
 War brake out both fierce and strong, 
 'Gainst that Emperor brave, 
 Thither went full many a knight, 
 Right well armed for the fight, 
 Fain his realm to save. 
 
 Thither came two knights that day, 
 Very good in fight were they, 290 
 
 Had good horse and brand; 
 There was no man on the field 
 Who with either spear or shield 
 Durst their dints withstand. 
 
 Thro' the day they valiant fought, 
 'T was well done, so each one thought, 
 To their inn they went, 
 Comrades good became that tide, 
 In one house would they abide 
 Without ill intent. 300 
 
 Eat together of one dish, 
 Were it flesh, or were it fish, 
 Mickle mirth they make; 
 After meat they tales would tell, 
 Of adventures that befell 
 In their lives they spake. 
 
 Then the younger of the twain 
 
 Of his comrade asked again 
 
 What his kin might be? 
 
 Still he sat, and sighed full sore, 310 
 
 Littte spake, but thought the more, 
 
 Dismal cheer made he: 
 
82 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 "Sir, wilt keep my secret well 
 If I of my welfare tell 
 And my woe this tide? 
 Of a rich man's race I came, 
 Flacidas, my father's name, 
 Who had journeyed wide. 
 
 " Gently took they me that stead, 
 
 Bare me softly to a bed, 
 
 Blessed be God's Might! 
 
 And a rich man of that land 
 
 All I needed, free of hand 
 
 Gave, and dubbed me knight." 360 
 
 " He, my sire, was goodly knight, 
 And my mother, lady bright, 320 
 Dwelling fair did own, 
 Children twain they had, none other, 
 I, and but one younger brother, 
 Dwelt in tower of stone. 
 
 "Brother, hearken now to me, 
 Came a wolf, and seized me, 
 Forth in mouth he bare, 
 Ploughmen did the same espy, 
 Blew their horns both loud and high, 
 Very strong they were. 
 
 " Taken by my sire were we, 
 
 Mother, brother, yea, all three, 
 
 Thro' God's Grace one day, 
 
 To the font he hath us led, 
 
 There were we baptized that stead, 
 
 In God's Name alway. 330 
 
 " Took me softly in that stead, , 
 And a lady hath me -fed, 
 And hath dubbed me knight, 
 Palfrey gave she me, and steed, 370 
 Helm and birnie, other weed, 
 Sword and spear so bright." 
 
 " Sithen, so it seemeth me, 
 We fell into poverty, 
 Went from out that land, 
 O'er a water broad and deep 
 Sailed, my mother sore did weep, 
 Wailed and wrung her hands. 
 
 She, their mother, heard that tide 
 In an orchard there beside, 
 Wept for very bliss, 
 To her bower she fain had gone 
 Swiftly as she might, anon, 
 Glad was she, I wis. 
 
 " Very fair my mother, she 
 
 In that land should fairest be 
 
 Both of skin and hue, 
 
 And the shipman in that day 340 
 
 Bare her from us all away, 
 
 Waxed our grief anew; 
 
 Riding then Sir Eustace came 
 
 Where his wife dwelt at that same, 380 
 
 Fain those knights to see; 
 
 She beheld that goodly knight, 
 
 He, that lady fair and bright, 
 
 Blithe of cheer was she. 
 
 " We went thro' the wilderness 
 Weeping sore, in heaviness, 
 To a river came, 
 O'er the stream my father bare 
 Me, and left my brother there 
 Till again he came. 
 
 Quoth he: "Lady, tell to me 
 
 What men in that inn may be, 
 
 Here, in this next house?" 
 
 "Sir," she said: "two knights there be, 
 
 Who should be well known to thee, 
 
 Welcome, dear, my spouse!" 390 
 
 " Came a lion fierce that tide 
 
 Caught me in its jaws so wide, 350 
 
 Bare me in its mouth; 
 
 Shepherds did the beast espy, 
 
 Scared him with their horn blasts high 
 
 Eke by North and South. 
 
 "Ah, my lord, art known to me 
 By the scar that well I see 
 On thy nose, I ween; 
 Love, I must full hardly fare, 
 Passed my life in mickle care, 
 As may well be seen." 
 
OWAIN MILES 
 
 83 
 
 " He who did me from thee take 
 Fain would me his leman make, 
 Pagan he, alway; 
 
 In that ship there was a knight, 400 
 Freed me from the shipman's might, 
 Bare me safe away. 
 
 " True love, without more delay 
 To this next house go our way, 
 For our sons be there, 
 And with joy and mickle bliss 
 Give we thanks to Christ, I wis, 
 Who hath cured our care." 
 
 Thither then the twain have gone, 
 
 Swiftly as they might, anon, 410 
 
 Found a welcome fair; 
 
 Bade them sit, and drink there wine 
 
 In gold cups, with spices fine, 
 
 Good cheer made they there. 
 
 Spake Sir Eustace of his care, 
 
 His hard life, his scanty fare, 
 
 Wept the knights for bliss, 
 
 Never one with other spake, 
 
 From their lips no word might break, 
 
 Could but clasp and kiss. 420 
 
 To the Emperor news they bare 
 How with joy and bliss they fare, 
 Christians were that stound; 
 Then he sendeth knights anon 
 For to fetch them every one, 
 All whom there they found. 
 
 Shut them all in prison strong, 
 Lions and leopards fierce among, 
 And beasts fierce and fell; 
 Yet those beasts so strong and wild 430 
 Glad of them they were, and mild, 
 Would them no wise quell. 
 
 Then, in bowls of brass that day, 
 One in each, ('t is sooth I say 
 Fire was made below,) 
 One and all to death they burn, 
 But their souls to Heaven they turn, 
 And no pain they know. 
 
 Pray we all to Saint Eustace, 
 
 That he gain for us such grace 440 
 
 That to heaven we wend, 
 
 And when we its bliss have won 
 
 With Sweet Jesu, Mary's Son, 
 
 Dwell there, without end. 
 
 Amen. 
 
 OWAIN MILES 
 
 OWAIN'S VISIT TO PARADISE 
 
 The fiends, with them the knight they 
 
 bear, 
 To a foul-smelling water fare, 
 Such as he ne'er had seen; 
 Fouler it smelt than any hound, 
 And deep for many a mile its ground, 
 And black as pitch, I ween. 
 
 Sir Owain saw across it he 
 
 A narrow bridge, both strong and high, 
 
 The fiends they spake also; 
 
 " Behold, Sir Knight, before thee lies 10 
 
 The bridge that leads to Paradise, 
 
 Across it must thou go. 
 
 "And after thee we stones shall throw, 
 And strong winds shall upon thee 
 
 blow, 
 And work thee mickle ill; 
 Scarce shalt thou go half-way, withal, 
 But if midway thou chance to fall, 
 Thou fallest to our will. 
 
 "And when thou thus adown shalt 
 
 fall 
 Thou comest 'midst our comrades 
 
 all, 
 With hooks they shall thee speed; 
 A new play teach to thee alway, 
 For thou hast served us many a day, 
 To Hell they shall thee lead." 
 
8 4 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Owain beheld that bridge uplift, 
 
 The water 'neath it, black and swift, 
 
 And dread, it vexed him sore, 
 
 And of one thing he took good note, 
 
 Thick as the motes in sunbeam float, 
 
 The fiends, they were yet more ! 30 
 
 High as a tower that bridge should be, 
 
 And sharp as razor, verilie, 
 
 Narrow it was, also, 
 
 With that, the stream that ran there- 
 under, 
 
 It gleamed as lightning, roared like 
 thunder, 
 
 That did he hold for woe! 
 
 There is no clerk may write with ink, 
 
 And never man in heart may think, 
 
 Nor master may attain, 
 
 Diviner's skill may naught devise 40 
 
 Beneath that bridge of Paradise 
 
 To tell one half the pain. 
 
 So the Dominical doth tell, 
 
 There is the entrance gate of Hell, 
 
 Saint Paul, he witness bore, 
 
 Who from that bridge doth fall so low, 
 
 Redemption may he never know, 
 
 Or less, I trow, or more! 
 
 The fiends, the knight they threaten 
 there, 49 
 
 "Across this bridge thou may'st not fare, 
 How sore soe'er thy need, 
 Flee thou this peril, grief, and woe, 
 And to that place thou comest fro' 
 Right gladly we'll thee lead." 
 
 Sir Owain, he bethought him there 
 
 How oft, from out the foul fiends' snare, 
 
 God had him safely sped, 
 
 He set his foot upon the bridge, 
 
 Felt of the razor no sharp ridge, 
 
 Nor aught to cause him woe. 60 
 
 But when the fiends they saw that he 
 Half-way across the bridge should be 
 
 Loudly they cry and call : 
 "Alas! that e'er he saw the light, 
 For now we sure have lost this knight k 
 He hath escaped our thrall!" 
 
 Thus Owain, o'er the bridge he went, 
 Gave thanks to God Omnipotent, 
 And Mary, full of grace, 69 
 
 Who thus had deigned his way to speed, 
 And, from the foul fiends' torment freed, 
 Brought to a better place. 
 
 A cloth of gold to him was brought, 
 But of its coming saw he naught, 
 Save God had sent that same; 
 That cloth he did on him that stound, 
 And whole and healed the wounds he 
 
 found 
 Wrought by the fire's fierce flame. 
 
 Then thanked he God in Trinitie, 
 
 And, looking further, thought to see 80 
 
 E'en as it were a wall; 
 
 He looked about him far and nigh, 
 
 But never end he might espy, 
 
 Of gold it shone withal. 
 
 And further — more he needs must see, 
 
 A gate, none fairer might there be 
 
 In all this world, well wrought; 
 
 Of wood or iron there was none, 
 
 'T was all red gold, and precious stone, . 
 
 And all God made of naught ! 90 
 
 Of Jasper, Coral, Topaz bright, 
 Of Pearls so pure and Crystal white, 
 And of rich Sapphire stone, 
 Ruby and Onyx might he see, 
 Chrysoprase, and Chalcedony, 
 And Diamonds brightly shone. 
 
 In tabernacles were they wrought, 
 Richer, I trow, had ye found naught, 
 Slender the pillars small; 
 Curved arches of carbuncle stone, 100 
 And red-gold bosses wrought thereon, 
 Turrets of crystal all. 
 
OWAIN MILES 
 
 85 
 
 E'en as Our Lord surpasseth still 
 Of goldsmith, or of artist's skill, 
 Seek where ye will in land; 
 So are the gates of Paradise 
 Fairer than mortal may devise 
 As ye may understand. 
 
 E'en as the gates themselves unclose 
 So sweet a perfume forth there flows 
 As precious balm and dear, m 
 
 The knight was of that sweetness fain, 
 And drew such strength from it again 
 As ye shall forthwith hear. 
 
 It seemed such strength to him were 
 told 
 
 He well might bear a thousand-fold 
 
 More of such woe and pain; 
 
 That he, against the fiends to fight, 
 
 Might well have turned him back forth- 
 right 
 
 The road he came again. 120 
 
 The knight, he drew the gate anear, 
 And see, there came with goodly cheer, 
 Processions fair anon, 
 Tapers, and candlesticks of gold, 
 Fairer no man might see on mold, 
 With Cross, and Gonfanon. 
 
 And Popes, in dignity they go, 
 And many Cardinals also, 
 And Kings and Queens were there, 
 And Knights, and Abbots, many Priors, 
 With Canons, Monks, and preaching 
 Friars, 131 
 
 Bishops, who croziers bare. 
 
 Friars Minor, and Friars Jacobin, 
 And Carmelites, and Friars Austin, 
 And Nuns, both black and white, 
 All manner of religious there 
 Did in that great procession fare 
 Who Orders took aright. 
 
 There Wedlock's order did he see; 
 
 Of men and women many be 140 
 
 Who thanked God for His Grace, 
 Who sent the knight the aid he sought, 
 And from the foul fiends' torment 
 
 brought 
 A live man, to this place. 
 
 When they had made this melody 
 There came two from the company 
 And palms of gold they bare, 
 And straightway to the knight they hied, 
 And took him, one on either side, 
 Archbishops both they were; 150 
 
 And up and down they led that knight 
 
 And many a joy they shewed to sight 
 
 And mickle melody; 
 
 Merry the carols he must hear, 
 
 Nor songs of folly met his ear 
 
 But joy and minstrelsy. 
 
 They danced in carols all a-row, 
 Their joy, I trow, may no man know, 
 Of God they spake, and sung, 
 And angels set the measure free 160 
 
 With cithole, harp, and psaltery, 
 And bells that merry rung. 
 
 And none may carol there within 
 Save that he be all clean of sin 
 And from all folly free; 
 Now God, for these, Thy Five Wounds 
 
 all, 
 Grant us to carol in that hall 
 Thro' Thy Mother, Marie! 
 
 And this same joy, as ye may see, 
 
 It is for love and charitie, 170 
 
 Towards God, and towards man's kin, 
 
 Whoso f orsaketh earthly love 
 
 For love of God, Who reigns above, 
 
 May carol there within. 
 
 And other joys he saw enow; 
 
 Perched on high trees, with many a 
 
 bough, 
 The birds of Heaven rejoice; 
 Their notes ring out with merry glee, 
 
86 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 In many a changeful melody 
 On high they lift their voice! 
 
 180 
 
 And, hearkening to the birds' sweet song, 
 He deemed he might abide there long, 
 Yea, till the world should end; 
 There he beheld that Tree of Life 
 Whereby both Adam and his wife 
 To Hell they needs must wend. 
 
 Gardens with flowers of diverse hue, 
 The rose, the lily, there he knew 
 Primrose and periwink; 
 Mint, fetherfoy, and eglantine, iqo 
 
 'Mid other flowers, and columbine, 
 More than a man may think. 
 
 And herbs be there of other kind 
 Than here on earth a man may find 
 And e'en the least of price 
 For ever waxeth green, I wot, 
 With changing season, changeth not, 
 Sweeter than liquorice! 
 
 And many a well he there must know, 
 Sweeter than mead their waters flow, 
 But one above them all, 201 
 
 E'en as Saint Owain did behold, 
 From thence, the stream it runs four-fold, 
 From Paradise doth fall. 
 
 And.Dison, so men call one stream, 
 
 .Its waters flow with brightest gleam, 
 
 And gold therein is found; 
 
 Fison, the second named shall be, 
 
 And of more value, verilie, 
 
 The stones within .its ground. 210 
 
 The third stream shall Euphrates be — 
 
 Without a lie I say to ye 
 
 Its course it runs aright; 
 
 The fourth stream, it is hight Tigris, 
 
 Nor hath the world the like, I wis, 
 
 Of these, its-stones so bright. 
 
 Who lives in purity below 
 
 This bliss he shall as portion know 
 
 And see that seemly sight; 
 Yet more did Owain see with eye 220 
 Beneath God's Glory, there on high, 
 Blessed shall be His Might! 
 
 Some souls, he saw, dwelt by themselves, 
 Others by ten, or e'en by twelve, 
 But each one knew the other, 
 When they together came, I wis, 
 Then they rejoiced in mickle bliss, 
 As sister doth with brother. 
 
 And some, they were in scarlet clad, 
 Fair robes of purple others had, 230 
 
 And some in ciclaton, 
 E'en as the priest at Mass doth wear 
 Thus alb and tunicle they bare, 
 Some, cloth of gold had on. 
 
 And thus, I trow, full well the knight 
 By this, their clothing, knew aright 
 E'en in what state they were, 
 And what the deeds they erst did do, 
 (By that he saw them clothed so) 
 While they 'midst men did fare. 240 
 
 Here will I a resemblance tell, 
 
 The same, in truth, accordeth well, 
 
 E'en by the stars so bright, 
 
 As one star brighter is to see 
 
 Than others, yea, perchance, than three, 
 
 And is of greater might, 
 
 So God, He dealeth in this wise 
 E'en with the Bliss of Paradise, 
 Deals not the same to all, 
 The Soul who hath the least, I wot 250 
 Doth think the greater is his lot, 
 Doth hold him rich withal ! 
 
 The Bishops came to him again, 
 
 They took the knight betwixt them 
 
 twain, 
 And led him up and down, 
 Said:" Brother ,'God be praised by thee, 
 This, thy desire fulfilled shall be, 
 Hearken our words anon, 
 
OWAIN MILES 
 
 87 
 
 "Now thou, with these, thine eyes, hast 
 
 seen 
 Alike the joys and pains, I ween, 260 
 For that, praise God, His Grace, 
 We'll tell thee here the common doom, 
 The way that thou hast hither come 
 Ere yet thou leave this place. 
 
 "That land thou sawest full of sorrow, 
 Alike to-day, and eke to-morrow, 
 The which thou passed'st by, 
 Wherein didst suffer pain and woe, 
 With many another soul also, 
 Men call it Purgatory. 270 
 
 "And this same land so fair and wide, 
 
 That mickle is on every side 
 
 And is so full of bliss, 
 
 Wherein thou even now shalt be, 
 
 And where thou many a joy dost see, 
 
 'T is Paradise I wis! 
 
 "And never man may hither win 
 Save that he first be purged of sin, 
 And be well cleansed then, 
 Then come they here — " the Bishop 
 said, 280 
 
 "By us unto these joys they're led 
 At times, by twelve or ten. 
 
 "But some, they be so straitly bound, 
 That men know not how long a stound 
 They suffer in that heat, 
 Save that their friends on earth who 
 
 be 
 Sing Mass for them •— of charitie 
 Shall give the poor to eat; 
 
 "Or other wise shall do alms-deed, 289 
 By which they may the better speed, 
 And these, their torments, cease, 
 And come to Paradise, I wis, 
 Wherein is ever joy and bliss, 
 And there abide in peace. 
 
 "And as from Purgatory's pain 
 We pass, so do we rise again 
 
 To God, in Glory's height , 
 That is the Heavenly Paradise, 
 Beheld by none but Christian eyes, 
 No joy is like that sight! 300 
 
 "And when we passed from out the 
 
 flame 
 Of Purgatory, here we came, 
 We may not scale that height, 
 (Till that we here long time have been 
 God's Face by us may not be seen — ) 
 Nor in that place alight! 
 
 "The child who was but born last night 
 
 Ere his soul hither shall be dight 
 
 Those pains shall over flee; 
 
 Heavy and strong the torment told 310 
 
 To that man who is waxen old 
 
 And long in sin shall be." 
 
 Forth went they till, before their eye, 
 There rose a mountain fair and high 
 And full of game and glee; 
 So long upon their way they passed 
 They came unto its top at last 
 Where they these joys might see. 
 
 There diverse songs the birdlings sung, 
 Great joy they made themselves among, 
 As ye may understand, 321 
 
 More joy in these birds' trill shall be 
 Than cithole, harp, or psaltery, 
 Heard here, on sea or land. 
 
 That land that is so good withal 
 
 'T is Paradise terrestrial, 
 
 On earth it lieth fair; 
 
 The Heavenly Paradise, I wis, 
 
 No bliss is like unto its bliss, 
 
 That is above the air. 33 o 
 
 In that which hath on earth its place 
 Therein was Owain for a space, 
 'T was that which Adam lost, 
 Had Adam there but held him still 
 And wrought according to God's Will, 
 Ne'er His commandment crost, 
 
88 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 He, nor his offspring, trow me, ne'er 
 From out that bliss were forced to 
 
 fare, 
 But, since that same he brake, 
 With pick and spade in ditch to delve, 
 To help his wife, and eke himself, 341 
 Much toil God made him take. 
 
 God was, I trow, with him so wroth, 
 He left unto him ne'er a cloth, 
 But leaf of a fig-tree, 
 All naked there he went, and stood, 
 I trow a man might well nigh wood 
 At such a counsel be. 
 
 An Angel there unto him came 
 With aspect stern, and sword of flame, 
 Fear in his soul had birth, 351 
 
 That they should toil and sorrow know, 
 The while that they must live below 
 Drave them to middle-earth. 
 
 And when he died he went to Hell, — 
 To him and his this portion fell 
 Till God's own Son was born, 
 And by His Pain and Passion sore 
 Hath opened wide that prison door, 
 Else were we all forlorn. 360 
 
 (Lacuna, in MS.) 
 The Bishops then the knight did pray 
 To tell them there without delay 
 If Heaven were grey or white, 
 Or blue, or yellow, red or green? 
 The knight, he answered them, I ween, 
 "That shall I say forthright. 
 
 "Methinks, it be a thousand-fold 
 Brighter than e'er was any gold 
 That man with eye might see!" 369 
 
 Then quoth the Bishops to the knight: 
 "That self-same place ye deem so bright 
 Shall but the entrance be. 
 
 "And each day it doth so befall 
 A meal, to make us glad withal, 
 
 Doth come for this, our need; 
 E'en a sweet smell, as of all good 
 That to our soul is fitting food, 
 Stay, and with us shalt feed." 
 
 Anon, he saw right well, the knight, 
 A flame of fire that sprang so bright, 380 
 From Heaven's gate it fell, 
 It seemed him there that, far and nigh, 
 O'er Paradise that flame did fly 
 And gave so sweet a smell; 
 
 The Holy Ghost, as flame so bright, 
 
 Did there upon Sir Owain light, 
 
 And in that self-same place, 
 
 By Virtue of that flame alway 
 
 The might of earth was purged away — 
 
 He thanked God for His Grace. 390 
 
 Then quoth the Bishops in that stead: 
 "God feeds us daily with His Bread 
 Yet we be not so nigh 
 Nor have such foretaste of His Grace 
 Nor such a sight of this, His Face, 
 As those that be on high. 
 
 "The souls who to God's Feast have 
 
 passed 
 Their joy, it shall for ever last, 
 And never know an end; 399 
 
 Now must thou dree the common doom, 
 And by the road that thou didst come 
 Again thou needs must wend. 
 
 " Now keep thee well from deadly sin, 
 That thou shalt never fall therein 
 Whate'er shall be thy need ; 
 Then at thy death-day shalt thou wend 
 Unto the joy that hath no end, 
 Angels shall thither lead." 
 
 Then sore he wept, Sir Owain, there, 
 And for God's Mercy prayed them fair 
 That he with them might dwell, 411 
 And that he might behold no more 
 That sight that he had seen before, 
 The bitter pains of Hell. 
 
OWAIN MILES 
 
 89 
 
 But this, his prayer, was all in vain, — 
 
 He took his leave, and turned again, 
 
 His heart was full of woe, 
 
 Ten thousand fiends he saw that stead, 
 
 But from before his face they fled 
 
 As bolt from a cross-bow. 420 
 
 No nearer than a bolt might fly 
 I trow, the fiends might come anigh 
 Tho' they the world would win, 
 And when he came unto the hall 
 The thirty men he found withal 
 Awaiting him therein. 
 
 Each held his hand up in that place, 
 Gave thanks to Christ for this, His 
 
 Grace, 
 More than a thousand-fold, 
 Bade him make no delaying there 430 
 But back again to Ireland fare, 
 Swift on his way to hold. 
 
 r 
 So I find writ in history, 
 The Prior of Patrick's Purgatory, 
 To him came word that night, 
 That Owain had o'ercome his pain, 
 And with the morrow came again 
 Thro' grace of God's great Might. 
 
 Then with his monks, the Prior anon, 
 With Crosses, and with Gonfanon, 440 
 Went to that hole forthright, 
 Thro' which knight Owain went below, 
 There, as of burning fire the glow, 
 They saw a gleam of light; 
 
 And right amidst that beam of light 
 
 He came up, Owain, God's own knight, 
 
 By this knew every man 
 
 That he in Paradise had been, 
 
 And Purgatory's pains had seen, 
 
 And was a holy man. 450 
 
 To Holy Church they take their way 
 To work the works of God that day 
 There he his prayer doth make, 
 And on the fifteenth day, at end, 
 The knight upon his way would wend, 
 And staff and scrip did take; 
 
 And then the Holy places sought 
 Where Jesus Christ us dearly bought 
 Upon the Rood's rough Tree; 
 Where from the grave He rose alive 460 
 By Virtue of these same Wounds Five, 
 Yea, blessed may He be! 
 
 And Bethlehem, where Christ was 
 
 born 
 Of Mary Maid, as flower from thorn, 
 And where He rose to Heaven; 
 Sithen to Ireland came anon, 
 There a monk's habit did he on, 
 And lived for years full seven. 
 
 And when he died he went, I wis, 
 To Paradise, with joy and bliss, 470 
 
 Thro' help of God's good Grace; 
 Now God, for good Saint Owain's love 
 Grant us in bliss of Heaven above 
 To stand before Thy Face! 
 
 Amen. 
 
ROMANCES 
 
KING HORN 
 
 I bid ye all be gay 
 Who list to this my lay ! 
 A song I now will sing 
 Of Murry, crowned king; 
 He reigned in the West 
 While he with life was blest. 
 Godhild she hight, his queen, 
 None fairer e'er was seen. 
 He had a son hight Horn, 
 A goodlier ne'er was born 
 On whom the rain fell light, 
 On whom the sun shone bright. 
 None might his fairness pass; 
 Brighter was he than glass, 
 White as the lily flower, 
 Red as the rose in bower; 
 Nor near nor far on ground 
 Might one his peer have found. 
 Twelve were his comrades gay 
 Who fared with him alway, 
 Rich men their fathers were 
 And all were children fair, 
 Each at his beck and call — 
 But two he loved o'er all, 
 The one hight Hathulf Child, 
 The other Fikenhild; 
 Hathulf was good, I trow, 
 Fikenhild, false enow. 
 
 E'en as the tale I say 
 'T was on a summer's day 
 That Murry, the good king, 
 Rode forth a-pleasuring, 
 E'en by the salt sea side 
 As he was wont to ride; 
 He found upon the strand, 
 There, where they came to land, 
 Of ships, I trow, fifteen, 
 With Saracens so keen, 
 
 And asked what there they sought? 
 What had them thither brought? 40 
 
 A Paynim heard the king 
 And thus made answering: 
 'Thy folk we think to slay 
 With all to Christ who pray, 
 Yea, and thyself, this tide : 
 Think not thou hence shalt ride!" 
 He sprang from off his steed 
 For thereto had he need, 
 (Two knights both good and true 
 Had he, they were too few;) so 
 
 They grasp their sword hilts tight, 
 And all together smite, 
 By force of sword and shield 
 They fell their foes on field, 
 Yet all too few were they 
 Against their foes that day, 
 With ease the Paynim might 
 Hath slain those three in fight. 
 
 The Paynims came to land, 
 They took it in their hand, 
 The folk they smote and slew, 
 The churches down they threw, 
 All were of life forlorn, 
 Stranger or landsman born, 
 Save they forsook Christ's lore 
 And Paynim gods adore. 
 
 Saddest of women there 
 I trow was Godhild fair; 
 For Murry she wept sore 
 And for her son yet more, 
 She fled forth from her hall 
 And from her maidens all; 
 Beneath a rock of stone 
 The queen abode alone, 
 
 60 
 
94 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And there to God she prayed, 
 
 The bairns were sore adread, 120 
 
 (By Paynim law forbade) 
 
 Full well they deemed, I ween, 
 
 To Christ did service true, 
 
 Their life had forfeit been. 
 
 (Thereof no Paynim knew) 
 
 They drifted day and night 
 
 Ever for Horn would pray, 
 
 Till dawned the morning light, 
 
 Christ be his strength and stay. 80 
 
 And Horn beheld the land 
 
 
 And folk upon the strand; 
 
 Horn was in Paynim hands, 
 
 "My comrades young," quoth he, 
 
 He and his folk, and lands; 
 
 "Good news I have for ye, 
 
 Full fair was he to see, 
 
 I hear the sweet birds sing, 
 
 Christ wrought him verily. 
 
 I see the green grass spring, 130 
 
 The Paynims would him slay, 
 
 Blithe shall be now our band 
 
 Or would him living flay, 
 
 For here we be at land!" 
 
 An he less fair had been 
 
 
 All had been slain I ween. 
 
 The ship a haven found, 
 
 Then spake an Emir old 
 
 They set their foot to ground, 
 
 In words was he full bold: go 
 
 There on the flowing tide 
 
 "Horn, thou art quick and keen, 
 
 They left their ship to ride. 
 
 As may be lightly seen, 
 
 Then spake aloud Child Horn, 
 
 Thereto art thou full tall 
 
 (In Suddene was he born,) 
 
 And fair and strong withal, 
 
 "Ship, on the salt sea flood 
 
 Nor shalt thou be full grown 
 
 Make thou a voyage good, 140 
 
 Ere seven years be flown; 
 
 Ride gaily on the wave 
 
 An we thy life should spare, 
 
 Nor find therein a grave. 
 
 Thine, and thy comrades fair, 
 
 If thou to Suddene fare 
 
 Methinks it so might fall 
 
 Greet well my kinsfolk there, 
 
 That ye should slay us all. 100 
 
 And w ell I bid thee greet 
 
 Therefore shalt thou to sea, 
 
 Godhild my mother sweet. 
 
 Thou, and thy mates with thee, 
 
 And bid that Paynim know, 
 
 A-ship, 'twixt wave and wind, 
 
 (Of Christ is he the foe) 
 
 Thy death thou 'It surely find; 
 
 That I, both hale and sound, 
 
 Thou in the sea shalt sink, 
 
 Have safely come to ground, 150 
 
 No more of thee we '11 think. 
 
 And say, he yet shall feel 
 
 But an thou wert on life, 
 
 How Horn a blow can deal!" 
 
 With sword, or e'en with knife, 
 
 
 We at thine hand were sped 
 
 The children sought the town 
 
 For this, thy father, dead!" no 
 
 By dale and e'en by down; 
 
 
 They met Almair the king, 
 
 The bairns they brought to strand 
 
 (Of Christ have he blessing) 
 
 Wringing for woe their hands, 
 
 King he, of Westerness, 
 
 And set them all aboard 
 
 (Christ give him mickle bliss,) 
 
 At bidding of their lord. 
 
 Thus spake he to Horn Child 
 
 Horn had been sad, I trow, 
 
 With courteous speech and mild: 160 
 
 Yet ne'er so sad as now ! 
 
 "Whence come ye, children dear, 
 
 The tide began to flow, 
 
 Who thus have landed here? 
 
 Horn Child began to row, 
 
 I see ye all thirteen 
 
 So fast o'er wave they sped 
 
 Of body strong and keen, 
 
KING 
 
 HORN 95 
 
 By God Who made us all 
 
 Thy name and fame shall spring 
 
 Such chance did ne'er befall 
 
 From knight, I ween, to king, 
 
 That I so fair a band 
 
 And this, thy goodliness, 
 
 Should greet in this my land, 
 
 Bring joy to Westerness. 
 
 Your errand to me tell!" 
 
 The strength of thy right hand 
 
 Horn knew their speech full well 170 
 
 Be felt thro' every land ! 
 
 And answered for them all 
 
 Horn, thou art fair and sweet, 
 
 Since so it did befall; 
 
 None may thee ill entreat!" 
 
 (Fairest was he of face, 
 
 Homeward rode Aylmar there 
 
 And dowered with speech of grace:) 
 
 With him his foundling fair 220 
 
 "In Suddene were we born, 
 
 And all his comrades good 
 
 From noble kinsfolk torn, 
 
 Who to his heart nigh stood. 
 
 Men of true Christian blood, 
 
 
 Of royal race and good. 
 
 The king came to his hall, 
 
 But Paynims on our shore 
 
 And his knights one and all, 
 
 Have wrought a slaughter sore, 180 
 
 His steward he called forthright, 
 
 In pieces did they hew 
 
 (Athelbrus was he hight:) 
 
 Full many a Christian true, 
 
 "Now steward to thy care 
 
 As Christ shall give me rede, 
 
 I give my foundling fair, 
 
 Us children did they lead 
 
 Teach him thy craft so good, 
 
 Unto a ship, and gave 
 
 Of water and of wood; 230 
 
 As sport to wind and wave, 
 
 Teach him the harp to play 
 
 Two days hence, without fail; 
 
 With finger deft alway; 
 
 Rudder had we, nor sail, 
 
 To carve in fashion fair; 
 
 Our ship drave with the tide 
 
 The wine-cup fitting bear; 
 
 E'en to this country's side. 190 
 
 To him all craft be shown 
 
 Thou can'st us beat, and bind 
 
 That thou hast ever known. 
 
 Our hands our back behind, 
 
 (His comrades otherwise 
 
 Or, an it be thy will, 
 
 Bestow in fitting guise,) 
 
 Can'st bring us out of ill!" 
 
 Horn shall to thee belong, 
 
 Out spake the good king then, 
 
 Teach him of harp and song." 240 
 
 No niggard he midst men, 
 
 
 "Tell me thy name, fair boy, 
 
 Athelbrus took in care 
 
 Here shalt thou find but joy!" 
 
 Horn, and his comrades fair; 
 
 
 Horn, he held fast in heart 
 
 The child made answer clear 
 
 The rede he did impart, 
 
 As he those words might hear: 200 
 
 All men the court about 
 
 "Horn, it shall be my name, 
 
 Within, and e'en without, 
 
 Hither by boat I came, 
 
 Bare love unto Horn Child — 
 
 Drifted by wave of sea 
 
 But chiefly Rimenild, 
 
 In good hour unto thee!" 
 
 The king's own daughter fair, 
 
 Swift the king's answer came: 
 
 Such love to Horn she bare, 250 
 
 "Have joy of this thy name, 
 
 So fast on him her thought, 
 
 Horn, it shall echo shrill 
 
 The maid was nigh distraught; 
 
 O'er holt, I ween, and hill, 
 
 For that at royal board 
 
 Horn shall ring up and down 
 
 With him she spake no word, 
 
 Thro' dale and over down, 210 
 
 Nor might she in the hall 
 
96 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Among the courtiers all: 
 
 Troth with me shalt thou plight, 
 
 Speak could she in no stead, 
 
 Here on my hand forthright, 
 
 Since she of folk had dread, 
 
 To hold me as thy wife, 
 
 By night and e'en by day, 
 
 As I thee lord, for life!" 
 
 No word to him durst say. »6o 
 
 
 Sore pain of heart and mind 
 
 Athulf spake in her ear 
 
 She bare, nor cure might find. 
 
 Softly, as she might hear: 
 
 Thus sad and sorry, she 
 
 "Speak thou no more of this, 
 
 Bethought her warily, 
 
 Horn is not here, I wis, 310 
 
 By messenger straightway 
 
 Unlike we twain shall be, 
 
 She Athelbrus did pray 
 
 Fairer and richer he, 
 
 To make no tarrying 
 
 Fairer by measure Horn 
 
 But Horn Child with him bring 
 
 Than any man yet born, 
 
 And seek her in her bower — j<Sg 
 
 Tho' he were under mould, 
 
 With guile she wrought that hour — 
 
 Or wandering far on wold, 
 
 Yea, and the message said 
 
 Distant full many a mile, 
 
 That sick she lay, the maid, 
 
 I would not him beguile!" 
 
 And bade him come with speed 
 
 
 To comfort her at need. 
 
 Then Rimenild, the maid, 
 
 The steward at heart was woe, 
 
 Did Athelbrus upbraid; 320 
 
 He wist not what to do, 
 
 "Thou traitor, get thee gone, 
 
 What Rimenild besought 
 
 Mine hatred hast thou won, 
 
 A marvel great he thought, 
 
 Go forth from out my bower, 
 
 That Horn, at her bidding, 
 
 May ill o'er thee have power! 
 
 He to her bower should bring. a8o 
 
 I would thy shame be sung, 
 
 He deemed in thoughtful mood, 
 
 And thou on gallows hung! 
 
 Such act were scarce for good, 
 
 This is not Horn, I ween, 
 
 He called to him Horn's peer, 
 
 More courteous had he been, 
 
 Athulf, his comrade dear. 
 
 And fairer far to see, 
 
 "Athulf, now come with me 
 
 A shameful death on thee!" 330 
 
 To bower speedily, 
 
 
 For Rimenild, she will 
 
 Athelbrus at that stound 
 
 Speak with us, soft and still, 
 
 Fell low upon the ground: 
 
 As Horn be thou arrayed, 
 
 "Lady I prithee grace, 
 
 And thus deceive the maid, 290 
 
 Hearken a little space, 
 
 My mind misgives me sore 
 
 Hear why I dare not bring 
 
 She hath some guile in store!" 
 
 Horn at thy summoning; 
 
 Athulf and Athelbrus 
 
 For Horn is rich and fair, 
 
 They sought her bower thus, 
 
 None may with him compare, 
 
 And Rimenild, the fair, 
 
 And Aylmar, my good king, 
 
 She deemed that Horn it were; 
 
 Gave him to my keeping; 340 
 
 On her bed must he sit, 
 
 If Horn were hereabout 
 
 She wooed him well, to wit — 
 
 I sorely me misdoubt 
 
 Her arms round him she cast, 
 
 Since thou of him art fain, 
 
 Athulf she held full fast, 300 
 
 That were betwixt ye twain 
 
 And quoth: "Horn, hearken me, 
 
 Should make my lord wax wroth — 
 
 Great love I bear to thee, 
 
 So think I, on my troth — 
 
KING 
 
 HORN 97 
 
 Rimenild, lady sweet, 
 
 He sent me here but now, 
 
 Forgive me, as is meet, 
 
 Since thou would'st speak with me 
 
 And Horn I'll bring to thee 
 
 Say what thy will shall be, 
 
 Whate'er the forfeit be!" 350 
 
 Speak Lady, without fear, 
 
 
 Since I am fain to hear!" 
 
 Then Rimenild, her speech 
 
 
 A gentler tone would teach, 
 
 Rimenild bade him stand, 
 
 Her heart waxed glad and gay, 
 
 She took him by the hand, 
 
 Blithe was the maid that day. 
 
 Set him on silken pall 
 
 "Then go," she quoth, "right soon, 
 
 And gave him wine withal. 400 
 
 And send him after noon, 
 
 She made him goodly cheer — 
 
 Whenas the king shall rise 
 
 Her arms the maiden dear 
 
 And fare in simple wise 
 
 Cast round his neck, I wis, 
 
 With hound and horn to play, 
 
 And gave him many a kiss. 
 
 None shall us then betray; 360 
 
 "Horn," quoth she, "without strife, 
 
 And here till eventide 
 
 Thou shalt take me to wife, 
 
 He may with me abide, 
 
 Have of my sorrow ruth, 
 
 After, for good or ill, 
 
 Plight me thy troth in truth!" 
 
 Let folk say what they will!" 
 
 
 
 Horn thought him well that day 
 
 The steward went at that stound, 
 
 What it were best to say: 410 
 
 Horn in the hall he found, 
 
 " Christ be thy Help in this, 
 
 On dais sat the king, 
 
 And give thee mickle bliss 
 
 Horn did the wine-cup bring; — 
 
 Of him who wins thy hand 
 
 "Horn," quoth he, "for my sake 
 
 Where'er he be on land. 
 
 Thy way in secret take 370 
 
 But I be born too low 
 
 After meat, unafraid, 
 
 Such maid as wife to know — 
 
 To Rimenild, the maid, 
 
 For I am come of thrall, 
 
 And words both true and bold 
 
 A foundling too withal, 
 
 In heart I bid thee hold, 
 
 It were not fit for thee 
 
 Be thou to me but true 
 
 To wed thyself with me. 420 
 
 And thou shalt never rue." 
 
 'T is no fit match, I ween, 
 
 Then Horn, to heart he laid 
 
 For thrall to mate with queen!" 
 
 What Athelbrus had said, 
 
 
 He went his way forthright 
 
 Then Rimenild, the maid, 
 
 Unto that maiden bright, 380 
 
 She sighed, full sore dismayed, 
 
 Then kneeling, as was meet, 
 
 Her arms she loosed full soon, 
 
 He proffered greeting sweet, 
 
 Adown she sank in swoon. 
 
 His fairness in that hour 
 
 
 I wot, made light her bower. 
 
 Horn was to comfort fain, 
 
 He spake with gracious speech 
 
 He raised her up again 
 
 Such as no man may teach: 
 
 Within his arms, I wis, 
 
 "Full soft thou sittest there, 
 
 And gave her many a kiss. 430 
 
 Maid Rimenild, the fair, 
 
 He quoth: "My Lady dear, 
 
 Thou, and thy maids twice three 
 
 Now take thou courage here, 
 
 Who sit the nighest thee. 390 
 
 Help me that I be knight — 
 
 Thy father's steward, I trow, 
 
 Pray thou, with all thy might, 
 
98 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 My lord the king so free 
 
 If arms he bear for thee 
 
 Knighthood to grant to me. 
 
 Good knight he'll surely be!" 480 
 
 For then, when my thralldom 
 
 The king, he quoth anon : 
 
 Hath once knighthood become, 
 
 "Methinks that were well done, 
 
 Honour shall wax the more 
 
 Of Horn 't is sooth to tell 
 
 And I may do thy lore!" 440 
 
 Knighthood became him well, 
 
 
 That shall he have from me — 
 
 Then Rimenild eftsoon 
 
 My darling shall he be — 
 
 She wakened from her swoon: 
 
 And they, his goodly band 
 
 "Horn," quoth the maid, "thy rede 
 
 Of comrades, at his hand 
 
 It shall be done with speed, 
 
 Shall knighted be forthright 
 
 The king shall dub thee knight 
 
 Before me, that same night." 490 
 
 Within this seven-night. 
 
 
 This cup I bid thee bring, 
 
 Athelbrus deemed alway 
 
 And with it, too, this ring, 
 
 'T were long till dawn of day, 
 
 To Athelbrus the bold, 
 
 When night at last was sped 
 
 Covenant bid him hold; 450 
 
 Horn to the king he led, 
 
 Tell him that I beseech 
 
 With comrades twelve, I trow 
 
 In fit and courteous speech, 
 
 Evil were some enow! 
 
 That he shall lowly fall 
 
 There Horn he was dubbed knight 
 
 Before the king in hall, 
 
 With sword and spurs so bright, 
 
 And pray that thou, forthright, 
 
 On milk-white steed so fair, 
 
 Of him be made a knight; 
 
 None might with him compare. 500 
 
 Silver, I ween, and gold, 
 
 The king, a blow so light 
 
 Be his in payment told, 
 
 Dealt, bidding him be knight. 
 
 Christ speed him well, I pray, 
 
 
 My bidding to obey." 460 
 
 Before King Aylmar free 
 
 
 Athulf, he bent his knee, 
 
 Then Horn must take his leave, 
 
 And quoth: "0! King, so brave, 
 
 The day it waxed to eve; 
 
 A boon from thee I crave. 
 
 Athelbrus straight he sought, 
 
 Now hast thou knighted Horn 
 
 And gave him what he brought, 
 
 Who in Suddene was born, 
 
 The truth he told him there, 
 
 Lord is he of that land 
 
 How he in bower did fare, 
 
 O'er us who by him stand. sio 
 
 And told him all his need, 
 
 Thine arms hath he, and shield, 
 
 Proffering goodly meed. 
 
 To fight for thee on field, 
 
 
 Now bid him make us knight 
 
 The steward, with no delay, 
 
 For that is sure our right." 
 
 To hall he made his way, 470 
 
 Then Aylmar straightway spake : 
 
 "Lord King, now hearken me, 
 
 "Thy will I bid thee take." 
 
 Good rede I bring to thee: 
 
 Forthwith did Horn alight, 
 
 Thou shalt bear royal crown 
 
 He dubbed his comrades knight. 
 
 To-morrow in this town, 
 
 Merry the feast and gay, 
 
 To-morrow is high-day, 
 
 Mirthful their jest and play. 520 
 
 When men must needs be gay, 
 
 But Rimenild, in her bower, 
 
 Methinks 't were well the morn 
 
 Seven years she deemed the hour; 
 
 If thou should'st knight Child Horn, 
 
 A word to Horn she sent, 
 
KING 
 
 HORN 99 
 
 He to her presence went, 
 
 The stones, they have such grace, 
 
 But not alone he sped, 
 
 That ne'er in any place 570 
 
 Athulf with him he led. 
 
 Of dints shalt thou have dread, 
 
 Rimenild waiting stood, 
 
 Tho' ne'er so sore bestead, 
 
 His coming she deemed good; 
 
 If thou in battle see 
 
 "Sir Horn, art welcome here 
 
 This ring and think of me. 
 
 With Athulf, knight so dear, 530 
 
 Sir Athulf, too, thy brother, 
 
 Sir Knight, 't is fit and meet 
 
 I'll give to him another, 
 
 By me to take thy seat, 
 
 And Horn, I here beseech 
 
 Do that whereof we spake 
 
 In love, with gentle speech, 
 
 Me for thy true wife take, 
 
 Christ give thee furthering 
 
 If thou in deeds be true 
 
 And back in safety bring." 580 
 
 Yield me what is my due, 
 
 
 Thou hast what thou didst crave, 
 
 The knight he kissed the maid, 
 
 Me from my sorrow save." 
 
 Blessing on him she prayed, 
 
 
 He took leave at the same 
 
 "Maiden," quoth Horn, "be still, 
 
 And to the hall he came. 
 
 I promise thee thy will, 54° 
 
 The knights, they went to meat, 
 
 But thus it must betide 
 
 Horn sped with footsteps fleet, 
 
 With spear I first must ride, 
 
 In stable sought his foal, 
 
 And thus my knighthood prove 
 
 (Black was he, e'en as coal,) 
 
 Ere yet I think of love. 
 
 His byrnie shook amain, 
 
 As knights we be but young — 
 
 The court, it rang again, sgo 
 
 But since this day were sprung — 
 
 The steed, it gave a spring, 
 
 And ever of knighthood 
 
 Merrily Horn 'gan sing — 
 
 This is the custom good, 
 
 The twain in little while 
 
 Each, with some other knight, 
 
 Had ridden o'er a mile. 
 
 Must for his lady fight 550 
 
 A ship he found on strand, 
 
 Or yet a wife he take — 
 
 By Paynims was it manned, 
 
 Thus speed I needs must make — 
 
 He asked them what they sought, 
 
 With Christ's good aid, straightway, 
 
 What had them hither brought? 
 
 Prowess I'll shew to-day 
 
 One did Sir Horn behold 
 
 For thy love, in the field, 
 
 Who spake in words so bold: 600 
 
 With spear and eke with shield; 
 
 "This land we think to win 
 
 If I come forth with life 
 
 And slay the folk therein." 
 
 Thee will I take to wife." 
 
 Horn gripped his sword with power, 
 
 
 And wiped it clean that hour; 
 
 Quoth she: "Sir Knight, i-sooth 
 
 The Saracen, I wot, 
 
 I think thou speakest truth; 560 
 
 He smote, his blood was hot, 
 
 Take thou this golden ring, 
 
 Methinks at every blow 
 
 Fair is its fashioning, 
 
 A Paynim head fell low. 
 
 Graven upon the gold 
 
 The heathen hounds came on, 
 
 My name shalt thou behold; 
 
 Horn, he was all alone, 610 
 
 Far as the sun shall shine 
 
 His glance the gold ring sought, 
 
 Is none so fair and fine; 
 
 On Rimenild he thought, 
 
 This for my love now wear, 
 
 He slew there in that press 
 
 Upon thy finger bear, 
 
 One hundred men, no less, 
 
100 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 The tale might no man tell 
 
 But thro' my net he tare — 660 
 
 Of those who 'fore him fell, 
 
 Methinks that I shall lose 
 
 They who were left alive 
 
 The prize my heart would choose!" 
 
 I trow might little thrive. 
 
 Quoth Horn: "By Christ I deem 
 
 
 Right foolish is thy dream, 
 
 Horn took the chieftain's head, 
 
 Ne'er will I thee betray 
 
 In sooth a trophy dread, 620 
 
 But do thy will alway, 
 
 High on his sword point bright 
 
 I give myself to thee 
 
 'T was set, a grisley sight! 
 
 In steadfast fealty, 
 
 He fared him home to hall 
 
 As all may know forthright — 
 
 Among the knights withal; 
 
 Thereto my troth I plight!" 670 
 
 "Well dost thou sit, and free, ■ 
 
 I wot with mickle ruth 
 
 King, and thy knights with thee! 
 
 They sware that pledge of truth. 
 
 To-day didst dub me knight, 
 
 Rimenild wept alway 
 
 I gat me hence forthright, 
 
 Tho' Horn her tears would stay; 
 
 A ship did hither row, 
 
 He quoth: "My Lady dear, 
 
 E'en as the flood did flow, 630 
 
 Further I bid thee hear; 
 
 Filled with a Paynim band 
 
 God shall thy dream fulfil 
 
 Men of another land, 
 
 Or some man means us ill; 
 
 Full well they thought to-day 
 
 The fish that brake the net 
 
 Thee and thy folk to slay. 
 
 I wis, may harm us yet; 680 
 
 With force did they assail, 
 
 An it mean ill, I ween, 
 
 My sword it did not fail, ' 
 
 That shall be swiftly seen." 
 
 Some, have I felled to ground, 
 
 
 Some, deathly wounds have found, 
 
 Aylmar a-hunting rode, 
 
 The head I hither bring 
 
 Horn in the bower abode, 
 
 Of one, their chief and king, 640 
 
 HI words spake Fikenild, 
 
 Now is thy guerdon paid 
 
 His heart with envy filled — 
 
 Lord, who me knight hast made!" 
 
 "Aylmar I would thee warn, 
 
 
 Now be thou ware of Horn, 
 
 Next morn, as day might spring, 
 
 I heard the words he said; 
 
 A-hunting rode the king, 
 
 He drew his good sword blade 690 
 
 Fikenild stayed behind, 
 
 And sware to take thy life 
 
 (Worst son of woman-kind,) 
 
 And win thy child to wife. 
 
 He sought the maidens' bower 
 
 By Rimenild in bower 
 
 For venture, in that hour. 
 
 He lieth in this hour, 
 
 He saw fair Rimenild 
 
 'Neath covering fair and soft, 
 
 As one with sorrow filled; 650 
 
 And so he doth full oft. 
 
 She sat there in the sun, 
 
 Now hie thee there forthright 
 
 Swiftly her tears did run — 
 
 And thou shalt see with sight, 
 
 Horn quoth: "Sweet love, give o'er, 
 
 Bid him get hence straightway 
 
 Why weepest thou so sore?" 
 
 Else will he thee betray!" 700 
 
 She spake: "I needs must weep, 
 
 
 E'en as I lay asleep 
 
 Aylmar, he turned him then, 
 
 My net in sea I cast, 
 
 (Saddest was he of men) 
 
 And, ere long time had past, 
 
 Horn he found, taking rest 
 
 I caught a fish full fair — 
 
 On his fair daughter's breast; 
 
KING HORN 
 
 He cried: "Foul thief, away! 
 
 Forfeit my love for aye, 
 
 Get thee hence speedily, 
 
 111 fortune go with thee, 
 
 Haste thee, or by my word, 
 
 I'll smite thee with my sword; 710 
 
 Save that my land thou flee 
 
 Shame shall thy portion be!" 
 
 Horn saddled his good steed, 
 
 His arms he sought with speed, 
 
 His byrnie swiftly laced, 
 
 His harness fitly placed, 
 
 His sword he girt straightway 
 
 Nor longer thought to stay. 
 
 Blithely he sought that tide 
 
 Fair Rimenild, his bride; 720 
 
 He quoth: "Darling, I deem 
 
 Thou findest here thy dream, 
 
 The fish that thy net rent 
 
 Thy love from thee hath sent. 
 
 Rimenild, fare thee well, 
 
 No longer here I dwell, 
 
 To stranger lands straightway 
 
 Needs must I make my way; 
 
 There shall my lot be cast 
 
 Till seven long years be past, 730 
 
 And at the seven years' end, 
 
 If I come not, nor send, 
 
 A husband may'st thou take 
 
 Nor tarry for my sake. 
 
 Now hold me close and fast 
 
 For one long kiss, our last!" 
 
 She kissed him in that stound, 
 Then, swooning, fell to ground — 
 Child Horn, he went his way, 
 No longer might he stay; 740 
 
 Athulf, his comrade fair, 
 He clasped, and kissed him there: 
 "With true knight's fealty 
 Guard thou my love for me, 
 Faith hast thou aye fulfilled, 
 Now keep well Rimenild!" 
 
 His steed he would bestride, 
 From thence he fain would ride, 
 To haven did he fare, 
 
 A ship he hired him there, 750 
 
 That should from out this land 
 
 Bear him to Western strand. 
 
 Fast Athulf's tears down fall, 
 
 Sore weep the people all — 
 
 Horn safe in haven rode, 
 
 His steed forthwith bestrode; 
 
 Two knights upon his way 
 
 He found, king's sons were they, 
 
 Harold, was named one brother, 
 
 And Berold hight the other. 760 
 
 Berold, he prayed straightway 
 
 That he his name would say, 
 
 Whither he thought to fare, 
 
 And what had brought him there? 
 
 "Cuthbert," he quoth, "my name, 
 Hither by boat I came, 
 In West-land to fulfil 
 My fate, for good or ill." 
 Berold drew nigh, full fain, 
 He took his bridle rein, 770 
 
 "Knight, thou shalt welcome be, 
 A while abide with me, 
 For by my life, I swear 
 The king's badge shalt thou wear, 
 So fair a knight before 
 Ne'er came unto this shore." 
 Cuthbert he led to hall — 
 The knight on knee did fall 
 Greeting he gave, kneeling, 
 Unto the noble king : 780 
 
 Quoth Berold, the king's son: 
 
 "Sire, here a prize hast won, 
 Set him to guard thy land — 
 Thou wrongest no man's hand, 
 For 't is the fairest knight 
 That on our shores did light." 
 Then quoth the king so dear : 
 
 "Knight, thou art welcome here; 
 Berold, go thou straightway 
 And make him blithe and gay, 790 
 But wouldst thou wooing go 
 Then send him from thee fro', 
 Hadst thou a mind to wive 
 Away he should thee drive ! 
 For such his beauty's meed 
 That thou shouldst never speed." 
 
102 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 The Yuletide feast, at last 
 Had come, nor yet was past, 
 But, e'en as 't was high noon, 
 There came a giant full soon 800 
 
 All armed in Paynim guise 
 And spake upon this wise: 
 
 "Now bide thee still, Sir King, 
 And hear the news I bring: 
 Paynims be come to shore 
 Full five, I wot, and more, 
 They stay them on the strand, 
 Sir King, in this thy land. 
 One of them fain would fight 
 Against a three-fold might — 810 
 
 If one by three be slain 
 Take thou thy land again, 
 But if one vanquish three 
 This kingdom ours shall be — 
 To-morrow will we fight 
 E'en as day conquers night." 
 Out quoth the King Thurston : 
 
 "Cuthbert, thou shalt be one, 
 Berold shall be the other, 
 The third Harold, his brother, 820 
 For of my knights ye three 
 The best in arms shall be. 
 But little boots this rede 
 Since death shall be our meed!" 
 Then Cuthbert, at the board, 
 He spake a valiant word : 
 
 "Sir King, it were not right 
 For one with three to fight, 
 That 'gainst one Paynim hound 
 Three Christian men be found. 8jo 
 Sire, all alone, would I 
 My fate against him try, 
 Full lightly shall my sword 
 Death's portion him award." 
 
 The king rose on the morrow, 
 Mickle, I ween, his sorrow; 
 Cuthbert must needs awake, 
 His arms he thought to take, 
 Child Horn his byrnie cast 
 Upon him, laced full fast, 840 
 
 Swift to the king he sped 
 E'en as he rose from bed, 
 
 He quoth: "King, seek the field, 
 
 See how, with sword and shield, 
 
 Together we shall fight 
 
 And test each other's might." 
 
 Right as it were prime tide 
 
 Forth from the town they ride, 
 
 And found upon the green 
 
 A giant, cool and keen; 850 
 
 His comrades at his side, 
 
 Ready their blow to bide. 
 
 The giant, without fail, 
 
 Cuthbert he did assail, 
 
 Their dints they dealt full well, 
 
 Many a-swooning fell; 
 
 The giant to rest was fain 
 
 For he was well nigh slain — 
 
 He quoth: "Knight, bide thee 
 
 still 
 Awhile, an so ye will, — " 860 
 
 He quoth, that blows so sore 
 He ne'er had felt before 
 Save once from Murry's hand 
 Who reigned in Suddene land; 
 Kinsman was he to Horn 
 Who was in Suddene born. 
 Horn waxed wroth at the word, 
 His blood within him stirred, 
 He saw before him stand 
 The folk who took his land, 870 
 
 They, who his father slew, 
 'Gainst them his sword he drew. 
 The ring his eyes have sought, 
 On Rimenild he thought, 
 She smote him to the heart 
 That must full sorely smart : 
 His foes, once keen for fight, 
 Before him turn to flight, 
 Horn, and his company, 
 They follow speedily, 880 
 
 They slew the Paynim hounds 
 Ere they their ships had found, 
 In death they low were laid, 
 His sire's blood well they paid. 
 But of King Thurston's knights 
 Not one escaped that fight, 
 Not the king's son — the twain 
 Before his eyes were slain. 
 
KING 
 
 HORN 103 
 
 The king, he wept withal, 
 
 Thro' every land and shore 
 
 Fast did his tears down fall, 8go 
 
 Till Horn he stood before. 
 
 A bier they fashioned there, 
 
 Of this Child Horn knew naught, 
 
 The bodies homeward bare; 
 
 Until one day he sought 
 
 The king, in hall he stood 
 
 The wood, in search of game — 
 
 Amid his knights so good, 
 
 A lad towards him came; 940 
 
 And quoth: "Horn, hearken me, 
 
 Horn spake: "My comrade good, 
 
 Do as I say to thee, 
 
 What seek'st thou in this wood?" 
 
 Slain are my sons in fight, 
 
 "Knight, an it be thy will 
 
 And thou art valorous knight, 
 
 I'll tell thee loud and still, 
 
 Of body fair and tall 
 
 From West I seek, in stress, 
 
 And strong of hand withal, 900 
 
 Child Horn, of Westerness, 
 
 Have thou my lands for life, 
 
 For maiden Rimenild 
 
 And take to thee for wife 
 
 Who is with sorrow filled; 
 
 Reynild, my daughter fair, 
 
 A king that maid will wed, 
 
 Who sitteth throned there." 
 
 And bring her to his bed, 950 
 
 "Nay, nay, my Sire, 't were ill 
 
 Mody of Reynes, he, 
 
 Did I such wish fulfil, 
 
 Who was Horn's enemy. 
 
 Thy daughter and thy land 
 
 I've wandered far and wide 
 
 To take unto mine hand, 
 
 By land and waterside, 
 
 Such service, verily, 
 
 And found him not alway. 
 
 I'll yield thee ere thou die 910 
 
 Alas, woe worth the day ! 
 
 Thy sorrow shall be sped 
 
 Alas, woe worth the maid! 
 
 Ere seven years' term be fled. 
 
 Now is she sore betrayed." 
 
 When grief be passed away 
 
 Then, Sire, give me my pay; 
 
 Horn hearkened with his ears, 
 
 When I reward have won 
 
 And spake with bitter tears: 960 
 
 Then take me for thy son!" 
 
 "Good fortune thee betide, 
 
 
 Horn standeth at thy side; 
 
 For seven years long, I ween, 
 
 Back to thy lady go, 
 
 Cuthbert, he there hath been, 
 
 And bid her cease her woe 
 
 Nor Rimenild sweet, he sought, 
 
 For I shall come in time 
 
 Nor word to her was brought. 920 
 
 Ere Sunday wax to prime." 
 
 She dwelt in Westerness 
 
 The lad was glad and gay, 
 
 In grief and heaviness; 
 
 He hied him on his way; 
 
 A king, he sought that land, 
 
 The wind waxed high withal — 
 
 Who prayed the maiden's hand, 
 
 Beneath her castle wall 970 
 
 Her father gave consent — 
 
 The lad -lay drowned on shore; 
 
 The twain, on marriage bent, 
 
 (The maid repented sore.) 
 
 But short shrift gave the maid, 
 
 Maid Rimenild that tide 
 
 Rimenild, sore dismayed, 
 
 Her door she opened wide 
 
 Their will dare not gainsay — 
 
 To gaze with longing eye 
 
 Message she sent straightway, 930 
 
 If Horn perchance be nigh. 
 
 Athulf the words did write, 
 
 Of life she found him spent 
 
 He loved well Horn the knight, 
 
 Whom she for Horn had sent, 
 
 And bade him who should bear 
 
 Hither her love to bring — 
 
 The script, with speed to fare 
 
 Her hands she 'gan to wring. 980 
 
104 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Now Horn had- Thurston sought, 
 
 And forthwith courteous greet: 
 
 To him his tidings brought, 
 
 "Good Palmer, without fail 
 
 By what name he was known, 
 
 Now tell me here thy tale." 1030 
 
 How Rimenild was his own, 
 
 Then quoth the palmer keen : 
 
 And of his kinship fair 
 
 " A bridal have I seen, 
 
 Who rule in Suddene bare — 
 
 The bride, that lady bright, 
 
 How those he slew in strife 
 
 Maid Rimenild was bight, 
 
 Had ta'en his father's life — 
 
 Her weird she might not dree 
 
 And quoth "Now, good my Lord, 
 
 But wept right bitterly, 
 
 I pray of thee reward, ggo 
 
 And vowed full steadfastly 
 
 Help me, nor spare thy pain, 
 
 Wedded she would not be — 
 
 To win my love again. 
 
 A lord had she alway 
 
 Thy daughter shall espouse 
 
 Tho' he were far away. 1040 
 
 One of a goodly house, 
 
 There, by the fortress hall, 
 
 For husband shall she have 
 
 Within the castle wall, 
 
 Athulf, my comrade brave, 
 
 Vainly I needs must wait, 
 
 The best of knights is he, 
 
 I might not pass the gate; 
 
 And truest, verily!" 
 
 At Mody's word, that tide, 
 
 The king quoth loud and still, 
 
 To burg they led the bride — 
 
 "Child Horn, have now thy will." 1000 
 
 I turned me on my way, 
 
 He sent by his command 
 
 Small heart had I to stay, 
 
 Writing to Ireland's strand 
 
 The bride, she weepeth sore, 
 
 To summon many a knight 
 
 And that be sorry lore!" 1050 
 
 Irishmen, good at fight, 
 
 Quoth Horn: "So Christ me rede 
 
 Enow had Horn of men — 
 
 We two will change our weed, 
 
 To ship they gat them then, 
 
 My habit hast thou here, 
 
 Horn set forth ere 't was long 
 
 Give me thy palmer's gear; 
 
 On galley stout and strong, 
 
 A draught I'll drink to-day 
 
 The wind blew fresh and free 
 
 That some shall dearly pay ! " 
 
 Ere they were long at sea, ioio 
 
 His staff he laid aside, 
 
 The waves with storm and stress 
 
 And doffed his robe that tide, 
 
 Bare them to Westerness; 
 
 Horn's clothes he took straightway, 
 
 They hauled down sail and mast 
 
 Nor loth was he that day ! 1060 
 
 And anchored them full fast. 
 
 The staff and scrip took Horn, 
 
 But ere the dawn of day 
 
 And made a face forlorn, 
 
 The bells rang glad and gay, 
 
 Twisted his mouth awry, 
 
 And word to them was borne 
 
 And blacked him swarthily, 
 
 'T was e'en the wedding morn. 
 
 Uncomely was he then 
 
 Horn did thro' water wade 
 
 And strange to all men's ken. 
 
 Nor closer landing made, 1020 
 
 The warden of the gate 
 
 His ship lay off the strand, 
 
 Made answer stern and straight, 
 
 He gat him to the land 
 
 Horn prayed him, once and oft, 
 
 And bade his folk abide 
 
 To ope, in accents soft, 1070 
 
 Hidden, the wood beside. 
 
 But nothing might he win 
 
 He gat him forth alone 
 
 Nor come a step within. 
 
 O'er stock, and over stone, 
 
 Then Horn no more would wait 
 
 A palmer did he meet 
 
 He forced the wicket gate, 
 
KING 
 
 HORN 105 
 
 The guard o'er bridge he threw, 
 
 Then turned fair Rimenild 
 
 Horn's coming must he rue! 
 
 And to the brim she filled 
 
 His ribs he brake withal. 
 
 His bowl, a gallon fair, 
 
 Horn gat him to the hall 
 
 Glutton she deemed him there: 
 
 And sat him, still and low, 
 
 She quoth "Now take this cup 
 
 Down in the beggars' row. 1080 
 
 And swiftly drink it up. 
 
 He cast around his eyes, 
 
 Ne'er saw I, so I ween, 
 
 Safe in his foul disguise, 
 
 Beggar for drink so keen." 
 
 There sat maid Rimenild, 
 
 Horn to his comrades bare, 
 
 Distraught, with sorrow filled, 
 
 And quoth: "My queen so fair 1130 
 
 Full sore she wept alway, 
 
 Wine pleaseth not my sight 
 
 No man her tears might stay. 
 
 Save that the cup be white; 
 
 Each corner did he spy 
 
 Beggar am I to see, 
 
 But might not see with eye 
 
 Fisherman, verily, 
 
 Athulf , his comrade true — 
 
 I came from the far East 
 
 That he his presence knew. logo 
 
 To &h, at this thy feast, 
 
 Athulf, I ween, that hour 
 
 My net lies here at hand 
 
 Had gat him to the tower 
 
 Upon a full fair strand; 
 
 To see if Horn, the brave, 
 
 I ween it hath lain here 
 
 Came sailing o'er the wave; 
 
 For now full seven year. 1140 
 
 He saw on every side 
 
 Now am I come to see 
 
 Naught but the salt sea tide, 
 
 What fish therein may be, 
 
 And thus he made his song : 
 
 Here have I come to fish — 
 
 "Horn, thou dost tarry long; 
 
 Now drink from this my dish, 
 
 Thou gav'st thy love so fair 
 
 And quaff a horn to Horn — 
 
 Unto my faithful care, uoo 
 
 From far I fare this morn." 
 
 Loyal have I been ever — 
 
 
 Come now, or come thou never! 
 
 She gazed, fair Rimenild, 
 
 My charge I may not keep 
 
 Her heart within her chilled, 
 
 Longer, so must I weep." 
 
 His word she read not right, 
 
 
 She knew not Horn with sight, nso 
 
 Then rose fair Rimenild — 
 
 Right strange she needs must think 
 
 The cup must needs be filled 
 
 His prayer, to Horn to drink. 
 
 When meat was done, in hall, 
 
 She poured of wine a draught 
 
 With wine and ale withal. 
 
 And to the pilgrim quaffed, 
 
 One horn she bare in hand 
 
 And said: "Now drink thy fill 
 
 (As meet in this her land), mo 
 
 And tell me, soft and still, 
 
 And knight and squire they quaffed 
 
 If thou hast seen with sight 
 
 Therefrom of beer a draught. 
 
 Child Horn, that goodly knight?" 
 
 All drank save Horn alone, 
 
 The wine, Horn drank it up, 
 
 Thereof would he have none. 
 
 His ring dropped in the cup — 1160 
 
 Horn sat upon the ground 
 
 The queen, she sought her bower 
 
 As he in thought were bound, 
 
 With maidens four that hour, 
 
 And spake: "Queen, graciously, 
 
 She found there what she sought, 
 
 I pray thee turn to me 
 
 The ring of red gold wrought 
 
 And serve us with the first, 
 
 That once she gave to Horn — 
 
 We beggars be athirst." 1120 
 
 Heavy her heart that morn, 
 
io6 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 For sore she feared the ring 
 Of death were tokening. 
 
 The palmer, in that hour, 
 She bade unto her bower, 1170 
 
 And spake: "Palmer, I know 
 The ring that thou didst throw; 
 Say now, who gave it thee, 
 And why art come to me?" 
 He quoth: "Now, by Saint Giles, 
 I've wandered many a mile, 
 Far hence, unto the West, 
 I ween hath been my quest; 
 And there Child Horn I found, 
 On ship-board was he bound, 1180 
 
 He said thro' storm and stress 
 He must to Westerness; 
 Upon the salt sea flood 
 I sailed with Horn the good, 
 But he fell sick and died, 
 And, dying, on me cried: 
 'This ring fail not to bear 
 To Rimenild the fair.' 
 Oft-times the ring he 'Id kiss — 
 God bring his soul to bliss." 1190 
 
 Then out the maiden spake: 
 "My heart, now must thou break 
 For thou shalt see no more 
 Him thou hast mourned so sore." 
 On her couch fell the maid — 
 There had she hid a blade 
 Wherewith, methinks, the twain 
 Mody and she, were slain 
 Before the morning light 
 If Horn came not ere night. 1200 
 
 The point to heart she set, 
 But Horn her deed would let, 
 He wiped his face from stain, 
 Quoth: "Sweet, now look again, 
 I am Child Horn, I trow, 
 Dost thou not know me now? 
 In thine arms hold me fast 
 For Horn is come at last." 
 The twain they clasp and kiss 
 With joy and mickle bliss, mo 
 
 He quoth: "Now love, I wend 
 
 Down to the woodland's end, 
 There have I many a knight 
 Ready, and armed for fight; 
 Armed are they under cloth 
 This folk we'll make full wroth, 
 Yea, all they whom the king 
 Did to his feasting bring, 
 I'll teach to them such lore ' 
 
 As they shall rue full sore." 1220 
 
 Horn hasted from the hall, 
 His palmer's weed let fall; 
 The queen went from her bower 
 To Athulf in his tower, 
 : ' Athulf," she quoth " be gay, 
 Go seek thou Horn straightway, 
 Beneath the woodland bough 
 There hath he knights enow." 
 Athulf, he made good speed, 
 Such news were joyful rede, 1230 
 
 Horn did he follow there 
 Swift as his steed might fare, 
 He did him overtake, 
 Much bliss the twain did make. 
 Horn hearkened to his prayer 
 And bid him with him fare, 
 Full soon they came to hall, 
 The gates were open all, 
 His men were, in that stead, 
 Well armed, from foot to head, 1240 
 All whom he found he slew 
 Save his twelve comrades true 
 And Aylmar, the land's king — 
 To death he did them bring, 
 The wedding guests were left 
 Each one, of life bereft. 
 But Horn no vengeance wrung 
 From Fikenhild's false tongue. 
 Then all they sware an oath 
 That never, on their troth, 1250 
 
 Would they Child Horn betray 
 Tho' he on death-bed lay. 
 
 Forthwith the bells were rung, 
 The wedding Mass was sung, 
 Horn went- his way withal 
 To Aylmar's palace hall, 
 
KING 
 
 HORN 107 
 
 Bread was there and sweet ale, 
 
 Right there, beside the way, 
 
 Nor of rich guests did fail; 
 
 That knight in slumber lay. 
 
 And none might tell with tongue 
 
 Child Horn his arm did take 
 
 What gladsome songs were sung. 1260 
 
 And quoth: "Sir Knight, awake, 
 
 Horn sat high on his chair 
 
 And say, a watch dost keep? 
 
 And bade them hearken there: 
 
 Or wherefore here dost sleep? 
 
 "King, listen now to me, 
 
 A shining cross dost bear, ' 1309 
 
 A tale I tell to thee, 
 
 Christ's arms, methinks, dost wear; 
 
 I say it not for blame: 
 
 Save that thou shew the way 
 
 Child Horn shall be my name, 
 
 I shall thee straightway slay!" 
 
 Thou madest me a knight 
 
 Uprose that knight so brave, 
 
 Proven am I in fight. 
 
 Answer to Horn he gave : 
 
 But men in secret said 
 
 He quoth: "Against my will 
 
 That I had thee betrayed; 1270 
 
 I serve these Paynims still, 
 
 Forthwith from out this land 
 
 Christian was I erst-while — 
 
 I fled, at thy command, 
 
 Then came I to this isle, 
 
 Thou deemest that I wrought 
 
 And the black Paynims there 
 
 What ne'er was in my thought, 
 
 Made me my faith forswear; 1320 
 
 By Rimenild did lie — 
 
 In Christ would I believe — 
 
 That do I here deny; 
 
 Here have they made me reeve, 
 
 • Nor will I so, I ween, 
 
 This way 'gainst Horn to hold 
 
 Till I have won Suddene. 
 
 Now waxed to manhood bold; 
 
 I'll trust her to thy care 
 
 Eastward his home shall be — 
 
 The while I hence shall fare 1280 
 
 A valiant knight is he, 
 
 Into mine heritage 
 
 He slew with his right hand 
 
 And to my baronage; 
 
 The ruler of this land, 
 
 My land I '11 win again, 
 
 With many a hundred men — 
 
 Avenge my father slain, 
 
 Right strange I deem it then 1330 
 
 Rule as a king in town 
 
 He comes not here to fight; 
 
 And wear the royal crown, 
 
 God help him to his right 
 
 Then Rimenild my bride 
 
 And give him favouring wind 
 
 She shall lie at my side." 
 
 That these their death may find. 
 
 
 Murry the king they slew 
 
 Horn sought his ship forthright, 
 
 Who was Horn's father true, 
 
 With him each Irish knight; 12Q0 
 
 And Horn adrift they sent. 
 
 Athulf he took, his brother, 
 
 Twelve comrades with him went, 
 
 And saving him, none other. 
 
 Athulf, I trow, was one, 
 
 Forward the ship did sail 
 
 Mine own child he, my son, 1340 
 
 Nor favouring wind did fail, 
 
 If Horn were whole and sound, 
 
 And ere five days were o'er 
 
 And Athulf safe on ground, 
 
 They came to Suddene's shore. 
 
 (He loved him well, I ween, 
 
 Then, even at midnight, 
 
 And sure hath faithful been,) 
 
 Horn went his way forthright, 
 
 And I might see with eye 
 
 Took Athulf by the hand, 
 
 The twain, for joy I 'Id die." 
 
 And gat him there to land, 1300 
 
 
 He found, beneath his shield, 
 
 "Knight be thou joyful then 
 
 A knight full famed in field, 
 
 And blithe above all men, 
 
108 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Athulf, and Horn, I trow 
 
 A castle strong he made, 
 
 They stand before thee now!" 1350 
 
 The sea around it played, 
 
 To Horn he gat him there 
 
 That none might there alight 
 
 And gave him greeting fair, 
 
 Save with the sea-bird's flight; 
 
 Much joy they make that tide 
 
 But when the tide was low 
 
 While they together bide. 
 
 Then men the way might know. 1400 
 
 "How fared ye, children, tell? 
 
 He set him, Fikenhild, 
 
 That ye be come 't is well, 
 
 To woo fair Rimenild, 
 
 Think ye this land to win 
 
 The king, her sire, that day 
 
 And slay the folk therein?" 
 
 He durst not say him nay, 
 
 He quoth: "Now Child Horn, hear, 
 
 The maid was sad of mood, 
 
 Godhild, thy mother dear, 1360 
 
 She wept with tears of blood. 
 
 Yet lives, she well might speed 
 
 That night Horn restless lay 
 
 Knew she this joyful rede." 
 
 And dreamed sad dreams alway, 
 
 Child Horn, he quoth straightway : 
 
 That on a ship that tide 
 
 "Now blessed be the day 
 
 Men bare his maiden bride; 1410 
 
 I came unto Suddenne 
 
 The ship, it sank adown, 
 
 With these, my Irish men; 
 
 And she was like to drown, 
 
 These Paynim hounds we '11 teach 
 
 Then as, with upraised hand, 
 
 To speak in this our speech, 
 
 She won her way to land, 
 
 The folk we swift shalt slay 
 
 With sword-hilt, Fikenhild, 
 
 And living, will them flay." 1370 
 
 He thrust down Rimenild. 
 
 Child Horn his horn loud blew, 
 
 Horn, he awakened there 
 
 His men the summons knew, 
 
 As one in sudden fear; 
 
 On shore they gat them there 
 
 "Athulf, make no delay, 
 
 Beneath Horn's banner fair, 
 
 To ship we must straightway, 1420 
 
 They fight and e'en they slay 
 
 Fikenhild, ill hath wrought, 
 
 Till night had waxed to day, 
 
 My love to sorrow brought; 
 
 Till of that Paynim kin 
 
 Christ, by Thy Five Wounds' Might, 
 
 No man was left therein. 
 
 Bring me to her to-night!" 
 
 Horn bade the folk straightway 
 
 Thus Horn to ship would ride, 
 
 In church and. chapel pray, 1380 
 
 His comrades at his side. 
 
 The bells he bade them ring 
 
 Fikenhild, as day did spring, 
 
 And many a Mass to sing, 
 
 Betook him to the king, 
 
 He sought his mother's bower 
 
 Rimenild, fair and bright, 
 
 In rock-hewn cave that hour, 
 
 He thought to wed ere night. 1430 
 
 Corn for the feast bid bear 
 
 Before the dawning hour 
 
 And all make merry there, 
 
 He led her to his tower. 
 
 With gladness there he wrought — 
 
 The feast they had begun 
 
 Which Rimenild dear bought. 
 
 Ere yet uprose the sun; 
 
 
 Horn knew it not alway, 
 
 Now Fikenhild, at heart, 
 
 But, with the dawning day 
 
 Sore for his shame must smart, 1390 
 
 His ship stood neath the tower 
 
 He gave, to young and old, 
 
 Before his lady's bower. 
 
 Gifts, that with him they hold, 
 
 (The maid, small hope had she, 
 
 Great stones together brought 
 
 That Horn alive should be — ) 1440 
 
 (Thus for his profit wrought) 
 
 Strange to their eyes, and new, 
 
KING 
 
 HORN 109 
 
 The castle no man knew; 
 
 Fikenhild fell adown, 
 
 Of Athulf's kin a knight, 
 
 Cloven the traitor's crown, 
 
 Arnoldin was he hight, 
 
 His knights who sat a-row 
 
 They found, who at that tide 
 
 To ground they swiftly throw, 1490 
 
 Horn's coming would abide; 
 
 Slain were they all forthright, 
 
 He quoth "King's son, Child Horn, 
 
 And drawn that traitor knight. 
 
 Welcome be thou this morn, 
 
 Where Aylmar rule did bear 
 
 To-day false Fikenhild 
 
 Arnoldin crown shall wear 
 
 Doth wed with Rimenild, 1450 
 
 And rule o'er Westerness 
 
 No lie I speak, i-troth, 
 
 For this, his faithfulness; 
 
 He hath beguiled ye both. 
 
 The king, and all his men, 
 
 This tower he bade them make 
 
 They sware him fealty then. 
 
 Even as for thy sake, 
 
 
 Enter I ween, none can, 
 
 Horn took his bride by hand 
 
 By any wile of man, 
 
 And led her to the strand, 1500 
 
 An Christ aid not, Child Horn, 
 
 And with her Athelbrus, 
 
 Of love art thou forlorn." 
 
 The steward of his house. 
 
 
 The tide full fast did flow, 
 
 Now Horn knew every wile 
 
 Horn Child began to row, 
 
 Wherewith man may beguile, 2460 
 
 He came unto the shore 
 
 His harp he took in hand 
 
 Where Mody ruled of yore, 
 
 With certain of his band, 
 
 Athelbrus made he king 
 
 Good knights who, at his will, 
 
 For his good fostering, 
 
 Clothed them as harpers still. 
 
 Mercy he shewed that day 
 
 They gat them o'er the sand 
 
 As knighthood's fitting pay. 1510 
 
 Towards the tower on strand, 
 
 Horn o'er the waves did ride 
 
 Gaily the harpers sang, 
 
 Blown o'er the waters wide, 
 
 Joyful their music rang, 
 
 He came to Irish ground 
 
 Rimenild hearkened there 
 
 Where he had shelter found, 
 
 And questioned who they were? 1470 
 
 Athulf he wedded there 
 
 They said "The harp we play, 
 
 To Reynild, maiden fair. 
 
 The viol and lute alway." 
 
 Thence fared he to Suddene 
 
 Without they need not wait, 
 
 Amidst his kinsmen keen, 
 
 Men oped the castle gate, 
 
 There crowned his maiden bride, 
 
 Set Horn on bench straightway, 
 
 And set her at his side. isso 
 
 His harp they bade him play. 
 
 The folk, they loved them true, 
 
 A lay, the bride before,. 
 
 Their death they needs must 
 
 He harped, she mourned full sore, 
 
 rue — 
 
 Swooning she fell awhile. 
 
 Now are they dead indeed, 
 
 Never a guest did smile, 1480 
 
 Christ give their souls good speed. 
 
 It smote Horn to the heart, 
 
 Here ends the tale of Horn, 
 
 Right bitter was love's smart; 
 
 Fair knight, to honour born; 
 
 His glance the ring hath sought, 
 
 Glad may we be, I wis, 
 
 On Rimenild he thought, 
 
 That thus he won to bliss; 
 
 Bared was his goodly sword, 
 
 And Jesus, Heaven's King, 
 
 He strode up to the board, 
 
 Us to like ending bring. 1530 
 
no 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 HAVELOK THE DANE 
 
 (After the death of Havelok's father, Godard seizes the kingdom, kills Havelok's sisters, 
 and orders Havelok himself to be drowned.) 
 
 Godard took the maids that day, 
 As it were with them to play, 
 As his mood had sportive been — 
 (Hunger made them black and green) 
 Of the twain the throat he slits, 
 Hacked them both, I trow, to bits; 
 Sorrowful the sight that day 
 By the wall the children lay 
 Dead, and weltering in their blood. 
 Havelok saw, as nigh he stood, 
 Sorrowful was he that stead, 
 Well might he know mickle dread, 
 At his heart he saw a knife 
 Raised to rob him of his life. 
 Knelt the little lad that day 
 To that Judas quoth straightway: 
 "Lord, now mercy show to me, 
 Homage here I. offer free, 
 I will Denmark to ye give 
 If so be ye let me live, 
 Here, on book, I'll freely swear 
 That I never more will bear 
 'Gainst ye, lord, nor shield nor arm, 
 Spear nor sword that may ye harm; 
 Lord, have mercy now on me 
 This day Denmark will I flee, 
 Never to return again — 
 And I '11 swear that Birkabeyne 
 Ne'er in life begat a son!" 
 When the devil heard, anon, 
 He his deed did somewhat rue, 
 And the dripping knife withdrew 
 Wet with guileless children's blood — 
 'T was a miracle right good 
 That the lad he did not slay 
 But for ruth withheld that day; 
 Tho' he were full fain that stead 
 The child Havelok had been dead, 
 Yet since, foul fiend tho' he were, 
 He was loth such deed to dare, 
 
 30 
 
 40 
 
 He thought then, as Havelok stood 
 
 Staring, as one well nigh wood: 
 
 "If alive I let him go 
 
 He may work me mickle woe, 
 
 Peace with me he ne'er will make 
 
 But will watch my life to take. 
 
 An he were no more alive, 
 
 And my bairns should live and 
 
 thrive, 
 Lord and sovereign after me 
 Of all Denmark should they be. so 
 
 So God help me he shall die 
 For no better rede have I, 
 Men shall cast him in the sea 
 In its wave he drowned shall be, 
 Round his neck an anchor good 
 That he float not on the flood." 
 Then straightway he bade them go 
 Fetch a fisher, who should do 
 All his will, and when he came 
 Spake he to him at that same: 60 
 
 "Grim, thou know'st thou art my 
 
 thrall, 
 An thou doest my will withal, 
 That which I demand of thee, 
 On the morn I'll make thee free, 
 And with goods will wealthy make — ■ 
 Now this boy I bid thee take, 
 Lead him forth with thee to-night, 
 When the moon doth give her light, 
 On the sea, — drown him therein, 
 On my head shall be the sin." 70 
 
 Grim the child hath bound full fast, 
 Tightly that the bonds might last, 
 For of full strong line were made; 
 Then was Havelok sore dismayed, 
 Never had he known such woe! 
 Christ, Who made the lame to go, 
 And the dumb hath caused to speak 
 Vengeance now on Godard wreak! 
 
HAVELOK THE DANE 
 
 in 
 
 Grim the boy full fast hath bound, 79 
 
 With an old cloth wrapped him round, 
 
 Took of filthy rags a clout, 
 
 Gagged him that he ne'er cry out 
 
 Wheresoe'er he should him lead — 
 
 Then, when he had done that deed, 
 
 As the traitor to him spake 
 
 Bidding him the boy to take, 
 
 And to drown him in the sea, 
 
 This he promised faithfully. 
 
 In a sack so foul and black 
 
 Soon he took him on his back, go 
 
 To his hut the boy he bare, 
 
 Gave him to Dame Leve's care; 
 
 Quoth: "This boy guard well, my wife, 
 
 E'en as thou wouldst guard my life, 
 
 I must drown him in the sea, 
 
 And for that freedman shall be, 
 
 Gold and fee we'll have enow, 
 
 Thus my lord hath sworn, I trow." 
 
 When his wife she heard, straightway, 
 
 From her seat she rose that day, 100 
 
 Threw the boy so hard adown 
 
 That well nigh he cracked his crown 
 
 'Gainst a stone that lay full nigh — 
 
 "Wellaway!" might Havelok cry: 
 
 "That King's son I be to-day, 
 
 Better had I been their prey 
 
 Eagle, Griffin, Wolf, or Bear, 
 
 Lion, or She-wolf, beasts that tear!" 
 
 There he lay till middle night — 109 
 
 Then Grim bade them bring him light, 
 
 He would clothe him, little loath — 
 
 "Now bethink thee of the oath 
 
 That I sware unto my lord, 
 
 Never will I break my word, 
 
 I will bear him to the sea, 
 
 Well dost know it so must be, 
 
 Drowned shall he be therein — 
 
 Now rise up, and go within, 
 
 Blow the fire, a candle take." 
 
 As the clothes she 'Id ready make 120 
 
 For his use, the embers blow, 
 
 Lo ! therein a light did glow, 
 
 E'en as bright as it were day 
 
 Round the boy, who sleeping lay; 
 
 From his mouth it forth did stream 
 
 Bright it was as sunlight beam, 
 And the dwelling did it light 
 E'en as taper, burning bright. 
 "Jesu Christ!" Leve cried in fear, 129 
 "What this light? How came it here? 
 Stir up, Grim, and look and see, 
 What dost think the light can be?" 
 
 To the boy he straight did go, 
 Right good will had he thereto, 
 Loosed the gag, the lad unbound, 
 And right soon on him they found, 
 As his shirt they turned down there, 
 On his neck the king's mark fair, 
 Very bright and fair to see — 
 Quoth Grim: "Godwot, this is he 140 
 To whom Denmark shall belong, 
 He shall be a ruler strong, 
 He shall hold one day in hand 
 All Denmark and Engelland, 
 Godard shall he harm that day, 
 Hang him high, or, living, flay, 
 Or alive, burn him anon, 
 Mercy shall he show him none!" 
 Thus quoth Grim, and sore did greet, 
 Down he fell at Havelok's feet, 150 
 
 Praying: "Lord, have mercy here, 
 On me, and my wife so dear; 
 Lord, we own us bound to thee, 
 Thralls, and servants both are we. 
 Lord, we'll cherish thee, and feed, 
 Till that thou canst ride on steed, 
 Till the day that thou canst wield 
 Knightly helm, and spear and shield, 
 That foul traitor Godard, he 
 Naught shall know, I swear it thee, 160 
 And none other, lord, save thou 
 Makest me free man, I trow, 
 Thro' thee, lord, will I be free — 
 I will watch and care for thee, 
 And by thee be freed alway — " 
 
 Havelok, he was glad that day, 
 Up he sat, and craved for bread, 
 Quoth: "Now am I well nigh dead, 
 What with hunger, and the bands 
 Thou did'st fasten on my hands, 170 
 
112 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And the gag, which, at the last 
 In my mouth thou madest fast, 
 Therewith was I squeezed so tight, 
 Thou hadst strangled me outright!" 
 "Godwot," quoth Leve, "it pleaseth me 
 Thou wouldst eat, I'll fetch for thee 
 Milk and butter, cheese, and bread, 
 Pasties, pancakes, for thee spread, 
 With such food we shall thee feed 
 Lord, in this thy mickle need. i&> 
 
 Sooth 't is, as men say and swear, 
 Whom God helps, is harmed ne'er!" 
 
 When the dame had brought the meat, 
 Havelok, he began to eat 
 Greedily, tho' blithe that tide 
 He might not his hunger hide; 
 A whole loaf he ate, and more, 
 For he needs must hunger sore, 
 Since for full three days, I ween, 
 Never meat the lad had seen. 190 
 
 Then, when he was fully fed, 
 Grim, he made a right fair bed, 
 Did his clothes off, laid him low, 
 Quoth: "Sleep, Son, 't is better so, 
 Sleep thou sound, and dread thee naught, 
 Thou from bale to bliss art brought." 
 Soon as dawned the light of day 
 Grim, he went upon his way. 
 To that traitor, false Godard, 
 Who of Denmark was the steward, 200 
 Quoth to him: "Lord, I have done 
 All thou badest me anon, 
 Drowned the boy in salt sea flood, 
 Round his neck an anchor good. 
 Verily, that boy is dead, 
 Never more he eateth bread, 
 He lies drowned in the sea — 
 Give me gold and other fee, 
 That henceforth I rich may be, 
 With thy charter make me free. aio 
 
 Such the promise thou didst make 
 When I lately with thee spake." 
 Godard stood, and looked at him 
 With a piercing glance and grim, 
 Quoth: "Thou fain wouldst be an Earl? 
 Get thee home, thou dirty churl, 
 
 Go thy way, and evermore 
 Be the thrall thou wast before. 
 Other meed thou shalt have none — 
 With but little thou hadst gone 230 
 
 To the gallows, God me speed 
 Thou hast done a wicked deed, 
 Here too long thou well mayst stay, 
 Get thee quickly hence away!" 
 
 With all haste then, Grim, he ran 
 From that wicked, traitorous man, 
 Thought: "What were it best to do? 
 An he knew, he'll take us two 
 Hang us high on gallows-tree, 
 Better 't were the land to flee 430 
 
 So we both may save our life, 
 And my children, and my wife." 
 Grim, he sold his corn, I trow, 
 Fleecy sheep, and horned cow, 
 Horse, and swine, and goat withal, 
 Geese, and hens, he sold them all; 
 All that he of worth might hold 
 And could sell, that same he sold, 
 Turned it into money there — 
 Then his ship he fits with care, 340 
 
 Tarred and pitched it so that she 
 Safe on sand or creek might be; 
 Fixed therein a goodly mast, 
 Cables strong to hold it fast, 
 Right good oars, and right good sail, 
 The ship lacked for ne'er a nail 
 Nor for aught a man might do — 
 When he had prepared it so 
 Havelok on board led he 
 With his wife, and his sons three, S50 
 And his daughters, maidens fair — 
 To the oar he bent him there, 
 Drew him out on the high sea 
 Where he deemed he best might flee. 
 But within a little while, 
 When he scarce had rowed a mile 
 Rose a wind from out the North, 
 Bise men call it, drave them forth, 
 Drave them to the English land 
 Which was later in his hand, »&> 
 
 Havelok, as men call his name — 
 But he first must suffer shame, 
 
HAVELOK THE DANE 
 
 "3 
 
 Mickle grief and care, I wis, 
 
 But at last it all was his 
 
 E'en as I will tell ye here 
 
 An ye lend to me your ear. 
 
 Grim the Humber did ascend, 
 
 E'en to Lindesey, the North end, 
 
 There his ship ground on the sand, 
 
 Grim, he drave it to the land. 270 
 
 There he made a little cote 
 
 For himself, and for his boat; 
 
 There the land he thought to take 
 
 A small house of earth to make, 
 
 So that they therein might dwell 
 
 In that haven harbour well. 
 
 And since Grim that place did own 
 
 By his name it soon was known, 
 
 Grimsby, men the town do call 
 
 Who speak of it, one and all, 280 
 
 And so men shall call it aye 
 
 Betwixt now and Judgment Day. 
 
 Grim, he was a fisher good, 
 Skilful he upon the flood, 
 Many fish therein he took 
 Both with net, and eke with hook, 
 Sturgeon did he catch, and whale, 
 Turbot, salmon, without fail, 
 Soles and eels, the sooth to tell — 
 Oftentimes he sped full well, 290 
 
 Cod and porpoise took he there, 
 Herrings too, and mackerel fair, 
 Plaice, and halibut, and thomback. 
 Baskets good he did not lack, 
 Four, I trow, he made him there 
 That he and his sons might bear 
 Fish for sale or for exchange — 
 There was never town or grange 
 Where he went not with his ware; 
 And he came back never bare, 300 
 
 But of bread or victuals, store 
 In his shirt or cloak he bore, 
 In his sack were beans or corn, 
 Ne'er his toil was vainly borne. 
 When 't was lampreys he had ta'en 
 Well he knew the way again 
 To Lincoln town, that borough true, 
 Oft he passed it thro' and thro' 
 
 Till his fish he all had sold 
 And the pence for it was told. 310 
 
 Then his home he gladsome sought, 
 For ofttimes with him he brought 
 Cakes and simnels, shaped as horn, 
 Full his bags with meat and corn. 
 Flesh of neat, and sheep, and swine, 
 Hemp wherewith to twist his line, 
 And strong rope to fix the net 
 Which in sea full oft he set. 
 
 Thus hath Grim a fair life led, 
 
 With his folk right well he fed, 320 
 
 Winters twelve, I trow, and more — 
 
 Havelok knew he laboured sore 
 
 For his meat, while still he lay, 
 
 Thought: "No child am I to-day, 
 
 But well-grown, and I could eat 
 
 More than ever Grim may get; 
 
 I eat more, by God alive, 
 
 Than Grim and his children five! 
 
 It may not for long be so, 
 
 Godwot, I with them will go, 330 
 
 I will learn to get some good, 
 
 I will toil for this, my food, 
 
 'T is no shame to toil alway, — 
 
 Eat and drink that man well may 
 
 Who for all has toiled full long; 
 
 Thus to lie at home were wrong, 
 
 God reward him, I ne'er may, 
 
 Who hath fed me to this day, 
 
 Glad I'll bear a basket now, 
 
 It shall harm me naught, I trow, 340 
 
 E'en tho' great the burden be 
 
 As a net, yea, verily, 
 
 No more will I idle stay 
 
 But to-morrow go my way." 
 
 On the morn, with light of day, 
 
 Up he gat, nor longer lay, 
 
 Did a basket on bis back 
 
 With fish piled up in a stack, 
 
 Yea, as much alone he bare 
 
 As the four, mine oath I'll swear! 350 
 
 Well he bare it, sold it well, 
 
 All the silver down did tell, 
 
 Of the monies he brought back 
 
ii4 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Not a farthing there did lack; 
 
 Thus he gat him forth each day 
 
 And no longer idle lay. 
 
 So his trade he learned full well — 
 
 On the land a famine fell 
 
 Both of corn and bread also; 
 
 Grim, he wist not what to do, 360 
 
 How his house-hold might be fed — 
 
 He for Havelok was in dread, 
 
 Strong he was, and much he ate, 
 
 More than ever Grim might get. 
 
 On the sea no fish he caught, 
 
 Ling nor hornback home he brought, 
 
 Nay, nor other fish to feed 
 
 This his household in their need. 
 
 Havelok wrought him mickle care 
 
 Pondering how he might fare, 370 
 
 These, his children vexed him naught, 
 
 Havelok was all his thought. 
 
 Grim quoth: "Havelok, son so dear, 
 
 Death, I think me, draweth near, 
 
 Hunger presseth us too strong, 
 
 Food hath failed us over long, 
 
 Better now to go thy way 
 
 Than with us o'er-long to stay, 
 
 Till it were too late to go — 
 
 Thou right well the road dost know 380 
 
 Unto Lincoln, that good town, 
 
 Oft hast paced it up and down ; 
 
 My life is but worth a sloe, 
 
 It were well thou thither go, 
 
 Many good men dwell therein, 
 
 With them thou thy bread mayst win, 
 
 Woe is me! too naked thou, 
 
 Of my sail I '11 make, I trow, 
 
 Coat that thou mayst round thee fold 
 
 Son, that thou mayst take no cold." 
 
 Shears he taketh from the nail, 391 
 
 Made a garment of the sail, 
 Havelok wrapped it round him there; 
 Neither hose nor shoes he ware, 
 Other weed had none that day, 
 Barefoot did he go his way. 
 In the town he was full woe, 
 Had no friend to whom to go, 
 Two days, fasting, went his way 
 
 None his work with food would pay. 
 The third day he heard men call : 401 
 "Porters, Porters, come ye all!" 
 All the poor men at that cry 
 Swift as sparks from embers fly, 
 Havelok smote down nine or ten, 
 In the dust he laid them then, 
 Came he straightway to the cook 
 Meat for the Earl's table took, 
 That he at the bridge did buy, 
 Let the porters lowly lie, 410 
 
 And the meat to castle bare — 
 Farthing cake they gave him there. 
 
 The next day good heed he took, 
 Lay in wait for the Earl's cook, 
 On the bridge he stood that tide, 
 Fishes many lay beside, 
 For the Earl of Cornewall 
 Bought he meat, and loud did call : 
 "Porters, Porters, hither hie!" 
 Havelok hearkened joyfully, 420 
 
 When he "Porters!" heard him call 
 Down he smote the others all, 
 Who that day betwixt them stood, 
 Sixteen lads, so stout and good; 
 To the cook he made a leap 
 Thrust them down all in a heap, 
 With his basket reached his side 
 Gathered up the fish that tide. 
 Well a cart-load did he bear, 
 Sounds, and salmon, plaices fair, 430 
 Lampreys great he took and eels, 
 Spared he neither toes nor heels. 
 To the castle came again 
 Where his burden men have ta'en. 
 Then when men had helped him down, 
 Ta'en the load from off his crown, 
 The cook eyed him well, I trow, 
 Thought him stalwart man enow, 
 Quoth: "Now wilt thou stay with me? 
 I will feed thee willingly, 440 
 
 Well art worth thy hire alway 
 And the food I'll to thee pay!" 
 "Godwot," quoth he, "gentle sire 
 Here I pray none other hire, 
 Food enow give thou to me, 
 
HAVELOK THE DANE 
 
 "5 
 
 Water, Fire, I'll fetch for thee, 
 Blow the fire, and right well make, 
 Sticks I know well how to break, 
 And a fire to kindle here 
 That shall burn both bright and clear. 
 I can cleave wood passing well; 451 
 
 How to skin an eel can tell; 
 Dishes can I wash also, 
 All you will I well may do." 
 Quoth the cook: "T is well, anon, 
 Go thou yonder, sit thou down, 
 And good bread I'll give thee free, 
 Broth in kettle make for thee, 
 Sit thee down, thy fill mayst eat, 
 Woe to those who grudge thee meat!" 
 
 Havelok sat him down anon, 461 
 
 Stayed as still as any stone 
 
 Till meat was before him set; 
 
 A fair meal did Havelok get. 
 
 When he ate his will that day 
 
 To the well he went straightway, 
 
 Drew a tub of water there, 
 
 Bade no man to help him bear, 
 
 But with his own hands alone 
 
 In the kitchen set it down. 470 
 
 He could carry water there, 
 
 He the meat from bridge would bear; 
 
 Turf and peat he carried all, 
 
 Bare the wood from bridge withal; 
 
 All that ever men might use 
 
 Havelok carries, draws, or hews, 
 
 No more rest he takes than he 
 
 Should a beast of burden be. 
 
 Of all men was he most meek, 
 
 Ever smiling, blithe did speak, 480 
 
 Glad and joyous he that tide 
 
 Knew full well his grief to hide. 
 
 Never was there child so small, 
 
 Who was fain to sport withal, 
 
 But with him would Havelok play; 
 
 Bairns he met upon his way 
 
 Readily he did their will, 
 
 Gave them all of sport their fill. 
 
 All men loved him, quiet and bold, 
 
 Knights and children, young and old, 
 
 Well-beloved of all was he 491 
 
 Both of high and low degree. 
 
 Far and wide of him they speak 
 
 How he was both strong, and meek; 
 
 "God ne'er wrought a man more fair, 
 
 Yet he goeth well nigh bare!" 
 
 For of clothing naught had he 
 
 But a loose robe, ill to see, 
 
 Soiled it was, and all unclean, 
 
 Not a fir-twig worth, I ween. 500 
 
 But his plight the cook did rue, 
 
 Clothes he bought him, all brand new, 
 
 Hose and shoes he bought anon, 
 
 Bade him swiftly put them on, 
 
 When new clad, and hosed, and shod, 
 
 None so fair was made by God! 
 
 Of all men who trod the earth 
 
 And of women had their birth, 
 
 Never man had ruled, to wit, 
 
 Over kingdom, who so fit 510 
 
 King or Kaiser for to be, 
 
 To all seeming, than was he! 
 
 For when all together came 
 
 There, at Lincoln, for their game, 
 
 And the Earl's men stood him by, 
 
 Havelok, by the shoulder high, 
 
 Towered above the tallest there — 
 
 If to wrestle one would dare 
 
 Havelok him to ground soon cast, 
 
 Stood above him like a mast; 520 
 
 And as he was broad and long 
 
 So was he both stout and strong, 
 
 None in England was his peer 
 
 Or for strength could come him near. 
 
 Gentle was he too, as strong, 
 
 Tho' a man oft did him wrong 
 
 111 for ill he ne'er repaid 
 
 Nor a hand upon him laid. 
 
 As a maiden pure and clean, 
 
 Ne'er in game or woodland green 530 
 
 Would he with a woman play, 
 
 Cast such things, as straw, away. 
 
 In that time the English land 
 
 All lay in Earl Godrich's hand, 
 
 To the town he bade them fare, 
 
 Many an Earl and baron there, 
 
 And all men, who at that tide 
 
 Lived in England far and wide, 
 
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 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 To all men he summons sent 
 To attend this parliament. 540 
 
 Nor of champions was there lack 
 With their men, both brown and black, 
 And it fell out that these men, 
 Some among them, nine or ten, 
 Midst themselves began to play — 
 Strong and weak were there that 
 
 day, 
 Less and more together fell, 
 All who in the burg did dwell; 
 Champions, and lads so strong, 
 Bondsmen with their goads so long, 55° 
 As they gat them from the plough, 
 'T was a gathering great, I trow. 
 Never stable-knave should be, 
 Tho' his horse in hand had he, 
 But he came to see that play. 
 At their feet a tree, it lay, 
 They began to put the stone 
 Those strong lads, yea, many a one, 
 Mickle was that stone and great, 
 Even as a neat its weight, 560 
 
 He a stalwart man should be 
 Who should lift it to his knee; 
 There was neither clerk nor priest 
 Who could raise it to his breast. 
 The champions the test they dare, 
 With the barons came they there, 
 And that man whose throw went past 
 By an inch another's cast, 
 Were he young, or were he old, 
 Men did him for champion hold. 570 
 Staring, there they stood around; 
 Lords and champions, on that ground 
 Make a great debate, I wot, 
 Which shall be the better shot. 
 Havelok stood and watched the sport, 
 But of putting knew he naught, 
 Never yet he saw them play 
 "Put the Stone" before that day. 
 Then his master bade him go 
 See what he therein might do, 580 
 
 Tho' his master had him bade 
 Of the task was he afraid; 
 Thither goeth he anon, 
 Catcheth up the heavy stone, 
 
 Wherewith he should put that day — 
 At the first put did it lay 
 Over all that came before 
 A good twelve-foot cast, and more. 
 The champions who saw that throw 
 Shoved each other, laughing low, 590 
 No more would they put that day, 
 Quoth: "Now all too long we stay." 
 Men might not this marvel hide, 
 Loud thereof they spake that tide 
 How that Havelok threw the stone 
 Far beyond them, everyone; 
 How that he was fair and tall, 
 Very strong, and white withal. 
 Thro' the land of him they speak 
 How he was both strong and meek; 600 
 In the castle, high in hall, 
 Thereof spake the nobles all, 
 So that Godrich right well heard 
 Tales of Havelok, every word; 
 How he tall and strong should be, 
 Strong of hand, and fair and free. 
 Then thought Godrich: "Thro' this 
 
 knave 
 England in my power I'll have, 
 I, and my son after me, 
 So I will that it shall be. 610 
 
 Athelwold, he made me swear, 
 On the Holy Mass-gear there, 
 That I would his daughter give 
 To the tallest who should live, 
 Best and fairest, strongest aye, 
 That I soothly sware that day. 
 Where shall I find one so tall 
 As this Havelok? Skilled withal — 
 Tho' I sent to search thro' Ynde 
 One so strong I may not find, 6jo 
 
 Yea, with him my quest is sped 
 With Goldboro shall he wed." 
 This he thought of treachery, 
 Of treason, and of felony, 
 For he deemed that Havelok, he, 
 Naught but a churl's son should be, 
 Ne'er should hold of English land 
 E'en a furrow in his hand 
 Tho' he wed the rightful heir 
 Who was good as she was fair. 630 
 
HAVELOK THE DANE 
 
 117 
 
 Havelok he deemed a thrall, 
 Therefore thought he should have all 
 England, that the maid's should be — 
 Worse than Sathanas was he, 
 He, whose power on earth Christ 
 
 shook — 
 Well might he be hanged on hook! 
 
 Goldboro he hither bade — 
 
 (Very fair and sweet that maid) 
 
 And to Lincoln did her bring; 
 
 All the bells for her did ring, 640 
 
 Mickle joy he made that day — 
 
 Natheless, traitor he, alway! 
 
 Said, for lord he 'Id give her there 
 
 One who was of men most fair; 
 
 Then she answered him anon, 
 
 Sware by Christ, and by Saint John, 
 
 That with no man would she wed, 
 
 None should bring her to his bed, 
 
 Save a king, or a king's heir 
 
 Tho' he were of men most fair. 650 
 
 Godrich Earl, he waxed full wroth 
 When he heard her swear such oath, 
 Quoth : " What, Maiden, wouldst thou be 
 Queen and Lady over me? 
 With a vagabond shalt wive 
 And no other King alive! 
 Thou shalt wed with my cook's knave, 
 Ne'er another lord shalt have; 
 Woe to him who other lot 
 Gives thee while I live, I wot, 660 
 
 With the morn I shall thee wed 
 Willy-nilly, to his bed!" 
 Goldboro wept sore that stead, 
 Fain were she she had been dead; 
 On the morn, at dawning hour 
 Rang the bell from the church tower, 
 Judas sent for Havelok — (he 
 Worse than Sathanas should be) 
 Quoth: "Say, Master, wilt a wife?" 
 "Nay," quoth Havelok, "by my life! 
 With a wife I naught may do, 671 
 
 Find her food, nor clothes, nor shoe, 
 Where should I a woman bring? 
 Of mine own I have no thing, 
 
 Neither house nor hut have I, 
 Stick nor twig, or green or dry, 
 Neither bread nor victuals own, 
 But an old coat, that alone, 
 For these clothes that cover me 
 Are the cook's, his knave I be!" 680 
 Up sprang Godrich, beat him well, 
 Hard and strong the blows they fell, 
 Quoth: "Save thou that maiden take 
 Whom I think thy wife to make, 
 Thou shalt hang on gallows high, 
 Or I will put out thine eye!" 
 Havelok was adread that day, 
 Quoth, he would his word obey; 
 For the maid he sent full soon, 
 Fairest woman 'neath the moon, 6go 
 Swift he spake to her withal, 
 That foul traitor, wicked thrall : 
 "Save that thou take this man's hand 
 I will drive thee from the land, 
 Or shalt haste to gallows tree, 
 In a fire thou burnt shall be!" 
 Much she feared his threats that day, 
 Durst not say the spousals nay, 
 For altho' she liked it ill 
 Yet she deemed it were God's Will, 700 
 For that God, Who grows the corn, 
 Willed her to'-be woman born. 
 Then when he for dread did swear 
 He would wed and feed her there, 
 And she sware she would him hold, 
 Then were pence in plenty told, 
 Mickle monies on the book — 
 Thus he gave, and thus she took. 
 They were wedded fast that day — 
 And the Marriage Mass did say, 710 
 All pertaining to a Clerk, 
 The Archbishop good, of York, 
 For the parliament he came 
 Sent by God, as at that same. 
 
 By God's law they wed have been, 
 And the folk the deed have seen — 
 Sore dismay doth Havelok know, 
 Wist not what they best might do, 
 Should they bide, or go their way? 
 There, he would no long-time stay, 720 
 
n8 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Godrich hated them he saw — 
 (Food he, for the Devil's maw) 
 And if he to dwell there sought, 
 (This, I trow, was Havelok's thought) 
 To his wife men might do shame, 
 Or else bring upon him blame, 
 Liever he if dead he were — 
 Other rede he took him there, 
 That from thence they both would flee, 
 Seek to Grim and his sons three, 730 
 There he deemed they best might speed, 
 Both to clothe them and to feed. 
 Foot to ground they set straightway, 
 Other rede had none that day, 
 Took the right road at that same 
 Till they safe to Grimsby came. 
 When he came there, Grim was dead, 
 Nor with him might speak that stead, 
 But his children were alive, 
 Sons and daughters, all the five, 740 
 And to welcome him were fain 
 When they knew he came again; 
 Greeted him with gladness mickle, 
 Ne'er, I trow, he found them fickle ! 
 On their knees fell speedily, 
 Greeting Havelok heartily, 
 Quoth: "Dear Lord, art welcome here, 
 Welcome too thy Lady dear, 
 Blessed be the day ye both 
 Each to other sware your troth, 750 
 
 Well is us that now we live, 
 Thine we are, to sell or give, 
 Thine we are, to give or sell, 
 So that thou wilt with us dwell. 
 Lord, we here possess much good, 
 Horses, cattle, ships on flood, 
 Gold and silver, mickle store 
 That was Grim's, our sire, of yore; 
 Gold and silver, other fee 
 He hath bid us hold for thee; 760 
 
 We have sheep, and we have swine, 
 Dwell here, Lord, and all is thine! 
 Thou art lord and thou art sire, 
 We thy servants at thine hire. 
 These, our sisters, will fulfil 
 All that is thy Lady's will, 
 
 They her clothes will wash and wring, 
 Water for her hands will bring, 
 Spread the couch for her and thee, 
 For our lady shall she be!" 770 
 
 Thus rejoicing do they make, 
 Fetch the sticks, and swiftly break, 
 Make the fire to burn so bright, 
 Goose nor hen they spare that night, 
 Neither duck, nor yet the drake, 
 Food in plenty ready make. 
 For good meat they did not fail, 
 Wine they drew for them, and ale, 
 Of good heart did they rejoice, 77g 
 
 " Wassail" bade, with gladsome voice. 
 
 On that night Goldboro lay 
 
 Sad at heart, and sorrowing aye, 
 
 Deemed she was betrayed by Fate 
 
 With a low-born man to mate. 
 
 Thro' the dark she saw a light 
 
 Very fair, and very bright, 
 
 Yea, so bright it shone, I ween, 
 
 As a blazing fire had been. 
 
 Looked she North, and looked she 
 
 South, 
 Lo! it came from out his mouth, jgo 
 Who beside her lay in bed — 
 'T was no wonder she had dread, 
 Thought: "What may this marvel 
 
 mean? 
 He is high-born, so I ween, 
 He is high-born, or is dead!" 
 On his neck, in gold so red, 
 Lo! a Cross, and in her ear 
 She an angel's voice doth hear. 
 
 "Goldboro, let thy mourning be, 
 Havelok, who hath wedded thee, 
 Is a King's son, and King's heir 
 As that Cross betokens fair. 
 More it showeth, in his thrall 
 Denmark, yea, and England all; 
 Sovereign he, both strong and true 
 O'er England, and Denmark too, 
 With thine eyes this shalt thou see, 
 With him Queen, and Lady be!" 
 
 800 
 
ARTHUR AND MERLIN" 
 
 119 
 
 ARTHUR AND MERLIN 
 
 THE CHOOSING OF ARTHUR 
 
 At Yule the Bishop Bricius, he 
 Gave proof that he no fool should be, 
 There stood he forth amid them all, 
 In this wise did upon them call: 
 "Lordings, since ye may not accord 
 To choose unto ye here a lord, 
 I pray, for love of Christ so dear, 
 Ye work by wile and wisdom here; 
 For such a choice the time is right — 
 Now go we all to church to-night 10 
 And pray to Christ, so good and free, 
 A king to send us, who shall be 
 Strong for the right against the wrong, 
 Whom He shall choose our ranks among; 
 Pray that to us He token send 
 When the morn's Mass be brought to 
 
 end." 
 That in such wise it might be done, 
 To this, they say, "Amen," each one. 
 Thus they betake them, more or less, 
 That night to church, with morn to 
 
 Mass, 20 
 
 In prayer their cause to God commend 
 That He a rightful king should send. 
 And thus, when at the end of Mass, 
 From out the church the folk would pass, 
 Before the church door, there they 
 
 found 
 A great stone standing on the ground, 
 'T was long and high, the sooth to say, 
 Therein a right fair sword, it lay. 
 Then king and duke, baron, and knight, 
 Were filled with wonder at that sight; 
 The Bishop, he beheld with eye, 31 
 
 And rendered thanks to Christ on high, 
 And here I rede ye all to wit 
 That on the pommel fair 't was writ: 
 "Excalibur, the name I bear, 
 For a king's treasure fashioned fair." 
 In English writing there displayed, 
 In steel 't was graven on the blade. 
 
 The Bishop quoth to them anon : 
 "Who draws this sword from out the 
 
 stone 40 
 
 That same shall be our king indeed, 
 By God's Will, and by this, our rede." 
 Thereto they give consent alway, — - 
 King Lot, his hand to hilt did lay, 
 Thinking to draw it out forthright, 
 But stirred it not, for all his might; 
 King Nanters, nor King Clarion, 
 Might not withdraw it from the stone, 
 Nor gentle man, whoe'er he be, 
 Was there might stir it, verily". 50 
 
 Thither came all of noble blood, 
 And there till Candlemas it stood; 
 All who were born in English land 
 Each to this stone he set his hand, 
 For life or death, I trow, was none 
 Might stir that sword from out the 
 
 stone. 
 There did it stand till Easter-tide; 
 Thither came men from far and wide, 
 From this shore, from beyond the sea, 
 But prospered not, 't was God's decree! 
 The stone stood there till Pentecost; 61 
 And thither came a goodly host, 
 For tournament at that same tide 
 E'en as it were the stone beside. 
 Sir Antour did his son then, Kay, 
 With honour make a knight, that day, 
 This Kay was ta'en, so saith the Geste, 
 Away from this, his mother's breast, 
 For Arthur's sake, she nursed that child 
 Who grew up courteous, meek, and mild. 
 Kay was a noble knight, I trow, 71 
 
 Save that he stammered somewhat now, 
 Thro' nurture did he win that same, 
 They say that from his nurse it came; 
 And Arthur, he had served King Lot 
 For this long time, so do I wot. 
 
 When thus, Sir Kay, he was made knight, 
 Sir Antour counselled him forthright 
 
120 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Arthur to fetch to him again 
 And there to make of him his swain, 80 
 For he was hrrdy, true to test, 
 Thro' all the land of youths the best. 
 Therewith Kay, he was right well paid — 
 Then all was done as Antour said, 
 Arthur came home, and was with Kay, 
 To tourney went with him alway; 
 There Kay, he shewed himself in fight 
 To be a very valiant knight, 
 O'er all the field, at end, by side, 
 Full many did he fell that tide. 90 
 
 Then, as he came amid the throng, 
 He laid about with strokes so strong 
 That this, his sword, asunder brake — 
 Anon, to Arthur thus he spake: 
 "Now to my lady swiftly wend, 
 Pray her another sword to send." 
 And so he did, nor thought to bide, 
 But swiftly home again did ride, 
 His lady found he not that day 
 So turned him back upon his way. 100 
 
 Then to that sword within the stone 
 I trow me, he hath swiftly gone, 
 (And never man was there to see 
 Since all should at the Tourney be,) 
 Arthur, he took the hilt in hand 
 Towards himself he drew the brand, 
 Light from the stone it came away — 
 He took it in his hand straightway 
 And leapt upon his horse anon, 
 Back to the Tourney hath he gone no 
 And said: "Have here this sword, Sir 
 
 Kay, 
 Thy lady found I not to-day." 
 Right well Kay knew the sword, I wis, 
 To Arthur spake "Whence had'st thou 
 
 this?" 
 "Certes" quoth Arthur, "that same 
 
 brand 
 There, in a stone, I saw it stand." 
 (Arthur, he saw it ne'er before 
 Nor wist the meaning that it bore.) 
 With that, to Arthur spake Sir Kay, 
 "Par amour, now to no man say 120 
 
 Whence thou didst take this sword, I 
 
 trow, 
 And riches shalt thou have enow." 
 Arthur he answered, "Certes, nay!" 
 With that he gat him forth, Sir Kay, 
 And led his father, Sir Antour 
 Straight to the church of Saint Saviour, 
 And saith: "The sword I forth did draw, 
 Now am I king, by right and law!" 
 Sir Antour, he beheld that sword, 
 Answered again with ready word 130 
 "T is but a boast, by God above! 
 An sooth it be, that must thou prove 
 Before these nobles everyone, 
 Must thrust this sword back in the 
 
 stone; 
 Save thou again canst draw it free 
 Then shame upon thy head shall be! " 
 
 With that, they get them to the stone, 
 And Kay thrust back the sword anon, 
 But tho' a knight both stiff and stout 
 He had no strength to draw it out. 140 
 With that besought him Sir Antour, 
 "Now tell me son, here, par amour, 
 Who was it drew this sword so good?" 
 Sir Kay, he laughed as there he stood, 
 And sware: "By God, as here I stand, 
 Arthur, he brought it in his hand!" 
 Antour, he called Arthur there 
 And to the stone he bade him fare 
 And there, I trow me, swift and soft, 
 Both in and out he drew it oft. 150 
 
 Antour was blithe and glad that day, 
 Arthur he took to church straightway 
 And saith to him full secretly, 
 "Arthur, I prithee, hearken me, 
 Since thou wast born, 't is true, I ween, 
 In my house nourished hast thou been." 
 With that he told him all that morn 
 How he begotten was, and born ; 
 How that King Uther was his sire, 
 And how, at that same king's desire, 160 
 "A nurse I took for my son Kay, 
 And thee at my wife's breast did lay." 
 Then Antour quoth: "Now list to me, 
 Thro' nurture thou my son shalt be, 
 
ARTHUR AND MERLIN 
 
 It were not right didst thou gainsay 
 A boon that I should rightful pray, 
 So I beseech, grant me a boon 
 Which I will ask of thee full soon, 
 And Arthur, son, I will thee aid i6g 
 
 That king with honour thou be made." 
 Then Arthur answered, fair and free : 
 "Now Christ in Heaven forbid it me 
 That I deny thee anything 
 When thou to me a prayer dost bring." 
 Quoth Antour: "God thee well repay; 
 Now I for love this boon will pray, 
 To Kay my son the stewardship give 
 For all the years that thou mayst live; 
 In weal, in woe, I pray thee fair, 
 In every stead, protection swear, 180 
 And I shall aid, in this, thy need, 
 That thro' God's Help thou surely 
 speed." 
 
 With that Sir Arthur spake full soon; 
 "Sir Antour, take thou this, thy boon, 
 Kay shall be steward in my land, 
 For weal or woe I'll by him stand, 
 And if I ever fail Sir Kay 
 Then Christ forget me, that same day!" 
 With that Sir Antour, he forthright 
 Took Arthur, and hath dubbed him 
 knight, 190 
 
 First gave him cloth and fitting weed, 
 Then found him harness for his steed, 
 Helmet, and byrnie, coat of mail, 
 Nor plate for arm or thigh did fail; 
 With collar, shield, and sword to smite, 
 And shaft with blade that well could bite. 
 Anon, of knights he gave him there 
 Forty, to do him service fair. 
 With morn to tournament they go, igg 
 And so they dealt, I 'Id have ye know, 
 That here Sir Arthur, day by day, 
 Honour and praise he bare away. 
 At morn Sir Antour, who should be 
 No fool, to Bishop Brice went he, 
 And saith to him, a knight he knew 
 Both fair and noble, good and true, 
 "Who shall be king, by this our law, 
 For that the sword he forth may draw." 
 
 With that, the Bishop, well content, 
 After Sir Arthur straightway sent, 210 
 Before the nobles of that land 
 Arthur, he took the sword in hand, 
 He drew it out, he thrust it in — 
 Then many a man must wonder win, 
 For none might stir it from that stone 
 I plight my word, save he alone! 
 Then kings and earls, without a doubt, 
 They crowded there, the lad about, 
 Thinking to prove his knowledge here — 
 Ever he was of gracious cheer, 220 
 
 Nor better could a man devise 
 Than this, his speech, in every wise. 
 With that, Sir Antour help did bring 
 So that he there was chosen king, 
 And to his crowning there withal 
 Full many a prince and king they call, 
 All who would come, they pray them 
 
 well 
 To gather, as Saint John's-tide fell. 
 
 'T is merry in the June-tide fair 
 When fennel hangeth everywhere, 230 
 And violets and rose in flower 
 Be found in every maiden's bower; 
 The sun is hot, the day is long, 
 And merry sounds the birdling's song; 
 Then first King Arthur bare the crown 
 Within Cardoil, that noble town. 
 King Lot, who wedded Belisent, 
 He to the coronation went, 
 The King of Lyoneis was he, 
 A strong man, of great courtesie. 240 
 Five hundred knights were in his train, 
 Hardy and strong, for fighting fain. 
 King Nanters came, as I am told, 
 Who did the land of Garlot hold, 
 A noble man, a valiant wight, 
 Strong to defend himself in fight. 
 The same had wedded with Blasine, 
 King Arthur's sister, fair and fine, 
 Full seven hundred knights, the king 
 Did with him, as his mesnie, bring, 250 
 And many a charger, many a steed, 
 That should be found right good at need. 
 
CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And thither too, King Urien sped, 
 Who did with the third sister wed, 
 'T was from the land of Gorre he came, 
 A young man he, of noble fame, 
 With twenty thousand men, and five, 
 No better knights were there alive. 
 
 King Carados, he too, was there, 
 
 The crown of Strangore did he bear, 260 
 
 A mighty man, and well renowned, 
 
 Knight was he of the Table Round, 
 
 From far, unto Cardoil he sought, 
 
 Six hundred knights with him he 
 
 brought, 
 Who well knew how to joust in field, 
 With stiff lance, 'neath the sheltering 
 
 shield. 
 Thither came Ider in that hour, 
 King of the Marches, of great power, 
 And with him brought full thirty score 
 Of knights who rode his face before. 270 
 
 King Anguisant did thither ride, 
 The King of Scotland at that tide, 
 The richest he, among them all, 
 Youngest, and of great power withal, 
 Five hundred knights he brought, I wot, 
 Both stout and strong, each man a Scot; 
 And many more, from South and East, 
 Thither have come, to that high feast. 
 Then king and baron, as I tell, 279 
 
 Nobly they welcomed them, and well, 
 And Bishop Brice, the court among, 
 Crowned Arthur, and the office sung. 
 And when the service came to end, 
 Unto the feast their way they wend; 
 They found all ready, cloth and board, 
 And first hath gone the highest lord; 
 Men serve them then with plenteous 
 
 fare, 
 With meat and drink, and dainties rare, 
 With venison of hart and boar, 289 
 
 Swan, peacock, bustard, to them bore; 
 Of pheasant, partridge, crane, that day 
 Great plenty and no lack had they. 
 Piment and claret served they free 
 To high lords, and their companie, 
 
 Serving them in such noble wise 
 
 As any man might well devise. 
 
 And when the guests had eaten all, 
 
 Both high and low, within that hall, 
 
 His gifts to give did Arthur rise, 
 
 To noble men, of high emprise, 300 
 
 Their homage they should straightway 
 
 plight 
 E'en as the custom was, and right. 
 But e'en as this he did, I trow, 
 King Lot, King Nanters, men enow, 
 Of these his gifts they had despite, 
 And to the crown denied his right. 
 
 Up from the board they spring with 
 
 boast, 
 Each king of them, with all his host, 
 Swearing that ne'er for anything 
 They 'Id own a bastard for their king, 310 
 Thus, with dishonour great they fare, 
 Thinking to slay King Arthur there. 
 But Arthur's men, they came between, 
 And Merlin, in that strife, I ween, 
 Stood forth, and spake, no bastard he, 
 But nobler than them all should be, 
 And there he told them all that morn 
 How Arthur was begat, and born. 
 The wise men of that country, they 
 Gave thanks to Jesu Christ, alway, 320 
 In that their king, thro' this, His Grace, 
 Was come of royal Pendragon's race. 
 The barons, they to Merlin say: 
 "Thy witchcraft wrought his birth 
 
 alway, 
 Thou traitor, know that verily, 
 For all enchantments known to thee, 
 No child born in adultery 
 The king and lord o'er us shall be, 
 But he shall starve here, now anon — " 
 Towards King Arthur have they gone, 
 The king was armed, from head to heel, 
 And all his friends, in iron and steel, 332 
 Resistance made they, strong, and stout, 
 And of a surety, drave them out, 
 With swords and knives full speedily, 
 From hall, who Arthur's foes should 
 be. 
 
RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 
 
 "3 
 
 Those same six kings, they were right 
 
 wroth, 
 And all their barons sware an oath, 
 That never they two meals should eat 
 Till they had taken vengeance meet; 340 
 With that they pitch their tents that 
 
 day 
 Without the town, a little way. 
 
 List, tho' ye many be or few, 
 
 In May the sun doth slay the dew, 
 
 The day is merry, waxing long, 
 
 The lark doth, soaring, pour his song, 
 
 The meads they seek, the maidens 
 
 fair, 
 And many a floweret gather there. 
 
 'T is merry in the month of May, 
 Birds in the woodland groves be gay, 350 
 In every land ariseth song — 
 Christ Jesu, be Thy folk among ! 
 
 Merry it is in summer-tide 
 When birds sing in the forest wide, 
 On jousting bent, the squires they ride, 
 And maidens deck them in their pride. 
 
 Merry is June, when flowers blow fair, 
 And meadows sweet perfume the air, 
 Lily and rose be bright to see, 
 The rivers clear from mire be free, 360 
 Both knight, I trow, and vavassour, 
 Their demoiselles love par amour. 
 
 RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 
 
 1 
 
 HIS PARENTAGE 
 
 Lord Jesus, King of Victory, 
 
 Who did such grace, and such glory, 
 
 Send unto our King Richard, 
 
 Who was never proven coward, 
 
 Good it is in Geste to read 
 
 Of his conquests, and his deeds! 
 
 Many tales men weave anew 
 
 Of good knights, so strong and true, 
 
 Men their deeds read in romance 
 
 Both in England, and in France; 10 
 
 Of Roland, and of Oliver, 
 
 And of every dosiper; 
 
 Alexander, Charlemagne, 
 
 Of King Arthur and Gawain, — 
 
 Courteous knights and good, they 
 
 were — 
 Of Turpin, and the Dane Ogier. 
 And of Troy men read in rhyme, 
 How they warred in olden time, 
 Of Hector and Achilles true 
 And the folk whom there they slew, ao 
 
 In French books this rhyme is wrought, 
 Laymen of the tale know naught, 
 'Mid hundred laymen there be none 
 Who know French, save, perchance, 
 
 one! 
 None the less, with gladsome cheer 
 There be many fain to hear 
 Noble jousts, I understand, 
 Wrought by knights of En gel land; 
 Therefore I, parfoi, will read 
 Of a king of doughty deed, 30 
 
 Richard, king and warrior best 
 Men may find in any Geste; 
 All who to my tale attend 
 May God grant them right good end! 
 
 Lordings, hearken first of all 
 
 How King Richard's birth did fall — 
 
 Henry, was his father hight; 
 
 In his time, to tell aright, 
 
 As I find it writ again 
 
 Was Saint Thomas foully slain 4c 
 
 At Canterbury's altar stone 
 
 Where be many marvels shown. 
 
124 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Twenty years to him were told, 
 
 Then was he a king full bold, 
 
 But of wife would he hear naught 
 
 Tho' she treasure with her brought. 
 
 But to wed they pressed him still 
 
 Till he yielded to their will, 
 
 Sent of messengers a band 
 
 Into many a diverse land, so 
 
 That the fairest maid on life 
 
 They should bring their king as wife. 
 
 Swift those messengers were dight — 
 
 Ship they took the self-same night, 
 
 Hoisted up the sail, I trow, 
 
 For the wind was good enow. 
 
 When they were well out at sea 
 
 Then the breeze failed suddenly — 
 
 This hath wrought them woe, I ween — 
 
 They another ship have seen, 60 
 
 Ne'er had they seen such an one, 
 
 White it was, of whales bone, 
 
 Every nail was gold engraved, 
 
 Of pure gold the rudder-stave, 
 
 Ivory the mast sans fail, 
 
 And of samite all the sail; 
 
 And the ropes were twined of silk, 
 
 Every one as white as milk. 
 
 All the vessel they behold 
 
 Hung about with cloth of gold, 70 
 
 Loof and windlass, fair to view, 
 
 All were bright in azure blue. 
 
 In that ship, I trow, there were 
 Valiant knights, and ladies fair, 
 And one maiden 'midst them all, 
 'Bright as sun thro' glass doth fall. 
 Swift, her men aboard they stand, 
 Seize those others by the hand, 
 Pray them there with them to dwell 
 And their tidings swiftly tell. 80 
 
 And they answer, they would show 
 All they might desire to know; 
 "To far lands our way we went, 
 For King Henry us hath sent 
 That the fairest maid on life 
 We may bring to him for wife!" 
 As the words were spoken fair 
 Rose a king from off his chair — 
 
 (Of carbuncle was that throne, 
 Never they its like had known.) go 
 
 Two dukes stood that king beside, 
 Noble men, of mickle pride, 
 Welcome fair they gave that day, 
 Bade them come aboard straightway; 
 Thirty knights, I speak no lie, 
 Were they, in that companie, 
 Straight aboard that barque they went 
 Who as messengers were sent. 
 Knights there were, and maids enow — 
 Seven score, and more, I trow, 100 
 
 Welcomed them with one accord, 
 Set up trestles, laid a board, 
 Cloth of gold was spread thereon, 
 And the king, he bade, anon, 
 That his daughter speedily 
 Set before his face should be. 
 Then, with sound of trumpet blast, 
 Lo ! that maid before them passed, 
 In her train, of knights a score, 
 And of ladies, many more, no 
 
 Knelt before that maiden free, 
 Asked her what her will might be? 
 
 Thus they feasted and made gay 
 
 As the king himself did pray, 
 
 And when they had eaten well 
 
 Their adventures would they tell. 
 
 Then the king, he straightway said, 
 
 How in vision he was bade 
 
 From his land to take his way 
 
 And to England go straightway, iso 
 
 And his daughter dear also 
 
 With him on the ship should go — 
 
 " So, in fitting fashion dight 
 
 We would seek that land forthright." 
 
 Straight there spake a messenger — 
 
 (That man's name was Berenger — ) 
 
 "To seek further is no need, 
 
 Bring her to our king with speed, 
 
 When his eyes behold the maid 
 
 He will deem him well repaid." 130 
 
 From the north-east blew the wind, 
 
 Better breeze they might not find, 
 
 At the Tower they land straightway 
 
 And to London take their way. 
 
RICHARD COEUR DE LION 
 
 125 
 
 Soon the knights their lord have told 
 Of that lady, fair and bold, 
 How a ship lay off the Tower 
 With a maiden white as flower. 
 Then King Henry did him dight, 
 Earls and barons, many a knight, 140 
 Rode with him that maid to meet, 
 Courteously he would her greet. — 
 Soon that maid to land they led, 
 Cloth of gold before her spread, 
 And her father walked before, 
 Crown of gold on head he wore; 
 Messengers on either side, 
 Minstrels too, of mickle pride. 
 Henry swift from horse did spring, 
 Greeted fair that stranger king, 150 
 
 And that lady fair and free — 
 "Welcome be ye both to me!" 
 Thus to Westminster they go, 
 Lords and ladies fair also, 
 Trumpets sound a blast so gay 
 As to meat they take their way. 
 Knights, they served them with all speed, 
 More to tell there is no need. 
 After meat, right courteously, 
 Spake our lord, the King Henry, 160 
 To that king, there, at that same : 
 "Say, dear Sire, what is thy name?" 
 "Sire, men call me Corbaryng, 
 I of Antioch am king — " 
 Then he told our lord how he 
 Thro' a vision, set to sea: 
 "Sire, had it not been for this 
 I had brought more men, I wis, 
 And of vessels many more 
 That of victuals bare a store." 17° 
 
 Asked our king the lady there: 
 "And thy name, thou maiden fair?" 
 " Cassidorien, without lie." 
 Thus she answered readily. 
 "Demoiselle, so bright and sheen 
 Wilt thou stay here as my queen?" 
 Quoth the maiden soft and still; 
 "I am at my father's will." 
 Then her father spake anon, 
 All the king's will should be done 180 
 And she should, with speed, be wed 
 
 As a queen, to royal bed; 
 
 But she prayed this courtesie 
 
 She be wedded privily. 
 
 Thus were they espoused that night, 
 
 At the feast danced many a knight, 
 
 Joy was "made the court among — 
 
 With the morn a Mass was sung 
 
 Ere the Host they raised, I ween, 
 
 In a swoon she fell, the queen, iqo 
 
 Wonder smote the folk, and dread — 
 
 To a chamber was she led, 
 
 Quoth: "This spell is laid on me 
 
 That the Host I may not see." 
 
 Corbaryng, the morrow's tide, 
 
 Sailed, nor longer would abide. 
 
 Henry dwelt with his fair queen, 
 
 Babes were born to them, I ween, 
 
 Two sons, and a daughter fair 
 
 As the book doth well declare, 200 
 
 Richard was the first, sans fail, 
 
 (He of whom I tell this tale) 
 
 John his brother, at that same, 
 
 Topyas, their sister's name. 
 
 Thus the twain this life they led 
 
 Till full fifteen years were sped. 
 
 On a day, before the Rood, 
 
 At the Mass, King Henry stood, 
 
 Came a lord of high degree, 
 
 "Sire," he quoth, "how may this be no 
 
 That your wife, my lady-queen, 
 
 Dare not at the Mass be seen? 
 
 Give us leave to hold her here 
 
 So that she the Gospel hear, 
 
 Keep her still till Mass be said — 
 
 Thou shalt see a sight of dread!" 
 
 Then the king doth grant their will, 
 
 Said that they might hold her- still : 
 
 "Nor for weal, nor yet for woe 
 
 From the kirk ne'er let her go!" 220 
 
 When the sacring bell they ring 
 
 For the canon to begin 
 
 From the kirk she would away — 
 
 But the Earl, he straight said: "Nay, 
 
 Lady, thou shalt here abide 
 
 Matters not what may betide." 
 
 By the hand she held anon 
 
 Her daughter and her young son, John, 
 
126 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Thro' the roof she took her flight 
 Openly, in all men's sight, 230 
 
 From the air John fell to ground, 
 Brake his thigh there in that stound. 
 With her daughter fled the queen, 
 Never more by men was seen.' 
 Marvel on the king was laid 
 That she such an ending made, 
 For her love, who was served so, 
 No more would he come nor go, 
 His son Richard, by decree, 
 After him the king should be. 240 
 
 II 
 
 HOW RICHARD WON THE NAME 
 OF CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 Now they dight them speedily 
 These three knights, to set to sea, 
 Hoisted sail, the wind was good, 
 Swift they crossed the salt sea flood, 
 Into Flanders did they go, 
 Richard, and his comrades two; 
 Took their way, with gladsome cheer, 
 Thro' strange lands, both far and near, 
 Till to Brindisi they came, 
 ('T is a haven of great fame.) 10 
 
 There a goodly ship they found 
 Which was unto Cyprus bound, 
 The sail was raised, the ship was strong, 
 But the voyage, they deemed it long, 
 When 't was o'er, I understand, 
 They did in Famagusta land; 
 There they tarried forty days 
 Of that land to learn the ways. 
 Then once more they set to sea, 
 Came to Acre speedily, 30 
 
 Thence they passed to Macedon, 
 And the city, Babylon. 
 They would Ca^sarea see — 
 Then would pass to Nineveh; 
 Came unto Jerusalem, 
 And the town of Bethlehem; 
 Saw the Sultan Turry's hold, 
 Ebuda did there behold, 
 
 And the Castle Orgelous, 
 And the city Aperrous; 30 
 
 To Jaffa go, and to Safrane, 
 To Tabaret, and eke Archane. 
 Thus they spied the Holy Land, 
 How to win it to their hand; 
 Homeward turned their face at last, 
 Into England fain had passed. 
 When they came o'er the great sea 
 To Almayne, those palmers three, 
 There they wrought, ere hence they 
 
 go, 
 That which brought them mickle woe; 
 How it chanced I now will tell, 41 
 
 Lordings, listen to me well! 
 They had bought a goose for fare 
 In the tavern where they were; 
 Richard stirred the fire, I wit, 
 Thomas set the goose on spit, 
 Fulk d'Oyley, he trimmed the wood — 
 Very dear they bought that food! 
 When they well had dined that day 
 Came a minstrel on his way, 50 
 
 And he quoth: "Good men, be ye 
 Pleased to hear my minstrelsie?" 
 Richard bade him forth to go, 
 Words that turned to mickle woe, 
 For he laid that speech to mind, 
 Saying: "Ye be men unkind, 
 Ye shall rue, if so I may, 
 That ye gave me naught to-day, 
 Gentlemen should well entreat 
 Minstrels whom they chance to meet, 60 
 Of their meat and drink be free, 
 Fame is spread thro' minstrelsie!" 
 English, he the English knew 
 By their speech, and look, and hue; 
 On his road he went that day 
 Where the King of Almayne lay, 
 To the castle hath he gone, 
 With the porter spake anon : 
 "Go, nor wait for summoning, 
 Speak thus to thy lord the King : 70 
 "There be come unto thy land 
 Palmers three, a valiant band, 
 In Christendom the strongest they 
 And their names I'll tell straightway, 
 
RICHARD CGEUR DE LION 
 
 127 
 
 'T is King Richard, warrior grim, 
 Comrades twain he leads with him, 
 Sir Fulk d'Oyley, of renown, 
 And Sir Thomas of Multoun." 
 Sped the porter to the hall, 
 Told his lord these tidings all, 80 
 
 Glad, the king, he hearkened there 
 And by Heaven an oath he sware 
 He who brought to him this tale 
 For reward he should not fail. 
 Then his knights he bade straightway 
 To the city take their way: 
 "Take ye nrw these palmers three, 
 Bring them swiftly here to me." 
 Forth in haste those knights have gone 
 Unto Richard came anon, 90 
 
 Asked: "Who here at meat may be?" 
 Richard answered, fair and free: 
 "We be palmers three, no less, 
 Come from lands of heatheness," 
 Spake the knights in answer there 
 "To the king ye needs must fare 
 Of your tidings is he fain — " 
 With the three they turn again; 
 When King Richard he did see, 99 
 
 "Dieu me garde," he quoth, "'t is he — 
 Yea, in sooth, my deadly foe, 
 Hence he shall not lightly go!" 
 Straight he doth of them demand, 
 "Say, what seek ye in my land?" 
 Quoth again: "With traitorous eye 
 Ye be come my lands to spy, 
 Treason would ye work on me!" 
 Quoth King Richard, readily, 
 "We be palmers, sooth to say, 109 
 
 From God's Land we pass this way." 
 Called the King on Richard's name, 
 Spake unto him words of shame : 
 "Now for king I know thee well, 
 These thy knights, tho' sooth to tell 
 Thou dost seem but ill bedight; 
 So I say it is but right 
 That thou in foul dungeon lie 
 Right and reason here have I!" 
 Richard quoth, with heart so free : 
 "Thou dost ill, so seemeth me, no 
 
 Palmers passing on their way 
 
 Should go free, by night or day, 
 
 Nay, Sir King, for courtesie 
 
 Do us here no villainie, 
 
 For His Love Who thee hath bought 
 
 Let us go, and grieve us naught; 
 
 It may to your lot betide 
 
 In strange lands to wander wide." 
 
 But the king, he bade ere long 
 
 Shut them fast in prison strong. 130 
 
 Then the jailer at command 
 
 Took King Richard by the hand 
 
 And with him his comrades twain — 
 
 Food they might not taste again 
 
 Till.the morrow waxed to prime. 
 
 The king's son, at that same time, 
 
 (Arthur was the prince's name,) 
 
 Thought to do King Richard shame, 
 
 (He was held throughout the land 
 
 For the strongest man of hand,) 140 
 
 To the jailer then quoth he: 
 
 "Let me now the prisoners see!" 
 
 Quoth the jailer, "At thy will 
 
 Thy command I will fulfil." 
 
 Swift he bringeth them anon, 
 
 And King Richard first hath gone, 
 
 The king's son, he spake forthright, 
 
 "Art thou Richard, that strong knight, 
 
 Whom men praise in every land? 
 
 Wilt a buffet from me stand, 150 
 
 And anon, as I shall live, 
 
 Thou shalt me a buffet give?" 
 
 Then King Richard, undismayed, 
 
 Hath with him this forward made, 
 
 And the king's son, proud and brave, 
 
 Such a blow to Richard gave 
 
 From his eyes, the fire, it sprung — 
 
 Richard deemed he did him wrong: 
 
 "By Saint Helena, I swear, 
 
 With the morn to pay thee fair!" 160 
 
 The king's son, he mocked him still, 
 
 Bade them give him, at his will, 
 
 Both of drink, and eke of meat, 
 
 Of the best that he might eat, 
 
 That he thirst nor hunger know 
 
 Lest o'er-feeble be his blow. 
 
 On the morrow when 't was day, 
 
 Richard rose, without delay, 
 
128 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And a fire he hath him dight, 
 
 Wax he took, so fair and white, 170 
 
 At the fire he waxed his hand 
 
 AH about, I understand. 
 
 Came the king's son, free and bold, 
 
 As true man, his pledge to hold, 
 
 And before King Richard stood, 
 
 Spake to him, with eager mood : 
 
 "Richard, smite with all thy might 
 
 As thou wouldst be held true knight, 
 
 And if e'er I stoop or yield 
 
 May I never carry shield!" 180 
 
 'Neath his cheek his hand he laid, 
 
 (He who saw it soothly said,) 
 
 Flesh and skin were torn away; 
 
 In a swoon he fell that day, 
 
 For in twain it brake, the bone, 
 
 He fell dead as any stone! 
 
 To the king a knight then sped, 
 
 Bare to him these tidings dread: 
 
 "Richard, he hath slain thy son!" 
 
 "Woe is me! Now have I none!" 190 
 
 With that cry he fell to ground 
 
 As a man by woe fast bound, 
 
 Swooned for sorrow at their feet; 
 
 Knights, they raised him as was meet, 
 
 Saying: "Sire, turn from this thought, 
 
 Now 't is done, 't will help us naught!" 
 
 Then the king aloud did cry 
 
 To the knights who stood near by, 
 
 Saying: "I to hear am fain 
 
 In what manner he was slain ! " 200 
 
 Silent stood they every one, 
 
 Yea, for sorrow speaketh none; 
 
 At their cry she came, the queen, 
 
 Cried: "Alas! What here hath been? 
 
 Why this sorrow, this despair? 
 
 Who hath brought ye all to care?" 
 
 "Dame," he quoth, "say, know'st thou 
 
 naught? 
 Thy fair son to death is brought! 
 Since the day that I was born 
 No such grief my heart hath torn, aio 
 All to loss is turned my gain, 
 Yea, myself I fain had slain!" 
 When the queen, she understood, 
 Certes, she was well nigh wood, 
 
 With her nails her cheeks she tare 
 As one doth in madness fare, 
 Covered was her face with blood — 
 Rent the robe wherein she stood, 
 Cursed the day she first drew breath; 
 "Say, how was he done to death?" 220 
 Saith the king, "I'll tell to thee, 
 Here the knight who told it me, 
 Say the sooth," so spake the king, 
 "In what wise it chanced this thing, 
 If thou aught but truth shalt say 
 An ill death shalt die to-day!" 
 Then he doth the jailer cal' , 
 Bade him stand before them all, 
 Bear them witness here again 
 How the king's son had been slain. 430 
 He quoth: "Yesterday, at prime, 
 Came your son, in evil time, 
 To the prison door, to me; 
 Said, the palmers he would see, 
 Bade me fetch them forth to show : — 
 First of all did Richard go, 
 Straightway Arthur asked him there, 
 If to stand a blow he 'Id dare 
 If so, as true knight in land, 
 He would take one from his hand. 240 
 Richard answered: 'By this light, 
 Smite at will, and do thy might!' 
 Arthur smote him such a blow 
 That he well nigh laid him low, 
 Saith, 'Now here I challenge thee 
 Such, at morn, to give to me.' 
 So they parted in this wise, 
 With the morn did Richard rise 
 And your son, again he came; 
 Richard met him at that same 250 
 
 As the forward 'twixt them lay, 
 Richard smote him, sooth to say, 
 Smote his cheek-bone there in twain — 
 Fell your son before him slain. 
 Here I swear I truly tell 
 In this wise his death, it fell." 
 Quoth the king with eager will: 
 "There in prison keep them still, 
 And in fetters bind with speed; 
 Trow me, for this evil deed, 260 
 
 In that he hath slain my son, 
 
RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 
 
 129 
 
 He shall now to death be done." 
 Forthwith doth the jailer go, 
 Swift his lord's command will do, 
 Meat that day the knights had naught, 
 Never drink to them was brought. 
 The king's daughter, that same day, 
 With her maids, in bower she lay, 
 Margery, she hight, that maid, 
 She her love on Richard laid; 270 
 
 At the midday, ere 't was noon, 
 To the prison hath she gone, 
 Taking with her maidens three — 
 "Jailer," quoth she, "let me see 
 These thy prisoners hastily." 
 Quoth the jailer, "Certainly." 
 Richard did he bring forthright, 
 Fair he greets that lady bright, 
 Saith to her with heart so free, 
 "Lady, what wilt thou with me?" 280 
 When her eyes on him she cast 
 Love of him hath gripped her fast, 
 And she quoth: "Save God above 
 O'er all things I do thee love!" 
 Richard answered in that stound. 
 "Nay! With wrong brought here to 
 
 ground, 
 What may my love profit thee? 
 Captive I, as thou mayst see, 
 Now a second day hath gone 
 That of food I have had none!" 290 
 
 Then the maid, of great pitie, 
 Said this should amended be, 
 And she bade "the jailer there 
 Meat and drink to him to bear, 
 And the irons from him take — 
 "Do thou this, for thine own sake, 
 And at eve, when supper 's done, 
 Bring him to my bower anon, 
 A squire's vesture shall he wear, 
 I myself will keep him there, 300 
 
 By Christ, and by Saint Simon, thou 
 Shalt have guerdon fair, I trow!" 
 The jailer, he forgat it naught, 
 To her bower was Richard brought, 
 With the princess dwelt he still, 
 Of her favours had his fill, 
 Thus, until the seventh day, 
 
 Came and went he on his way. 
 
 Then hath spied on him a knight, 
 
 How he came to her by night, 310 
 
 To the king he spake with tongue: 
 
 "Shamed is now thy daughter young!" 
 
 And the king, he asked anon : 
 
 "Say, who now this deed hath done?" 
 
 "This that traitor Richard, he 
 
 Who hath thus dishonoured thee, 
 
 On my faith as Christian, know 
 
 I have seen him come and go!" 
 
 Then the king, he sighed full sore, 
 
 But to him he spake no more, 320 
 
 Swiftly did he send withal, 
 
 Did his council to him call, 
 
 Earls and barons, clerks also, 
 
 They should hear the words of woe. 
 
 Forth the messengers are gone — 
 
 Came the councillors anon, 
 
 It was on the fourteenth day 
 
 That they came, the tale doth say. 
 
 With one voice the king they greet, 
 
 Saith the tale, and fair entreat, 330 
 
 "Lords," he quoth, "be welcome all." 
 
 Forth they went unto the hall, 
 
 There the king his seat doth take 
 
 And without delay he spake — 
 
 "Lordings, I have bid ye come 
 
 That ye speak a traitor's doom, 
 
 Richard, who hath done this wrong 
 
 Lies now in my prison strong; " 
 
 Then he told them of his pain, 
 
 How his son by him was slain, 340 
 
 And his daughter brought to shame — 
 
 "I had killed him at this same 
 
 Save the law doth straitly say 
 
 That no man a king may slay." 
 
 Then out spake a baron bold : 
 
 " How came Richard in your hold, 
 
 Who so great a king is thought 
 
 That no man dare do him aught?" 
 
 Then he told them in what wise 
 
 He had come there, in disguise, 350 
 
 And two others with him came, 
 
 Noble lords, of knightly fame — 
 
 "I, suspecting them alway 
 
 Did them fast in prison lay." 
 
130 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Leave the king hath taken there, 
 
 Bade them to a hall repair, 
 
 And take counsel there alone, 
 
 Of what now might best be done. 
 
 Thus in speech they conned it o'er 
 
 For three days, I ween, and more. 360 
 
 Some had slain him willingly, 
 
 Some said, 't would unlawful be, 
 
 In this wise with jangling word 
 
 Could they come to no accord. 
 
 "Truly," said the wisest there, 
 
 "We his doom may not declare." 
 
 These the tidings that they tell 
 
 To their king, believe me well ! 
 
 Swift a knight spake to the king: 
 
 "Vex thee not, Sire, for this thing, 370 
 
 Sooth, I wis, Sir Eldred, he 
 
 Soon shall tell what best may be, 
 
 Counsel ye right well he can, 
 
 He hath doomed full many a man." 
 
 Then the king, without delay, 
 
 Bade Sir Eldred come straightway, 
 
 He was brought before the king, 
 
 And he prayed him of this thing: 
 
 "How may I avenged be 
 
 Of King Richard, tell to me!" 380 
 
 Quoth Sir Eldred, "Sooth to tell, 
 
 Thereon have I pondered well, 
 
 Ye wot well 't is 'gainst the law 
 
 Majesty to hang and draw, 
 
 This shall now my counsel be, 
 
 Take your lion speedily, 
 
 And withhold from him his meat 
 
 That for three days naught he eat, 
 
 Shut ye Richard in a hall, 
 
 Loose the lion on him withal, 390 
 
 In this wise he slain may be ; 
 
 And the law kept, verily, 
 
 When the lion thy foe hath slain 
 
 Hast thou fitting vengeance ta'en." 
 
 But the maid, she did espy 
 
 How he should, thro' treason, die, 
 
 Sent to call him speedily 
 
 That he warned thereof should be. 
 
 Came he to her bower straightway — 
 
 "Welcome, Love," she said that day, 400 
 
 "Know, my father doometh thee, 
 
 Three days hence thou slain shalt be, 
 In a chamber shut full close 
 They on thee a lion will loose, 
 Famishing, and hungered sore, 
 Then, I trow, thy life is o'er. 
 But, dear Love, (this wise she spake,) 
 Hence to-night our flight we'll take, 
 With us gold and treasure store 
 That may last us evermore." 410 
 
 Richard quoth: "Nay, nay, not so, 
 'T were unlawful thus to do, 
 So to fly, nor take our leave, 
 Loth were I the king to grieve. 
 For the lion care I naught, 
 How to slay him have I thought, 
 And by prime, on this third day 
 Thou shalt have his heart for prey." 
 Then he kerchieves prayed, of silk — 
 " Give me forty, white as milk, 420 
 
 To the prison bring them all 
 Ere the shades of evening fall." 
 When the hour had come, straightway 
 Went the maid upon her way, 
 And with her a noble knight, — 
 There they had a supper dight, 
 Richard bade his comrades two 
 With him to her supper go : 
 "And, Sir Jailer, come thou still, 
 For it is my lady's will." 430 
 
 That night were they glad and gay, 
 Then to chamber took their way, 
 Richard and that lady bright 
 Stayed together all that night. 
 At the morn, when it was day, 
 Richard bade her go her way; 
 "Nay," she quoth, "by God above 
 I shall die here with my love; 
 Here I will with thee abide 
 E'en tho' death should now betide, 440 
 Certes, hence I will not wend, 
 But will here await mine end." 
 Richard quoth: "Now, lady free, 
 Save thou swiftly go from me 
 Thou shalt surely grieve me sore 
 That I ne'er may love thee more." 
 Then again she answered: "Nay, 
 If so be, then Love, Good-day, 
 
RICHARD CCEUR DE LION 
 
 131 
 
 God, Who died upon the Tree, 
 Save thee, if His Will so be!" 450 
 
 Then the kerchieves hath he wound 
 Round his arms, full tightly bound, 
 For he surely hoped that day 
 With some wile the lion to slay; 
 But a kirtle did he wear 
 And the lion awaited there. 
 Then the jailer came anon, 
 Other two with him have gone, 
 With them lead the lion strong, 
 Claws had he both sharp and long, 460 
 Richard cried: "Help, Heaven's King!" 
 Swift the lion on him did spring, 
 Fain had torn him in that tide — 
 But King Richard sprang aside, 
 With his fist the lion he spurned 
 That the beast around he turned, 
 Famished was the lion sans fail, 
 Wrathful, bit at his own tail, 
 Then the wall he clawed that stead, 
 All about his paws he spread, 470 
 
 Roaring loud, with jaws gaped wide — 
 Richard saw right well that tide 
 What to do — he thrust full fast, 
 Down his throat his arm he passed, 
 Tore out with his hand the heart, 
 Lungs and liver rent apart, 
 On the ground the lion fell dead — 
 Scatheless all the king that stead; 
 Down he kneeled in that place, 479 
 
 Gave God thanks for this, His Grace, 
 Shielding him from shame and harm — 
 Then he took the heart, yet warm, 
 Bare it swiftly to the hall, 
 'Fore the king and courtiers all; 
 Sat the king at meat that day, 
 Dukes and earls in great array, 
 On the board the salt it stood — 
 Richard pressed out all the blood, 
 Dipped the heart the salt within, 
 (All beheld who sat therein,) 490 
 
 Without bread the heart he ate. 
 Marvelled much the king thereat: 
 "Now it seemeth me, I wis, 
 This a fiend and no man is, 
 Who hath now my lion slain 
 
 And his heart from out him ta'en, 
 Of good will that heart did eat, 
 Men shall call him, as is meet, 
 Christened king of greatest fame, 
 Coeur-de-Lion shall be his name ! " soo 
 Speak we no more of this thing, 
 Hearken how he did, the king, 
 Mournful doth he fare withal, 
 Caitiff he himself doth call, 
 Cursed the hour that he was born 
 To be thus of son forlorn, 
 And his daughter shamed to see, 
 While his lion slain should be. 
 Earls and barons came, I ween, 
 To her lord she hastes, the queen, 510 
 Asked of him what did him ail? 
 "Well ye wot," he quoth, "the tale, 
 If I now in mourning go 
 'T is for Richard, my strong foe, 
 Who such harm on me hath wrought 
 Yet may not to death be brought; 
 So I deem that from his hand 
 Ransom I may well demand, 
 'Gainst the Sacrament hath he 
 Shamed my daughter, verily, 520 
 
 From each church where priest shall sing, 
 Mass be said, or bell shall ring, 
 If two chalices there be 
 One of them shall be for me; 
 And if there be more than twain 
 I to have the half am fain. 
 When they bring me this as fee 
 Then shall Richard be set free." 
 Thus, he said it shall be done — 
 Then his lords assent anon, 530 
 
 And they call King Richard near 
 That the judgment he may hear. 
 Richard cometh to the hall, 
 Greets the king and barons all, 
 Quoth the king: "Know, verily, 
 This our judgment and decree, 
 Thou shalt ransom pay forthright 
 For thyself, and for each knight. 
 Every church throughout thy land 
 Shall pay tribute to my hand, 540 
 
 Where two chalices there be 
 One of them be brought to me, 
 
132 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And wherever there be more 
 
 I take half of all the store. 
 
 Thro' thy kingdom, mark it now, 
 
 I will have the half, I trow, 
 
 When thou this to me shalt pay 
 
 Thou hast leave to wend thy way, 
 
 And my daughter take with thee 
 
 That ye twain I no more see." 550 
 
 Richard quoth: "As thou hast said, 
 
 So our forward fast be made." 
 
 Then spake Richard, fair and free, 
 
 Said: "Who now will go for me, 
 
 Seek my chancellor straightway 
 
 That he here my ransom pay? 
 
 Whoso, faithful, comes again 
 
 Shall have guerdon for his pain." 
 
 Rose a knight so courteous there, 
 
 Said: "Thine errand I will bear." 560 
 
 Richard did a letter write, 
 
 (A skilled clerk did it indite,) 
 
 And therein he mention made 
 
 How the ransom should be paid. 
 
 "Greeting shall ye bear again 
 
 Unto my archbishops twain, 
 
 To my chancellor now say 
 
 That my letter he obey, 
 
 And if they in nowise fail 
 
 It shall mickle them avail." 570 
 
 Then he sealed the script that day — 
 
 The knight maketh no delay 
 
 But made ready speedily 
 
 For to sail across the sea. 
 
 When he to his goal was brought 
 
 On his task forgat he naught, 
 
 Swift to London did he go, 
 
 There the folk he found in woe, 
 
 With the letter, as I say, 
 
 To th' archbishops made his way, 580 
 
 Bade them swift the writing read — 
 
 "It was sent in mickle need." 
 
 There they read among them all 
 
 How the matter did befall, 
 
 How their king, betrayed to hate, 
 
 In Almayne did ransom wait: 
 
 "He hath slain the emperor's son, 
 
 And his daughter hath undone, 
 
 And hath killed his lion also — 
 
 All this harm he there did do." 590 
 
 Straight they bade their clerks to hie 
 
 To the churches, severally, 
 
 That their errand swift be wrought 
 
 And the treasure to them brought. 
 
 "Messenger," so spake they there, 
 
 "Here shalt dwell, and thus shalt fare; 
 
 Bishops five shall ride with thee, 
 
 And five barons, certainlie, 
 
 Other folk shalt have enow, 
 
 We shall fail thee not, I trow." 600 
 
 Of each kirk, both less and more, 
 
 Gather they the treasure store, 
 
 O'er the sea their way they take 
 
 That they may their offering make, 
 
 Thus unto the city fare, 
 
 To the king their greeting bear, 
 
 Quoth, as they themselves bethought: 
 
 "We have here the ransom brought, 
 
 Take it, as your will shall be, 609 
 
 And set these, your prisoners, free." 
 
 Quoth the king: "They have my leave, 
 
 I will them no longer grieve." 
 
 Takes his daughter by the hand, 
 
 Bids her straightway leave his land. 
 
 Then the queen, in that same hour 
 
 Called her daughter to her bower, 
 
 Saith, "Thou here shalt dwell with me 
 
 Till King Richard sends for thee, 
 
 As a king sends for his queen — 
 
 This the better rede, I ween." 6k> 
 
SIR ORFEO 
 
 J33 
 
 SIR ORFEO 
 
 We read full oft, and find it writ, 
 As ancient clerks give us to wit, 
 The lays that harpers sung of old 
 Of many a diverse matter told. 
 Some sang of bliss; some heaviness; 
 And some of joy and gladsomeness. 
 Of treason some, and some of guile; 
 Of happenings strange that chanced 
 
 awhile! 
 Of knightly deeds; of ribaldry; 
 And some they tell of Faerie. 10 
 
 But of all themes that men approve 
 Methinks the most they be of Love. 
 In Britain first these lays were wrought, 
 There were they made, and thence were 
 
 brought. 
 They told of venturous deeds and days, 
 Whereof the Britons made their lays, 
 For, an they heard a story told 
 Of wondrous hap that chanced of old, 
 They took their harp withouten fail, 
 Made them a lay, and named the tale. 
 And of the deeds that thus befell n 
 A part, not all, is mine to tell; 
 So hearken, lordings, true and leal, 
 The tale of Orfeo's woe and weal. 
 
 This Orfeo, he was king with crown, 
 A mighty lord of high renown, 
 A stalwart man, and hardy too, 
 Courteous and free of hand also. 
 His parents might their lineage trace 
 To Pluto, and to Juno's race, 30 
 
 Who, for their marvels manifold, 
 Were held as gods in days of old. 
 Now chief of all the arts that be 
 Sir Orfeo loved good minstrelsy, 
 He honoured much the harpers' skill, 
 And harboured them of right good 
 
 will. 
 Himself upon the harp would play, 
 And set thereto his mind alway, 
 Till such his skill that, far or near, 
 
 No better harper might ye hear. 40 
 
 For never man of woman born, 
 
 Altho' for sorrow all forlorn, 
 
 But an he heard Sir Orfeo play 
 
 Forgot his heaviness straightway, 
 
 And deemed himself in Paradise 
 
 For joy of such sweet melodies. 
 
 In Traciens Orfeo held his court, 
 
 A city strong, a goodly fort, 
 
 And with him reigned his queen so fair, 
 
 Dame Heurodis, beyond compare so 
 
 The fairest lady, so I read, 
 
 That ever ware this mortal weed; 
 
 So full of love and gentleness 
 
 That none might tell her goodliness. 
 
 It was the coming in of May, 
 When gay and gladsome is the day, 
 Vanished the chilly winter showers, 
 And every field is full of flowers, 
 When blossoms deck the bough so green, 
 And every heart is glad, I ween, 60 
 
 That Heurodis, the queen, was fain 
 To take unto her maidens twain, 
 And go forth on a morning tide 
 For pastime to an orchard side, 
 To hear the birds sing loud and low, 
 And watch the blossoms bud and blow. 
 And there they sat them down all three 
 Beneath a spreading elder tree; 
 And as they sat in shadows green 
 A slumber deep o'ertook the queen. 70 
 That sleep her maidens dare not break, 
 But let her lie, nor bade her wake; 
 And so she slept the morning through 
 Until the day to even drew. 
 But when she woke, ah me, the change! 
 Strange were her words, her actions 
 
 strange; 
 She wrung her hands, and tare her face 
 Till that the blood ran down apace; 
 Her goodly robes she soon had torn, 
 As if of sense she were forlorn. 80 
 
'34 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Affrighted were those maidens twain, 
 Back to the hall they ran amain, 
 And of their lady's woeful plight 
 They told each gallant squire and 
 
 knight, 
 And aid to hold the queen they sought, 
 For sure they deemed her all distraught! 
 Forth run the knights, the ladies run, 
 Full sixty maids, if ever a one, 
 Swift to the orchard shade they hie, 
 And take the queen up speedily; 90 
 
 They bear her to her couch at last, 
 And there by force they hold her fast, 
 But she crieth what no man under- 
 stands, 
 And will up and away from their holding 
 hands. 
 
 Straight to the king they brought the 
 
 word, 
 ('T was the sorriest tidings he ever 
 
 heard,) 
 Ten of his knights he called that hour, 
 And gat him to his lady's bower; 
 He looked on the queen right woefully, 
 And spake: "Sweet heart what aileth 
 
 thee? 100 
 
 Wast ever wont to be so still, 
 And now thou criest wondrous shrill! 
 Thy flesh, but now so soft and white, 
 Hast torn with thy nails, a doleful sight! 
 Thy face, this morn so rosy red, 
 Is pale and wan, as thou wert dead; 
 Alack! and Alas! for thy fingers small, 
 Bloody they are, and white withal, 
 And thine eyes, so lovesome and shining 
 
 clear, 
 Are e'en as a man's whose foe draws 
 
 near. no 
 
 Sweet heart, I prithee, hear my plaint, 
 Cease for a while thy sore complaint, 
 And say who hath wronged thee, when 
 
 and how? 
 And if never a man may help thee 
 
 now?" 
 Still was the queen for a little space, 
 While the bitter tears they flowed apace, 
 
 And she spake to the king with voice so 
 
 drear : 
 "Alas, Sir Orfeo, lord most dear, 
 Since first the day we to wed were fain, 
 No word of wrath chanced between us 
 
 twain, 120 
 
 But I, thy wife, have lov6d thee 
 E'en as my life, as thou hast me; 
 But now must we part, Ah woe the day ! 
 Do what thou wilt, for I must away!" 
 "Alack," quoth the king: "forlorn am I, 
 Where goest thou, Sweeting, to whom, 
 
 and why? 
 Whither thou goest I go with thee, 
 And where I may be shalt thou bide with 
 
 me! " 
 "Nay, sir, nay, 't is an empty word, 
 For hearken and hear what hath chanced 
 
 my lord : 130 
 
 As I lay but now by our orchard side, 
 And slumbered away the morning tide, 
 There came two gentle knights to me, 
 Armed at all points as knights should be, 
 And bade me come, nor make delay, 
 To speak with their lord the king 
 
 straightway. 
 But I answered back, in queenly mood, 
 I might not, and would not if I could. 
 They turned them about, and fled 
 
 amain, 
 And swift came the king with all his 
 
 train, 140 
 
 A hundred knights, I wis, had he, 
 And a hundred maidens, fair to see; 
 And each one rode on a snow-white steed, 
 And each was clad in a snow-white 
 
 weed, 
 Of all the folk that mine eyes have seen 
 They were the fairest folk, I ween. 
 The king ware a crown upon his head, 
 But it was not wrought of gold so red, 
 Nor of silver, but eke of a precious 
 
 stone, 
 Bright as the noonday sun it shone. 150 
 And e'en as he came, without yea or 
 
 nay, 
 Needs must I go with him straightway, 
 
SIR ORFEO 
 
 !35 
 
 An I would or no, I must with him ride; 
 He gave me a palfrey by his side, 
 And he brought me unto his palace fair, 
 Bujlded and garnished beyond compare. 
 He showed me castles, and goodly 
 
 towers, 
 Rivers and forests, meads with flowers, 
 And many a goodly steed and tall — 
 Then he turned again from his castle hall, 
 And brought me back to my orchard 
 
 tree, 161 
 
 And spake in such wise as I tell to thee: 
 'Lady, to-morrow I bid thee be 
 Here, on this spot, 'neath this elder tree, 
 Hence shalt thou ride with me away, 
 To dwell at my court for ever and aye. 
 And if thou delayest to do my will 
 Or here, or there, it shall be thine ill; 
 For no man may help thee, or hold thee 
 
 now, 
 Did they tear thee limb from limb, I 
 
 trow ; 170 
 
 For living or dying, or whole or torn, 
 Must thou ride with us to-morrow's 
 
 mom!'" 
 
 "Alas!" cried the king: "now woe is me, 
 In sorry case methinks we be, 
 For liever were I to lose my life 
 Than thus to be robbed of my queen, my 
 
 wife." 
 Counsel he craveth in this his need, 
 But no man knoweth a fitting rede. 
 
 'T is the morrow's dawn, and with cour- 
 age high, 
 Sir Orfeo arms him fittingly, 180 
 
 And full a thousand knights with him 
 Are girded for combat stout and grim. 
 Forth with the queen they now will ride 
 To the elder tree by the orchard side, 
 And there in its shadow they take their 
 
 stand, 
 And a shield-wall build on either hand, 
 And each man sweareth he here will stay, 
 And die, ere his queen be reft away. 
 
 Yet e'en as their lips might form the 
 
 vow 
 The queen was gone, and no man knew 
 
 how, 190 
 
 For the fairy folk, they have cast their 
 
 spell, 
 And whither they bear her no man may 
 
 tell! 
 
 Oh! then there was wailing, I ween, and 
 
 woe, 
 To his chamber straight the king doth 
 
 go, 
 And he casteth him down on the floor 
 
 of stone, 
 And he maketh such dole, and such bit- 
 ter moan. 
 That well nigh he wept his life away, 
 But counsel or aid was there none that 
 
 day. 
 
 Then he bade his men come, one and all, 
 
 Earls, barons, and knights, to his council 
 
 hall, 200 
 
 And they came — and he spake: "My 
 
 lords so dear, 
 I take ye to witness before me here 
 That I give my high steward, and 
 
 Seneschal, 
 The rule of my lands and kingdoms all; 
 I will have him stay in this my stead, 
 And rule the land, e'en as I were dead; 
 For since I have lost my wife, the queen, 
 The fairest lady this earth hath seen, 
 To dwell in the wilderness am I fain, 
 And look on no woman's face again, 210 
 But to spend my days, for evermore, 
 With the beasts of the field, in the wood- 
 land hoar. 
 And when ye know that my days be 
 
 done 
 Then come ye together, every one, 
 And choose you a king. — Now I go my 
 
 way, 
 Deal with my goods as best ye may!" 
 Then a voice of weeping rose in the 
 
 hall, 
 And a bitter cry from one and all, 
 
136 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And scarce might they speak, or old or 
 
 young, 
 For fast-flowing tears that chained their 
 
 tongue; 220 
 
 But they fell on their knees with one 
 
 accord, 
 And they prayed, an so it might please 
 
 their lord, 
 That he should not thus from his king- 
 * dom go — 
 
 "Go to," he quoth: "it must needs be 
 
 so!" 
 
 Thus Sir Orfeo forth would fare, ' 
 Only a staff in his hand he bare, 
 Neither kirtle he took, nor hood, 
 Shirt, nor other vesture good, 
 But alway he took his harp in hand, 
 And gat him, barefoot, out of the land. 
 Never a man might with him go — 231 
 Alack! there was weeping, I ween, and 
 
 woe, 
 When he who aforetime was king with 
 
 crown 
 Passed, as a beggar, out of the town. 
 By woodland and moorland the king 
 
 hath passed, 
 To the wilderness is he come at last, 
 There findeth he naught that his soul 
 
 may please, 
 But ever he liveth in great misease. 
 He that was wrapt in fur withal 
 And slumbered soft 'neath purple and 
 
 pall, 240 
 
 On the heather he now must rest his 
 
 head, 
 With leaves and grass for a covering 
 
 spread. 
 He that had castles, halls with towers, 
 Rivers, forests, fields with flowers, 
 Must make his bed 'neath the open sky 
 Though it snow and freeze right pierc- 
 ingly. 
 Once knights and ladies, a goodly train, 
 To do him service were ever fain; 
 Now none are in waiting to please the 
 
 king, 
 
 But the worms of the woodland coil and 
 
 spring. . 250 
 
 He that erstwhile might take his fill 
 Of food, or drink, as should be his will, 
 Now must he dig and delve all day 
 For the roots that may scarce his hunger 
 
 stay. 
 In summer-time hath he fruit to eat, 
 The hedgerow berries, sour and sweet, 
 But in winter he liveth in sore misease, 
 On roots, and grasses, and bark of trees, 
 Till all his body was parched and dry, 
 And his limbs were twisted all awry; 260 
 Dear Lord, who may tell what sorrow 
 
 sore 
 Sir Orfeo suffered, ten year, and more! 
 His beard, once black, is grey, I trow, 
 To his girdle clasp it hangeth low. 
 His harp, which was wont to be his glee, 
 He keepeth safe in a hollow tree, 
 And when the sun shone bright again 
 To take that harp he aye was fain, 
 And to temper the cords as should seem 
 
 him good, 
 Till the music rang through the silent 
 
 wood, 270 
 
 Arid all the beasts that in woodland 
 
 dwell 
 For very joy at his feet they fell; 
 And all the birds in the forest free 
 Were fain to seek to the nearest tree, 
 And there on the branch they sat a-row 
 To hearken the melody sweet and low; 
 But when his harp he had laid aside 
 Nor beastnor bird would with him abide. 
 
 Oft-times, I ween, in the morning bright, 
 Sir Orfeo saw a fairer sight, ^ 280 
 
 For he saw the king of the Fairies ride 
 A-hunting, down by the forest side; 
 With merry shout, and the horn's gay 
 
 blast, 
 And the bay of the hounds the hunt 
 
 swept past, 
 But never the quarry they ran to bay, 
 And he knew not whither they went 
 
 alway. 
 
SIR ORFEO 
 
 i37 
 
 In other fashion he 'Id come again, 
 With a warlike host in his royal train, 
 Full thousand riders richly dight, 
 Each •armed as becometh a valiant 
 
 knight, 290 
 
 Of steadfast countenance, tried and true ; 
 Full many a banner above them flew, 
 As they rode with drawn sword, on war- 
 fare bent, 
 But never he wist the way they went. 
 And then they would come in other 
 
 guise: 
 Knights and ladies in joyous wise, 
 In quaint attire, as of days gone by, 
 Facing a measure soberly, 
 To sound of tabor and pipe they pass, 
 Making sweet music, across the grass. 
 Again it chanced that he saw one day 
 Sixty ladies, who rode their way 302 
 Gracious and gay as the bird on the tree, 
 And never a knight in that company. 
 Falcon on hand those ladies ride, 
 On hawking bent, by the river side; 
 Full well they know it as right good 
 
 haunt 
 Of mallard, of heron, and cormorant. 
 But now hath the waterfowl taken flight, 
 And each falcon chooseth his prey 
 
 aright, 310 
 
 And never a one but hath slain its 
 
 bird — 
 Then Sir Orfeo, laughing, spake this 
 
 word: 
 "By faith, but those folk have goodly 
 
 game, 
 I will get me thither, in Heaven's name, 
 Of old was I wont such sport to see — " 
 Thus he came to that goodly company, 
 And stayed his steps by a lady fair, 
 He looked on her face, and was well 
 
 aware, 
 By all the tokens of truth, I ween, 
 That 't was Heurodis, his own sweet 
 
 queen! 320 
 
 Each on the other to gaze was fain, 
 Yet never a word passed betwixt the 
 
 twain, 
 
 But at sight of her lord in his sorry 
 
 plight, 
 Who aforetime had been so fair a knight, 
 The tears welled forth, and flowed 
 
 amain — 
 Then the ladies round they seized her 
 
 rein, 
 By force must she ride with them away, 
 Nor with her lord might she longer stay. 
 "Alack!" quoth the king: "woe worth 
 
 the day, 
 Thou sluggard, Death, why make de- 
 lay? 330 
 Ah! wretched me that I live, I ween, 
 After the sight that mine eyes have seen ! 
 Alas, that I needs must live my life 
 When I may not speak with my love, 
 
 my .wife! 
 And she dare not speak to her lord so 
 
 true — 
 Now break my heart for ruth and rue ! 
 I' faith," he quoth: "whate'er betide, 
 Whithersoe'er those ladies ride 
 That self-same way shall my footsteps 
 
 fare, 
 For life, or death, I have little care ! " 340 
 Then with staff in hand, and harp on 
 
 back, 
 He gat him forth on the toilsome track, 
 Nor for stock nor for stone will he hold 
 
 him still, 
 But goeth his way of right good will. 
 Thro' a cleft in the rock lies the Fairy 
 
 way 
 And the king he follows as best he may; 
 Thro' the heart of the rock he needs 
 
 must go, 
 Three miles and more, I would have ye 
 
 know, 
 Till a country fair before him lay, 349 
 Bright with the sun of a summer's day; 
 Nor hill nor valley might there be seen 
 But level lands, and pastures green, 
 And the towers of a castle met his eye, 
 Rich and royal, and wondrous high. 
 The outer wall of that burg, I ween, 
 Was clear and shining, as crystal sheen, 
 
i3» 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And a hundred towers stood round 
 
 about, 
 Of cunning fashion, and building stout. 
 Up from the moat sprang the buttress 
 
 bold, 359 
 
 Arched and fashioned of good red gold. 
 The castle front was of carven stone, 
 All manner of beast might ye see 
 
 thereon, 
 And the dwelling rooms within that hall 
 Of precious stones were fashioned all, 
 The meanest pillar ye might behold 
 Was covered all over with burnished 
 
 gold. 
 Throughout that country 'twas ever 
 
 light, 
 For e'en when the hour was mirk mid- 
 night 
 Those goodly jewels they shone, each one, 
 Bright as at midday the summer sun. 
 'T was past all speech, and beyond all 
 
 thought, 371 
 
 The wondrous work that there was 
 
 wrought, 
 Sir Orf eo deemed that at last his eyes 
 Beheld the proud palace of Paradise. 
 In at the gate rode the Fairy train, 
 And the king to follow them was full fain, 
 He knocketh loud at the portal high, 
 And the warder cometh speedily, 
 He asketh him where he fain would go? 
 "A harper am I" quoth Sir Orfeo; 380 
 "And methinks an thy lord would 
 
 hearken me 
 I would solace his hours with min- 
 strelsy." 
 With that the porter made no ado, 
 But gladly he let Sir Orfeo through. 
 The king looked round him, to left, to 
 
 right, 
 And in sooth he beheld a fearsome sight; 
 For here lay folk whom men mourned as 
 
 dead, 
 Who were hither brought when their 
 
 lives were sped; 
 E'en as they passed so he saw them 
 
 stand, 
 
 Headless, and limbless, on either hand. 
 There were bodies pierced by a javelin 
 
 cast, 391 
 
 There were raving madmen fettered fast, 
 One sat erect on his warhorse good, 
 Another lay choked, as he ate his food. 
 Some floated, drowned, in the water's 
 
 flow, 
 Shrivelled were some in the flame's 
 
 fierce glow; 
 There were those who in childbed had 
 
 lost their life, 
 Some as leman, and some as wife; 
 Men and women on every side 
 Lay as they sleep at slumbertide, 400 
 Each in such fashion as he might see 
 Had been carried from earth to Faerie. 
 And her, whom he loved beyond his life, 
 Dame Heurodis, his own sweet wife, 
 He saw, asleep 'neath an elder tree, 
 And knew by her raiment that it was 
 
 she. 
 He looked his fill on these marvels all 
 And went his way to a kingly hall, 
 And he saw therein a goodly sight; 
 Beneath a canopy, rich and bright, 410 
 The king of the Fairies had his seat 
 With his queen beside him, fair and 
 
 sweet, 
 Their crowns, their vesture, agleam with 
 
 gold, 
 His eyes might scarcely the sight behold ! 
 Sir Orfeo gazed for a little space, 
 Then he kneeled on his knees before the 
 
 dais: 
 "O king," he said: "an it were thy will, 
 As minstrel I gladly would shew my 
 
 skill," 
 And the king he quoth: "Who mayest 
 
 thou be 
 Who thus, unbidden, hast come to me? 
 I called thee not unto this my court, 4>i 
 No man of mine hath thee hither 
 
 brought, 
 For never, I ween, since my reign began 
 Have I found so foolish and fey a man 
 Who found his way unto this my home, 
 
SIR ORFEO 
 
 139 
 
 Save that I bade him hither come!" 
 "Lord," quoth Sir Orfeo: "know for sure 
 That I am naught but a minstrel poor, 
 And e'en as the minstrel's manner is 
 I seek out castles and palaces; 430 
 
 Though never a welcome our portion be, 
 Yet needs must we proffer our min- 
 strelsy!" 
 Then he took his harp, so sweet of tone, 
 And he sat him down before the throne, 
 And he tuned the strings, as well he 
 
 knew, 
 And so sweet were the sounds that he 
 
 from them drew, 
 That no man within the palace bound 
 But sped swift-foot as he heard the 
 
 sound, 
 And down they lie around his feet, 
 The melody seemeth to them so sweet. 
 The king he hearkens, and holds him 
 still, 441 
 
 Hearing the music of right good will, 
 And the gentle queen she was glad and 
 
 gay, 
 Such comfort was their's from the min- 
 strel's lay. 
 When he had finished his minstrelsy 
 Out spake the monarch of Faerie; 
 "Harper, right well hast thou played, 
 
 I trow, 
 Whatever thou wilt thou may'st ask me 
 
 now, 
 I am minded in royal wise to pay, 
 So what is thy will? Now harper say!" 
 Quoth Sir Orfeo: "Sire, I would pray 
 of thee 4Si 
 
 One thing alone, that thou give to me 
 That lady fair, who is sleeping now 
 Beneath the shade of the elder bough!" 
 "Nay," quoth the king, '"t were an ill- 
 matched pair 
 Did I send thee forth with that dame so 
 
 fair, 
 For never a charm doth the lady lack, 
 And thou art withered, and lean, and 
 black, 458 
 
 'T were a loathly thing, it seemeth me, 
 
 To send her forth in such company." 
 "Sire," quoth Sir Orfeo: "gentle king, 
 To my mind it seemeth a fouler thing 
 To belie a word, and forswear an oath — 
 Sire, thou didst promise, nothing loth, 
 That that which I asked I should have 
 
 of thee, 
 And that promise thou need'st must keep 
 
 to me!" 
 Then spake the king: "Since the thing 
 
 be so 
 Take that lady fair by her hand, and go, 
 And may bliss and blessing with ye 
 
 dwell!" 
 Then he kneeled adown, and thanked 
 
 him well. 470 
 
 Sir Orfeo took his wife by the hand, 
 And he gat him swift from the Fairy land, 
 Out of the palace he took his way 
 By the self -same road he had come that 
 
 day; 
 And never he stayed till again he stood 
 Before the walls of that city good 
 Where aforetime as king he ware the 
 
 crown — 
 But no man knew him in all that town. 
 But a little way from the gate they go 
 Ere they come to a dwelling poor and low, 
 And Sir Orfeo deemed they would har- 
 bour there, 481 
 For more would he know ere he 'Id 
 
 further fare. 
 So he prayed, as a minstrel wan and 
 
 worn, 
 They would shelter him and his wife 
 
 till morn. 
 Then he asked his host who was ruler 
 
 there? 
 And who was king of that country fair? 
 And the beggar answered him word for 
 
 word, 
 And told him the tale as ye e'en have 
 
 heard; 
 How ten years agone, in the month of 
 
 May, 489 
 
140 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Their queen was by Fairies stolen away, 
 And, an exile, their king had wandered 
 
 forth, 
 But none knew whither, or south, or 
 
 north, 
 And the steward since then the land did 
 
 hold — 
 And many another tale he told. 
 When the morrow came, and 't was high 
 
 noontide, 
 The king bade his wife in the hut abide, 
 And he clad himself in the beggar's gown, 
 And, harp in hand, he sought the town, 
 And he gat him into that city good 
 That all men might see him an they 
 
 would. 500 
 
 Earl, and baron, and lady bright, 
 Stared agape at the wondrous sight, 
 "Was ever," they cried, "such marvel 
 
 known? 
 The man is by hair, as by moss, o'er- 
 
 grown. 
 Look how his beard hangeth to his knee! 
 'T is e'en as he were a walking tree!" 
 Then as to the palace his way was set 
 In the city street the steward he met, 
 And he cried aloud : " Sir Steward, I pray 
 That thou have mercy on me this day; 
 I am a harper of heathennesse, 511 
 
 Help me in this my sore distress! " 
 And the steward he quoth: "Now come 
 
 with me, 
 All that I have will I share with thee, 
 Every good harper is welcome here 
 For Sir Orfeo's sake, my lord most dear." 
 The steward he sat him down at the 
 
 board, 
 With many a noble knight and lord, 
 All kinds of music had they, I trow, 519 
 Of trumpet and tabour, and harp enow, 
 In the hall was no lack of melody — 
 Sir Orfeo hearkened silently 
 And till all had done he held him still — 
 Then he took and tempered his harp with 
 
 skill, 
 And I think me no tongue of man may 
 
 say 
 
 How sweet was the music he made that 
 
 day. 
 To hearken and hear was each one fain, 
 But the steward he gazed on the harp 
 
 again, 
 And it seemed to him that he knew it 
 
 well — 
 "Minstrel," he quoth: "I beseech thee 
 
 tell ! ^530 
 
 Whence had'st thou that harp, and who 
 
 gave it thee? 
 I pray that thou truly answer me! " 
 "Lord," he quoth: "afar from here, 
 As I took my way through a desert drear. 
 I found, in a valley dark and grim, 
 A man by lions torn limb from limb, 
 Wolves gnawed his bones with teeth so 
 
 sharp, 
 And beside the body I found this harp. 
 Full ten years ago it needs must be." 
 "Alas!" cried the steward : " now woe is 
 
 me!" 540 
 
 'T was the corse of my lord Sir Orfeo! 
 Ah! wretched me, what shall I do? 
 Of so good a lord am I left forlorn, 
 Methinks 't were best I had ne'er been 
 
 born! 
 Ah woe, that for him such lot was cast, 
 And so foul a death he must die at last ! " 
 With that, the steward, he swooning fell, 
 But the lords they comforted him right 
 
 well, 
 For no man so sad who draweth breath 
 But findeth healing at last in death. 
 
 By all these tokens Sir Orfeo knew 551 
 A loyal man was his steward and true, 
 One who loved his lord, nor his pledge 
 
 would break — 
 Then up he stood, and on this wise 
 
 spake: 
 "Hearken, I pray thee, steward, my 
 
 word, 
 Put case I were Orfeo now, thy lord, 
 Say I had suffered torments sore 
 In the wilderness full ten years and more, 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 141 
 
 That at last I had won my queen away 
 From the land where the Fairy king 
 
 holds sway, 560 
 
 And that we had safely come, we twain, 
 Back to this city and burg again, 
 And my wife abode with a beggar poor 
 While I came again to my palace door, 
 In lowly guise, thus to test thee still, 
 And see if thou bore me right good 
 
 will; 
 I wot, an I found thee so leal and true, 
 My coming again thou should'st never 
 
 rue, 
 Verily, and indeed, without yea or nay, 
 The throne should be thine when I 
 
 passed away! 570 
 
 But if news of my death had been joy to 
 
 thee 
 Thou hadst passed from this house right 
 
 speedily!" 
 Then never a man at the castle board 
 But knew that this was indeed their 
 
 lord, 
 The steward right well his master knew, 
 Over and over the board he threw, 
 And low at Sir Orfeo's feet would fall — 
 And so do the lordings, one and all, 
 And they cry with one voice till the 
 
 rafters ring: 579 
 
 "Thou art our lord, Sire, and our king!" 
 Blithe of his coming they were and gay, 
 
 To his chamber theyled the king straight- 
 way, 
 And they bathed him well, and trimmed 
 
 his hair, 
 And clad him in royal raiment fair. 
 And then with solemn and stately train 
 They brought the queen to her burg 
 
 again, 
 With all manner of music and min- 
 strelsy; 
 I' faith there was joyous melody, 
 And the tears of joy they fell like rain 
 When the folk saw their king and queen 
 again. 59° 
 
 Now is Orfeo crowned once more, I wis, 
 With his lady and queen, Dame Heuro- 
 
 dis, 
 And many a year they lived those two, 
 And after them ruled the steward so true. 
 Harpers in Britain, as I was told,' 
 Heard how this marvel had chanced of 
 
 old, 
 And thereof they made a lay so sweet, 
 And gave it the king's name, as was 
 
 meet. 
 "Sir Orfeo," thus the title stood, 
 Good are the words, the music good — 
 Thus came Sir Orfeo out of his care, 601 
 God grant to us all as well to fare! 
 
 SIR TRISTREM 
 
 I was at Ercildoune, 
 
 With Thomas spake I there, 
 
 In mystic rede and rune 
 
 He told who Tristrem bare — 
 
 (He ware a royal crown — ) 
 
 And who gave fostering fair, 
 
 A baron of renown 
 
 E'en as their elders were. 
 
 Thus, year by year, 
 
 Thomas, he told in town 
 
 What ventures were their share. 
 
 Of this sweet summer's day 
 In winter naught is seen, 
 The groves be waxen gray 
 That in their hour were green; 
 So doth this world alway 
 (So do I wot and ween), 
 Our sires be passed away 
 Who right good men had been 
 And so abide — 
 Of one I make my theme 
 Whose fame has waxen wide. 
 
142 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Roland would thole no wrong 
 
 A joyful man is he 
 
 Though Morgan ruled o'er all; 
 
 Who will the Tourney cry; 
 
 He brake his castles strong, 
 
 Maidens his deeds shall see 
 
 And levelled many a hall. 
 
 As o'er the wall they lie. 70 
 
 He smote his hosts among — 
 
 They question fair and free: 
 
 Loss did his foes befall, 
 
 "Who hath the mastery?" 
 
 And strife that dured long. — 
 
 Men say: "The best is he 
 
 For peace did Morgan call, 30 
 
 The knight from Ermonie!" 
 
 Full sore his need, 
 
 Henceforth, in bower, 
 
 Of fear was he the thrall 
 
 The chosen love is he 
 
 Lest death should be his meed. 
 
 Of maiden Blancheflower. 
 
 For thus the strife began, 
 
 That maiden, fair and bright, 
 
 (I rede ye well 't was so) 
 
 She called her masters three, 
 
 Betwixt the Duke Morgan 
 
 And quoth: "That stranger knight 80 
 
 And Roland, fiercest foe. 
 
 Full sore hath wronged me, 
 
 The land they overran, 
 
 Methinks, by Magic's might — 
 
 And wrought the poor much woe, 
 
 A wondrous man is he 
 
 They slew full many a man, 40 
 
 Thus through my heart to smite ! 
 
 In strife they were not slow 
 
 Wounded to death I be, 
 
 But men of price; 
 
 And that so soon ! 
 
 The one was Duke Morgan, 
 
 Save he the wrong make right 
 
 The other Roland Riis. 
 
 My night is come ere noon!" 
 
 Those knights, I ween, were wise, 
 
 'T were hard his praise to mend, 
 
 A cov'nant made they there 
 
 That wise and stalwart wight, 00 
 
 To rest in peaceful guise 
 
 Unto the wide world's end 
 
 For seven years full fair. 
 
 Was never better knight, 
 
 The duke and Roland Riis 
 
 Nor truer to his friend, 
 
 Thereto they steadfast sware. so 
 
 And Roland Riis he hight. 
 
 Forthwith, as knights of prize 
 
 To battle did he wend, 
 
 To England would they fare 
 
 And wounds he won in fight. 
 
 And see with sight 
 
 Full sore and fell; 
 
 Mark, who the royal crown ware, 
 
 Blancheflower, the maiden bright, 
 
 And many a gallant knight. 
 
 The tale she heard them tell. 
 
 To Mark the king they wend 
 
 And cried, "Ah, wellaway!" 100 
 
 With followers, famed in fight, 
 
 When men sware it was so; 
 
 The venture to the end 
 
 Her mistress did she pray 
 
 They told him, fair and right. 
 
 That she might straightway go 
 
 He prayed them, as their friend, 60 
 
 There, where the good knight lay, 
 
 Abide, both day and night, 
 
 She swooned for very woe; 
 
 In peace; thereto they lend 
 
 He comforted the may, 
 
 Their will, each gallant knight, 
 
 And in that hour the two 
 
 For act and deed. 
 
 Begat a son — 
 
 To Tourney they invite 
 
 Whom men as Tristrem know 
 
 Full many, stout on steed. 
 
 Where'er the tale doth run. no 
 
SIR TRISTREM 143 
 
 That oath the foeman sware 
 
 Swift Rohant's rede was sped : 
 
 And to maintain had thought, 
 
 "This maiden shall be our's, 
 
 Duke Morgan brake his share, 
 
 With Roland Riis to wed, 
 
 Of truce would he have naught. 
 
 And rule within these towers. 
 
 Rohant, of fealty fair, 
 
 Fittest to share his bed, 
 
 A writing swift he wrought, 
 
 Brightest in lady's bower, 160 
 
 And bade to Roland bear; 
 
 None fairer e'er was bred 
 
 His lord he there besought, 
 
 Than maiden Blancheflower, 
 
 In this his need, 
 
 That lady sweet!" 
 
 To help him as he ought, 120 
 
 After love's richest dower 
 
 Or all were lost indeed. 
 
 The parting followed fleet. 
 
 Then Roland Riis in woe 
 
 The folk, right well they know 
 
 Prayed leave of Mark the king: 
 
 How Morgan subtly wrought, 
 
 "Hence must I swiftly go 
 
 With wisdom, to and fro, 
 
 For men ill tidings bring; 
 
 Among his men he sought. 
 
 A false and faithless foe 
 
 His true knights, high and low, 170 
 
 Seeketh my undoing — " 
 
 Were to his summons brought; 
 
 Blancheflower full soon must know, 
 
 With banners all a-row, 
 
 Her hands the maid must wring 
 
 In weapons lacking naught; 
 
 For sorrow sore: 130 
 
 That knight so bold, 
 
 "Myself to ruin I bring 
 
 As crowned king he thought 
 
 For love I to thee bore! 
 
 To win him fame untold. 
 
 "In shame I bide here still, 
 
 With folk on field arrayed, 
 
 Thou sailest over sea — " 
 
 Morgan his foe would bide, 
 
 Quoth Roland: "Here I dwell 
 
 Naught Roland's onslaught stayed, 
 
 Save that thou wend with me!" 
 
 Against him would he ride. 180 
 
 "To bide for me were ill, 
 
 Sooth, 't was a mighty raid! 
 
 Behold, and thou mayest see! 
 
 Sorrow befell each side, 
 
 Steadfast my wish and will 
 
 With prowess proud displayed 
 
 From hence to fare with thee, 140 
 
 Roland, he felled their pride. 
 
 That I may find 
 
 'T was but with pain 
 
 Thy fair folk, frank and free, 
 
 Morgan escaped that tide, 
 
 Thy goodly land, and kind!" 
 
 Well nigh had he been slain! 
 
 They make them ready there, 
 
 The foemen came anew 
 
 No longer will they bide, 
 
 Where Roland valiant stood, 
 
 With banners floating fair 
 
 The helms they hack and hew, igo 
 
 From haven forth they ride. 
 
 Thro' burnies wells the blood. 
 
 To Roland's castle fair 
 
 Then nigh to death there drew 
 
 The winds their vessel guide. 
 
 Full many a hero good, 
 
 Her sails adown they tear, 150 
 
 Of Roland men may rue 
 
 Forth from the ship they stride; 
 
 The death, by Holy Rood! 
 
 The knights, steel-clad, 
 
 A hero bold, 
 
 In Roland's service tried, 
 
 His son, of valiant mood, 
 
 To do his will were glad. 
 
 Payment full dearly told. 
 
144 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 A rueful rede now hear 
 Of Roland Riis the knight, 
 Three hundred slew he there 
 With sword so keen and bright. 
 Of all who foemen were 
 None might him fell in fight. 
 In traitorous wise they fare, 
 And thus the death-blow smite, 
 With cruel guile 
 To death the hero dight — 
 Alas! Woe worth the while! 
 
 The steed his master bore 
 Dead, on his homeward way; 
 The folk marvelled the more 
 Who saw bis knightly play. 
 They came with rueful lore 
 To Blancheflower straightway, 
 For her I sorrow sore — 
 On childbed, where she lay 
 In woe, was born 
 Sir Tristrem that same day — 
 She died ere morrow's morn. 
 
 A ring of richest hue 
 She ware, that lady free, 
 She gave it Rohan t true 
 Her son's henceforth to be. 
 "Then grimy brother knew, 
 My father gave it me; 
 King Mark methinks shall rue 
 When he that same shall see, 
 And sorely weep! 
 As Roland loved thee 
 The ring for his son keep!" 
 
 The folk around her bed 
 
 Sadly their lady see, — 
 'Roland my lord is dead, 
 
 He speaks no more with me:" — 
 'Our lady too, is sped, 
 
 She dieth verily: 
 
 What do we in this stead?" 
 'As God wills, let it be 
 
 For good or ill." — 
 
 Right sad it was to see 
 
 Her lying cold and still. 
 
 330 
 
 Begotten thus, and born, 
 
 Was he, the child of woe; 
 
 Rohant was all forlorn 
 
 Nor wist what he might do. 
 
 His own true wife that morn 
 
 To childbed needs must go: 
 
 He sware that twins were born, 
 
 To joy was turned his woe — 350 
 
 Now shall ye list, 
 
 The child at court they know 
 
 As Tram before the Trist. 
 
 The duke was well content, — 
 
 His foe was slain alway; 
 
 His messengers he sent, 
 
 The folk he straight did pray, 
 
 To yield to his intent, 
 
 And to his word obey, isg 
 
 Yield town, and tower, and tent — 
 
 None might his word gainsay, 
 
 But all right soon 
 
 Unto his will had bent, 
 
 No king had better done. 
 
 Who gave rich jewels of gold? 
 Duke Morgan, he alone; 
 Ruthless of heart and cold, 
 To face him was there none. 
 Unto his counsel told 
 Was Rohant, true as stone, 
 In wisdom versed of old 
 By craft he held his own 
 His heart to hide, 
 Perished were blood and bone 
 If hope were laid aside! 
 
 370 
 
 Now Rohant, evermore, 
 
 Hides Tristrem, blithe is he, 
 
 The child of scholar's lore 
 
 Learneth full speedily; 
 
 By books he setteth store, 
 
 And studieth readily; 
 
 Glad hearts, in sooth, they bore 
 
 Who owed him fealty. 
 
 The lad, so bright, 
 
 His skill shewed readily 
 
 Against them when he might. 
 
 280 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 H5 
 
 Now years full fifteen long 
 
 He hid, Rohant the true, 
 
 Tristrem, and every song 
 
 He taught him, old and new; ago 
 
 And laws of right and wrong, 
 
 And wise saws not a few; 
 
 The chase he followed long, 
 
 And to such skill he drew 
 
 I ween, that thus 
 
 Of venerie he knew 
 
 More than Manerius. 
 
 A ship of Norroway 
 
 Came to Sir Rohant's hold, 
 
 With hawks both white and gray, 
 
 And cloths full fair in fold; 301 
 
 So Tristrem heard men say — 
 
 For sport the lad so bold 
 
 Would twenty shillings pay 
 
 E'en as Sir Rohant told, 
 
 And ever taught; 
 
 The seamen to him sold 
 
 The fairest hawk they brought. 
 
 A chessboard by a chair 
 
 He saw, and fain would play; 310 
 
 The captain, debonair, 
 
 Quoth: "Child, what wilt thou lay?" 
 "Against this hawk so fair 
 
 Shillings two score, I say, 
 
 He who calls 'Mate' shall bear 
 
 The twain with him away." — 
 
 The captain bold, 
 
 With good will spake straightway: 
 "That cov'nant will I hold." 
 
 Their pledge in order lies, 320 
 
 To play they now begin; 
 
 They set the board in guise 
 
 A right long match to win. 
 
 The stakes they 'gan to rise — 
 
 Tristrem shewed guile therein, 
 
 He dealt as one full wise, 
 
 And gave as he might win, 
 
 The lad so brave; 
 
 The game's short space within 
 
 Six hawks he won, and gave. 330 
 
 Rohant would go on shore, 
 His sons he called away, 
 The fairest hawk he bore 
 Tristrem had won that day. 
 And with him he left more 
 Money, wherewith to play; 
 The captain roundly swore 
 Silver and gold to lay 
 In stake that stound — 
 Tristrem, he won alway 340 
 
 Of him a hundred pound. 
 
 Tristrem won all they laid; 
 
 A treason there they planned; 
 
 E'en as his master said 
 
 That even was at hand, 
 
 The while they sat and played 
 
 They gat them from the land. 
 
 Their sails the breezes fanned; 
 
 O'er waves they leap — 
 
 Blithely they leave the strand; 350 
 
 But Tristrem sore did weep. 
 
 They set his master free, 
 
 Gave boat, and eke an oar, 
 
 Crying: "Here is the sea, 
 
 And yonder be the shore, 
 
 Choose what thy lot shall be, 
 
 The which were wiser lore, 
 
 To sink, or sail; with me 
 
 The child, for evermore 
 
 Shall sail the flood." 360 
 
 Tristrem, he wept full sore; 
 
 The captain deemed it good. 
 
 Nine weeks, I ween, and more, 
 Those seamen sailed the flood, 
 Till anchor failed, and oar, 
 And storms their course with- 
 stood. 
 Tristrem, the blame he bore 
 For this, their mournful mood; 
 Small use the steersman's lore, 
 The waves they were so wood 370 
 With storm and wind — 
 To land their will was good 
 Might they a haven find. 
 
146 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 To land they drew anigh, 
 
 The track it was not light, 
 
 A forest as it were, 
 
 His prize with him he bore, 
 
 The hills, they were full high, 
 
 The hills of goodly height 420 
 
 The holts, they were full fair. 
 
 He climbed, and holts so hoar. 
 
 To shore right speedily 
 
 The road it came in sight — 
 
 Tristrem the seamen bare, 
 
 (Well knew he woodland lore!) 
 
 His gains, his jewellery, 380 
 
 He struck the pathway right, 
 
 And bread, they gave him there, 
 
 Two palmers there before 
 
 The lad so mild — 
 
 He saw, and quoth: 
 
 In calm they thence did fare, 
 
 "Whence came ye to this shore?" 
 
 On shore they left the child. 
 
 "Of England be we both." 
 
 The wind full fair did hold; 
 
 Fearing they might him slay 
 
 Alone on land was he, 
 
 He said he sought the king, 430 
 
 His heart for fear grew cold 
 
 Money would gladly pay 
 
 When he no ship might see. 
 
 (To each man ten shilling) 
 
 His grief to Christ he told — 
 
 For guidance on the way, 
 
 The Lord Who died on Tree — 390 
 
 Would they to palace bring — 
 
 "My plight, Dear Lord behold, 
 
 They sware right gladly: "Yea, 
 
 And guidance send to me 
 
 By Heaven's Almighty King 
 
 After Thy Will; 
 
 'T were done right soon — " 
 
 And of Thy Mercy free 
 
 Full wise his ordering, 
 
 Let me not come to ill!" 
 
 Swiftly he had his boon. 
 
 Thomas, he asks alway, 
 
 Fair was the forest, wide, 440 
 
 •Who would of Tristrem hear • 
 
 With game well plenishe<l, 
 
 The tale aright must say, 
 
 The court was nigh beside, 
 
 And make each step full clear. 
 
 His guides toward it sped. 
 
 "Of a prince proud in play 400 
 
 Tristrem saw huntsmen ride, 
 
 Now hearken, lordings dear, 
 
 A leash of hounds they led; 
 
 Who knoweth more alway 
 
 A booty, in that tide 
 
 Let him shew counsel here 
 
 They bare, of harts well fed 
 
 As courteous friend; 
 
 Across their steed — 
 
 The tale to all men dear 
 
 Tristrem they, in that stead, 
 
 Let each man praise at end." 
 
 Beheld, in goodly weed. 450 
 
 The robe that wrapped him round 
 
 Quartered the beasts they bare, — 
 
 Tristrem from ship had brought, 
 
 In simple wise they wrought 1 
 
 'T was of a bliaunt brown, 
 
 E'en as they cattle were 
 
 The richest that was wrought. 410 
 
 At Martinmas i-bought! 
 
 So Thomas told in town — 
 
 Tristrem, he haled them there, 
 
 Of that land he knew naught, 
 
 Their ways full strange he thought, 
 
 So, seemly, sat him down, 
 
 And quoth: "Now saw I ne'er 
 
 And ate as good he thought, ' 
 
 Quarry in such wise brought 
 
 And then, anon, 
 
 Of men's good will; 
 
 The forest path he sought 
 
 Of such craft I know naught, 460 
 
 Whenas his meal was done. 
 
 Or else ye do full ill!" 
 
SIR TRISTREM 147 
 
 Upstood a serjant bold, 
 
 The flesh on fork they bound, 
 
 And thus to Tristrem said: 
 
 And eke the gargilon; 
 
 "I wot our sires of old 
 
 A hunters' blast they wound 
 
 On us this custom laid, 
 
 With cadence true and tone. 
 
 If other thou dost hold 
 
 A messenger they found, 510 
 
 There lies a beast unflayed, 
 
 Bade seek the king alone, 
 
 Thy will in act be told, 
 
 And tell him, at that stound, 
 
 Deal with it unafraid, 
 
 How all were fitly done 
 
 We are full fain 470 
 
 And homeward brought -^ 
 
 To see — " The huntsmen stayed 
 
 Then Mark the King with crown, 
 
 Their steeds, and gazed amain. 
 
 Right fair such tidings thought. 
 
 Tristrem, the breast he slit, 
 
 The merry blast they blew 
 
 The tongue laid with the pride, 
 
 Brought joy to many a heart, 
 
 The hams, with skill, I wit, 
 
 None there such custom knew, 
 
 He carved, and set aside. 
 
 Up from the board they start. 520 
 
 The belly then he split 
 
 "Forsooth, some huntsman new 
 
 And laid it open wide, 
 
 Hath taught our men this art! 
 
 With skilful strokes and fit, 
 
 Methinks 't is fair and due 
 
 He reft away the hide. 480 
 
 To others to impart 
 
 I wot and ween 
 
 An unknown lore — " 
 
 The hart he trimmed that tide 
 
 Thus blithe were they of heart 
 
 As many since have been. 
 
 Who came the king before. 
 
 The first joint carven fair 
 
 , Quoth Mark : ' ' Where wast thou born ? 
 
 The bowels he cast away, 
 
 Who art thou, Bel ami ? ' ' 
 
 The knee-joints sundered were, 
 
 Tristrem, he spake that morn, 530 
 
 In twain they severed lay. 
 
 "Fair sire, in Hermonie 
 
 Right well his part he bare — 
 
 My father dwells, forlorn, 
 
 The hounds they had their pay, 
 
 Rohant, by name is he, 
 
 The numbles did he share 490 
 
 Right skilful on the horn, 
 
 As all men saw that day; 
 
 And king of Venerie 
 
 Before their eyes 
 
 In all men's thought." 
 
 He cleft the spine alway, 
 
 Mark deemed 't was verity, 
 
 The backbone cut crosswise. 
 
 Of Rohant he knew naught. 
 
 The huntsman's share by right 
 
 The king, he said no more, 
 
 The shoulder left shall be 
 
 But washed and gat to meat, 540 
 
 With liver, heart and lights, 
 
 Bread lay each man before, 
 
 Which men do call quirrie ; 
 
 Enough they had to eat. 
 
 Hide for the hounds he dights, 
 
 Whether they set most store 
 
 And bids them all to see. 500 
 
 On ale, or red wine sweet, 
 
 Now on the tree there lights 
 
 At each one's will they bore 
 
 The raven for his fee 
 
 Great horns, or goblets meet 
 
 And sits a-row — 
 
 To fit their mood — 
 
 "Now, huntsmen, where be ye, 
 
 At will they kept their seat, 
 
 The prize in form to blow?" 
 
 And rose when seemed them good. 
 
148 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 A harper made a lay — sso 
 
 (Tristrem spake fair and free — ) 
 
 The harper went his way: 
 "An thou can'st, better me!" 
 "An I do not this day 
 
 Wrong have I done to thee!" 
 
 The harper quoth straightway: 
 "My harp I yield to thee 
 
 Of right good grace — " 
 
 Before the monarch's knee, 
 
 Tristrem must take his place. s6o 
 
 Right gladsome were they all, 
 
 And marked his skill therein, 
 
 Each man throughout the hall 
 
 Were fain the child to win. 
 
 King Mark did Tristrem call, 
 
 That lad of royal kin, 
 
 Clad him in silken pall 
 
 And robe of fairest skin, 
 
 For raiment meet — 
 
 The royal bower within 570 
 
 He maketh music sweet. 
 
 Now Tristrem leave we there, 
 
 To Mark is he right dear — 
 
 Sorrow is Rohant's share, 
 
 No tidings may he hear; 
 
 Afar he needs must fare, 
 
 With sad and rueful cheer, 
 
 The pilgrim's staff he bare; - 
 
 Through seven kingdoms drear 
 
 Tristrem he sought — 580 
 
 Riven the robes he ware, 
 
 His heart it failed him naught. 
 
 And still he naught might learn, 
 
 Rohant, that noble knight — 
 
 He wist not where to turn, 
 
 Bereft was he of might. 
 
 Men forced him then to earn 
 
 His bread, as labouring wight, 
 
 With hinds, on straw and fern 
 
 To lie throughout the night — 59° 
 
 At dawn, I ween, 
 
 Those Palmers hove in sight 
 
 Whom Tristrem erst had seen. 
 
 The question ever new, 
 He asked, whate'er befell — 
 The lad the Palmers knew, 
 And where he now should dwell; 
 "His robe is of one hue, 
 Of bliaunt, sooth to tell, 
 His name is Tristrem true, 600 
 
 The meat he carveth well 
 The king before — " 
 For guidance did he tell 
 Ten shillings from his store : 
 
 "The same I'll give to ye," 
 Quoth Rohant, "an ye may 
 Shew that same court to me." 
 The Palmers answered: "Yea." 
 Joyful at heart was he, 
 And paid them there straightway, 610 
 Of money round, in fee, 
 Ten shillings good that day, 
 And more, for gain — 
 Of Tristrem speedily 
 To hear, was he full fain. 
 
 Tristrem is his delight, 
 
 Of him he speaks alway — 
 
 The porter, in despite, 
 
 Quoth: "Churl, get thee away, 
 
 Or else I swift shall smite — 6ao 
 
 Why tarry here all day?" 
 
 He gave him there forthright 
 
 (The porter ne'er said Nay) 
 
 A ring in hand — 
 
 Wise man was he alway 
 
 Who first gave gifts in land! 
 
 Rohant, of hand so free, 
 He bade to pass the gate, 
 The ring was fair to see, 
 The gift were ill to mate. 630 
 
 The usher bade him flee: 
 "Churl, tempt thou not thy fate, 
 Broken thy head shall be, 
 And thou, ere it be late, 
 Trodden to ground — " 
 Rohant quoth: "Now let be, 
 And help me at this stound." 
 
SIR TRISTREM 149 
 
 That man, so meek on mold, 
 
 Rohant from bath did win; 
 
 Held forth another ring. 
 
 A barber brought they there 
 
 The usher took the gold, 640 
 
 Who shaved him, cheek and chin, 
 
 (T were meeter for a king.) 
 
 All snow-white was his hair. 
 
 Thus to the royal hold 
 
 In robe of costly skin 
 
 He paid his entering, 
 
 They garbed him, fresh and fair, 
 
 And unto Tristrem bold 
 
 Rohant, of noble kin, 
 
 The usher would him bring, 
 
 That raiment fitly ware 
 
 And straightway brought — 
 
 As knight so bold; figo 
 
 Tristrem deemed wondering 
 
 Who that had seen him there 
 
 A stranger him besought. 
 
 Might for a prince him hold. 
 
 Tho' men had soothly sworn 
 
 His tale in fitting wise 
 
 The news he scarce might heed 650 
 
 He told, though he came late; 
 
 That Rohant e'er had worn 
 
 Tristrem, in courtly guise, 
 
 So torn and rent a weed. 
 
 To hall he led him straight. 
 
 He prayed him fast that morn : 
 
 Men quoth, none might devise 
 
 "Fair child, so God thee speed, 
 
 A fairer form or state 
 
 Wast thou not from me torn? 
 
 Than his they did despise, 
 
 Hast thou forgot indeed?" — 
 
 And turn back from the gate 700 
 
 Rohant again 
 
 With beggar's fare — 
 
 He knew, and knelt with speed, 
 
 Now no man bare him hate, 
 
 And clasped, and kissed, full fain. 
 
 But bade him welcome there. 
 
 "Father, now vex thee naught, 660 
 
 Water they asked straightway, 
 
 Right welcome shalt thou be, 
 
 The cloth and board were spread, 
 
 By God, Who man hath bought, 
 
 With meats and drink alway, 
 
 Full hardly knew I thee! 
 
 And service, swiftly sped. 
 
 With toil thou hast me sought, 
 
 Tristrem they serve that day, 
 
 To know that grieveth me — " 
 
 And Rohant — fitly fed, 
 
 To Mark the word he brought: 
 
 They fain would go their way — 710 
 
 "Wilt thou my father see 
 
 The king, with crowned head, 
 
 Here, in thy sight? 
 
 He rose that tide — 
 
 I'll robe him fittingly 
 
 An I have rightly read, 
 
 As doth become a knight." 670 
 
 He set him by his side. 
 
 Tristrem, no more afraid, 
 
 Rohant spake free and fair, 
 
 Told Mark how he must fare, 
 
 Thus was his tale begun : 
 
 How he with shipmen played. 
 
 "An ye wist who he were 
 
 How him from land they tare; 
 
 Tristrem your love had won. 
 
 How storms their course delayed, 
 
 Your sister did him bear — " 
 
 Brake oar and anchor there; 
 
 (The king he heard anon) 720 
 
 "My winnings then they laid 
 
 "I owe him fealty fair, ; 
 
 In hand, and bade me fare, 
 
 By birth is he no son 
 
 Set me on ground — 
 
 To me, King! 
 
 I climbed the holts. so bare 680 
 
 See, ere her race was run 
 
 Till I thy huntsmen found." 
 
 Blancheflower gave me this ring!" 
 
i S o CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 "When Eoland Riis, the bold, 
 
 Woeful was Mark that day, 770 
 
 In strife did Morgan meet — " 
 
 And heavily he sighed: 
 
 Ere yet the tale was told 
 
 "Tristrem, I bid thee stay, 
 
 Rohant full sore did greet. 
 
 On English land abide. 
 
 Mark saw that knight so old, 730 
 
 Morgan is ill to slay, 
 
 How fast the tears did fleet, 
 
 TTis knights are men of pride; 
 
 He took that ring of gold; 
 
 Tho' thou be brave alway 
 
 His sister's token meet 
 
 Let others with thee ride 
 
 And sign, he knew, 
 
 In rank and row — 
 
 Raised Tristrem to his feet, 
 
 Take Rohant at thy side, 
 
 With kiss, as kinsman true. 
 
 Thy friends he best will know!" 780 
 
 They kissed him, one and all, 
 
 To arms, the king, he bade 
 
 Both lady fair and knight, 
 
 The folk throughout his land; 
 
 The servants there in hall, 
 
 Tristrem, for better aid, 
 
 And many a maiden bright. 740 
 
 He knighted with his hand, 
 
 Tristrem did Rohant call, 
 
 And gave him, fair arrayed, 
 
 And prayed him there forthright: 
 
 The bravest of his band 
 
 "Sir, how did this befall, 
 
 To ride with him on raid 
 
 How may I prove aright, 
 
 And by him true to stand 
 
 Nor doubt remain? 
 
 As staff and stay — 
 
 Tell me, for God's great Might, 
 
 Yet, bound in sorrow's band, 700 
 
 How was my father slain?" 
 
 No man might make him gay. 
 
 Rohant, he told anon 
 
 Nor would he dwell a night — 
 
 The venture, fierce and keen, 
 
 No more was there to say, 
 
 How battle had begun, 750 
 
 Ten hundred men of might 
 
 How erst the strife had been. 
 
 They rode with him away. 
 
 How Blancheflower, she was won, 
 
 Rohant, that gallant knight, 
 
 The love the twain between : 
 
 Ready was he alway, 
 
 "When Roland's race was run, 
 
 His castle hove in sight, 
 
 And Blancheflower dead, I ween, 
 
 Upon the seventh day 
 
 Full sore afraid 
 
 Their goal they won; 800 
 
 Of Morgan, foe so keen, 
 
 His marshal did he pay — 
 
 My son thou wast, I said." 
 
 Gave knighthood to each son. 
 
 Tristrem, with kindling eye, 
 
 His friends they were full fain, 
 
 Before the king came he — 760 
 
 (Small blame they won thereby!) 
 
 "Now into Ermonie 
 
 That he had come again 
 
 My heart, it draweth me; 
 
 Thus, unto Ermonie. 
 
 Thither I fain would fly — 
 
 Tidings were brought amain 
 
 My leave I take of thee; 
 
 That Morgan lay hard by, 
 
 Morgan I will defy, 
 
 Of that was Tristrem fain — 
 
 I slay him, or he me, 
 
 "With Morgan speak will I 810 
 
 With good right hand — 
 
 And that with speed; 
 
 Else none my face shall see 
 
 Too long we idle lie, 
 
 Again on England's strand!" 
 
 Myself must serve my need!" 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 r Si 
 
 Tristrem, that valiant knight, 
 
 "Thou shalt my will abide — 
 
 Made ready as he swore, 
 
 Thou fool, my wrath to dare! 
 
 Fifteen the tale of knights 
 
 Thy mother's shame to hide 860 
 
 Who rode with him, no more. 
 
 She with her love must fare! 
 
 To court they came forthright — 
 
 Now would'st thou come with pride; 
 
 (Men served their lord before,) 
 
 Betake thee otherwhere!" 
 
 All deemed they saw with sight 8so 
 
 Tristrem, he spake that tide: 
 
 Ten kings' sons pass the door, 
 
 "In that, thou liest, I swear! 
 
 And each, unsought, 
 
 The truth I know — " 
 
 The head of a wild boar 
 
 With a loaf Morgan there 
 
 As goodly gift had brought. 
 
 At Tristrem dealt a blow. 
 
 (A thought to Rohant came, 
 
 Down to his breast amain 
 
 And to his knights ^quoth he: 
 "As woman dowered Nwth_shame 
 
 It gushed, the crimson blood; 870 
 
 His sword was bare for bane, 
 
 Twofold, it were to me, 
 
 Nigh to the duke he stood; 
 
 An harm to Tristrem came; 
 
 He smote through bone and brain, 
 
 111 guardians sure were we! 830 
 
 As one in murderous mood. 
 
 Now arm ye at this same, 
 
 E'en as, with knightly train, 
 
 My knights, and hasten ye 
 
 Came Rohant, friend so good, 
 
 On swift steeds lithe, 
 
 In welcome aid — 
 
 Till that I Tristrem see 
 
 All that their hand withstood 
 
 My heart shall ne'er be blithe!") 
 
 With life the forfeit paid. 
 
 Tristrem would speech unfold — 
 
 As prisoner did they take 880 
 
 "Sir King, God deal with thee 
 
 Baron, and earl, and knight, 
 
 As I in love thee hold, 
 
 I wot for Morgan's sake 
 
 And thou hast dealt with me!" 
 
 Many were slain outright. 
 
 Morgan made answer bold: 840 
 
 Many a shaft they shake — 
 
 "I pray, my lord so free, 
 
 Riven the shields so bright — 
 
 Or ban or bliss be told 
 
 Many a head they brake — 
 
 Thine own the cost may be, 
 
 Methinks, in sorry plight 
 
 Thou daring knight! 
 
 Were found their foes — 
 
 Now make thou known to me 
 
 From nones it was till night 
 
 Thine errand, here forthright!" 
 
 Before the battle's close. 890 
 
 "Amends! For father slain, 
 
 Thus Tristrem, fair of face, 
 
 And theft of Ermonie!" 
 
 Morgan the duke hath slain, 
 
 The Duke, he spake again : 
 
 He gave his foes no grace 
 
 "Certes, thou say'st no lie, 850 
 
 Till every hold were ta'en. 
 
 An thou for strife art fain, 
 
 They yield in every place 
 
 'Amends! ' thou well mayst cry! 
 
 Cities and towers amain, 
 
 Therefore, thou haughty swain, 
 
 The folk, they sought his grace, 
 
 I'll meet thee presently 
 
 No foeman did remain 
 
 In fitting guise; 
 
 Upon the land — 
 
 Art thou come hastily 
 
 His father's slayer slain 900 
 
 From Mark, thy kinsman wise? 
 
 All bowed them to his hand. 
 
1*2 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Two years he ruled that land, 
 
 Tribute to fetch there came 
 
 And fitting laws did cry; 
 
 Moraunt, the noble knight; 
 
 All bowed them to his hand, — 
 
 Far-spreading was his fame, 
 
 Almain, and Ermonie, 
 
 As giant, famed in fight. 
 
 Both at his will did stand 
 
 Three hundred bairns, his claim, 
 
 Ready to do or die. 
 
 His tribute they, by right. 950 
 
 Rohan t he gave command 
 
 Tristrem, as at that same, 
 
 And set him there on high, 
 
 Came to the shore by night 
 
 E'en at his side — 910 
 
 And there abode; 
 
 "Rohant your cause shall try 
 
 He of the ship had sight 
 
 And rule this land so wide." 
 
 As it in haven rode. 
 
 "Rohant and his sons five 
 
 Mark, he was glad and gay 
 
 Shall hold this land of me, 
 
 Tristrem once more to see, 
 
 The while he be alive 
 
 Kissed him full oft that day, 
 
 His shall it surely be — 
 
 Welcome in sooth was he. 
 
 What boots it more to strive? 
 
 Mark, he would tidings pray, 960 
 
 Farewell, I bid to ye, 
 
 Know, how he had set free 
 
 Southward my course I'll drive, 
 
 His lands? — Tristrem did say; 
 
 Mine uncle Mark to see 920 
 
 "What may this gathering be, 
 
 In life once more." 
 
 So sore they greet?" 
 
 He turned, Tristrem the free, 
 
 "Tristrem, I'll tell to thee 
 
 His face to England's shore. 
 
 The truth, tho' all unsweet. 
 
 
 "The King of Ireland, 
 
 Goodly his furnishing, 
 
 Tristrem, I am his thrall; 
 
 And goodly his ships' fare; 
 Rohant he left as king 
 
 Too tight he strains the band, 
 
 With wrong 't was won withal. 970 
 
 O'er all his winnings there. 
 
 Fain would I now withstand, 
 
 Shipmen his barque did bring 
 
 On him the blame must fall — " 
 
 Safely to England there. 
 
 "Thereto I set my hand," 
 
 There heard he new tidings 930 
 Such as, methinks, had ne'er 
 
 Tristrem spake in the hall, 
 Both loud and still. — 
 
 Come to his ear — 
 
 "Moraunt, tho' fierce withal, 
 
 Weeping, the folk did fare 
 
 Here shall not wreak his will!" 
 
 For Ireland's tribute drear. 
 
 
 
 Mark gat him then to rede; 
 
 Mark's tribute thus was told — 
 
 Counsel he prayed of this, 
 
 (Crowned king altho' he be,) 
 
 And said: "With wrongful deed 980 
 
 Three hundred pounds of gold 
 
 Tribute he claims amiss." 
 
 Must he lay down in fee — 
 
 Tristrem quoth: "Take ye heed, 
 
 Of silver, wrought and rolled, 
 
 His mark he here shall miss!" 
 
 Next year the sum must be; 940 
 
 Quoth Mark the King, with speed : 
 
 When had past seasons three, 
 
 "These bairns were never his 
 
 The same he 'Id pay — - 
 
 By law, or right — " 
 
 The fourth, the tale was told 
 
 Quoth Tristrem: "That, I wis, 
 
 In noble bairus alway. 
 
 I will uphold as knight." 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 153 
 
 Throughout the royal hold 
 For tribute men made moan. 
 Tristrem, he bade withhold 
 Payment, in lofty tone. 
 On him the lot was told, 
 Otherwise was there none, 
 Never a man so bold, 
 Fashioned of flesh and bone, 
 Never a knight — 
 Who dare for wealth untold 
 Against Sir Moraunt fight. 
 
 Tristrem his way hath ta'en 
 
 To Moraunt word to bring; 
 
 He spake in wrathful strain : 
 "Naught is to thee owing!" 
 
 Moraunt, he quoth again: 
 "Thou liest in this thing, 
 
 My body I were fain 
 
 To risk before the king 
 
 In battle's rage — " 
 
 He proffered him a ring; 
 
 Tristrem, he took the gage. ' 
 
 They sailed the sea so wide, 
 Of barques they had but two — 
 Moraunt, his boat fast tied 
 But Tristrem let his go. 
 Moraunt upon him cried: 
 "Tristrem, why dost thou so?" 
 "Needs must one here abide 
 Tho' each find fitting foe, 
 And so, I wis, 
 Whoever hence may go 
 May fit his need with this!" 
 
 Broad was the strand alway 
 Where they began their fight; 
 Of that was Moraunt gay, 
 Tristrem he held full light. 
 Sure ne'er was seen such fray! — 
 With blades of goodly might 
 Each would the other slay — 
 They hewed the helmets bright. 
 Now, for England 
 He fights, Tristrem, the knight. 
 May God uphold his hand ! 
 
 Moraunt, with all his might 
 
 He rode a rapid course 
 
 Against Tristrem the knight, 
 
 To bear him from his horse. 
 
 His lance was none too light — 
 
 The lion shield with force 
 
 He smote — Tristrem, forthright, 
 
 Pierced in his knightly course 1040 
 
 The dragon shield — 
 
 Moraunt the bold, perforce, 
 
 He bare down on the field. 
 
 Forthwith to foot he sprung, 
 
 And leapt upon his steed; 
 
 As ravening wolf he flung 
 
 Himself — Take ye good heed! 
 
 Tristrem his sword high swung — 
 
 Small dread he knew in need! 
 
 The sharp blade smote and stung — 
 
 Moraunt began to bleed. 1051 
 
 Right there, amain — 
 
 In Moraunt's greatest need 
 
 His steed's back brake in twain ! 
 
 Then up he sprang again, 
 And cried: "Tristrem, alight! 
 Since thou my steed hast slain 
 Afoot we needs must fight!" 
 "Thereto am I full fain," 
 Quoth Tristrem: "by God's Might!" 
 Together came the twain; 1061 
 
 On gleaming helms they smite, 
 And hew, and pierce, 
 Tristrem as valiant knight 
 Fought in that battle fierce. 
 
 The champion of Ireland 
 
 Smote Tristrem on the shield 
 
 That half fell from his hand 
 
 Riven upon the field. 
 
 Tristrem would him withstand, 1070 
 
 His sword he well could wield — 
 
 Thus with his trusty brand 
 
 Well nigh he forced to yield 
 
 Moraunt, the knight — 
 
 With wonder unconcealed 
 
 King Mark beheld that fight! 
 
i54 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Moraunt to win was fain — 
 
 Three years he lingering lay 
 
 He fought as valiant knight; 
 
 Tristrem, (the True, he hight;) 
 
 That Tristrem should be slain 
 
 No joy was his by day 
 
 He strove, with all his might. 1080 
 
 Such pain he bare all night. 
 
 Tristrem, he smote amain, 
 
 For dole is none that may 
 
 His sword brake in the fight, 
 
 Behold him now with sight, 
 
 And fast in Moraunt's brain 
 
 And each one, sooth to say, 
 
 It held, a splinter bright — 
 
 Forsaketh now the knight, 
 
 His death he bore; 
 
 From him they fare, 
 
 But through the thigh forthright. 
 
 Each had done what he might, 1130 
 
 Tristrem was wounded sore. 
 
 And had no further care. 
 
 A word that smacked of pride 
 
 At length upon a day 
 
 Spake Tristrem — thus quoth he: 
 
 To Mark he did complain; 
 
 "Ye folk of Ireland's side 1090 
 
 The counsel, sooth to say, 
 
 Your mirror may ye see! 
 
 Was brief betwixt the twain : 
 
 He who will hither ride, 
 
 "In grief have I been aye, — 
 
 Such shall his portion be!" 
 
 My life brings little gain "; 
 
 With sorrow sore that tide 
 
 King Mark quoth: "Wellaway, 
 
 Moraunt, unto the sea 
 
 That I must see thy pain 
 
 Weeping, they bare — 
 
 Nor aid may bring!" n 4 o 
 
 With joy Tristrem the free 
 
 Tristrem a ship, was fain 
 
 To Mark the King did fare. 
 
 To pray from Mark the King. 
 
 His sword, as offering due, 
 
 "Uncle," he quoth: " I die, 
 
 He to the altar bare; uoo 
 
 From land will I away, 
 
 As Mark's near kinsman true 
 
 A ship forthwith will I, 
 
 Tristrem was honoured there. 
 
 My harp, whereon to play, 
 
 A covenant they drew 
 
 And food and drink thereby 
 
 And stablish'd fast and fair; 
 
 To keep me, send alway — " 
 
 As he had freed anew 
 
 Tho' Mark would fain deny, 
 
 The land, there he should bear 
 
 Tristrem they bare straightway 1150 
 
 The rule one day, 
 
 To the sea strand — 
 
 If so he living were 
 
 Save Gouvernail that day 
 
 When Mark had passed away. 
 
 None fared with him from land. 
 
 Tho' Tristrem deemed it naught, mo 
 
 The ship was ready there, 
 
 Yet was he wounded sore; 
 
 He craved Mark's benison; 
 
 Tho' healing salves they sought, 
 
 From haven did he fare, 
 
 And drinks from distant shore, 
 
 The town hight Carlion — 
 
 Leeches no healing wrought, 
 
 Nine weeks the salt waves bare 
 
 His pain was aye the more — 
 
 His vessel up and down, n S9 
 
 To such pass was he brought 
 
 The wind blew fresh and fair — 
 
 The foul smell no man bore, 
 
 They came unto a town, 
 
 From him they ran — 
 
 Help was full nigh, 
 
 And none abode there more 
 
 Develm hight that town 
 
 Save Gouvernail, his man. 1120 
 
 In Ireland, verily. 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 155 
 
 He ran before the wind — 
 
 The morrow when 't was day 
 
 Shipmen towards him bore, 
 
 That dame of high degree mo 
 
 His barque to boats they bind 
 
 She came where Tristrem lay 
 
 And draw it to the shore. 
 
 And asked who he might be? 
 
 There in the ship they find 
 
 "A merchant I, alway, 
 
 A sick man wounded sore. 1170 
 
 Hight Tramtris verily, 
 
 He said; On shores unkind 
 
 By pirates, sooth to say, 
 
 Men wounded him, and bore 
 
 My comrades on the sea 
 
 Him hither bound, — 
 
 Were slain — rich store 
 
 None lingered with him more 
 
 Of stuffs they took from me 
 
 So ill the stench they found. 
 
 And wounded me full sore." 
 
 Gouvernail quoth again : 
 
 He seemed a man to praise 1220 
 
 "How call ye this sea strand? " 
 
 Tho' doleful wounds he bare, 
 
 To answer were they fain 
 
 Strange to their ears his lais, 
 
 "Develtn is this land." 
 
 (Men deemed them wondrous 
 
 Tristrem to hear was fain, 1180 
 
 fair) 
 
 Swift did he understand; 
 
 His harp, his lute always, 
 
 Her brother had he slain 
 
 The chess board that he bare, 
 
 Who ruled within the land 
 
 All filled them with amaze, 
 
 In deadly fight; 
 
 By Patrick good they sware 
 
 To make him known were vain, 
 
 Never in all their days 
 
 Trawiris, henceforth he hight. 
 
 The like were seen — 
 
 
 "A man of gentle ways H30 
 
 Upon his barque that day 
 
 In health had he but been!" 
 
 Gladness there was, and glee, 
 
 
 And every kind of lay 
 
 That lady of high kin 
 
 That harped or sung might be. 1190 
 
 To search his wounds was bent, 
 
 Then to the queen said they, 
 
 Knowledge she fain would win, 
 
 (Sister to Moraunt she,) 
 
 Grimly he made lament. 
 
 How a man wounded lay, 
 
 (His bones brake through the skin 
 
 A sorry sight to see 
 
 For anguish was he spent;) 
 
 And full of care — 
 
 They bare him to an inn, 
 
 "A merry man were he 
 
 A bath, with good intent, 
 
 If but in health he were." 
 
 Both soft and strong 1340 
 
 
 They made, that, well content, 
 
 In Develtn her repair, 
 
 Tristrem could walk ere long. 
 
 That lady sweet, the queen, 
 
 ■ 
 
 Fairest in vesture fair — uoo 
 
 Soft salves to him they brought 
 
 In healing too, I ween, 
 
 And drinks both strong and sweet, 
 
 Skill had she and to spare, 
 
 The cost they counted naught 
 
 (That was on Tristrem seen;) 
 
 So they brought healing fleet. 
 
 She brought him out of care 
 
 Oft to his harp they sought, 
 
 Though vain his search had been 
 
 His pastimes they hold meet; 
 
 By night and day — 
 
 The queen his presence sought 
 
 She sent a plaister keen 
 
 And oft would him entreat nso 
 
 That drew the stench away. 
 
 To seek her bower, 
 
156 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 With mirth and music sweet 
 To wile away an hour. 
 
 The king's own daughter dear — 
 
 Maiden Ysonde she hight — 
 
 Music was fain to hear 
 
 And Geste to read aright. 
 
 A teacher without peer, 
 
 Sir Tramtris bent his might 
 
 His skill to bring her near, 1260 
 
 And train both hand and sight, 
 
 Till, sooth to say, 
 
 In Ireland was no knight 
 
 Who durst with Ysonde play. 
 
 Ysonde men praise alway, 
 
 So fair, so bright, is she, 
 
 All clad in green and gray 
 
 With scarlet fittingly. 
 
 On earth is none who may 
 
 With her compared be 1270 
 
 Save Tramtris, who alway 
 
 Was lord of courtesie 
 
 And games on ground — 
 
 Tramtris would hence away 
 
 Since healed was his wound. 
 
 Tramtris, on Irish ground 
 
 He dwelt, a twelvemonth clear, 
 
 Such tending good he found 
 
 Whole was he in that year. 
 
 He to the queen was bound 
 
 In service due and dear, 
 
 Ysonde, in glee and round 
 
 He trained, right sweet to hear; 1280 
 
 She knew each lay — 
 
 Then leave he prayed them here, 
 
 By ship he would away. 
 
 The wise queen, undismayed, 
 To Tramtris did she say : 
 " An ye a stranger aid 
 He passeth soon away!" 1290 
 
 His hire to him she paid 
 Silver and gold that day; 
 What he would, that the maid, 
 Ysonde, gave for his play; 
 
 Then, without fail, 
 
 He bade them both "Good-day," 
 
 With him went Gouvernail. 
 
 Fair sails to mast they drew, 
 Both white and red as blood; 
 A favouring wind fresh blew, 
 Towards Carlion they stood. 
 Now is he Tristrem true 
 And f areth over flood ! 
 The ship the landsmen knew 
 It seemed to them right good, 
 The news was known — 
 (Of wrath in fear they stood 
 Since he had sailed alone!) 
 
 They ran and told the king 
 The ship was come again; 
 I ween of no tiding 
 Was ever Mark so fain! 
 Straightway to town they bring 
 Tristrem with joyful train, 
 Full blithe was their meeting — 
 The king to hear was fain 
 There, at that stound, 
 " Tristrem, art whole again? 
 Cure for thy wound hast found?" 
 
 He told them all the tale 
 Right strange unto their ear, 
 How she had blessed his bale 
 Who Moraunt held so dear, 
 And made him whole and hale — 
 All that he bade them hear. 
 Then Tristrem, without fail, 
 Of Ysonde, maiden dear, 
 Told tidings new — 
 " Fair is she without peer 
 In love is none so true." 
 
 Mark did to Tristrem say: 
 " My land I yield to thee 
 To hold after my day — 
 Thine own it sure shall be 
 An thou bring me that may 
 That I her face may see." 
 This ever was his way, 
 
 13J0 
 
 1330 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 157 
 
 Of Ysonde speaketh he, 
 
 How men should prize 
 
 Her grace and courtesie; 1340 
 
 In love was none so wise. 
 
 Thro' England far and wide 
 
 The barons them bethought 
 
 To quell Sir Tristrem's pride; 
 
 In cunning wise they wrought, 
 
 They prayed the king that tide 
 
 A queen for him be sought; 
 
 That Tristrem should abide 
 
 And claim hereafter naught, 
 
 Nor reign as king — 1350 
 
 He should, this was their thought, 
 
 Ysonde from Ireland bring. 
 
 " As blood upon the snow 
 So red and white her cheek, 
 A bride thus fair to show 
 Tristrem for thee shall seek." 
 Tristrem quoth: "Now I know 
 Thro' lies their spite they 'Id wreak, 
 What never may be so 
 To ask is fools' bespeak! 1360 
 
 To wise man's mind 
 'T is folly all to seek 
 What man may never find! 
 
 " I bid ye cease your strife, 
 I heard a swallow sing, 
 Ye say, I 'Id keep from wife 
 King Mark, since I 'Id be king! 
 Then, since such talk be rife, 
 Bring ship and plenishing, 
 Ye see me not in life 1370 
 
 Save that to ye I bring 
 Ysonde the bright; 
 But find at my bidding, 
 Fifteen men, sons of knight." 
 
 The knights they chose that day, 
 
 All wary men, and wise, 
 
 Of lofty rank alway 
 
 Whom men might highest prize. 
 
 A ship with green and gray 
 
 And furs of varied dyes, 1380 
 
 With everything, I say, 
 Fitting to merchandise 
 In goodly store — 
 They set sail on this wise 
 For Ireland's distant shore. 
 
 His ship was richly found 
 
 With all the needful ware, 
 
 From Carlion was he bound, 
 
 Fitly he forth did fare. 
 
 They reared their gonfanoun, 1390 
 
 The wind blew fresh and fair, 
 
 They came to Develln town, 
 
 A haven sought they there 
 
 As fit and best — 
 
 Gifts to the king they bare 
 
 And prayed his leave to rest. 
 
 Gifts for the king they brought, 
 
 And gifts they gave the queen, 
 
 For Ysonde took they thought, 
 
 (That do I wot and ween.) 1400 
 
 As they their vessel sought, 
 
 Who now at court had been, 
 
 (No fairer maid they thought 
 
 Had e'er on earth been seen 
 
 By mortal sight — ) 
 
 The town and shore between 
 
 The folk were in full flight. 
 
 From Develtn they fled 
 Fast as their feet might fly; 
 Down to the shore they sped 1410 
 
 To drowning were they nigh; 
 All for a dragon dread — 
 'On ship-board 1" was their cry, 
 The ships were dressed that stead, 
 Naught recked they, verily, 
 That he who slew 
 The dragon, his should be 
 Ysonde, as guerdon due. 
 
 Tristrem, right glad was he, i4ig 
 
 He called his knights straightway ; 
 ' Which of ye all would be 
 The man to dare this fray?" 
 Each would the other see, 
 
iS8 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And for himself said nay; 
 
 His lower jaw he clave 
 
 " In sooth now woe is me! " 
 
 In twain, with stroke of might; 
 
 Sir Tristrem quoth that day: 
 
 The dragon 'gainst him drave, 
 
 " To aid, who can?" 
 
 His breath, as fire alight 1470 
 
 Now hearken an ye may 
 
 Burning, he sent, 
 
 Deeds of a valiant man. 
 
 His arms that erst were bright 
 
 
 All scorched were they and rent. 
 
 From ship a steed he drew, 1430 
 
 
 The best that he had brought, 
 
 Such fire he cast again 
 
 His armour, it was new, 
 
 As burnt both shield and stone, 
 
 Richly with gold inwrought. 
 
 The good steed lieth slain, 
 
 His heart was staunch and true, 
 
 His arms are burnt each one. 
 
 (In life it failed for naught,) 
 
 Tristrem, he cleft the brain, 
 
 The country well he knew 
 
 And brake the fiend's back-bone — 
 
 Ere he the dragon sought, 
 
 Ne'er had he been so fain 1480 
 
 And saw with eye 
 
 As when that fight was done. 
 
 How Hell-fire, so he thought, 
 
 Then more, to boot, 
 
 Did from the monster fly. 1440 
 
 The fiend's tongue hath he ta'en 
 
 
 And shorn off at the root. 
 
 Against that dragon dread 
 
 
 Tristrem he rode that tide, 
 
 The tongue he safe would hide 
 
 Fierce as a lion he sped 
 
 And in his hose would bear; 
 
 The battle to abide. 
 
 Scarce had he gone ten stride 
 
 With strong spear, at that stead, 
 
 Ere speech had failed him there. 
 
 He smote the dragon's side, 
 
 Needs must he here abide, 
 
 Naught was he furthered, 
 
 No further may he fare — 14510 
 
 The spear point off did glide 
 
 The king's steward came that tide, 
 
 With ne'er a dint, 
 
 The head away he bare; 
 
 That fearsome dragon's hide 1450 
 
 With guile he brought 
 
 Was hard as any flint! 
 
 That pledge to Ysonde fair 
 
 
 And vowed 't was dearly bought! 
 
 Tristrem thereof was woe, 
 
 
 Another spear took he, 
 
 The steward had full fain 
 
 Against his dragon foe 
 
 Won Ysonde, an he might — 
 
 It brake in pieces three. 
 The dragon dealt a blow, 
 The good steed, slain was he; 
 Tristrem, I 'Id have ye know, 
 He sprang beneath a tree, 
 To pray was fain — 
 ' Dear God in Trinity, 
 Let me not here be slain!" 
 
 On foot did Tristrem brave 
 Against that dragon fight, 
 Blows with his falchion gave 
 E'en as a doughty knight. 
 
 1460 
 
 The king, he quoth again, 
 Full fair had been that fight. 
 Ysonde to blind were vain, 
 She fast denied his right; 
 There, where the foe was slain, 
 The queen and she, by night 
 They took their way, 
 And sought the valiant wight 
 Who could such monster slay. 
 
 " Think ye he did this deed 
 The steward?" quoth Ysonde; " 
 Look at yon gallant steed 
 
 ! Nay! 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 *59 
 
 He owned it ne'er a day. «io 
 
 Until they deem he may 
 
 Look at this goodly weed, 
 
 Adventure doughty deed. 
 
 'T was ne'er his, sooth to say!" 
 
 His arms, full long were they, 
 
 Further with haste they speed, 
 
 His shoulders broad at need, 
 
 And found a man who lay 
 
 The wise queen, sooth to say, 
 
 And breath scarce drew, — 
 
 To bathe would Tristrem lead 
 
 Quoth they "So God us rede 
 
 Such skill she knew, — 
 
 This man the dragon slew!" 
 
 Herself she went with speed 1560 
 
 
 A strengthening drink to brew. 
 
 Betwixt his lips alway 
 
 
 Cordial they pour with care; 
 
 Now Ysonde, secretly, 
 
 When speak Sir Tristrem may 1520 
 
 Deemed that he Tramtris were, 
 
 His tale he told them there: 
 
 His sword she fain would see, 
 
 " This dragon did I slay" 
 
 Broken she finds it there. 
 
 (Freely he spake and fair) 
 
 Forth from a coffer, she 
 
 "The tongue I cut away, 
 
 Draweth a piece with care 
 
 Venom with me I bare — " 
 
 And fits it tremblingly — 
 
 Straightway they look; 
 
 The blade is whole and fair! 
 
 The queen, with craft and care, 
 
 It fitteth right — 1570 
 
 Forthwith the tongue she took. 
 
 Ysonde, in her despair 
 
 
 Would slay Tristrem the knight. 
 
 They quoth, his was the right, 
 
 
 The steward, he had lied; 1530 
 
 Ysonde by Tristrem stood, 
 
 They asked him, would he fight 
 
 Unsheathed she held the brand — 
 
 With him who claimed the bride? 
 
 "Moraunt, my kinsman good, 
 
 Tristrem spake as a knight 
 
 He fell beneath thine hand, 
 
 The test he would abide. 
 
 For this thy red heart's blood 
 
 So well his faith he plight 
 
 I 'Id see shed on this strand!" — 
 
 Ysonde, she laughed that tide. 
 
 The queen deemed she were wood; 
 
 Her gage he met, 
 
 Smiling, with cup in hand, 1580 
 
 His ship with all its pride 
 
 T'ward them she drew — 
 
 Pledge for his faith he set. 
 
 "Nay, thou shalt understand, 
 
 
 This wretch thy brother slew! 
 
 The queen asks who he is 1540 
 
 
 Who dared that fiend abide? 
 
 "Tristrem our foe is he, 
 
 "Merchant am I, I wis, 
 
 That may not be denied, 
 
 My ship lies here beside. 
 
 The piece thou here may'st see 
 
 Now hath the steward done this, 
 
 Thro' that mine uncle died, 
 
 I will abate his pride 
 
 It fitteth evenly, 
 
 Ere that he Ysonde kiss!" 
 
 See, I the twain have tried!" 
 
 Against him would he ride 
 
 Fain had she smitten free 1590 
 
 With all his might — 
 
 Sir Tristrem in that tide, 
 
 Ysonde, she softly sighed: 
 
 'T is sooth, I say, 
 
 "Alas, wert thou but knight!" 1550 
 
 He in the bath had died 
 
 
 Save for the queen that day. 
 
 Their champion, day by day, 
 
 
 With fitting food they feed, 
 
 Sir Tristrem smiling spake 
 
160 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 To sweet Ysonde the bright; 
 
 Tristrem prayed land nor fee, 
 
 "The chance was your's to take 
 
 Only that maiden bright: 1640 
 
 The while I Tramtris hight; 
 
 For parting speedily 
 
 Wroth are ye for the sake 
 
 They trussed them, squire and knight. 
 
 Of Moraunt, noble knight, 1600 
 
 Her mother, blithe was she, 
 
 I no evasion make, 
 
 She brewed a drink of might, 
 
 In battle and fair fight 
 
 That love should waken free — 
 
 I have him slain; 
 
 A maiden, Brengwain hight, 
 
 An he had had the might 
 
 She gave the draught: 
 
 So had he me, full fain! 
 
 "See, on their bridal night 
 
 
 By king and queen 't is quaffed!" 
 
 "The while I Tramtris hight 
 
 
 I taught thee game and song; 
 
 Ysonde, the bright of hue.i 1650 
 
 Later, as best I might, 
 
 Is far out on the sea, 
 
 I spake thy praise with tongue 
 
 A wind against them blew, 
 
 To Mark, the noble knight, 1610 
 
 No sail might hoisted be. 
 
 Till he for thee did long!" 
 
 They rowed, those knights so true, 
 
 Thus sware he day and night, 
 
 Tristrem, an oar took he 
 
 And pledges set full strong 
 
 E'en as his turn fell due, • 
 
 Their lands between, 
 
 Nor one, against the three, 
 
 That, for amends of wrong, 
 
 From toil would shrink — 
 
 Ysonde should aye be queen. 
 
 Ysonde, the maiden free, 
 
 
 Bade Brengwain give them drink. 1660 
 
 Tristrem, he sware that thing, 
 
 
 (They said, so should it stand,) 
 
 The cup was richly wrought, 
 
 That he should Ysonde bring, 
 
 Of gold it was, the pin, 
 
 (Thereto they set their hand) i6ao 
 
 In all the world was naught 
 
 To Mark the noble king, 
 
 To match the drink therein. 
 
 An he still bare command, 
 
 Brengwain, she was distraught, 
 
 That she be made with ring 
 
 She to that flask did win 
 
 Queen of the English land. 
 
 And to sweet Ysonde brought — 
 
 The sooth to say 
 
 She bade Tristrem begin; 
 
 So did the forward stand 
 
 The sooth to say, 
 
 Ere yet they sailed away. 
 
 Each heart there found its twin 1670 
 
 
 Until their dying day. 
 
 The steward denied his deed, 
 
 
 Hearing he Tristrem hight; 
 
 A dog was at their side, 
 
 The king sware, God him speed, 1630 
 
 That was yclept Hodain, 
 
 They both should have their 
 
 The cup he licked that tide 
 
 right! 
 
 When set down by Brengwain. 
 
 The steward took better rede 
 
 These three in love allied, 
 
 And sware he would not fight — 
 
 (Thereof were they full fain,) 
 
 To Tristrem as his meed 
 
 Together must abide 
 
 They gave Ysonde the bright — 
 
 In joy, and eke in pain, 
 
 That they should bring 
 
 Long as man's thought — 1680 
 
 In ward that traitor knight 
 
 In an ill hour they drain 
 
 The maid besought the king. 
 
 The drink that ill was wrought. 
 
SIR TRISTREM 161 
 
 Tristrem, each night he lay 
 
 They looked for joy alway, 
 
 Beside that lady sweet, 
 
 Certes, it was not so ! 
 
 And found with her alway 
 
 Their dreams, they went astray, 
 
 Such solace as was meet. 
 
 Doubts fell betwixt the two. 1730 
 
 In her bower, night and day, 
 
 The one in languor lay; 
 
 Gaily the hours they fleet — 
 
 The other fain would go; 
 
 They dallied in love's play — 
 
 Ysonde was blithe and gay 
 
 Brengwain doth well entreat 1690 
 
 When Tristrem was in woe, 
 
 For love the twain. 
 
 Such feint she made — 
 
 As sun in summer's heat 
 
 Ysonde, I 'Id have ye know, 
 
 So waxed their love amain. 
 
 Brengwain full ill repaid. 
 
 Two weeks thus bound to strand 
 
 She said: "I may be wroth, 
 
 No sail to mast they drew; 
 
 She lay first with the king; 
 
 By favouring breezes fanned 
 
 I vowed she should have cloth, 1740 
 
 Towards the shore they flew. 
 
 Gold, and a rich wedding. 
 
 Mark hunted in the land — 
 
 Tristrem and I for troth 
 
 A varlet whom he knew 
 
 Win shame and slandering — 
 
 He knighted with his hand 1700 
 
 Methinks 't were best for both 
 
 For tidings good and true 
 
 That maid to death to bring, 
 
 That he did bring — 
 
 Secret and still — 
 
 Ysonde, the fair of hue, 
 
 Then, fearing naught the king, 
 
 She wedded Mark the King. 
 
 Free, we may work our will." 
 
 Wedded with ring were they — 
 
 The queen bade to her side 
 
 Of feasting speak I naught — 
 
 Two workmen, on a day; 1750 
 
 Then Brengwain, sooth to say, 
 
 And told them at that tide 
 
 Did as the three had thought; 
 
 . What was her will to say. 
 
 (She took the drink that day 
 
 "I will ye slay and hide 
 
 That was with magic fraught,) 1710 
 
 Brengwain, that merry may ! " — 
 
 To Mark the King alway 
 
 She quoth: "Ye shall abide 
 
 In Ysonde's stead, was brought 
 
 In wealth for many a day. 
 
 Brengwain, that tide; 
 
 Now go with speed, 
 
 Till he his will had wrought 
 
 Nor fear for lack of pay 
 
 On her who lay beside. 
 
 An well ye do this deed." 
 
 When Mark had had his will 
 
 Into a dark ravine 1760 
 
 Ysonde her place would take; 
 
 They led the maiden good, 
 
 A cup she bade them fill 
 
 One drew his sword so keen, 
 
 That she her thirst might slake, 
 
 And one behind her stood. 
 
 The drink she swift did spill; 1720 
 
 "Mercy," she cried, I ween, 
 
 Small need for Tristrem 's sake 
 
 And quoth: "By Christ on Rood, 
 
 To summon magic skill, 
 
 What hath my trespass been, 
 
 No man the bands might break 
 
 Why would ye spill my blood?" 
 
 Betwixt the twain, 
 
 "The sooth to say, 
 
 Nor clerk of wisdom make 
 
 Ysonde, that lady good 
 
 Their true Love's secret plain. 
 
 She sent us thee to slay." 1770 
 
162 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Then Brengwain secretly 
 
 The queen he loved her e'er — 
 
 Bade them to seek the queen: 
 
 The harp he hither brought 
 
 "Greet well my sweet lady, 
 
 And in his bosom bare, 
 
 Say, I have faithful been; 
 
 Full richly was it wrought. 
 
 White smocks had she and I, 
 
 He hid it aye with care 
 
 But her's had lost its sheen, 
 
 And drew it forth for naught. i8*> 
 
 When she by Mark should lie 
 
 "Thy harp why wilt thou spare 
 
 I lent her mine all clean 
 
 If thou of skill hast aught 
 
 And that she wore: 
 
 In lay or glee?" 
 
 Against her, well I ween, 1780 
 
 "It cometh forth for naught 
 
 Have I done nothing more." 
 
 Save a right royal fee!" 
 
 The maid they would not slay 
 
 Quoth Mark: "Now let me see, 
 
 But gat them to the queen; 
 
 Harp thou as best thou may, 
 
 Ysonde, she asked alway 
 
 And what thou askest me 
 
 What passed the three between? 
 
 That will I freely pay." 
 
 "She bade us soothly say: 
 
 "Of right good will!" quoth he, 1830 
 
 'Since soiled your smock had been 
 
 And harped a merry lay. 
 
 When erst by Mark ye lay, 
 
 "Sir King, by gift so free 
 
 I lent ye mine all clean, 
 
 Ysonde is mine to-day 
 
 As well ye knew.' " 1790 
 
 With harp, I ween : 
 
 Quoth Ysonde, quick and keen, 
 
 Foresworn art thou alway 
 
 "Where is my maiden true?" 
 
 Or else I take thy queen!" 
 
 Ysonde in wrathful mood 
 
 Mark hath his council sworn 
 
 Quoth: "Ye have killed Brengwain!" 
 
 And asketh rede thereto: 
 
 She sware by Christ on Rood 
 
 "My manhood is foresworn 
 
 Hanging should be their pain. 
 
 Or Ysonde must us fro'." 1840 
 
 She proffered gifts so good 
 
 Mark was of joy forlorn; 
 
 To bring that maid again: 
 
 Ysonde, she fared in woe; 
 
 They fetched her where she stood, 
 
 Tristrem, it chanced that morn, 
 
 Then was Ysonde full fain 1800 
 
 Would to the woodland go 
 
 And, sooth to say, 
 
 The deer to slay, — 
 
 So true she found Brengwain 
 
 Nor of the tale might know 
 
 She loved her from that day. 
 
 Till Ysonde was away. 
 
 Peace was betwixt them made, 
 
 Tristrem in wrath I ween 
 
 And pardon given for ill — 
 
 He chode with Mark the King: 
 
 Tristrem, all undismayed, 
 
 "Dost give gleemen thy queen? 1850 
 
 Of Ysonde had his will — 
 
 Hadst thou no other thing?" 
 
 From Ireland's 'shore there strayed 
 
 His lute he there hath seen, 
 
 A harper; to fulfil 1809 
 
 He took it by the ring; 
 
 His thought, at court he stayed; 
 
 Tristrem, he followed keen; 
 
 His harp was wrought with skill, 
 
 Ysonde to ship they bring 
 
 No man with sight 
 
 With joy and glee. 
 
 Had seen its like, and still 
 
 Tristrem began to sing, 
 
 He bare it day and night. 
 
 She hearkened willingly. 
 
SIR 
 
 TRISTREM 163 
 
 He sang so sweet a strain 
 
 
 Tristrem, he took his steed, 
 
 It wrought her mickle woe; 
 
 i860 
 
 And leapt thereon to ride; 
 
 For love her heart was fain, 
 
 
 The queen would have him 
 
 Well nigh it brake in two. 
 
 
 lead 
 
 The earl, he came amain 
 
 
 And take her at his side. 
 
 And many knights also, 
 
 
 Tristrem was swift to heed — • 
 
 He spake in tender strain: — 
 
 
 The twain in woodland hide. 
 
 "Sweet heart, why mournest so? 
 
 
 He scoffed: "Now in this need 
 
 Tell me, I pray!" 
 
 
 Earl, have I lowered thy pride 1910 
 
 Ysonde to land would go 
 
 
 Without dispute — 
 
 Ere yet she sailed away. 
 
 
 Won by thy harp that tide 
 Thou'st lost her by my lute!" 
 
 "Within an hour this day 
 
 1870 
 
 
 Shall I be whole and sound, 
 
 
 Tristrem, he Ysonde bare 
 
 I hear a minstrel play 
 
 
 Into the woods away, 
 
 Like Tristrem's rings his round." 
 
 
 They found a bower fair 
 
 " Cursed were he alway, 
 
 
 And fit for lovers' play. 
 
 An he should here be found! 
 
 
 Seven nights abode they there 
 
 That minstrel for his lay 
 
 
 Then took to court their way; 
 
 Shall have an hundred pound 
 
 
 "Henceforth, Sir King," 1920 
 
 This day of me, 
 
 
 Tristrem to Mark did say, 
 
 An he with us be bound 
 
 1879 
 
 "Give minstrels other thing." 
 
 Since Love, thou lov'st his glee!" 
 
 
 Now Meriadoc was one 
 
 To hear that music sweet 
 
 
 Whom Tristrem trusted aye; 
 
 The queen was set on land; 
 
 
 Much good he him had done, — 
 
 Beside the waters fleet 
 
 
 The twain together lay. 
 
 The earl, he took her hand. 
 
 
 Tristrem to Ysonde won 
 
 Tristrem, as minstrel meet, 
 
 
 By night, with her to play; 
 
 A merry ruse had planned; 
 
 
 Wiser than he was none, 
 
 With ivory lute would greet 
 
 
 A board he took away j 1930 
 
 Their coming to the strand 
 
 
 From off her bower. 
 
 Upon that stound. 
 
 
 Ere he went on his way 
 
 Ysonde, on the sea sand 
 
 1890 
 
 Of snow there fell a shower. 
 
 Full soon was whole and sound. 
 
 
 So fast the snow did fall 
 
 Whole was Ysonde, and sound, 
 
 
 That all the way was white. 
 
 By virtue of that glee; 
 
 
 Tristrem was woe withal 
 
 I wot the earl that stound 
 
 
 For sorrow and despite. 
 
 A joyful man was he. 
 
 
 'Twixt bower, I ween, and 
 
 Of pence two hundred pound 
 
 
 hall 
 
 He gave Tristrem in fee. 
 
 
 Narrow the road to sight 
 
 To ship they now are bound, 
 
 
 A chance did him befall 1940 
 
 In Ireland would they be, 
 
 
 As we find writ aright, 
 
 Of heart full fain, 
 
 1900 
 
 In hall he found 
 
 The earl and his knights three 
 
 
 A straw wisp, and full tight 
 
 With Ysonde and Brengwain. 
 
 
 Around his feet he bound. 
 
164 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Meriadoc that night 
 
 "Now watch thou well his will; 
 
 He rose up, all unseen, 
 
 To wend with him thou pray, 1990 
 
 He took the path aright 
 
 And if he love thee still 
 
 That led him to the queen. 
 
 Bid Tristrem go his way. 
 
 The board was loose to sight, 
 
 Pray him to deal with skill; 
 
 And there, in sooth, I ween, 1950 
 
 Thy foe was Tristrem aye; 
 
 Of Tristrem's robe, the knight, 
 
 Thou fear'st he'll do thee ill 
 
 He found a piece of green 
 
 An so he holdeth sway 
 
 But lately tore — 
 
 The land above — 
 
 Then Meriadoc, the keen, 
 
 Thou loved'st him ne'er a day 
 
 It wondered him the more. 
 
 Save for his uncle's love!" 
 
 He told the king next morn 
 
 Ysonde, when came the night, aooo 
 
 All he had seen with sight: 
 
 Cried: "Mark, some pity show, 
 
 "Tristrem, traitor foresworn, 
 
 And deal with me aright, 
 
 With Ysonde lay last night. 
 
 Would'st leave me to my foe? 
 
 Counsel of need be born — i960 
 
 God knows, I, an I might, 
 
 Ask, Who shall be her knight 
 
 From land with thee would go, 
 
 To shield her? Thou art sworn 
 
 And slay Tristrem the knight, 
 
 The Cross to take forthright 
 
 Save that I love would show 
 
 If so ye may. — 
 
 To thee this day — 
 
 'Tristrem, the noble knight.' 
 
 For men make feint to know 
 
 The queen herself will say!" 
 
 That Tristrem by me lay!" 2010 
 
 The king, he told the queen, 
 
 Mark, he was blithe and bold, 
 
 (They lay together there:) 
 
 Faith in her word had he: 
 
 "Lady, full soon, I ween, 
 
 Him, who the tale had told, 
 
 On crusade must I fare; 1970 
 
 He used despitefully. 
 
 Say now, us twain between, 
 
 Meriadoc, as of old 
 
 Who shall thee shield from care?" 
 
 Spake: "Now thou let him be, 
 
 "O'er all thy knights so keen, 
 
 Their loves shalt thou behold 
 
 Tristrem!" she answered there, 
 
 All for the love of me; 
 
 "None better can; 
 
 In sooth, I ween, 
 
 He hath my favour fair, 
 
 By wisdom thou shalt see aoao 
 
 He is thy near kinsman!" 
 
 The love the twain between." 
 
 All that Mark to her told 
 
 Mark severed then the two, 
 
 At morn she told Brengwain; 
 
 Bade Tristrem go his way. 
 
 "He sails on errand bold, 1980 
 
 Ysonde was ne'er so woe 
 
 Now may we be full fain ! 
 
 Nor Tristrem, sooth to say. 
 
 Tristrem his court shall hold 
 
 Tristrem was laid full low, 
 
 Until he come again." 
 
 Ysonde herself would slay, 
 
 Brengwain did speech unfold : 
 
 In sooth she mourned so, — 
 
 "Thy deeds are known amain 
 
 And Tristrem, night and day; 
 
 And seen with sight — 
 
 In very deed, J030 
 
 Mark testeth thee again 
 
 Each man may see alway 
 
 In other wise to-night. 
 
 The life for love they lead. 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 i6 5 
 
 Quoth Meriadbc: "I rede 
 
 Sir Tristrem him bethought: 
 
 Thou bid thy huntsmen ride 
 
 "Master, my thanks to thee, 
 
 A fortnight full at need 
 
 Since thou this word hast brought 
 
 To see thy forests wide; 
 
 My robe I give to thee. 2080 
 
 Thyself the band shall lead; 
 
 That thou hast failed in naught 
 
 Tristrem shall here abide, 
 
 Say to that lady free; 
 
 And in the act and deed 
 
 Her words I dearly bought 
 
 Thou 'It take them at that tide, 2040 
 
 To Mark she slandered me, 
 
 Here, in the tree, 
 
 That gentle may ! 
 
 I counsel thee to hide, 
 
 At morn she shall me see 
 
 Thou shalt their feigning see." 
 
 In church, 't is sooth to say." 
 
 Tristrem abode in town, 
 
 The dwarf he went his way, 
 
 Ysonde was in her bower, 
 
 To Mark he came full keen: 
 
 The streamlet bare adown 
 
 "By this robe judge ye may 2090 
 
 Light linden twigs that hour. 
 
 How well he loves the queen! 
 
 With rune he wrote them round — 
 
 He trusteth me no way 
 
 Ysonde knew branch and flower — 
 
 In guise of go-between, 
 
 She Tristrem's message found, 2050 
 
 By seeming ye might say 
 
 With grace his prayer would dower, 
 
 Her face he ne'er had seen, 
 
 His coming bide — 
 
 Before with sight — 
 
 Next day, ere evening hour, 
 
 And yet full sure I ween 
 
 Tristrem was at her side! 
 
 He meeteth her to-night!" 
 
 Beneath the orchard's shade 
 
 King Mark hid in that tree — 
 
 They met, Ysonde and he, 
 
 The twain they met below; 2100 
 
 Love's solace there they made 
 
 The shadow did he see 
 
 When they might win them free. 
 
 Tristrem, nor spake too low 
 
 The dwarf a snare had laid, 2060 
 
 That Ysonde warned should be, 
 
 He watched them from a tree — 
 
 And call Tristrem her foe — 
 
 Anon, King Mark he prayed 
 
 "Here is no place for thee, 
 
 To come, that he might see 
 
 Hast no right here to go, 
 
 Their deeds with sight — 
 
 What doth thee bring? 
 
 "Thus, Sire, assured thou 'It be, 
 
 Dead, would I fain thee know 
 
 Thyself shalt prove me right." 
 
 Save that I love the king ! 
 
 His falsehood to fulfil 
 
 "My foe wast thou alway, ■ 2II0 
 
 Forthwith he fain would greet 
 
 Full sore thou wrongest me 
 
 Tristrem (his thought was ill), 
 
 With mockery night and day, 
 
 From Ysonde, lady sweet: 
 
 Mark scarce my face will see, 
 
 "The queen's wish I fulfil, 2070 
 
 And threatens me to slay — 
 
 As she did me entreat, 
 
 More courteous 't were in thee 
 
 She prayeth thee of good will, 
 
 To follow friendship's way 
 
 That thou would 'st with her meet, 
 
 By God in Trinity! 
 
 Both, face to face, 
 
 Or I this tide 
 
 Tho' Mark be far, 't is meet 
 
 From this land must away 
 
 It be in secret place! " 
 
 And seek Welsh deserts wide!" 2120 
 
166 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 "Tristrem, tho', sooth to say, 
 
 Now Ysonde hath her way, 
 
 I wish thee little good, 
 
 Tristrem is Marshal hight — 
 
 I slandered thee no day 
 
 Three years he wrought love's play 
 
 That swear I, by God's rood! 
 
 With Ysonde, lady bright. 
 
 Men said thou with me lay, 
 
 None might the twain betray 
 
 By that thine uncle stood — 
 
 So cunning was their sleight ; 2170 
 
 Now get thee on thy way, 
 
 But Meriadoc, he lay 
 
 Thou ravest as one wood, 
 
 In watch, both day and night, 
 
 None save the man 
 
 With ill intent, 
 
 Who had my maidenhood 2130 
 
 To ruin both queen and knight 
 
 I love, or ever can!" 
 
 Had he been well content! 
 
 "Sweet Ysonde, hear my prayer, 
 
 A ruse he found alway, 
 
 Beseech the king for me, 
 
 Thus to the king said he: 
 
 If so thy will be fair, 
 
 "Their folly dureth aye, 
 
 That he would speak me free! 
 
 'T was sooth I sware to thee. 
 
 From land then will I fare, 
 
 Look now, upon one day 2180 
 
 No more my face he'll see — " 
 
 Bid blood be let ye three, 
 
 (Mark's heart was heavy there, 
 
 And do as I shall say; 
 
 He hearkened from the tree 
 
 True token shall men see 
 
 And thus he thought: 2140 
 
 And that right soon — 
 
 "Guiltless, I ween, they were 
 
 Bloody her couch shall be 
 
 In this vile slander brought.") 
 
 Ere yet their will be done!" 
 
 "Wrong 'gainst thee I deny, 
 
 Now have they bled the king, 
 
 Men said thou with me lay, 
 
 Tristrem, and eke the queen; 
 
 Yet, if for this I die 
 
 After the blood-letting 
 
 Thy message will I say. 
 
 They sweep the chamber clean. 2igo 
 
 Thine uncle's state is high, 
 
 Meriadoc flour did bring, 
 
 Equip thee well he may — 
 
 Strewed it the beds between 
 
 I reck not if I lie 
 
 That ne'er might pass a thing 
 
 So that thou be away 2150 
 
 But that its trace were seen 
 
 Of thine own will." — 
 
 Clear to men's sight — 
 
 Mark to himself did say: 
 
 The thirty feet between 
 
 "He shall abide here still." 
 
 Tristrem he leapt that night. 
 
 Tristrem, his way would go, 
 
 Now Tristrem's will was this, 
 
 And Ysonde too, I wis. 
 
 With Ysonde would he play, 
 
 Never was Mark so woe, 
 
 They might not come to kiss 2200 
 
 Himself he heard all this, 
 
 So thick the flour it lay ! 
 
 In sorrow must he go 
 
 Tristrem, he leapt, I wis, 
 
 Till he might Tristrem kiss, 
 
 Full thirty feet alway, 
 
 And hatred keen must know 2160 
 
 But e'en as he did this 
 
 'Gainst him who spake amiss — 
 
 The bandage brake away 
 
 Then waked anew 
 
 And fast he bled — 
 
 At court their joy, with bliss 
 
 I wot ere dawn of day 
 
 They welcome Tristrem true. 
 
 He leapt from out her bed. 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 167 
 
 The thirty feet again 
 
 In flood they had him drowned, 
 
 He leapt, I speak no lie — 2210 
 
 Or worse, an that they may : 
 
 It hurt him sore, the vein, 
 
 "Ye 'quite him ill this stound," 
 
 Small wonder, verily. 
 
 The queen to them would say : 
 
 Mark, he beheld the stain, 
 
 "He little meat hath found 
 
 'T was plain unto the eye, . 
 
 Or drink, this many a day, 
 
 He spake unto Brengwain: 
 
 For weakness was he bound 
 
 "Tristrem brake traitorously 
 
 To fall, the sooth to say, 2260 
 
 The vow he plight." 
 
 And very need — 
 
 The land he needs must fly 
 
 Now give him gold, I pray, 
 
 Out of his uncle's sight. 
 
 That he bid me God-speed." 
 
 Tristrem was fled away, 2220 
 
 Gold did they give him there — 
 
 In land was no more seen; 
 
 The judgment hath begun; 
 
 At London, on a day, 
 
 Ysonde doth soothly swear 
 
 Mark, he would purge the queen 
 
 That she no wrong hath done — 
 
 Of guilt that on her lay — 
 
 "But one to ship me bare, 
 
 A Bishop stood between; 
 
 These knights, they all looked on, 
 
 With red-hot iron, they say, 
 
 Whate'er his will then were 2270 
 
 She thought to make her clean 
 
 Full nigh to me he won. 
 
 Of all they spake — 
 
 'T is sooth, this thing, 
 
 Ysonde was fain, I ween, 
 
 So nigh came never none 
 
 That doom on her to take. 2230 
 
 Saving my lord the king!" 
 
 Men set the lists full fair, 
 
 Sweet Ysonde, she hath sworn 
 
 At Westminster aright, 
 
 Her clean, that merry may, 
 
 Hot irons would she bear 
 
 Ready for her that morn 
 
 All for that valiant knight. 
 
 The iron they heat alway; 
 
 In weeds that beggars wear 
 
 The knights, they stand forlorn 
 
 Tristrem, he came that night, 
 
 And for her safety pray — 2280 
 
 (Of all the folk that were 
 
 The iron she there hath borne — 
 
 None knew him then by sight 
 
 Mark pardoned her that day 
 
 Who him had seen — ) 
 
 In word and deed — 
 
 E'en to sweet Ysonde bright, 2240 
 
 And Meriadoc, they say, 
 
 As pledged the twain between. 
 
 Hath spoken traitorous rede. 
 
 O'er Thames she needs must ride — 
 
 Ysonde was spoken clean 
 
 An arm 't is of the sea — 
 
 In Meriadoc's despite, 
 
 "E'en to the vessel's side 
 
 Ne'er had she found, the queen, 
 
 This man shall carry me:" 
 
 Such favour in Mark's sight. 
 
 Tristrem bare her that tide 
 
 Tristrem, the true, I ween, 22Q0 
 
 And with the queen fell he, 
 
 To Wales he took his flight: 
 
 E'en by her naked side 
 
 In battle hath he been, 
 
 As every man might see 
 
 Conflict he sought forthright 
 
 Nor need to show — 2250 
 
 In sooth, I wis, 
 
 Her flesh above the knee 
 
 Solace he seeks in fight, 
 
 All bare the knights must know. 
 
 Ysonde he may not kiss. 
 
i68 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 In Wales the crown he bare 
 
 Urgain, with wrathful mien, 
 
 A king, hight Triamour, 
 
 With his left hand he fought 
 
 He had a daughter fan- 
 
 Against his foeman keen; 
 
 Men called her Blanche-flower. 2300 
 
 A stroke, with danger fraught, 
 
 Urgain the giant there 
 
 Fell on his helmet's sheen — 
 
 Besieged him in his tower, 
 
 Tristrem to ground was brought 
 
 That maid he' fain would bear 
 
 But up he sprang, I ween, 
 
 With him unto his bower 
 
 And aid from Heaven besought 
 
 For that would fight — 
 
 Of God's great Might — 
 
 Tristrem, with much honour, 
 
 With brand for warfare wrought 2350 
 
 Became of that king knight. 
 
 Fast he began to fight. 
 
 Urgain the land would hold 
 
 The giant, afar he stood, 
 
 In wrongful guise alway; 
 
 Now had he lost his hand — 
 
 Oft from his robber hold 2310 
 
 He fled as he were wood 
 
 On Triamour he 'Id prey. 
 
 To where his burg did stand. 
 
 This tale to Tristrem told 
 
 Tristrem, in blood he trode, 
 
 The king, one summer's day, 
 
 He found the giant's right hand — 
 
 And quoth, he Wales shall hold 
 
 With that away he rode; 
 
 An that he win it may 
 
 The giant, I understand 
 
 Of lawful right — 
 
 Healing had sought — 2360 
 
 Tristrem, none may say nay, 
 
 Salves that would cure his hand 
 
 He won that land in fight. 
 
 With him he swiftly brought. 
 
 Tristrem, he met Urgain — 2319 
 
 Urgain, unfelled his pride, 
 
 The twain in field would fight — 
 
 After Sir Tristrem ran; 
 
 Ere they together ran 
 
 The folk from far and wide 
 
 He spake as doughty knight: 
 
 Were gathered to a man. 
 
 "My brother true, Morgan, 
 
 Sir Tristrem thought that tide 
 
 Didst slay at meat, with might, 
 
 "I'll take what take I can — " 
 
 As I be valiant man 
 
 On bridge did he abide, 
 
 His death thou 'It rue to-night 
 
 Many their deeds did scan, 2370 
 
 Here, as my foe — " 
 
 They met for fray — 
 
 Quoth Tristrem: "Here I plight 
 
 Urgain on Tristrem ran 
 
 My word, thou'rt slain also!" 
 
 With challenge grim alway. 
 
 Twelve foot, the staff on strand 2330 
 
 Then strokes of mickle might 
 
 Wherewith Urgain made play — 
 
 Were dealt the twain between; 
 
 None shall his stroke withstand, 
 
 That thro' the burnies bright 
 
 'T were strange if Tristrem may ! 
 
 The blood of both was seen. 
 
 Full sharp was Tristrem's brand, 
 
 Tristrem fought as a knight — 
 
 The staff it fell away, 
 
 Urgain, in anger keen 
 
 And more, the giant's right hand 
 
 Dealt him a stroke un-light, 2380 
 
 Was smitten off that day 
 
 His shield was cloven clean 
 
 In very deed — 
 
 In pieces two — 
 
 Sir Tristrem, sooth to say, 
 
 Tristrem, I wot and ween, 
 
 He made the giant bleed ! 2340 
 
 Had never been so woe! 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 169 
 
 Urgain, he smote amain, 
 
 King Mark did Tristrem call 
 
 The stroke, it went astray, 
 
 And gave to him, I ween, 2430 
 
 Tristrem, he struck again 
 
 Cities and castles, all 
 
 And ran him through that day. 
 
 E'en as he steward had been. 
 
 Urgain to spring was fain, 
 
 Who then was blithe in hall 
 
 Dead 'neath the bridge he lay — 2390 
 
 But Ysonde, the sweet queen? 
 
 " Tristrem the giant hath slain!" 
 
 Howe'er it might befall 
 
 The folk around they say 
 
 The game was played between 
 
 Both loud and still; 
 
 Those lovers two — 
 
 The king with joy that day 
 
 They bare of love the mien — 
 
 Gave Wales unto his will. 
 
 Mark saw the thing was so. 
 
 The king, a dog he brought 
 
 Mark, he hath seen, I wis, 2440 
 
 And gave to Tristrem true, 
 
 The love the twain between, 
 
 How fairly it was wrought 
 
 Certes, the thought was his 
 
 I would declare anew — 
 
 Avenged to have been. 
 
 Softer than silk to thought, 2400 
 
 Tristrem he called with this 
 
 He was red, green, and blue, 
 
 And bade him take the queen, 
 
 They who the dog had sought 
 
 And drave them forth, I wis, 
 
 Much joy of him they knew 
 
 No more they should be seen, 
 
 I wot alway; 
 
 They must away — 
 
 His name was Petitcrewe, 
 
 Blither they ne'er had been 
 
 Much praise of him they say. 
 
 I wot, for many a day! 2430 
 
 The good King Triamour 
 
 Into a forest fair, 
 
 That dog to Tristrem gave 
 
 The twain, they fled that tide, 
 
 Who from the giant's power 
 
 No dwelling have they there 
 
 Him and his land did save. 2410 
 
 Saving the woodland wide. 
 
 Tristrem was proved that hour 
 
 O'er hills and holts they fare, 
 
 Courteous as he was brave, 
 
 Amid them they abide, 
 
 To maiden Blancheflower 
 
 Ysonde of joy hath share, 
 
 Wales for her own he gave 
 
 And Tristrem, at her side; 
 
 For aye, I ween, 
 
 I wot, full well, 
 
 The dog he sent o'er wave 
 
 Never before that tide 2460 
 
 To Ysonde, the sweet queen. 
 
 In such bliss did they dwell ! 
 
 Now Ysonde, sooth to say, 
 
 Ysonde and Tristrem true 
 
 Was of the dog full fain, 
 
 Are banished for their deed, 
 
 She sent him word straightway 2420 
 
 Hodain and Petitcrewe 
 
 That he might come again; 
 
 The twain with them they lead. 
 
 Mark, he had heard alway 
 
 An earth-house there they knew, 
 
 How Urgain had been slain, 
 
 Thither they fare with speed; 
 
 And sent men on their way 
 
 He taught them, Tristrem true, 
 
 To say that he was fain 
 
 The beasts to take at need, 
 
 Tristrem to see. 
 
 Nor be out-paced — 2470 
 
 His coming he deemed gain 
 
 In forest fastness freed 
 
 And kissed him fair and free. 
 
 Tristrem with Hodain chased. 
 
170 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Tristrem wild beasts would slay 
 
 A hart to bay he ran 
 
 With Hodain, for their meat; 
 
 King Mark, that self -same day; 
 
 In an earth-house they lay, 
 
 The track his huntsmen scan 
 
 There found they solace sweet, 
 
 And find a woodland way; 2S20 
 
 Giants in a by-gone day 
 
 Tristrem, in little span, 
 
 Wrought it in fashion meet — 
 
 And Ysonde, sooth to say, 
 
 Each even, sooth to say, 
 
 They find — sure no such man, 
 
 Thither they turned their feet, 2480 
 
 And none so fair a may, 
 
 As best they might — 
 
 E'er met their sight — 
 
 Thro' woodland boughs they greet 
 
 Between the twain there lay 
 
 Changes of day and night. 
 
 A drawn sword, burnished bright. 
 
 In winter it was hot, 
 
 The huntsmen went forthright, 
 
 In summer it was cold, 
 
 Told Mark where they had been; 
 
 Fair was that hidden grot, 
 
 That lady and that knight 2530 
 
 The path to none they told. 
 
 Had Mark aforetime seen; 
 
 No wine had they, I wot, 
 
 He knew them well by sight — 
 
 Nor good ale strong and old, 
 
 The sword, it lay between, 
 
 I trow it vexed them not 249° 
 
 A sunbeam passing bright 
 
 They lacked for meat on mold, 
 
 It shone upon the queen 
 
 Each had their will, 
 
 Thro' crevice small, 
 
 The loved one to behold, 
 
 Upon her face so sheen — 
 
 Nor ever gaze their fill! 
 
 It vexed the king withal. 
 
 On a hill Tristrem stood, 
 
 TTis glove he set therein 
 
 Aforetime was he there, 
 
 To keep the sun away — 2540 
 
 He found a well right good, 
 
 King Mark, he woe must win, 
 
 Crystal its waters were. 
 
 And spake: "Ah, wellaway, 
 
 Thereto in joyous mood 
 
 Two who would dwell in sin 
 
 He came, with Ysonde fair; 3500 
 
 Never in such wise lay! 
 
 I wot this was their food, 
 
 Who live as loyal kin 
 
 On forest flesh they fare 
 
 Have no thought for love's play, 
 
 With herbs, and grass — 
 
 T is sooth, I wis— " 
 
 In joy, all free from care, 
 
 The knights with one voice say : 
 
 Twelve months, save three weeks, pass. 
 
 "Pledge of their truth is this!" 
 
 Tristrem, ere dawn of day, 
 
 Then wakened Tristrem true 255c 
 
 With Hodain forth would fare, 
 
 And Ysonde, fair and sheen, 
 
 He found a beast of prey 
 
 The glove away they drew 
 
 Within a secret lair. 
 
 And spake the twain between; 
 
 He slew that beast straightway 2510 
 
 That it was Mark's they knew 
 
 And with him homeward bare — 
 
 And wist he there had been. 
 
 Sweet Ysonde sleeping lay, 
 
 Their joy awakened new 
 
 Tristrem, he laid him there 
 
 To know he thus had seen 
 
 Beside the queen — 
 
 Them both with sight — 
 
 His brand, unsheathed and bare, 
 
 With that came knights so keen 
 
 Was laid the twain between. 
 
 To fetch the twain forthright. 2560 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 171 
 
 To court had come the twain 
 
 Tristrem hath gone his way 
 
 Who dwelt in woodland wide; 
 
 As naught 'twixt them had been; 
 
 Mark kissed Ysonde again 
 
 Therefore the knights they say 
 
 And Tristrem, true and tried; 
 
 That Mark amiss had seen. 
 
 Forgiven was their pain, 
 
 And straightway do they pray 
 
 Naught was to them denied; 
 
 That Mark forgive the queen — 
 
 Tristrem did office gain 
 
 Tristrem by Ysonde lay 2611 
 
 Therein would he abide 
 
 That night, in sooth I ween, 
 
 As at that stound — 
 
 Good watch he kept — 
 
 Hearken, who at this tide 2570 
 
 Love's solace was between 
 
 Would know of love the ground. 
 
 The twain while others slept. 
 
 It fell the twain between 
 
 Tristrem hath fled away, 
 
 Upon a summer's day, 
 
 He cometh not again, 
 
 That Tristrem and the queen 
 
 He sigheth, sooth to say, 
 
 Sought solace in love's play, 
 
 For sorrow and for pain. 
 
 The dwarf the twain had seen, 
 
 Tristrem, he fareth aye ' 2620 
 
 To Mark he swift did say: 
 
 As one who would be slain, 
 
 "Sir King, I surely ween 
 
 Nor ceaseth, night and day, 
 
 Thy wife is now away 
 
 Conflict to seek amain, 
 
 With her true knight, 2580 
 
 That knight so free — 
 
 Wend swiftly on thy way, 
 
 He wandereth thro' Spain, 
 
 O'ertake them, an thou might." 
 
 Of giants, he slew three. 
 
 King Mark, he swiftly ran; 
 
 Anon from Spain he fared, 
 
 His coming both might see, 
 
 Fain Rohant's sons to see, 
 
 Tristrem spake, woeful man, 
 
 Their joy they nowise spared, 
 
 "Sweet Ysonde, lost are we, 
 
 Welcome to them was he. 2630 
 
 By naught that we may plan 
 
 Long time with them he fared — 
 
 The thing may hidden be," 
 
 Good reason there should be, 
 
 Ne'er was so sad a man 
 
 Their land they fain had shared 
 
 As Tristrem, verily, 2590 
 
 With him who set them free 
 
 True knight and friend — 
 
 An 't were his thought — 
 
 "For fear of death I flee, 
 
 He quoth: "My thanks have ye, 
 
 In woe my way I wend. 
 
 Of your land will I naught." 
 
 "I flee, since death I dread, 
 
 To Britain did he hie, 
 
 I may not here abide, 
 
 There was he the duke's knight, 
 
 In woe I seek this stead 
 
 The land in peace did lie 2640 
 
 The friendly forest side — " 
 
 That erst was full of fight. 
 
 A ring ere hence he sped 
 
 The duke's lands, presently, 
 
 She gave him at that tide — 
 
 He won again with fight — 
 
 For fear of death he fled 2600 
 
 He gave him, 't is no lie, 
 
 Unto the woodland wide 
 
 His daughter fair and bright 
 
 Forthwith I ween — 
 
 There, in that land; 
 
 To seek him swift they ride, 
 
 The maiden, she was hight 
 
 Alone they found the queen. 
 
 Ysonde, of the White Hand. 
 
172 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Tristrem, with love so strong, 
 
 Tristrem, in bed he lay, 
 
 He loved Ysonde the queen, 3650 
 
 His heart was full of care; 
 
 Of Ysonde made a song 
 
 He quoth: "Love's secret play 
 
 By Ysonde sung, I ween. 
 
 In sooth, I may not dare." — 
 
 The maiden deemed a-wrong 
 
 He said the maiden nay, 
 
 That song of her had been — 
 
 If so her will it were — 
 
 Her yearning lasted long, 
 
 She answered him straightway: 
 
 That hath her father seen, 
 
 " Of that have thou no care, 3700 
 
 Her will he knew — 
 
 I'll hold me still, 
 
 Ysonde with hand of sheen 
 
 Nor ask for foul or fair 
 
 He offered Tristrem true. 
 
 Save as it be thy will." 
 
 Tristrem a wish doth hold 3660 
 
 Her father on a day 
 
 Fast hidden in his thought; 
 
 He gave them lands so wide, 
 
 "King Mark, mine uncle bold, 
 
 Afar, upon the way, 
 
 Great wrong on us hath brought, 
 
 The posts were set beside. 
 
 I am to sorrow sold, 
 
 The duke's lands this side lay, 
 
 Thereto she me hath brought 
 
 A giant's the other side — 
 
 Whose love was mine of old, 
 
 No man durst there to stray, 3710 
 
 The book, it saith, with naught 
 
 The giant would him abide 
 
 Of lawful right — " 
 
 And challenge fight — 
 
 The maid henceforth he sought 
 
 Lowered perforce his pride 
 
 For that she Ysonde hight. 3670 
 
 Or king he were, or knight. 
 
 That was her heart's demand, 
 
 "Tristrem, I would thee rede 
 
 Her will would he obey — 
 
 That thou, for love of me, 
 
 True covenant and band 
 
 Pass not, for any need, 
 
 He bound with that fair may, 
 
 Beyond yon arm of sea. 
 
 Ysonde of the White Hand 
 
 Of Beliagog take heed, 
 
 He wedded her that day — 
 
 A giant stern is he, 3720 
 
 At night, I understand, 
 
 Thou should'st him fear indeed 
 
 As he would go his way 
 
 Since thou his brothers three 
 
 To bower and bed, 
 
 Hast slain in fight, 
 
 Tristrem's ring fell away 3680 
 
 Urgain, Morgan, truly, 
 
 As men him thither led. 
 
 And Moraunt, noble knight. 
 
 Tristrem beheld the ring, 
 
 "An thine hounds seek a hare 
 
 His heart was full of woe — 
 
 And from his lands come free, 
 
 "Ysonde did no such thing, 
 
 So be thou debonaire 
 
 She ne'er betrayed me so 
 
 If his hounds come to thee." 
 
 Tho' Mark, her lord and king, 
 
 The forest, it was fair 3730 
 
 Force her with him to go — 
 
 With many an unknown tree, 
 
 My heart may no man bring 
 
 Tristrem would thither fare 
 
 From her, as well I know, 
 
 However it might be 
 
 The fair and free — a6go 
 
 His foe abide — 
 
 Now severed are we two, 
 
 "That country will I see 
 
 The sin, it rests on me!" 
 
 What chance soe'er betide." 
 
SIR TRISTREM 
 
 m 
 
 Tristrem would hunt the wood, 
 
 To chase a hart began, 
 
 There, where the boundary stood, 
 
 His hounds across it ran. 2740 
 
 Tho' black and broad the flood 
 
 He crossed it like a man, 
 
 The duke's word he withstood 
 
 But followed for a span 
 
 The further shore — 
 
 Then blew, as hunters can, 
 
 A blast, three notes and more. 
 
 Beliagog came that tide, 
 
 And asked who he might be? 
 'A-hunting here I ride 2750 
 
 As Tristrem men know me — " 
 'Who slew Moraunt with pride, 
 
 That Tristrem, art thou he? 
 
 Who Urgain too defied, 
 
 And slew? 'T were ill did we 
 
 Here kiss as kin, 
 
 That wrong shall righted be 
 
 Now thou my land art in!" 
 
 'I slew them, sooth to tell, 
 So hope I thee to slay, 
 This forest will I fell 
 And build a burg straightway. 
 'T were merry here to dwell, 
 So here I think to stay — " 
 The giant heard full well 
 And waxed right wroth that day, 
 He scarce was wise — 
 In such wise did the fray 
 Betwixt the twain arise. 
 
 Then mighty spears and tried 
 The giant to hurl began, 
 Sir Tristrem's life that tide 
 Had well nigh reached its span. 
 Betwixt hauberk and side 
 
 3760 
 
 The dart methinks it ran — 
 
 Tristrem, he sprang aside, 
 
 Gave thanks, as valiant man 
 
 To God's great Might — 
 
 Tristrem, as best he can, 
 
 Now girdeth him for fight. 2780 
 
 Now Beliagog, the bold, 
 E'en as a fiend did fight, 
 As Thomas hath us told 
 He nigh had slain the knight. 
 By God's Will, there on mold, 
 His foot did he off-smite 
 Tristrem, to earth he rolled 
 That man of mickle might, 
 And loud he cried : 
 "Tristrem, now peace be plight, 2790 
 Take thou my lands so wide. 
 
 "Now hast thou vanquished me 
 In battle and in fight, 
 Fealty I swear to thee, 
 'Gainst thee have I no right." 
 His wealth he bade him see, 
 Tristrem, the noble knight, 
 And Tristrem spake him free — 
 His faith the giant did plight 
 That he full fain, 2800 
 
 Would build a bower bright 
 For Ysonde and Brengwain. 
 
 The giant led the way 
 
 Until a burg they found, 
 
 The water round it lay, 
 
 His fathers held that mound. 
 
 Tristrem the giant did pray 
 
 Strong walls to build around, 
 
 And Beliagog that day 
 
 Gave him of woodland ground 281c 
 
 Enough for all — 
 
 Ysonde, so fairly found, 
 
 He 'Id lead unto that hall. 
 
 (.End of MS.) 
 
174 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 For love of God in Trinity 
 
 Ye who be gentle hearken me, 
 
 I pray ye, par amour ; 
 
 Hear what befell beyond the sea 
 
 To barons twain, of great bountie, 
 
 And men of high honour; 
 
 Their fathers, they were barons free, 
 
 And lordings come of high degree, 
 
 Renowned in town and tower; 
 
 The tale of these their children twain 10 
 
 Alike in pleasure and in pain 
 
 To hear is great dolour. 
 
 In weal and woe what was their lot, 
 And how their kinsmen knew them not, 
 Those children brave and fair; 
 (Courteous and good they were, forsooth, 
 And friends became from early youth, 
 E'en as in court they were.) 
 And how the twain they were dubbed 
 
 knight, 
 And how together sware troth-plight, jo 
 And did as comrades fare; 
 The land from which those children 
 
 came, 
 And how each one was called by name 
 I will to ye declare. 
 
 In Lombardie, I understand, 
 
 Of old it chanced, in that same land, 
 
 E'en as in Geste we read, 
 
 There dwelt two barons, brave and bold, 
 
 Who did as wives in wedlock hold 
 
 Two ladies, fair in weed. ' 30 
 
 And as it fell, those ladies fair 
 
 A son each to her lord did bear 
 
 Who doughty was in deed; 
 
 And true were they in everything, 
 
 And therefore Jesu, Heaven's King, 
 
 Requited them their meed. 
 
 The children's names as they were hight 
 In rhyme I will rehearse aright 
 
 And tell in tale to ye; 
 
 Begotten in the self-same night, 40 
 
 The self-same day they saw the light, 
 
 Forsooth and verily; 
 
 And the one baron's son, I wis, 
 
 They called him by his name, Amis, 
 
 When christened he should be; 
 
 The other was called Amiloun, 
 
 He was a child of great renown, 
 
 And came of high degree. 
 
 Those bairns, I trow, they well did 
 
 thrive, 
 No fairer bairns were seen alive, so 
 
 So courteous, true, and good; 
 Whenas their years they reckoned five 
 Then all their kin of them were blithe 
 So mild were they of mood; 
 When seven years were their's, I wis 
 That every man of them had bliss 
 Who saw them as they stood; 
 And when they were twelve winters old 
 Throughout the land all did them hold 
 Fairest of bone and blood. 60 
 
 Now in that time, I understand, 
 
 A duke was lord of that same land 
 
 Renowned in town and tower; 
 
 A message he sent speedily 
 
 To earl and baron, bond and free, 
 
 To ladies bright in bower, 
 
 A right rich feast he thought to make 
 
 And all for Our Lord Jesu's sake 
 
 Who is Our Saviour; 
 
 And many folk, the sooth to say, 70 
 
 He bade them come by a set day, 
 
 With mirth and great honour. 
 
 Those barons twain, who were so bold, 
 And these, their sons, of whom I told, 
 To court they came straightway, 
 When all were gathered, young and old, 
 Full many did the lads behold 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 175 
 
 Of lordings blithe and gay; 
 
 Saw them in body full of grace, 
 
 To all men's eyes alike in face, 80 
 
 Well taught in Wisdom's way; 
 
 And all men sware that: "Verily, 
 
 Children so fair as these shall be 
 
 We saw not ere to-day!" 
 
 In all the court there was no wight 
 Nor earl nor baron, swain nor knight, 
 Were he or lieve or loth, * 
 
 For that they were so like to sight, 
 And in their growth of equal height, 
 (I tell this on my troth — ) go 
 
 Since that they were so like to see 
 Nor rich man there, nor poor might be, 
 Of those who saw them both, 
 Father nor mother of the two, 
 Who knew the one the other fro' 
 Save by their coat and cloth. 
 
 The rich duke, he his feast did hold 
 
 With earls, and many a baron bold, 
 
 As ye may list my lay, 
 
 A fourteen-night, as I was told, 100 
 
 With meat and drink, merry on mold, 
 
 He bade his guests be gay; 
 
 For mirth they had, and melody, 
 
 And every kind of minstrelsy, 
 
 To show their skill alway; 
 
 Upon the fifteenth day they make 
 
 Ready, their homeward way to take, 
 
 With thanks their host they pay. 
 
 Then ere the lordings forth had gone 
 The duke of gracious mien, anon, no 
 He called to him that tide 
 These barons, proved in courtesie, 
 And prayed that they his friends should 
 
 be 
 And in his court abide; 
 And let their two sons, of goodwill, 
 Be of his house to serve him still, 
 And fare forth at his side; 
 And he as knight would dub the twain 
 And would them fittingly maintain 
 As lordings proud in pride. 120 
 
 The barons answered him straightway, 
 And with their ladies spake that day 
 And made him answer fair, 
 And said, they were both glad and fain 
 That these their lovely children twain 
 In this his service were; 
 Blessing they gave their sons that day, 
 And Jesu, Heaven's King, did pray 
 To shield them both from care; 
 Full oft they thanked the duke that tide, 
 Then took their leave from thence to 
 ride 131 
 
 And to their country fare. 
 
 Thus were those children twain, I wis, 
 Childe Amiloun and Childe Amis, 
 Made free in court to feed, 
 A-hunting 'neath the boughs to ride, 
 O'er all the land their praise was cried 
 As worthiest in weed; 
 Such love each to the other bore 
 Were never children who loved more 140 
 Neither in word nor deed; 
 Betwixt the twain, in blood and bone, 
 A truer love was never shown, 
 In Geste as ye may read. 
 
 Thus on a day, these children bright, 
 Their troth each to the other plight, 
 While they might live and stand, 
 That both alike, by day and night, 
 In weal or woe, for wrong or right, 
 By free and friendly band, iso 
 
 They 'Id hold together in all need, 
 In word and work, in will and deed, 
 Where'er they were in land; 
 From that day forward ne'er to fail 
 Each other, aye for bliss or bale, 
 To that they set their hand. 
 
 Thus in the Geste as ye may hear 
 Within that land, those children dear 
 Did with the duke abide; 150 
 
 The duke, he was both blithe and fain 
 Dear to him were those children twain 
 Who fared forth at his side. 
 
176 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 When they were fifteen winters old 
 He dubbed them both, those bairns so 
 
 bold, • 
 As knights in that same tide, 
 And gave them all that they might need, 
 Horses and weapons, knightly weed, 
 As princes proud in pride. 
 
 That rich duke loved those lads so brave 
 All that they would he freely gave, 170 
 Steeds had they, white and brown; 
 Where'er they were to sojourn fain 
 The land, it spake but of those twain, 
 Were it in tower or town; 
 In whatsoever place they went, 
 Were it for joust or tournament, 
 Amis and Amiloun 
 The doughtiest were in every deed, 
 With shield and spear to ride on steed 
 They won them great renown. 180 
 
 The rich duke, he the twain did prize, 
 
 For that they wary were and wise, 
 
 Holden good knights to be, 
 
 Sir Amiloun, and Sir Amis, 
 
 He gave them office high, I wis, 
 
 In court for all to see; 
 
 Sir Amis, as I tell ye now, 
 
 Chief butler did he make, I trow, 
 
 Since he was fair and free; 
 
 Sir Amiloun, of his knights all 190 
 
 He made chief steward in his hall 
 
 To order his mesnie. 
 
 When thus into his service brought 
 To win them praise they spare them 
 
 naught, 
 In courteous wise they fare; 
 With rich and poor so well they wrought 
 That they, I trow, in word and thought, 
 Well loved by many were, 
 For that they were so blithe of cheer 
 Throughout the land, both far and near, 
 All did their praise declare. 201 
 
 And the rich duke, an truth be told, 
 Above all men who lived on mold 
 Most love to them he bare. 
 
 The duke, for so I understand, 
 
 Had a chief steward o'er his land, 
 
 A doughty knight was he, 
 
 By envy urged, he, at this same, 
 
 Strove hard to bring them both to 
 
 blame, 
 By guile and treachery; 210 
 
 For that they courteous were and good, 
 And high in the duke's favour stood, 
 He needs must envious be; 
 His lord with evil words he sought 
 And fain had shame upon them brought, 
 Such was his felonie. 
 
 Ere yet two years to end were brought 
 
 A messenger hath swiftly sought 
 
 Sir Amiloun in hall, 
 
 And said his parents twain were dead, 
 
 Father and mother, in that stead, 221 
 
 Must answer to God's call — 
 
 A sad man was the knight that day, 
 
 Unto the duke he took his way, 
 
 Told him what did befall, 
 
 How father brave, and mother fair, 
 
 Were dead, and he must homeward fare 
 
 And take his lands withal. 
 
 Then the duke rich, and fair to see, 
 He spake with kind words graciously, 
 And said: "So God me speed, 231 
 
 Sir Amiloun, thou hence shalt wend, 
 Ne'er grieved I so for any friend 
 Who left my court indeed! 
 But if the chance it falleth so 
 That thou shalt be in war or woe, 
 And of my help hast need, 
 Come thou thyself, or message send, 
 With all the force my land may lend 
 I'll aid thee in that deed." 240 
 
 Sir Amiloun was sad at heart 
 
 That he must from Sir Amis part, 
 
 On him was all his thought, 
 
 He with a goldsmith speech did hold, 
 
 And bade him make two cups of gold, 
 
 For pounds three hundred bought; 
 
 The twain they of one weight should be, 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 177 
 
 And of one fashion, verily, — 
 Full richly were they wrought; — 
 And both they were as like, I wis, 250 
 As Amiloun was like Amis, 
 Thereto there failed naught. 
 
 Whenas Sir Amiloun was dight 
 
 He took his leave to wend forthright 
 
 And ride as swift might be, 
 
 Sir Amis was so full of care 
 
 For grief and woe, and sighing sare 
 
 That well nigh swooned he — 
 
 He sought the duke in dreary mood, 
 
 And prayed of him e'en as he stood, 
 
 Spake, "Sire, of charitie, 261 
 
 Now give me leave to wend thee fro', 
 
 Save I may with my brother go 
 
 My heart shall break in three!" 
 
 But the rich duke, so fair to see, 
 With courteous words, and graciouslie, 
 Answered without delay 
 And said: "Sir Amis, my good friend, 
 Now would ye both from this court 
 
 wend? 
 Certes, I tell ye nay! 270 
 
 For an ye both should me forsake 
 Then all my sorrow should ye wake, 
 My joy were all away. 
 Thy brother seeks his lands this tide, 
 Thou on his way with him shalt ride 
 And come again to-day." 
 
 When they were ready forth to ride 
 The barons bold who should abide, 
 They busked them up and down; 
 Now hearken here, naught would I hide, 
 Those doughty knights who, at that 
 
 tide, 281 
 
 Fared forth from out the town, 
 E'en as they rode, throughout the day, 
 Great mourning did they make alway 
 Amis and Amiloun, 
 And when they needs must part, the 
 
 twain, 
 Then fair together on a plain 
 From horse they lighted down. 
 
 And when the twain on foot were 'light, 
 
 Sir Amiloun, that courteous knight, 290 
 
 Was likewise of good rede, 
 
 Thus to Sir Amis spake forthright: 
 
 "Brother, as we our troth once plight, 
 
 Alike in word and deed, 
 
 From that day forward, without fail, 
 
 To be of aid in bliss or bale, 
 
 And help in every need, 
 
 So brother, now be true to me, 
 
 And I will be as true to thee, 
 
 So God give me good speed ! 300 
 
 " And brother, here I would thee warn 
 For His Sake, Who the Crown of Thorn 
 To save Mankind once wore, 
 Against thy lord ne'er be foresworn, 
 For if thou art, shalt be forlorn, 
 And lost for evermore! 
 But hold to truth and treason shun, 
 And think of me, Sir Amiloun, 
 Since parting lies before. 
 And brother, this I pray of thee 310 
 Shun the false steward's companie, 
 He'll do thee mischief sore!" 
 
 As thus they stood, those brethren 
 
 bold, 
 Amiloun took those cups of gold, 
 Alike in everything, 
 And bade Sir Amis that he should 
 Choose whether of the twain he would 
 Without more parleying; 
 And quoth to him: "now dear, my 
 
 brother, 
 Take thou the one, and I the other, 320 
 For God's Love, Heaven's Bong; 
 And let this cup ne'er go from thee, 
 But look on it, and think on me, 
 For Friendship's tokening!" 
 
 With sorrow sore they part, I wis, 
 With weeping eyes and many a kiss, 
 Those knights so fair and free, 
 To God each doth commend his friend, 
 Then sprang on steed his way to wend, 
 And rode thence speedily; 33 o 
 
i 7 8 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Sir Amiloun, he sought his land, 
 
 And brought straightway beneath his 
 
 hand 
 All that his sire's should be, 
 Then with a lady fair he wed, 
 His bride with honour homeward led, 
 And much solemnity. 
 
 Sir Amiloun now leave we here, 
 
 In his own land, with wife so dear, 
 
 (God grant them well to fare,) 
 
 And of Sir Amis will we tell, 340 
 
 Who came again, at court to dwell, 
 
 Then blithe of him they were; 
 
 For that he courteous was and good 
 
 Men blessed the sire, in bone and blood, 
 
 Who him begat and bare; 
 
 Save but the steward, who ever strove, 
 
 Since hate and envy did him move, 
 
 To bring the knight to care. 
 
 Then as it chanced upon a day, 
 
 He met the steward on his way, 350 
 
 Who spake full courteouslie, 
 
 And quoth: "Sir Amis, thou art woe 
 
 In that thy brother hence must go, 
 
 Certes, 't is so with me, 
 
 But for his going cease to grieve, 
 
 If thou wilt now my rede believe 
 
 And let thy mourning be, 
 
 And wilt as comrade with me wend 
 
 I'll be to thee a better friend, 
 
 Than ever yet was he!" 360 
 
 He quoth: "Sir Amis, hear my prayer, 
 And brotherhood with me now swear, 
 Plight we our troth, we two; 
 Be true to me in word and deed, 
 And I shall be, so God me speed, 
 As true to thee also; " 
 Sir Amis quoth: "My troth I plight 
 Sir Amiloun, that gentle knight, 
 Ere that he hence must go, 
 And whiles that I in life shall be 370 
 That troth shall ne'er be broke by me, 
 Neither for weal nor woe! 
 
 "For by the truth that God doth send 
 
 I found him aye so good a friend 
 
 Since we each other knew, 
 
 For that to him my troth was plight, 
 
 Where'er he go, that gentle knight, 
 
 To him will I be true. 
 
 And if I now should be foresworn 
 
 And break my troth, I were forlorn, 380 
 
 And sore it should me rue. 
 
 But win me friends where'er I may 
 
 I ne'er shall change, by night or day, 
 
 This old friend for a new!" 
 
 The steward was of evil mood, 
 
 For wrath, I trow, he waxed nigh wood, 
 
 And spake without delay, 
 
 And sware by Him Who died on Rood: 
 
 "Thou traitor, of unnatural blood, 
 
 Shalt dearly buy this 'nay ' "; 3go 
 
 And thus he spake: "Be warned by me, 
 
 A bitter foe I'll be to thee, 
 
 Henceforward, from this day!" 
 
 Sir Amis bold, he answered there, 
 
 "Sir, not a sloe for that I care, 
 
 Do all the ill ye may!" 
 
 'T was thus their quarrel rose that day, 
 In wrath upon their separate way 
 Those barons bold they go; -■ 399 
 
 The steward ceased not day and night 
 Striving to shame that doughty knight 
 If chance the way should show. 
 In court together had they been 
 With wrathful cheer, and lowering mien, 
 For half a year or so, 
 And after that it chanced one while 
 The steward by treason and by guile 
 He wrought him mickle woe. 
 
 Then on a time, 't is written fair, 
 
 The rich duke did a feast prepare 410 
 
 Seemly, in summer-tide, 
 
 And many a gentle guest there came, 
 
 Good meat and good drink, at that 
 
 same, 
 Were served on every side; 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 179 
 
 Mickle the folk assembled all, 
 
 Of earl and baron, great and' small, 
 
 And ladies proud in pride, 
 
 Nor greater joy on earth might be 
 
 Than in that hold of chivalrie 
 
 With bliss in bower to bide. 420 
 
 The duke, so doth the Geste declare, 
 He had a daughter passing fair, 
 Courteous and good was she, 
 When fifteen winters she had told 
 In all the land the people hold 
 Was none so fair to see; 
 Gentle she was, and avenant, 
 And by her name hight Belisant, 
 As ye may list from me; 
 Ladies and maidens bright in bower 430 
 They guarded her with great honour 
 And much solemnity. 
 
 The feast was held full fourteen-night, 
 
 With barons and with ladies bright, 
 
 And lords, full many a one, 
 
 And many a gentle knight was there, 
 
 And many a serjant, wise and ware, 
 
 To wait on every one; 
 
 Sir Amis,- in that self -same hour, 
 
 As butler, he was deemed the flower, 440 
 
 So doth the true tale run; 
 
 The doughtiest in every deed, 
 
 The comeliest in every weed, 
 
 So, seemly, praise he won. 
 
 Then when the guests at the feast's 
 
 end 
 Should from that lordly dwelling wend 
 E'en as in book we read, 
 That merry maid, she asked anon 
 Of these her maidens, every one, 
 Saying: "As God ye speed, 450 
 
 Say, who was held for bravest knight, 
 And seemliest in all men's sight, 
 And worthiest in weed? 
 Whose fame as fairest knight doth stand, 
 The most renowned throughout the 
 
 land, 
 The doughtiest of deed?" 
 
 Her maidens answered her straightway, 
 
 And quoth: "Madame, we sure will say 
 
 The sooth in this same hour, 
 
 Of earl or baron, swain or knight, 460 
 
 The fairest man, and most of might, 
 
 And held in most honour, 
 
 Is the chief butler, Sir Amis, 
 
 The world hath not his peer, I wis, 
 
 Neither in town nor tower. 
 
 He is the doughtiest knight in deed, 
 
 He is the worthiest in weed, 
 
 Of praise he bears the flower!" 
 
 Then Belisant, that maid so fair, 
 When thus her maids the truth declare 
 As ye may hear from me, 471 
 
 Upon Sir Amis, gentle knight, 
 I wis, her love it now did light, 
 Yet in all secresy; 
 Where'er she saw him ride or go 
 Her heart was fain to break for woe 
 That speech there might not be, 
 Since she might not, by night or day, 
 Speak with that knight, the gentle may 
 Full oft wept bitterly. 480 
 
 That gentle maiden, young and fair, 
 
 Lay in love-languishing and care 
 
 Alike by night and day; 
 
 As in the tale I tell to ye 
 
 Since speech betwixt them might not be, 
 
 In bed sore sick she lay; 
 
 Her mother to her side did go, 
 
 Full fain was she her grief to know 
 
 And help her, if she may. 
 
 She answered her without debate 400 
 
 Her pain, it was so sore and great 
 
 Soon must she lie in clay. 
 
 That rich duke on a morn was fain, 
 With many a lording in his train, 
 As prince so proud in pride, 
 Without delay to dight him here 
 And go a-hunting of the deer, — 
 They busked them for to ride; 
 When as the lordings every one wg 
 
 From out that stately hold were gone, 
 
iSo 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 (Here have I naught to hide — ) 
 Sir Amis, so 't is sooth, that day 
 For that a sickness on him lay, 
 At home he would abide. 
 
 When as the lordings forth would go 
 
 With huntsmen keen, and bended bow, 
 
 To hunt 'neath greenwood tree, 
 
 Sir Amis, as the tale doth tell, 
 
 Was left behind, at home to dwell, 
 
 And guard what there should be. 510 
 
 That gentle knight was minded so 
 
 Into the garden fair to go, 
 
 For solace, verily; 
 
 Under a bough, I trow he lay 
 
 To listen to the birdling's lay — 
 
 In bliss, I trow, was he! 
 
 Now, gentles, list, and ye shall hear 
 
 How the duke's daughter, fair and dear, 
 
 Sore sick in bed she lay, 
 
 Her mother came with doleful mien, S20 
 
 With all her ladies, so I ween, 
 
 To solace that sweet may; 
 
 "Arise," she said: "my daughter fair, 
 
 And to the garden now repair 
 
 This seemly summer's day, 
 
 There shall ye list the birdlings' song, 
 
 Hearkening their joy and bliss, ere long 
 
 Thy care shall pass away." 
 
 Then up she rose, that lady bright, 
 
 And to the garden went forthright 530 
 
 With maidens fair and free, 
 
 And bright and fair the summer's day, 
 
 The sun shone as a flame alway 
 
 Seemly it was to see; 
 
 They heard the birds both great and small, 
 
 The nightingale's sweet notes withal 
 
 That gaily sang on tree, 
 
 But in such straits her heart was brought, 
 
 On pain of love was all her thought 
 
 She would nor game nor glee. 540 
 
 And so that maiden in her pride 
 Forth to the orchard went that tide 
 
 To ease her of her care, 
 
 Then straight Sir Amis did she see 
 
 There, as he lay beneath a tree, 
 
 To hear that song so fair; 
 
 Great bliss, I trow, that maid must 
 
 know, 
 Her joy she could to no man shew, 
 Whenas she saw him there; 549 
 
 She thought she would for no man stay, 
 But straight to him would take her way 
 And say how she did fare. 
 
 Then was that maiden blithe of mood, 
 When she beheld him as she stood 
 She sought to him, the sweet; 
 Not for all good the world might hold 
 Would she fail with this knight so 
 
 bold 
 In courteous wise to treat. 
 And even as that gentle knight 559 
 
 Beheld that maid, in bower so bright, 
 As she would with him meet, 
 Straightway towards her did he go, 
 With courteous mien and word also 
 He did the lady greet. 
 
 With that, the gentle maid, anon 
 
 She bade her ladies all begone, 
 
 Withdraw from her away, 
 
 And when the twain were left alone 
 
 She to Sir Amis made her moan, 
 
 And thus to him did say — 570 
 
 " Sir Knight, t'ward thee my heart is 
 
 brought, 
 And on thy love is all my thought 
 Alike by night and day; 
 Save that thou wilt my lover be 
 I trow my heart shall break in three, 
 Nor longer live I may ! 
 
 " Thou art," she quoth, " a gentle knight, 
 
 And I a maid in bower bright 
 
 And of high lineage born, 
 
 Alike by night and e'en by day 580 
 
 My heart is set on thee alway, 
 
 I am of joy forlorn; 
 
 Plight me thy troth thou wilt be true 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 181 
 
 Nor change thine old love for a new, 
 For none in this world born, 
 And I will plight my troth again 
 Till God or Death part us in twain 
 I ne'er will be foresworn." 
 
 That gentle knight then still he stood, 
 And very thoughtful waxed his mood, 
 He spake with heart so free: 591 
 
 "Lady, for Him Who died on Rood 
 As thou art come of gentle blood, 
 And this land's heir shalt be, 
 Bethink thee of thy great honour, 
 For son of king and emperour, 
 Were none too high for thee! 
 Certes, I deem thou dost not right 
 To set thy love on a poor knight 
 Who hath nor land nor fee. 600 
 
 " And if we should Love's game begin 
 And any man of this thy kin 
 Should chance the same to know, 
 Then all our joy and praise that day 
 For this, our sin, we 'Id lose straightway, 
 And win God's Wrath also; 
 Should I dishonour thus my lord 
 Traitor were I, of all abhorred, 
 Nay, it may not be so ! 
 Sweet Lady, do thou by my rede, 610 
 Think what should come of this, our 
 
 deed, 
 I trow me, naught but woe!" 
 
 That maiden fair, of great renown, 
 Answered: "Sir Knight, hast shaven 
 
 crown? 
 By God Who bought thee dear, 
 Or priest or parson shalt thou be, 
 Canon or monk, that thus to me 
 Dost preach in such wise here? 
 Thou never shouldst have been a knight 
 To company with maidens bright, 620 
 A Friar were thee more near! 
 Whoe'er he be who taught thee this 
 May have his lot in Hell, I wis, 
 Were he my brother dear! 
 
 " Alas! by Him Who hath us wrought 
 All this, thy preaching, helpeth naught 
 Withstand thou ne'er so long, 
 Save that my will thou doest here 
 Thou shalt pay this, my love, full dear, 
 With pains both sharp and strong, 630 
 My kerchief and my robe, anon, 
 I'll tear, and swear that thou hast 
 
 done 
 To me a mickle wrong; 
 I'll say that thou hast forced me now, 
 By law they'll hang thee then, I trow, 
 On gallows-tree, ere long!" 
 
 With that, the courteous knight stood 
 
 still, 
 For in his heart he liked it ill, 
 To speak, I trow, was slow; 
 He thought, "If here I steadfast be 640 
 With this, her tongue, she'll ruin me 
 Ere yet I hence may go; 
 And if I do my lord this wrong 
 Drawn with wild horses swift and strong 
 The punishment I'll know!" 
 Full loth to do her will that day, 
 More loth to lose his life alway, 
 Ne'er had he known such woe. 
 
 And then he thought that, verily, 
 
 To grant her will should better be 650 
 
 Than life to lose alway, — 
 
 Thus to the maid made answering: 
 
 "For love of Christ, our Heavenly King, 
 
 Hearken to me to-day; 
 
 As thou art maiden good and true 
 
 Bethink how rape doth turn to rue 
 
 And bitter grief and gray, 
 
 But wait we for a seven-night, 
 
 And I, as true and courteous knight, 
 
 Will do as thou shalt pray." 660 
 
 Then answered him that maiden bright, 
 And sware: "By Jesu, Lord of Might, 
 Thou goest not thus from me, 
 But here and now thy troth shalt plight 
 That thou, as true and gentle knight 
 To tryst shalt faithful be ! " 
 
l82 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 With that her will he granted there, 
 Troth-plight each to the other sware 
 With kisses verily; 
 
 Into her bower she went again, 670 
 
 Then was the maid so glad and fain 
 Past speech her joy should be. 
 
 Sir Amis tarried not, but straight 
 His lord's home-coming to await, 
 To hall he turned him there; 
 When from his hunting at that same 
 With many a noble lord he came 
 Unto that dwelling fair, 
 Then tidings of his daughter dear 
 He asked, they said that of good cheer 
 Was she, and free from care. 681 
 
 To eat in hall they brought that may, 
 And blithe and glad were all that day 
 And joyful hearts they bare. 
 
 Whenas the lords, without a lie, 
 Were set upon the dats high 
 With ladies fair and sweet, 
 As prince who was full proud in pride 
 The duke was richly served that tide 
 With mirth and worship meet; figo 
 
 Whenas that maid of whom I spake 
 Among the maids her place must take 
 There, as she sat in seat, 
 Upon that courteous knight, Amis, 
 A thousand times she looked, I wis, 
 And did with eyes entreat. 
 
 Upon that gentle knight, Amis, 
 
 For evermore she gazed, I wis, 
 
 Nor would her glances spare; 
 
 The steward, with a traitorous eye 700 
 
 He did that maiden well espy 
 
 And of her mien was ware, 
 
 For by her glances did he see 
 
 That love betwixt the twain should 
 
 be, 
 Sore was he griev6d there, 
 Bethought him how, within a while, 
 He might with treason and with guile 
 Bring both of them to care. 
 
 And thus, I wis, that merry may 
 She ate in hall, with joy and play, 710 
 For four days, or for five, 
 Whene'er Sir Amis she might see 
 Then was her heart from sorrow free, 
 She joyed to be alive, 
 Where'er he sat or stood in hall 
 Her eyes were fain on him to fall 
 With longing looks to strive; 
 The steward for envy he was fain 
 To bring much sorrow on the twain, 
 Now evil may he thrive ! 720 
 
 That rich duke, now, as ye shall hear, 
 He rode a-hunting of the deer 
 And with him many a knight; 
 Then Belisant, that gentle may, 
 The chamber where Sir Amis lay 
 Thither she sought forthright. 
 The steward, as I read, that tide 
 Was in a phamber near beside, 
 He saw that maiden bright 
 As secretly her love she sought, 730 
 
 To spy upon the twain he thought, 
 Followed as swift he might. 
 
 Whenas the maiden came, anon, 
 She found Sir Amis there alone, 
 "Hail!" quoth the lady bright, 
 "Sir Amis," swiftly did she say, 
 " It is a seven-night to-day 
 That we our troth did plight, 
 And therefore am I come to thee 
 To know, as thou art fair and free, 740 
 And held for courteous knight, 
 Whether thou wilt me now forsake 
 Or wilt me now unto thee take 
 To hold, in truth and right?" 
 
 " Lady," then quoth the knight again, 
 " To wed with thee I were full fain 
 As thou with me would'st wive; 
 But an thy father heard men say 
 That with his daughter dear I lay 
 From land he would me drive. 750 
 
 If I were ruler of this land 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 183 
 
 And had more gold in this, my hand, 
 Than other kings full five 
 Right gladly would I wed with thee; 
 Certes, I but a poor man be; 
 Alas, that I'm alive!" 
 
 " Sir Knight," then quoth that maiden 
 kind, 
 
 " Now by Saint Thomas, slain in Ynde, 
 
 Why dost thou say me Nay? 
 
 Thou ne'er shalt be so poor, I trow, 760 
 
 But riches I may find enow 
 
 Alike by night and day!" 
 
 That courteous knight no more de- 
 layed, 
 
 But in his arms he took the maid 
 
 And kissed that gentle may; 
 
 They dealt with word and deed anon 
 
 Till he her maidenhood had won 
 
 Ere yet she went away. 
 
 And aye that steward did abide 
 In hiding, by the chamber side, 770 
 
 Their speech he hearkened there; 
 And thro' a hole, 't was none too wide, 
 He watched them both, at that same 
 
 tide, 
 As they together were, 
 And as he saw the twain with sight, 
 Sir Amis, and that maiden bright, 
 The rich duke's daughter fair, 
 Then wroth was he, of angry mood, 
 And gat him thence, as he were wood, 
 Their counsel to declare. 780 
 
 Whenas the duke he homeward came 
 
 The steward he met him at that same 
 
 Their secret to betray; 
 
 "My lord, the Duke," he saith anon, 
 
 "Of thine own mischief, by Saint John, 
 
 I 'Id warn thee here to-day, 
 
 In this thy court thou hast a thief, 
 
 Who to my heart hath done sore grief, 
 
 Yea, shame it is to say; 
 
 Certes, he shall a traitor be, — 790 
 
 But now, by force and villainy, 
 
 He with thy daughter lay!" 
 
 The duke, his wrath it waxed to flame, 
 "Now who," he cried, "hath done this 
 
 shame — 
 Tell me, with ne'er a he?" 
 "Saint James," he quoth, "my witness 
 
 be, 
 His name I'll truly tell to thee, 
 Now bid him hang on high; 
 It is thy butler, Sir Amis, 
 A traitor was he aye, I wis, 800 
 
 He with that maid did he; 
 Myself I saw them, on my troth, 
 As I will prove before them both, 
 They shall me not deny!" 
 
 Then was the duke of wrathful mood; 
 
 To hall he ran, as he were wood, 
 
 For naught would he abide, 
 
 But with a falchion sharp and bright 
 
 Full fain would he Sir Amis smite, 
 
 The stroke, it went aside; 810 
 
 Sir Amis to a chamber fled, 
 
 And shut the door fast at that stead, 
 
 For fear his head would hide; 
 
 The duke, he smote so fierce a blow 
 
 That thro' the door the steel did go, 
 
 So wrathful he that tide. 
 
 And all who there around him stood 
 Besought the duke to calm his mood, 
 Both baron, earl, and swain, 819 
 
 He sware by Him Who died on Rood, 
 For all the world might hold of good 
 He 'Id have that traitor slain: 
 "Great honour hath he had from me, 
 And now a traitor vile shall be, 
 Hath with my daughter lain, 
 Not for the whole world's wealth, I 
 
 trow, 
 The traitor shall escape me now, 
 But die by these hands twain!" 
 
 "Sire," quoth Sir Amis at the last, 
 "Let this, thy wrath, be overpast, 830 
 I pray, of Charitie, 
 
 H thou canst prove now, by Saint 
 John, 
 
184 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 That e'er such deed by me was done, 
 
 Then hang me high on tree! 
 
 If any man our harm hath sought, 
 
 And such a charge against us brought, 
 
 Then, whosoe'er he be, 
 
 He is a liar, shalt thou know — 
 
 As I will here in battle show, 
 
 And prove us quit and free! " 840 
 
 "Yea," quoth the duke, "and wilt thou 
 
 so? 
 Say, dost thou dare to combat go 
 And make thee quit and clear?" 
 "Yea, certes, Sire," he answered free, 
 "And here my glove I give to thee, 
 His falsehood shall appear." 
 The steward answered back forthright, 
 And quoth: "Thou traitor, perjured 
 
 knight, 
 Thou art attainted here, 
 Why, I myself have seen to-day 850 
 How that she in thy chamber lay, 
 Yourselves ye cannot clear!" 
 
 As thus the steward he said his say; 
 And thus Sir Amis answered, "Nay, 
 The thing it was not so." 
 The duke bade bring that maiden 
 
 fair, 
 The steward did aye the same declare, 
 And sware: "'T was as I show!" 
 The maiden wept, her hands she wrung, 
 And ever on her mother hung, 860 
 
 Vowing it was not so. 
 Then quoth the duke: "Now, without 
 
 fail, 
 Here shall we see the truth prevail 
 By combat 'twixt the two." 
 
 So 'twixt the twain they set the fight 
 For that day past a fourteen-night 
 For many a man to see; 
 The steward was of mickle might, 
 In all the court there was no knight 
 Would Amis' surety be; 870 
 
 The steward was so strong, I trow, 
 That sureties might he find enow, 
 
 Twenty at least they be; 
 
 Then quoth they all, that till that tide 
 
 Sir Amis should in prison bide 
 
 Lest he from thence should flee. 
 
 With that she spake, the maiden bright, 
 And sware by Jesu, Lord of Might, 
 That this were mickle wrong: 
 "Take ye my body for the knight, 880 
 And till the day he come for fight, 
 Hold me in prison strong; 
 And if the knight should flee away, 
 Nor durst abide the chance that day 
 That doth to fight belong, 
 Then, as the law is, deal with me, 
 And doom my body drawn to be, 
 And high on gallows hung!" 
 
 Then, with bold words, her mother still 
 
 Said she would be of right good will 800 
 
 His surety also; 
 
 That he fail not to keep the day 
 
 But as good knight and true alway 
 
 Should fight against his foe. 
 
 And thus those ladies fair and bright 
 
 Their lives for Amis, gentle knight, 
 
 As surety would forego, 
 
 With that, the lordings every one 
 
 Said, other hostage would they none, 
 
 The thing should aye be so. 900 
 
 When this was done, as now I say, 
 
 And pledges ta'en without delay, 
 
 And thus they granted were, 
 
 Sir Amis sorrowed night and day 
 
 For all his joy was fled away 
 
 And come was all his care; 
 
 For that the steward was so strong, 
 
 And had the right, and he the wrong, 
 
 When he accused him there; 
 
 For his own life, he held it naught, gio 
 
 But of the maid was all his thought, 
 
 Such sorrow no man bare. 
 
 For that he knew he needs must swear, 
 Ere that he should to battle fare, 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 185 
 
 An oath, on that same morn, 
 
 Praying that God should be his speed, 
 
 As he was guiltless of the deed 
 
 That was against him borne. 
 
 And then he thought, with ne'er a lie, 
 
 Rather would he be hanged on high 
 
 Than thus to be foresworn; 921 
 
 And oft he did to Jesu pray 
 
 That He should save them both that day 
 
 Nor let them be forlorn! 
 
 So it befell upon a day 
 
 He met the lady, and that may, 
 
 Beneath an orchard side; 
 
 "Sir Amis," quoth the lady there, 
 
 "Why dost thou go so full of care? 
 
 Tell me the truth this tide; 930 
 
 Now dread thee naught," she spake 
 
 forthright, 
 "Against thy foeman now to fight, 
 Whether thou go, or ride, 
 So well I'll arm thee, foot and head, 
 That thou of no man shalt have dread, 
 But battle well abide." 
 
 "Madam," then quoth that gentle 
 
 knight, 
 "For love of Jesu, Lord of Might, 
 Take to my words good heed; 939 
 
 Mine is the wrong, and his the right, 
 For that I be afraid to fight, 
 So God give me good speed, 
 For I must swear, nor else may be, 
 So help me God to victory 
 As he in word and deed 
 Is false — Therewith am I foresworn, 
 And am of life and soul forlorn, 
 Thereto I find no rede." 
 
 Then quoth the lady presentlie, 949 
 
 "None other way then, may there be 
 
 To bring that traitor down?" 
 
 "Yea, Lady," quoth he, "by Saint Giles, 
 
 There dwelleth distant many miles, 
 
 My brother Amiloun; 
 
 And if to him I now dare go, 
 
 Then, by Saint John, full well I know, 
 
 He wears of truth the crown, 
 An his own life should forfeit be, 
 His help he now would give to me, 
 And smite my foeman down." 960 
 
 "Sir Amis," did the lady say, 
 "Take leave to-morrow with the day, 
 And journey speedily, 
 And I will say that thou art gone 
 To thine own land, since thou anon 
 Thy parents fain would see. 
 When to thy brother com'st aright, 
 Pray him, as he be faithful knight, 
 And of great courtesie, 
 That he will here defend the right, 970 
 For thee against the steward fight 
 Who thinks to ruin us three." 
 
 With morn Sir Amis busked him there, 
 
 And took his leave from thence to fare 
 
 And went upon his way, 
 
 For nothing would he slacken speed, 
 
 But, ruthless, forward spurred his steed. 
 
 Alike by night and day; 
 
 So fast he rode, and rested not, 
 
 The steed whereon he rode, I wot, 980 
 
 When far upon the way, 
 
 Was overpressed, and fell down dead, — 
 
 Sir Amis, brought in evil stead, 
 
 He cried, "Ah, wellaway!" 
 
 Then when the chance had fallen so 
 
 That he must needs on foot now go 
 
 Then, sorrowful, that knight, 
 
 He girt his skirts about him there, 
 
 And on his way began to fare 
 
 To hold what he had hight; 990 
 
 And all that day ran far and fast, 
 
 To a wild forest came at last, 
 
 Betwixt the day and night; 
 
 A slumber strong o'ercame him now, 
 
 Not for the whole world's wealth, I trow, 
 
 Further might fare that knight. 
 
 That courteous knight, so fair and free, 
 He laid him down beneath a tree, 
 
i86 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And fell asleep that tide, 
 
 And all that night so still lay he, iooo 
 
 Till on the morrow men might see 
 
 Daylight on every side. 
 
 And that knight's brother, Amiloun, 
 
 Whom all men held of great renown 
 
 Thro' all that country side, 
 
 Dwelt, from the spot where Amis lay, 
 
 But half the journey of a day 
 
 As men might walk or ride. 
 
 Sir Amiloun, that gentle knight, 
 
 In slumber soft he lay that night, ioio 
 
 In dream it seemed him so, 
 
 That he Sir Amis needs must see 
 
 His brother troth-plight, verily, 
 
 Beset by many a foe; 
 
 For of a bear, both wild and wood, 
 
 And other beasts that with it stood 
 
 The onslaught must he know, 
 
 Alone, amidst them all he stood, 
 
 Nor found 'gainst them resistance good, 
 
 I trow, he was full woe! 1020 
 
 Whenas Sir Amiloun did wake, 
 
 Great sorrow he began to make, 
 
 His wife, he told her there, 
 
 How black beasts, so in dream he 
 
 thought, 
 With wrath, his brother Amis sought 
 To slay, with mickle care; 
 "Certes," he quoth, "some man with 
 
 wrong 
 Hath brought him into peril strong, 
 Of bliss shall he be bare "; "-' 1029 
 And then he quoth: "Forsooth, I wis, 
 I may know neither joy nor bliss 
 Till I wot how he fare!" 
 
 From bed he sprang up in that tide, 
 Nor longer would he there abide, 
 But dight him fair, anon, — 
 His mesnie, too, without delay, 
 Made ready for to ride straightway; 
 With him they fain had gone, 
 But that he bade them now to cease, 
 
 For love of Heaven to hold their peace, 
 Thus spake he to each one, 1041 
 
 And sware by Him Who made Mankind 
 That no companion there he 'Id find, 
 But would go forth alone. 
 
 He robed him then in right rich weed, 
 And leapt astride upon his steed, 
 For naught would he abide; 
 His folk, he straight forbade them there 
 That none among them all should dare 
 After their lord to ride; 1050 
 
 So thro' the night he rode till day, 
 And came to where Sir Amis lay 
 All in that forest wide; 
 He saw, thro' weariness foregone, 
 A knight, who, sleeping, lay alone 
 And sought to him that tide. 
 
 With that, he called on him straight- 
 way, 
 
 "Rise up, Sir Knight, for it is day 
 
 And time from hence to go!" 
 
 Sir Amis he beheld with sight, 1060 
 
 Straightway he knew that gentle knight 
 
 And he knew him also; 
 
 That courteous knight, Sir Amiloun, 
 
 From off his steed did light adown. 
 
 With that, they kissed the two: 
 
 "Brother," he quoth, "why liest thou 
 here? 
 
 And why dost make such mournful 
 cheer? 
 
 Say, who hath wrought thee woe?" 
 
 "Brother," Sir Amis answered there, 
 " In sooth such sorrow knew I ne'er 
 Since me my mother bore; 1071 
 
 Since thou didst from me go, I wis, 
 With joy, and eke with mickle bliss, 
 I served my lord before, 
 But now the steward, thro' sheer envy, 
 By guile, and eke by treachery, 
 Hath wrought me sorrow sore; 
 Save that thou help me in my need 
 Certes, I see none other rede, 
 My life must I give o'er!" 1080 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 187 
 
 "Brother," Sir Amiloun he said, 
 "What hath the steward 'gainst thee 
 
 laid? 
 Why thus hath done thee shame?" 
 "Certes, he doth by treason strive 
 From out mine office me to drive 
 And bring upon me blame," — 
 With that Sir Amis told him there 
 How that he, and that maiden fair, 
 In love together came, 1089 
 
 And how the steward did them betray, 
 And how the duke, he would him slay 
 In anger, at that same. 
 
 And how himself he needs must plight 
 
 His troth against the steward to fight 
 
 In battle fierce and strong, 
 
 And how, to save those ladies bright, 
 
 As surety, he ne'er a knight 
 
 Might find, the court among; 
 
 How ere he did to battle fare 1099 
 
 Needs must that he should falsely swear 
 
 Since he was in the wrong, — 
 
 "A man foresworn can never speed, — 
 
 Since I can find no better rede 
 
 'Alas!' may be my song!" 
 
 When thus Sir Amis told his tale 
 How the false steward should sure pre- 
 vail 
 O'er him, with evil mood, 
 Sir Amiloun, with words so bold, 
 Sware: "By the Lord Whom Judas sold, 
 Who died upon the Rood, mo 
 
 Of this, his hope, he faileth now, 
 For I shall fight for thee, I trow, 
 Altho' he were well wood, 
 And if I meet him now aright, 
 With this, my brand, that is so bright 
 I'll shed his heart's best blood! 
 
 "But, Brother, this my weed take thou, 
 And in thy robes I'll clothe me now, 
 E'en as thyself I were, nig 
 
 And I shall swear, So God me speed, 
 That I am guiltless of the deed 
 
 And plaint he 'gainst me bare." — 
 With that, those courteous knights, anon, 
 Each other's raiment did they on; 
 When they were ready there, 
 Quoth Amiloun: "Now by Saint Gile, 
 Thus we the traitor shall beguile 
 Who would thy ruin prepare. 
 
 "Brother,'' he quoth, "go home forth- 
 right 
 Unto my wife, that lady bright, 1130 
 And there with her remain; 
 And as thou art a gentle knight 
 Lie thou beside her every night 
 Until I come again; 
 Say, thou hast sent thy steed, I wis, 
 Unto thy brother Sir Amis, . 
 Then will they be full fain, 
 They'll deem that thou my-self shalt be 
 For none shall know thee now from me, 
 So like we be, we twain." n 4 o 
 
 And when he thus his word had plight 
 
 Sir Amiloun, that gentle knight, 
 
 He rode upon his way. 
 
 Sir Amis gat him home forthright 
 
 Unto his brother's lady bright 
 
 And made no more delay, 
 
 And said, how he had sent his steed 
 
 Unto his brother for his need 
 
 By a knight's hand that day. 
 
 And every man thought Sir Amis 1150 
 
 To be their very lord, I wis, 
 
 So like, the twain, were they. 
 
 And when Sir Amis spake full fair 
 
 And told them now of all his care 
 
 Full well the thing did go, 
 
 For great or little, verily. 
 
 All men who there in court should be 
 
 They deemed it had been so. 
 
 When it was come unto the night 
 
 Sir Amis and that lady bright 1160 
 
 To bed they fain would go; 
 
 When side by side the twain were laid 
 
 Sir Amis drew his shining blade 
 
 And laid it 'twixt the two. 
 
1 88 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 The lady looked on him alway, 
 
 And wrathful gleamed her eyes of gray, 
 
 She deemed her lord were wood, 
 
 And, "Sir," she asked, "why dost thou 
 
 so? 
 Thus wert thou never wont to do n6g 
 Who now hath changed thy mood?" 
 "Lady," he answered, "verily 
 I be sick of a malady 
 That doth infect my blood, 
 And all my bones so sore they be 
 Thy flesh may not be touched by me 
 For all of this world's good!" 
 
 And thus, I wis, that faithful knight 
 He kept him for a fourteen-night, 
 As lord and prince in pride, 
 And he forgat not every night 1180 
 
 Betwixt him and that lady bright 
 His sword to lay beside; 
 The lady deemed 't was rightly done 
 For that her lord, Sir Amilon, 
 He was sore sick that tide; 
 Therefore she thought to hold her still 
 And speak no word, but this, his will, 
 She would in peace abide. 
 
 Now Lordings, hear, and I shall say 
 
 How Amiloun, he went his way, ngo 
 
 And would for nothing spare; 
 
 He spurred his steed by night and day 
 
 As hero stout and stiff alway 
 
 To court he swift doth fare; 
 
 The self-same day, withouten let, 
 
 That was afore for battle set 
 
 Sir Amis was not there, 
 
 They take those ladies by the hand, 
 
 The judgment now they needs must 
 
 stand, 
 With tears and sighing sare. uoo 
 
 The steward mounts his steed that tide, 
 With shield and spear would combat bide 
 He boasteth loud alway; 
 Before the duke he spurs his steed 
 And saith, "Now, Sire, as God me speed 
 
 Hearken to what I pray, — 
 
 This traitor, he hath fled the land, 
 
 And if he now were nigh at hand 
 
 He should be hanged to-day, 1209 
 
 Therefore 't is meet that judgment turn 
 
 Against his sureties, that they burn 
 
 E'en as the law doth say." 
 
 That rich duke, moved by anger there, 
 He bade them take those ladies fair 
 And lead them forth beside, 
 A great fire then he bade them make, 
 Therewith should they a barrel take 
 To burn them there, inside; 
 Then, as they looked upon the field, 
 They saw a knight with spear and 
 shield 1220 
 
 Come pricking in his pride, 
 With that each one he cried, "I wis, 
 Yonder comes hastening Sir Amis — " 
 They should his coming bide. 
 
 Sir Amiloun no stone doth heed, 
 
 But o'er them all he spurred with speed 
 
 The duke seeks hastily, 
 
 "My lord, the Duke," he saith, "for 
 
 shame, 
 Set free these ladies at this same, 
 For good and true they be, 1230 
 
 And hither am I come to-day 
 To save them both, if so I may, 
 From bond to set them free; 
 Certes, a mickle wrong it were 
 To make a roast of ladies fair, 
 'T were naught but crueltie!" 
 
 I trow it pleased those ladies well, 
 Their joy they might to no man tell 
 Their care was all away; 1239 
 
 And sithen, as ye now may know, 
 The twain did to their chamber go 
 And made no more delay, 
 But richly did they arm that knight 
 With helm, and plate, and byrnie 
 
 bright, 
 His tiring, it was gay; 
 When he was mounted on his steed 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 189 
 
 That God the knight should save and 
 
 speed, 
 Full many a man did pray. 
 
 As he came riding from the town, 1249 
 
 There came a voice from Heaven adown 
 
 That no man heard save he, 
 
 And saith: "Thou knight, Sir Amilon, 
 
 The God Who died the Rood upon 
 
 Doth message send by me; 
 
 An thou this combat fight withal 
 
 A venture strange shall thee befall 
 
 And that within years three, 
 
 For ere these three years they be gone 
 
 Leper so foul was never none 
 
 As thou thyself shalt be. 1260 
 
 " And since thou art good knight and free 
 
 Jesu this word hath sent by me 
 
 To warn thee now anon, 
 
 So foul a wretch thou shalt be sure, 
 
 Such grief and poverty endure, 
 
 As fell, I trow, to none; 
 
 O'er all the world, both far and near, 
 
 Thy best friends, whom thou held most 
 
 dear, 
 They shall thy presence shun; 1269 
 
 Yea, e'en thy wife and all thy kin 
 Shall flee the place that thou art in, 
 Forsake thee every one!" 
 
 That knight stood still as any stone; 
 Those words he hearkened every one 
 That were so drear and dread; 
 He knew not what were best to do, 
 To flee, or to the combat go, 
 His heart was e'en as lead; 
 He thought: "HI confess my name 
 Then is my brother put to shame, 
 His life in sorrow fled, — 1281 
 
 Certes," he quoth, "for fear of care 
 To keep my troth I will not spare, 
 The Will of God be sped!" 
 
 And all the folk, they deemed, I wis, 
 That this knight he was Sir Amis, 
 
 Who came to fight indeed, — 
 
 He, and the steward, as I say, 
 
 Before the justice brought were they 
 
 To swear for this their deed, 1290 
 
 Before the folk, the steward, he, 
 
 Sware that his word no lie should be, 
 
 God help him at his need ! 
 
 Sir Amiloun, he steadfast sware 
 
 He ne'er e'en kissed that maiden fair, 
 
 Our Lady be his speed! 
 
 When they had sworn, as thus I told, 
 To fight were fain those barons bold 
 And busked them for to ride, i2gg 
 
 And young and old, all folk that day, 
 They straightly unto God did pray 
 He would Sir Amis guide! 
 On steeds that were both stiff and 
 
 strong 
 They met, their spears, so sharp and 
 
 long, 
 Were shivered on each side; 
 Then each man drew his sword so good 
 Together hew, as they were wood, 
 For naught would they abide. 
 
 Those champions, who were fierce to 
 
 sight, 
 With falchion fell begin to fight, 1310 
 As madmen hack and hew, 
 Hard on each other's helm they smite 
 With strokes so strong, and of such 
 
 might 
 That fire from out them flew; 
 So hard they smote on head and side 
 That from their deadly wounds and wide 
 Blood wells in crimson hue; 
 From morning-tide till noon were past 
 The combat did betwixt them last, 
 Fiercer their anger grew. 1320 
 
 Sir Amiloun, as flame of fire, 
 Sought for his foe with fierce desire 
 And smote with might and main, 
 His blow, it glanced aside that stead 
 And smote the good steed on the head, 
 Scattered was all the brain; 
 
190 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 The steed fell dead upon the ground 
 Then was the steward, in that stound, 
 Fearful lest he be slain; 
 Sir Amiloun adown doth light, 1330 
 
 Afoot he seeks the steward forthright 
 Raising him up again. 
 
 "Now rise up, Steward," the knight did 
 
 say, 
 "Thou needs must fight afoot to-day 
 Since thou hast lost thy steed; 
 By Saint John, he were craven knight 
 Who with a fallen man would fight 
 Who thus were brought in need "; — 
 That courteous knight, so free and fair, 
 The steward by hand he taketh there, 
 Saying: "So God me speed, 1341 
 
 Since that afoot thou needs must go 
 I'll fight with thee afoot also: 
 Other were falsehood's rede!" 
 
 The steward, and that man of might, 
 
 Anon together met in fight 
 
 With brands both bright and bare; 
 
 So fierce a fight they then began 
 
 The blood from out their armour ran 
 
 For nothing would they spare; 1350 
 
 The steward his shoulder smote that tide, 
 
 And made a wound both deep and wide 
 
 A grisley gash it were, 
 
 And thro' that wound, as ye may hear, 
 
 That knight was known with rueful 
 
 cheer, 
 When he was come to care. 
 
 Wroth was Sir Amiloun and wood, 
 Seeing his armour red with blood 
 That erst was white as swan, 1359 
 
 Then, with his falchion sharp and bright, 
 He smote in wrath a blow of might 
 As hero bold, anon, 
 That even from the shoulder blade 
 Down to the breast a wound it made 
 Sheer thro' the heart hath gone; — 
 With that the steward fell down dead, 
 Sir Amiloun smote off his head 
 Thanked God the fight was won! 
 
 Then all the lordings, men of might, 
 
 Or lesser folk, who saw that sight 1370 
 
 Were filled with joy that tide, 
 
 The head upon a spear they bare 
 
 And to the town they gat them there 
 
 For nothing would abide; 
 
 From town to meet the knight they came 
 
 In fair procession, at that same, 
 
 Seemly, from either side, 
 
 The victor to the tower they led 
 
 With mickle honour at that stead 
 
 As a prince proud in pride. 1380 
 
 When to the hall they came, I wis, 
 All in that palace deemed Amis, 
 He stood their face before, — 
 " Sir Amis," quoth the duke anon 
 Before the lordings every one, 
 "What I forbade of yore 
 I grant thee now, that gentle may, 
 My daughter, dearly bought to-day 
 With grisley wounds and sore; 1389 
 
 Therefore I freely grant thee here 
 My land, with this my daughter dear 
 To hold for evermore." 
 
 Then glad and blithe that courteous 
 
 knight, 
 And thanked the duke with all his might, 
 Full glad was he, and fain; 
 In all the court was none, I ween, 
 Who wist what his true name had been 
 Who saved those ladies twain. 
 Then leeches to their will they found 
 Who handled these, his wounds, and 
 
 bound, 1400 
 
 And made him whole again, 
 And all were joyful in that hold, 
 To God gave thanks a thousand-fold 
 In that the steward was slain. 
 
 Sir Amiloun, he dight him there 
 
 And said that he from thence would fare 
 
 And get him on his way, 
 
 And tell his friends, both less and more, 
 
 And all who friendship to him bore 
 
 How he had sped that day; 14x0 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 191 
 
 The duke, he granted leave that tide, 
 And proffered knights with him to ride. 
 But he made answer, Nay, 
 No man he thought with him to take 
 But swiftly did him ready make 
 And rode from thence away. 
 
 Thus on his way he went alone 
 
 For never man with him had gone 
 
 Or were he knight or swain, 1419 
 
 That knight, so brave in blood and bone, 
 
 He stayed for neither stock nor stone, 
 
 Till he came home again. 
 
 Sir Amis, as I now shall say, 
 
 Waited his coming every day, 
 
 Up in the forest plain, 
 
 There Amiloun and he they meet, 
 
 With joy he doth Sir Amis greet, 
 
 Tells how the steward he'd slain; 
 
 And saith how he should wed for meed 
 That gentle maid, in goodly weed, 
 Who was so fair of face. 1431 
 
 Down from his steed he sprang anon, 
 The other's raiment each does on 
 As erst in that same place, 
 "Brother," he quoth, "now go thy 
 
 way — " 
 And taught him all that he should say 
 Within a little space. 
 Sir Amis, he hath joy untold 
 And thanked him there a thousand-fold, 
 Who shewed him so much grace. 1440 
 
 And as they needs must part, the twain, 
 Sir Amis thanked him oft again 
 For this, his right good deed: 
 "Brother," he saith, "an it should be 
 That care or woe befalleth thee 
 And of my help hast need, 
 Send thou thy messenger nor spare, 
 Be sure that I shall fail thee ne'er, 
 As God shall be my speed, 
 For be thy peril ne'er so strong 1450 
 
 I'll be thy help, for right or wrong, 
 If life I lose for meed!" 
 
 With that they part asunder there, — 
 Sir Amiloun, that knight so fair, 
 Went homeward in that tide 
 Unto his wife, who scarce was kind, 
 Welcome he from his friends did find 
 As a prince proud in pride; 
 And when it came unto the night 
 And he, with this, his lady bright, 1460 
 In bed lay, side by side, 
 Within his arms with many a kiss 
 He clasped her close, in joy and bliss, 
 For nothing would abide. 
 
 His wife, she was full fain to know 
 For what cause he had acted so 
 For this last fourteen-night, 
 And laid his sword betwixt them two 
 That she durst not, for weal or woe, 
 Touch him, her lord, aright? 1470 
 
 With that, Sir Amiloun, he knew 
 That Amis, as a knight so true, 
 Had kept the troth he plight; 
 "Lady," he quoth, "I now will say 
 And tell the truth to thee alway — 
 Betray me to no wight!" 
 
 With that the lady straitly prayed 
 For love of Him, Who this world 
 
 made, 
 To tell her how it were; 1479 
 
 Without delay, that gallant knight, 
 The truth he told to her forthright 
 How he to court did fare, 
 And how he slew the steward strong 
 Who would, by treason and by wrong, 
 His brother bring to care; 
 And how Sir Amis, courteous knight, 
 Had lain beside her every night 
 While he afar did fare. 
 
 The lady wrathful waxed that tide 
 And angrily her lord did chide, 1490 
 
 Words waxed betwixt the two; 
 She quoth: "With wrong, and not with 
 
 right 
 Now hast thou slain a gentle knight, 
 I wot thou ill didst do." 
 
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 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 "Lady," he quoth, "by Heaven's King, 
 
 I did it for no other thing 
 
 Only to save from woe 
 
 My brother; and were I in need 
 
 I hope he 'Id give his life for meed 
 
 If he might help me so!" 1500 
 
 And thus, as now the Geste doth say, 
 
 Sir Amis, he was glad and gay, 
 
 To court went speedily; 
 
 And when he thither came again 
 
 By earl and baron, knight and swain, 
 
 Honoured, I trow, was he; 
 
 The rich duke took him by the hand, 
 
 And gave him seizin of his land 
 
 That his for aye it be; 
 
 Sithen, with joy upon a day isio 
 
 He wed with Belisant, the may, 
 
 And true and kind was she. 
 
 A seemly folk, and great, withal, 
 
 Came to that bridal, there in hall, 
 
 Whenas he wed that flower, 
 
 And earls and barons, many a score, 
 
 With other lordings, less and more, 
 
 And ladies bright in bower; 
 
 A royal feast they there did hold 
 
 Of earls and many a baron bold 1520 
 
 With joy and great honour; 
 
 Throughout that land, from east to 
 
 west, 
 Amis was held of knights the best, 
 For praise elect in tower. 
 
 And then, within a two years' space, 
 
 Unto the twain there chanced a grace 
 
 By God's hand was it told, 
 
 For the rich duke, he needs must die, 
 
 With him his lady low did lie 
 
 Buried in clay so cold; 1530 
 
 Then men Sir Amis, fair and free, 
 
 As duke, and lord, in majesty 
 
 O'er all that land did hold, 
 
 Two bairns begat he on his wife, 
 
 No fairer children e'er saw life 
 
 As in the Geste 't is told. 
 
 So was that knight of great renown, 
 
 The lord of many a tower and town, 
 
 A mighty duke was he, 
 
 While this, his brother Amiloun, 1540 
 
 In grief and care was brought adown 
 
 Who erst was fair and free; 
 
 For as the Angel had foretold 
 
 No fouler leper did one hold 
 
 Within the world than he, 
 
 In Geste to read it is sore ruth, 
 
 What grief he had for this his truth 
 
 Ere years had passed but three. 
 
 For ere three years had come to end 
 
 He wist not whither he might wend — 
 
 Such woe was his, alway; issi 
 
 For all who erst his friends had stood, 
 
 And most of all his kinsmen good 
 
 As foes they turned away; 
 
 Yea, and his wife, as I say truth, 
 
 By day and night she wrought him ruth 
 
 More than they all, i' fay. 
 
 When this hard lot befell the knight 
 
 A man in a more friendless plight 
 
 Were not on earth that day. 1560 
 
 A wicked shrew she was, his wife, 
 She pierced his heart, as with a knife, 
 With words so sharp and keen, 
 She quoth : " Thou caitiff wretch, in strife 
 The steward he wrongful lost his life 
 As may by thee be seen, 
 Therefore, by Saint Denys of France, 
 This evil sore to thee doth chance, 
 Pity were sin, I ween!" 1569 
 
 Then oft his hands for woe he wrung 
 Vowing that he hath lived too long 
 Whose life but loss hath been! 
 
 Alas! Alas! that gentle knight 
 
 Who whilom was so fair to sight 
 
 And suffered so much woe, 
 
 That from his wife, so fair and bright, 
 
 From his own chamber, of a night 
 
 Was bidden forth to go! 
 
 And in his own hall, in the day, 1379 
 
 From the high board was turned away 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 193 
 
 For it was ordered so, 
 At the board's end he ate, to wit, 
 For no man would beside him sit, 
 Sore sorrow must he know. 
 
 When but six months had passed withal 
 
 That he had eaten thus in hall 
 
 And had good nourishing, 
 
 His lady's anger waxed full strong, 
 
 She deemed that he had lived too long, 
 
 No lie I here do bring — isgo 
 
 "Now thro' the land there runs this 
 
 word, 
 I feed a leper at my board, 
 He is so foul a thing 
 My kin these tidings sore displease, 
 No longer shall he sit at ease, 
 By Jesu, Heaven's King!" 
 
 She summoned him upon a day, 
 "Sir, it doth chance," so did she say, 
 " 'T is truth, I swear to thee, 1SQ9 
 
 That thou dost eat too long in hall, 
 Thy presence doth displease us all, 
 My kin be wroth with me!" 
 The knight, he wept, and spake so 
 
 still: 
 "Now send me where it be thy will 
 That no man shall me see, 
 And I from thee no more will pray 
 Than meat for but one meal a day, 
 For holy charitie!" 
 
 That lady then, for her lord's sake, 
 She bade that men should timber take, 
 For nothing would she stay, 1611 
 
 Without the gates, but half a mile, 
 She bade them build a lodge that 
 
 while, 
 That stood beside the way, 
 And when that lodge, I trow, was 
 
 wrought 
 With him, of all his wealth, he brought 
 But his gold cup away; 
 When he was in bis lodge alone 
 To God in Heaven he made his moan, 
 Gave thanks to Him alway. 1620 
 
 When he within that lodge was dight 
 
 In all the court there was no knight 
 
 Would do him service there 
 
 Save but one child, who with him came, 
 
 Childe Owen, did they call his name, 
 
 Who wept for this, his care; 
 
 The child was true, of good renown, 
 
 And sister's son to Amiloun, 
 
 He spake with words full fair, 
 
 Saying he would beside him stand 1630 
 
 Nor cease to serve him, foot and hand, 
 
 While that in life he were. 
 
 The child, who was so fair and bold, 
 
 As Owen was his name first told, 
 
 He came of noble blood, 
 
 When he was twelve years old withal 
 
 Then Amoraunt his name they call, 
 
 Courteous was he, and good, 
 
 Beside his lord each night he lay 
 
 And fetched from out the hall each day 
 
 What they should have for food; 1641 
 
 And when each man made mirth and 
 
 song 
 For his lord's sake, he sat among 
 Them all in dreary mood. 
 
 Thus Amoraunt, as I now say, 
 To court he cometh every day, 
 Nor stayed for all they strive, 
 For all, that he should come away 
 And leave the leper, straitly pray, 
 Then should he better thrive. 1650 
 
 He answered them in gentle mood, 
 Swearing by Him Who died on Rood 
 And suffered Wounds full five, 
 That for the whole world's wealth to take 
 His lord he never would forsake 
 Whiles that he were alive. 
 
 When as the twelvemonth's end did fall 
 And Amoraunt came to the hall 
 Their food to take, one day, 
 The lady, she waxed wroth anon 1660 
 And bade her servants every one 
 To drive that child away; 
 
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 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 She sware by Him Whom Judas sold, 
 That tho' for hunger and for cold 
 Stark dead her lord^ he lay, 
 Nor meat nor drink, nor anything 
 To succour him should any bring 
 From her, from that same day. 
 
 The child, his hands he wrung, the twain, 
 
 And, weeping, gat him home again 1670 
 
 With mickle grief and care, 
 
 His lord, he did him straightway pray 
 
 And bade him tell without delay 
 
 What thus had grieved him there? 
 
 He answered him, and said also; 
 
 "I wis I well may be in woe, 
 
 And grief and sorrow bear, 
 
 Thy wife hath sworn in evil mood 
 
 That she no more will give us food, 
 
 Alas! how shall we fare?" 1680 
 
 "God help me!" quoth that gentle 
 
 knight; 
 "Whilom was I a man of might, 
 To deal out meat and cloth, 
 And now I am so foul to see 
 That every man who looks on me 
 The sight of me doth loathe! 
 Now son," he saith, "thy weeping 
 
 stay, 
 Tho' these be tidings ill to-day, 
 I tell thee by my troth, 
 Certes none other rede I know 1690 
 
 Than that to beg our bread we go, 
 So it behoves us both." 
 
 The morrow soon as it was light ' 
 
 The child, and eke that gentle knight, 
 
 Made ready to be gone, 
 
 And forth they journeyed in that stead 
 
 As needs they must, to beg their bread, 
 
 Since they of meat had none. 
 
 So long they journeyed up and down 
 
 They came unto a market town, 1700 
 
 A five mile further on; 
 
 Weeping, they go from street to street, 
 
 For love of God they pray for meat, 
 
 Much grief they knew anon. 
 
 In that same time, I understand, 
 Great plenty was throughout the land 
 Both meat and drink had they; 
 The folk, they were of hand right free, 
 And brought unto them willingly 
 Of everything that day, mo 
 
 Since they the man a leper see, 
 And the child passing fair to be, 
 Pity upon them lay, 
 They brought enow of all their good, 
 Then was the boy right blithe of mood, 
 And let his weeping stay. 
 
 The good knight's foot, it waxed so sore 
 That he, I trow, might walk no more 
 For all of this world's good, 1719 
 
 To the town's end the lad him bare 
 And straight a hut he built him there 
 That by the highway stood; 
 And as the country folk, each day, 
 To market bound, must pass that way, 
 They gat from them their food, 
 And Amoraunt oft went to town 
 And meat and drink begged up and down 
 When most in need they stood. 
 
 Thus in the Geste 't is writ to see 
 
 That here they dwelt for years full three 
 
 The lad and he, also, 1731 
 
 In poverty and care they live 
 
 On what the country folk may give 
 
 As thus they come and go; 
 
 But it fell out in the fourth year 
 
 That corn began to wax full dear, 
 
 Hunger stalked to and fro, 
 
 Was neither young nor old, I trow, 
 
 Who meat and drink would give them 
 
 now, 
 Then want they needs must know. 1740 
 
 Oft Amoraunt to town hath gone 
 
 But meat and drink there found he none, 
 
 Neither of man nor wife, 
 
 And when the twain they were alone 
 
 Then ruefully they made their moan, 
 
 Weary were they of life; 
 
 Amiloun's wife, the sooth to say, 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 I0 5 
 
 Within that land she dwelt alway 
 Of miles but distant five, 
 And lived in joy both night and day 
 While he in care and sorrow lay, 1751 
 Now evil may she thrive! 
 
 One day, as thus they sat alone, 
 
 That gentle knight, he made his moan, 
 
 Spake to the child that tide, 
 
 And saith: "Now must thou go, my son, 
 
 And seek my lady swift anon, 
 
 Who dwelleth here beside, 
 
 Pray her, by Him Who died on Rood, 
 
 She grant me now, of all my good, 1760 
 
 An ass, whereon to ride, 
 
 Forth from the land we now will fare 
 
 And beg our bread with grief and care 
 
 Nor longer here abide." 
 
 Then Amoraunt, to court went he, 
 Before that lady fair to see, 
 With courteous speech alway: 
 "Lady," he quoth, "with good intent, 
 My lord a message by me sent, 
 For walk no more he may, 1770 
 
 He prayeth thee, in humble mood, 
 This much to grant of all his good, 
 An ass to ride to-day; 
 Then forth from out this land we '11 fare, 
 And come again I trow me, ne'er, 
 Tho' hunger should us slay." 
 
 The lady quoth she were full fain 
 
 To send unto them asses twain 
 
 If they from hence would fare, 
 
 Afar, in distant lands remain — 1780 
 
 "Nay, certes, Lady, ne'er again 
 
 Thou seest us — " he sware. 
 
 The lady, she was blithe and glad, 
 
 An ass she bade them give the lad, 
 
 And said in anger there: 
 
 "Now ye from out my land shall go, 
 
 God grant that it may fall out so 
 
 That I behold ye ne'er!" 
 
 The lad, he would no longer bide, 
 But swift his ass he did bestride 
 
 1790 
 
 And gat him home again, 
 
 And told his lord in that same tide 
 
 All that his lady, in her pride, 
 
 Did shamelessly maintain; 
 
 He set the knight upon the ass, 
 
 Forth from the city gate they pass 
 
 Thereof were they full fain, 
 
 Through many a country, up and down, 
 
 They begged their meat from town to 
 
 town, 
 Alike in wind and rain. 1800 
 
 By God's Will, o'er that land, ere long, 
 
 The famine waxed so grim and strong 
 
 As they went far and wide, 
 
 That they for hunger were nigh dead, 
 
 They had not half their fill of bread, 
 
 The twain were sorely tried, 
 
 Then quoth the knight upon a day: 
 
 "We needs must sell our ass away, 
 
 'T is our sole wealth this tide, 
 
 Save this, my goodly cup of gold, 1810 
 
 And certes, that shall ne'er be sold, 
 
 Tho' I for hunger died!" 
 
 Amoraunt, and the good knight, there, 
 With rueful cheer, in grief and care, 
 With morn, upon a day, 
 They gat them to a market-town, 
 And when the knight had lighted down, 
 With never more delay, 
 Amoraunt, to the town he sped, 
 And this, their ass, with him he led, 
 Five shillings, did men pay; 1821 
 
 And on that money lived they long, 
 The whiles the dearth, it waxed full 
 
 strong, 
 Nor more might get alway. 
 
 And when that ass they now had sold, 
 For shillings five, as here I told, 
 There they abode days three, 
 Amoraunt, he waxed strong, I ween, 
 Of winters had he told fifteen, 
 Courteous, and fair, and free, 1830 
 
 For this, his lord, he well did care, 
 Upon his back he set him there, 
 
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 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Forth from the town went he, 
 And thus, for half a year and more, 
 To seek his meat the knight he bore, 
 Now blessed shall he be! 
 
 Thus Amoraunt waxed strong and stout, 
 
 And thus he bare his lord about 
 
 As read in Geste ye may, i83g 
 
 Then winter came, so hard and strong 
 
 That oft, "Alas!" must be their song, 
 
 For deep the country lay; 
 
 The roads in mud were deep, that tide, 
 
 And oft-times did they slip and slide, 
 
 And fall down in the clay; 
 
 True was the lad, and kind of blood, 
 
 And served his lord in gentle mood, 
 
 Nor thought to go his way. 
 
 Thus Amoraunt, as now I say, 1849 
 
 He served his lord by night and day 
 And on his back still bore, 
 But "Wellaway" was oft his cry, 
 So deep in mire the land did he 
 His bones they waxed full sore, 
 And all their money, it was gone, 
 Till but twelve pence was left alone, 
 Therewith, so runs my lore, 
 The twain, a hand-cart did they buy, 
 So that the knight therein might lie, 
 He might not bear him more. i860 
 
 Thus the lad pushed Sir Amiloun 
 Thro' many a country, up and down, 
 As ye may understand, 
 Till to a town they came, I wis, 
 Wherein that baron, Sir Amis, 
 Was duke and lord in land, 
 Then straitly did he pray, the knight, 
 "Bear me to the duke's court forth- 
 right, 
 Good lad, 't is my command, 
 He is a man of gentle mood, 1870 
 
 And there, I ween, we'll get some good, 
 Thro' grace of God's own Hand. 
 
 "But hearken to me now, dear son, 
 And for His Love, Who this world won, 
 
 As thou art fair and free, 
 
 See thou tell no man, at this same, 
 
 Whither I go, or whence I came, 
 
 Or what my name shall be." 
 
 The lad, he heard and answered, "Nay," 
 
 Forthwith to court he took his way 
 
 As ye may hear from me, 1881 
 
 Before the other beggars then 
 
 He pushed his cart thro' mire and fen, 
 
 Great dole it was to see! 
 
 And it befell that self-same day 
 
 As now I tell, in this my Lay, 
 
 It was mid-winter tide, 
 
 And the rich duke now at the same 
 
 With joy and bliss from church he came 
 
 As lord and prince in pride; 1890 
 
 When he came to his castle-gate 
 
 The beggars all who stood thereat 
 
 They drew them on one side, 
 
 And with his knights and serjaunts all 
 
 He passed into his noble hall 
 
 In joy and bliss to bide. 
 
 As in king's court, 't is law, I know, 
 The trumpets for the meat 'gan blow, 
 To board they went so bold, 
 When all were set in order there 1900 
 Then in due time they served them 
 
 fair 
 As men most blithe on mold; 
 And that rich duke, no he I tell, 
 E'en as a prince they served him well 
 With right rich cups of gold, 
 While he who brought him to that state, 
 He lay shut out, without the gate, 
 A-hungered sore, and cold. 
 
 Forth from the gate a knight there 
 
 came, 
 With him a serjaunt at that same, 1910 
 To field they passed anear, 
 And thro' the Grace of God on high 
 On Amiloun he cast his eye 
 Saw him of loathly cheer, 
 Sithen, they Amoraunt behold, 
 And very fair the lad they hold, 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 197 
 
 As ye in Geste may hear; 
 Then said they both that, by Saint John, 
 In all the court they knew of none 
 For beauty half his peer! igao 
 
 That good knight straight to him did go 
 
 And courteously was fain to know, 
 
 As ye may understand, 
 
 Whither he went, and whence he came, 
 
 And why he stood there at that same, 
 
 And whom he served in land? 
 
 He answered: "Sir, so God me save 
 
 Here am I but mine own lord's knave 
 
 Who lieth in God's Hand, 
 
 As thou be knight of gentle blood 1930 
 
 I pray thee, that to us some good 
 
 Be done, at thy command!" 
 
 With that the good knight asked him fau- 
 lt he would leave the leper there 
 And service with him take? 
 And promised him, by sweet Saint John, 
 To serve the duke in court anon, 
 And rich he would him make. 
 The lad, he answered, mild of mood, 
 And sware, by Him Who died on Rood, 
 Whiles he might walk and wake, 1941 
 That, might he win this whole world's 
 
 good, 
 This, his dear lord, by whom he stood, 
 He never would forsake! 
 
 The good man deemed him mad to be, 
 
 Or fool to a wise man was he, 
 
 Who was of wit forlorn; 
 
 Or else his lord, so foul to eye, 
 
 Had been a man of station high 
 
 Of noble lineage born; 1950 
 
 Therefore he thought no more to say, 
 
 But back to hall he took his way, 
 
 Spake to the duke that morn: 
 
 "My lord," he said, "now hearken me, 
 
 The best jest, by my loyalty, 
 
 Shalt hear, since thou wert born!" 
 
 Then the rich duke bade him anon 
 To tell before them every one 
 
 His tale, without delay — 
 "Now, Sire," he said, "by sweet Saint 
 John, 1960 
 
 Without this gate I now had gone 
 Intent on this my play, 
 Of poor men many, at thy door, 
 Both old and young, both less or more, 
 There I beheld them stay, 
 And midst the men who there did stand, 
 The foulest thing in any land, 
 A leper, there he lay. 
 
 "That leper in a cart doth lie, 
 
 He is so feeble, verily, wo 
 
 On foot he may not go, 
 
 A naked lad by him doth stay, 
 
 No fairer child, the sooth to say, 
 
 In this world do I know. 
 
 In Christendom, I trow, there be 
 
 No fairer lad to-day than he 
 
 That any land can show; . 
 
 And yet the greatest fool he is 
 
 With whom I ever spake, I wis, 
 
 Here in this world below." 1980 
 
 The rich duke answered him straight- 
 way, 
 "What folly, tell me, did he say, 
 How is he mad of mood?" 
 "Now, Sire," he said, "I bade him part 
 From this, the leper in the cart, 
 By whom but now he stood, 
 And in thy service should he be, 
 I proffered him both land and fee, 
 Enough of this world's good. 
 He answered me straightway with No, 
 He from his lord would never go, 1991 
 Therefore I hold him wood." 
 
 Then quoth the duke: "Perchance of yore 
 
 His lord, who now doth suffer sore, 
 
 Hath holpen him in need; 
 
 Or of his blood the boy was born; 
 
 Or he an oath, may be, hath sworn 
 
 With him his life to lead. 
 
 Or stranger he, or of his blood, 1999 
 
 That lad," he said, "is true and good, 
 
198 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 As God, He shall me speed, 
 
 I 'Id speak with him ere hence they go, 
 
 Since he such steadfast truth doth 
 
 show, 
 I would requite his meed." 
 
 With that the duke, in Geste 't is told, 
 He called to him a squire so bold, 
 And spake as he was fain: 
 "Take thou," he quoth, "my cup of 
 
 gold, 
 As full of wine as thou may'st hold, 
 Within these, thy hands twain; 2010 
 Forth to the gate the cup now bear, 
 A leper shalt thou seek out there, 
 He lieth in a wain; 
 
 This wine, now, by Saint Martin, say, 
 He and his page shall drink straight- 
 way, — 
 My cup, bring thou again." 
 
 The squire, he took the cup that stead, 
 
 And to the castle gate he sped, 
 
 The cup brimfull he bare, 
 
 And to the leper straight did say: 2020 
 
 "This cup of wine, my lord to-day 
 
 Sends, drink it if ye dare." 
 
 The leper took his cup of gold, 
 
 'T was fashioned in the self -same mould, 
 
 E'en as the duke's it were, 
 
 And the rich wine therein did pour 
 
 Till both alike, nor less, nor more, 
 
 Of wine had equal share. 
 
 The squire gazed those cups upon, 
 The leper's and his lord's, anon, 2030 
 E'en as he stood before, 
 And never in that moment he 
 Could say which should the better be 
 So like the guise they wore; 
 Back to the hall he ran that day, 
 And, "Certes, Sire," he straight did 
 
 say, 
 "Hast lost good deeds of yore, 
 Here a good deed was wasted now, 
 He is a richer man than thou, 
 I swear thy face before!" 2040 
 
 With that the rich duke answered, 
 
 "Nay, 
 That may not be, by night or day, 
 Against the law it were!" 
 The squire again he answered, "Yea, 
 A traitor is he, by my fay, 
 Who should to judgment fare, 
 For when I brought him this, thy wine, 
 A gold cup he drew forth, so fine, 
 Thine own, methought it were, 204g 
 
 Thro' all the world, by sweet Saint John, 
 So wise a man there shall be none, 
 Who could discern the pair!" 
 
 "Certes," Sir Amis quoth anon, 
 
 "In all the world, of cups were none 
 
 So like in everything, 
 
 Save mine, and his, my brother's true, 
 
 The twain were wrought for us anew, 
 
 At this, our severing; 
 
 If it be so, then, so I ween, 
 
 Sir Amiloun, he slain hath been, 2060 
 
 An here no lie ye bring, 
 
 If any stole his cup away 
 
 Then I myself that thief shall slay 
 
 By Jesu, Heaven's King!" 
 
 Then from his seat he sprang, the lord, 
 And, like a madman, drew his sword, 
 Urged on by wrath and wrake, 
 Straight to the castle gate he ran 
 In all the world there was no man 
 Who might him overtake; 2070' 
 
 He saw the leper in the wain, 
 And gripped him fast with his hands 
 
 twain, 
 And soused him in the lake, 
 And smote him e'en as he were wood, 
 And all who there about him stood, 
 Great dole began to make. 
 
 "Traitor," then quoth the duke so bold, 
 "Say, whence had'st thou that cup of 
 
 gold; 
 How didst thou come thereto? 2079 
 
 For now, by Him Whom Judas sold, 
 My brother did that same cup hold, 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 199 
 
 Whenas he went me fro'." 
 
 "Yea, certes, Sire, so doth it stand, 
 
 'T was his, while he in his own land 
 
 Abode, now is it so 
 
 As certainly, while I be here, 
 
 That it is mine, I bought it dear, 
 
 And have a right thereto!" 
 
 With that the duke waxed fierce of mood, 
 There was no man who by him stood 
 Durst lay upon him hand, 2091 
 
 But with his foot he spurned him there, 
 And smote him, as he frenzied were, 
 With this, his naked brand. 
 The leper fast by feet he made, 
 And in the slough and mire he laid, 
 For naught would he withstand, 
 But cried: "Thief, shalt be slain straight- 
 way, 
 Save of the cup the truth dost say 
 How came it in thine hand?" 2100 
 
 Amoraunt stood the folk among, 
 
 Saw how his lord with woe and wrong 
 
 So ruefully was dight, 
 
 A hardy lad and strong was he, 
 
 He gripped the duke right manfully, 
 
 With arms he held him tight, 
 
 And saith: "Sire, of discourteous mind 
 
 Art thou, and in thy deeds unkind, 
 
 To slay this gentle knight, 
 
 For he the day may rue full sore 21 10 
 
 That for thy sake such wounds he bore, 
 
 And saved thy life in fight! 
 
 "For he Sir Amiloun is hight, 
 Who whilom was a noble knight 
 Alike to ride or go, 
 Now must he thole sore pain and loss, 
 May God Who died upon the Cross 
 Bring him from out his woe! 
 For thy sake he of bliss is bare, — 
 Full ill didst thou repay him there, 
 Breaking his bones in two! 2121 
 
 He helped thee at thy sorest need, 
 Full ill dost thou repay his meed, 
 Alas, why dost thou so?" 
 
 Whenas Sir Amis heard, forthright, 
 He turned him swiftly to the knight 
 With never more delay, 
 Clasped him within his arms that tide, 
 And often-times, "Alas!" he cried, 
 His song was "Wellaway!" 2130 
 
 He looked upon his shoulder bare, 
 The grisley wound he saw it there 
 As Amoraunt did say, 
 Therewith fell swooning to the ground, 
 And of t he cried "Alas!" that stound, 
 That e'er he saw this day! 
 
 "Alas!" he cried, "my joy is gone, 
 Unkinder blood was never none, 
 I wot not what to do! 
 For he that saved my life of yore, 2140 
 With scorn did I requite him sore, 
 And wrought him mickle woe! 
 Brother," he cried, "of charitie, 
 This wicked deed forgive it me, 
 That I did smite thee so!" 
 Then swift he gave forgiveness fair, 
 And many times he kissed him there 
 While fast the tears they flow. 
 
 Then was Sir Amis glad and fain, 
 
 For very joy he wept again 2150 
 
 And seized his brother there, 
 
 He took him in his arms withal 
 
 And carried him into the hall, 
 
 None other might him bear; 
 
 Within the hall his wife, she stood, 
 
 She deemed her lord were surely wood, 
 
 And ran, that lady fair, 
 
 Crying: "Now, Sire, what is thy 
 
 thought? 
 Why hast this leper hither brought? 
 For Christ's sake now declare!" 2160 
 
 "Oh, wife!" he cried, "by sweet Saint 
 
 John, 
 Such woe ne'er lay my heart upon 
 As thou must know to-day, 
 In all the world so good a knight 
 Was none, yet sore I did him smite, 
 Well nigh I did him slay! 
 
200 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 It is my brother Amiloun, 
 Who now by grief is cast adown, 
 Who erst was knight so gay!" 
 Swooning, that lady fell to ground, 2170 
 Weeping, she wrung her hands that 
 
 stound, 
 And oft "Alas!" did say. 
 
 Tho' he was leper foul, I wis, 
 That lady straightway did him kiss, 
 For nothing would she spare, 
 And oft-times she "Alas!" did cry, 
 That such hard fate on him should 
 
 lie, 
 To live in woe and care, 
 Into her bower she did him lead, 
 And cast aside his beggar's weed, 2180 
 And bathed his body bare; 
 Then to a bed the knight they brought 
 Covered with clothes so richly wrought, 
 Right glad of him they were. 
 
 And thus, as now the Geste doth say, 
 Twelvemonths he in her chamber lay • 
 For true they were and kind, 
 And ne'er denied him with a "Nay," 
 Whate'er he asked, by night or day, 
 It tarried not behind, 2190 
 
 He every meat and drink must share 
 That men at board before them bare, 
 They kept him aye in mind; 
 And after this a twelvemonth's space 
 God granted them a wondrous Grace, 
 As in the Geste we find. 
 
 For it befell upon a night 
 
 The duke, Sir Amis, that good knight, 
 
 In slumber as he lay, 2199 
 
 An angel bright he saw that stead, 
 
 From Heaven, stand before his bed 
 
 Who thus to him did say: 
 
 An he would rise on Christmas Morn, 
 
 E'en at the hour that Christ was born 
 
 And his two children slay, 
 
 Anoint his brother with their blood, 
 
 By grace of God, Who aye is good, 
 
 His ill were turned away. 
 
 And thus he thought that, for nights 
 
 three, 
 That angel bright he sure did see, 2210 
 Who warned him evermore, 
 And said, an he did as he hight, 
 His brother were as fair a knight, 
 As e'er he was before. 
 Sir Amis, he was blithe that day, 
 Yet for his children grieved alway, 
 Fairer no woman bore, 
 Full loth was he his bairns to kill, 
 More loth to fail his brother still 
 Who was so true of yore. 3220 
 
 To Amiloun, too, did it seem, 
 
 An angel warned him in a dream, 
 
 And did to him declare, 
 
 An Amis had his children slain 
 
 The virtue of their heart's blood twain 
 
 Might cleanse him from his care. 
 
 With morn Sir Amis went his way, 
 
 And sought his brother as he lay 
 
 And asked how he did fare? 2229 
 
 And Amiloun quoth low and still: 
 
 " Brother, I here abide God's Will, 
 
 My hope, it lieth there!" 
 
 Then, as they sat together there 
 Spake of adventures as it were, 
 Those knights so fair and free, 
 Sir Amiloun quoth at that tide: 
 "Brother, I naught from thee would 
 
 hide 
 But tell thee privilie, 
 As in a dream I saw last night 
 An Angel come from Heaven bright. 
 Forsooth, he said to me, 2241 
 
 The blood of these, thy children twain, 
 Might make me whole and clean again, 
 From sorrow set me free." 
 
 Then thought the duke that, sooth to 
 
 say, 
 These children young, the twain to slay 
 It were a deadly sin, — 
 And then, by Heaven's King, he thought, 
 An Amiloun from grief were brought, 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 201 
 
 He 'Id risk the wrong therein; 2250 
 
 So it befell, on Christmas Night, 
 What time that Jesu, Lord of Might, 
 Was born, to save men's kin, 
 That all the men in court who were, 
 They dight them, forth to church to 
 
 fare 
 With joy, for this world's win. 
 
 When all were ready forth to fare 
 The duke bade all men who were there 
 To church to wend straightway, 
 And, as they all his friends should be, 
 Of great or small, none, verily, 2261 
 
 Should there in chamber stay; 
 He quoth, that he himself that night 
 Would guard his brother, the true knight, 
 Who was so good alway. 
 To say him "Nay," I trow, was none, 
 To church the household went anon, 
 The duke at home did stay. 
 
 The duke, with care he did espy 
 The keys of this the nursery, 2270 
 
 Ere that they should be gone; 
 And privily he watched them there, 
 And of the place he was aware 
 Where they had laid them down. 
 When all men thus to church did go, 
 Sir Amis, as the Geste doth show, 
 He there was left alone; 
 He took a candle, burning bright, 
 And to the keys he went forthright, 
 Bare them away anon. 2280 
 
 With that alone, with no delay, 
 He to the chamber made his way 
 Where these, his children, were; 
 Beheld them both, as in that stead 
 They lay together in the bed, 
 Sleeping together there, 
 And thus unto himself did say: 
 "By Saint John, it were ill to slay 
 What God hath wrought so fair!" 
 His knife, he drew it forth that tide, 
 For very grief he turned aside, 2291 
 
 And wept for sorrow sare! 
 
 Awhile he wept there as he stood, 
 
 Anon he changed again his mood, 
 
 And saith without delay : 
 
 "My brother was so true and good, 
 
 From grisley wounds he shed his blood 
 
 For love of me that day; 
 
 Then why should I my children spare 
 
 To bring my brother out of care? • 2300 
 
 certes!" he quoth, "nay! 
 
 To help my brother in his need, 
 Maid Mary grant that well I speed, 
 God prosper me alway!" 
 
 No longer lingering, as he stood, 
 
 He grasped the knife in dreary mood, 
 
 And took the children two, 
 
 And, since he would not spill their blood. 
 
 Over a basin fair and good, 
 
 Their throats, he slit them thro'. 2310 
 
 And when the two he thus had slain 
 
 He laid them back in bed again, 
 
 Small marvel he were woe! 
 
 Covered them, that by none 't were seen 
 
 That any man with them had been, 
 
 From chamber forth did go. 
 
 When from the chamber he had gone, 
 The door, behind him shut, anon, 
 Fast as it had been aye, 
 The keys he laid beneath a stone, 2320 
 Thinking that men would deem, each 
 
 one, 
 That they had gone astray. 
 Straight to his brother did he go, 
 Quoth to that man so full of woe, 
 By dawn of Christmas Day: 
 "Here have I brought my children's 
 
 blood, 
 
 1 trust that it may do thee good, 
 So did the Angel say!" 
 
 "Brother," Sir Amiloun did say, 
 "Didst thou indeed thy children slay? 
 Alas ! Why didst thou so ? " 2331 
 
 He wept, and cried: "Ah! Wellaway! 
 Liever had I till Judgment Day 
 Lived thus in pain and woe!" 
 
202 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Then quoth Sir Amis: "Be thou still, 
 
 Thro' Jesu, an it be His Will, 
 
 I bairns again may know, 
 
 For my sake thou of bliss art bare, 
 
 I wis, to bring thee out of care, 
 
 To death I 'Id freely go!" » 340 
 
 He took the life-blood, red and bright, 
 Anointed there that gentle knight, 
 Who erst was fair and hale, 
 And then in bed he did him lay 
 And wrapt him warm and soft alway 
 Nor coverings rich did fail: 
 "Brother," he quoth, "now lie thou still 
 And fall asleep, now, as God's Will 
 The Angel told in tale; 
 And well I trust, with ne'er a lie, 2350 
 That Jesu, King of Heaven High, 
 Shall bring thee out of bale." 
 
 Sir Amis let him lie alone 
 
 And to his chamber went anon 
 
 As ye in Geste may hear, 
 
 And for the bairns whom he had slain 
 
 To God in Heaven he did complain, 
 
 Praying, with rueful cheer, 
 
 That he be saved from shame that day 
 
 Thro' Mary Mother, who alway 2360 
 
 Was to his heart full dear. 
 
 And Jesu Christ, in his sore need, 
 
 To that knight's prayer He gave good 
 
 heed, 
 As ye in Geste may hear. 
 
 The morrow, soon as it was day, 
 Homeward she came, that lady gay, 
 With knights in train, I trow, 
 They sought the keys where they should 
 
 lie. 
 And might no trace of them descry, 
 Woeful were they enow; 3370 
 
 The duke, he bade their mourning cease, 
 And prayed them all to hold their peace, 
 And quiet keep them now, 
 He had the keys, his wife alone 
 Should thither go, beside them, none, 
 That did he surely vow. 
 
 Anon, his wife he prayed her hear, 
 And quoth to her: "My love so dear, 
 Prithee be glad of mood, 237g 
 
 By Him Who for mankind was born 
 Our children have I slain this morn, 
 Who were so fair and good, 
 For that in dream I saw, by night, 
 An Angel come from Heaven's height, 
 Who told me, by their blood 
 My brother should be freed from pain, 
 For his sake did I slay the twain 
 To help him, as I should." 
 
 Then was that lady full of woe, 
 
 Seeing her lord in sorrow go 2390 
 
 She comforted him there: 
 
 "Oh! dearest life," thus did she say, 
 
 "God, He can give us bairns alway, 
 
 Of them have thou no care, 
 
 For if it were mine own heart's blood, 
 
 An it might do thy brother good, 
 
 My life I would not spare; 
 
 Our eyes alone our bairns shall see, 
 
 To-morrow shall they buried be, 
 
 As natural death it were." 2400 
 
 Thus did that lady, fair and bright. 
 Comfort her lord with all her might, 
 As ye may understand; 
 With that, the twain, they go their way, 
 Sought Amiloun, there, where he lay 
 Who erst was free of hand; 
 When Amiloun, he woke anon, 
 Behold, his foulness all was gone, 
 Thro' grace of God's Command! 
 And then was he as fair a knight 2410 
 As ever he was seen by sight 
 Since he was born in land! 
 
 With that full blithe and glad they were?., 
 Their joy they might to none declare, 
 They thanked God oft, that day, 
 And then, as here the Geste doth shew, 
 They swiftly to the chamber go 
 Wherein the children lay, 
 Without a wound the bairns they found, 
 With ne'er a scar, but whole and sound, 
 
AMIS AND AMILOUN 
 
 203 
 
 The twain, they lie, and play! 3421 
 
 They wept for joy as there they stood, 
 Gave thanks to God in humble mood, 
 Their care was all away. 
 
 When Amiloun was whole and fair 
 And all his strength had waxen there, 
 And he might go and ride, 
 Amoraunt, as a squire so bold, 
 Of gladsome cheer he then did hold 
 To serve his lord beside; 2430 
 
 Then quoth the knight upon a day 
 That homeward would he take his way, 
 Speak with his wife that tide, 
 For that she so had helped his need 
 He thought to well requite her deed, 
 Nor longer there abide. 
 
 Sir Amis, then, with swift intent, 
 For many a valiant knight he sent, 
 Who doughty were in deed, 2439 
 
 Five hundred knights, both true and keen, 
 And many a baron more, I ween, 
 On palfrey and on steed, 
 And night and day they, at that same, 
 Rode swift, till to his land they came 
 There was he lord indeed; 
 A knight of that same country there 
 He had espoused that lady fair 
 As now in Geste we read. 
 
 And thus in Geste as now I say, 
 Home came her lord the self-same day 
 They would the bridal hold, 2451 
 
 To castle rode without delay, 
 Anon began a sorry play 
 Among those barons bold; 
 A messenger to run was fain 
 Crying, her lord was come again 
 As fairest man on mold! 
 The lady, she waxed pale and wan, 
 And there was many a mournful man 
 Among them, young and old! 2460 
 
 Sir Amiloun, and Sir Amis, 
 With many a baron bold, I wis, 
 
 And knights and squires withal, 
 With helmet, and with habergeoun, 
 And with their sword blades bright and 
 
 brown, 
 They gat them to the hall, 
 And all whom they within it caught 
 With many a mighty stroke they 
 
 sought, 
 Yea, were they great or small, 
 And glad and blithe they were that day 
 Whoso alive might flee away, 2471 
 
 Such bridal did befall! 
 
 And thus, when they had vengeance 
 
 ta'en, 
 And brown and black to flee were fain 
 From out that hall, anon, 
 Amiloun, for his lady's sake, 
 A great lodge there he bade them 
 
 make 
 Builded of lime and stone, 
 Within it was that lady led, 
 On bread and water was she fed, 
 Till her life-days were done. 2481 
 
 In such wise died that lady — He 
 Who mourns her fate, a knave must be 
 As ye have heard, each one! 
 
 Then Amiloun sent speedily 
 
 To earls and barons, bond and free, 
 
 All who were frank and fair, 
 
 And when they came, he seized in hand 
 
 Childe Owen, over all this land, 
 
 Who true and kind was e'er; 2496 
 
 And when he thus had done, I wis, 
 
 With this, his brother, Sir Amis, 
 
 He back again did fare; 
 
 There, in much joy and little strife, 
 
 Together did they lead their life 
 
 Till called of God they were. 
 
 Anon those courteous barons twain 
 To build an Abbey were they fain 
 Endow it well also, 
 
 In Lombardy, till Judgment-Day 2500 
 Mass for their souls to sing alway 
 And for their parents' too. 
 
204 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 The same day died those knights so 
 
 brave, 
 Were laid together in one grave, 
 As men to-day shall show; 
 
 For this, their steadfast truth, I wis, 
 They have reward in Heavenly Bliss 
 That ne'er an end shall know! 
 Amen, Amen. 
 
 SIR LAUNFAL 
 
 ha the days when Arthur bold 
 
 Rule in English land did hold 
 
 Such a feat befell 
 
 That men set it in a Lay, 
 
 Hight "Sir Launfal," e'en to-day 
 
 Ye may know it well. 
 
 Doughty Arthur did some while, 
 
 Hold his court in fair Carlisle, 
 
 And, in solace fair, 
 
 Valiant knights with him were found, 
 
 Heroes of the Table Round, n 
 
 Better knights were ne'er. 
 
 Perceval, and good Gawain, 
 
 Gaheries, and Agravain, 
 
 Lancelot du Lake; 
 
 Kay the seneschal, Ywain, 
 
 Who in fiercest fight on plain 
 
 Stern defence could make; 
 
 King Banboort, King Bors, his mate, 
 
 (Of these twain the praise was great) 
 
 None their peer might find; si 
 
 Sir Galafre, Sir Launfale, — 
 
 Of this last a noble tale 
 
 Here I 'Id bring to mind. 
 
 Arthur had a knight, I ween, 
 (Many a year at court he'd been,) 
 Launfal, was he hight; 
 Gift nor largesse did he spare, 
 Gold and silver, raiment fair, 
 Gave to squire and knight. 30 
 
 For his gifts and bounty free 
 Steward unto the king was he 
 Fourteen years, forthright; 
 Nay, of all the Table Round 
 None so free of hand was found 
 Both by day and night. 
 
 Then it chanced, in the tenth year, 
 
 Merlin, who was Arthur's seer, 
 
 Bade the ting to ride 
 
 Unto Ryon, Ireland's king, 40 
 
 Thence his daughter fair to bring, 
 
 Gwennore, as his bride. 
 
 Arthur brought her home, I wot, 
 
 But Sir Launfal liked her not, 
 
 Nor his comrades tried, 
 
 Such repute the lady bare 
 
 Lovers had she, and to spare, 
 
 Her good lord beside. 
 
 They were wedded, so men say, 
 On the Feast of Whitsunday, — so 
 Many a prince of pride, 
 And more folk than man may tell 
 To that bridal came as well 
 From lands far and wide. 
 Each who in that hall was set 
 Bishop was, or Baronet, 
 (Naught in heart I 'Id hide — ) 
 Tho' men sat not equal there 
 Service rich and good they bare 
 Certes, to each side. 60 
 
 When the lords had eaten all, 
 And the cloths were drawn in hall, 
 E'en as ye may hear, 
 Butlers bare, with one accord, 
 Wine to each and every lord 
 Yea, with gladsome cheer. 
 Then the queen gave gifts so fair, 
 Gold and silver, jewels rare, 
 Courtesy to show; 69 
 
 To each knight gave brooch or ring, 
 To Sir Launfal ne'er a thing, 
 Grief he needs must know. 
 
SIR LAUNFAL 
 
 205 
 
 Came the wedding-feast to end, 
 
 Launfal fain his way would wend, 
 
 Prayed leave of the king. 
 
 Said: "The news but now is sped 
 
 How my father lieth dead, 
 
 To his burying 
 
 I would go" — The king so free, 
 
 Quoth: "Launfal, wilt go from me 80 
 
 Take for thy spending; 
 
 And my sister's sons, the two, 
 
 I will bid with thee to go, 
 
 Homeward thee to bring." 
 
 Launfal, on his journey bound, 
 Took leave of the Table Round, 
 Went his way, I ween, 
 Till to Karlion he came, 
 And the mayor's house, at that same, 
 "Who his man had been — go 
 
 Stood the mayor without, that tide, 
 Saw his master gently ride, 
 Knights with him doth bring. 
 Forth he goes the knight to greet, — 
 "Sir, I bid thee welcome meet, 
 Say, how fares our king?" 
 
 Launfal spake in answer there: 
 
 "Ne'er a man doth better fare, 
 
 Else were ruth the more — 
 
 But Sir Mayor, without leasing, 100 
 
 I be parted from the king, 
 
 And that rues me sore; 
 
 None beneath me, nor above, 
 
 For the sake of Arthur's love 
 
 Owes me honour more. 
 
 Sir, I prithee, of thy grace, 
 
 May I here have dwelling-place, 
 
 We were friends of yore? " 
 
 Straight the mayor him bethought, 
 And a fitting answer sought no 
 
 Thus to him 'gan say: 
 "Seven knights would dwell with me, 
 Here to-day they sure shall be, 
 Of little Britain they — " 
 Launfal turned him with a smile, 
 Knightly scorn he gave for guile, 
 
 Saith to his knights twain: 
 "Who a lord of little fame 
 Thinks to serve, he, of that same 
 Service shall be fain!" 120 
 
 Launfal on his way would ride, 
 
 Quoth the Mayor: "My lord, abide — " 
 
 (In this wise he spake — ) 
 
 " Turn ye by mine orchard side, 
 
 I have where, in joy and pride, 
 
 Ye your home may make." 
 
 Launfal, he anon alights, 
 
 Thinking there, with his two knights, 
 
 For awhile to dwell; 
 
 Right and left his wealth he cast 130 
 
 Till, ere the first year was past, 
 
 In great debt he fell. 
 
 So it chanced at Pentecost, 
 
 Such time as the Holy Ghost 
 
 Did on men alight, 
 
 That Sir Hugh, and eke Sir John, 
 
 Took their leave, for to be gone 
 
 From Launfal, the knight; 
 
 Saying: "Sir, our robes be rent, 
 
 And thy treasure all be spent, 140 
 
 We be evil dight." 
 
 Quoth Sir Launfal, fair and free, 
 
 "Tell none of my povertie, 
 
 Prithee, by God's Might." 
 
 Spake the gallant knights straight- 
 way, 
 They would ne'er his plight betray 
 All this world to win. 
 So they left him at that same, 
 Straight to Glastonbury came, 
 Arthur lay therein. 150 
 
 When he saw those knights draw nigh 
 Swift towards them did he hie 
 They were of his kin; 
 But the self-same robes they ware 
 As when they from court did fare, 
 Torn they were, and thin. 
 
 Of ill-will, the queen quoth there: 
 "Say, how doth the proud knight fare 
 
206 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 May he armour wield?" isg 
 
 In the feast I may not share 
 
 Quoth the good knights: "Lady, yea, 
 
 That doth me despite. 
 
 Well he fares, as good men may, 
 
 
 Heaven be his shield!" 
 
 " This one thing I pray of thee, 
 
 Good the tidings that they bring 
 
 Saddle, bridle, lend to me 
 
 To the queen, and eke the king, 
 
 That I forth may ride, 
 
 Of Launfal the bold, 
 
 Solace would I find withal, . 
 
 And they quoth: "He loved us so 
 
 In a meadow, 'neath the wall, 
 
 That when we were fain to go 
 
 In this undern-tide." 210 
 
 He would us withold; 
 
 Launfal, then, he girt his steed, 
 
 
 Squire nor page had he at need, 
 
 " But there came a rainy day 
 
 Humbly did he ride; 
 
 When Sir Launfal went his way 170 
 
 His horse threw him in the fen, 
 
 Hunting thro' holts hoar, 
 
 Mocked he was of many men, 
 
 In our old robes did we ride, 
 
 Yea, on every side. 
 
 So we went our way that tide 
 
 
 As we came of yore." 
 
 On his horse he sprang again, 
 
 Arthur was right glad of mood 
 
 And, to chase his longings fain, 
 
 That it well with Launfal stood — 
 
 Rode towards the west; 
 
 Grieved was queen Gwennore — 
 
 Sultry waxed that undern-tide, 220 
 
 She desired with all her might 
 
 He, dismounting, would abide 
 
 He should have, by day and night, 
 
 'Neath a fair forest; 
 
 Pain and sorrow sore. 180 
 
 And, because the day was hot, 
 
 
 He would fold his cloak, I wot, 
 
 Came the feast of Trinitie, 
 
 Sat him down to rest. 
 
 Which, with great solemnitie 
 
 Sat thus in simplici tie 
 
 Men in Karlion hold; 
 
 'Neath the shadow of a tree 
 
 Earls and barons, many a knight, 
 
 Where it liked him best. 
 
 Burgess good, and lady bright, 
 
 
 Flock there, young and old; 
 
 As he sat, and sorrowed sore, 229 
 
 But Launfal, the knight so free, 
 
 Forth there came, from holts so hoar, 
 
 Might not of that gathering be, 
 
 Maidens twain that day; 
 
 For his lack of gold; 
 
 Silk of Inde their kirtles were, 
 
 To the feast the mayor was bent, igo 
 
 Tightly laced, and fitting fair, 
 
 His fair daughter straightway went 
 
 Never maids more gay; 
 
 To the knight so bold; 
 
 Velvet were their mantles green 
 
 
 Bordered well with gold, I ween, 
 
 Prayed him dine with her that day — 
 
 Lined with fur so gray; 
 
 "Demoiselle," quoth Launfal, "nay, 
 
 On each gracious head was set, 
 
 Thereto I lack heart; 
 
 Wrought of gold, a coronet, 
 
 For the three days that be gone 
 
 Set with gems alway. 240 
 
 Meat and drink have I had none, 
 
 
 This my sorry part; 
 
 White their skin as snow on down, 
 
 I had fain heard Mass to-day, 
 
 Red their cheeks, their eyes were 
 
 Hose and shoes I lacked alway, aoo 
 
 brown, 
 
 Linen clean and white. 
 
 (None such have I seen — ) 
 
 Thus for want of clothing fair 
 
 One, a basin all of gold 
 
SIR LAUNFAL 
 
 207 
 
 Bare, the other maid did hold 
 
 Towel of silken sheen. 
 
 Bright their kerchiefs were to see 
 
 With gold thread in broiderie — 
 
 Launfal 'gan to sigh — 
 
 O'er the turf to him they came 250 
 
 He would, rising, at that same 
 
 Greet them courteously: 
 
 "God be with ye, maidens bright! " 
 
 "Fair befall thee, noble knight, 
 
 Know, Dame Triamour 
 
 Bids thee come and speak with her 
 
 An it were thy will, fair Sir, 
 
 In this very hour." 
 
 Launfal answered, courteously, 
 
 He would come right willingly — 260 
 
 White were they as flour. 
 
 In the forest glade on high 
 
 He a fair tent did espie, 
 
 Merrie was that bower. 
 
 That fair tent was wrought, I wis, 
 
 All of work of Sarsynys, 
 
 Crystal was each ball; 
 
 Over all an eagle stood, 
 
 Wrought of red gold, rich and good, 
 
 And enamelled all; 270 
 
 For his eyes carbuncles bright — 
 
 As the moon that shines at night 
 
 Did the beams fair fall; 
 
 Alexander, monarch great, 
 
 Arthur, in his richest state, 
 
 Lacked such gem withal! 
 
 And in that pavilion 
 Lay the maid of Oleron, 
 Triamour, she hight; 
 King, her sire, of Faerie, 280 
 
 All the West, at his decree 
 Owned him man of might. 
 In that tent a couch withal' 
 Found he, decked with purple pall, 
 Seemly 't was to sight, 
 , Therein lay that gentle maid 
 Who Sir Launfal thither bade, 
 Lovesome lady bright. 
 
 For the heat she cast aside 
 
 Covering, to her waist that tide ; 
 
 Well nigh was she bare; 
 
 White as lily-flower in May, 
 
 Or as snow on winter's day — 
 
 He knew none so fair — 
 
 Yea, the red rose, newly-blown, 
 
 Pale against her cheek had shewn, 
 
 This to say I dare. 
 
 Bright her hair as threads of gold, 
 
 None her rich attire had told, 
 
 Thought had known it ne'er. 3 
 
 Quoth she: "Launfal, hark to me, 
 
 All my joy I 'Id leave for thee, 
 
 Be my paramour; 
 
 For in Christendom is none 
 
 Whom I love, save thee alone, 
 
 King nor Emperour." 
 
 Launfal looked on that sweet maid, 
 
 All his love on her he laid, 
 
 Kissed her in that hour. 
 
 Down he sat him at her side, 3 
 
 Saying: "Sweet, whate'er betide 
 
 I am in thy power." 
 
 Quoth she: "Gentle knight, and free, 
 
 All thy state is known to me 
 
 Prithee, shame thee not; 
 
 Wilt thou me as true love take, 
 
 Other maids for me forsake, 
 
 Rich shall be thy lot. 
 
 For a purse I '11 give thee here 
 
 Wrought of silk and gold so clear 3 
 
 With fair figures three; 
 
 Oft as thou thy hand within 
 
 Puttest, thou a mark shalt win 
 
 Wheresoe'er thou be. 
 
 "Yea, and more my gifts shall be, 
 With my steed, I'll give to thee 
 Geoffrey, mine own knave; 
 Of mine arms, a penoncel, 
 With three ermines painted well, 
 From thy lance to wave. 3 
 
 And in war and Tourney, know 
 Thou shalt ne'er be harmed by blow, 
 
ao8 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 I my knight will save!" 
 
 Thro' the burg came riding men, 
 
 Then he quoth, the gentle knight: 
 
 Harnessed well, in number ten, 
 
 "Gramercie, my lady bright, 
 
 Sumpter steeds they ride. 
 
 No more shield I'll crave." 
 
 Some with silver, some with gold, 
 
 
 (This for Launfal did they hold 380 
 
 Up she sat, the lady fair, 
 
 Fit gear to provide,) 
 
 Bade her maidens bring her there 
 
 Raiment rich, and armour bright — 
 
 Water, for her hand; 
 
 Then thy ask: "Launfal, the knight, 
 
 This they did, nor made delay, 340 
 
 Where doth he abide?" 
 
 Set the board, and served straightway 
 
 
 Supper at command. 
 
 Silk of Inde the ten they ware, 
 
 Dainties had they, fair and fine, 
 
 Geoffrey, he behind did fare 
 
 Pyement, claret, Rhenish wine, 
 
 On Blaunchard, the white; 
 
 Else great wonder were — 
 
 In the market place one stood, 
 
 Thus they supped, the day was sped, 
 
 Quoth: "Where goeth all this good, 
 
 Then anon they sought their bed, 
 
 Tell us, gentle wight?" 390 
 
 Knight and lady fair. 
 
 Geoffrey spake: "As gift so fair 
 
 
 We this store to Launfal bear 
 
 Scarce for joy they slept that night, 
 
 Who in dolour rides — " 
 
 Till dawn came, and morning light, 350 
 
 Quoth the boy: "He lives in need, 
 
 Then she bade him rise, 
 
 Men of him take little heed, 
 
 Spake to him: "Sir Knight, art fain 
 
 With the mayor he bides." 
 
 E'er to speak with me again 
 
 
 Guard 'gainst prying eyes. 
 
 At the mayor's door they light, 
 
 Secretly, I'll come to thee 
 
 Proffer to the noble knight 
 
 In a place where none may see 
 
 All the gifts they bear; 
 
 Still as any stone." 
 
 The mayor saw their goodliness, 400 
 
 Blithe and glad was Launfal then, 
 
 Knew Sir Launfal's nobleness, 
 
 Joyful, he, above all men, 
 
 Shame o'ertook him there. 
 
 Kissed that maid anon. 360 
 
 Quoth: "Sir Knight, of Charitie, 
 
 
 Prithee eat to-day with me, 
 
 " But of one thing warned be, 
 
 As yestre'en it were 
 
 Ne'er, tho' profit 't were to thee, 
 
 To the feast with thee I 'Id ride, 
 
 Boast of me shalt make; 
 
 Solace had been ours that tide 
 
 If thou doest, I thee warn 
 
 But thou forth didst fare." 
 
 Thou shalt be of love forlorn — " 
 
 
 Thus the lady spake. 
 
 "Nay, Sir Mayor, God pardon thee, 
 
 Launfal prayed her leave to go — 
 
 While I dwelt in povertie 410 
 
 Geoffrey fain his skill would show 
 
 Ne'er didst bid me dine, 
 
 Brought the knight his steed, 
 
 Now my friends have sent to me 
 
 Launfal straight the steed bestrode, 370 
 
 Greater store in gold and fee 
 
 Back to Karlion he rode, 
 
 Than was ever thine!" 
 
 Poor was still his weed. 
 
 Shamed, the mayor, he went his 
 
 Glad at heart, his lady's will 
 
 way, 
 Launfal did on fair array, 
 
 Fain to do, he held him still, 
 
 Purple, furred with white; 
 
 All that undern-tide; 
 
 All the debts he ever made 
 
SIR LAUNFAL 
 
 209 
 
 Geoffrey hath the tale repaid 
 
 Stern, I trow, the strokes and grim, 
 
 As was fit and right. 420 
 
 Smitten on each side. 
 
 
 Launfal of his foe was ware, 
 
 Launfal held rich feast that stead, 
 
 From his steed he did him bear 
 
 Fifty poor guests well he fed 
 
 To the ground that tide. 
 
 Who were in ill plight; 
 
 As the constable lay low, 
 
 Gave to fifty, each a steed, 
 
 Geoffrey leapt to saddle-bow, 
 
 Gave to fifty, goodly weed, 
 
 From the field would ride. 
 
 Were they squire or knight. 
 
 
 Fifty priests, I trow, he paid, 
 
 Chester's earl beheld with eye, 
 
 Fifty prisoners he made 
 
 Wroth he was, to madness nigh, 470 
 
 From their bondage free, 
 
 Rode on Launfal good. 
 
 Fifty jesters clothed he then, 430 
 
 On the helm he smote withal 
 
 Honour did to many men 
 
 That the crest adown must fall, 
 
 Tho' of far countrie. 
 
 (So the French tale stood — ) 
 
 
 Launfal was of mickle might, 
 
 Lords of Karlion that tide 
 
 From his steed he did alight, 
 
 Bid a Tournament be cried 
 
 Laid his foemen low; 
 
 All for Launfal's love, 
 
 Then there came, the knight about, 
 
 And for Blaunchard, his good steed, 
 
 Of Welsh knights so great a rout 
 
 All to wit how he might speed 
 
 None their tale might know. 480 
 
 And his valour prove. 
 
 
 When the day at last they see 
 
 Shields were shattered then withal, 
 
 That the jousts should ridden be 440 
 
 Shivered spears in splinters fall, 
 
 Forth to field they move, 
 
 Yea, in rear and van; 
 
 Trumpeters a shrill blast blow, 
 
 Launfal and his steed of pride 
 
 All the lords ride out a-row 
 
 Bare to earth, I ween, that tide 
 
 From the burg above. 
 
 Many a gallant man. 
 
 
 So the Tourney's prize by right 
 
 Thus the Tourney fair was set, 
 
 Gave they to Launfal the knight, 
 
 Each doth on the other whet 
 
 Nor had need of oath. 
 
 Swords, and maces both, 
 
 Many a lord, I trow, that day 490 
 
 So doth Fortune shifting run, 
 
 To the mayor's house took their way 
 
 Some lose steeds, and some have 
 
 With him, little loth. 
 
 won, 
 Knights were wondrous wroth; 450 
 
 Then that noble knight and bold 
 
 Since the Table Round begun 
 
 Royal feast and rich did hold, 
 
 Better Tourney was there none 
 
 E'en for fourteen-night; 
 
 That I say for sooth. 
 
 Earls and barons in that hall 
 
 Many lords of Karlion town 
 
 Service seemly found withal, 
 
 On that field were smitten down, 
 
 Royally were dight. 
 
 Certes, without oath. 
 
 Every day fair Triamour ' 499 
 
 
 Sought her love, Sir Launfal's, bower, 
 
 The constable of Karlion 
 
 Fell the shades of night; 
 
 Did upon Sir Launfal run 
 
 But of all men in that place 
 
 Nor would more abide — 
 
 Two alone might see her fare, 
 
 He smote Launfal, Launfal him, 460 
 
 Geoffrey, and her knight. 
 
210 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Lived a knight in Lombardie, 
 
 Prayed her leave to ride — 
 
 Jealous of Sir Launfal he, 
 
 Then she quoth, that maiden dear, ss° 
 
 Valentine he hight. 
 
 "Of thy foeman have no fear, 
 
 Of Sir Launfal he heard tell 
 
 He shall fall that tide." 
 
 How he jousted wondrous well 
 
 
 Man of mickle might. 510 
 
 None would Launfal with him lead 
 
 Valentine was strong, I ween, 
 
 Saving Geoffrey, and his steed, 
 
 Measured well of foot fifteen, 
 
 Blaunchard, so they three 
 
 Deemed himself good knight; 
 
 Took to ship, the wind was good, 
 
 Launfal he to test was fain, 
 
 Swift they crossed the salt sea flood, 
 
 In fair field to meet, they twain, 
 
 Came to Lombardie. 
 
 Or for joust or fight. 
 
 And when he had crossed the tide 
 
 
 Where the joust he needs must ride, 560 
 
 Valentine, he sat in hall, 
 
 E'en in Atalie, 
 
 Bade a messenger to call, 
 
 Valentine had there great host, 
 
 Said: "Needs must thou wend — 
 
 Launfal he hath lowered their boast, 
 
 Unto Launfal, that good knight, 520 
 
 With small companie. 
 
 Who is held of such great might 
 
 
 I '11 to Britain send. 
 
 When Sir Launfal, armed aright, 
 
 Say, for love of his ladie, 
 
 Sprang upon his charger white, 
 
 If of gentle birth she be, 
 
 Spear and shield did hold, 
 
 Courteous, fair, and free, 
 
 All who saw his armour bright 
 
 Would he keep his armour bright 
 
 Quoth that ne'er so fair a knight 
 
 Nor be deemed a coward knight, 
 
 Did their eyes behold. 570 
 
 He must joust with me." 
 
 Then tbey rode a joust so well 
 
 
 That their lances shivered fell 
 
 Fain to do his lord's command 
 
 Shattered on the field, 
 
 Sailed the messenger from land, 530 
 
 At the second joust alway 
 
 Fair the wind at will; 
 
 Launfal's helm, the tale doth say, 
 
 O'er the water came anon, 
 
 To the spear did yield. 
 
 To Sir Launfal hath he gone 
 
 
 Spake with words so still, 
 
 Laughed his foeman, and made 
 
 Quoth: "Sir Valentine, my lord, 
 
 game, 
 
 Who right skilful is with sword 
 
 Launfal ne'er had felt such shame 
 
 Sent me unto thee, 
 
 Nay, tho' fierce the fight. 
 
 Praying, for thy true love's sake 
 
 Geoffrey proved him good at need, 580 
 
 Thou a spear with him wilt break — " 
 
 Leapt upon his master's steed, 
 
 Launfal laughed out free. 540 
 
 (No man saw that sight — ) 
 
 
 Ere the knights again had met 
 
 Quoth, as he was gentle knight 
 
 Launfal's helm on head he set, 
 
 That same day, a fourteen-night, 
 
 Laced it fair and tight. 
 
 He would 'gainst him ride — 
 
 Launfal, he was glad and gay, 
 
 For the tidings he did bring 
 
 Geoffrey well he thanked that day 
 
 Gave the messenger a ring, 
 
 For his deed of might. 
 
 Horse, and robe of pride. 
 
 
 Launfal kissed fair Triamour, 
 
 Valentine, he smote so well, 
 
 (Brightest maiden she in bower) 
 
 Launfal's shield adown it fell 596 
 
SIR LAUNFAL 
 
 211 
 
 Even at that stound; 
 
 Then the lords their way would wend, 
 
 Geoffrey, lie that shield hath ta'en, 
 
 Each to his countrie. 
 
 Given it to his lord again 
 
 
 Ere it came to ground. 
 
 After meat it chanced Gawain, 
 
 Launfal, he was blithe and gay, 
 
 Galleries, and Agravain, 
 
 The third joust he rode straightway, 
 
 And Launfal, the knight, 
 
 Showed his valour there; 
 
 Went to dance upon the green 640 
 
 Smote his foeman in that stead, 
 
 'Neath the tower where lay the queen 
 
 Horse and man, they both fell dead, 
 
 And her ladies bright. 
 
 Grisley wounds they bare. 600 
 
 Launfal led the dance withal, 
 
 
 (For largesse, in hold and hall 
 
 But of Atalie, the men, 
 
 Men, they loved him so;) 
 
 Were full wroth with Launfal then 
 
 The queen lay, the dance would see, 
 
 Since their knight was dead, 
 
 Spake: "There danceth Launfal free, 
 
 Sware that he should surely die 
 
 I to him will go! 
 
 Ere he passed from Lombardie, 
 
 
 Hanged, and drawn that stead. 
 
 "He of all the knights I see 
 
 Launfal drew his falchion bright, 
 
 Seemeth fairest unto me, 650 
 
 Smote them low, as dew falls light, 
 
 Never had he wife, 
 
 In a little space; 
 
 An it be for good or ill 
 
 When he thus their lords had slain 610 
 
 I will ask of him his will, 
 
 He to Britain's shores again 
 
 Whom I love as life!" 
 
 Joyful set his face. 
 
 Maids she chose, a companie, 
 
 
 Of the fairest she might see 
 
 Thus to Arthur news they bring, 
 
 Sixty-five they were, 
 
 All the truth they tell the king 
 
 Thus they went their way forth- 
 
 Of Launfal, his fame, 
 
 right — 
 
 Then a script the king would send 
 
 To disport them with the knights 
 
 Bidding Launfal to him wend 
 
 Courteously they fare. 660 
 
 When Saint John's Feast came; 
 
 
 For the king a feast would hold 
 
 Thus the queen her place hath ta'en 
 
 Of his earls and barons bold, 620 
 
 Twixt Launfal, and good Gawain, — 
 
 Lordings great and less, 
 
 And her ladies bright 
 
 Launfal should be steward in hall, 
 
 Followed her full speedily, 
 
 And the guests should order all 
 
 Yea, 't was fair the dance to see 
 
 And give fair largesse. 
 
 Each maid with a knight. 
 
 
 Minstrels well the fiddle play, 
 
 Launfal straight his leave did pray 
 
 Cithole, too, and trumpet gay, 
 
 From his love, to go his way 
 
 As 't was fit and right. 
 
 The king's feast to lead. 
 
 So they sported, sooth to say, 670 
 
 Mirth he found and praise that hour, 
 
 After meat, the summer's day, 
 
 Ladies, who were bright in bower, 
 
 Till 't was nigh to night. 
 
 Knights, right good at need. 630 
 
 
 Forty days the feast so high 
 
 When the dance was done, I ween, 
 
 Held they rich and royally, 
 
 Nigh to Launfal drew the queen, 
 
 Truth I tell to ye, — 
 
 Spake thus in his ear: 
 
 Came the forty days to end, 
 
 "Know for certain, gentle knight, 
 
212 
 
 -CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 I have loved thee, day and night, 
 
 More than seven year; 
 
 Save thy love be given to me 
 
 I shall die for love of thee, 680 
 
 Launfal, leman dear!" 
 
 Quoth the good knight at that same: 
 
 "Traitor ne'er shall be my name, 
 
 Heaven help me here!" 
 
 Quoth the queen: "Thou coward, fie! 
 Fain I were men hanged thee high 
 Would thou ne'er wast born ! 
 That thou livest, grieveth me, 
 Scorning women, all scorn thee, 
 Art of love forlorn!" 690 
 
 Sore abashed, the knight so bold 
 Speech no longer might withold, 
 Spake the queen before: 
 "I have loved a maid more bright 
 Than thou e'er hast seen with sight 
 Seven years and more. 
 
 "Lowest maiden of her train 
 
 Fitter were as queen to reign 
 
 Than thou e'er hast been!" 
 
 Very wroth, the queen, that day 700 
 
 With her maidens went her way 
 
 To her bower, I ween; 
 
 Laid her down upon her bed, 
 
 Sware she was full sick that stead, 
 
 Sware, as she might thrive, 
 
 She 'Id on Launfal vengeance wreak, 
 
 All the land of him should speak 
 
 Ere days waxed to five! 
 
 From the chase doth Arthur ride, 
 Blithe and gay was he that tide 
 To his bower went he — 
 Then the queen on him did cry: 
 "Save thou 'venge me I shall die, 
 My heart breaks in three! 
 I to Launfal spake, my king, 
 And he prayed a shameful thing, 
 Would my leman be. 
 When I would not, boast he made 
 Of his love, whose loathliest maid 
 Fairer were than me!" 
 
 710 
 
 Then King Arthur, he waxed wroth, 
 
 And by God he sware an oath 
 
 Launfal would he slay; 
 
 Bade his doughty men, forthright 
 
 Take Launfal, and that good knight, 
 
 Hang and draw straightway. 
 
 Sought they for that knight anon — 
 
 To his chamber had he gone, 
 
 Fain was he to play, 
 
 But his love, she came ilo more, 730 
 
 As she warned him once of yore 
 
 So it fell alway. 
 
 Then his purse he did behold 
 
 Which was ever full of gold, 
 
 When of gold was need; 
 
 Ne'er a piece was there that day, 
 
 Geoffrey, he had ridden away 
 
 On Blaunchard, his steed. 
 
 All the good that he had won 
 
 Passed, as snow beneath the sun, 740 
 
 So the tale doth read; 
 
 E'en his harness, shining white, 
 
 Had become as black as night — 
 
 Launfal, in his need 
 
 Spake: "Alas! how may it be 
 
 That I live apart from thee 
 
 Sweetest Triamour? 
 
 Of all wealth am I forlorn, 
 
 And, far worse, from thee am torn 
 
 Brightest maid in bower!" 750 
 
 Then he smote him on the head, 
 
 Cursed the mouth that spake, that stead, 
 
 Yea, he sorrowed sore, 
 
 And for very grief that stound 
 
 Fell a-swooning to the ground — 
 
 Then of knights came four, 
 
 Laid the knight in bands straightway 
 (Double waxed his woe that day) 
 Led him to the king — 
 Arthur quoth, with anger moved, 760 
 "Heark to me, thou traitor proved, 
 Why make such boasting? 
 Fairer than my wife, didst say 
 Thy love's loathliest maid alway 
 
SIR LAUNFAL 
 
 213 
 
 Foul the lie, I trow! 
 And ere that wert fain the queen 
 Should thy paramour have been — 
 All too proud art thou!" 
 
 Quoth the knight, in eager mood, 
 
 As before the king he stood : 770 
 
 "'T is the queen doth lie! 
 
 Never since I saw the light 
 
 I besought her, day nor night, 
 
 Of such treacherie; 
 
 But she quoth, no man was I, 
 
 Woman's love, it passed me by, 
 
 Maids would naught of me — 
 
 And I answered her, and said, 
 
 I held my love's loathliest maid 
 
 Fitter queen to be! 780 
 
 " Certes, lordings, this is so, 
 I am ready here to do 
 All the court shall say — " 
 Saith the story, at that same, 
 Twelve good knights together came, 
 Judgment sought straightway, 
 And they spake themselves between, 
 How right well they knew the queen, 
 This was aye her way — 
 "Of her ever went the word 790 
 
 She loved others than her lord, 
 None shall that gainsay." 
 
 On the queen, and not the knight, 
 
 Should the blame be laid by right, 
 
 Thereof was he free; 
 
 And might he his lady bring, 
 
 She of whom he spake this thing, 
 
 And her maids should be 
 
 Brighter than the queen in hue, 
 
 Launfal should be holden true, 800 
 
 Free from felonie; 
 
 But, save he his love might show, 
 
 A thief's death he needs must know, 
 
 And be hanged on tree. 
 
 This, then, was their counselling: 
 Launfal should his true love bring, 
 His life on it lay — 
 
 Quoth the queen, with ne'er a he: 
 "If she fairer prove than I, 
 Blind these eyes of gray!" 810 
 
 Thus the wager fast was bound, 
 Launfal hath two sureties found, 
 Noble knights were they — 
 Perceval and good Gawain, 
 They were sureties, the twain, 
 Till a certain day. 
 
 This they sware, my faith I plight, 
 
 In a year, and fourteen night, 
 
 He his love must bring — 
 
 Sorrow sore, and bitter care 8*0 
 
 Then, I ween, were Launfal's share 
 
 He his hands did wring; 
 
 Yea, so heavy was his woe, 
 
 All his life henceforth must know 
 
 Naught but mourning drear, 
 
 Glad his head to forfeit he — 
 
 Full of woe all men must be 
 
 Who these tidings hear. 
 
 Draweth nigh th' appointed day — 
 With his sureties he, straightway, 830 
 'Fore the king must go. 
 Arthur spake: "Thy love now 
 
 bring — " 
 Launfal answered, sorrowing, 
 "It may not be so." 
 Arthur bade his lords forthright 
 Sit in judgment on the knight, 
 Speak his doom straightway; 
 Spake the earl of Cornwall free, 
 (Leader of the council he) 
 Boldly said him "Nay," 840 
 
 "Mickle shame on us would light 
 
 An we doomed this gentle knight, 
 
 Fair is he, and free, 
 
 This my lords, shall be my rede, 
 
 We our king shall better lead, 
 
 Launfal hence shall flee." 
 
 As they council hold that tide 
 
 Maidens thro' the city ride, 
 
 Ten, right fair to see; 
 
 Yea, so fair were they, and bright, 850 
 
214 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 That the loathliest to sight 
 Well a queen might be. 
 
 Quoth Gawain, that knight so dear: 
 
 "Brother, be of better cheer, 
 
 See thy true love ride!" 
 
 Launfal answered him: " I wis. 
 
 None of these my true love is, 
 
 Comrade true and tried!" 
 
 To the castle are they gone, 
 
 At the gate they 'light anon, 860 
 
 To the king they win, 
 
 Bade him in all haste prepare 
 
 For their dame a chamber fair, 
 
 Maid of royal kin. 
 
 "Who is she?" King Arthur said — 
 
 '' Ye shall wit well" spake the maid, 
 
 "Hither doth she ride." 
 
 Arthur bade prepare that hour 
 
 For that maid the fairest bower 
 
 In his palace wide; 870 
 
 Then his barons straightway bade 
 
 That the doom be not delayed 
 
 Of that traitor's pride. 
 
 But the barons quoth forthright: 
 
 "Till we see those maidens bright 
 
 Must our judgment bide." 
 
 A new tale they weave also, 
 Part of weal, and part of woe, 
 To appease their lord; 879 
 
 Some would judge Launfal, the knight, 
 Some would speak him free by right, 
 Diverse was their word. 
 Maidens ten again they see, 
 Fairer than the first they be, 
 As they 'Id doom the knight — 
 Each one rode a mule of Spain, 
 Saddle, bridle, of Champagne, 
 Harness, gleaming bright. 
 
 Clothed they were in silk of Tyre — 
 Each man yearned their fair attire 890 
 Better to behold; 
 
 Gawain quoth, that courteous knight: 
 ''Launfal see, thy lady bright 
 
 Freeth thee from hold!" 
 
 Launfal quoth right drearily: 
 
 "Strangers one and all they be, 
 
 They, and all their race." : 
 
 To the hall the maids forthright 
 
 Ride, and at the dais alight, 
 
 "Fore King Arthur's face. 900 
 
 King and queen they gracious greet; 
 One maid spake, in fashion meet, 
 To the king that hour: 
 "Deck thy hall and hang the wall 
 Eke with purple and with pall 
 For fair Triamour!" 
 Arthur answered them forthright, 
 "Welcome be ye maidens bright, 
 Yea, in Christ's own Name." 
 Lancelot du Lake he bade gio 
 
 To her fellows lead each maid 
 Courteous, at that same. 
 
 Then the queen, with thought of 
 
 guile, 
 Fearing Launfal, in a while, 
 Should be spoken free 
 Thro' his love, who thither came, 
 Cried on Arthur at that same; 
 "Sire, 'twere courtesie, 
 And for honour fit and right 
 To avenge me of that knight g2o 
 
 Who set shame on me! 
 Launfal should'st thou nowise spare, 
 Fain thy lords were thee to snare, 
 Dear to them is he!" 
 
 As the queen spake on this wise, 
 
 Lo! before the baron's eyes 
 
 Rode a demoiselle, 
 
 On a palfrey white and tall, 
 
 Never such was seen withal, 
 
 That I know right well, — 930 
 
 Light was she as bird on bough 
 
 In all fashion fair enow t 
 
 A king's hall to grace, 
 
 Bright as blossom blowing meet, 
 
 Gray her eyes, her smile was sweet, 
 
 Very fair her face. 
 
SIR LAUNFAL 
 
 3I 5 
 
 Red her cheeks as rose is red, 
 
 And the hair upon her head 
 
 As gold thread was bright; 
 
 And her crown ye might behold 940 
 
 Of rich stones, and ruddy gold, 
 
 Gleaming in the light. 
 
 Clad was she in purple pall, 
 
 Slight of form, in waist full small, 
 
 Seemly to men's sight; 
 
 And her mantle, fair and wide, 
 
 Showed, turned back on either side, 
 
 Fur of ermine white. 
 
 Rich her saddle was, I ween, 
 
 With its skirts of velvet green 930 
 
 Painted cunningly; 
 
 And a border all of bells, 
 
 Of pure gold, and nothing else 
 
 That a man might see, 
 
 Front and back, each saddle-bow 
 
 Was with eastern gems a-glow, 
 
 Gay exceedingly; 
 
 And her palfrey trappings bare 
 
 That were worth an earldom fair 
 
 E'en in Lombardie. 960 
 
 Hawk on hand the lady rode, 
 
 Soft and slow her steed, it trode, 
 
 All might well behold; 
 
 Thus thro' Karlion did she ride, 
 
 Two white greyhounds, at her side, 
 
 Collars bare of gold; 
 
 Launfal saw that lady's face, 
 
 Raised his voice, and in that place 
 
 Cried on young and old; 
 
 "Now may ye my true love see, 970 
 
 Who may, an she gracious be, 
 
 Set me free from hold!" 
 
 Rode that lady to the hall 
 
 Where the queen, and maidens all, 
 
 Sat beside the king; 
 
 Swift to aid fair Triamour 
 
 All her maidens, in that hour, 
 
 To her stirrup spring. 
 
 Straight her cloak she cast aside 
 
 That the better in that tide, 980 
 
 Men her form might see, 
 Arthur would her gracious greet, 
 And she spake, in answer meet, 
 Words both fair and free. 
 
 Stood the queen, and maidens all, 
 
 They, that lady fair and tall, 
 
 Fain would see with sight; 
 
 All their beauty was fordone, 
 
 As the moon before the sun 
 
 Fades with morning light. 990 
 
 Quoth she then unto the king: 
 
 "Sire, I come but for one thing, 
 
 E'en to save my knight. 
 
 Ne'er had he such traitorous thought 
 
 That he the queen's love besought, 
 
 Ne'er by day nor night! 
 
 " Therefore, Sire, take heed to this, 
 
 Tho' he prayed not, she, I wis, 
 
 Fain his love would be; 
 
 He refused her, and said 1000 
 
 That his true love's lowest maid 
 
 Fairer were than she!" 
 
 Arthur spake: "It needs ho oath, 
 
 All can see that, by my troth, 
 
 Fairer far ye be ! " 
 
 To the queen the lady stept, 
 
 But a breath her brow hath swept, 
 
 Blind for aye is she. 
 
 To her steed she leapt straightway, 
 
 Quoth: "I bid ye all Good-day," 1010 
 
 No more would she bide. 
 
 From the forest Geoffrey sped, 
 
 Launfal's steed with him he led 
 
 To his master's side. 
 
 On his back he sprang, the knight, 
 
 Tarried not, but thought forthright 
 
 With his love to ride. 
 
 And the maidens, every one, 
 
 With their dame their way have gone 
 
 In great joy and pride. 1020 
 
 Rode the lady thro' Carlisle, 
 Far, unto a goodly isle, 
 Oleron, 't was hight, 
 
2l6 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And each year, as falls that day, 
 Launfal's steed ye may hear neigh, 
 Yea, and see with sight! 
 He who fain a joust would see, 
 Keep from rust his harness free, 
 Or in field would fight, 
 Needeth not to further ride, 
 Jousts enow he'll find that tide 
 With Launfal, the knight. 
 
 Thus Launfal, who erst was found 
 Good knight of the Table Bound, 
 
 1030 
 
 Passed to Faerie; 
 None in this land saw him more, 
 Nor of him have better lore 
 Than I tell to ye; 
 Thomas Chester made this tale 
 Of the good knight, Sir Launfale, 
 Famed for chivalrie; 1041 
 
 Jesu Christ, we pray thee here, 
 With Marie, Thy Mother dear, 
 Send us blessings free! 
 Amen. 
 
 SIR AMADACE 
 
 Then the good knight and his steward 
 
 true 
 They sat them down, and counsel drew 
 Alike from far and near; 
 Quoth the steward : " Sir ye owe yet more 
 Than your lands have yielded heretofore 
 E'en for this seven year, 
 Of whom ye can, I beseech you pray 
 He give you grace to a further day; 
 Then call your household here, 
 And put away many of your men, 10 
 And keep but one where ye now keep ten 
 Tho' they be ne'er so dear." 
 
 Sir Amadace quoth : " 'T were long, to wit, 
 
 Ere I of all these, my debts, were quit 
 
 Altho' I naught might spend, 
 
 Did I dwell the while where I was born 
 
 I were held of every man in scorn 
 
 Who now have many a friend ! 
 
 Accursed of all men should I be ig 
 
 Since I of their goods had been so free 
 
 That they erst while did lend. 
 
 Or I must hold them by fear and threat 
 
 Lest that which was theirs again they 
 
 get 
 Thus made I a sorry end! 
 
 " I will take unto me another rede, 
 And another counsel, in this my need, 
 
 Hid sorrow is better than seen! 
 
 But now good Steward, as thou hold'st 
 
 me dear, 
 Of my plight so sore let no man hear, 
 Hide it us twain between ! 30 
 
 My land in pledge for seven years set, 
 To the worth of all that I be in debt, 
 So shall I be freed, I ween ! 
 For out of this land I think to wend 
 The while I have silver and gold to spend 
 Till of debt I be quit full clean. 
 
 " But certes ere yet afar I fare 
 
 My goods in right royal wise I'll share 
 
 To aid me thou shalt not fail: 3g 
 
 Rich gifts will I give at each man's desire 
 
 To noble knight and to humble squire, 
 
 The poor shall his portion hail. 
 
 For some there be,, an they knew my 
 
 woe, 
 Who were even fain that it should be 
 
 so, 
 And naught would better my bale, 
 So courteous a man was never born 
 Who should 'scape from every breath of 
 
 scorn 
 When each man had told his tale!" 
 
 Sir Amadace, so the tale doth say, 
 Would get him forth, as fell the day, so 
 
SIR AMADACE 
 
 217 
 
 From his country in that stound, 
 But first full rich were the gifts he gave 
 Alike to squire and knight so brave, 
 Of steed and hawk and hound. 
 Thereafter, so doth it run, my tale, 
 He made him ready withouten fail 
 And to his woe he found, 
 When he upon his way would wend, 
 Naught in his coffers had he to spend 
 But barely forty pound ! 60 
 
 Thus as I tell ye Sir Amadace 
 
 Gat him forth on his way apace 
 
 As fast as ever he might, 
 
 He rode thro' a wood right cheerily 
 
 Till he came to a chapel of stone and tree 
 
 Wherein there burnt a light; 
 
 He bade his servant thither speed, 
 
 And take of that light therein good heed 
 
 And tidings bear forthright. 
 
 The servant, he hasted to do his will, 70 
 
 But the stench of the chapel, he liked it 
 
 ill, 
 Withstand it no man might! 
 
 His hood he drew over mouth and nose, 
 
 And came to the chapel door full close, 
 
 Tidings he fain would hear: 
 
 He turned his eye to a pane of glass 
 
 To see what marvels within might pass, 
 
 And lo! there stood a bier, 
 
 Around it candles, a goodly store, 
 
 A woman watcher, and no man more, 80 
 
 Christ, she was sad of cheer! 
 
 To tarry there was he no-wise fain, 
 
 Back to his master he sped again 
 
 And told him the tale so drear. 
 
 He quoth: "At yon chapel have I been, 
 A wondrous sight I there have seen, 
 My heart is heavy as lead; 
 There standeth a bier, of lights great 
 
 store, 
 There sitteth a woman, and no man 
 
 more, 
 Bitter the tears she shed! 90 
 
 So evil a savour there was alway 
 
 That certes never before to-day 
 Have I been so sore bestead ! 
 By grace of the palfrey that I bestride 
 But short while did I in that stress 
 
 abide, 
 I trow I had soon been dead!" 
 
 Sir Amadace bade his squire to fare: 
 "Ask thou of the woman what doth she 
 
 there, 
 True tidings bring to me!" 
 The squire he gat to the chapel wall, 100 
 And e'en as he said he saw withal, 
 It vexed him right bitterly: 
 But his nostrils were smitten with such 
 
 a smell 
 He might there in no-wise longer dwell, 
 Back to his lord went he, 
 And quoth: "Good Master, by your 
 
 leave, 
 Altho' I be loath your heart to grieve 
 Naught may ye know thro' me! 
 
 " A bier and candles, and nothing more, 
 A woman watching, and weeping sore, 
 Christ, she hath mickle care! m 
 
 She sigheth sore, and her hands doth 
 
 wring, 
 And ever she calls on Heaven's King 
 How long must he lie there? 
 She saith: 'Dear God, why must this 
 
 be, 
 This sorrow that I needs must see, 
 Why should he so foully fare?' 
 She saith she will leave him not alone 
 Till she lieth dead on that floor of stone 
 For the love that to him she bare." i» 
 
 Sir Amadace hearkened, and spurred his 
 
 steed, 
 To the chapel door he came with speed, 
 And hastily did alight; 
 As his squire had said, so he found it 
 
 truth, 
 "T was the wickedest whiff he had smelt, 
 
 i-sooth, 
 Yet in went that gallant knight, 
 
2l8 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And he quoth: "Dame, God's mercy be 
 
 with thee." 
 She answered: "Sir, welcome may ye 
 
 be," 
 Greeting she gave aright. 
 He quoth: "Say, Lady, what dost thou 
 
 here, i 30 
 
 Watching this dead corpse on this bier 
 Thus lonely throughout the night?" 
 
 She saith: "Sir, my place is at his side 
 For in sooth none other will here abide, 
 He was my husband dear." 
 Sir Amadace quoth: "I like it not, 
 'T will be your death, so God me wot, 
 He lieth o'er long on bier! w 
 
 But say, what manner of man was he? " 
 " Sir, a merchant of good degree 140 
 
 In this city; every year 
 Of rent had he full three hundred pound, 
 Of ready money, good and round, 
 And for debt he lieth here!" 
 
 Sir Amadace quoth: "By the Holy 
 Rood, 
 
 In what manner hath he so spent his 
 good 
 
 That thus it be all away?" 
 
 "Sir, on knights, and squires, and offi- 
 cers, 
 
 And lordings great who were his peers, 
 
 He gave them gifts alway. 150 
 
 Right royal feast he loved to make; 
 
 The poor folk, too, for Christ's dear sake, 
 
 He fed them every day ; 
 
 Who to his door should come anon 
 
 And for love of God would pray a boon 
 
 He ne'er would say him nay. 
 
 " Yet in sooth he wrought as doth a fool, 
 For he clad more men at every Yule 
 Than ever a noble knight! iso 
 
 His meat he thought in no wise to spare, 
 The board in his hall was never bare 
 With fair cloth richly flight; 
 And if I said that he did amiss, 
 He sware 'God woidd all repay,' I wis, 
 
 And made of my words full light. 
 To so much had he pledged his name 
 I dare not say for very shame 
 How sorry was his plight! 
 
 "And then came death — Ah, woe is 
 
 me! 
 My lord and I must sundered be, 170 
 He left me sorrow sore! 
 When the neighbours heard that sick he 
 
 lay 
 They came in haste, nor made delay, 
 Of their goods they asked the store: 
 All that was ever his or mine, 
 House or oxen, sheep or swine, 
 Forthwith from me they tore. 
 My marriage portion then I sold, 
 And all the pennies in payment told, 
 And yet he owed still more ! 180 
 
 " For when my quittance thus was told 
 
 Yet thirty pounds of good red gold 
 
 As debt remained alway, 
 
 To a merchant of this city good 
 
 Who fared afar by field and flood 
 
 Nor came till dead he lay. 
 
 Soon as he knew my sorry fare 
 
 He came as grim as any bear 
 
 The burial rites to stay: 
 
 He sware dogs should his body draw 190 
 
 And on the field his bones should gnaw — 
 
 Drear is my lot alway ! 
 
 " These sixteen weeks I have sat me here 
 
 Guarding this dead corpse on the bier 
 
 With candles burning bright, 
 
 And so I think to do alway 
 
 Till death shall take me hence away 
 
 By Mary, Maid of might!" 
 
 Sir Amadace asked the merchant's name 
 
 Who thus had done her grievous shame, — 
 
 She told him how he hight. 201 
 
 He quoth: "God's Power may well 
 
 avail 
 To comfort thee, and cure thy bale, 
 I bid thee, Dame, good-night!" 
 Fytte 
 
SIR AMADACE 
 
 219 
 
 Sir Amadace on his palfrey leapt, 
 Not might forbear, but sorely wept, 
 On his deeds he him bethought: 
 He quoth: "He who lieth those walls 
 
 within 
 Of a truth he and I might well be kin 
 For right so have I wrought!" 210 
 
 He told his squire how the merchant 
 
 hight, 
 And said: "In his house I will lie to- 
 night 
 By Christ Who dear me bought! 
 Go, look that the supper be ordered fair 
 With royal meats, and dainties rare, 
 Of spices spare thou naught!" 
 
 Soon as the squire he heard the tale 
 To seek the merchant he did not fail 
 And made ready for the knight. 
 Sir Amadace came with valiant show 
 But in his heart was mickle woe, 221 
 Hastily down he light, 
 He gat him into a chamber there, 
 And robed him in raiment rich and rare, 
 Set torches burning bright; 
 Forthwith he bade his squire to go 
 And pray his host, and his wife also, 
 To sup with him that night. 
 
 Straightway the squire he went his way, 
 
 And came to the merchant without delay, 
 
 His errand told anon: 231 
 
 The host right joyfully he sware: 
 
 "By Christ Whom Mary Maid did bear, 
 
 Thy lord's will shall be done!" 
 
 The board was set, and the cloth was laid, 
 
 The meal with dainties fair displayed, 
 
 Thus to the dais they won ; 
 
 Sir Amadace sat, and made good cheer, 
 
 But he thought of the dead man on the 
 
 bier, 
 Full sadly he mused thereon. 240 
 
 He quoth: "As I rode my way, I trow, 
 I saw a sight which I think on now 
 It grieveth me evermore, 
 In a lonely chapel beside the way 
 
 All on a bier a body lay, 
 
 With a woman weeping sore." 
 
 "Yea," quoth his host, "God give him 
 
 woe, 
 And all such wastrels as he also, 
 He wrought me ill of yore; 249 
 
 He lieth there with my thirty pound 
 Of honest money, red gold and round, 
 I shall see it never more!" 
 
 Quoth the knight: "I will tell thee a 
 
 better rede 
 Forgive, e'en as God has forgiven, his 
 
 deed, 
 And merit thou sure shalt have; 
 Think thou how God ordained for thee 
 A better lot than this man might see, 
 Let the corse be laid in grave!" 
 Then he sware: "By Jesu, Mary's Son, 
 That body its rest shall ne'er have won 
 Till I have the price I crave; 261 
 
 Let the woman die, as well as he. 
 Dogs shall gnaw their bones, as I fain 
 
 would see, 
 Wastrel was he, and knave!" 
 
 When Sir Amadace heard what the mer- 
 chant sware 
 He bade his steward in haste to fare, 
 Great kindness he did that day: 
 He said: "Go fetch me thirty pound 
 Of ready money good and round, 
 Nor tarry upon the way." 270 
 
 The steward, he held it for little skill, 
 Yet needs must he do his master's will, 
 Now hearken, for well ye may! 
 Full thirty pound the knight paid him 
 
 there, 
 Then bade them the wine cup around to 
 
 bear, 
 And prayed his host be gay. 
 
 Sir Amadace quoth: "Sir Host, now 
 
 tell, 
 Doth he owe thee more?" "Nay, God 
 
 keep thee well, 
 Thou hast paid me all, Sir Knight." 
 
220 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Then he quoth :" So far as ten pound will 
 take 280 
 
 That will I do for the dead man's sake, 
 So far shall he have his right; 
 Mass for his soul shall they say and sing, 
 His body to Christian burial bring, 
 That shalt thou see with sight. 
 Bishop and priest shalt thou aye entreat 
 That to-morrow they eat with me at 
 
 meat, 
 And see that the feast be dight." 
 
 Whenever it came to dawning time 
 
 Then all the bells began to chime 290 
 
 To bring that soul from stress; 
 
 All the religious, every one, 
 
 Towards that dead corpse are they gone 
 
 With many a rich burgess. 
 
 Thirty the priests who that day did sing, 
 
 And that gentle knight, he gave a ring 
 
 At every Mass, no less. 
 
 And then, when the service was done, 
 
 full soon 
 He prayed them to eat with him at noon 
 Great, and small, in gentleness. 300 
 
 The host, by a pillar he took his stand 
 And men drew nigh him on either hand 
 To wit what he would say — 1 
 He said: "Sirs, of late there hath lain 
 
 here 
 The corpse of a man upon a bier, 
 Ye know the cause alway; 
 Hither a royal knight he rode, 
 Of all the money the dead man owed 
 Hath he made me ready pay; 309 
 
 Then from his coffer he bade them bring 
 Ten pounds, with many a goodly ring 
 For his burying here to-day. 
 
 " In his name, and in that of the Dead, 
 
 't is meet 
 I bid ye to-day with him to eat 
 All of ye who be here." 
 As Sir Amadace prayed so did they all, 
 Of meat and drink took their fill withal, 
 Rich wine and food full dear. 
 
 But Sir Amadace spared to sit adown, 
 He served the poor folk of that town, 
 They lay to his heart anear. 321 
 
 When they had eaten their fill withal 
 Sir Amadace took his leave of all, 
 It seemed, of right good cheer. 
 
 When all the folk thus had had their fill 
 They saddled his palfrey at his will 
 And brought it before the door; 
 Sir Amadace, he was ready dight. 
 But he knew not where he should lie that 
 
 night, 
 Of money had he no more ! 330 
 
 Small wonder if he were sad at heart 
 When from all his goods he thus must 
 
 part, 
 In sooth it was sorry lore ! 
 Then, e'en as a courteous knight became, 
 He prayed leave of the master of noblest 
 
 name, 
 So gentles were wont of yore! 
 
 And scarcely the knight had gone his way 
 When every man would have his say 
 Ere he had passed the gate; 339 
 
 Some said : "This money was lightly won 
 When thus like water he lets it run, 
 And spendeth both morn and late." 
 Some said : " He was born in a lucky day 
 Who might win a penny of that man's 
 
 pay!" 
 Little they knew his state! 
 Lo! how they misjudged that gentle 
 
 knight' 
 Who had spent even more than he justly 
 
 might, 
 Sorrow was now his mate! 
 
 At the six-mile stone he drew his rein 
 Where a cross, it parted the way in 
 
 twain, 330 
 
 And he quoth, Sir Amadace, 
 To his faithful steward, ('t was him full 
 
 loth,) 
 To his sumpterman, and his squires 
 
 both, 
 
SIR AMADACE 
 
 221 
 
 And said: "Now by Christ, His Grace, 
 Good Sirs, I pray ye do not grieve 
 But now must ye take from me your 
 
 leave 
 Yourselves, ye know my case; 
 No man will I longer with me lead 
 When I have no silver that man to feed 
 Or clothe, in any place!" 360 
 
 Never a man was so hard of heart 
 But when he thus from his lord must 
 
 part, 
 He made mourning, loud and low. 
 Sir Amadace quoth: "Nay, have no 
 
 care, 
 For ye shall find masters everywhere, 
 I wot well it shall be so. 
 And God of His mercy, I give ye rede, 
 May send me counsel in this my need, 
 And bring me clean out of woe; 
 Merry of heart shall I once more be, 
 Then a welcome glad shall ye have from 
 
 me, 371 
 
 That would I have ye know." 
 
 He quoth to his servants in that stound: 
 "The worst steed here is worth full ten 
 
 pound, 
 That shall ye have anon; 
 Sumpterman, steward, squire and knave, 
 Each of you all for his own shall have 
 The horse that he rides upon, 
 Saddle, and bridle, and other gear, 
 Altho' I bought it never so dear, 380 
 I give it ye, by Saint John! 
 God keep ye all good men, I trow! 
 To the keeping of Christ I commit ye 
 
 now — " 
 So they left him, every one. 
 
 Thus all his men they went their way 
 And the knight, in sorrow he rode that 
 
 day, 
 All by himself alone. 
 Through the forest thick the road led 
 
 right, 
 Down from his palfrey would he alight 
 
 And, mournful, he made his moan, 390 
 When he thought of his lands, so fair 
 
 and good, 
 His towns and castles that stately stood, 
 How all were set on loan; 
 And how he was now so sore bestead 
 That for poverty he afar had fled, 
 For folly must thus atone. 
 
 Then in sorrow he spake, Sir Amadas : 
 "A man that of good but little has, 
 Men set him lightly by; 
 When I had three hundred pound of 
 
 rent 400 
 
 Two hundred I spent in that intent 
 Of such forethought was I! 
 The while I such household had at hand 
 Men held me a noble lord in land, 
 And gave to me honour high. 
 But now may the wise man dwell at 
 
 home 
 While fools are forced afar to roam, 
 And Christ wot, so may I! " 
 
 He said: "Sweet Jesu, Who died on 
 
 Rood, 
 Who shed for me Thy Precious Blood, 
 And all this world hath won, 411 
 
 I pray that I come not in the sight 
 Of any who knew me afore as knight, 
 Save I prosper, 'neath moon and sun. 
 And grant that I win unto me again 
 Those who their way from me have 
 
 ta'en, 
 Who have loyal service done. 
 Or else, Lord, I humbly pray of Thee 
 That Death may come swiftly unto me, 
 And my race betimes be run. 420 
 
 " For want of wit, so it seemeth me, 
 Out of the land I needs must flee, 
 From friendship I find small grace: 
 Thro' naught save good will and kindli- 
 ness 
 Have I brought myself to this sorry 
 
 stress — " 
 Thus prayed Sir Amadace: 
 
222 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And he quoth: "Lord Jesu, Who died on 
 
 Tree, 
 I pray Thee Thy succour send now to 
 
 me 
 Speedily, in this place; 429 
 
 For if but a measure of help thou send 
 I wot of that measure I fain would lend, 
 Nor turn from the poor my face!" 
 
 Thus he rode thro' the forest ways alone 
 And deemed that no man might hear his 
 
 moan, 
 For no man was there in sight; 
 Yet sudden a horseman was at his side, 
 And spake to him hastily in that tide, 
 Thereof was he sore affright: 
 The horseman, he rode a milk-white 
 
 steeu, 
 And milk-white, I ween, was all his weed 
 He seemed a full gallant knight. 441 
 
 Tho' Sir Amadace was to sorrow brought 
 In courtesy was he lacking naught, 
 Greeting he gave aright. 
 
 Quoth the White Knight: "Say, Friend, 
 
 shalt thou be he 
 Who maketh his moan thus bitterly, 
 With sad and sorry cheer?" 
 Sir Amadace, he made answer, "Nay!" 
 Quoth the knight: "That availeth thee 
 
 naught alway, 
 This long while have I been here; 450 
 I rede thee to mourn not in such wise, 
 He who falls, by the grace of God may 
 
 rise, 
 For His help is ever near. 
 Riches are but a loan, I wot. 
 Which thou hast, and again thou hast it 
 
 not, 
 Thou shalt find full many a peer! 
 
 " Now think thou on Him Who died on 
 
 Rood, 
 Who shed for the world His Precious 
 
 Blood, 
 For thee, and for mankind all; 
 The man who giveth in fashion free 460 
 
 To his fellow of high, or of low, degree 
 
 Shall reap his reward withal; 
 
 He who ever dealeth in customs kind 
 
 A courteous man, forsooth, shall find 
 
 Who shall his need forestall. 
 
 Repent thee of naught that thou hast 
 
 done, 
 For God, He Who shapeth moon and 
 
 sun, 
 Shall yet repay thee all. 
 
 "Say, would'st thou love him o'er 
 
 everything 
 Who should thee out of thy sorrow 
 
 bring, 470 
 
 And set thee free from care? 
 To the land of a king art thou full 
 
 near 
 Who hath no treasure so close and dear 
 As his daughter young and fair: 
 He hath sworn to no man her hand to 
 
 yield 
 Save to him whom men reckon the first 
 
 in field, 
 Who the prize of the joust shall bear, 
 Now I hold thee well for the goodliest 
 
 knight 
 That ever mine eyes have seen with sight 
 Of all men who harness wear. 480 
 
 " Thou shalt ride to the joust in such fair 
 
 array 
 As ever a knight of worship may, 
 But thou needs must go alone: 
 Thou shalt say: the folk who set forth 
 
 with thee 
 Were drowned in a tempest upon the 
 
 sea, 
 Thou hast lost them every one. 
 Rich gifts shalt thou scatter with open 
 
 hand, 
 And shalt win thee the nobles of the 
 
 land, 
 I would have thee spare for none; 
 See thou be fair of speech and free 490 
 Till thou draw a following unto thee, 
 From me is their payment won ! " 
 
SIR AMADACE 
 
 223 
 
 He quoth: "Be thou free of hand alway, 
 
 The cost of thy household will I pay 
 
 Tho' it count ten thousand head: 
 
 For mickle honour thy deeds shall crown, 
 
 Fair fields and forests, tower and town, 
 
 That lady shalt thou wed! 
 
 And when thou hast won thy friends to 
 
 thee 
 Then look thou again my face to see, 500 
 I will seek thee in that stead. 
 But a covenant make ere hence I fare 
 That thou wilt freely with me share 
 In such wise as thou hast sped! " 
 
 Then answered him fair, Sir Amadace: 
 "An thou hast power, by God's good 
 
 grace, 
 In this wise to comfort me, 
 Thou shalt find me in all things true and 
 
 leal, 
 All that I have will I fairly deal 
 In twain, 'twixt me and thee." 510 
 
 The White Knight quoth: "Now 
 
 Friend, Farewell, 
 The blessing of God upon thee dwell, 
 And work with thee verily." 
 Sir Amadace answered: "Friend, God 
 
 speed, 
 I trow thou shalt find me in act and deed 
 True as a man may be!" 
 Fytte 
 
 Sir Amadace came to the salt sea strand, 
 
 And lo! ships lay broken upon the sand, 
 
 A marvel it was to see! 
 
 Wreckage lay scattered here and there, 
 
 Knights in armour and minevere, 521 
 
 And strong steeds white and gray. 
 
 Riches and goods in every guise 
 
 That the heart of man might well devise 
 
 Cast up by the waters lay; 
 
 Chests and coffers of gold and good, 
 
 Scattered among the wreckage stood, 
 
 No man had bome aught away ! 
 
 Sir Amadace robed himself with speed 
 Id a web of gold, a goodly weed, ■ 530 
 
 Better there might not be; 
 
 He chose him a steed whereon to ride, 
 
 A better methinks, might none bestride, 
 
 Who jousting were fain to see. 
 
 This chance befell him beside a tower, 
 
 Thereafter he won to him great honour 7 
 
 Within that fair citie. 
 
 The king beheld that goodly knight, 
 
 He, and his daughter fair and bright, 
 
 The prize of the joust was she. 54° 
 
 The king to his daughter quoth that 
 
 tide: 
 "Lo! yonder a gallant knight doth ride." 
 Messengers took he there, 
 His body-squire, and of good knights 
 
 three, 
 And saith: "Go, see who yon man may be 
 And whence he did hither fare. 
 Tell him his goods shall be held in hand 
 Wholly as he shall here command, 
 For that shall he have no care. sta 
 
 If he asketh aught that ye well may do 
 Say ye that your will is good thereto, 
 If hither in peace he fare." 
 
 The messengers came to the salt sea 
 
 strand, 
 They took Sir Amadace by the hand, 
 Tidings of him they pray : U 
 "Our lord, the king, us hath hither sent 
 To welcome your coming with good 
 
 intent 
 An ye your will shall say. 
 He saith, your goods shall be held in 
 
 hand 
 Wholly as ye shall here command, 560 
 No lie do we speak to-day. 
 Whatsoever ye will that the king's men 
 
 do 
 Ye have but to give them command 
 
 thereto 
 For service right glad and gay." 
 
 Quoth Sir Amadace: "I was a prince of 
 
 pride, 
 And I had bethought me at this tide, 
 
224 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 At the tourney here to be : 
 
 I was victualled well with meat and 
 
 wine, 
 With gallant steeds and harness fine, 
 And good knights, verily, 570 
 
 But such a storm did upon us break 
 That my goodly ships are gone to wreck, 
 As ye yourselves may see. 
 Of gold and silver have I enow, 
 But the men who sailed with me, I trow, 
 Not one is left to me." 
 
 Sir Amadace on his gallant steed 
 Anon to the castle gates they lead, 
 And told the king his case; 
 The king, he quoth: "Thou art welcome 
 
 here, 580 
 
 I rede thee to be of joyful cheer, 
 Thank Jesu for His Grace! 
 So fierce a tempest hast thou been in, 
 'T was a right fair hap that thou 
 
 should'st win 
 To shelter in this place. 
 But of all the men I have seen, I trow, 
 None have come so near to my heart as 
 
 thou 
 Who art fair of speech and face." 
 
 Thereon the king, for that good knight's 
 
 sake, 
 A cry through the city bade them make, 
 And stablished it by decree, 591 
 
 That all who a master were fain to find 
 Of knight or squire, of knave or hind, 
 Each man in his degree, 
 Should get him unto Sir Amadace, 
 Who found himself in such sorry case, 
 His men had been drowned at sea. 
 He would give them payment as much 
 
 and more 
 As any master had done before, 
 An they would with him be. 600 
 
 The gentlemen all who heard that cry 
 They gat them to him right hastily, 
 Of his service were they fain, 
 So when the Tourney abroad was cried 
 
 There was no lord on either side 
 
 With half such gallant train ! 
 
 There did he win to him great renown 
 
 In field and meadow, tower and town, 
 
 Castles he held again; 
 
 A hundred steeds and more he won, 610 
 
 One half he gave to the King anon, 
 
 Parting his prize in twain. 
 
 Thence to the palace the knights would 
 
 fare, 
 Thither they went, and would not spare, 
 As fast as they might ride; 
 The King made that knight full noble 
 
 cheer, 
 And saith: "Now welcome my friend so 
 
 dear, 
 Ye be come in a happy tide! " 
 He called him his daughter so fair and 
 
 sweet, 
 And they sat them down to the board at 
 
 meat, 620 
 
 The knight by the maiden's side; 
 Each on the other to gaze was fain, 
 The love-light was kindled betwixt the 
 
 twain, 
 True lovers were they and tried! 
 
 Then the king, he led Sir Amadace 
 Aside with him for a little space, 
 And thus to him did say : 
 "Sir Knight, I have but one daughter 
 
 fair, 
 Of all my lands shall she be the heir, 
 She ate with thee to-day : 630 
 
 An thou be a man who would wed a 
 
 wife, 
 I swear to thee truly by my life, 
 I will give thee that gentle may; 
 And another gift I will with her give, 
 The half of my kingdom while I live, 
 And the whole when I be away!" 
 
 "Gramercy, Sire!" quoth Sir Amadace: 
 He thanked the king for his royal grace, 
 And for his gifts so good. 
 Thereafter, so the tale doth say, 640 
 
SIR AMADACE 
 
 225 
 
 They made forthwith to the kirk their 
 
 ' way, 
 
 He wedded her, by the Rood! 
 
 Of gold he gave freely in that stound, 
 
 Largesse of silver, many a pound, 
 
 As on their way they rode; 
 
 Then they sat them down to feast in hall 
 
 Full many a lord and lady, all 
 
 Who were of gentle blood. 
 
 Thus came Sir Amadace forth of woe, 
 God grant us His grace, that we find it 
 
 so — 650 
 
 Great feasting did they make ! 
 The revel lasted a good fortnight, 
 With meat and drink the board was 
 
 dight, 
 Nor spears they spared to break; 
 A year and a half with that lady fair 
 He dwelt, and a son unto him she bare, 
 Great mirth made for his sake! 
 Now listen, lordings, and ye shall hear 
 How there came to him his comrade 
 
 dear, 
 His share of all to take. 660 
 
 He came in raiment so sheen and fair, 
 
 Even as he an angel were, 
 
 Clad was he all in white: 
 
 The porter his errand fain would know, — 
 
 He quoth: "Do thou to thy master go 
 
 And bear my words aright; 
 
 Go quickly, and if he ask aught of me, 
 
 Whence I be come, and of what countrie, 
 
 Say, I ride all in white; 
 
 And say that we twain have together 
 
 been, 670 
 
 Methinks, he aforetime my face hath 
 
 seen, 
 If he be a loyal knight!" 
 
 The porter, he sped to the castle hall, 
 Full soon he had sought out his lord 
 
 withal, 
 And he hailed him thus anon : 
 "Lord, lord, there be come the fairest 
 
 knight 
 
 Whom ever mine eyes have seen with 
 
 sight, 
 Beneath or sun or moon, 
 White as the snow his gallant steed, 
 White as the snow his knightly weed, 
 He asketh of thee no boon, 681 
 
 He saith that ye have together been — 
 I trow who aforetime his face hath seen 
 Shall know him again eftsoon!" 
 
 "Is he come?" quoth the knight, "my 
 
 comrade dear, 
 I trow me he is right welcome here, 
 As behoveth him well to be! 
 Now one and all, here I make command 
 That ye do to this knight, with foot and 
 
 hand, 
 Such service as due to me!" 690 
 
 Sir Amadace straight to the portal drew, 
 And with him she went, his lady true, 
 Who was right fair to see; 
 And she made him welcome with right 
 
 good cheer, 
 For the friends of her lord to her heart 
 
 were dear, 
 Blessed such wives as she! 
 
 Who should stable his charger then? 
 Knight, squire, yeoman, nor serving 
 
 men, 
 No one with him he brought: 699 
 
 Gentlemen gladly would take his steed, 
 Knights would him fain to his chamber 
 
 Thereof would he have naught. 
 
 He saith: "Nay, certes, the sooth to tell, 
 
 Here will I eat, nor drink, nor dwell, 
 
 By Christ, Who dear me bought! 
 
 But now shalt thou deal thy goods in 
 
 two, 
 Give me my portion, and let me go, 
 If I be worthy aught!" 
 
 Then quoth Sir Amadace fair and free : 
 "For the love of God, let such words be, 
 They grieve my heart full sore, 711 
 
 For we may not part in equal share 
 
226 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Our lands that lie so broad and fair, 
 
 In a fortnight's space, and more! 
 
 But let us dwell together here, 
 
 E'en as we twain were brethren dear, 
 
 And thine the treasure store! 
 
 'T were well the rest should not parted 
 
 be, 
 But we hold it all as due to thee, 
 Methinks 't were the better lore!" 720 
 
 The White Knight quoth: "Keep thy 
 
 lands so wide, 
 Thy towers, and castles, on every side, 
 Of these do I covet none: 
 Keep thou thy woods, thy waters clear, 
 Thy fields and forests far and near, 
 Thy rings with sparkling stone; 
 Thy silver and thy gold so red, 
 I trow they may stand me in no stead, 
 I swear it by Saint John! 72g 
 
 But upon thy faith, and without strife, 
 Give me half thy child, and half thy wife, 
 To fare with me anon ! " 
 
 Then Sir Amadace cried with woeful 
 
 cheer: 
 "Alas, that I won this lady dear, 
 Or aught of this world's good! 
 For the love of Him Who died on tree, 
 Whatsoever thou wilt, that do with me, 
 By Him Who died on Rood ! 
 Yea, take all the goods that here I have 
 With thee, but her life I prithee save!" 
 The knight, he understood, 741 
 
 And he sware: "By God, Who dear me 
 
 bought, 
 Of other things I will have naught 
 Of all thy worldly good! 
 
 " Think thou on the covenant that we 
 
 made 
 In the wood, when thou wast so sore 
 
 dismayed, 
 How thou didst speak me fair!" — 
 Sir Amadace quoth: "'T is truth alway, 
 But methinks should I now my lady 
 
 slay 
 
 A deadly sin it were!" 750 
 
 The lady fair, right well she knew $ 
 How the matter stood betwixt the two, 
 She stayed her weeping there — 
 And spake: "As thou art a loyal knight 
 Thy covenant shalt thou keep aright, 
 Nor for love of me forbear!" 
 
 Then bravely she spake, that lady 
 
 bright, 
 "Thou shalt keep thy faith with this 
 
 goodly knight, 
 By the Blessed Trinity; 
 Ye made a covenant true and fast, 760 
 Look it be holden to the last, 
 By Him Who died on Tree! 
 If the Will of Christ must needs be so 
 Take me, and part me here in two, 
 My lord art thou verily! 
 God forbid that for true love's sake 
 A scorn of thy name in the land I make, 
 And falsehood of fealty!" 
 
 Steadfast she stood, and fair of face, 
 Nor shed a tear, a little space, 770 
 
 Then quoth that lady dear: 
 "Fetch me my little son so fair 
 Whom a while since I of my body bare, 
 Lay him my heart anear." — ■ 
 "Now," quoth the White Knight: 
 
 "answer me, 
 Which of the twain shall more precious 
 
 be?" 
 He saith: "My wife so dear!" 
 "Then since thou lovest her the best 
 Thou shalt part her in twain at my 
 
 behest, 
 Her flesh asunder shear!" 780 
 
 Then when Sir Amadace needs must see 
 That never a better lot might be 
 He fared as he were wood; 
 And all the men who were in that hall 
 Swooning for sorrow adown they fall, . 
 Who erst by their master stood: 
 They made ready a board whereon to lie, 
 She kissed her lord full tenderly, 
 
SIR AMADACE 
 
 227 
 
 And signed her with Holy Rood. 789 
 Then meekly she laid her down in place, 
 And they drew a cloth across her face, 
 That lady mild of mood! 
 
 Quoth the White Knight: "I would not 
 
 do thee wrong, 
 The goods which of right unto thee be- 
 long, 
 Thou shalt part them at thy will:" — 
 Then answered Sir Amadace fair and free : 
 " E'en as thou sayest, so shall it be, 
 Thy wish would I fulfil." 
 Sir Amadace lifted his sword alway 
 To smite the lady who lowly lay — 800 
 Quoth the White Knight: "Peace, be 
 
 still!" 
 He lifted the lady and child so fair, 
 And gave them again to Sir Amadace 
 
 there, 
 And quoth, "That were little skill! 
 
 " I blame thee little, by this my troth, 
 If to slay such lady thou wert full loth, 
 Tho' it were thy pledge to save: 
 But now shalt thou know I was e'en as 
 
 glad 
 When thou gavest all that ever thou had 
 My body to lay in grave! 810 
 
 Unburied, I lay, doomed the hounds to 
 
 feed, 
 First thirty pounds didst thou pay at 
 
 need, 
 Then all that thou didst have. 
 I prayed God to bring thee forth from 
 
 care 
 Who hadst made thyself of goods so bare, 
 Mine honour and name to save ! 
 
 " Now, farewell," he said: "my comrade 
 
 dear, 
 For no longer may I linger here 
 Nor speak with thee at will: 
 But see thou cherish her as thy life 820 
 Who had given her body withouten 
 
 strife 
 Thy covenant to fulfil!" 
 
 With that he swift from their sight did 
 
 pass 
 As dew it melteth from off the grass, 
 And the twain abode there still; 
 Then down they knelt them upon their 
 
 knee, 
 And gave thanks to God, and to Mary 
 
 free, 
 Who had guarded them from ill! 
 
 Thus Sir Amadace, and his gentle wife, 
 With joy and bliss they passed their life 
 Unto their dying day. 831 
 
 I wot there be ladies not a few 
 To-day, who had been to their lord as 
 
 true, 
 Yet some would have said him nay! 
 But whoso serveth right faithfully 
 Our Lord, and His Mother Maid Marie 
 Of him would I soothly say, 
 Tho' like misfortune at times befall 
 Yet God shall grant Him his will withal, 
 And lead him in Heaven's way. 840 
 
 His messengers then that good knight 
 
 sent, 
 Far and near thro' the land they went 
 E'en to his own countrie, 
 Till all unto whom his lands he sold, 
 Field or forest, town or hold, 
 Were bought out rightfully. 
 His steward and those who to him were 
 
 dear 
 He sent, and called them again anear, 
 And dowered with gold and fee, 
 That they with him their days might 
 
 spend 850 
 
 Evermore, unto their life's end, 
 In gladness and peace to be. 
 
 And then it chanced, at God's good will, 
 The king died, and the knight abode 
 
 there still, 
 As ye shall understand: 
 And now was he lord of town and tower, 
 They came to his bidding in that hour 
 I The knights throughout the land : 
 
228 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 They crowned Sir Amadace on that 
 
 day 
 With golden crown, in royal array, 860 
 And bowed to his command. — 
 
 Now pray we One God, in Persons 
 
 Three, 
 To gladden and comfort this companie, 
 And keep us safe in His Hand! 
 
 YWAIN AND GAWAIN 
 
 THE WINNING OF THE LADY 
 OF THE FOUNTAIN 1 
 
 Then went Sir Ywain to his inn, 
 His men he ready found therein, 
 Unto a squire then did he say : 
 "My palfrey saddle now straightway, 
 The same do by my strongest steed, 
 And take with thee my richest weed; 
 At yonder gate I forth will ride, 
 Without the town I will abide. 
 Now hie thee swiftly unto me, 
 I go a journey, speedily, 10 
 
 My palfrey thou again shalt bring, 
 And speak no word of this same thing — 
 If me again thou fain would'st see, 
 Let none know of this secresy, 
 If any man would fain be told, 
 See that thou, loyal, promise hold." 
 "Yea, sir," he quoth, "with right good- 
 will, 
 All that thou biddest, I'll fulfil, 
 And at your own will shall ye ride, 
 Thro' me, ye shall of none be spied." 20 
 
 Forth did he go then, Sir Ywain, 
 He thinketh, ere he come again, 
 To 'venge his cousin, an he might — 
 The squire, he hath his harness dight, 
 He followed aye his master's rede, 
 Brought him his harness and his steed. 
 When Ywain was without the town 
 He from his palfrey lighted down, 
 Robed him, as fitting, in his weed, 
 And leapt upon his goodly steed, 30 
 
 Into the country rode forthright, 
 1 Twain and Gawain, ed. Schleich, 11. 565-1466. 
 
 Until the day drew nigh to night. 
 He rode by many a mountain high, 
 Desert, and plain, he passed them by, 
 Until he to that pathway came 
 Which he must needs take, at that 
 
 same, 
 Then was he sure that he should see 
 The fountain, and the wondrous tree. 
 The castle he beheld at last, 
 Thither he hied him fair and fast, 40 
 More courtesy, and honour fair, 
 I trow me, were his portion there 
 And comforts more, by manifold, 
 Than Colgrevance in sooth had told; 
 Within that tower he lodged, I wot, 
 Better than e'er had been his lot. 
 
 At morn he rode forth on the street, 
 And with the churl right soon did 
 
 meet 
 Who should direct him on his way — 
 He crossed himself, the sooth to say, so 
 Twenty times, in a little span, 
 Such marvel had he of that man, 
 He wondered much so foul a wight 
 E'er on this earth had seen the light. 
 Then to the well he rode, swift pace, 
 Down he alighted in that place, 
 The basin would he take anon, 
 Water he cast upon the stone; 
 Full soon there followed, without fail, 
 Both wind and thunder, rain and hail, 60 
 When ceased the storm, he straight did 
 
 see 
 The birds alight upon that tree, 
 They sang as sweetly on the bough 
 As they had done afore, I trow. 
 
YWAIN AND GAWAIN 
 
 229 
 
 And then, full soon, he saw a knight, 
 Coming as swift as bird in flight, 
 With semblance stern, and wrathful 
 
 cheer, 
 And hastily he drew anear. 
 To speak of love they thought no more 
 For each the other hated sore, 70 
 
 They drive together on the field, 
 Riven full soon is each knight's shield, 
 Shivered to haft, their spears they fell, 
 But each knight kept his seat full well. 
 Then forth they drew their swords so 
 
 keen, 
 Dealt doughty strokes, the twain be- 
 tween. 
 To pieces have they hewn each shield, 
 The fragments fly full far afield; 
 They smite the helms with wrath and 
 
 ire, 
 At every stroke outbursts the fire; 80 
 Buffets right good they give, indeed, 
 But neither stirs from off his steed — 
 Boldly, the twain, they shew their 
 
 might, 
 I trow it was no feint, their fight! 
 As from their hauberks men might 
 
 know — 
 The blood did from their bodies flow, 
 Each on the other smote so fast 
 No long time might such battle last. 
 Hauberks were broken, helmets riven, 
 Strong strokes, and stiff, I trow, were 
 
 given; 90 
 
 Yet on their steeds they fought always 
 The battle was the more to praise. 
 Sir Ywain, at the last, doth show, 
 Valiant, his might against his foe, 
 So eagerly he smote him there 
 Helmet and head, he cleft them fair, 
 The knight was well-nigh slain, indeed, 
 Flight was, he knew, the better rede, 
 And fast he fled, with might and main, 
 And fast he followed, Sir Ywain; 100 
 But he might not his flight o'ertake, 
 Therefore great mourning did he make, 
 Yet followed stoutly where he fled, 
 Full fain to take him, quick, or dead. 
 
 So to the city followed he 
 
 And ne'er a living man did see; 
 
 Both, to the castle-gate they win — 
 
 Ywain would swiftly pass therein; 
 
 At either entry hung, I wis, 
 
 Full straitly wrought, a portcullis, no 
 
 With iron and steel 't was shod full 
 
 well 
 Fitting right closely where it fell. 
 There-under, was a blade so keen 
 That sore misliked the knight, I ween — 
 His horse's foot, it touched thereon, 
 The portcullis, it fell anon, 
 Before the hinder saddle-bow, 
 Saddle, and steed, it smote them thro' 
 The spurs from off his heels it shore — 
 Sir Ywain, he must mourn him sore, 120 
 But, ere he could have passed them 
 
 quite, 
 The other gate, it closed full tight. 
 'T was of God's Grace it chanced so 
 That tho' it cut his steed in two, 
 And smote the spurs from either heel 
 Yet he himself no harm did feel. 
 Betwixt the gates he's captive now, — 
 Much mourning did he make, I trow, 
 And much bemoaned his evil plight 139 
 And that he 'd thus escaped, the knight. 
 As in a trap he stood, withal, 
 He heard behind him, in a wall, 
 A doorway open, fair and well, 
 Thereout there came a demoiselle, 
 The door behind her fast did make 
 And gracious words to him she spake. 
 "Sir, by Saint Michael," thus quoth she, 
 "Here hast thou evil hostelry, 
 Dead art thou, dost thou here remain, 
 For this, my lord, whom thou hast 
 
 slain, 140 
 
 For sooth it is, thou didst him slay, — 
 My lady mourneth sore alway, 
 Yea, and his household, every one, 
 Full many a foeman there hast won. 
 Yea, for thy bane they be full bold, 
 Thou comest not from out this hold, 
 They shall not fail for very might, — 
 Slay thee they will, in open fight." 
 
230 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 He quoth: "By God, Who gave me 
 
 breath 
 Numbers shall ne'er do me to death. 150 
 Their hands on me they ne'er shall 
 
 lay-" 
 "Nay, certes," quoth she, "an I may, 
 For tho' thou be full straitly stead 
 Methinks, in no wise art adread; 
 And Sir," she quoth: "I owe to thee 
 Service and honour fair and free; 
 Long time ago, I needs must bring, 
 When young, a message to the King 
 Such wisdom had I not, or wit, 
 As doth a maiden well befit, 160 
 
 And from the time I did alight 
 At court, was none so courteous knight 
 Who unto me would then take heed, 
 Save thou alone, God give thee meed ! 
 Great honour didst thou do to me 
 And I shall now repay it thee. 
 Tho' seldom I thee saw, I trow, 
 By birth, King Urien's son art thou, 
 And men shall thee, Sir Ywain, call; 
 Of me thou may'st be sure withal, 170 
 Wilt thou my counsel follow still 
 No man shall do thee harm or ill; 
 My ring I here will leave with thee, 
 (But at my asking yield it me,) 
 When thou be brought from out thy 
 
 pain 
 Then shalt thou give it me again. 
 For as the bark doth shield the tree, 
 E'en so my ring shall shelter thee, 
 When on thy hand thou bear the stone 
 Of mischief men shall do thee none. 180 
 For this same stone, it hath such might 
 That no man shall of thee have sight." 
 Now wit ye well, that Sir Ywain, 
 Of these her words, he was full fain; 
 In at the door she hath him led, 
 And set him down upon her bed, 
 A noble quilt, it lay thereon, 
 Richer, I trow, was never none, 
 She said, if he would aught, anon, 
 That, at his liking, should be done; 190 
 He said to eat was he full fain ; 
 She went, and swiftly came again, 
 
 A roasted capon brought she soon, 
 With a clean cloth, and bread thereon, 
 A jar of rich wine too, she bore, 
 And cup, wherein the wine to pour. 
 With right good cheer he drank and 
 
 ate, 
 I trow, his need thereof was great. 
 When he had drunk, and eaten well, 
 A noise, upon his ears it fell, 200 
 
 Men sought for him, they would him 
 
 slay, 
 Fain to avenge their lord were they, 
 Ere that the corpse in earth was laid — 
 The demoiselle, she to him said: 
 "Thy foemen seek to slay thee now, 
 But whoso comes or goes, do thou 
 Of them be in no wise adread, 
 But stir thou not from out this stead; 
 Within this chamber seek they will, 209 
 But on this couch here hold thee still, 
 And of them all thou shalt make light. 
 But when they bear the corpse forth* 
 
 right 
 Unto the kirk, upon the bier, 
 Forsooth, a sorry cry shalt hear, 
 Then shall they make a doleful din, 
 Then shall they seek thee oft herein, 
 But look thou be of heart full light, 
 Never of thee shall they have sight, 
 Here shalt thou be, maugre their beard, 
 And therefore be nowise afeard ; 220 
 
 Thy foes shall be e'en as the blind, 
 Seeking before thee, and behind, 
 On every side shalt thou be sought. — 
 Now must I go, but fear thee naught, 
 I '11 do as shall be good for thee 
 Tho' ill thereof should come to me." 
 
 Then to the portal forth she gat, 
 Full many men she found thereat, 
 Well armed they were, and were full fain 
 Sir Ywain to have caught, and slain. 230 
 Half of his steed they found that day 
 Where dead within the gate it lay, 
 But of the knight there found they 
 
 naught. 
 There mickle grief had they unsought, 
 
YWAIN AND GAWAIN 
 
 231 
 
 Of door or window, was there none 
 Thro' which he might away have gone. 
 They quoth, that there he needs must be 
 Unless in witchcraft skilled were he, 
 Or nigromancy well had known, 
 Or else on wings away had flown. 240 
 Thus, hastily, they gat them all, 
 And sought him in the maiden's hall, 
 In chambers high, where naught did 
 
 hide, 
 In cellars deep, on every side; 
 Ywain, of that was well aware, 
 Still on the couch he held him there, 
 No man amid them all who might 
 Come nigh, a blow thereon to smite. 
 But all about they smote so fast 249 
 That they their weapons brake at last, 
 And great their sorrow, and their woe, 
 That they their vengeance must forego. 
 They went their way with doleful cheer, 
 And soon thereafter came the bier, 
 A lady followed, milk-white, fair, 
 None with her beauty might compare, 
 She wrung her hands, out-burst the 
 
 blood, 
 For sorrow was she well nigh wood; 
 Her locks so fair she tare eft-soon, 
 And oft she fell adown in swoon, 260 
 In doleful tone she mourned her loss — 
 The holy water, and the Cross 
 Men bare before that train anon; 
 There followed many a mother's son, 
 Before the corpse.a knight bestrode 
 The dead man's steed, a charger good, 
 In all his harness well arrayed, 
 With spear and shield fitly displayed. 
 The cry, Sir Ywain heard it there, 
 The dole of this, the lady fair, 270 
 
 None might surpass her grief and woe 
 When thus her lord to grave must go, 
 The priests and monks, in fit degree, 
 They do the service solemnly. 
 
 Lunete, she stood within the throng 
 Until Sir Ywain deemed it long, 
 Then from the crowd she goes again, 
 Swiftly she seeketh Sir Ywain, 
 
 She quoth: "How goes it Sir, with thee? 
 I trust thou well advised shalt be?" 280 
 "Certes," he quoth, "thou speakest 
 
 well, 
 Abashed was I the sooth to tell"; 
 He quoth: "Leman, I pray of thee 
 If it in any wise may be, 
 That I may look a little space 
 Thro' hole or window, in this place, 
 For wondrous fain" he quoth, "am I 
 To see your lady, verily." 
 That maid, she soon undid withal, 
 A little wicket in the wall, 200 
 
 There of that dame he gat a sight: 
 Aloud she cried on God's great Might: 
 "Have mercy on his sins, I pray, 
 For in no land there lived alway 
 A knight who was so fair as he, 
 And none such may there ever be — 
 Thro' the wide world, beneath the sun, 
 So fair, so courteous, was there none! 
 God grant thee grace, that so tbou 
 
 may 
 Dwell with His Son, in endless day. 300 
 So generous liveth none on land, 
 Nor none so doughty of their hand." — 
 When thus her speech to end was brought 
 Swooning, oft-times she fell, distraught. 
 
 Now let we that fair lady be, 
 
 Of Ywain speak we presently, — 
 
 Love, that so mickle is of might, 
 
 With sore wounds doth Sir Ywain smite, 
 
 That wheresoe'er he ride, or go, 
 
 She hath his heart who was his foe. 310 
 
 His heart is surely set, I ween, 
 
 Where he himself dare not be seen; 
 
 Thus, sorely longing, bideth he, 
 
 Hoping his lot may bettered be. 
 
 All men who at that burial were 
 
 Their leave take of that lady fair, 
 
 And to their home they all be gone — 
 
 The lady have they left alone, 
 
 She with her waiting-maid doth dwell. 
 
 And others, whom she Ioveth well. 3«> 
 
 Then her lament began anew 
 
 For sorrow paled her skin and hue, 
 
232 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 For his soul's health her beads she 
 
 told — 
 She took a psalter all of gold, 
 To say the psalms she swift began 
 And took no heed to any man. 
 Sir Ywain woeful was indeed, 
 For little hope had he to speed, 328 
 
 He quoth: "Here am I much to blame 
 Since I love them who would me shame, 
 But yet I wrought her woe, 't is true, 
 Since I it was her lord who slew; 
 Nor know I how I may begin, 
 With trick or wile, her love to win; 
 Slender that lady is, and small, 
 Her eyes be clear as crystal all, 
 Certes, no man on earth that be 
 Could tell her beauties fittingly." 
 Thus was Sir Ywain sore bestead, 
 From Reason's path aside was led 340 
 To set his love on one, who 'Id see 
 Him brought to death right willingly; 
 He said, he 'Id have that dame to wife 
 Or in that cause would lose his life. 
 
 Thus doth he sit and think amain : 
 The maiden comes to him again, 
 She said: "How hast thou fared to-day 
 Since that from thee I went away?" 
 Soon did she see him wan and pale 
 And knew right well what did him ail, 
 She quoth: "I know what would thy 
 heart, 351 
 
 To hinder it were ne'er my part, 
 Certes, I'll help thee out of ward 
 And bring thee to a sure reward, — " 
 He quoth: "Now Lady, certainly, 
 Hence will I steal not, privily, 
 But I will go in full day-light 
 So that I be in all men's sight, 
 Openly, and on every side — 
 What matters it what may betide? 360 
 But as a man I hence will fare." — 
 Then answered him that maiden fair: 
 "Sir, thou shalt hence in honour go, 
 And goodly succour shalt thou know, 
 But Sir, abide here patiently 
 Until I come again to thee." 
 
 Soothly she knew his heart's intent, 
 And therefore 't was she wisely went 
 Unto the lady fair and bright, 
 For unto her she freely might 370 
 
 Say all that was within her will, 
 For that she was her mistress still, 
 Keeper, and counsellor full dear — 
 To her she spake as ye shall hear 
 In counsel good betwixt the twain — 
 "Madam, to marvel am I fain 
 That ye thus grieve, and sorrow sore; 
 For God's sake, give your mourning 
 
 o'er, 
 Bethink ye now of this one thing, 370 
 How that he comes, Arthur the King, 
 Bethink ye of that message well 
 That late the sauvage Demoiselle 
 Did in her letter to ye send — 
 Alas! Who shall ye now defend, 
 Your land, and all your folk, I pray 
 Since ye will not your weeping stay? 
 Ah! madam, now take heed to me, 
 You have no knight in this countrie 
 Who durst his body risk at need 
 Upon the chance of doughty deed, 390 
 Nor who should dare withstand the 
 
 boast 
 Of Arthur, and his goodly host. 
 Yet if none dare the king withstand 
 Then ye, for certain lose your land!" 
 
 The lady understood full well 
 Why in this wise her counsel fell, 
 She bade her swiftly leave her there, 
 And that she should in no wise dare 
 To speak with her such words again — 
 Her heart, for grief, to break was 
 
 fain. 400 
 
 She quoth : " Now get thee hence away ! " 
 The maiden thus began to say : 
 "Madam, 't is often women's mood 
 To blame those who give counsel good." 
 She went her way, dismayed for 
 
 naught, — 
 And then the lady her bethought 
 The maid, in sooth, had said no wrong, 
 And so she sat, and pondered long. 
 
YWAIN AND GAWAIN 
 
 2 33 
 
 In study thus she sat alone: 
 The maiden, she returned anon, — 410 
 "Madam," she said, "a child ye be, 
 Yourself may ye harm easily, 
 Chastise your heart, Madam, I pray, 
 Great shame it doth to ye alway, 
 Thus sore to weep and make great cry, 
 Think thou on all thy chivalry; 
 Dost deem that all thy knighthood's 
 
 flower 
 Died with their lord, in that same hour, 
 And were with him put under mold? 
 Nay, God forbid such tale were told, 420 
 For better knights than he shall be!" 
 "By Heaven's Queen, thou liest!" 
 
 quoth she; 
 "Now tell me, if so be thou can, 
 Where shall be found such valiant man 
 As he was, who was wed with me?" 
 "Yea, can I, an thou promise free 
 And give me full assurance here 
 That thou shalt hold me none less dear!" 
 She quoth: "Now be thou sure alway 
 That for no word that thou canst say 430 
 Will I wax wrathful against thee — " 
 "Madam," she said, "now answer me, 
 I'll tell a secret in thine ear, 
 And no one save we twain shall hear. 
 Say, if two knights be in the field, 
 Mounted on steed, with spear and 
 
 shield, 
 And one be by the other slain 
 Which is the better of the twain?" 
 She quoth : " Now he who wins the fight ! " 
 "Yea," saith the maiden, "ye be right; 
 The knight who lives shall braver be 441 
 Than was your lord, since slain was he. 
 Your lord, he fled from out the place, 
 The other knight, he gave him chase, 
 And followed him e'en to his hold — 
 Here may ye wit that he was bold." 
 The lady quoth: "Thou doest shame 
 Here before me to speak his name, 
 Thou sayest neither sooth nor right, 
 Now get thee swiftly from my sight!" 
 The maiden said: "So may it be, 451 
 And yet but now ye promised me 
 
 Ye would in no wise me miscall — " 
 With that she gat her from the hall, 
 And hastily she went again 
 Unto her bower, to Sir Ywain. 
 The lady pondered thro' the night 
 How she in no wise knew a knight 
 To keep her land, as guardian stout, 
 Against King Arthur and his rout. 460 
 Then she began herself to shame, 
 And in her heart sht\, took much blame, 
 'Gainst herself brought reproaches 
 
 strong — 
 She quoth: "I trow, I did her wrong, 
 Now doth she deem I never more 
 Will love her, as I did afore; 
 I'll love her well, in grateful mood, 
 For all she said was for my good." 
 
 With morning light the maiden rose, 
 And soon unto the chamber goes, 470 
 There did she find that fair ladie 
 Hanging her head full drearily, 
 There, where she left her, yestere'en — 
 Then, in such wise she spake, I ween, 
 E'en as she spake the day before — 
 Thus spake the dame: "It rues me 
 
 sore 
 That I miscalled thee yesterday, 
 Amends I'll make, if so I may, 
 For of that knight I fain would hear, 
 Who is he? Say, whence came he here? 
 I trow I spake too hastily, 481 
 
 I'll do as thou shalt counsel me. 
 Now, ere thou leave, tell me aright 
 If he be gently born, this knight? " 
 "Madam," she saith, "I swear to thee, 
 Of better birth shall no man be, 
 The fairest man ye shall him find 
 Of all men born of Adam's kind." 
 "To know his name I sure were fain — " 
 "Lady," she quoth, "it is Ywain — 490 
 And gentler knight was never none, 
 Unto King Urien is he son." 
 Content she was to hear that thing, 
 That he was son unto a king : 
 "Now bring him here into my sight 
 Sometime 'twixt this, and the third night, 
 
234 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Or earlier, if it so might be, 
 I am full fain that knight to see. 
 Nay, bring him, if thou canst, to- 
 night — '* 
 "Madam," she quoth, "that were not 
 light, S oo 
 
 His dwelling further is away 
 Than one may journey in a day, 
 But I have a swift-footed page 
 Who'll do that journey in a stage 
 And bring him here to-morrow night." 
 The lady quoth: "See, if he might 
 To-morrow eve be here again — " 
 "Yea, he shall speed with might and 
 
 main." 
 "Bid him to hasten on his way, 
 I will his service well repay, 510 
 
 A higher post shall be his boon 
 An so he do his errand soon." 
 "Madam," she quoth, "my word I 
 
 plight 
 To have him here ere the third night; 
 The while unto your council send, 
 And ask them who shall ye defend, 
 Your well, your castle, and your land, 
 Against King Arthur, and his band, 
 For of them all I trow is none 
 Who such a battle will not shun. sso 
 Then shall ye say: 'I needs must take 
 A lord to do what ye forsake — ' 
 Ye needs must have some noble knight 
 Who will and may defend your right, 
 And say: were death your lot alway 
 Ye would but do as they shall say. 
 Blithe shall they be of this, your speech, 
 And thank ye oft-times, all and each." 
 The lady quoth: "By God's great Might 
 I'll talk with them this very night, 530 
 Methinks too long thou here dost stay, 
 Send forth thy messenger straightway." 
 
 Then was the lady glad and gay, 
 She did all that her maid did say; 
 Unto her council sent anon, 
 And bade them come there, every one. 
 The maid to play her part was fain, 
 A bath made ready for Ywain, 
 
 Clad him right well in scarlet fold, 
 Well furred, and trimmed with fret of 
 
 gold; 540 
 
 A girdle rich she brought him there, 
 Of silk enwrought with stones so fair. 
 She told him all that he should do, 
 When he was come that lady to, 
 And thus, when he was ready dight, 
 She to her mistress went forthright, 
 And said, he came, her messenger — 
 She swiftly spake: "Now, let me hear, 
 As thou would'st thrive, comes he 
 
 straightway?" 549 
 
 "Madam," she quoth, "without delay 
 I'll bring him swiftly to ye here — " 
 Then quoth the dame, with gladsome 
 
 cheer: 
 "Go, bring him hither privily 
 That none may know, save thou and I." 
 With that the maiden went again, 
 Swiftly she came to Sir Ywain, 
 She quoth: "Sir, as I bliss may win, 
 My lady knows thou art within, 
 To come before her be thou bold, 559 
 And keep in mind what I have told." 
 Then by the hand she took the knight, 
 And led him to the bower forthright, 
 Before her lady — sooth to tell 
 Her coming, it rejoiced her well. 
 Sir Ywain feared much at that same, 
 When he unto the chamber came, 
 The chamber floor, and all the bed, 
 With cloth of gold was overspread, 
 For peerless knight she doth him take, 
 But never word to him she spake. 570 
 For fear, he fain aback would draw, 
 The maiden laughed, when this she 
 
 saw, 
 And quoth: "Now ill befall that knight 
 Who hath of such a lady sight, 
 And to her dare not shew his mind! 
 Come forth, Sir Knight, and courage 
 
 find, 
 Fear not my lady smiteth thee, 
 She loves thee well, and guilelessly, 
 Do thou to her for mercy cry, 
 And for thy sake, e'en so will I, 580 
 
YWAIN AND GAWAIN 
 
 235 
 
 That she forgive thee, in this stead, 
 
 For Salados, le Roux, now dead, 
 
 That was her lord, whom thou hast 
 
 slain — " 
 Upon his knees fell Sir Ywain, 
 "Madam, I yield me to your will, 
 Do with me as shall please ye still, 
 E'en if I might, I would not flee — " 
 She quoth: "Now, wherefore should 
 
 that be? 
 If I to death should do thee now, 
 Small profit 't were to me, I trow. 590 
 But since so humble thou shalt be, 
 And in such wise be come to me, 
 And thus hath put thee in my grace, 
 I here forgive thee in this place. 
 Sit down," she said, "and tell me here 
 Wherefore dost shew such gracious 
 
 cheer?" 
 "Madam," he quoth, "with but one 
 
 look, 
 My heart erstwhile thou captive took, 
 Since first thou earnest to my sight 
 Have I thee loved, with all my might; 
 Other than thee, my lady fair, 601 
 
 Hath in my love nor part, nor share, 
 And for thy love prepared am I 
 Faithful to live, or faithful die." 
 She quoth: "Now durst thou undertake, 
 In this, my land, true peace to make, 
 And steadfast to uphold my rights 
 Against King Arthur, and his knights?" 
 He quoth: "Yea, surely, as I thrive, 
 'Gainst him, or any man alive!" 610 
 
 Such counsel had she ta'en ere this, 
 She quoth : " Now are we friends, I wis." 
 Her lords to counsel her were fain 
 To take a lord to her again. 
 
 Swiftly she went unto the hall, 
 Assembled were her barons all, 
 There did they hold their parliament 
 That she should wed, by their assent. 
 She quoth: "Sirs, ye with one accord, 
 Have said, I needs must have a lord 620 
 My lands to govern and defend — 
 Say now, whereto your rede doth tend? " 
 
 "Madam," they quoth: "your will now 
 
 do, 
 And we will all assent thereto." 
 Straightway the lady went again 
 Unto her bower, to Sir Ywain, 
 She quoth: "By God, this vow I make, 
 None other lord than thee to take, 
 If I thee left, that were not right, 629 
 King's son art thou, and noble knight." 
 
 Now has the maid done as she thought 
 Sir Ywain out of anger brought, 
 The lady led him to the hall, 
 Before him rose the barons all, 
 And all men said, with certainty, 
 "This knight shall wed with our Lady." 
 And soothly said, themselves between, 
 So fair a man they ne'er had seen — 
 "So fair is he in hall and bower 
 He seemeth well an emperour, 640 
 
 We would that these twain were troth- 
 plight 
 And Wedded, aye, this very night." 
 She sat her down, that lady fair, 
 And bade them all keep silence there, 
 And bade her steward somewhat say 
 Ere that from court men went away. 
 The steward said: "Sirs, understand, 
 That war doth threaten this, our land, 
 King Arthur, he be ready dight 
 To come .within this fourteen-night, 6so 
 He thinketh, with his knights, the king, 
 This land within his power to bring; 
 They know full well that he.be dead 
 Who once was ruler in this stead, 
 None have we here weapons to wield, 
 No man our land boldly to shield, 
 Women may ne'er maintain their power, 
 They need a lord, and governour. 
 Therefore our lady needs must wed, 
 E'en hastily, for very dread, 660 
 
 But to no lord her will is bent 
 Save that it be with your consent." 
 The lords, a-row, to counsel fell, 
 They deemed that he had spoken well, 
 And with one voice assent they make 
 That at her will a lord she take. 
 
236 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Therewith the lady spake forthright: 
 "What think ye now of this same 
 
 knight? 
 He proffers here, in every wise 
 To serve me, as I may devise, 670 
 
 And certes, sirs, the sooth to say, 
 I saw him never ere to-day. 
 But, so I trow the tidings run, 
 Unto King Urien is he son; 
 He cometh of high parentage, 
 Most doughty he, in vassalage, 
 Wary, and wise, and courteous he, 
 And fain his wife he 'Id have me be. 
 Nevertheless, I trow, he might 679 
 
 Have chosen better, 'twere his right!" 
 Then with one voice the barons said: 
 "Madam, we hold us well repaid, 
 But hasten ye, if so ye may, 
 That ye be wed this very day." 
 
 And prayer from every side they make 
 That she be pleased the knight to take. 
 
 Then soon unto the kirk they went, 
 And wedded were, with full consent; 
 Full solemnly was wedded there 
 Ywain, to Alundyne, the fair, — 6go 
 Duke's daughter of Landuit, she — 
 Else should her country wasted be. 
 The marriage did they celebrate 
 Among their barons, all in state, 
 And mickle mirth they made that day, 
 And feasting fair, with rich array — 
 Rejoicing great they made that stead, 
 And all forgotten is the dead. 
 Of him, sometime their lord so free, 699 
 They say, this knight is worth the three. 
 And that they love him mickle more 
 Than him, who was their lord before. 
 
 SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 Dear Lords, listen now to me, 
 Hearken words but two or three 
 Of a hero fair and free, 
 
 Who was fierce in fight; 
 His right name was Percyvelle, 
 He was fostered on the fell, 
 Drank the water of the well 
 
 Yet was valiant wight. 
 Of a nobleman the son, 
 Who, since that he first begun, 
 Goodly praise and worship won 
 
 When he was made knight. 
 In the good King Arthur's hall 
 He was best beloved of all, 
 Percyvelle they did him call 
 
 Whoso reads aright. 
 
 Who the tale aright can read 
 Knows him one of doughty deed, 
 A stiff knight upon a steed, 
 
 Wielding weapons bold; 
 Therefore did the King Arthour 
 Do unto him great honour, 
 
 Gave his sister Acheflour 
 
 For to have and hold 
 As his wife, to his life's end; 
 And with her broad lands to spend, 
 For right well the knight he kenned 
 
 Gave her to his hold. 
 And of goodly gifts full share 
 Gave he with his sister there, 30 
 
 (As it pleased the twain full fair,) 
 
 With her, robes in fold. 
 
 There he gave him robes in fold, 
 And broad lands of wood and wold 
 With a store of goods untold 
 
 That the maid he take; 
 To the kirk the knight did ride 
 There to wed that gentle bride 
 For rich gifts and lands so wide 
 
 And for her own sake; 40 
 
 Sithen, without more debate, 
 Was the bridal held in state 
 For her sake who, as her mate, 
 
 This good knight would take; 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 237 
 
 Afterward, withouten let, 
 A great jousting there was set, 
 And of all the knights he met 
 None would he forsake. 
 
 None would he forsake that stead, 
 Not the Black Knight, nor the Red, 50 
 None who there against him sped 
 
 With or shaft or shield; 
 There he did as noble knight, 
 Who" well holdeth what he hight, 
 And full well he proved his might, 
 
 All to him must yield; 
 There full sixty shafts I say 
 Brake Syr Percyvelle that day, — 
 On the wall his bride, she lay, 
 
 Watched him weapons wield. 60 
 
 Tho' the Red Knight, he had sworn, 
 From his saddle is he borne, 
 And, well nigh of life forlorn, 
 
 Lieth on the field. 
 
 As he lay there on the wold 
 Many a man must him behold 
 Who, thro' shield and armour's hold, 
 
 'Stonied was that tide; 
 All men marvelled who were there, 
 Whether great or small they were, 70 
 That thus Percyvelle should dare 
 
 Doleful dints abide; 
 There was no man, great or small, 
 No, not one amongst them all, 
 Who on grass dare risk a fall 
 
 And would 'gainst him ride; 
 There Syr Percyvelle that day 
 Bare the tourney's prize away, 
 Homeward did he take his way, 
 
 Blithe was she, his bride! 80 
 
 But tho' blithe the bride, and gay 
 That her lord had won the day 
 Yet the Red Knight sick he lay 
 
 Wounded by his hand; 
 Therefore goodly gifts he plight 
 That, an he recover might, 
 And again by day or night, 
 
 In the field might stand, 
 
 That he'ld quit him of the blow 
 Which he from his hand must know, 90 
 Nor his travail fruitless go, 
 
 Nor be told in land 
 That Syr Percyvelle, in field, 
 Thus had shamed him under shield — '■ 
 Payment full for that he'ld yield 
 
 If in life he stand! 
 
 Now in life they be, the two, 
 
 But the Red Knight naught may do 
 
 To bring scathe upon his foe 
 
 Till the harm befell; 100 
 
 As it chanced, there fell no strife 
 Till that Percyvelle, in life, 
 Had a son by his young wife, 
 
 After him to dwell; 
 And whenas that child was born 
 He bade call him on the morn 
 By the name his sire had worn, 
 
 Even Percyvelle; 
 Then the knight was fain to make 
 Feast for this, his young son's sake, no 
 Thus without delay they spake 
 
 And of jousting tell. 
 
 Now of jousting do they tell, 
 And they say, Syr Percyvelle, 
 In the field he thinks to dwell 
 
 As he aye has done; 
 There a jousting great they set 
 E'en of all the knights they met 
 For he would his son should get 
 
 That same fame anon; 120 
 
 When thereof the Red Knight heard 
 Blithe was he of that same word, 
 Armed him swift with shield and sword, 
 
 Thither hath he gone; 
 'Gainst Syr Percyvelle would ride 
 With broad shield and shaft that tide, 
 There his vow he would abide, 
 
 Mastery maketh moan ! 
 
 Mastery, it hath made moan — 
 Percyvelle right well hath done 130 
 
 For the love of his young son, 
 On the opening 'day, 
 
238 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Ere the Red Knight thither won 
 Percyvelle smote many a one, 
 Duke, earl, knight, and eke baron 
 
 Vanquished in the play; 
 Honour had he won for dower, — 
 Came the Red Knight in that hour 
 But, "Woe worth false armour" 
 
 Percyvelle may say! 
 There Syr Percyvelle was slain — ■ 
 That the Red Knight was full fain 
 In his heart, I will maintain, 
 
 When he went his way! 
 
 When he went upon his way, 
 Then no man durst aught to say 
 Were it earnest, were it play, 
 
 For to bid him bide; 
 Since that he had slain right there 
 The best champion that was e'er, 
 With full many a wound so sare, 
 
 'Stonied all that tide; 
 Then no better rede had they 
 Than the knight to lowly lay, 
 As men must the dead alway, 
 
 And in earth must hide : 
 She who was but now his wife 
 Sorely might she rue her life, 
 Such a lord to lose in strife, 
 
 She ailed not for pride. 
 
 1 60 
 
 Now is Percyvelle, the knight, 
 Slain in battle and in fight, 
 And her word that lady plight, 
 
 Keep it if she may, 
 That ne'er, so her vow doth run, 
 She will dwell with her young son 
 Where such deeds of arms were 
 done, 
 
 Nor by night, nor day. 
 In the woodland shall he be, 
 Where, forsooth, he naught shall see 170 
 But the green and leafy tree, 
 
 And the groves so gray; 
 Never shall his mind be bent 
 Nor on joust nor tournament, 
 But in the wild wood content, 
 
 He with beasts shall play! 
 
 There with wild beasts should he play — 
 Thus her leave she took straightway, 
 Both of king and lord that day, 
 
 Gat her to the wood ; 180 
 
 Left behind her bower and hall, 
 But one maid she took withal, 
 Who should answer to her call, 
 
 When in need she stood; 
 Other goods would she have naught, 
 But a flock of goats she brought, 
 For their milk might serve, she thought, 
 
 For their livelihood; 
 And of all her lord's fair gear 
 Naught she beareth with her here igo 
 Save a little Scottish spear, 
 
 Serve her son it should. 
 
 And when her young son should go 
 
 In the woodland to and fro', 
 
 That same spear, I 'Id have ye know, 
 
 She gave him one day; 
 "Mother sweet," then straight quoth 
 
 he, 
 "Say, what may this strange thing be, 
 Which ye now have given me, 
 
 What its name, I pray?" 200 
 
 Then she spake, that fair ladie, 
 "Son," she quoth, "now hearken me, 
 This a doughty dart shall be 
 
 Found in woodland way." 
 Then the child was pleased at heart 
 That she gave to him this dart, 
 Therewith he made many smart 
 
 In the woodland gay. 
 
 Thus amid the woodland glade 
 
 Dart in hand, the lad, he strayed, aio 
 
 Underneath the wild wood's shade, 
 
 Throve there mightily, 
 And with this, his spear, would slay 
 Of wild beasts and other prey 
 All that he might bear away, 
 
 Goodly lad was he; 
 Small birds too, he shot them there, 
 Many a hart and hind so fair 
 Homeward to his mother bare, 
 
 Never lack had she. aao 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 239 
 
 So well did he learn to shoot, 
 There was no beast went afoot, 
 But in flight might find small boot, 
 Run them down would he! 
 
 All the prey he marked, it fell — 
 Thus he grew and throve right well, 
 Was a strong lad, sooth to tell, 
 
 Tho' his years were few; 
 Fifteen winters, yea, and more, 
 Dwelt he in those holts so boar, 230 
 
 Naught of nurture nor of lore 
 
 From his mother knew; 
 Till it fell upon a day, 
 That to him she thus did say : 
 "Sweet son, now I rede thee pray 
 
 To God's Son so true, 
 By His aid to prosper thee, 
 So that, by His Majesty, 
 Thou a good man well may'st be 
 
 And long life thy due!" 240 
 
 "Mother sweet," then answered he, 
 "Say, what kind of god is He 
 Whom thou now hast bidden me 
 
 In this wise to pray?" 
 "Son, 't is the great God of Heaven," 
 So she spake, "within days seven 
 Hath He made both Earth and Heaven, 
 
 Ere closed the sixth day." 
 "By great God," his answer ran, 
 "An I may but meet that man, 2S0 
 
 Then, with all the craft I can, 
 
 I to Him will pray!" 
 Thus then, did he live and wait, 
 E'en within his mother's gate, 
 For the great God lay in wait, 
 
 Find Him if he may ! 
 
 Then, as thro' holts hoar he fled, 
 So the chance befell that stead, 
 That three knights toward him sped, 
 
 Of King Arthur's inn; 260 
 
 One, King Urien's son, Ywain, 
 And with him was good Gawain, 
 And Sir Kay rode with the twain, 
 
 All were of his kin; 
 
 Thus in raiment rich they ride. 
 But the lad had naught that tide 
 Wherewith he his bones might hide, 
 
 Saving a goat's skin; 
 Burly was he, broad to see, 
 On each side a skin had he, 270 
 
 Of the same his hood should be 
 
 Even to his chin. 
 
 The hood came but to his chin, 
 And the flesh was turned within, 
 The lad's wit, it was full thin 
 
 When he should say aught; 
 And the knights were all in green, 
 Such as he had never seen, 
 Well he deemed that they had been 
 
 The great God he sought; 280 
 
 And he spake: "Which of ye three 
 Shall in sooth the great God be, 
 Who, my mother told to me, 
 
 Hath this wide world wrought? " 
 Straight made answer Sir Gawain, 
 Fair and courteous spake again: 
 "Son, so Christ to me be fain, 
 
 Such shall we be naught." 
 
 Then he quoth, the foolish child, 
 
 Who had come from woodland wild, 290 
 
 To Gawain the meek and mild, 
 
 Soft of speech and fair: 
 "I shall slay ye now all three 
 Save ye straightway tell to me 
 What things ye shall surely be, 
 
 Since no Gods ye were? " 
 Swift he answered him, Sir Kay, 
 "Yea, and then who should we say 
 Were our slayer here to-day 
 
 In this woodland bare?" 300 
 
 At Kay's words he waxed full wroth, 
 Save a great buck 'twixt them both 
 Stood, I trow me, little loth, 
 
 Had he slain him there. 
 
 But Gawain, he quoth to Kay: 
 "Thy proud words shall us betray, 
 I would win this child with play, 
 Would'st thou hold thee still." 
 
24° 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 "Sweet son," in this wise spake 
 
 he, 
 "Knights, I trow we be, all three, 310 
 With King Arthur dwelling free 
 
 Who waits on the hill." 
 Quoth then Percyvelle, so light, 
 He who was in goatskin dight: 
 "Will King Arthur make me knight, 
 
 An I seek him still?" 
 Then Sir Gawain answered there: 
 "That to say, I do not dare, 
 To the king 1 rede thee fare, 
 
 Ask of him his will." 320 
 
 Thus to know King Arthur's will, 
 Where he tarried stayed they still, 
 And the child he hastened, till 
 
 To his home be came. 
 As he sped him thro' the wood, 
 There he saw a full fair stud 
 Both of colts and mares so good, 
 
 But not one was tame; 
 And he said: "Now, by Saint John, 
 Such beasts as I now see yon, 330 
 
 Such the knights did ride upon, 
 
 Knew I but their name! 
 But as I may thrive, or thee, 
 E'en the biggest that I see 
 It shall shortly carry me 
 
 Home unto my dame!" 
 
 "When I come unto my dame 
 An I find her, at this same, 
 She will tell to me the name 
 
 Of this stranger thing." 340 
 
 Then, I trow, the biggest mare 
 Swiftly did he run down there, 
 Quoth: "I trow tbou shalt me bear 
 
 With morn, to the King." 
 Saddle-gear the lad did lack, 
 Sprang upon' the horse's back, 
 She bare him the homeward track, 
 
 Failed him for no thing. 
 Then his mother, woe-begone, 
 Wist not what to do anon, 350 
 
 When she saw her youthful son 
 
 A steed with him bring. 
 
 Horse she saw him homeward bring; 
 And she wist well by that thing 
 What is in-born out will spring 
 
 Spite of wiles she sought. 
 Swift she spake, the fair ladie: 
 "That this dole I needs must dree, 
 For the love of thy body 
 
 That I dear have bought!" 360 
 
 "Dear son," so she spake him fair, 
 "Much unrest for thee I bear, 
 What wilt do with this same mare 
 
 That thou home hast brought?" 
 But the boy was blithe and gay 
 When he heard his mother say 
 This, the brood-mare's name alway, 
 
 Of naught else he thought. 
 
 Now he calleth her a mare, 
 
 E'en as did his mother ere, 370 
 
 Such he deemed all horses were, 
 
 And were named, i' fay; 
 "Mother, on yon hill I've been, 
 There three knights I now have seen, 
 And with them have spoke, I ween, 
 
 These words did I say : 
 I have promised them all three, 
 That I with their king will be, 
 Such an one shall he make me 
 
 As they be to-day." 380 
 
 Thus he sware by God's great Might: 
 "I shall keep the words I plight, 
 Save the king shall make me knight 
 
 Him with morn I'll slay." 
 
 Spake the mother full of woe, 
 For her son she grieved so 
 That she thought she death should 
 know, 
 
 Knelt down on her knee : 
 "Son, hast ta'en to thee this rede, 
 Thou wilt turn to knightly deed, 390 
 Now where'er strange fate may lead, 
 
 This I counsel thee; 
 Morn is furthermost Yule-day, 
 And thou say'st thou wilt away 
 To make thee knight, if so thou may, 
 
 So hast told to me; 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 241 
 
 Dost of nurture little know, 
 Now in all things measure show 
 If in hall or bower thou go, 
 
 And of hand be free." 400 
 
 Then she quoth, the lady bright: 
 "Where thou meetest with a knight 
 Doff thy hood to him forthright, 
 
 Greet bim courteously; " 
 "Mother sweet," he answered then, 
 "Saw I never any men, 
 If a knight I now should ken 
 
 Tell the sign whereby?" 
 Then she showed him miniver, 
 For such robes she had by her, 410 
 
 "Son, where thou shalt see such fur 
 
 On their hoods to lie." 
 "By Great God," then answered he, 
 "Where that I a knight may see 
 Mother, as thou biddest me, 
 
 Even so do I." 
 
 All that night till it was day 
 He beside his mother lay, 
 With the morn he would away, 
 
 May what will betide; 420 
 
 Bridle had he never none, 
 In its stead, he naught hath won, 
 But a withy took anon 
 
 This, his steed, to guide; 
 Then his mother took a ring, 
 Bade the same again to bring: 
 "This shall be our tokening 
 
 Here I'll thee abide." 
 Ring and spear he taketh there, 
 Springeth up astride the mare, 430 
 
 From the mother who him bare 
 
 Forth the lad doth ride. 
 
 Fytte II 
 On his way, as he did ride, 
 Stood a hall, his way beside, 
 "Now for aught that may betide 
 
 Here within will I." 
 Without let within he strode, 
 Found a broad board set with food, 
 A well plenished fire of wood 
 
 Burning bright thereby. 440 
 
 And a manger too, he found, 
 Therein corn, it lay, unground, 
 To the same his mare he bound 
 
 E'en with his withy. 
 Said: "My mother counselled me 
 That I should of measure be, 
 Half of all that here I see 
 
 I shall let it lie." 
 
 Thus the corn, he parts it fair, 
 
 One half gives unto his mare, 450 
 
 To the board betakes him there 
 
 Well assured that tide; 
 Found a loaf of bread so fine, 
 And a pitcher, full of wine, 
 And a mess, whereon to dine, 
 
 With a knife beside. 
 All the meat he findeth there 
 With his hands, in even share 
 He doth part — "One half the fare 
 
 Shall for other bide." 460 
 
 And the one half eateth he, 
 Could he more of measure be? 
 He of hand would fain be free, 
 
 Tho' he had no pride! 
 
 Tho' the lad he had no pride, 
 Further did he go that tide 
 To a chamber there beside 
 
 Wonders more to see; 
 Clothing rich he there found spread, 
 Slept a lady there, on bed, — 470 
 
 Quoth: "A token that we wed 
 
 Shalt thou leave with me." 
 Then he kissed her, that sweet thing, 
 From her finger took a ring, 
 His own mother's tokening 
 
 Left her there in fee. 
 Then he went forth to his mare, 
 The short spear he with him bare, 
 Leapt aloft as he was ere, 
 
 On his way rides he. 480 
 
 Now upon his way rides he, 
 Marvels more full fain to see, 
 And a knight he needs must be 
 
242 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 With no more delay. 
 He came where the king should be. 
 Served of the first mess was he, 
 And to him, right hastily, 
 
 Doth he make his way; 
 Hindrance brooked not, nor debate, 
 E'en at wicket, door, or gate, 490 
 
 Gat in swift, nor thought to wait, 
 
 Masterful, that day; 
 E'en at his first entering, 
 This, his mare, no lie I sing, 
 Kissed the forehead of the king, 
 
 Came so close alway. 
 
 Startled was the king, I trow, 
 And his hands, he raised them now, 
 Turned aside from off his brow 
 
 Muzzle of the mare; 500 
 
 And he quoth: "Fair child, and free, 
 Stand thou still, aside of me, 
 Say from whence thou now shalt be, 
 
 And thy will declare?" 
 Quoth the fool to Arthur mild: 
 "I be mine own mother's child 
 Come from out the woodland wild 
 
 Unto Arthur fair; 
 Yesterday I saw knights three, 
 Such an one make thou of me . 510 
 
 Here, on this my mare by thee, 
 
 Ere thy meat thou share." 
 
 Out then spake Sir Gawain free, 
 Carver to the king was he, 
 Saith: "Forsooth, no lie this be, 
 
 I was one, i' fay. 
 Child, now take thou my blessing 
 For thy fearless following, 
 Here in sooth hast found the king 
 
 Who makes knights alway." 520 
 
 Then quoth Percy velle the free : 
 "Now, if this King Arthur be, 
 Look a knight he make of me 
 
 Even as I say:" 
 Tho' he were uncouthly dight, 
 He sware: "By God's mickle Might, 
 Save the king shall make me knight, 
 
 Here I shall him slay." 
 
 All who heard him, young and old, 
 Marvelling, the king behold 530 
 
 That he suffer words so bold 
 
 From so foul a wight; 
 Stayed his horse the king beside — 
 Arthur looked on him that tide, 
 Then for sorrow sore he sighed 
 
 As he saw that sight; 
 Tears fell from his eyes apace, 
 Following each the other's trace, 
 Quoth the king: "Alas, this place 
 
 Knew me, day, or night — 540 
 
 That without him I should be 
 Living, who was like to thee, 
 Who so seemly art to see 
 
 An thou wert well dight!" 
 
 Quoth the king: "Wert better dight, 
 Thou wert like unto a knight, 
 Whom I loved with all my might 
 
 Whiles he was in life; 
 And so well he wrought my will, 
 In all ways of knightly skill, 550 
 
 That my sister, of goodwill, 
 
 Gave I him for wife. 
 For him must I make my moan, 
 He, now fifteen years agone, 
 By a thief to death was done 
 
 For a little strife; 
 Sithen am I that man's foe, 
 For to wreak upon him woe, 
 Death thro' me he may not know 
 
 He in crafts is rife!" 560 
 
 Quoth: "His crafts they be so rife 
 
 There is no man now in life 
 
 Who, with sword, or spear, or knife, 
 
 'Gainst him may avail, 
 Save but Percyvelle's young son; 
 An he knew what he had done, 
 The book saith, he might anon 
 
 'Venge his father's bale," — 
 The lad deemed too long he stayed 
 Ere that he a knight was made, 570 
 
 That he e'er a father had, 
 
 Knowledge did him fail; 
 Thus his meaning less should be 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 243 
 
 When unto the king said he: 
 "Sir, now let thy chattering be, 
 I heed not such tale." 
 
 Quoth: "I think not here to stand, 
 
 Nor thy chatter understand, 
 
 Make me knight with this, thy hand, 
 
 If it may be done." 580 
 
 Courteously, the king, he hight 
 That he now would dub him knight 
 If that he adown would light 
 
 Eat with him at noon; 
 Saw the king his face so free, 
 Evermore he trowed that he, 
 This child, of a sooth should be 
 
 Percyvelle's own son; 
 And it ran in the king's mood, 
 Acheflour, his sister good, 530 
 
 How she gat her to the wood 
 , With her boy alone. 
 
 This boy, he came from the wood, 
 Evil knew he not, nor good, 
 And the king, he understood, 
 
 He was a wild wight; 
 So he spake him fair withal — 
 Then he lighted down in hall, 
 Bound his mare among them all, 
 
 To the board was dight; 600 
 
 But, ere that he might begin, 
 Or unto the meat might win, 
 'Mid them all, the hall within, 
 
 Came be, the Red Knight; 
 Pricking on a blood-red steed, 
 Blood-red too, was all his weed, 
 Fain to mock them all at need 
 
 With crafts, as he might. 
 
 With his crafts began to call, 
 
 Loudly hailed them recreants all, — 610 
 
 King and knights within that wall 
 
 At the board they bide; 
 Roughly took the cup in hand 
 That before the king did stand, 
 None withstood him, all that band 
 
 Deemed him mad that tide ; 
 Portion full of wine it bare, 
 
 The Red Knight, he drank it there, 
 And the cup was very fair 
 
 All of red gold tried. 620 
 
 In his hand, as there it stood, 
 Took he up that cup so good, 
 Left them sitting at their food, 
 
 And from thence did ride. 
 
 As from them he rode away, 
 He who made this tale doth say 
 The grief that on Arthur lay 
 
 Never tongue might tell; 
 "Ah, dear God!" the king, he said, 
 "Thou Who all this wide world made, 
 Shall this man be ever stayed, 631 
 
 Yon fiend forced to dwell? 
 Five years has he, in this way, 
 Borne my cup from me away, 
 And my good knight did he slay, 
 
 E'en Syr Percyvelle. 
 Sithen, has he taken three, 
 And from hence he rideth free 
 Ere that I may harness me 
 
 Him in field to fell!" 640 
 
 "Peter!" Percyvelle doth cry, 
 "Strike that knight adown will I, 
 And thy cup bring presently, 
 
 Wilt thou make me knight." 
 "As I be true king," said he, 
 "I will make a knight of thee 
 If again thou bringest me 
 
 This, my cup so bright." 
 Up he rose, I trow, the king, 
 To his chamber hastening, 650 
 
 Thence good armour would he bring 
 
 That the lad be dight; 
 Ere the armour down was cast, 
 Percyvelle from hall had passed, 
 On his track he followed fast 
 
 Whom he thought to fight. 
 
 With his foe he goes to fight, 
 He none other wise was dight 
 But in goatskins three, to sight, 
 
 As a fool he were; 660 
 
 Cried: "Man, on thy mare now hear, 
 
244 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Bring again now the king's gear, 
 Or I'll smite thee with my spear, 
 
 And make thee less fair!" 
 After the Red Knight would ride 
 Boldly, would for naught abide, 
 Quoth: "A knight I'll be this tide, 
 
 Of thine armour heir!" 
 And he sware by Christ's sore Pain : 
 "Save thou bring this cup again 670 
 With my dart thou shalt be slain, 
 
 Cast down from thy mare!" 
 When the knight beheld him so, 
 Fool he deemed who was his foe 
 Since that he had called it so, 
 
 This his steed, a mare. 
 
 Thus to see him well with sight 
 He his vizor raised forthright, 
 To behold how he was dight 
 
 Whose words sense did lack; 680 
 
 Quoth: "An I reach thee, thou fool, 
 I will cast thee in the pool, 
 E'en for all the Feast of Yule, 
 
 As thou wert a sack!" 
 Then quoth Percy velle the free: 
 "Fool or no, whate'er I be, 
 This I trow, we soon shall see 
 
 Whose brows shall be black!" 
 There his skill the lad would try, 
 At the knight a dart let fly, 6go 
 
 Smote him full there in the eye, 
 
 Came out at the back ! 
 
 For the blow that he must bear, 
 From the saddle shaken there, 
 Who the sooth will hearken fair, 
 
 The Red Knight was slain ! 
 On the hill he fell down dead, 
 While his steed, at will it fled, 
 Percy velle quoth in that stead: 
 
 "Art a lazy swain!" 700 
 
 Quoth the child in that same tide: 
 "Would'st thou here my coming bide, 
 I to catch thy mare will ride, 
 
 Bring her thee again; 
 Then I trow we twain with might, 
 Will as men together fight, 
 
 Each of us as he were knight 
 Till the one be slain." 
 
 Now the Red Knight lieth slain, 
 
 Left for dead upon the plain, 710 
 
 And the boy doth ride amain, 
 
 After his good steed; 
 But 't was swifter than the mare, 
 For naught else it had to bear 
 But the harness, fast and fair 
 
 Fled, from rider freed; 
 Big with foal the mare that tide, 
 Of stout make was she beside, 
 Little power to run when tried, 
 
 Nor pursue with speed; 720 
 
 The lad saw how it should be, 
 Swift adown to foot sprang he, 
 And the right way hastily 
 
 Ran, as he had need. 
 
 Thus, fleet-foot, the lad he fled, 
 On his way he surely sped, 
 Caught, strong -hand, the steed that 
 stead, 
 
 Brought it to the knight; 
 "Now a fell foe shalt thou be, 
 Wilt not steal away from me, 730 
 
 Now I pray thou dealest free 
 
 Blows, as fits a knight! 
 See, thy mare I bring thee here, 
 Mickle of thy other gear, 
 Mount, as when thou first anear 
 
 Came, an thou wilt fight!" 
 Speechless still the knight he lay, 
 He was dead, what could he say? 
 The child knew no better way 
 
 Than adown to light. 740 
 
 Percy velle adown is light, 
 
 Of his arms would spoil the knight, 
 
 But he might not find aright, 
 
 How was laced the weed; 
 Armed was he from head to heel 
 In iron harness, and in steel; 
 The lad knew not how to deal, 
 
 Aid himself in need; 
 Quoth: "My mother counselled me 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 245 
 
 When my dart should broken be, 750 
 From the iron burn the tree, 
 
 Fire is now my need." 
 Thus he seeks a flint straightway, 
 His fire-iron he takes that day, 
 And with never more delay 
 
 He a spark hath freed. 
 
 Kindles there a flame, I trow, 
 Mid the bushes seeking now, 
 Swift he gathers branch and bough, 
 
 That a fire would make; 760 
 
 There a great blaze doth he light, 
 Thinks therein to burn the knight, 
 Since he knew no better sleight 
 
 This, his gear, to take. 
 Now Sir Gawain, he was dight, 
 Followed fast to see the fight 
 'Twixt the lad, and the Red Knight, 
 
 All for the boy's sake; 
 Found the Red Knight where he fell, 
 Slain was he by Percyvelle, 770 
 
 And a fire, that burnt right well, 
 
 Birch and oak did make ! 
 
 Of these twain the fire alway, 
 
 Great the brands and black, that day; 
 
 "With this fire what wilt thou, say?" 
 
 Quoth he, soft and still. 
 "Peter!" quoth the boy also, 
 "An I thus the knight might know, 
 From his iron I'll burn him so, 
 
 Right here, on the hill." 780 
 
 Answered him the good Gawain: 
 "Since the Red Knight thou hast 
 
 slain, 
 To disarm him am I fain, 
 
 Wilt thou hold thee still." 
 Then Sir Gawain down did light, 
 Took his harness from the knight, 
 On the child the same did dight, 
 
 E'en at his own will. 
 
 In his armour doth he stand, 
 Takes the knight's neck in his hand, 790 
 Casts him on the burning brand 
 There to feed the flame; 
 
 Then quoth Percyvelle in boast: 
 "Lie thou still therein and roast, 
 I keep nothing of thy cost, 
 
 Naught that from thee came." 
 Burns the knight, and none doth heed, 
 Clad the boy is in his weed, 
 And hath leapt upon his steed, 
 
 Well-pleased, at that same; 800 
 
 He looked downward at his feet, 
 Saw his gear so fair and meet, 
 "Men may me as knight entreat, 
 
 Call me by that name!" 
 
 Quoth Gawain the boy unto : 
 "From this hill I rede we go, 
 Hast done what thou willed to do, 
 
 Near it draws to night." 
 Quoth the lad: "Dost trow this thing, 
 That unto thy lord and king, 810 
 
 I myself again will bring 
 
 This, his gold so bright? 
 Nay, so I may thrive, or thee, 
 I'm as great a lord as he, 
 Ne'er to-day he maketh me, 
 
 Any*way a knight! 
 Take thou now the cup so fair, 
 And thyself the present bear, 
 Forth in land I'll further fare 
 
 Ere from steed I light." 820 
 
 Neither would the lad alight, 
 
 Nor would wend with that good 
 
 knight, 
 Forth he rideth all the night, 
 
 So proud was he then; 
 Till at morn, on the fourth day, 
 With a witch met, so men say, 
 And his horse and fair array, 
 
 She right well might ken; 
 And she deemed that it had been 8ag 
 The Red Knight, whom she had seen 
 In those arms afore, I ween, 
 
 Such steed spurred he then; 
 Swiftly she to him would hie, 
 Quoth: "In sooth I tell no lie, 
 Men said, thou didst surely die, 
 
 Slain by Arthur's men! 
 
246 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 "Of my men one but now came 
 From yon hill, and at that same, 
 Where thou see'st the fierce fire flame, 
 
 Said that thou wast there!" 840 
 
 Percyvelle he sat stone still, 
 Answer made he none, until 
 She had spoken all her will, 
 
 Never word spake there: 
 "I on yonder hill have been, 
 Nothing else I there have seen, 
 But goat-skins, naught else, I ween, 
 
 Than such worthless fare." 
 " My son, tho' thou there wast slain, 
 And thine armour from thee ta'en, 850 
 I could make thee whole again, 
 
 Hale, as thou wert e'er." 
 
 Then by that wist Percyvelle 
 It had served him right well 
 That wild fire he made on fell, 
 
 When the knight was slain; 
 And he deemed 't were well that she 
 In that self-same place should be; 
 That old witch on spear bare he 
 
 To the fire again; 860 
 
 There in mickle wrath and ire 
 Cast the witch into the fire: 
 "With the son thou didst desire 
 
 Lie ye still, ye twain." 
 Thus the lad, he left them there, 
 And upon his way did fare, 
 Such-like deeds to do and dare, 
 
 Was the child full fain. 
 
 Came he by a forest side, 
 
 There ten men, he saw them ride, 870 
 
 Quoth: "For aught that may betide 
 
 With them would I be." 
 When the ten they saw him, they 
 Deemed him the Red Knight alway, 
 Who would seek them all to slay, 
 
 Fast they turned to flee; 
 Since he so was clad that stead, 
 For their life from him they fled, 
 Aye the faster that they sped 
 
 Faster followed he. 880 
 
 Till he knew one for a knight, 
 
 Of the miniver had sight, 
 Put his vizor up forthright: 
 "Sir, God look on thee!" 
 
 Quoth the child: "God look on thee!" 
 Quoth the knight: "Well may'st thou 
 
 be, 
 Ah! Lord God, now well is me 
 
 That I live this day!" 
 By his face right well he thought 
 The Red Knight it should be naught, 
 Who as foeman had them sought, 891 
 
 Boldly there did stay; 
 For it seemed him by the sight 
 That the lad had slain the knight 
 In whose armour he was dight, 
 
 Rode his steed alway; 
 Soon the knight, he spoke again, 
 And to thank the child was fain; 
 "Thou the fiercest foe hast slain 
 
 Who beset me aye!" 900 
 
 Quoth then Percyvelle the free, 
 Saith: "Now wherefore did ye flee 
 All of ye when ye saw me 
 
 Riding here anigh?" 
 Then he spake, that aged knight, 
 Who was past his day of might, 
 Nor with any man might fight, 
 
 Answered, loud and high, 
 Saying: "These nine children here 
 They be all my sons so dear 910 
 
 Since to lose them I must fear 
 
 For that cause fled I, 
 For we deemed that it had been 
 The Red Knight we now had seen, 
 He had slain us all, I ween, 
 
 With great cruelty. 
 
 "Without mercy he were fain 
 One and all of us were slain, 
 To my sons he 'd envy ta'en 
 
 Most of any men : gao 
 
 Fifteen years agone, 't is true, 
 That same thief my brother slew 
 And hath set himself anew 
 
 For to slay us then; 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 247 
 
 Fearing lest my sons should know 
 When they should to manhood grow, 
 And should slay him as their foe 
 
 Where they might him ken. 
 Had I been in that same stead 
 When he smote my brother dead, 930 
 I had never eaten bread, 
 
 Till I'd burned him then!" 
 
 "Burned," quoth Percyvelle, "he is, 
 I sped better than I wist," — 
 As the last word he must list 
 
 Blither waxed the knight; 
 By his hall their road it fell, 
 Strait he prayed that Percyvelle 
 There awhile with them should dwell, 
 
 And abide that night. 940 
 
 Well it should his guest befall — 
 So he brought him to the ball, 
 Spake him fair, that he withal 
 
 From his steed should light; 
 Then, the steed in stable set, 
 To the hall the lad doth get, 
 And, with never further let, 
 
 They for meat are dight. 
 
 Meat and drink for them were dight, 
 Men were there to serve aright, 950 
 
 And the lad found with the knight, 
 
 Enow, to his hand. 
 As at meat they sat, and ate, 
 Came the porter from the gate, 
 Said, a man without did wait, 
 
 From the Maiden-Land; 
 Saith: "Sir, he doth pray of thee 
 Meat and drink for charitie, 
 For a messenger is be, 
 
 Nor for long may stand." 960 
 
 The knight bade him come within, 
 For he said: "It is no sin 
 That the man who meat may win 
 
 Fill the traveller's hand." 
 
 Came the traveller at that stead, 
 By the porter thither led, 
 Hailed the knight who sat at bread 
 On the dai's on high. 
 
 And the knight, he asked him there 
 Courteously, whose man he were? 970 
 And how far he thought to fare? 
 
 "Tell me without lie." 
 "From the Lady Luf amour 
 Am I sent to King Arthour, 
 That he lend, for his honour 
 
 To her grief an eye; 
 There hath come a Soudan bold, 
 Ta'en her lands, slain young and 
 
 old, 
 And besieged her in her hold, 
 
 Plagues her ceaselessly ! 980 
 
 "Saith, at peace he'll leave her ne'er — 
 Since the maid is wondrous fair, 
 And hath mickle wealth for share, 
 
 He doth work her woe. 
 Thus in grief she leads her life, 
 All her men he fells in strife, 
 Vows he'll have her for bis wife, 
 
 And she will not so; 
 By that Soudan's hand, I ween, 
 Slain have sire and uncle been, 990 
 
 Slain hath she her brothers seen, 
 
 He is her worst foe! 
 He so closely her hath sought 
 To one castle is she brought, 
 From those walls he yieldeth naught, 
 
 Ere he come her to. 
 
 "Saith, he will her favours know — 
 Liever she to death would go 
 Than that he, her bitterest foe, 
 
 Wed her as his wife ! 1000 
 
 But he is so valiant wight, 
 AH his foes he slays forthright, 
 And no man may with him fight, 
 
 Tho' his fame were rife!" 
 Then quoth Percyvelle: "I pray 
 Thou wilt show to me the way, 
 Thither, as the road it lay, 
 
 Without any strife! 
 Might I with that Soudan meet, 
 Who a maid doth so entreat, 1010 
 
 He full soon his death should meet, 
 
 I remain in life!" 
 
248 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 But the messenger, he sware, ■ 
 
 On his way God shall him bring — 
 
 He should bide there where he were: 
 
 Unto Arthur now, the king, 
 
 "To King Arthur will I fare, 
 
 Thither will we go. 1060 
 
 There mine errand say. 
 
 
 Mickle sorrow me betide 
 
 On our way we'll go anon — '■ 
 
 If I longer here abide, 
 
 To Caerbedd the king has gone, 
 
 But from hence I now will ride 
 
 Mourning doth he make and moan, 
 
 Swiftly as I may." 1020 
 
 He doth sigh full sore; 
 
 When the lad in this wise spake, 
 
 Woe its will on him doth wreak, 
 
 Prayer to him the knight doth make, 
 
 And his heart is waxen weak 
 
 His nine sons with him to take, 
 
 For he deems that he shall speak 
 
 But he saith him "Nay." 
 
 With Percyvelle no more. 
 
 Yet so fair his speech shall be 
 
 As abed he lieth there 
 
 That he taketh of them three, 
 
 Came the messenger, who bare 1070 
 
 In his fellowship to be, 
 
 Letters from the lady fair, 
 
 Blither then were they. 
 
 Stood the king before; 
 
 
 Arthur might not stand that day, 
 
 Of their errand blithe they were, 
 
 Read the script as there he lay : 
 
 Busked them, on their way to fare, 1030 
 
 "This thy message," doth he say, 
 
 Mickle mirth then made they there, 
 
 "Answered is before." 
 
 Little their amend! 
 
 
 He had ridden but a while, 
 
 Quoth: "Thine answer dost thou see, 
 
 Scarce the mountenance of a mile, 
 
 He who sick and sore may be 
 
 He bethought him of a guile 
 
 Scarce may fare afar, that he 
 
 They the worse did wend! 
 
 In the field may fight!" 1080 
 
 They with him to fare were fain — 
 
 Cried the messenger withal, 
 
 Otherwise thought their chieftain, 
 
 Quoth: "Woe worth this wicked hall, 
 
 Sendeth ever one again 
 
 Why did I not turn at call, 
 
 Back, at each mile's end, 1040 
 
 Go back with that knight?" 
 
 Till they one and all were gone — 
 
 "What knight was that?" quoth the 
 
 Then he rideth on alone 
 
 king; 
 
 Spurring over stock and stone 
 
 "Whom thou meanest in this thing, 
 
 Where no man him kenned. 
 
 In my land is no lording 
 
 
 Worthy name of knight!" 
 
 Known of no man would he be; 
 
 Quoth the messenger straightway : 
 
 Ever further rideth he 
 
 "This his name he would not say, iogo 
 
 'Midst a strange folk, verilie, 
 
 Fain were I to know alway 
 
 Valiant deeds to do; 
 
 What the lad, he hight. 
 
 Now, I trow, hath Percy velle 
 
 
 With two uncles spoken well, 1050 
 
 "This much had I from that knight, 
 
 Nor might one the other tell, 
 
 He 'His mother's son' was hight, 
 
 Or his true name know; 
 
 In what manner he was dight 
 
 Now upon the way he's set 
 
 Now I shall ye tell; 
 
 That shall lead him, without let, 
 
 Worthy wight was he to see, 
 
 Till the Soudan he has met, 
 
 Burly, bold of body he, 
 
 Blacked his brows with blow. 
 
 Blood-stained arms should, verilie, 
 
 Percy velle no more I'll sing, 
 
 Tale of battle tell; noo 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 249 
 
 He bestrode a blood-red steed, 
 Aketoun, and other weed, 
 All of that same hue indeed, 
 
 They became him well!" 
 Then he gave command, the king, 
 Horse and armour forth to bring: 
 "May I trow thy chattering, 
 
 That was Percyvelle!" 
 
 For the love of Percyvelle 
 
 They to horse and armour fell, ii 
 
 There would they no longer dwell, 
 
 Forth to fare were fain: 
 Fast they ride upon their way, 
 They were sore afeard that day 
 Ere they come unto the fray 
 
 That he should be slain; 
 Arthur with him taketh three 
 Knights, the fourth himself shall be, 
 Now so swiftly rideth he 
 
 Follow may no swain. u 
 
 Now the king is on his way, 
 Let him come whene'er he may 
 I will seek now in my play 
 
 Percyvelle again. 
 
 Seek we Percyvelle again, — 
 He hath passed out on the plain, 
 Over moorland, and mountain 
 
 Seeketh Maiden-Land; 
 Till toward the eventide 
 Warriors bold he saw abide, 1: 
 
 With pavilions pitched in pride 
 
 Round a city stand; 
 Hunting was the Soudan then, 
 He had left there many men, 
 Twenty score, an ye would ken^ 
 
 Should the gates command; 
 Ten score, while the day was light, 
 And eleven, through the night, 
 All of them were armed aright, 
 
 Weapons in their hand. 1 
 
 There with weapons in their hand 
 They would fight e'en as they rtand, 
 Sitting, lying, all that band, 
 Eleven score of men; 
 
 Riding as one rides a race, 
 Ere he wist, in little space, 
 Thro' the thickest press, apace, 
 
 Rode he 'mongst them then; 
 Started up a soldier bold, 
 Of his bridle layeth hold, hso 
 
 Said that he would fain be told 
 
 Of his errand then; 
 Said he: "I be come here fain 
 For to see a proud Soudain, 
 He, i' faith, shall soon be slain 
 
 If I might him ken ! 
 
 "If to know that man I may, 
 Then at morn, when dawns the day, 
 Fast together shall we play 
 
 With our weapons tried!" 1160 
 
 When they heard that he, in fray, 
 Thought their Soudan for to slay 
 Each one fell on him that day, 
 
 There to make him bide; 
 When he saw he thus was stayed, 
 Him, who hand on bridle laid, 
 Rode he down, and undismayed, 
 
 There, the gate beside, 
 Thrust with spear about him there, 
 And his point through many bare, 1170 
 There was no man who might dare 
 
 Face the lad that tide. 
 
 Who in town the tidings tell 
 Say, beneath his feet they fell, 
 That bold body, Percyvelle 
 
 Sped, his foes to still; 
 Thought, 't was small speed with his 
 
 spear, 
 Tho' it shore thro' many sheer, 
 Folk enow he found them here. 
 
 Had of fight his fill; 1180 
 
 From the hour of middle night, 
 Even till the morning light, 
 Were they ne'er so wild, or wight, 
 
 He wrought at his will; 
 And he dealt thus with his brand, 
 There was none might 'gainst him stand, 
 Half a blow take from his hand 
 
 Struck with such good-will. 
 
250 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Now he striketh them, I ween, 
 
 Till the Paynim's heads are seen noo 
 
 Hop as hailstones on the green, 
 
 Round about the grass; 
 Thus he dealt them many a blow, 
 Till the dawn began to show 
 He had laid their lives full low, 
 
 All who there would pass; 
 When his foes thus slain should be 
 Very weary then was he, 
 This I tell ye verilie, 
 
 He but cared the less, 1200 
 
 An he living were, or dead, 
 So he found him in such stead 
 He might peaceful lay his head, 
 
 Surety find in stress. 
 
 There he found no surety 
 
 Save what 'neath the wall should be, 
 
 There a fair place chooseth he, 
 
 And adown did light; 
 There he laid him down that tide, 
 And the steed stood him beside, mo 
 For the foal was fain to bide, 
 
 Wearied with the fight. 
 On the morn, when it was day, 
 On the wall the watchman lay, 
 Saw signs of an ugly fray 
 
 On the plain there dight; 
 Yet more marvel should there be, 
 Living man was none to see, — 
 Then they call that fair ladie 
 
 To behold that sight. 1220 
 
 Comes the lady to that sight; 
 Lufamour, that maiden bright, 
 Mounts the wall, that from the height, 
 
 She may see the field; 
 Heads and helmets, many a one, 
 (Trow me, lie I tell ye none,) 
 There they lay the grass upon, 
 
 With them many a shield; 
 'T was a marvel great they thought, 
 Who had such a wonder wrought 1230 
 In such wise to death had brought 
 
 All that folk on field, 
 And within the gate came ne'er 
 
 For to tell what men they were, 
 Tho' they knew the maid was there 
 Fair reward to yield. 
 
 Their reward she fain would pay — 
 Forth in haste they go their way 
 If on field they find them aye 
 
 Who had done this deed. 1240 
 
 'Neath their hand they looked around, 
 Saw a mickle steed that stound, 
 Blood-stained knight who lay on ground 
 
 By a blood-red steed; 
 Then she quoth, that lady bright: 
 ''Yonder doth there lie a knight, 
 Who has surely been in fight 
 
 If I right may read; 
 Either hath that man been slain, 
 Or to slumber is he fain, 1250 
 
 Or he is in battle ta'en, 
 
 Blood-stained is his weed." 
 
 Quoth she: "Blood-stained is his weed, 
 
 Even so his goodly steed, 
 
 Such knight in this land, indeed, 
 
 Did I never see; 
 What may he be, if he rise? 
 He is tall as there he lies, 
 And well made in every wise 
 
 As a man may be." 1260 
 
 Then she called her chamberlain, 
 Who by name hight fair Hatlayne, 
 The courtesy of good Gawain 
 
 In hall practised he; 
 Then she bade him go his way — 
 "If yon knight he live alway, 
 Bid him come to me straightway, 
 
 Pray him courteously." 
 
 Now to pray him as he can 
 
 'Neath the wall he swiftly ran, 1270 
 
 Warily he waked the man, 
 
 But the steed stood still; 
 As the tale was told to me 
 Down he kneeled on his knee, 
 Mildly hailed the knight so free, 
 
 Spake him soft and still; 
 "This my lady, Lufamour, 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 25' 
 
 She awaits thee in her bower, 
 Prayeth thee, for thine honour 
 
 Come, if so thou will." 1280 
 
 When he heard her message there 
 Up he rose with him to fare, 
 That man, who a stout heart bare, 
 
 Would her prayer fulfil. 
 
 Now her prayer to fulfil 
 Followed he her servant's will, 
 Went his way with him, until 
 
 To that maid came he; 
 Very blithe that maiden bright 
 When she saw that lad with sight, 1290 
 For she trowed that he was wight, 
 
 Asked him fair and free — 
 Of that lad she asks alway, 
 (Tho' he fain had said her nay,) 
 If he wist who did them slay 
 
 Who her foes should be? 
 Quoth he: "None of them I sought, 
 I had with the Soudan fought, 
 To a stand they had me brought, 
 
 Slain they were by me." 1300 
 
 Quoth he: "There they needs must 
 
 stay!" 
 Lufamour, that lady gay, 
 By his words she knew straightway 
 
 That the lad was wight; 
 And the maid was blithe that stound 
 That she such an aid had found 
 'Gainst the Soudan, who was bound 
 
 With them all to fight; 
 Straight she looked upon him there, 
 Thought him meet her land to share 
 If on field he won her fair 1311 
 
 With mastery and might; 
 Then they stabled there his steed, 
 And himself to hall they lead, 
 For delaying was no need, 
 
 They to dine are flight. 
 
 Set the lad on dais fair, 
 And with richest dainties there, 
 'T is no lie I now declare, 
 Serve him speedily; 13 «> 
 
 Sat him on a chair of gold 
 By the mildest maid on mold, 
 And the fairest to behold, 
 
 As at meat sat she; 
 There she made him semblance good, 
 As they fell there to their food, 
 Skilfully she soothed his mood 
 
 At meat, mirthfully; 
 That for this, her sake, I trow, 
 He doth undertake, and vow, 1330 
 
 He will slay the Soudan now, 
 
 And that speedily. 
 
 Quoth he: "Without any let 
 When I have the Soudan met, 
 A sad stroke on him I'll set 
 
 That his pride shall spill." 
 Quoth the lady fair and free: 
 "Who my foeman's bane shall be 
 He shall have my land and me, 
 
 Rule us as he will." 1340 
 
 There his meal had been but small 
 When word came unto the hail 
 Saying, many men withal 
 
 Harnessed were on hill. 
 Woeful for their fellows slain 
 They the city nigh had ta'en, 
 Men within the hold amain 
 
 Tolled the bell with will. 
 
 Now they toll the common bell; 
 Word is come to Percyvelle 1350 
 
 He no longer there would dwell, 
 
 Leapt from dais that day. 
 Lust for fighting did he know, 
 Crying: "Kinsmen, now I go 
 All yon men I'll lay them low 
 
 Ere I cease to slay!" 
 Then she kissed him without let, 
 On his head the helm she set, 
 To the stable did he get 
 
 Where his steed did stay. 1360 
 
 There were none with him to fare 
 For no man from thence he 'Id spare, 
 Forth he rides, and hastes bim 
 there 
 
 To the thickest fray. 
 
25 2 
 
 CHIEF MIDDL*E ENGLISH POETS 
 
 To the press he came apace 
 Riding as one rides a race, 
 All the folk before his face 
 
 They of strength had none; 
 Tho' to take him fain they were 
 Yet- their blows, they harmed him 
 
 ne'er, 1370 
 
 'T was as they had smitten there 
 
 On a right hard stone; 
 Were they weak, or were they wight, 
 All on whom his brand did smite 
 Felled their bodies were forthright 
 
 Better fate had none; 
 And I wot so swift he sped 
 Ere the sun was high o'er head 
 He that folk had smitten dead 
 
 Left in life not one. 1380 
 
 When they all were slain, then he 
 Looked around him, fain to see 
 If anigh him more should be 
 
 Who would with him fight; 
 As he, hardy, did behold, 
 Lo, he saw far off on wold, 
 Four knights under shield so bold 
 
 Thither ride aright; 
 The first should King Arthur be, 
 Then Ywain, flower of chivalry, 1390 
 And Gawain, be made them three, 
 
 Kay, the fourth was hight; 
 Percy velle, he spake full fair: 
 "Now to yonder four I'll fare, 
 If the Soudan shall be there 
 
 Do, as I am plight." 
 
 Now to hold the troth he plight 
 'Gainst the four he rideth right, 
 On the wall, the lady bright 
 
 Lay, and did behold, 1400 
 
 How these many men he 'd slain, 
 iithen, turned his steed again 
 Gainst four knights doth ride amain 
 
 Further on the wold; 
 Then I trow she was full woe 
 When she saw bim further go 
 And to seek four knights as foe 
 
 Shield and shaft uphold; 
 
 Mickle men and stern they ride, 1409 
 And right well she deemed that tide 
 That with bale they 'd make him bide 
 Who was her strong hold. 
 
 Tho' he was her surest hold 
 Yet that maid must needs behold 
 How he rideth forth on wold 
 
 'Gainst the four amain; 
 Then King Arthur quoth forthright: 
 "Hither comes a valiant knight 
 Who, because he seeketh fight, 
 
 Forth to ride is fain; 1420 
 
 If to fight he fares anon 
 And we four should strive 'gainst one, 
 Little fame we then had won 
 
 If he soon were slain." 
 Fast the four, they forward ride, 
 And the lot they cast that tide, 
 Sought who first the joust should bide, 
 
 That fell to Gawain. 
 
 When unto Gawain it fell 
 
 Thus to ride 'gainst Percyvelle, 1430 
 
 Then the chance it pleased him well, 
 
 From them did he fare; 
 Ever nearer as he drew, 
 Ever better then he knew 
 Of the arms and steed the hue 
 
 That the lad he bare; 
 "Ah! dear God," quoth Gawain free, 
 "Now what may this venture be? 
 An I slay him, or he me, 
 
 Sorry fate it were! 1440 
 
 We be sisters' sons, we twain, 
 Were one by the other slain 
 He who lives might mourn amain 
 
 That he born was e'er!" 
 
 Of his skill no proof he showed 
 Sir Gawain, as there he rode, 
 Drew his rein, and there abode 
 
 To himself quoth low: 
 "Now an unwise man I be 
 Thus to vex me foolishly; 1450 
 
 None shall aye so hardy be 
 
 But his peer may know; 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 253 
 
 Percyvelle, he slew that knight, 
 Yet another, e'en as wight, 
 May in that same gear be dight, 
 
 Taken all him fro' 
 If my kinsman I should spare 
 And his gear another ware 
 Who should overcome me there 
 
 That would work me woe! 
 
 1460 
 
 "That would work me mickle woe — - 
 Now, as I on earth may go 
 It shall ne'er befall me so 
 
 If I right may read; 
 One shaft shall I send, to wit, 
 And will seek first blow to hit, 
 Then shall I know, by my wit, 
 
 Who doth wear that weed." 
 No word more he saith that tide 
 But together swift they ride, 1470 
 
 Men, who joust were bold to bide 
 
 And stiff knights on steed; 
 Strong and stalwart steeds had they, 
 And their shields failed not that day, 
 But their spears brake in that fray, 
 
 As behoved them need. 
 
 Spears, that erst were whole, they 
 
 brake, — 
 With that, Percyvelle, he spake, 
 In this wise a tale would make 
 
 That on his tongue lay; 1480 
 
 Saith: "My way I wide have gone, 
 Yet, I trow me, such Soudan, 
 I' faith, saw I never none, 
 
 Ne'er by night or day : 
 I have slain, if I thee ken, 
 Twenty score of these, thy men, 
 Yet of all whom I slew then 
 
 Deemed it but a play, 
 'Gainst the dint I took from thee, 
 Ne'er such debt was owed by me, 1490 
 Two for one, my pay shall be 
 
 If so be I may!" 
 
 Then he answered, Sir Gawain, 
 (Sooth it is, be ye certain 
 Of that same was he full fain 
 
 Where in field they fight;) 
 For, by these, bis words so wild 
 Of a fool, the knight so mild 
 Wist full well it was the child 
 
 Percyvelle, the wight — isoo 
 
 Quoth: "No Soudan now I be, 
 But that same man, certainly, 
 Who thy body aided thee 
 
 First in arms to dight; 
 Thy stout heart I praise alway 
 Tho' thy words were rough to-day, 
 And my name, the sooth to say 
 
 Is Gawain, the knight!" 
 
 Quoth he: "Who will read aright 1509 
 Knows me for Gawain the knight." 
 Then the twain, they ceased to fight, 
 
 As good friends of old ; 
 Quoth: "Bethink thee, when thy foe 
 Thou wast fain in fire to throw 
 To disarm thou didst not know 
 
 This, his body cold"; — 
 Then was Percyvelle the free 
 Joyful, as he well might be, 
 For he wist well it was he 
 
 By this token told; 1520 
 
 Then, as Gawain did him pray, 
 He his vizor raised straightway 
 With good cheer they kissed that day 
 
 Those two barons bold. 
 
 Now they kiss, the barons twain, 
 Sithen talked, as they were fain, 
 Then, by them he draweth rein, 
 
 Arthur, king, and knight; 
 Then, as they afore had done, 
 Gave he thanks to God anon. 1530 
 
 Mickle mirth, I trow, they won, 
 
 That they met aright; 
 Sithen, without more delay, 
 To the castle made their way 
 And with them he rides that day 
 
 Percyvelle the wight; 
 Ready was the porter there, 
 Thro' the gate the knights they fare, 
 Blither heart no lady bare 
 
 Than Luf amour, the bright! i S4 o 
 
*54 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 "Succour great thou dost me send, 
 
 This my castle to defend 
 
 If the Soudan 'gainst me wend 
 
 Who is my worst foe!" 
 Then they set their steeds in stall 
 And the king wends to the hall, 
 His knights follow him withal 
 
 Since 't was fitting so, 
 Ready was their meal that day, 
 And thereto they take their way 1550 
 With the king, the lady gay, 
 
 And the knights also. 
 
 Welcome good she gave her guest, 
 Rich meats proffered of the best, 
 Dearest drinks at their behest 
 
 Brought for them, I ween, 
 Ate and drank with mirth on mold, 
 Sithen talked, and tales they told 
 Of deeds that were wrought of old 
 
 Both the king and queen; 1560 
 
 And the first thing, did she pray 
 Of King Arthur, he would say 
 Of child Percyvelle alway 
 
 What his life had been? 
 Lufamour, she wondered sore, 
 That he arms so bravely bore, 
 Yet knew naught of knightly lore 
 
 As she well had seen. 
 
 She had seen, with this same child, 
 Naught but words and works so 
 
 wild, 1570 
 
 Marvelled much, that lady mild, 
 
 Of his folly there; 
 Then hath Arthur shewn, that stead, 
 How that Percyvelle was bred 
 From the first, till he was led 
 
 Forth, on field to fare; 
 How his father, slain was he, 
 And his mother fain would flee, 
 Dwell alone 'neath woodland tree, 
 
 None her flight to share; 1580 
 
 "There he dwelt for fifteen year, 
 Had for fellow the wild deer, 
 Little need ye wonder here 
 
 That so wild he were!" 
 
 When he told this tale withal 
 To that lady fair in hall 
 Gracious words had he at call 
 
 For them everyone; 
 Then quoth Percyvelle, the wight: 
 "If I be not yet a knight isqo 
 
 Thou shalt keep thy promise plight 
 
 Thou would'st make me one!" 
 Then the king he answered so: 
 "Other deeds thou needs must do, 
 'Gainst the Soudan shalt thou go, 
 
 Thus thy spurs be won!" 
 Then quoth Percyvelle the free: 
 "Soon as I the Soudan see, 
 Even so, I swear to thee, 
 
 Shall the deed be done!" 1600 
 
 "As I sware," so doth he say, 
 "That I would the Soudan slay, 
 I will work as best I may 
 
 That word to maintain." 
 That day did they no more deed, 
 Those knights, worthy under weed, 
 Busked them there, to bed to speed 
 
 Great and small were fain; 
 Till ere morn hath waxen high 
 Comes the Soudan with a cry 1610 
 
 All his folk, he found them lie, 
 
 They'd been put to pain; 
 Soon he asked who was the knight 
 Who had slain his men with might 
 And in life had left the fight, 
 
 Mastery to gain? 
 
 Now to win the mastery 
 
 To the castle doth he cry 
 
 If one were with heart so high 
 
 Fain with him to fight? 1620 
 
 Man for man to challenge fain: 
 "Tho* he all his folk hath slain, 
 He shall find Gollrotherame 
 
 Meet him as is right; 
 But this forward I demand, 
 That thereto ye set your hand, 
 He who shall the better stand, 
 
 Prove the most of might, 
 That he slay his foe this tide, 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 2 55 
 
 He the land, both broad and wide, 1630 
 Holds, and taketh for his bride 
 Luf amour, the bright!" 
 
 And that same, the King Arthour, 
 
 And the lady Lufamour, 
 
 All who were within that tower 
 
 Granted readily; 
 They called Percyvelle the wight, 
 And the king there dubbed him knight 
 Tho' he little knew in sight 
 
 Stout of heart was he; 1640 
 
 Bade him that he be to praise, 
 Gentle, and of courteous ways, 
 And Syr Percyvelle the Gallays, 
 
 Should his title be. 
 Thus the king, in Maiden-land, 
 Dubbed him knight with his own 
 
 hand, 
 Bade him firm 'gainst foe to stand, 
 
 Plague him ceaselessly. 
 
 Little peace he took that same, 
 'Gainst the Soudan swift he came, 1650 
 Who hight Gollerotherame, 
 
 And was fell in fight; 
 In the field so broad and wide 
 No more carping made that tide 
 But together soon they ride 
 
 With their shafts aright; 
 Then the Soudan, strong in weed, 
 Percyvelle bare from his steed, 
 Two land's length, I trow, indeed, 
 
 With mastery and might; 1660 
 
 On the earth the Soudan lay, 
 And bis steed, it fled away, 
 Jesting, Percyvelle doth say: 
 
 "Hast the troth I plight! 
 
 "I thee plight a blow, I trow, 
 And methinks, thou hast it now, 
 Were it so, 't would please me, thou 
 
 Ne'er of this should mend!" 
 O'er the Soudan did he stay, 
 As upon the ground he lay, 1670 
 
 Held him down to earth alway 
 
 E'en with his spear-end. 
 
 Fain he had his foeman slain, 
 E'en that miscreant Soudane, 
 But no way could find again, 
 
 Had small skill to wend; 
 Then he thinks, the lad so bold, 
 Of wild works he wrought of old, 
 "Had I now a fire on wold 
 
 Burning were thine end!" 1680 
 
 Quoth: "I 'Id burn thee here forthright, 
 Then thou should'st have no more might 
 'Gainst a woman aye to fight, 
 
 I would teach thee fair!" 
 Quoth the good Gawain that day: 
 "Thou could'st, didst thou know the 
 
 way, 
 And would 'st light from steed alway 
 
 Overcome him there." 
 Light of mood, the boy, and gay, 
 Thinks on other thing straightway. i6go 
 Quoth: "A steed, now didst thou say? 
 • I deemed this a mare 1" 
 In the stead there, as he stood, 
 Little recked for ill or good, 
 Swiftly did he change his mood 
 
 Slacked his spear point there. 
 
 When he up his spear had ta'en, 
 With that, Gollerotherame, 
 This same miscreant Soudane, 
 
 Sprang upon his feet, 1700 
 
 Forth his sword then draweth he, 
 Strikes at Percyvelle the free, 
 And the boy scarce skilled should be 
 
 These, his wiles, to meet; 
 But the steed, at his own will, 
 Saw the sword, and stayed not still, 
 Leapt aside upon a hill, 
 
 Five strides maketh fleet; 
 Even as he sprang there-by, 
 Then the Soudan raised a cry, 1710 
 
 Waked the boy full suddenly 
 
 From his musings sweet. 
 
 He in musing deep did stay, 
 All his dreams then fled away, 
 Lighted down without delay 
 
256 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 'Gainst him for to go; 
 Quoth: "I trow, hast taught to me 
 How I best may deal with thee." 
 Swift, his sword then draweth he, 
 
 Struck hard at his foe; 1720 
 
 Thro' the neck-bone shore the blade, 
 Mouthpiece, gorget, useless laid, 
 And the Soudan's head he made 
 
 Fly the body fro'. 
 Then he strode, the knight so good, 
 To his steed, as there it stood, 
 That fair maiden mild of mood, 
 
 Much mirth might she know. 
 
 Very mirthful he, that tide, 
 
 To the castle did he ride, 1730 
 
 Boldly there did he abide 
 
 With that maiden bright; 
 Joyful were they everyone 
 That the Soudan was undone, 
 And he had the woman won 
 
 By mastery and might. 
 Said of Percyvelle, that he 
 Worthy was a king to be, 
 Since he kept full faithfully 
 
 That which he had hight. 1740 
 
 There was nothing more to say 
 But, on the appointed day, 
 He wed Lufamour, the may, 
 
 Percyvelle, the wight. 
 
 Now has Percyvelle the wight 
 Wedded Lufamour, the bright, 
 King hath he become of right 
 
 Of that land so wide; 
 Then King Arthur, on a day, 
 Thought no longer there to stay, 1750 
 Took leave of the lady gay 
 
 And from thence would ride; 
 Percyvelle there leaveth he 
 King of all that land to be 
 Since with ring, the knight so free, 
 
 Wed that maid as bride. 
 Sithen, on th' appointed day, 
 Rode the king upon his way, 
 As for certain sooth I say, 
 
 Nor would more abide. 1760 
 
 Now doth Percyvelle abide 
 There, within those boroughs wide, 
 For her sake who was his bride, 
 
 Wedded there with ring; 
 Well he wielded rule in land, 
 All men bowed them to his hand, 
 At his will the folk, they stand, 
 
 Know him for their king; 
 Thus within that burg, right well, 
 Till the twelvemonth's end, it fell, 1770 
 With his true love did he dwelk 
 
 Thought of ne'er a thing, 
 Thought not how his mother, she, 
 Dwelt beneath the greenwood tree, 
 How her drink should water be 
 
 That from well doth spring. 
 
 Drinks spring-water from the well, 
 Eats of herbs, no lie I tell, 
 With none other thing doth dwell 
 
 In the holts so sere; 1780 
 
 Till it chanced upon a day 
 As within his bed he lay, 
 To himself he 'gan to say 
 
 Soft, with sigh and tear: 
 "Last Yule day, methinks it were, 
 I on wild ways forth did fare, 
 Left my mother man-less there 
 
 In the woodland drear — " 
 To himself then sayeth he: 
 "Blithe, I ween, I ne'er may be 1790 
 Till I may my mother see, 
 
 Or of her may hear." 
 
 Now to wot how she doth fare 
 That good knight doth armour bear, 
 Nor would longer linger there 
 
 Spite of aught they say; 
 Up he rose within that hall, 
 Took his leave of one and all, 
 Both of great and eke of small, 
 
 Forth would go his way, 1800 
 
 Tho' she doth him straight entreat, 
 Lufamour, his true love sweet, 
 While the days of Yule fast fleet 
 
 He with her should stay, 
 He denied her of that thing, 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 257 
 
 But a priest he bade them bring, 
 Bade a Mass for him to sing, 
 Rode forth that same day. 
 
 Now from thence the knight doth 
 
 ride, 
 Never man he wist that tide 1810 
 
 Whitherward he thought to ride 
 
 His grief to amend; 
 Forth he rideth all alone, 
 Goeth from them everyone, 
 None might know where he is gone 
 
 Or might with him wend; 
 Forward doth he take his way, 
 'T is the certain sooth I say, 
 Till a road he found alway 
 
 By a forest end. 1820 
 
 Then he heard, the road anigh, 
 As it were a woman's cry 
 Praying Mary mild, on high, 
 
 She would succour send. 
 
 Praying Mary, mild of mood, 
 
 She would send her succour good — 
 
 As he came there thro' the wood 
 
 He a marvel found; 
 For a lady, fair to. see, 
 Stood fast bounden to a tree, 1830 
 
 'T is the sooth I say to ye, 
 
 Hand and foot were bound; 
 When her plight he thus did know 
 Fain was he to ask her who 
 He should be, who served her so, 
 
 As he thus had found? 
 Saith she: "Sir, 't is the Black Knight, 
 He who is my lord by right, 
 Who in this wise hath me dight 
 
 Brought me to this stound." 1840 
 
 Quoth she: "Here he left me bound 
 For a fault that he hath found, 
 Yet I warrant thee this stound, 
 
 Evil did I none ! 
 For it chanced e'en as I say, 
 That upon my bed I lay 
 As it were the last Yule-Day, 
 
 Now a twelvemonth gone, 
 
 Were he knight, or were he king, 
 
 One in jest hath done this thing, 1850 
 
 He with me exchanged a ring, 
 
 Richer had I none! 
 That man did I never see 
 Who made this exchange with me, 
 But I wot, whoe'er he be, 
 
 He the better won!" 
 
 Quoth: "The better doth he own, 
 
 For such virtue in a stone, 
 
 In this world I ne'er have known, 
 
 Set within a ring, i860 
 
 For the man who doth it wear, 
 Or upon his body bear, 
 Never blow may harm him there, 
 
 Or to death him bring." 
 Percyvelle wist without fail, 
 When he heard that lady's tale, 
 He had brought her into bale 
 
 When he changed her ring; 
 Straightway to her speaketh he, 
 To that lady fair and free: 1870 
 
 "I shall loose thee from that tree 
 
 By my faith as king!" 
 
 Percyvelle was king and knight, 
 Well he held what he had hight, 
 And he loosed that lady bright, 
 
 Who stood bound to tree; 
 Down she sat, the lady fair, 
 Percyvelle beside her there, 
 Wayworn, since he far did fare, 
 
 Fain to rest was he; 1880 
 
 Deemed he well might rest that tide, 
 Yet short leisure might he bide, 
 As he lay, the dame beside, 
 
 His head on her knee, 
 She waked Percyvelle the wight, 
 Bade him flee with all his might: 
 "Yonder cometh the Black Knight, 
 
 Slain thou sure shalt be!" 
 
 Quoth she: "Sir, thou sure shalt die, 
 This I tell thee certainly, 1890 
 
 Yonder, see, he draweth nigh 
 Who shall slay us two." 
 
258 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 But the knight he answered free : 
 "Thou but now didst say to me 
 That no dint my death should be, 
 
 Nor should work me woe." 
 Then his helm on bead he set, 
 But, ere be to horse might get, 
 The Black Knight with him hath met, 
 
 Hailed him as bis foe; igoo 
 
 Quoth he: "How? What dost thou 
 
 here? 
 Would'st thou then thy playmate cheer? 
 For this shalt thou pay full dear 
 
 Ere I hence shall go!" 
 
 Quoth the knight: "Ere hence I go, 
 I shall surely slay ye two, 
 And the like of ye also, 
 
 Fair reward to yield ! " 
 Then quoth Percy velle the free: 
 "Now, methinks, we soon shall see igio 
 Who of us shall worthy be 
 
 To be slain in field!" 
 No word more they spake that tide, 
 But right soon together ride, 
 As men who would war abide, 
 
 Stiff, with shaft and shield. 
 And Syr Percyvelle, the wight, 
 He hath borne down the Black Knight, 
 Then, I trow, the lady bright 
 
 Succoured him on field; ig» 
 
 His best succour did she wield, 
 Save she there had been his shield, 
 He had sure been slain on field, 
 
 Swift and certainly; 
 For as Percyvelle the keen 
 Fain the Black Knight's bane had been 
 Came the lady in between, 
 
 And did "Mercy!" cry; 
 For her sake did be forbear, 
 And he. made the Black Knight swear 
 To forgive that lady fair, ig3i 
 
 Put his ill-will by; 
 And, himself, he sware that day 
 That he ne'er beside her lay, 
 Wronged her not in any way 
 
 That were villainy ! 
 
 "Villainy I did her ne'er, 
 When I saw her sleeping there, 
 Then I kissed that lady fair, 
 
 That to own, I'm fain! ig4o 
 
 From her hand I took a ring, 
 And I left her slumbering, 
 And the truth of that same thing 
 
 Will I here maintain!" 
 That naught else had chanced, that, 
 
 he 
 Sware by Jesu, verilie, 
 For that same, right readily, 
 
 Here would he be slain ! 
 "Ready is the ring, I trow, 
 If mine own wilt give me now, igso 
 
 Of that same exchange, I vow, 
 
 Shall I be full fain!" 
 
 Quoth: "Mine own I'll gladly take — " 
 In this wise the Black Knight spake: 
 "No denial will I make 
 
 Thou too late shalt be! 
 Swift that ring did I demand, 
 Drew it there from off her hand, 
 To the lord of this same land, 
 
 Bare it speedily! igfo 
 
 Mourning sore, that ring I bare, 
 To a good man took it there, 
 No more stalwart giant shall fare 
 
 On this earth than he! 
 There is neither knight nor king 
 Who durst ask from him that ring, 
 But that same to death he '11 bring, 
 
 Hot his wrath shall be!" 
 
 "Be he hot, or be he cold — " 
 
 Thus spake Percyvelle the bold, ig7o 
 
 (For the tale that knight had told . 
 
 He waxed wroth that day ;) 
 Quoth: "On gallows high may he 
 Hang, who gives this ring to thee 
 Ere mine own thou bringest me, 
 
 Which thou gav'st away ! 
 If none other way there be 
 Then right soon shalt tell to me 
 What like man, in sooth, is he 
 
 Who is strong in fray? 1980 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 259 
 
 I to speak no more be fain, 
 I must win it back again, 
 Lost thy share in these rings twain 
 Tho' more precious they!" 
 
 Quoth: "Had they more precious 
 
 been—" 
 Quoth the knight in wrath, I ween, 
 "That with small delay be seen, 
 
 What like man is he, 
 If to keep thy word thou dare, 
 Percyvelle of Galays, fare 1900 
 
 To yon lofty palace, there 
 
 Should he surely be; 
 Thy ring with that giant grim, 
 (Bright the stone, and nothing dim,) 
 There, forsooth, shalt find with him, 
 
 Given it was by me. 
 In that hold, or eke without, — 
 Or, perchance, he rides about, — 
 But of thee he'll have small doubt 
 
 As thou sure shalt see!" 2000 
 
 Quoth the knight: "Thou sure shalt see, 
 That I tell thee certainlie," — 
 On his way then rideth he 
 
 Wondrous swift that tide; 
 Stood the giant in his hold 
 Who was lord o'er wood and wold, 
 Saw Syr Percyvelle the bold 
 
 O'er his land to ride; 
 On his porter calls, I ween, 
 Saith: "Now say, what may this mean? 
 For a bold man have I seen 2011 
 
 O'er my lands to ride. 
 Reach me down my plaything there, 
 And against him will I fare, 
 Better lot at Rome he 'Id share 
 
 As I thrive, this tide!" 
 
 An he thrive, or vanquished be, 
 
 Club of iron taketh he, 
 
 And 'gainst Percyvelle the free, 
 
 Goes his way forthright, 2020 
 
 Weighty blows that club should deal, 
 That a knight full well should feel, 
 For the head, well wrought of steel, 
 
 Twelve stone weighed aright; 
 Bound the staff with iron band, 
 And with ten stones of the land, 
 One was set behind his hand, 
 
 Was for holding dight; 
 Three and twenty, fully told, 
 111 might any man on mold, 2030 
 
 As the tale it now is told, 
 
 'Gainst such weapon fight! 
 
 Thus, to smite each other down, 
 Met they on a moorland brown, 
 A full mile from any town, 
 
 'Neath their shield so bold; 
 Then he quoth, the giant wight, 
 Soon as he beheld that knight: 
 "Mahoun, praised be thy might!" 
 
 Did him well behold; 2040 
 
 "Art thou he, now tell me true, 
 Who Gollerotherame slew, 
 Other brother ne'er I knew 
 
 Than himself, of old?" 
 Then quoth Percyvelle the free: 
 "Thro' God's Grace, I'll so serve thee, 
 And such giants as ye be 
 
 Slay them all on fold!" 
 
 Such a fight was seldom seen, 
 
 For the dale it rang, I ween, 2050 
 
 With the dints that passed between 
 
 These two, when they met; 
 The giant, with his weapon fell, 
 Fain had smitten Percyvelle, 
 Bending low, he swerved full well, 
 
 And a stroke swift set; 
 The giant's blow, it went astray, 
 Hard as flint the club alway, 
 Ere the staff he well might stay, 
 
 Or his strength might let, 2060 
 
 In the earth the club, it stood, 
 To the midmost of the wood, 
 Percyvelle, the hero good, 
 
 Forth his sword would get. 
 
 Forth he drew his sword that day, 
 Smote the giant without delay, 
 Nigh unto his neck alway 
 
260 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Even as he stood, 
 Strikes his hand off with a blow, 
 His left foot doth cleave also, 2070 
 
 Dealt such dints upon his foe, 
 
 Nighed him as he would; 
 Percyvelle he quoth: "I ween. 
 Had thy weapon smaller been 
 Better luck thy hand had seen, 
 
 Thou hadst done some good; 
 Now, I trow, that ne'er again 
 Shall thy club from earth be ta'en, 
 Or thy way thou ridest fain, 
 
 Ne'er, upon the Rood!" 2080 
 
 Quoth he: "By the Holy Rood, 
 
 As in evil aye thou stood, 
 
 Of thy foot thou get'st no good, 
 
 Save that hop thou may!" 
 Then his club aside he laid, 
 Smote the hero undismayed, 
 In the neck, with knife's sharp blade, 
 
 Near enow were they. 
 Wrathful at the blow, I ween, 
 The giant's hand be smote off clean, 
 As none had aforetime been, 2ogi 
 
 Both hands were away! 
 Then his bead from off him drave — 
 He was a discourteous knave 
 Thus a giant's beard to shave, 
 
 I forsooth, may say ! 
 
 Then, as I the sooth may say, 
 Left the giant where he lay 
 And rode forth upon his way 
 
 To the fortress-hold; 2100 
 
 When he saw his lord was dead, 
 Then the porter swiftly sped, 
 From the knight, the keys, that stead, 
 
 Would he not withhold; 
 Percyvelle, ere other thing, 
 Prayed the porter of the ring, 
 Thereof, could he tidings bring? 
 
 And straightway he told, 
 Showed him straightway to the kist, 
 Where the treasure was, he wist, ano 
 Bade him take there, as he list, 
 
 All he would of gold. 
 
 Percyvelle, from treasure hold 
 Speedy, turned out all the gold, 
 There, before him on the mold, 
 
 Fell the ring he sought; 
 Stood the porter at his side, 
 Saw the ring from coffer glide, 
 And he quoth: "Woe worth the tide 
 
 That same ring was wrought!" 2120 
 Percyvelle, he answered free, 
 Asked him why, and wherefore, he 
 Banned that ring so bitterly, 
 
 What was in his thought? 
 Then the porter answered fair, 
 By his loyalty he sware: 
 "I the truth will here declare 
 
 And delay for naught." 
 
 Quoth: "The truth I tell to thee, 
 The knight whose this ring should 
 
 be 2130 
 
 As a present gave it free, 
 
 And hath hither brought; 
 He, forsooth, my master there, 
 Took the gift with favour fair, 
 Lord of this land was he e'er, 
 
 For his marvels wrought. 
 Dwelling nigh, there chanced to be 
 At that time, a fair ladie, 
 And my lord, right loyally, 
 
 Loved her, as I thought; 2140 
 
 So it chanced upon a day 
 As in sooth I now shall say, 
 That my lord went forth to play, 
 
 And her love besought. 
 
 " Now the lady doth he pray 
 His true love to be alway, 
 Pleading straitly, that he may 
 
 Of her favoured be; 
 As his first prayer he would bring, 
 He would proffer her the ring, 2130 
 
 When she saw that tokening, 
 
 Sore dismayed was she; 
 Wept, and wailed, and cried amain : 
 'Traitor, thou my son hast slain, 
 And the ring from him hast ta'en 
 
 That was given by me!' 
 
SYR PERCYVELLE OF GALLES 
 
 261 
 
 Then her clothes from off her tare, 
 Gat her to the woodland there, 
 Witless doth that lady fare, 
 * This the cause shall be! 3160 
 
 "Even for such cause as this 
 Is the lady mad, I wis, 
 Wild within the wood she is 
 
 Ever since that tide; 
 Fain would I her succour be, 
 But whene'er she seeth me 
 From me swiftly doth she flee, 
 
 Will for naught abide." 
 Quoth Syr Percy velle that day: 
 "Now will I without delay 2170 
 
 Strive to make that lady stay, 
 
 But I will not ride; 
 But afoot I now will go, 
 An that lady shall me know 
 I may bring her out of woe, 
 
 For her son she'll bide!" 
 
 Quoth: "For this, her son, she'll bide, 
 But ahorse I will not ride 
 Till that lady I have spied, 
 
 Speed as best I may; 2180 
 
 With none armour that may be," 
 Quoth the knight: "I'll cover me, 
 Till that I my mother see, 
 
 Or by night or day; 
 But the self-same garb I ware 
 When from her I forth did fare, 
 That, I think again to bear 
 
 After other play; 
 And I trow that never more 
 Come I from the holts so hore 3190 
 
 Till her lot, who once me bore, 
 
 I again may say." 
 
 "This for sooth I think to say." — 
 With that would he go his way, 
 With the morn, at dawn of day, 
 
 Forth the knight did fare; 
 All his harness left within, 
 Did on him a coat of skin, 
 To the woodland forth did win 
 
 'Mid the holts so bare; 2200 
 
 Seven days long in vain he sought, 
 Of his mother found he naught, 
 Nor of meat or drink he thought, 
 
 He was full of care; 
 On the ninth day it befell 
 That he came unto a well 
 Nigh where he was wont to dwell, 
 
 And refresh him there. 
 
 He had drunk his fill that tide, 
 Further thought to wander wide, 2210 
 When he saw, close to his side, 
 
 That same lady free; 
 But, whenas she saw him there, 
 She with threats would 'gainst him fare, 
 And swift answer did she dare 
 
 E'en that fair ladie; 
 She began to call and cry, 
 Saying: "Such a son had I!" 
 Then his heart for joy beat high, 
 
 Blithe, I trow, was he; 2220 
 
 As he came to her anear, 
 So that she his voice might hear, 
 Spake he: "Sweet my mother dear, 
 
 Bide ye there for me!" 
 
 By that time so nigh was he 
 That she might in no wise flee, • 
 This I tell ye certainly, 
 
 She must needs abide; 
 Sprang on him in wrath so keen, 
 That of very truth, I ween, 2230 
 
 Had her strength but greater been 
 
 He were slain that tide; 
 But the stronger was he e'er, 
 Up he took his mother there, 
 On his back the lady bare, 
 
 Pure, I trow, his pride. 
 To the castle gate that day 
 Hastens he, the nearest way, 
 And the porter without stay, 
 
 Opens to him wide- 2240 
 
 Bare his mother in that day, — 
 
 He who made the tale doth say 
 
 With what robes they had alway 
 
 Wrapped her warmly there; 
 
262 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 There the lord a drink had wrought, 
 
 That men thus His grace should see 
 
 And that same the porter brought, 
 
 As on them was seen. 
 
 For none other had he thought 
 
 Sithen, go they on their way, 
 
 Save that lady fair. 
 
 And a rich bath make straightway, 2270 
 
 Then, for so the tale they tell, 
 
 For that lady, robed her gay, 
 
 With a spoon they fed her well, 2250 
 
 Both in gray and green. 
 
 And asleep she swiftly fell 
 
 
 As I now declare; 
 
 Percyvelle without delay, 
 
 And the lady sleeping lay 
 
 'T is the sooth to ye I say, 
 
 Three nights, and three days, alway 
 
 Took his mother, and his way 
 
 Doth the porter with her stay 
 
 Homeward rideth he; 
 
 Wakes and watches there. 
 
 Then great lords, and his sweet queen, 
 
 
 Welcomed him with joy, I ween, 
 
 Thus the porter watched her there, 
 
 When they him in life had seen 
 
 Loyal love to her he bare, 
 
 Blithe they well may be. 2280 
 
 Till at last the lady fair 
 
 Then he fared to Holy Land, 
 
 Wakened, so I ween; 2260 
 
 Cities won with his strong hand, 
 
 Then distraught was she no more, 
 
 There was slain, I understand, 
 
 But herself in such wise bore 
 
 This his end should be! 
 
 As one hale, who ne'er of yore, 
 
 Jesu Christ, high Heaven's King, 
 
 Otherwise had been; 
 
 Who is Lord of everything, 
 
 Then they kneeled down, the three, 
 
 Grant to us His dear blessing, 
 
 Gave God thanks on bended knee 
 
 Amen, for charitie. 
 
 SIR LANCELOT" 
 
 THE MAID OF ASCOLOT 
 
 (Sir Lancelot would ride secretly to a 
 
 Tournament.) 
 An earl, he dwelt there at that tide, 
 The lord of Ascolot he bight, 
 Thither Sir Lancelot would ride, 
 Craving a shelter for the night. 
 They welcomed him with fitting pride, 
 A supper rich for him they dight; 
 His name from all he fain would hide 
 Saying, he was a stranger knight. 
 
 Of sons the earl he had but two, 
 And those two newly knighted were — 
 At that time was the custom so n 
 
 That, when young knights their shield 
 would bea'r, 
 
 Throughout the first year must they 
 
 show 
 One hue alone, whate'er that were, 
 Or red, or yellow, white, or blue — 
 Thus of young knights the fashion fair. 
 
 Then, as they sat at meat, forthright 
 Sir Lancelot his host did pray: 
 "Sir, is there here a youthful knight 
 Who fain were for the Tourney's fray?" 
 "I have two sons, dear to my sight, 21 
 But one, he lieth sick to-day, 
 An he a comrade found, 't were right 
 The other sought the field alwayl" 
 
 "Sir, an thy son will thither ride, 
 His company I'll keep withal; 
 There will I battle at his side, 
 
 1 From the Ilarleiun MS. 
 
SIR LANCELOT 
 
 263 
 
 And help him there, lest harm befall." 
 "Thy courtesy thou can'st not hide; 
 Good knight art thou, 't is plain to all, 
 Now till to-morrow here abide, 31 
 
 My son shall ride with thee from hall." 
 
 "Fain would I ask ye one thing more, 
 I ask it here for better speed, 
 Say, have ye armour here in store 
 That I might borrow for my need?" 
 "My son, he lies in sickness sore, 
 Take ye his harness and his steed, 
 Brethren they 'Id deem ye, an ye wore, 
 The twain of ye, the same red weed." 
 
 The earl, he had a daughter sweet, 41 
 Fain was she Lancelot to see, 
 (Her face was red as blossom meet, 
 Or flower in field that springeth free.) 
 Gladly she sat by him at meat, 
 In sooth, a noble knight was he! 
 Yet swift her tears adown they fleet, 
 Fast set on him her heart shall be. 
 
 Up rose that maiden fair and still, 
 And to her bower she went in woe, so 
 Adown upon her couch she fell, 
 Her heart, it well nigh brake in two. 
 Sir Lancelot, he wist her will — 
 (The signs of love he well doth know,) 
 He called her brother soft and still, 
 And to her chamber swift they go. 
 
 He sat him, for that maiden's sake, 
 Down on the bed whereon she lay, 
 In courteous wise to her he spake — 
 (He fain will comfort, an he may,) fio 
 Then in her arms she doth him take 
 And these the words she soft doth 
 
 say: 
 "Sir, save that ye the medicine make, 
 No leech may save my life to-day!" 
 
 "Lady, I prithee cease to fret, 
 And do thyself for me no ill, 
 My heart elsewhere is steadfast set, 
 My love lies not within my will. 
 
 Yet naught on earth henceforth will let 
 Me from thy service, loud or still, 70 
 Another time when we have met 
 Thou mayest better speak thy fill." 
 
 "Then, since I may no better fare, 
 As thou be valiant knight, and free, 
 I pray thee in this Tourney bear 
 Some sign of mine, that men may 
 
 see." 
 "Lady, the sleeve thou now dost wear 
 I'll take it for the love of thee, 
 So much I did for lady ne'er 
 Save her, who most hath loved me!" 80 
 
 Then, on the morrow, when 't was day, 
 They dined, and made them ready there, 
 Then gat them forth upon their way 
 In guise as tho' they brethren were — 
 (Then follows the account of the Tour- 
 nament, in which Lancelot greatly 
 distinguishes himself, but is badly 
 wounded. The Maiden of Ascolot and 
 her aunt tend him carefully. Meanwhile 
 Arthur, who suspects the winner of the 
 Tourney to be Lancelot, sends Gawain 
 in search of him.) 
 Then from the king, and from the queen, 
 Sir Gawain took his leave that tide, 
 Of all his comrades too, I ween, 
 And busks himself, with mickle pride. 
 To Ascolot, by wood-ways green, 
 He hastes as fast as he may ride, 90 
 Till he Sir Lancelot hath seen 
 Nor night, nor day, would he abide. 
 
 By that, Sir Lancelot, whole again, 
 Made ready on his way to go, 
 Leave of the folk hath courteous ta'en — 
 The maiden wept for grief and woe : 
 "Sir, if your will thereto were fain, 
 Since I of ye no more may know, 
 I pray that I some gift may gain 99 
 To look on, when my tears fast flow." 
 
 Lancelot spake, with heart so free — 
 (The maiden's grief would he amend — ) 
 
264 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 "Mine armour will I leave with thee, 
 And in thy brother's hence will wend. 
 Look that thou long not after me, 
 No space within these walls to spend 
 Have I, yet short the time shall be 
 Before I either come or send." 
 
 Sir Lancelot, he fain would ride, 
 And on his way he went forthright, — 
 Sir Gawain came within that tide m 
 And tidings asked of such a knight. 
 They welcomed him with mickle pride, 
 And supper for him richly dight, 
 The truth they have small care to 
 
 hide — 
 "He left but now for fourteen night." 
 
 Sir Gawain courteous mien doth make, 
 He sat him down, that maid anear, 
 And told of Lancelot du Lake, 
 How in the world was none his peer, no 
 The maid, of Lancelot she spake, 
 Said, how he to her heart was dear: 
 "Yea, for his love he doth me take, 
 His armour might I show you here." 
 
 "Sweet Demoiselle," he saith anon, 
 "Right glad am I the thing be so, 
 For such a lover hast thou won 
 That this world may no better show. 
 Of lady fair there liveth none 120 
 
 For wealth or beauty famed, that tho' 
 Her heart were hard as steel or stone 
 With love for him it would not glow. 
 
 "But, Demoiselle, I 'Id ask of thee 
 That thou his shield to me would'st 
 
 show, 
 That if Sir Lancelot's it be 
 By its device I well may know." 
 That maiden was both frank and free, 
 She led him to a chamber new, 
 Lancelot's shield she bade him see, 
 And all his armour forth she drew. 140 
 
 Sir Gawain turned him swift about, 
 And to the maiden gaily spake: 
 
 "Lady," he quoth, "without a doubt 
 He is Sir Lancelot du Lake! 
 And Lady, that a knight so stout 
 Should ye for true-love truly take 
 Rejoiceth me, within, without, 
 I am your servant, for his sake!" 
 
 n A 
 
 With that sweet maid he spake the night 
 All that he had in heart to say, 150 
 
 Till that his bed for him they dight 
 Much mirth he made, and gladsome play. 
 He took his leave of earl and knight 
 At morrow morn, when dawned the day, 
 Bade "Farewell," to that maiden bright, 
 And gat him forth upon his way. 
 
 He wist not where to seek that knight, 
 Nor whither Lancelot would ride. 
 For when he once was out of sight 
 He wist right well his tracks to hide. 160 
 He takes the road he knows aright, 
 To Arthur's court he needs no guide, 
 Welcome he was to king and knight, 
 As hero courteous, true, and tried. 
 
 Then it befell upon a tide 
 The king and queen together spake, 
 (Sir Gawain standing at their side,) 
 Each to the other plaint doth make 
 How long they must with sorrow bide 
 His coming, Lancelot du Lake, 170 
 
 Of Arthur's court abased the pride, 
 And sore the sighing, for his sake. 
 
 "Certes, an Lancelot did live 
 So long from court he ne'er would be — " 
 Swiftly Gawain doth answer give: 
 "Nay, nay, no marvel 't is to me, 
 The fairest lady that doth live 
 Chosen unto his love hath he, 
 Gladness to every man 't would give 
 An he so fair a sight might see!" 180 
 
 King Arthur, he was glad that day, 
 Such tidings deemed he passing fair; 
 Then of Gawain he straight did pray 
 He would the maiden's name declare. 
 
SIR LANCELOT 
 
 265 
 
 "Earl's daughter she," (so doth he say,) 
 "Of Ascolot, I well did fare 
 Within that burg so blithe and gay, 
 Lancelot's shield she shewed me there." 
 
 The queen, she spake no word that 
 
 day, 
 She gat her to her bower with speed, 190 
 And prone upon her couch she lay, 
 Nay, well nigh mad was she, indeed. 
 "Alas," she cried, and "Wellaway! 
 That ever life on land I lead, 
 Now have I lost, I trow for aye, 
 The best knight who e'er spurred a 
 
 steed!" 
 
 The ladies who about her stood, 
 And all her secrets well might know, 
 They bade her be of comfort good, 
 And to no man her sorrow show. 200 
 They made her bed with sorry mood, 
 And on her couch they laid her low, 
 Ever she wept, as she were wood, — 
 Full sore they mourn their lady's woe. 
 
 The queen thus sick for sorrow lay, 
 Never her grief might solace know, 
 Until it chanced, upon a day, 
 Sir Lionel and Sir Hector go 
 Forth to the forest, blithe and gay, 
 'Neath leafy branch, where sweet 
 flowers blow, 210 
 
 And as they rode the woodland way 
 Sir Lancelot himself doth show. 
 
 Small wonder they were glad, the twain, 
 When they their master saw with sight, 
 Upon their knees to fall are fain, 
 Give thanks to God, for this, His Might. 
 'T was joy to see, and gladsome gain, 
 The meeting with that noble knight, 
 Nor can he question swift refrain : 219 
 "How fares it with my Lady bright?" 
 
 Straightway the knights they answer 
 
 free: 
 "The queen, she lies in sickness sore, 
 
 'T is dole enow to hear, and see, 
 Such mickle grief ne'er lady bore. 
 The king, a sorry man is he 
 Since that to court ye come no more, 
 He saith, that dead ye sure must be, 
 So do the courtiers, less, and more. 
 
 "Were it your will with us to fare, 
 And speak a little with the queen, 230 
 Methinks that blithe henceforth she 
 
 were 
 An she but once your face had seen. 
 The king, he goes in grief and care, 
 And so doth all the court, I ween, 
 They deem no more in life ye were 
 Since ye from court o'er long have been." 
 
 He granteth them their prayer that day, 
 Saith, he will homeward with them ride, 
 Forsooth, those knights were glad and 
 
 gay 
 And busked them there with mickle 
 
 pride. 240 
 
 Straight to the court they take their way, 
 Nor day nor night they would abide, 
 Both king and court were blithe alway 
 Whenas they heard the news that tide. 
 
 The king, he stands on tower so high, 
 And by bim standeth Sir Gawain, 
 When Lancelot they saw with eye 
 Were never men on mold so fain ! 
 Whenas the gates he drew anigh 
 They ran there-out, with might and 
 
 main, 250 
 
 Gave welcome glad, both low and high, 
 And kissed him, king, and knight, and 
 
 swain. 
 
 The king him to a chamber led, 
 Close in his arms he did him fold, 
 And set him on a goodly bed 
 That covered was with cloth of gold. 
 No man, to serve him at that stead 
 But strove, with labour manifold. 
 With joy and gladness was he sped — 
 Then all his deeds to them he told. 260 
 
266 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Of days in court he dwelt full three 
 But never spake word with tbe queen, 
 So fain the folk were him to see, 
 The king, and all the court, I ween. 
 That lady, fair as flower on tree, 
 She wept her love, so long unseen, 
 Ever her tears they flow so free 
 Fain would she hide her mournful 
 
 Then did it chance upon a day 
 
 The king, he would a-hunting ride, 270 
 
 In forest fair he maketh gay 
 
 And all his knights are at his side. 
 
 Sir Lancelot, in bed he lay, 
 
 Fain was he with the queen to bide, 
 
 Thus to ber bower he takes his way 
 
 And greeteth her in knightly pride. 
 
 He kissed that lady fair and sheen, 
 And greeted her with gladsome glee, 
 And all her ladies too, I ween, 
 For joy, the tears flow fast and free. 280 
 "Ah, wellaway!" thus sighed the queen, 
 "Sir Lancelot, that I thee see, 
 The love that was us two between 
 That now it thus should severed be! 
 
 "Alas, Sir Lancelot du Lake, 
 
 That thou hast all my heart in hold, 
 
 And now would'st the earl's daughter 
 
 take 
 Of Ascolot, so was it told. 
 Now for her love thou wilt forsake 
 Thy doughty deeds, thy ventures bold, 
 So must I woeful weep and wake 291 
 Till this, my heart, in clay be cold! 
 
 "But, Lancelot, I beseech thee here, 
 Since that of needs it must be so, 
 That no man from thy lips shall hear 
 The love that was betwixt us two! 
 And never hold that maid so dear 
 That ye should knightly deeds forego, 
 Such tidings were to me full drear — 
 Henceforth I needs must walk in 
 
 wn*» ! vu 
 
 Then Lancelot, so still he stood, 
 His heart was heavy as a stone, 
 So sorrowful it waxed, his mood, 
 For ruth his joy was all foregone. 
 "Madam," he said, "by Holy Rood, 
 What is the meaning of thy moan? 
 By Him Who bought me with His 
 
 Blood 
 Of all these tidings knew I none. 
 
 "But by these words it seemeth me 
 That ye were fain I were away, 310 
 
 In sooth no more ye shall me see, 
 My Lady fair, have ye Good-day!" 
 Forth from the chamber goeth he, 
 In sooth grief o'er his heart held sway; 
 The queen, she fell in swoonings three, 
 Fain had she slain herself straightway. 
 
 The knight his chamber sought with 
 
 speed 
 There, where his harness ready lay, 
 He armed himself in knightly weed, 
 Small joy was in his heart that day. 320 
 As sparks from glowing embers freed, 
 (Yet sorely grieving, sooth to say — ) 
 He sprang forth on his goodly steed, 
 And to the forest went his way. 
 
 {Here follows the death by poison of Mador 
 de la Porte, and the accusation of the 
 queen.) 
 Now leave we Lancelot to dwell 
 In hermit cell, in forest green, 
 And forthwith of a venture tell 
 That came to Arthur, king so keen. 
 With Gawain would he counsel well, 
 Full sore their mourning for the queen, 
 So on a morn, as chance befell, 331 
 
 The two met in a tower, I ween. 
 
 And as they there in converse stood 
 How best the thing might ordered be, 
 The river fast beneath them flowed, 
 And on the water, there they see 
 A little boat, and passing good, 
 That with the current floated free, 
 
SIR LANCELOT 
 
 267 
 
 No fairer sail was seen on flood, 
 
 No better boat was wrought of tree. 340 
 
 Whenas King Arthur saw that sight 
 He wondered of the hangings fair 
 Wherewith the boat was all bedight, 
 So rich the coverture it bare. 
 All arched above with cloth so bright 
 Shining as gold, it saileth there — 
 Then quoth Gawain, that gentle knight: 
 "This boat in costly wise doth fare!" 
 
 "Forsooth," the king in answer spake: 
 "Such boat I never saw before, 350 
 
 I rede our way we thither take 
 Some venture surely lies in store. 
 Be it within of such-like make 
 As 't is without, or may be more, 
 An oath I 'Id dare thereof to take 
 Its wonders be not swiftly o'er!" 
 
 Arthur the king, and good Gawain, 
 Forth from the tower adown have 
 
 gone. 
 They to the boat to haste are fain, 
 Swiftly they go, those two alone. 360 
 They came as it hath harbour ta'en, 
 And, sooth to say, they gaze anon, 
 Then doth he raise the cloth, Gawain, 
 That hides the boat, and steps thereon. 
 
 When they were in, on either side 
 Richly arrayed it was to see, 
 A fair couch in the midst they spied 
 Whereon a king might bedded be. 
 Then with their hand they draw aside 
 The coverture, right hastily, 370 
 
 Its folds, a maiden's corpse they hide, 
 Fairest of women once was she. 
 
 Then to Gawain he spake, the king, 
 "I trow Death here a wrong hath 
 
 wrought, 
 In that he hath so fair a thing 
 Forth from the world untimely brought. 
 Her beauty passeth everything, 
 Tidings of her I fain had sought, 
 
 Who might she be, this sweet darling? 
 And where her life to end was brought." 
 
 His eyes Sir Gawain on her cast, 381 
 Beheld her face with heart so free, 
 And well he knew her at the last, 
 The Maid of Ascolot was she. 
 (Whom he ere-while had wooed full 
 
 fast, 
 His love would fain have had her be, 
 His proffered love she from her cast 
 For Lancelot's alone was she.) 
 
 Thus to the king he spake, Gawain: 
 "Dost mind thee of a certain day 3go 
 How with the queen we stood, we twain, 
 And made together jest and play? 
 I of a maid to tell was fain 
 Whom Lancelot loved well — Now say? " 
 "Forsooth," the king he spake again. 
 "Now thou dost mind me of it, yea!" 
 
 "Then, Sire, forsooth," Gawain doth 
 
 say: 
 "This is the maid whereof I spake, 
 O'er all the world, I trow, alway 
 She loved Sir Lancelot du Lake." 400 
 "Then sure," King Arthur spake 
 
 straightway, 
 "Her death it rues me for his sake, 
 Your words the cause full well betray 
 For grief and love her heart it brake." 
 
 Forthwith Gawain, the gentle knight, 
 About that maiden fair he sought, 
 A purse he found, so richly dight, 
 With gold and pearls 'twas all in- 
 wrought. 
 Empty at first it seemed to sight, 
 But when into his hand 't was brought, 
 A letter lay therein, so light, 4 n 
 
 Fain would they know if it told aught. 
 
 The writing eager to behold 
 Sir Gawain took it to the king, 
 Bade him that letter swift unfold, 
 Thereto he made small dallying, — 
 
268 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Within he found the story told 
 From first to last, without leasing, 
 'T was but that tale both new and old 
 How Love a maid to death may bring. 
 
 "Unto the king, and all his knights 421 
 Who to the Table Round belong, 
 Who courteous be, of valiant might, 
 Stable and steadfast, true, and strong; 
 Most worshipful in fairest fight, 
 Most helpful where men most have 
 
 wrong, 
 The Maid of Ascolot, aright 
 Would greeting send, with truest tongue. 
 
 "Thus to ye all my plaint I make, 
 Bemoan the wrong that hath been 
 
 wrought, ' 430 
 
 Yet I would not ye undertake 
 To mend the ill, 't would profit naught. 
 This would I say, for this, your sake, 
 That tho' men thro' the wide world 
 
 sought 
 Your like doth neither walk nor wake, 
 For deeds with courage courteous 
 
 wrought. 
 
 "Wherefore to ye it shall be shown 
 How I, in sooth, for many a day 
 Such loyal love, and true, have known 
 That Death hath fetched me hence 
 away. 440 
 
 But would ye know for whom alone, 
 I thus so long in languor lay 
 I'll tarry not the truth to own, 
 Denial profits naught to-day. 
 
 "And would I now rehearse the tale 
 For whom I suffered all this woe, 
 I say, Death wrought on me this 
 
 bale 
 For the best knight this earth may 
 
 know! 
 In doughty dints he doth not fail, 
 Such royal mien may no man show, 450 
 So churlish yet, 'neath silk, or mail, 
 Have I found neither friend nor foe! 
 
 "Of foe, or friend, the sooth to say, 
 So harsh in deed was never none, 
 His gentleness was all away, 
 Such churlish manners he put on. 
 For ne'er so straitly might I pray, 
 Kneeling, with tears and rueful moan, 
 To win his love, but he said 'Nay,' 
 Vowing of leman he 'Id have none. 460 
 
 "Therefore, my lords, for this, his sake, 
 Grief to my heart I took and care, 
 Till Death at last did me o'er-take, 
 Forth from this life it did me bear. 
 Thus for true love my heart I brake, 
 And of my bliss was stripped all bare, 
 For sake of Lancelot du Lake, 
 An ye would know what knight it 
 
 Arthur, I ween, that noble king, 469 
 He read the script, and knew the name, 
 And quoth to Gawain, marvelling: 
 "Lancelot here hath been to blame; 
 Men shall account as evil thing 
 That soileth much his knightly fame, 
 That love this maid to death did bring — 
 That he denied her doth him shame!" 
 
 Then to the king he quoth, Gawain: 
 
 "I did but jest the other day 
 
 When I said Lancelot was fain 
 
 To take for love that gentle may, 480 
 
 His love, it seeketh higher gain, 
 
 Know ye it is but truth I say, 
 
 A lowly love he doth disdain, 
 
 He will some lady great and gay." 
 
 "Sir Gawain," quoth King Arthur there: 
 "Now say, what here shall be thy 
 
 rede, 
 How deal we with this" maiden fair?" 
 Sir Gawain quoth: "So God me speed, 
 Methinks 't were well we should her 
 
 bear, 
 (An so it were your will indeed,) 490 
 Within the town, for burial care 
 In noble wise, as is her meed." 
 
SIR LANCELOT 
 
 269 
 
 The king, he gave assent withal; 
 Sir Gawain called men, hastily, 
 Straightway, unto the palace hall 
 They bare that maiden tenderly. 
 The king, he told his barons all. 
 Whether of high or low degree, 
 How she a prey to death did fall 
 Since Lancelot's she might not be. 500 
 
 Sir Gawain straightway went his way 
 Unto the queen, and thus he spake: 
 "Madam," he quoth, "I trow alway 
 I wronged Sir Lancelot du Lake; 
 I did but jest the other day 
 When we together sport did make, 
 In that I said he idle lay 
 For the fair Maid of Ascolot's sake. 
 
 "Of Ascolot, that maiden free, 
 I said she was his love, I trow, 510 
 
 That I so jested rueth me, 
 For all the truth I know it now. 
 He loved her not, that may we see, 
 She lieth dead — as snow on bough 
 So white — and writing there shall be 
 With plaint of Lancelot enow!" 
 
 The queen was wroth as winter wind, 
 And to Sir Gawain thus began : 
 "Forsooth, Sir, thou wert too unkind 
 Thus to make jest of any man. 520 
 
 'T were best to keep it in thy mind, 
 Or yea, or nay, howe'er it ran, 
 Thy courtesy, it lagged behind 
 When first thine idle jests began! 
 
 "Much hast thou harmed thy knightly 
 
 fame 
 In wronging thus so good a knight, 
 I trow he never wrought thee shame, 
 Therefore thou hadst the lesser right 
 To jest unseemly with his name, 
 Behind his back, out of his sight, 530 
 And Sir, thou know'st not, at this 
 
 same, 
 What harm may spring from words so 
 
 light! 
 
 "I deemed thee steadfast knight, and 
 
 true, 
 The mirror of all courtesie, 
 Methinks, hast got thee manners new, 
 Which all be turned to villainy ! 
 'Gainst other knights thine envy grew, 
 Therefore didst jest thus recklessly, 
 Who honoured thee, it may them rue — 
 Now get thee from my companie." 540 
 
 Sir Gawain swiftly went his way, 
 He saw the queen was angered sore, 
 No more he thought to her to say, 
 Deeming she 'Id hate him ever more. 
 The queen, she cried: "Ah, wellaway!" 
 Wringing her hands, she wept full 
 
 sore, 
 "Most wretched I, I well may say, 
 Of all whom ever mother bore! 
 
 "My heart, alas, why wert so wood 
 To trow that Lancelot du Lake 550 
 
 So fickle were, so false of mood, 
 That other love than thee he 'Id take? 
 Nay, certes, all of this world's good 
 He had despised for thy sake, 
 And naught that knight, by field or 
 
 flood, 
 Might tempt, his vows to thee to 
 
 break." 
 {The end of the episode is missing.) 
 
 THE DEATH OF ARTHUR 
 
 Since Brutus out of Troy was brought, 
 And Britain for his kingdom won, 
 Such wonders ne'er before were wrought 
 Of mortal man beneath the sun. 
 By eventide there lived there naught, 
 Who erst was clad in flesh and bone, 
 Than Arthur, and two knights he 
 
 brought 
 Thither, and Mordred, they alone. 
 
 Lucain the butler was one knight, 
 
 I trow his wounds were sore to see, 10 
 
270 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 His brother, in the self-same plight, 
 Sir Bedivere, right sick was he. 
 Arthur, he spake these words forthright: 
 "That traitor slain by us shall be!" 
 With fell intent, their spears gripped 
 
 tight, 
 They ran together manfully. 
 
 Smitten is Mordred thro' the breast, 
 The spear e'en thro' the back-bone shore, 
 Needs must he yield to death's behest, 
 Word hath he spoken never more. » 
 Yet, dying, on his foe he prest, 
 And dealt the king a wound full sore, 
 Right 'to the head, thro' helm and crest, 
 Thrice hath he swooned, that blow 
 before. 
 
 Sir Lucain and Sir Bedivere 
 Upheld the king betwixt them twain, 
 They get them forth with sorry cheer, 
 Their comrades on the field lie slain. 
 That doughty king, their lord so dear, 
 His strength for wounds it ebbed amain, 
 A chapel to that place was near, 31 
 
 No better shelter might they gain. 
 
 AH night they in the chapel lay 
 
 Beside the sea, so did I hear, 
 
 To Mary Mother crying aye 
 
 With woeful voice, and many a tear. 
 
 To Jesu Christ they piteous pray, 
 
 Beseech Him for His Name so dear 
 
 To lead his soul in the right way 
 
 That Heaven's Bliss he lose not here. 40 
 
 Then from the mount, Sir Lucain good 
 Saw folk, who to the field drew nigh, 
 Bold barons they, of bone and blood, 
 Their thoughts were bent on robbery. 
 Of besant, brooch, and baldric good 
 They took all that they might espy — 
 Back to the king again he would, 
 Thinking to warn him hastily. 
 
 He spake to Arthur soft and still, 
 With rueful cheer, in voice full low : so 
 
 "Sire, I have been on yonder hill 
 There many folk, they come and go, 
 Whether they will us good or ill 
 I know not, be they friend or foe 
 I rede, an so it be your will, 
 We busk us, to some town to go." 
 
 "Sir Lucain, good thy rede I hold, 
 Now lift me up, while life doth last — " 
 The knight he in his arms did fold, 
 With all his strength he held him fast. 60 
 Wounded to death, that monarch bold 
 Swooning, his weight on him hath cast, — 
 Sir Lucain did the king uphold, 
 His heart within him brake at last. 
 
 Half-swooning, as I tell ye here, 
 The king beside an altar stood, 
 Sir Lucain, whom he held full dear, 
 Lay dead, and weltering in his blood. 
 His brother, bold Sir Bedivere, 
 I trow he was of mournful mood, 70 
 For grief the corpse he might not near, 
 But ever wept, as he were wood. 
 
 The king, he turned him as he stood, 
 And spake to him, in words so keen: 
 "Excalibur, my sword so good, 
 (A better brand was never seen,) 
 Go, cast it in the salt sea flood, 
 Then shalt thou marvels see, I ween. 
 Now hie thee swift, by Holy Rood, 
 And tell me all that thou hast seen." 80 
 
 The knight, he was both fair and 
 
 free, 
 To save that sword had he been fain, 
 He thought, "Who shall the better be 
 If none this weapon see again? 
 Were I to cast it in the sea, 
 Then were I mad, that seemeth plain — " 
 He hid the blade beneath a tree 
 And gat him to his lord again. 
 
 " What saw'st thou there? " then said the 
 
 king, 
 " Now tell me if thou canst, anon." 90 
 
SIR LANCELOT 
 
 271 
 
 "Certes," he quoth: "never a thing 
 Save waters deep, and wild waves wan." 
 "Ah! thou hast failed me!" cried the 
 
 king; 
 "Why didst thou so, thou faithless man? 
 Far other tidings must thou bring!" 
 Straightway Sir Bedivere he ran — 
 
 He thought the sword he still might hide 
 And cast the scabbard in the flood, — 
 "If any venture then betide 
 Thereby shall I see tokens good." 100 
 From hand he let the scabbard glide, 
 And there awhile on land he stood, 
 Back to the king he went that tide, 
 Said, "Sire, 't is done, by Holy Rood." 
 
 "And saw'st thou any marvel fair?" 
 "Nay, certes, Sire, there saw I naught." 
 "Ah! traitor false," cried Arthur there, 
 "Now twice on me hast treason wrought. 
 The punishment shalt surely bear, 
 Bold tho' thou art, 't were dearly 
 
 bought!" no 
 
 The knight cried: "Lord, thy wrath 
 
 now spare," — 
 And swift the sword again he sought. 
 
 Needs must the knight obey at last, 
 
 To the good sword he went his way, 
 
 Into the sea the blade he cast, 
 
 A marvel great he saw that day. 
 
 A hand from out the water, fast 
 
 Hath caught the blade, with deftest 
 
 play 
 Brandished it high, then swift it passed 
 E'en as the lightning's gleam, away. 120 
 
 Swift to the king he hastened there, 
 And quoth: "Liege Lord, I saw a hand, 
 Forth from the waves it came all bare, 
 And brandished thrice that goodly 
 
 brand." 
 "Now help me, that I thither fare — " 
 He led his lord down to the strand, 
 A goodly ship, with ladies fair, 
 And richly found, had put to land. 
 
 The ladies, who were frank and free, 
 Welcomed the king with courteous 
 
 tongue, 130 
 
 And one, who fairest was to see, 
 Wept sore the while her hands she 
 
 wrung; 
 " Brother," she said; "Ah! woe is me, 
 Thy wounds lack leechcraft over-long; 
 I wot that sorely grieveth me, 
 Methinks thy pains be all too strong!" 
 
 The knight, he raised a bitter moan, 
 As sick and sore, on land he stood: 
 "Ah! why dost leave me thus alone? 
 Whither dost go, my lord so good?" 140 
 The king, he spake in mournful tone, 
 "I will a little o'er this flood, 
 Unto the Vale of Avalone, 
 There shall my wounds find healing 
 good." 
 
 Whenas the ship from land was brought, 
 The knight, he saw that barque no 
 
 more — 
 Throughout the forest land he sought, 
 The hills so high, he passed them o'er, 
 For this, his life, he careth naugth, 
 Faring all night in sorrow sore, 150 
 
 At daybreak he hath found, fair wrought, 
 A chapel 'twixt two holts so hoar. 
 
 Tbither he straight hath ta'en his 
 
 way — 
 There doth he see a wondrous sight, 
 Upon the ground a hermit lay 
 Before a tomb, all newly dight. 
 Covered it was with marble gray, 
 And with rich letters graven aright, 
 And on a hearse in fair array 
 Full hundred tapers, all alight. 160 
 
 Then of the hermit was he fain 
 To ask who might be buried there? 
 The hermit answered him again, 
 He wist not rightly who it were; — 
 "At midnight came a goodly train 
 Of ladies, but I knew them ne'er, 
 
272 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Bearing on bier a body slain, 
 
 Full piteous were the wounds it bare. 168 
 
 "They proffered me of Besants bright, 
 Methinks, more than a hundred pound, 
 And bade me pray, both day and night, 
 For him, whose tomb thou here hast 
 
 found, 
 That Christ's dear Mother, of her might, 
 Should help his soul, as at this stound," — 
 The knight the letters read aright, 
 For sorrow fell he to the ground. 
 
 "Hermit, in sooth," so did he cry, 
 "Now of my lord am I forlorn, 
 
 Arthur, my king, he here doth lie, 
 
 The best prince e'er in Britain born. 180 
 
 Give me thy habit presently, 
 
 For Him Who ware the Crown of Thorn, 
 
 That I within these walls may lie 
 
 And pray for him both night and morn." 
 
 That holy hermit said not Nay — 
 (Sometime Archbishop had he been, 
 By Mordred was he driven away 
 And found a home in forest green.) 
 Christ Jesu did he thank that day 
 That he Sir Bedivere had seen, 190 
 
 Right welcome was he there to stay — 
 The twain, they dwelt in peace, I ween. 
 
TALES 
 
THE FOX AND THE WOLF 
 
 A fox came forth from out the wood, 
 A-hungered sore, in search of food, 
 Never in all his life before 
 Had hunger plagued him half so sore. 
 He went by neither road nor street, 
 For loth he was with folk to meet, 
 Liever he were one hen to see 
 Than fifty women, tho' fair they be! 
 Over the fields he sped full fast, 
 Till that he came to a wall at last, 10 
 Within the wall a house there stood; 
 The fox he hastened in eager mood, 
 For he thought his hunger there to 
 
 still 
 With meat or drink, as should be his 
 
 will. 
 Looking about him on every side 
 With swifter pace the fox, he hied, 
 Until he came to the wall of stone, 
 And some thereof was overthrown, 
 And the wall was broken all along, 
 But locked was the one gate stout and 
 
 strong. ao 
 
 At the nearest breach that the fox might 
 
 win 
 Over he leapt, and gat him in. 
 When he was in he laughed, I trow, 
 And of his coming made sport enow, 
 For that he had entered and asked no 
 
 leave 
 Either of bailiff, or yet of grieve! 
 To an open door he crept so soft, 
 There sat the hens in a row aloft, 
 Five there were, which doth make a 
 
 flock, 
 And there in the midst there sat one 
 
 cock. 30 
 
 The cock, he had perched him far on 
 
 high, 
 And two of the hens they sat him nigh. 
 
 "Fox," quoth the cock: " what dost thou 
 
 there? 
 Get thee from hence, Christ give thee 
 
 care! 
 Oft to our hens hast thou done foul 
 
 shame, 
 Be gone, I bid thee, in Heaven's Name ! " 
 Then answered the fox: "Sir Chanti- 
 cleer, 
 Fly thou adown, and come anear, 
 Ne'er have I done thee aught but good, 
 To thy hens have I sometime let then- 
 blood, 40 
 Sick they were 'neath the ribs, I wot, 
 Short span of life had been then their 
 
 lot 
 Save that their veins should opened 
 
 be, 
 And that have I done, for charity! 
 I have but drawn from their veins the 
 
 blood, 
 And Chanticleer, it would do thee 
 
 good, 
 Thou, too, hast that sickness beneath 
 
 the spleen, 
 Scarce ten days more shalt thou live, I 
 
 ween, 
 Thy life-days all shall pass with speed 
 Save that thou follow this my rede, so 
 I will let thee blood beneath the breast, 
 Else soon must thou bid to thee the 
 
 priest!" 
 "Get hence," quoth the cock: "shame be 
 
 to thee, 
 Thou hast wronged our kin right woe- 
 fully, 
 Get thee away, ere thou doest worse, 
 And here I call on thee Heaven's curse! 
 For an I came down, in Heaven's Name, 
 I were assured of bitter shame. 
 
276 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 But an he wist, our Cellarer, 
 That thou hadst dared to enter here, 60 
 For sure he were on thy track ere long, 
 With pikes, and stones, and staves so 
 
 strong, 
 All thy bones he would swiftly break, 
 And thus our vengeance upon thee 
 
 take! " 
 
 The fox was still, he spake no more, 
 But now was he athirst full sore, 
 I ween the thirst it vexed him more 
 Than e'er the hunger had done afore; 
 All around him he prowled and sought 
 Until by hap his wanderings brought 70 
 Him nigh to a well of water clear, 
 Of cunning fashion, as ye shall hear. 
 Two buckets there at the well he 
 
 found, 
 The one was down to the water wound, 
 And when men wound it up to the 
 
 brink 
 The other bucket adown would sink. 
 The fox knew naught how the matter 
 
 lay, 
 Into the bucket he leapt straightway, 
 For so he thought him his fill to drink — 
 But swift the bucket began to sink; 80 
 Too late the fox himself bethought, 
 And saw how he in a snare was caught, 
 But tho' he bethought himself enow 
 It helped him naught in this need, I 
 
 trow! 
 Down must he go, he was held fast 
 
 there, 
 Trapped he was in a cunning snare, 
 Had he known, it had been his will 
 To leave that bucket hanging still! 
 What with sorrow, and what with dread, 
 All his thirst, it hath from him sped. 90 
 Thus at last he came to the ground, 
 Water, enow, I ween, he found, 
 But tho' 't was there, he little drank, 
 For it seemed to him that the water 
 
 stank 
 Since against his will he was there down 
 
 thrust — 
 
 "Woe worth," quoth the fox: "desire 
 
 and lust, 
 That knoweth not measure unto his 
 
 meat, — 
 Were I not minded o'ermuch to eat 
 This shame had never my portion been, 
 But the lust of my mouth was over 
 
 keen, 100 
 
 He who to thieving doth set his hand, 
 111 is his portion in every land! 
 Here am I caught in trap and gin, 
 Me thinks some devil brought me herein, 
 I was wont to be wise, but now I see 
 My race is run, here 's an end of me!" 
 
 The fox he wept, and made loud lament: 
 There came a wolf on like errand bent, 
 Out of the woodland deep he sped, 
 For he, too, was sore a-hungered, no 
 Nothing throughout the night he found 
 To still his hunger at that stound. 
 He came to the well where the fox made 
 
 moan, 
 And knew him again by his voice alone, 
 For that he had long his neighbour been, 
 And gossip unto his bairns, I ween. 
 Adown by the brink of the well he sat, 
 Quoth the wolf aloud: "What now is 
 
 that? 
 Whose voice is that in the well I hear, 
 Art thou baptized my comrade dear? i» 
 Mock me not, but I prithee tell 
 Who now hath put thee adown the 
 
 well?" 
 The fox, he knew him well for his kin, 
 And straight by his coming did counsel 
 
 win, 
 And sought some wile that success might 
 
 crown, 
 To bring himself up, and the wolf adown. 
 Quoth the fox in answer: "Who cometh 
 
 here, 
 I ween it be Sigrim's voice I hear?" 
 "That is sooth:" quoth the wolf with 
 
 speed, 
 "But who shalt thou be? So God give 
 
 thee rede!" 130 
 
THE FOX AND THE WOLF 
 
 277 
 
 "Aye," quoth the fox: "now hearken 
 
 me, 
 In no single word will I lie to thee; 
 I am Reynard, thy friend of old, 
 And had'st thou afore-time thy coming 
 
 told 
 Then in very sooth had I prayed for 
 
 thee, 
 As boon, that thou should 'st come here 
 
 to me!" 
 " To thee ?" quoth the wolf, " I prithee 
 
 tell, 
 What should I do there, in the well?" 
 Quoth the fox: "Nay, nay, thou art un- 
 wise, 
 Here is the bliss of Paradise, 140 
 
 Here in plenty I ever fare 
 Free from trouble, and free from care, 
 Here be meat and drink enow, 
 And bliss that fadeth not, I trow, 
 Hunger herein shall ye never know, 
 Nor sorrow, nor any kind of woe, 
 Of every good is there plenty here — " 
 The wolf he laughed those words to hear: 
 "God give thee rede, art thou dead, 
 
 i-troth, 149 
 
 Or yet of this world? " the wolf he quoth. 
 He spake again: "When dids't thou die? 
 And what art thou doing there, verily? 
 There are scarce passed days but three 
 Since thou and thy wife ye supped with 
 
 me, 
 Ye, and your children, small and great, 
 Ye all together with me ate." 
 "Yea," quoth the fox: "thou sayest 
 
 sooth, 
 God be thanked, yet now hear the truth, 
 Now have I made a right fitting end, 159 
 Naught do I owe thee for that, my friend; 
 For all this world hath of good or gain 
 To dwell therein am I no more fain, 
 Why should I again to this world fare? 
 Therein is naught but woe and care! 
 In sin and uncleanness my life I past, 
 Here many a joy to my lot is cast, 
 Here be both sheep and goats, I ween!" 
 The wolf was vexed by hunger keen, 
 
 'T was over-long since he last might eat, 
 And when he thus heard him speak of 
 
 meat 170 
 
 Right fain was he then to share the food; 
 "Ah!" quoth the wolf: "my comrade 
 
 good, 
 Many a meal hast thou ta'en from me, 
 Let me, I pray thee, come down to thee ! 
 And all, I promise, shall be forgiven — " 
 "Yea," quoth the fox: "an thou first 
 
 wert shriven, 
 If all thy sins thou would'st now forsake, 
 And thyself to a better life betake, 
 Then would I in such wise pray for thee 
 That thou shouldest come adown to 
 
 me!" 180 
 
 The wolf he quoth : "An that be so 
 To whom may I for confession go? 
 Here in this place be none alive 
 Who in this stress my sins could shrive; 
 Oft hast thou been my comrade dear, 
 Wilt thou now my confession hear? 
 And all my life will I truly tell — " 
 "Nay," quoth the fox: " that were not 
 
 well." 
 Quoth the wolf: "For mercy I pray once 
 
 more, 
 For in sooth I be a-hungered sore, 190 
 I wot to-night am I dead indeed 
 Save thou find counsel in this my need! 
 For the love of Christ do thou be my 
 
 priest!" — 
 The wolf, he bowed adown his breast, 
 In sob and sighing forth he brake — 
 "Wilt thou," quoth the fox: "confession 
 
 make, 
 One by one thy misdeeds unfold 
 That never a sin remain untold? " 
 "Yea," quoth the wolf: "that shall be 
 
 my will — 
 All my life-days have I done ill, 200 
 
 Upon me lieth the widow's curse, 
 Therefore, I ween, do I fare the worse. 
 A thousand sheep have I torn and bit- 
 ten, 
 And more, if the tale thereof were 
 
 written ! 
 
278 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Thereof do I now repent me sore — 
 Say, Master, needs must I tell thee 
 
 more?" 
 "Yea," quoth the fox: "all must thou 
 
 say, 
 Otherwise must thou forfeit pay." 
 "Friend," quoth the wolf: "forgive it 
 
 me, 
 Oft have I spoken ill of thee, 210 
 
 Men said of thee when thou wert on 
 
 life 
 That thou hadst ill dealings with my 
 
 wife; 
 One time to watch ye was I fain, 
 In bed together I found ye twain. 
 Often times was I nigh to ye, 
 How ye fared together I needs must see, 
 I deemed, as many another doth, 
 That what I saw with mine eyes was 
 
 sooth, 
 Therefore to me thou wast full loath — 
 Dear Gossip, I prithee, be not wroth!" 
 "Wolf," the fox quoth to him alway : 221 
 "All thou bast done before this day, 
 Be it in word, or deed, or will, 
 In each and every kind of ill, 
 All I forgive thee at this need." 
 "Now," quoth the wolf: "may Christ 
 
 thee speed, 
 Now at last am I clean in life, 
 Little I reck for child or wife, 
 But tell me now what I needs must do, 
 And how I may come thy bliss unto?" 
 "Do?" quoth the fox: "that shalt thou 
 
 hear, 231 
 
 See'st thou a bucket hang anear? 
 There is the entrance to Paradise, 
 Leap thou therein, an thou be wise, 
 So shalt thou be with me anon — " 
 Quoth the wolf: "That is lightly done!" 
 He sprang therein, and his weight 'gan 
 
 tell, 
 (Of that the fox had advised him well) 
 The wolf he sank, the fox he rose. 
 Sorrow and fear the wolf he knows, 240 
 When he came mid-way adown the pit 
 The fox on the upward way he met; 
 
 "Friend," quoth the wolf: "what dost 
 
 thou now? 
 What hast thou in mind? Where goest 
 
 thou?" 
 "Whither I go?" the fox he said, 
 "I will up! so God give me aid! 
 Go thou down to thy meed withal, 
 Methinks thine earnings shall be but 
 
 small! 
 Therefore am I both glad and blithe 249 
 That thou be shriven and clean of life, 
 A fitting knell I'll bid them ring, 
 And Mass for thy soul I'll have them 
 
 sing!" 
 
 That wretch in the well he nothing 
 
 found 
 Save water, by hunger he fast was 
 
 bound, 
 At a banquet cold he needs must feed, 
 Frogs the dough for his bread must 
 
 knead. 
 Down in the well the wolf, he stood, 
 Mad for hunger, I ween, his mood, 
 He cursed him roundly who brought 
 
 him there, 
 The fox thereof had little care. 260 
 
 Nigh to a house it stood, the well, 
 Where many good Friars, I ween, did 
 
 dwell, 
 And when it came that the night was 
 
 done, 
 And the brethren must needs arise, each 
 
 one, 
 To say their Mattins, and Morning- 
 song, 
 One Friar was there, the rest among, 
 Who should them all from their sleep 
 
 awake, 
 When they to the Chapel their way 
 
 should take; 
 He bade them arise by one and one, 
 And come to the House-song, every 
 
 one. 270 
 
 That same Friar he was hight Ailmer, 
 He was their Master-Cellarer, 
 
THE LAND OF COCKAIGNE 
 
 279 
 
 It chanced he was gripped by thirst full 
 
 strong 
 Ere yet they had finished their morning- 
 song, 
 All alone to the well he went, 
 To quench his thirst was the brother 
 
 bent; 
 He came to the well, and would water 
 
 wind, 
 Heavy the weight he needs must find, 
 The friar he drew with all his might 
 Until that the wolf he hove in sight, 280 
 When he saw the wolf in the bucket sit, 
 He cried: "The Devil is in the pit! " 
 To the well the brethren hied each one 
 
 Well armed with pike, and staff, and 
 
 stone, 
 Each with his weapon was not slack, 
 Woe worth him who a tool did lack ! 
 They drew the wolf up e'en to the 
 
 ground, 
 Many a foeman the wretch there found, 
 Fain would they chase the wolf that day, 
 Hunt him with hounds, and beat alway, 
 Fell and fiercely they smote him there, 
 Stung him with staves, and pierced with 
 
 spear, 292 
 
 The fox betrayed him with guile, I wis, 
 For in sooth he found no kind of bliss, 
 Nor pardon for all he had done amiss ! 
 
 THE LAND OF COCKAIGNE 
 
 Fah in the sea, and west of Spain, 
 There lieth a land, i-hight Cockaigne; 
 Beneath high Heaven there lies, I wis, 
 No land in goodness like to this! 
 Tho' Paradise be fair and bright 
 Cockaigne is e'en a gladder sight; 
 Paradise, what doth it bear 
 But trees, and grass, and flowerets 
 
 fair? w 
 
 Of joy and pleasure no lack is known, 
 But no meat is there save fruit alone: 10 
 In hall or bower is naught, for sure, 
 To quench the thirst, save water pure! 
 Two men only, I rede thee well, 
 Elias and Enoch, there may dwell; 
 Lonely I ween, their lot, and sore, 
 Who of comrades may have no more! 
 
 In Cockaigne is meat and drink, 
 Free from sorrow, care, and stint, 
 The meat is choice, the drink is clear, 
 At every meal throughout the year. 20 
 I say for sooth, this wide world round, 
 Its peer may nowhere else be found, 
 'Neath Heaven there is no land, I wis, 
 Of such abounding joy and bliss ! 
 
 There is many a goodly sight, 
 'T is ever day, there falls no night, 
 There is no quarrel, there is no strife; 
 There is no death, but endless life; 
 There is no lack of wealth, nor cloth; 
 Nor man nor woman there waxeth 
 wroth; 30 
 
 There is no serpent, wolf, nor fox, 
 Horse nor gelding, cow nor ox; 
 There is no goat, nor swine, nor sheep, 
 Never a steading, so God me keep ! 
 Neither stallions, nor mares for brood, 
 The land is full of other good. 
 There is no fly, nor flea, nor louse, 
 In cloth nor bedding, town, nor house; 
 There is no thunder, sleet, nor hail, 
 No vile earth-worm, nor e'en a snail ! 40 
 There is no storm, no rain, no wind; 
 There is no man nor woman blind; 
 But all is gladness, joy, and glee, 
 Oh! Well is him who there may be! 
 
 There be rivers great and fine, 
 Of oil, milk, honey, and eke of wine, 
 Water, it serveth naught, I ween, 
 Save for washing, and to be seen: 
 
280 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 There be fruits of all kinds, I trow, 
 There is solace, and joy enow! 50 
 
 There is a right fair Friary, 
 
 Both of the White Friars, and the Grey; 
 
 There, I ween, be bowers and halls, 
 
 All of pasties be the walls, 
 
 Of flesh, of fish, of choicest meat, 
 
 The daintiest that a man may eat. 
 
 Of floury cakes the shingles all 
 
 On church and cloister, bower and hall; 
 
 The pinnacles be of plump puddings 
 
 Meet for princes, and eke for kings ! 60 
 
 A man thereof may eat his fill, 
 
 Free from sorrow, of right good will; 
 
 All is common to young and old, 
 
 To stout and valiant, meek and bold. 
 
 There is a cloister fair and light, 
 
 Broad and long, a seemly sight: 
 
 The pillars of that cloister tall 
 
 Are wrought of crystal clear withal; 
 
 With every base and capital 
 
 Of jasper green, and of red coral. 70 
 
 In the meadow there is a tree, 
 
 Very pleasant it is to see, 
 
 The roots are ginger and spices good, 
 
 The branches all of liquorice wood, 
 
 Of choicest mace it is, the flower, 
 
 Cinnamon, the bark, of sweet odour, 
 
 Of gilly-flower cloves the fruit, I ween. — 
 
 No lack of cabobs there is seen — 
 
 Roses red, methinks, there be, 
 
 And snow-white lilies, fair to see, 80 
 
 That fade not either by day or night, 
 
 Methinks it should be a goodly sight! 
 
 Four be the wells in that Friary, 
 
 Of treacle one, and of healing whey, 
 
 Of balsam, and of spiced wine, 
 
 Ever running, fair and fine, 
 
 With their streams to enrich the 
 
 mould — 
 There be precious stones and gold ; 
 There be pearl and sapphire rare, 
 Carbuncle red, and crystal fair. 00 
 
 Emerald, jacinth, chrysoprase, 
 Beryl, onyx, and eke topaze, 
 Amethyst, and chrysolite, 
 Chalcydone, and malachite. 
 Of birds 't were ill to count the tale, 
 Throstle, thrush, and nightingale; 
 Woodpeckers green, and larks there be, 
 And of all birds great company, 
 That never slack, but use their might 
 In merry song, both day and night. 100 
 
 And yet I do you more to wit — 
 Roasted geese upon the spit 
 Fly to that abbey, so God wot, 
 Crying, "Geese, all hot, all hot! " 
 Garlick they bring in plenty there, 
 Right so as cunning cooks prepare; 
 The laverocks too, I say for sooth, 
 Fly adown to each man's mouth, 
 Stewed they are, and right well done, 109 
 Stuffed with cloves, and with cinnamon. 
 Of any drink that there be, at will 
 Every man may take his fill. 
 When the friars they go to Mass 
 All the windows that be of glass 
 Turn themselves to crystal bright 
 That, the brethren may have more light. 
 When the Masses all be said, 
 And the books aside are laid, 
 The crystal turns to glass once more, 
 Even as it had been afore. »o 
 
 Whoso will come that land unto 
 
 Sorry penance must he do; 
 
 Seven years long, in filth and grime 
 
 Must he wade, and all the time 
 
 Therein be plunged, up to the chin — 
 
 So shall he to that land win ! 
 
 Lordings good, I 'Id have ye know, 
 
 Never shall ye thither go 
 
 Save that first ye take this chance, 
 
 And fulfil this sore penance, I30 
 
 So may ye this fair land gain, 
 
 And may never turn again. 
 
 Pray we God it so may be! 
 
 Amen, Amen, by Charity! 
 
THE SEVEN SAGES OF ROME 
 
 281 
 
 THE SEVEN SAGES OF ROME 
 
 Talell 
 The Emperor rose at dawn of day 
 And bade them bring his son straightway, 
 And hang the lad, ere it was long, 
 Upon a gallows high and strong. 
 The knights and townsfolk, high and low, 
 Much pity for the boy they show 
 That he should thus to death be dight, 
 And all of wrong, with naught of right. 
 A-horse came Master Bausillas, 
 Who the lad's master soothly was, 10 
 His pupil sore bestead must see, 
 Heavy at heart, I trow, was he. 
 To gallows-tree the lad must fare, 
 The Master rode in grief and care; 
 Unto the palace-gate he came, 
 His horse he leaveth at that same, 
 Fast doth he hie him to the hall — 
 The Emperor sits 'mid courtiers all — 
 Greeting he gave, the Master good; 19 
 The monarch spake, in mournful mood: 
 "To evil end may'st thou be brought 
 Who thus my son hast evil taught!" 
 Quoth Master Bausillas straightway: 
 "Why are ye vexed Sire? Tell me pray, 
 Ye who of old were meek and mild 
 Now wrongfully would slay your child ! " 
 The Emperor, without more ado, 
 Quoth: " Flatterer, I'll slay thee too! 
 My son I gave unto thy care 
 To learn his book, in fashion fair, 30 
 111 customs have ye taught him here, 
 For such ye sure shall pay full dear. 
 My son is reft of speech withal — 
 The Devil take ye, each and all! 
 With that he fain had forced my wife — 
 Therefore shall no man save his life; 
 But sure to death I'll have them done 
 Who should have better taught my son ! " 
 "Nay, Sire," quoth Master Bausillas: 
 "That were great wrong, saving your 
 grace, 4° 
 
 Say that your son had vexed your wife 
 Were that a cause to take his life?" 
 Quoth he: "I found my wife forlorn, 
 Her face and raiment rent and torn, 
 If one be ta'en in act and deed 
 Of other witness is small need." 
 The Master quoth: "Sire, have a care, 
 Trow not a step-dame's tale tho' fair, 
 Her bolt is all too swiftly shot, 
 Rather for ill than good, I wot ! so 
 
 If thou for her shalt slay thy son 
 Such payment may'st thou well have 
 
 won 
 As fell unto that knight so true 
 Who once his faithful greyhound slew." 
 To hear that tale the Emperor prayed — 
 Straightway the Master answer made : 
 "Sire, while that I may tell my tale 
 Thy son may suffer mickle bale, 
 Thus were my travail all for naught — 
 I pray that he be hither brought, 60 
 Give him respite, and, without fail, 
 I'll tell to ye a wondrous tale." 
 The Emperor quoth: "I grant the 
 
 boon." 
 A sergeant went his way right soon, 
 And brought the lad into the hall 
 Before his sire, and courtiers all; 
 Obeisance fitting doth he make 
 To all, yet never word he spake. 
 The Emperor quoth: " Now this thy tale 
 Set forth, Bausillas, without fail." 70 
 
 He quoth: "Sire, in this same citie, 
 
 Upon a Feast of Trinitie, 
 
 A tournament men fain would hold 
 
 For many a noble knight, and bold, 
 
 On meadow green, with knightly play' — 
 
 And it befell on that same day 
 
 The knight I speak of, at that stound, 
 
 At home had left his good greyhound. 
 
 His manor by that meadow stood 
 
 Encircled by the river's flood, 80 
 
282 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And very ancient was each wall 
 By hole and cranny pierced withal. 
 The knight had wed a lady fair, 
 A goodly child she to him bare; 
 Cherished he was by nurses three, 
 One gave him suck, it seemeth me; 
 One washed and bathed him as 't was 
 
 need, 
 Bedded, and dressed in goodly weed; 
 The third she washed his sheets full oft, 
 And rocked the babe to slumber soft. 90 
 The dog, of whom but now I told, • 
 A right good hound it was, and bold, 
 Therewith had he been trained so well 
 For naught that knight his dog would 
 
 sell. 
 The knight then, armed in fitting weed, 
 Full soon had leapt upon his steed, 
 With shield on arm, and shaft in hand, 
 To joust with knights of that same 
 
 land, 
 Full soon unto the field he came — 
 His gentle lady, at that same, 100 
 
 Beheld him from the turret stair, 
 Full fain to see the tourney fair. 
 The nurses said they too would go 
 And look upon the knightly show, 
 The three they gat forth from the hall — 
 Setting the cradle 'neath a wall 
 Wherein the child fast sleeping lay, 
 The three they went to see the play 
 E'en from a secret place beside. — 
 Now hearken what befell that tide. — 
 An adder lurked within that wall, m 
 It heard the sound of hoof-beats fall, 
 And creeping forth the cause to know 
 Beheld the child who lay below. 
 Down to the ground it made its way, 
 Intent, the child forthwith to slay. 
 The greyhound wandering thereabout 
 Saw where the snake crept stealthy out, 
 The adder did he swift assail, 
 Taking it tightly by the tail, no 
 
 But soon the adder bit him sore 
 So that he dare keep hold no more. 
 Loosed from his jaws, the adder crept 
 To where the babe in cradle slept, 
 
 Full fain was he the child to sting — 
 Once more the hound did on him spring, 
 Amid the back he held him tight, 
 Shook him on high with all his might, 
 Betwixt the adder and the hound 
 The cradle fell unto the ground, 130 
 
 They over-turned it in the fray 
 So that the child face downward lay; 
 The four posts held it o'er the child, 
 Unharmed was he, and undefiled. 
 The adder bit the greyhound there 
 On side, on back, yea, everywhere; 
 The adder bleeds, e'en so the hound, 
 Fierce was the fight they fought that 
 
 stound ! 
 At last the dog the snake doth kill, 
 Tare him to pieces at his will; 140 
 
 When they had done, then all around 
 With blood was dyed and stained the 
 
 ground. 
 
 " The tournament to end is brought, 
 The knights, I trow, they stay for naught, 
 Each takes his harness as he may 
 And swiftly goes the homeward way. 
 The nurses to the hall they go, 
 Great was their grief, and great their 
 
 woe; 
 The cradle with the child they found 
 O'erturned, it stood upon the ground; 150 
 They deemed the child were dead, i' fay, 
 Therefore they looked not where it lay. 
 But all about they saw the blood — 
 Such was their woe they waxed nigh 
 
 wood! 
 Great sorrow had they in their heart — 
 The greyhound howled for bitter smart, 
 They deemed he had waxed wood and 
 
 wild, 
 And, in his madness, slain the child. 
 The lady oft in swoon did fall 
 There, 'mid her maidens in the hall : 160 
 'Alas,' she said, 'that I was born 
 Now my fair child from me is torn!' 
 The knight came home at that same 
 
 tide 
 And all his men were at his side, 
 
THE SEVEN SAGES OF ROME 
 
 283 
 
 He saw them sorrow evermore, 
 
 For the child's sake they wept full sore. 
 
 The knight he asked what ailed them 
 
 there? 
 The tale they swift to him declare, 
 The lady said: 'Sir, this your hound 
 Our child hath eaten on this ground, 170 
 Save that thou here shalt take his life 
 I'll slay 'myself with this, my knife.' 
 The knight, he went without delay; 
 The good dog met him on the way, 
 To fawn upon bis lord was fain 
 Barking the while, for very pain, 
 To run about he might not cease, 
 The venom gave him little peace. 
 With wagging tail fawned on his lord — 
 The knight in haste drew forth his 
 
 sword, 180 
 
 Upon the back-bone smote the hound, 
 Clave him asunder to the ground. 
 The greyhound good, he lieth dead — 
 The knight unto the cradle sped, 
 Wherein the infant peaceful slept 
 The while the women sorely wept. 
 The knight, he found the adder dead, 
 And torn to pieces in that stead, 
 With blood of snake, and blood of 
 
 hound, 189 
 
 Stained were the cradle and the ground. 
 The cradle turned, the child they see 
 Alive, and marvel mightily — 
 They saw the hound j the snake had 
 
 slain — 
 The knight, he sorroweth amain, 
 His grief, I trow, was grim and great: 
 'Sorrow,' he quoth, 'shall be his mate 
 Right certainly, and without fail, 
 Who hearkeneth to a woman's tale! 
 Alas!' he quoth 'for so did I!' 
 With that he mourned, and made great 
 
 cry, 200 
 
 He called his household less and more, 
 And showed to them his sorrow sore, 
 How that his child was hale and sound, 
 But he had slain his faithful hound 
 All for his valour, and good deed, 
 In that he trowed his lady's rede. 
 
 'Alas,' he quoth, 'in slaying thee 
 
 Myself must rue it bitterly, 
 
 Good knights and true I'll teach each 
 
 one 
 The counsel of their wives to shun, 210 
 He sat him down in dole so drear, 
 And bade a groom take off his gear, 
 His garments gay aside did throw, 
 And barefoot all, he forth would go. 
 He took no leave of wife nor child 
 But gat him to the woodland wild, 
 In forest far from men would be 
 That no man might his sorrow see, 
 And suffered many a sorry stound 
 For grief of this, his good greyhound. 220 
 Thus, thro' the counsel of his wife, 
 In woe henceforth he passed his life. 
 Sir Emperor, so may ye share 
 Sorrow and shame, dishonour bear, 
 If ye should slay, against all right, 
 Your son, as did his hound the knight, 
 O'er hasty he, of ruthless deed, 
 And of his wife he wrought the rede." 
 
 The Emperor sware: "By Jesu free, 
 Such fortune ne'er shall fall to me, 230 
 And Master, here I soothly say 
 My son, he shall not die to-day!" 
 "Yea Sire," quoth Master Bausillas: 
 Follow my counsel in this case, 
 For all the world shall him despise 
 Who trusts his wife, nor heeds the 
 
 wise." 
 The Emperor quoth: "Ye rightly say, 
 I will not do what she doth pray." 
 His son he back to prison sent, 
 Upon his way the Master went. 240 
 
 Tale XI 
 When all from out the hall had gone 
 The Emperor sought his bower anon, 
 The Empress did he find therein 
 Sorry of cheer, of mournful mien; 
 "Lady," he quoth: "what aileth thee?" 
 She answered: "Sire, 'tis naught to 
 thee, 
 
284 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Wilt not avenge me of my foe, 
 Therefore I think from thee to go 
 Unto my kin, who hold me dear, 
 And never more to come thee near, 250 
 Liever were I to wend my way 
 Than dwell in dole by night and day!" 
 He answered: "Have I done amiss 
 Speak, and I '11 right the wrong, I wis ! " 
 She quoth: "It profits naught, by 
 
 Heaven, 
 Thy ruin shall be thy Masters seven, 
 To whom thou lendest ear alway 
 Aye sparing him who shall thee slay. 
 To thee may well befall such thing 
 As fell to Herod's lot, the king, 260 
 
 Who lost his sight for evil rede 
 'T were well if thou this tale wouldst 
 
 heed!" 
 "Lady," he quoth: "I pray of thee 
 That self -same tale now tell to me." 
 "Yea Sire," she said: "with right good 
 
 cheer 
 God send thee grace to rightly hear!" 
 
 "Once Sire, there lived in high estate 
 An Emperor of honour great, 
 Herod, I trow, that monarch's name, 
 A mighty prince of noble fame; 270 
 
 And seven clerks had he always 
 Like these, whom ye for wisdom praise, 
 And whatsoe'er was in his thought 
 After their rede he ever wrought. 
 The seven clerks, they made decree, 
 Stablished a custom, wrongfully, 
 That who so dreamed in any night, 
 And gat him to the clerks, forthright, 
 Bringing with him a crown of gold, 
 And to the clerks his vision told, 280 
 That they thereto would take intent, 
 And tell him what the dream had meant. 
 And some was false, and some was 
 
 true, 
 Yet many folk to them they drew, 
 Burghers, and peasants, high and low, 
 The meaning of their dream would know. 
 And nobles came from divers lands 
 Each brought a besant in his hand — 
 
 They wrought this craft for many a day 
 Till richer than their lord were they. 290 
 
 " The Emperor, upon a day, 
 
 Thought he would wend him forth to 
 
 play, 
 Out of the gate he fain would ride 
 With him his men on either side, 
 Sudden he waxed blind as a stone — 
 Unto his clerks he sent anon, 
 And asked them what had made him 
 
 blind? 
 But ne'er a reason might they find; 298 
 For four-score days they asked respite, 
 Within that time they hoped they might, 
 By lore of books, find reason why 
 Their lord waxed blind thus suddenly. 
 The Emperor gat him home again — 
 The clerks, they wrought with mickle 
 
 pain 
 Within their books the cause to find 
 Why thus the Emperor was blind. 
 
 " The clerks soon after on a day, 
 Met with an old man in the way, 
 To him they now recount their tale, 
 And he quoth: 'Masters, without fail, 310 
 No man may help ye, more or less, 
 Saving a child, who 's fatherless, 
 True counsel shall he give to ye, 
 But I wot not where he may be.' 
 The Masters would no longer bide, 
 To seek that child they forth would ride, 
 And some rode East, and some rode 
 
 West, 
 Where'er they thought to find him best, 
 A fortnight thus they fruitless ride, 
 Seeking the child on every side. 320 
 
 At last their way led thro' a town 
 Where children sported up and down, 
 They saw one boy who smote another, 
 Calling him 'Blockhead, Devil's Bro- 
 ther, 
 Thou art a son of Devil's blood, 
 Evil dost work, and never good, 
 Fatherless blockhead, I thee call!' 
 Thereto agreed the children all. 
 
THE SEVEN SAGES OF ROME 
 
 285 
 
 Two of the Masters right well beard 329 
 The children's striving, word by word ; 
 Then Merlin saw he was espied, 
 And straitly sware his fellows lied, 
 He saith: 'Now here two clerks I see, 
 In many a place they seek for me, 
 To Rome, methinks, they 'Id have me 
 
 go 
 Judgment on certain points to sbow.' 
 The Masters came unto that child, 
 And spake to him in accents mild : 
 ' Child, tell us what shall be thy name? ' 
 'Merlin,' he answered at that same. 340 
 With that, a goodman of that land 
 Came with a besant in his hand 
 To Merlin gave it presently — 
 He quoth: 'Full hasty Sir, shalt be 
 The meaning of thy dream to know 
 That may full well misfortune show; 
 But since thou profferest such meed 
 Ready am I thy dream to read. 
 There, in thy midden, didst thou see 
 A well spring forth with waters free, 350 
 And of that water sweet, I think, 
 Thou, and thy neighbours oft did drink. 
 This is the meaning. — In that mould 
 Shalt find a hoard of good red gold, 
 Which in thy midden hid doth lie, 
 Thither we'll go, the truth to try.' 
 Then with that man they all would go, 
 For all were fain the truth to know; 
 Their way unto the place they made — 
 The child bade bring forth pick and 
 
 spade, 360 
 
 A hole they delved, deep in the ground, 
 There, as he said, a hoard they found, 
 For good red gold the hole did fill, 
 The good-man bade take at their will, 
 His fellow towns-men, all and each 
 With that same treasure were made 
 
 rich; 
 The Masters took gold at their will, 
 But Merlin, he refused it still. 
 To Rome their way the Masters make, 
 The little lad with them they take; 370 
 Then, as they went upon their way, 
 They asked the child if he could say 
 
 Or any certain reason find 
 Wherefore the Emperor was blind? 
 Merlin he quoth: 'Assuredly, 
 I well can tell the reason why — ' 
 Then were the Masters blithe and gay, 
 Swiftly to Rome they took their way, 
 And ere the term was at an end 
 Safely to court their way they wend. 380 
 Then to the Emperor thus they say: 
 'Sir, we be come on this set day.' 
 He saith: 'An answer do ye bring?' 
 'Nay, Sire' they quoth, 'by Heaven's 
 
 King, 
 But Sire, a child we here have brought 
 Who well may tell ye all your thought.' 
 The Emperor said: 'Ye surety stand 
 For this, upon your life and land?' 
 'Yea, Sire,' they said, 'our all we '11 
 
 stake 
 That he an answer true shall make.' 390 
 The Emperor quoth: 'Tell, if thou may.' 
 The child spake: 'Swiftly go thy way 
 Unto thy chamber, there, aright, 
 I '11 say why thou hast lost thy sight.' 
 Into his chamber went anon 
 The Emperor, and his clerks each one, 
 Upon his bed he sat him there 
 And bade the child the truth declare. 
 Quoth Merlin to the Emperor: 399 
 
 'Beneath thy bed, in this same bower, 
 Beneath the ground, yea, deep adown, 
 Lieth a boiling calderon, 
 That bubbles sevenfold, day and night, 
 And Sire, that has thee reft of sight, 
 For while these bubbles boiling rise 
 The sight is banished from thine eyes; 
 But might a man those bubbles stay 
 Thine eyes were fair and bright alway.' 
 
 " The Emperor marvelled much at this, 
 And bade them move his bed, I wis, 410 
 Full deep they digged at that same 
 Until they to the caldron came, 
 The seven bubbles boiling see, 
 And know the lad spake veritie. 
 Then quoth the Emperor straightway: 
 ' Child, I will do thy will alway, 
 
286 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Some reason canst thou find, I ween, 
 Of what this calderon may mean?' 
 The child quoth: 'Yea Sire, without 
 
 doubt, 
 But bid thy Masters stay without, 430 
 The tale to end then shall ye know.' 
 The Emperor bade them forth to go, 
 No man of them might longer stay — 
 The child began his tale straightway; 
 'Those seven bubbles shall ye know 
 Thy seven Masters soothly show, 
 For they have stablished customs new 
 The which ye shall full sorely rue. 
 If any man dream, night or day, 
 That they shall come to them straight- 
 way, 430 
 And bring a besant in that stead 
 That so their dream be rightly read. 
 The dream at will they read alway 
 And thus thy clerks the folk betray, 
 And for this sin, Sire, do I find, 
 Thou of thine eyes be waxen blind.' 
 The Emperor quoth: 'If it be so 
 Tell me what it were best to do?' 
 The lad quoth: 'Sire, I trow 't were best 
 By one of them the truth to test, 440 
 If ye the oldest Master slay 
 The largest bubble sure shall stay.' 
 
 The Emperor bade his men off-smite 
 The oldest Master's head, forthright, 
 And even as that deed was done 
 The largest bubble ceased anon. 
 With that the Emperor, straightway, 
 Bade men the Masters all to slay; 
 Then cold and calm the water grew, 449 
 And joy henceforth the Emperor knew, 
 Merlin, he washed his eyes that tide, 
 Then could he see to walk and ride: 
 The Emperor thus regained his sight, 
 His seven Masters lost their might. 
 
 " Sir, so they blind thee, and beguile, 
 Thy Masters seven, with cunning wile, 
 For if thou follow this their rede 
 An evil road they will thee lead, 
 As Herod, for his trusting came 
 Well nigh unto an end of shame." 460 
 The Emperor quoth: "Nay, Lady fair, 
 Such shame shall never be my share, 
 Sooner shall they to death be dight!" 
 "Certes," she quoth, "there art thou 
 
 right!" 
 "Lady, I pledge me in this stead 
 To-morrow shall my son be dead, 
 And none shall free him from his bale." 
 Here endeth the eleventh tale. 
 
PROVERBIAL AND DIDACTIC 
 
PRECEPTS OF ALFRED 
 
 There sat, in the town of Seaford, 
 Full many a thane and lord, 
 Earls were there, proud in might, 
 And each one a gallant knight. 
 There Aelfric, the earl, I saw, 
 A wise man he, in their law; 
 And Alfred, too, might ye see, 
 Shepherd of England he, 
 Of English men was he king, 
 And of England was he darling. 
 His folk would he teach right well 
 As now ye may hear me tell, 
 Good counsel he gave, wise rede 
 How they their lives should lead. 
 
 Alfred, he ruled England 
 
 As king, with his strong right hand, 
 
 He was king, he was clerk as well — - 
 
 God's Word he loved right well. 
 
 Very wise was he in rede, 
 
 And wary, too, in his deed: 2 
 
 Wisest was he of men 
 
 Who dwelt in England then. 
 
 n 
 
 Quoth Alfred, England's king, 
 
 For Englishmen's profiting: 
 
 "An ye, my folk so dear, 
 
 The words of your lord would hear, 
 
 Guide ye aright he could 
 
 And teach ye things wise and good — 
 
 How ye in this world may share 
 
 Worship and honour fair, 3 
 
 And yet save your soul, I wis, 
 
 And get ye to Christ in bliss." 
 
 (Wise was the counselling 
 
 Spoken by Alfred the king — ) 
 
 "Mildly I 'Id 'monish here 
 
 Ye all, my friends so dear, 
 
 (Both rich and poor are ye, 
 Yet all ye my folk shall be,) 
 I would that all men here 
 Our Lord Christ fitly fear, 
 Love Him, withouten strife, 
 For He is the Lord of Life; 
 He is One God in Three, 
 Good o'er all Goodness He — 
 Joy, o'er all Joyfulness — 
 Bliss, o'er all earthly Bliss. 
 A Man among men shall He be, 
 The mildest of Masters He; 
 As Father, this folk He'll guide, 
 As Comforter, Help provide, 
 Righteous His Governing — 
 And so Mighty is He as King 
 That lack He shall never know — 
 Nor shall he his will forego 
 Who fitting honour alway 
 To God in this world doth pay." 
 
 m 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king, 
 For Englishmen's profiting : 
 "His crown may no king wear 
 'Neath Christ, nor rule fitly bear, 
 Save that he learned be 
 In book-lore, cunningly, 
 So that his wits, all five, 
 May thro' his knowledge thrive. 
 In letters he versed must be, 
 That he himself may see 
 How he his land should school, 
 And holdjt in lawful rule." 
 
 IV 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king: 
 "The earl and the atheling 
 Under the king they be, 
 To rule the land lawfully. 
 
 So 
 
 60 
 
2go 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 The clerk, I ween, and the knight, 
 Judgment shall give aright, 
 Equal to poor and rich, 
 The judgment, for all and each. 
 For e'en as a man doth sow 
 That crop, I ween, must he mow, 
 And each man's doom to his door 
 Returneth, evermore." 80 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king : 
 
 "The knight shall this service bring, 
 
 To stand upon watch and ward 
 
 Wary, the land to guard; 
 
 With hunger and harness prest. 
 
 That so the Church may have rest, 
 
 And the churl abide in peace 
 
 To gather his land's increase. 
 
 In such wise to sow his seed, 
 
 In such wise to mow his mead, 9 
 
 In such wise his plough to drive, 
 
 That all men therefrom may thrive. 
 
 This is the law of the knight — 
 
 See that he hold it aright!" 
 
 VI 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king : 
 "The man who in youth doth bring 
 Good will to his fostering. 
 Is fain to learn wisdom and wit, 
 And the lore that in books be writ, 
 I trow in old age, that he 10 
 
 A right good teacher shall be. 
 But he who in youth doth prove 
 That for learning he hath small 
 
 love, 
 Careth naught for wisdom and wit, 
 And the lore that in books be writ; 
 That which he lacked in his youth 
 His old age shall rue, for sooth. 
 For old age cometh apace, 
 And sickness he needs must face, 
 And his hopes, that full high had 
 
 been, n 
 
 To loss are they turned, I ween. 
 In such wise do tbey him betray, 
 In such wise vanish away." 
 
 VII 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king: 
 
 "Weal is a worthless thing 
 
 Save Wisdom with it it bring; 
 
 For tho' a man have and hold 
 
 Seventy acres, all told, 
 
 And tho' those acres were sown 
 
 With good red gold alone, 120 
 
 And that gold should grow, I ween, 
 
 As groweth the grass so green, 
 
 That man shall, for all his share 
 
 Of wealth, none the better fare, 
 
 Save friends for himself he win 
 
 Ere ever his toil begin; 
 
 For naught but a stone is gold 
 
 Save a wise man have it in hold." 
 
 vm 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king : 
 
 "Youth, be thou 'ware of this thing; 130 
 
 Yield not to sorrowing 
 
 Tho' the lot that to thee may fall 
 
 Pleasure thee not at all ; 
 
 And tho' thou shalt hold far less 
 
 Than the goods thou would 'st fain 
 
 possess. 
 For God may give, an He will, 
 Good, in the stead of 111, 
 Weal in the stead of Woe — 
 Well is he who doth find it so." 
 
 IX 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king, 140 
 
 For Englishmen's profiting : — 
 
 "A hard task it is to row 
 
 When the salt sea doth 'gainst thee flow; 
 
 So is it to labour and toil 
 
 If ill fortune thine efforts foil. 
 
 He who, in the days of his youth, 
 
 So striveth that he, in truth, 
 
 May win this world's wealth alway 
 
 And so, in his old age, may 
 
 Rest, and enjoy his ease, 150 
 
 And eke, with his goods' increase, 
 
 Serve God, ere he hence shall go, 
 
 His toil he doth well bestow!" 
 
PRECEPTS OF ALFRED 
 
 291 
 
 X 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king: 
 
 "Full many shall think a thing 
 
 In which be small profiting; 
 
 A man eounteth on length of days 
 
 But ill Fate him full oft betrays, 
 
 For even as he doth find 
 
 His life be most to his mind, 160 
 
 That life is he forced to leave 
 
 Altho' he full sore may grieve. 
 
 For there groweth no herb so good 
 
 In meadow, I ween, nor wood, 
 
 That the life of a man it may 
 
 Prolong to an endless day. 
 
 And no man the hour doth know 
 
 When he from this world must go; 
 
 None knoweth the way of his end, 
 
 Or whither he hence shall wend. 170 
 
 The Lord of all Power, I wot, 
 
 He casteth and ruleth, our lot, 
 
 And God, He alone, doth know 
 
 When we from this life must go." 
 
 XI 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king, 
 
 For every man's profiting : 
 
 "If so be that thou silver and gold, 
 
 And the wealth of this world, shalt hold, 
 
 Beware lest it so betide 
 
 That thy profiting turn to pride. 180 
 
 'T is not from thy sire thou dost own 
 
 Thy wealth, 't is from God a loan, 
 
 In the hour that His Will is so 
 
 Therefrom must we surely go; 
 
 This life of ours must we quit 
 
 And all that we hold, to wit, 
 
 And our foes shall seize and hold 
 
 What once to our lot was told, 
 
 The treasure we needs must leave — 
 
 For us shall they little grieve!" 190 
 
 xn 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king: 
 "See not over much trust thou bring 
 In the tide that floweth fair — 
 If treasure shall be thy share, 
 
 If thou hast money, and more, 
 
 Of gold and silver a store, 
 
 Yet all may crumble to naught, 
 
 To dust may thy wealth be brought — 
 
 God liveth, nor waxeth old — 
 
 Many a man, for his gold, 200 
 
 Hath won him God's Wrath alway, 
 
 And for his silver, such pay 
 
 That his soul he at last hath lost — 
 
 In such wise must he pay the cost 
 
 That 't were better for him, I ween, 
 
 If born he had never been." 
 
 xin 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king : 
 
 "My folk, give me hearkening; 
 
 Since yours it shall be, the need, 
 
 I will give unto ye good rede. 210 
 
 Wit and Wisdom, believe me well, 
 
 Do all other things excel, 
 
 He safe and secure may sit 
 
 Who for comrades hath Wisdom and 
 
 Wit. 
 For tho' riches may flit away 
 His Wisdom shall with him stay, 
 And never that man shall perish 
 Who Wisdom as friend shall cherish, 
 But harm shall he from him hold 
 The while his life-days be told." 220 
 
 XIV 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king : 
 
 "An thou goest sorrowing 
 
 Then speak it not loud nor low, 
 
 But whisper thy saddle-bow, 
 
 And ride thence singing away — 
 
 So that the folk may say, 
 
 (Who little thy thoughts can tell,) 
 
 'This life, it pleaseth him well!' 
 
 For if sorrow draw to thee near 
 
 And thy foeman thereof shall hear 230 
 
 Tho' he pity thee much to thy face 
 
 To thy back he will mock thee apace. 
 
 Thy grief to a man may'st tell 
 
 Who in sooth may wish thee full well, 
 
 While another will hear thee complain 
 
 And wish thee as much woe again ! 
 
292 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Thy sorrow hide well in thine heart 
 For so it shall bring thee less smart; 
 The servant should never be told 239 
 What the master's heart doth hold." 
 
 XV 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king, 
 
 For the husband's profiting: 
 
 "An thou seekest a wife, beware; 
 
 Choose her not for her face so fair, 
 
 Nor for gold, nor for other thing 
 
 That she unto thee may bring. 
 
 But mark well what her ways may be 
 
 For needs must she shew them thee; 
 
 He who chooseth wealth, I trow, 
 
 Oft findeth evil enow; 250 
 
 And oft, with a face full fair, 
 
 Hath he frailty for his share. 
 
 Woe to him who an evil wife 
 
 Bringeth to share his life, 
 
 I ween be shall little thrive 
 
 In his time, who shall evil wive. 
 
 For she worketh him here on earth 
 
 Sorrow in place of mirth; 
 
 And many a man doth sing 259 
 
 When his bride he doth homeward bring, 
 
 Did he know what he brought, in 
 
 truth, 
 He had wept, for sorrow and ruth!" 
 
 XVI 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king, 
 
 For the husband's profiting: 
 
 "See thou be never so mad, 
 
 Tho' the wine-cup make thee glad, 
 
 As to tell thy wife, loud or still, 
 
 All that is in thy will. 
 
 For if it should so fall out 
 
 That thy foemen were round about, 270 
 
 And that thou had'st made her wroth 
 
 With thy words, then, by my troth, . 
 
 Never, for living thing, 
 
 Thou could'st her to silence bring, 
 
 Upbraid thee, she would alway, 
 
 Thine ill fortune to all display. 
 
 Word-mad is woman, I ween, 
 
 Her tongue aye too swift hath been, 
 
 And rule it, she never may 
 
 Tho' such were her will alway!" 280 
 
 xvn 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king, 
 For the husband's profiting: 
 "Leisure and pride, alway, 
 Oft lead a young wife astray; 
 So that oft she the thing hath done 
 That were better if left undone. 
 And yet, I think me, 't were light 
 Vice and evil to put to flight, 
 Were she willing to toil and sweat, 
 And her hand to labour set; 290 
 
 Tho' 't is ill to bow, in the end 
 The tree breaks that will not bend. 
 The cat learneth to mouse, I ween, 
 Where the mother her guide hath 
 
 been. 
 But woe to the man who shall let 
 His wife the mastery get ! 
 For never shall he be heard, 
 Nor be lord o'er his will and word; 
 With him shall she sternly deal, 
 To his woe, and not to his weal, 300 
 Of gladness is he forlorn 
 Whom his wife doth hold in scorn; 
 As an apple is fair to see 
 When the taste thereof sour shall be, 
 So with woman it doth befall — 
 She is fair in her father's hall, 
 Sweet to a man's embrace — 
 And yet she doth bring disgrace. 
 So full many men there be 
 Who a-horse be goodly to see, 310 
 
 Yet as friends are worth naught to 
 
 thee — 
 Haughty are they upon steed, 
 And worthless in hour of need." 
 
 xvni 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king: 
 
 "I rede thee for profiting 
 
 That thou be not too swift to heed 
 
 'Thy wife's counsel, nor follow her rede; 
 
 For so that she wroth may be 
 
 For word or deed, verily, 
 
PRECEPTS OF ALFRED 
 
 293 
 
 She weepeth for angry mood 320 
 
 More oft than for reason good. 
 She maketh plaint, loud, and still, 
 But that she may have her will; 
 She weepeth some other while 
 Because she would thee beguile; 
 Solomon saith indeed 
 That women give evil rede, 
 Would'st thou her counsel follow 
 She bringeth thee swift to sorrow. 
 And as the old song doth say: 330 
 
 'Bubbles rise swift, and swift pass 
 
 away'; 
 And 't was said by the folk of old : 
 'Women's counsel is counsel cold.' 
 And that man doth come to ill 
 Who is led by a woman's will. 
 But that a good woman, God wot, 
 Is a good thing, I doubt it not; 
 Well for him, who, from out all other, 
 Shall choose her, and ne'er another." 
 
 XIX 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king, 340 
 
 For every man's profiting: 
 "Full many a man, in thought, 
 Hath that which small good hath 
 
 wrought, 
 That he hath a friend for his share 
 In the man who speaketh him fair; — 
 To his face, he doth give him praise, 
 To his back, he maligneth his ways. 
 But his wealth, an the truth be 
 
 told, 
 A man may the longer hold 
 If he ever to trust be slow 350 
 
 Where speech doth more swiftly flow. 
 Then believe not everything 
 Which thou hearest men to sing, 
 For of soft speech many shall be 
 Who would lightly do ill to thee; 
 Nor canst thou lightly conceive 
 In what wise he will thee deceive." 
 
 XX 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king, 
 For every man's profiting: 
 
 "By wise saws a man waxeth wise; 360 
 With himself, too, his wisdom lies, 
 For by falsehood, he winneth hate, 
 And by ill deeds, a worthless state. 
 For the grasping hand alway 
 The head must oft forfeit pay. 
 Keep thee from falsehood's rede, 
 And shun every evil deed, 
 And so, where'er thou shalt dwell, 
 The folk, they shall love thee well. 
 And of thy neighbour take heed, 370 
 For he may be good at need. 
 If to market or church thou shalt fare 
 Make to thee friends everywhere; 
 Whether rich, whether poor, they be, 
 Of all alike, verily. 
 Then steadfast and sure thy seat 
 For abiding, an seem thee meet, 
 Or secure shalt thou journey still 
 Thro' the land, an it be thy will." 
 
 XXI 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king. 380 
 
 For every man's profiting: 
 
 "The wealth that this world hath 
 
 brought 
 I ween, it shall turn to naught, 
 And the treasure a man doth hold 
 Shall melt into muck and mould. 
 And our life shall be swiftly past, 
 But a little space shall it last. 
 For e'en an it did betide 
 That a man ruled the world so wide 
 Yea, and all joys might win 3g o 
 
 Of the joys that be here within, 
 Yet neither for gladness nor gold 
 His life might he longer hold, 
 But all must be forfeited 
 When but a few years be sped. 
 And then shall this earthly bliss 
 Be turned to bale I wis, 
 Save that we bend us still 
 To follow and work Christ's Will. 
 Now bethink us, and take good heed 400 
 Our life in such wise to lead 
 As Christ in His Word doth tell; 
 For so may we hope full well 
 
294 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 To be honoured by Him alway. 
 For thus doth Solomon say: 
 'The man who doth well below 
 Hereafter reward shall know.' 
 He leaveth his life behind, 
 And fareth, reward to find." 
 
 xxn 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king, 410 
 
 For every man's profiting: 
 
 "I rede thee be ne'er so bold 
 
 As to wrangle against a scold; 
 
 Nor chide 'gainst a foolish tale 
 
 For error shall aye prevail. 
 
 And ne'er, an thou wouldst not rue, 
 
 Begin to tell tidings new; 
 
 And at every freeman's board 
 
 Be thou sparing of thy word. 
 
 The wise man his task hath done 420 
 
 With few words, and may much have 
 
 won; 
 A fool's bolt full soon is shot, — 
 And I hold him a fool, God wot, 
 Who sayeth all in his will 
 When his profit were to be still. 
 A tongue breaketh bones full oft 
 Tho' itself be boneless and soft!" 
 
 XXHI 
 
 Thus quoth Alfred the king: 
 "The wise child bliss shall bring 
 
 To his father; if so it be 430 
 
 That a bairn be born to thee, 
 
 The while he be young and small 
 
 Teach him good customs all; 
 
 Then, as he shall wax, and grow, 
 
 He shall turn his mind thereunto; 
 
 And the better shall be his worth 
 
 The while he abide on earth. 
 
 But if thou shalt let him go 
 
 In this world, to and fro, 
 
 Ever, both loud and still, 440 
 
 Working but his own will, 
 
 Then as the years o'er him roll 
 
 Thou shalt him no more control 
 
 Than thou rulest death; I trow, 
 
 That shall bring thee grief enow — 
 
 Oft shall he thy word transgress, 
 
 And bring thee to heaviness. 
 
 'T were better for thee, I ween, 
 
 That born he had never been; 
 
 For better an unborn child 450 
 
 Than a son unruly and wild. 
 
 The man who the rod doth spare 
 
 And letteth his young child fare 
 
 In such wise that it beareth the rule, 
 
 1 And he may not teach it, nor school, 
 
 iWhen he cometh to years so hoar 
 
 Methinks he shall rue it sore!" 
 
 Amen. 
 Expliciunt Dicta Regis Alfredi. 
 
 THE PROVERBS OF HENDYNGE 
 
 Who would learn of Wisdom's rede 
 Let him take to Hendynge heed, 
 Marcolf's son was he; 
 Laws and customs, not a few, 
 Did he teach to many a shrew, 
 As his wise should be. 
 
 Jesu Christ, Our Help in thrall, 
 Who hath died to save us all 
 Nailed to the Tree, 
 Teach us Wisdom's way to •wend 
 
 That we serve thee to the end, 
 Amen, par Charitie. 
 "Good beginning maketh good ending," 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Wit and Wisdom learn full fain, 
 
 See none other thee restrain, 
 
 Be in Wisdom free; 
 
 Better walk in Wisdom's way 
 
 Than go clad in rich array 
 
 Wheresoe'er thou be. 20 
 
THE PROVERBS 
 
 OF HENDYNGE 295 
 
 "Wit and Wisdom be a good garri- 
 
 Nor shalt die therein. 60 
 
 son," 
 
 "Better be eye-sore than blind," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Here on earth is ne'er a man, 
 
 
 Let him try as try he can, 
 
 Men may teach a simple child 
 
 If he bide at home, 
 
 Teachable of mood, and mild, 
 
 Who such knowledge may attain 
 
 With but little lore; 
 
 As that man, for learning fain, 
 
 But an ye would further go 
 
 Who afar doth roam. 
 
 Pain and trouble shall ye know 
 
 "So many Folk, so many Fashions," ig 
 
 Ere ye teach him more. 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 "The simple son is taught right soon," 
 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Tho' the child be dear, I wis 
 
 
 An it doeth aught amiss, 
 
 Would'st from fleshly lusts be free 71 
 
 Spare the rod for naught; 
 
 Thou must fight, and swiftly flee 
 
 An its way it goeth free, 
 
 Both with eye and heart. 
 
 Willy, nilly, it shall be 
 
 Fleshly lust, it bringeth shame, 
 
 But a good-for-naught. 
 
 What the Body thinketh game 
 
 "Lief child behoveth lore," 
 
 Makes the Soul to smart. 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 "He fights well who flees well," 
 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Wisdom thou shalt win to thee 
 
 
 From what thou dost hear and see 40 
 
 Wise men ne'er of words are free, 
 
 Man, in this thy youth, 
 
 For they will begin no glee 80 
 
 Thou in age shalt surely follow, 
 
 Ere they tune their pipe; 
 
 Both at eve, and on the morrow, 
 
 Fools be fools, as may be seen 
 
 Thine it is, in sooth. 
 
 By their words, they speak them 
 
 "What thou young dost hold, thou shalt 
 
 green, 
 
 lose not old," 
 
 Ere that they be ripe. 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 "A Fool's bolt is soon shot," 
 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 If thou list a sin to do, 
 
 
 And thy thoughts be turned thereto, 
 
 See thou ne'er thy foeman tell 
 
 Good 't is to refrain; 
 
 Shame or loss that thee befell, 
 
 For when heat be overcome, so 
 
 Nor thy care nor woe; 
 
 And thy wit again hast won, 
 
 He will try, an so he may, go 
 
 Thou shalt count it gain. 
 
 Both by night, and eke by day 
 
 "Let lust overgo, liking shall follow," 
 
 One woe to make two. 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 "Tell never thy foe if thy foot acheth," 
 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Art thou light of thought withal, 
 
 
 That thou should'st thro' weakness 
 
 Hast of bread and ale no lack 
 
 fall 
 
 Put it not all in thy sack, 
 
 In a wicked sin, 
 
 Deal it freely out; 
 
 Be that fault so rarely told 
 
 If thy meals dost freely share 
 
 That in sin thou grow not old, 
 
 Then where men have meat to spare, 
 
296 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Thou go'st not without. 100 
 
 Speak not all thy rede: 
 
 "Better an apple given than eaten," 
 
 He who swallows down his speech 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Ere unto his lips it reach, 
 
 
 Findeth friends at need. 
 
 Yet, the while I lived on earth, 
 
 "The tongue breaketh bone, tho* itself 
 
 I have deemed of little worth 
 
 it hath none," 
 
 Wine from other's store; 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 That which I may call mine own, 
 
 
 Wine and water, stock and stone, 
 
 Many a knave. I trow, there be, 
 
 That doth please me more. 
 
 Who, if men but little fee 
 
 "Best be our own Brand,'' 100 
 
 Give him, wrath doth show, 150 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 I say: "He doth well by me 
 
 
 Who doth give a little fee 
 
 If thou lackest meat or cloth 
 
 When he naught doth owe.' 
 
 Be not for that cause too wroth 
 
 "Who little doth give is fain I should 
 
 Tho' thy debtor stay; 
 
 live," 
 
 He that still hath his good plough 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 And of worldly good enow. 
 
 
 Knoweth no care alway. 
 
 If it please thee to do ill 
 
 "Good-less is greedy," 
 
 When the world is at thy will, 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Then of this take heed, 
 
 
 If from thine estate thou fall 
 
 Art thou rich in house and hold 
 
 That which thou hast brewed withal, 160 
 
 Be not thou for that too bold, 110 
 
 Shalt thou drink at need. 
 
 Nor wax wood and wild; 
 
 "The better thou be, the better thee 
 
 Measure shew in everything, 
 
 be-see," 
 
 That shall sure a blessing bring, 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Be thou meek and mild. 
 
 
 "Full cup needs steady hand," 
 
 Tho', forsooth, 'twould please thee 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 well 
 
 
 In a goodly house to dwell 
 
 If an old man thou shalt be 
 
 Thou must need abide; 
 
 Take no young maid unto thee 
 
 Best within a hut to be 
 
 For to be thy spouse, 
 
 Till thou feel that thou art free 
 
 Tho* thou shew her love, I trow, 130 
 
 From all taint of pride. 
 
 She shall flout thee oft enow 
 
 "Xeath a bush may ye hide, and the 
 
 E'en in thine own house. 
 
 storm abide," l 170 
 
 "Oft a man doth sing 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 When he home doth bring 
 
 
 His young wife; 
 
 No man wretched do I hold 
 
 Did he know what he brought 
 
 Tho' unto his lot be told 
 
 He had wept, methought, 
 
 That which makes him smart; 
 
 The rest of his life," 
 
 When man goeth most in fear 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 God, I trow, the prayer shall hear 
 
 
 Offered from true heart. 
 
 Tho' thou thinkest much, withal, 140 
 
 1 Cf. Scotch proverb. "Bt 'U rw ia/t <m a torw tiat '« 
 
 Guard thy tongue as with a wall, 
 
 prood om a ponU." 
 
THE PROVERBS OF HENDYNGE 
 
 297 
 
 "When Bale is highest. Boot is nigh- 
 est," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Draw thy hand back with all speed 180 
 
 When they do thee an ill deed, 
 
 Whom didst help with store; 
 
 So that child withdraws his hand 
 
 From the fire, and from the brand, 
 
 Who was burnt afore. 
 
 "A burnt child dreads the fire," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 To some men I've lent my cloth 
 Who have made me feel right wroth 
 Ere it came again; 190 
 
 He that served me so, i-fay, 
 Tho' such loan right oft he pray, 
 He shall lose his pain! 
 "Seldom comes loan laughing home," 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 If thou trust to borrowing 
 Thou shalt lack for many a thing, 
 Tho' thou like it ne'er; 
 But if thou thine own hast won 
 All thy woe is overcome, 200 
 
 Thou hast no more care. 
 "A man's ain is his ain, another's, but 
 blame," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 This world's love I hold not dear, 
 Little reck I who may hear 
 What I speak on high; 
 Well I see that oft one brother 
 Careth little for the other, 
 Be he out of eye. 
 
 "Far from eye, far from heart," 210 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 That man who betrayeth me 
 
 And of my goods maketh free 
 
 His own fame to win, 
 
 For the veriest cur I take 
 
 Who at board the bread shall break 
 
 His own hall within. 
 
 "Of unbought hide ye may make thongs 
 wide," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Many say: "An rich I were 220 
 
 No man should with me compare 
 For my gifts so free; 
 But when he much goods hath gotten, 
 This free hand is all forgotten, 
 And laid under knee. 
 "He is free of his horse who never had 
 none," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Many a man of poor estate 
 
 Doth his daughter lightly mate 
 
 Nor is better sped, 230 
 
 Who, if he a wise man were, 
 
 Might, with but a little care, 
 
 Have her better wed. 
 
 "Lightly won is lightly held," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Riches, hard to get they be, 
 And their going ill to see, 
 Wise man, think on this; 
 All too dear is bought the ware 
 That may never, free from care, 240 
 Please man's heart, I wis. 
 "Dear is bought the honey that is licked 
 off the thorn," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Ye who fain would cross the flood 
 
 If the wind be wild and wood 
 
 Bide ye quiet and still; 
 
 Bide thee still, if so thou may, 
 
 Thou shalt have, another day, 
 
 Weather to thy will. 249 
 
 "He abideth well who waiteth well," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 But an ill hap his shall be 
 
 Who a-ship shall set to sea 
 
 When the wind is wood ; 
 
 Be he come unto the deep 
 
 He may wring his hands and weep 
 
298 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 In right dreary mood. 
 " Rashness oft rueth," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Trow ye well, an evil man 260 
 
 May do wonders, an he can, 
 All the world affright; 
 Yet he fares as doth the knave 
 Whom men with a trusty stave 
 Ever smartly smite. 
 "Tho' the thief master be he hangs 
 highest on tree," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Wicked man, and wicked wife, 
 
 If they led a sinful life, 
 
 Ever evil wrought, 270 
 
 Never they such road might wend 
 
 But thej needs must, at the end, 
 
 Show their inmost thought. 
 
 "An ill-spun web aye ravels out," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Better is the rich man sped 
 Who doth a good woman wed 
 Tho' ber purse be bare, 
 Than to bring into his house 
 A proud maiden for his spouse 280 
 
 Who is false as fair. 
 "For land and name many wed them to 
 shame," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Let no man trust child or wife 
 When he needs must leave this life, 
 
 Nigh to death be brought; 
 When his bones be laid in mold 
 They will take to them his gold, 
 Of his soul reck naught. 
 "Friendless is the dead," 290 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 When the glutton finds good ale 
 He to drink it shall not fail, 
 And for naught will stay — 
 Drink he will with one and all — 
 Seeks his home when night doth 
 
 fall, 
 Lies dead by the way. 
 "Drink less alway, and go home by 
 
 day," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Rich and poor, and young and old, 300 
 While that wit to you is told, 
 Seek ye your soul's bliss; 
 For when ye shall hope the best 
 To rejoice in peace and rest 
 The tree falls, I wis. 
 "Hope of long life beguiles many good- 
 wife," 
 
 quoth Hendynge. 
 
 Mickle sooth he spake, Hendynge — 
 Jesu Christ, of Heaven the King 
 Us to gladness bring; 310 
 
 And for His sweet Mother's love, 
 Who doth sit in Heaven above 
 Grant us good ending. Amen. 
 
 THE SACRILEGIOUS CAROLLERS » 
 
 Fttll ill shall it be in churchyard to dance, 
 This same will I show ye by sore mischance — 
 And this tale, so I swear to thee, is truth, 
 Yea, as Gospel lore, so shall it be sooth — 
 And it happened here, in this very land, 
 Yea, here in this England, I understand ; 
 
 * From Robert of Brunne's Eandlyng Synne. 
 
THE SACRILEGIOUS CAROLLERS 299 
 
 In the days of a king men called Edward 
 
 It befell, this chance that was wondrous hard. 
 
 For so it fell out, on a Christmas Night, 
 
 That twelve foolish folk would a carol dight, jo 
 
 Yea, in fashion mad, as in strife it were, 
 
 To the town of Colbek they needs must fare; 
 
 Therein was a church which was fair and great, 
 
 To St. Magnus the Martyr 't was dedicate, 
 
 With St. Buckcestre joined, for she, I ween, 
 
 Had sister unto St. Magnus been. 
 
 The dancers' names, they be written all, 
 
 Of some shall ye learn how men did them call — 
 
 Gerlew, was he hight, the leader, 't was he 
 
 Set the time of their dance, and made the glee; so 
 
 And maidens twain were that band within, 
 
 Merswynde were they called, and Wybessyn. 
 
 Thus to Colbek the dancers their way had ta'en 
 
 To seek the priest's daughter they there were fain; 
 
 The priest was hight Robert — he had a son, 
 
 And as I have read, he was named Ayone, 
 
 And his sister, she whom the band did crave 
 
 To join in the Carol, was known as Ave. 
 
 Then counsel the dancers held withal 
 
 Who that maiden forth from the house should call, 30 
 
 The council, I trow, they were of one mind 
 
 They would send Wybessyne, and maid Merswynde. 
 
 Straightway went the women, and brought her out, 
 
 To carol with them the churchyard about. 
 
 Bevis was the dancer who led the ring, 
 
 While Gerlew, he wrote what they all should sing, 
 
 And this was the carol the dancers sung 
 
 As men found it writ in the Latin tongue — 
 "Equitabat Bevo per silvam frondosam, 
 
 Ducebat secum Merswyndam formosam — 40 
 
 Quid stamus, cur non imus?" 
 "Bevis he rode thro' the leafy glade, 
 
 He led with him Merswynde, the lovely maid — 
 
 Why stand we here? Why go we not?" 
 
 This the carol that Gerlew wrote, I wot. 
 
 So sang they in the churchyard there, 
 
 Nor fear for their folly in heart they bare, 
 
 But they sang till the Mattins all were done, 
 
 And 't was time for the Mass to be begun; 
 
 The priest, he vested him for the Mass, so 
 
 But never a whit they danced the less, 
 
300 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 As they began, so they danced alway, 
 
 Nor e'en for the Mass did they think to stay. 
 
 The priest at the altar, he needs must hear 
 
 The noise, and the dance, that were all too near; 
 
 From the altar down stepped the priest so good, 
 
 And without the door, 'neath the porch, he stood, 
 
 And he quoth: "In God's Name, now take ye heed, 
 
 I forbid ye all, longer to do such deed, 
 
 But in fashion seemly now draw anear, 60 
 
 And come into the church, the Mass to hear. 
 
 Of Christian folk shall ye keep the law, 
 
 Nor longer carol — have Christ in awe, 
 
 And worship Him now with all your might 
 
 Who once of a Virgin was born this night." 
 
 But for all his bidding they stayed them naught, 
 
 But danced on ever, as was their thought. 
 
 The priest for that was full sorely grieved, 
 
 And he prayed to God, on Whom he believed, 
 
 That, for Magnus the Martyr, since in his name 70 
 
 The church was founded, to guard His fame, 
 
 And such vengeance upon the dancers send 
 
 Ere yet they might forth from the churchyard wend, 
 
 That their song, and their carol, should ever last 
 
 Until that the twelvemonth be overpast — 
 
 (But I trow, in Latin the writing bore 
 
 Not " a twelvemonth" only, but " evermore.") 
 
 Thus on each one singly the curse he laid 
 
 The while that, dancing, they merry made. 
 
 And soon as the words from his lips had passed 80 
 
 The hands of the dancers were locked full fast, 
 
 That never a man, for spell, or wonder, 
 
 For a twelvemonth might part their clasp asunder. 
 
 The priest went home when the Mass was done, 
 
 And straightway hath bidden Ayone, his son, 
 
 His sister Ave, without more delay, 
 
 Forthwith from the Carol to bring that day. 
 
 But all too late he the words had said, 
 
 For the curse on them all was straitly laid! 
 
 Ayone, he did after his father's rede, 90 
 
 And unto that Carol he went with speed, 
 
 His sister he fast by the arm did take 
 
 When lo! the arm from the body brake! 
 
 All wondered that marvel to behold, 
 
 But a greater marvel shall now be told, 
 
 For altho' the arm in his hand he bore, 
 
 The body, it danced on ever more, 
 
THE SACRILEGIOUS CAROLLERS 301 
 
 : f . 
 
 And neither the body, nor e'en the arm, 
 Shed a drop of blood, were it cold, or warm, 
 
 But muscle and bone were as dry to see 100 
 
 As a stick that is broken from a tree. 
 Ayone, he would back to his father fare, 
 And a sorry present he brought him there: 
 'Look, Father," he quoth, "see I bring thee here 
 Her arm who was once thy daughter dear, 
 Who was, of aforetime, my sister Ave — 
 I went thither intent the maid to save, 
 But thy curse hath fallen, as may be seen, 
 On thy very flesh and blood, I ween! 
 
 All too bitter thy curse, and all too soon — no 
 
 Thou didst pray for vengeance, thou hast thy boon!" 
 Small need to ask me if sorrow sore 
 Fell on the priest, and on many more! 
 
 The priest who had cursed thus that evil dance, 
 
 On himself, and his folk there fell mischance; 
 
 He hath taken his daughter's arm, forlorn, 
 
 And hath buried it on the morrow's morn — 
 
 But the very next day, that arm of Ave, 
 
 He hath found it lying above the grave! 
 
 Once more was it buried, the self -same day, 120 
 
 On the morrow, without the grave it lay; 
 
 A third time the arm, it was buried low, 
 
 And again the ground it forth did throw. 
 
 The priest, he dare bury that arm no more, 
 
 For the dread of God's Vengeance oppressed him sore, 
 
 But into the church did he bear that arm 
 
 In dread, and in doubting of further harm, 
 
 Ordaining that it in such place should be 
 
 That all men with eye might the marvel see. 
 
 The dancers who carolled there in that band, 130 
 
 Thro' the whole year round, hand fast in hand, 
 
 Forth from that place might they never go, 
 
 For no man might lead them the churchyard fro'; 
 
 Where first in the curse's fetters bound, 
 
 In that self-same spot did they dance their round, 
 
 Nor pain nor weariness did they know, 
 
 Such as falls to folk who too far shall go. 
 
 They stayed them not, or for meat, or drink; 
 
 And never they slept, not a passing wink; 
 
 Were it day, were it night, they noted none, 140 
 
 For they knew not whether 't was come, or gone; 
 
 Neither frost nor snow, neither hail nor rain, 
 
 Neither cold nor heat it might bring them pain. 
 
3 o2 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Their hair nor their nails, ne'er a whit they grew, 
 
 Nor faded their clothes, and changed in hue; 
 
 Thunder nor lightning, it vexed them not, 
 
 God's Mercy, it sheltered them well, I wot, 
 
 They sang aye the song that the woe had wrought — 
 "Why stand we? Why go we naught?" 
 
 I trow ne'er a man should living be '5» 
 
 Who such marvel were not full fain to see. 
 
 The Emperor, Henry, he came from Borne, 
 
 He was fain to behold this dance of doom, 
 
 But when he had seen it, full bitterly 
 
 Did he weep, to behold such misery; 
 
 He bade his carpenters build full fast 
 
 A roof that should shelter them from the blast, 
 
 But all in vain was the work they wrought, 
 
 For unto an end might it ne'er be brought, 
 
 That which they builded within one day i«° 
 
 At dawn of another, on ground it lay, 
 
 Once, twice, a third time, the roof they wrought, 
 
 But for all their making it came to naught, 
 
 From the cold they should never covered be 
 
 Till in Christ's own time they should Mercy see. 
 
 And that time of Grace came, by God's great Might, 
 
 At the twelvemonth end, on that same Yule night, 
 
 At the self-same hour that the dance was banned, 
 
 At that very hour they loosed their hand; 
 
 At the self-same hour that the curse he spake 170 
 
 At that very hour the ring it brake; 
 
 Then, e'en in the twinkling of an eye, 
 
 Straight to the church did the dancers fly, 
 
 And all, on the pavement they fell adown, 
 
 And lay as men dead, or in a swoon. 
 
 Three days did they lie, as still as stone, 
 
 And never they moved, nor in flesh nor bone, 
 
 And then when the three days' course was run 
 
 To life hath God brought them, every one, 
 
 Upright they sat them, and all men heard 180 
 
 How to Bobert the priest they spake this word: 
 " 'T is thou art the author and cause withal 
 
 Of the penance long which did on us fall, 
 
 The maker thou wert of our travail sore 
 
 That full many a man hath marvelled o'er, 
 
 And by travail too shalt thou find thine end, 
 
 For soon to thy long home shalt thou wend!" 
 
 Then rose they up, on the self-same day, 
 Save Ave, she, lifeless, beside them lay — 
 
THE SACRILEGIOUS CAROLLERS 303 
 
 Her father and brother great mourning made, 190 
 
 And wonder and dread on all men were laid, 
 
 Her soul, they deemed it was safe that stead, 
 
 But they needs must mourn o'er the body dead. 
 
 I trow that the first by her side to lie 
 
 Was her father, the priest, in veritie. 
 
 The arm that had once belonged to Ave, 
 
 Since it ne'er might lie quiet in the grave, 
 
 The Emperor bade that a shrine be made 
 
 Therein, in the church, should it be displayed, 
 
 That all men might look thereupon, and see, 200 
 
 And think of the dance and its penaltie. 
 
 Those men that had carolled, a godless band, 
 
 Thro' the whole year long, hand fast locked in hand, 
 
 Tho' at last their ring, it asunder brake, 
 
 Yet the world it still of that wonder spake, 
 
 For e'en as they, springing, the carol led, 
 
 So, dancing, from land to land they sped; 
 
 As aforetime they never might be unbound 
 
 So together they never might now be found, 
 
 For never, I trow, an it were but twain, 210 
 
 To one place, at one time, they came again! 
 
 To the court of Rome four, methinks, did go, 
 
 Ever hopping and springing to and fro', 
 
 With leaps and bounds did they get them thither. 
 
 But never, I trow, did they come together; 
 
 Their clothes ware not out, and their nails ne'er grew; 
 
 Their hair waxed not long, nor hath changed in hue; 
 
 Nor cure might they find for their sore complaint 
 
 At the shrine, so 't is said, of any Saint, 
 
 Save but at S. Edith's, the virgin pure, 220 
 
 There they say that S. Theodrich found a cure, 
 
 On Our Lady's day, in a Lenten tide, 
 
 E'en as he slumbered, her tomb beside, 
 
 He found there the medicine he sore did crave 
 
 At S. Edith's, the holy virgin's, grave. 
 
 Now Bruno, the bishop of S. Toulous, 
 
 He hath written this tale so marvellous, 
 
 Sithen, did he win him a greater fame, 
 
 For as Leo, the Pope, all men know his name. 
 
 Even there, at the court of Rome, to wit, 230 
 
 In the chronicles shall ye find it writ. 
 
 And in many places beyond the sea 
 
 It is better known than in this countrie, 
 
 And therefore the saying, it goes abroad, 
 
3°4 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 "The nearer the church, the further from God." 
 And in different wise the tale doth fare, 
 For some for a fiction that same declare, 
 While in other places they hold it dear, 
 And the marvel be ever fain to hear. 
 But the tale doth examples twain rehearse: 
 For first, 't is a warning against a curse; 
 And again, it should teach ye to fear this thing, 
 In church, or in churchyard, to dance and sing; 
 Still less shall ye do it against the will 
 Of the priest, if he bid ye cease, be still! 
 
 THE DEBATE OF THE BODY AND THE 
 
 SOUL 
 
 It chanced, as on a winter's night, 
 I drowsing lay, ere dawn of day, 
 Methought I saw a wondrous sight — 
 Upon a bier a Body lay, 
 That erst had been a haughty knight, 
 Who God would neither praise nor pray; 
 Now was he reft of this life's light, 
 His Spirit, freed, must hence away. 
 
 But ere that Spirit far would roam 
 It turned, and, by the bier it stood, 10 
 Beheld the Body, erst its home, 
 In sorrowful and dreary mood: 
 "Ah, wellaway !" it made its moan — 
 " Woe worth thy flesh, woe worth thy blood, 
 Thou wretched Body, now alone 
 Dost lie, who wast so wild, and wood ! 
 
 " Thou that wast wont afield to ride, 
 On warlike steed, 'mid courtly crowd, 
 Of stature tall, in garment wide, 
 E'en as a lion fierce and proud, so 
 
 Where now is all thy mickle pride, 
 Thy boastful speech, ere-while so loud? 
 Thou liest bare, hast naught beside 
 One garment poor, and that a shroud ! 
 
 "Where be thy castles, where thy towers, 
 Thy chambers and thy stately halls? 
 
 Whose walls were painted fair with 
 
 flowers — 
 And where thy rich apparel all? 
 Where be thy couches, where thy bowers? 
 Thy sendals, and thy costly palls? 30 
 Sorrow awaiteth thee as dower, 
 With morn thy fate shall thee befall. 
 
 "Where now are all thy goodly weeds? 
 The sumpter-mules that bare thy bed? 
 Thy palfreys, and thy noble steeds, 
 By hand of goodly pages led? 
 The hawks that thou wast wont to feed? 
 The hounds that swift behind thee sped? 
 Methinks God bringeth thee to need 39 
 Since all thy friends be from thee fled! 
 
 " Where be thy cooks who served thee 
 
 well, 
 And dainty meats did aye prepare, 
 With fragrant spices sweet to smell? 
 Methinks thou wast aye full of care 
 To make that flesh with fatness swell 
 Which now shall be the foul worm's fare, 
 Henceforth, methinks, the pains of Hell 
 For gluttony shall be thy share! 
 
 "For God thee in His image cast, 
 
 And dowered thee with wit and skill, 50 
 
THE DEBATE OF THE BODY AND THE SOUL 
 
 3°5 
 
 But in thy choosing was I last, 
 Didst follow aye thy wilful will!" 
 "No wisdom had I in the past, 
 I wist not what was good or ill, 
 But in dumb folly holden fast 
 All thy behests did I fulfil. 
 
 " To serve and please thee was I bent, 
 Alike at even and at morn, 
 Ever I sought for thy content, 59 
 
 E'en from the time that thou wast born: 
 Thou who to judge my deeds wast lent, 
 Why didst thou not thy comrade warn? 
 Thou sawest me on folly bent, 
 Now of thyself art thou forlorn!" 
 
 The Soul it quoth: "Body, lie still, 
 Who now hath taught thee all this wit? 
 Thou chidest me with words at will 
 Tho' swollen as by viper bit ! 
 Thinkest thou, wretch, that tho' thou fill 
 With that foul flesh of thine a pit 70 
 Of all the deeds thou wrought of ill 
 That thou so lightly shalt be quit? 
 
 " Thinkest thou peace with God to win 
 Whenas thou liest low in clay? — 
 Tho' thou be rotted bone and skin, 
 And blown upon the blast away, 
 Yet shalt thou come with joint and limb 
 Again to me on Judgment Day, 
 We twain to God's high court must win 
 Together take our bitter pay ! 80 
 
 " Yea, tho' to teach thee I had thought 
 Full soon to Evil didst thou speed, 
 Thou with thy teeth the bridle caught, 
 Naught of my counsel wouldst thou heed. 
 To sin and sorrow hast thou sought, 
 To evil custom, lawless deed, 
 Tho' to withstand thee still I fought 
 Thou hearkened'st but thy Body's rede! 
 
 " Whenas I thought to tame and teach 
 Of what was ill, and what was good, go 
 Of Christ and kirk would'st hear no 
 speech, 
 
 Didst start and shy, as wild and wood ! 
 Enow I then might pray and preach, 
 But ne'er a jot might turn thy mood, 
 To God thy knowledge ne'er might 
 
 reach, 
 Thou didst what in thy heart first stood. 
 
 " I bade think on thy soul's sore stress, 
 On Matins, Mass, and Evensong, 
 Thou said'st: 't was naught but idleness, 
 Must follow first the busy throng. 100 
 To water, wood, and field would'st 
 
 press, 
 Or sped to court, to judge a-wrong, 
 Saving for pride, or gain, no less, 
 Small good hast done thy whole life long! 
 
 " Now may the wild beasts seek their 
 
 den, 
 And lie in peace 'neath linden tree, 
 The wild fowl fly by field and fen, 
 Since Death hath cleft the heart in thee. 
 Thine ear is deaf, naught canst thou ken, 
 Thy mouth is dumb, thou canst not see, 
 And tho' thou fiercely grin, yet men m 
 Shrink from the evil smell of thee! 
 
 " There is no lady bright of blee, 
 
 Tho' late for praise she deemed thee 
 
 meet, 
 Who now would lie a night by thee, 
 Tho' men might richly her entreat. 
 Unseemly art thou now to see, 
 Uncomely all for kisses sweet, 
 Thou hast no friend who would not flee 
 Didst thou come stalking down the 
 
 street!" uo 
 
 The Body quoth: "Now this I say, 
 Soul, thou hast done me wrong, I wis, 
 When thou the blame on me dost lay 
 That thou, thro' me, hast lost thy 
 
 bliss. 
 Where have I fared, by wood or way, 
 Or sat, or stood, or wrought amiss, 
 When I beyond thy glance did stray? 
 Well dost thou know the truth of this! 
 
306 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 " Whether I journeyed up or down, 
 I bare thee aye, as on my back, 130 
 
 Whenas I fared from town to town 
 Why led'st thou me to ruin and wrack ? 
 Were I to speech or action bound 
 Counsel from thee I did not lack, 
 Truth to men's ears my plaint shall 
 
 crown 
 Tho' now I lie so blue and black! 
 
 " The while thou wast my comrade dear 
 Naught did I lack of fit and meet, 
 Then might I speak, and see, and hear, 
 Might come and go, and drink and eat. 140 
 Changed for the worse is now my cheer, 
 Since thou afar from me didst fleet, 
 Now dumb and deaf I lie on bier, 
 And fettered fast in hands and feet. 
 
 " Fain had I been a silly sheep, 
 Dumb as a neat, or e'en as swine, 
 To eat and drink and lie and sleep, 
 No cause had I then to repine! 
 Of cattle never count they keep, 
 Of water naught they know, nor wine, 
 Ne'er shall they lie in Hell-pit deep ! 151 
 No wisdom had I save but thine! " 
 
 The Soul it quoth: "Yea, without doubt 
 Thou barest me, Body, aye with thee, 
 Had'st need thereto ! — I was without 
 Hand or foot, it seemeth me! 
 Yet as thou bore me thus about 
 For action was I never free, 
 Must follow aye thy guidance stout, 
 Needs must, where never choice may 
 be! 160 
 
 " Alike of woman born and bred 
 Body, I think me, were we two, 
 Together fostered fair and fed 
 Till thou could'st somewhat speak and 
 
 go. 
 For love, right softly thee I led, 
 I was full loth to cause thee woe, 
 The loss of thee I needs must dread, 
 Other save thee I ne'er might know. 
 
 " When thou wast young, a little space 
 Thou didst my will, in childish wise, 170 
 For awe of friends, didst thou lack 
 
 grace 
 With rod thy faults they would chastise. 
 But when hadst thriven and grown 
 
 apace, 
 Desire beset thee in such guise, 
 Didst learn of rest and leisure's grace, 
 And wrought as thy will might devise. 
 
 " I saw thee fair in flesh and blood, 
 
 And all my love to thee addrest, 
 
 That thou should'st thrive, that seemed 
 
 me good, 
 The while I joyed in peace and rest. 180 
 And so thou waxed of wilful mood, 
 Drear were thy deeds, and all unblest, 
 Small profit mine, an I withstood, 
 I, whom thou barest in thy breast! 
 
 " To riot in lust and gluttony, 
 In pride and wicked covetousness, 
 To hate and strive in black envy 
 'Gainst God in Heaven, and all of His; 
 Ever in discontent to lie 
 With waste and want — no jot of this 190 
 But I must now full dearly buy — 
 Full sore I now must greet, I wis ! 
 
 " What should us both at last befall 
 Times and enow I warning gave, 
 But idle tales didst deem them all 
 Tho' thou saw'st kinsfolk laid in grave. 
 What the world bade, that didst thou all, 
 All that thy flesh of thee might crave 
 I bare — madness did me befall, 
 I made thee master, I was slave!" 200 
 
 "Nay, Soul, I ween it profits naught 
 Not so I ween thy debt is paid, 
 For all too worthily wast wrought 
 To say that thrall of thee I made. 
 Never in life to ill I sought — 
 In theft or robbery undismayed, — 
 But first from thee it came, the thought, 
 Forfeit is by the loser paid! 
 
THE DEBATE OF THE BODY AND THE SOUL 
 
 307 
 
 " How might I know or wrong or right, 
 What I should take, and what should 
 shun, 210 
 
 Save thou didst set it in my sight, 
 Thou who alone hadst wisdom won? 
 If thou against my will didst fight, 
 And bid me for misdeed make moan, 
 Thereafter did I strive with might 
 To do what pleasured me alone! 
 
 "Ah! would to Christ in very sooth 
 Hadst plagued with hunger, thirst, and 
 
 cold, 
 And warned me rashness led to ruth 
 When in ill-doing I waxed o'erbold ! 220 
 That which I had begun in youth, 
 I held that same as I grew old, 
 Didst let me ravage North and South, 
 Ever I had my will on wold! 
 
 "Thou shouldest for neither life nor land, 
 Nor profit that thou here couldst win, 
 Have suffered me to lend a hand 
 To that which turns to shame or sin. 
 But thou wast easy to withstand, 
 Thy wit and wisdom, I found thin 230 
 And yielding, e'en as hazel-wand, 
 To mend I never might begin ! 
 
 " To sin thou knewest I aye inclined, 
 Forsooth with man 't is ever so ! 
 On this poor world I set my mind, 
 Followed the Fiend who is our foe. 
 Thou should'st have striven my will to 
 
 bind, 
 When I mis-wrought have done me woe, 
 As when the blind doth lead the blind 
 We both in ditch are fallen low!" 240 
 
 But then the Soul 'gan weep full sore, 
 And sighed "Ah, Body, Alas! Alas! 
 My love I set on thee of yore 
 Since all my pains sans profit pass ! 
 Feigning to love me ever-more 
 Thou madest for me a cap of glass, 
 I did on which thy heart set store, 
 Traitor to me thou wert, Alas! 
 
 " Who may more cunning treason do, 
 Or know more skilful web to wind 250 
 Than he his lord trusts all things to, 
 Without, within, as faithful hind? 
 For since that thou could'st come and go 
 I strove to serve with all my mind 
 That ease and pleasure thou might 
 
 know — 
 And now my ruin in thee I find ! 
 
 " The Fiend of Hell, who e'er doth try 
 To snare mankind, his plots he laid, 
 Dwelt in us twain, methinks, as spy, 
 When to good deeds I thee had prayed, 
 The World he took to company 261 
 
 Who many a soul hath aye betrayed, 
 With Flesh to folly brought thee nigh, 
 Thy course both wild and witless made ! 
 
 " Whene'er I bade thee shrift to make, 
 Forsake thy sin for ever and aye, 
 To fast, do penance, early wake, 
 The Fiend forbade thee that straight- 
 way! 
 Thus soon didst thou thy bliss forsake 
 Ever in grief and pain to stay, 270 
 
 I counselled joy and bliss to take, 
 Thus should'st thou live for many a 
 day! 
 
 " And when I bade thee leave thy pride, 
 Thy many meats, thy harness stout, 
 The World stood ever at thy side 
 And bade thee all my warnings flout, 
 And garb thy Flesh in rich robes wide, 
 Not as a beggar, in a clout, 
 And high on warlike steed to ride 
 With knightly comrades in and out! 280 
 
 " And when I bade thee early rise 
 And me, thy Soul, in safety keep, 
 Thou said'st it pleased thee in no wise 
 To lose thy merry morning sleep ! 
 And now ye summon your assize, 
 Ye traitors three, I needs must weep, 
 Ye load me now with your emprise, 
 E'en as a butcher doth the sheep 
 
3o8 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 " For when three traitors at one tale 
 Together be against me sworn, ago 
 
 Ye make my words of none avail, 
 Of plea, methinks, am I forlorn! 
 Ye lead me on by down and dale, 
 E'en as an ox is led by horn, 
 Unto the spot that brings him bale 
 Whenas his life is from him torn! 
 
 " For love I followed all thy will, 
 And thus to mine own death I drew, 
 Through serving thee, my servant still, 
 Who fickle wast, and aye untrue. 300 
 Thou didst the deed, I hid the ill, 
 That it was evil well we knew, 
 Therefore our fate must we fulfil 
 In pain, and shame, and sorrow new ! 
 
 " Tho' all the men now under moon 
 To sit on Judgment seat were brought 
 Of all the shame that shall be done 
 To us, not half were in their thought! 
 It profits us nor bede nor boon, 
 And all our wit availeth naught, 310 
 The hounds of Hell, they come full soon, 
 Way of escape in vain were sought!" 
 
 But when that Body saw the Ghost 
 Such doleful moan, and mourning make, 
 It quoth: "Alas, my life is lost, 
 Since I have lived but for Sin's sake! 
 'T were better that my day had past • 
 Ere yet to life I might awake, 
 Then had I been in cold clay cast, 
 Or lain and rotted in a lake! 330 
 
 "For then, methinks, I naught had 
 
 learned 
 Of what was ill, and what was good, 
 And ne'er towards the wrong had 
 
 yearned, 
 Nor suffered pain in wrathful mood. 
 No saint with this our prayer hath 
 
 turned 
 To Him Who bought us with His Blood, 
 That when in Hell-fire we be burned 
 He do us mercy, by His Rood!" 
 
 "Nay, Body, now it is too late, 
 It boots thee naught to pray or preach, 
 For now the hearse is at the gate, 331 
 And now thy tongue hath ceased from 
 
 speech. 
 One pang of torture to abate 
 Exceeds the skill of wisest leech, 
 Together must we gang our gait 
 Where God's forgiveness may not reach ! 
 
 " But hadst thou turned a willing ear 
 The while that life to us was lent, 
 And as the hour of death drew near 
 Been shrived, the Devil's power were 
 spent. 340 
 
 Hadst thou but dropt a rueful tear, 
 To mend thy life thy will had bent, 
 Then were we free from fright or fear. 
 And God His bliss to us had sent. 
 
 " Tho' all the men that be on life 
 Were priests, and Mass for thee would 
 
 sing, 
 And every maid, and every wife, 
 A widow, hands for grief to wring — 
 And every one, methinks, were five, 340 
 And in this world five-fold each thing, 
 We ne'er might hope ourselves to shrive, 
 And none to bliss us twain might bring! 
 
 " Body, no longer may I dwell, 
 Nor linger here to speak with thee, 
 The hounds of Hell, I hear them yell, 
 And devils, more than man may see, 
 They come to carry me to Hell, 
 I may in no wise from them flee, 338 
 With flesh and bone, I rede thee well, 
 At Doomsday shalt thou come to me!" 
 
 And scarce the Soul had spake this word, 
 (Who wist right well where it must go,) 
 When in there rushed a hideous horde. 
 Full thousand devils, all a-row. 
 With talons sharp the Soul they clawed 
 In woe their grip it needs must know, 
 A sorry sight it did afford 
 Whenas they haled it to and fro. 
 
THE DEBATE OF THE BODY AND THE SOUL 
 
 3°9 
 
 For they were rugged, rough, and tailed, 
 With hunches huge upon their back, 370 
 Long were their claws, and sharply 
 
 nailed, 
 And ne'er a limb such gear did lack! 
 On all sides was the Soul assailed 
 By many a devil, foul and black, 
 Its prayers for mercy naught availed, 
 For Christ His vengeance would not 
 
 slack. 
 
 And some, the cheeks and jaws they tare, 
 And molten lead therein they poured, 
 To drink thereof they prayed him fair 
 The while they spread it all abroad. 380 
 At last there came a devil there, 
 Master of all, he seemed, and lord, 
 A red-hot coulter did he bear, 
 And pierced the heart, as with a sword. 
 
 Then glowing glaves, methinks, they set 
 To back, and breast, and to each side, 
 The points, within his heart they met 
 And made him wounds both deep and 
 
 wide. 
 They quoth: "Full well we'll plague thee 
 
 yet, 389 
 
 Thou heart that wast so full of pride, 
 That which was promised shalt thou get, 
 And more, and worse, shall thee betide!" 
 
 They said that goodly weeds to wear 
 That were the thing he loved the best, 
 In quenchless cope they robed him there, 
 All burning bright — with mocking jest! 
 With red-hot clasps that gleamed a-flare 
 They fitted it to back and breast, 
 A helmet that was none too fair 
 Anon upon his head they prest. 400 
 
 Then forth they brought, with mickle 
 
 pride, 
 A cursed devil, as a foal, 
 That gnashed, and gaped, with jaws full 
 
 wide, 
 Where-from both smoke and flame did 
 
 roll. 
 
 The saddle that he should bestride 
 Of sharp pikes, pointed, bare its toll, 
 Jagged as a hedge whereon to lide, 
 And all was glowing as a coal! 
 
 Upon that saddle he was slung, 
 
 As one who should to Tourney fare, 41c 
 
 A hundred devils on him hung, 
 
 And, ruthless, dragged him here and 
 
 there. 
 With fiery spears his flesh they stung, 
 Anon with hooks they catch and tear, 
 At every blow the sparks they sprung, 
 As when men forge a red-hot share. 
 
 Thus in this wise a course he rode 
 Upon that sharp and fiery seat, 
 Then down they cast him, as a toad, 
 With hounds of Hell he needs must meet! 
 They sprung from out those pits so 
 
 broad, 42: 
 
 As he to Hell-ward set his feet, 
 And underfoot the Soul they trod 
 Till blood-drops marked each foot-step 
 
 fleet. 
 
 Anon his horn they bade him blow, 
 On Hanston and on Bevis cry, 
 The hounds that he was wont to know, 
 To bay they brought him speedily ■ — 
 A hundred devils on a row 429 
 
 Drew him with ropes, he fain would fly, 
 Natheless they brought him to that glow 
 That marked Hell's portals, verily ! 
 
 When to that grisley goal they won 
 The fiends, they set up such a yell, 
 The earth, it open'd wide anon, 
 Smother and smoke thereout did well; 
 With stench of pitch, and eke brim- 
 stone, 
 Men five miles off might know the smell; 
 Ah, Lord! That man is woe-begone 
 Who to his share one tithe may tell! 440 
 
 But when the Soul had come so nigh 
 And knew its goal, it cried in woe, 
 
CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And quoth : "Thou Christ, Who sit'st on 
 
 high, 
 Upon Thy sheep now mercy shew! 
 Didst Thou not shape me, verily? 
 Thy creature was I here below, 
 E'en as those souls who sit thee nigh, 
 To whom Thou dost such favour shew! 
 
 " Thou knowest all things, eve and mora, 
 Why wrought'st Thou me for bale alway, 
 That I should thus be tugged and torn, 
 While others have such goodly pay? 452 
 They that are doomed to be forlorn, 
 Wretches Thou mightest cast away, 
 Why dost thou let them e'er be born 
 To give the Fiend such goodly prey?" 
 
 The fiends against him clamoured high: 
 "Wretch, it availeth thee no more 
 To raise to Christ thy piteous cry 
 Or Mary Mother to implore; 460 
 
 For thou hast lost their company 
 Since thou hast served us well of yore, 
 Thou needs must find such hostelry 
 As those who well have learned our lore ! " 
 
 The foul fiends all, as they were fain, 
 Anon upon the soul they fell, 
 And cast it down, with might and main, 
 Into the deepest pit of Hell. 
 
 The sun's light shall he seek in vain, 469 
 Where he hath sunken must he dwell, 
 The earth hath closed o'er him again, 
 The dungeon gates are locked full well! 
 
 (He who beheld that vision sore 
 Lol he speaketh somewhat more !) 
 
 When they had borne that evil load 
 Unto Hell's gates, ere dawn of day, 
 On every hair a drop it stood 
 For very dread as there I lay. 
 To Jesus Christ, with humble mood, 470 
 My soul it yearned, and fain would pray, 
 As when the Foul Fiend's noisome brood 
 Were come to carry me away! 
 
 I thanked Him Who His Blood did spill 
 On Rood, and torment for us bore, 
 Who shieldeth me from many an ill 
 Which for my sins had lain in store. 
 All sinful souls I rede them still 
 To shrive them, and do penance sore, 
 Never may sin a measure fill 480 
 
 But that Christ's mercy shall be more! 
 
 (Christ His Grace to him impart 
 Who with hand this tale hath writ, 
 That he serve with perfect heart 
 Father, Son, and Spirit!) 
 
 THE OWL AND NIGHTINGALE 
 
 In summertide it so befell 
 
 I found me in a hidden dell, 
 
 Where strife did 'twixt two birds pre- 
 vail, 
 
 Even an Owl and Nightingale. 
 
 Their plaint was shrill, and sharp, and 
 strong, 
 
 Whiles was it soft, then loud, their song; 
 
 Each with the other waxed right wroth, 
 
 And each her evil mood poured forth; 
 
 Each on the other's customs cried, 9 
 
 And said the worst she knew that tide; 
 
 And each one 'gainst the other's song 
 There made complaint both loud and 
 long. 
 
 The. Nightingale was first with speech, 
 Ensconced was she within a beech, 
 And perched upon a fair green bough, 
 While all about were flowers enow; 
 For very thick it grew, the hedge, 
 With blades of grass mixed, and green 
 
 sedge, 
 The gladder for that fair green bough 
 
THE OWL AND NIGHTINGALE 
 
 3ii 
 
 Skilful her song, and sweet, I trow, 20 
 Yea, one had deemed, those notes to 
 
 hear, 
 That harp and pipe were hidden near; 
 Rather it seemed it came, each note, 
 From harp, or pipe, than from bird's 
 
 throat. 
 
 There stood an old stump near beside, 
 There the Owl sung her song that tide, 
 With ivy was it over-grown, 
 Unto the Owl 't was house and home. 
 
 The Nightingale the Owl saw well, 
 Scornful her glances on her fell, 30 
 
 She thought right evil of that Owl, 
 {Men deem it aye loathly, and foul — ) 
 "Monster," she quoth; "hence shalt 
 
 thou flee, 
 I am the worse for seeing thee, 
 I trow thine evil cry, and strong, 
 Doth force me oft to cease my song; 
 My tongue doth fail, my courage flee, 
 When thus I know thee close to me, 
 Liefer am I to spit than sing, 39 
 
 Thy hooting doth such loathing bring!" 
 
 The Owl sat still, for eve drew nigh, 
 Nor longer would withold reply, 
 Her heart it swelled to hear that tale, 
 Well nigh her breath for wrath did fail. 
 She spake a word ere it was long: 
 "How? Thinkest thou to blame my 
 
 song? 
 What, dost thou deem I cannot sing 
 Since trill nor run I skilful string? 
 I trow full oft thou dost me blame 
 And heapest on me scorn and shame; 50 
 Nay, an my foot had hold of thee, — 
 May chance betide that so it be ! — 
 And thou wert down from off thy bougb, 
 Wouldst sing another song, I trow!" 
 
 The Nightingale made answer there: 
 "An I may keep me fast and fair, 
 And shield me with the open bough, 
 I care not for thy threats, I trow. 
 
 So I may hold my hedge alway, 
 
 I little care what thou may'st say. 60 
 
 I wot small mercy dost thou tell 
 
 To those who may not shield them 
 
 well, 
 Dost show thy wrath, and evil spite 
 To all small birds, when hast the might. 
 All kinds of fowl, they loath thee sore, 
 And drive thee hence, their flocks before : 
 'Gainst thee they shriek, 'gainst thee 
 
 they cry, 
 And ever close behind thee fly. 
 The very titmouse, tho' she be 
 Right small, would tear thee willingly! 
 Yea, thou art loathly to behold, 71 
 
 Thine ugliness is manifold; 
 Thy body short, thy neck so small, 
 Greater thy head than thou withal; 
 Thine eyes be black, and broad to see, 
 As with burnt wood they painted be; 
 Thou starest, as wert fain to bite 
 Those whom thy claws would sharply 
 
 smite. 
 Thy bill is hooked, and sharp withal, 
 Yea, like unto a crooked awl; 80 
 
 With that thou clackest oft, and long, 
 And that alone shall be thy song. 
 Fain art to threaten this, my flesh, 
 Would' st catch and hold me in a mesh, 
 As I to frogs were kin, I wit, 
 Who hidden 'neath the mill-wheel sit, 
 But snails and mice, and vermin small, 
 These be thy kin, thy right withal. 
 Dost hide by day, by night dost fly, 
 A monster art thou, verily, 90 
 
 Loathsome thou art too, and unclean, 
 As by thy nest is clearly seen, 
 And by thine owlets, right foul brood 
 Be they, and fed on right foul food." 
 
 These words she spake, the Nightingale, 
 And having ended thus her tale, 
 She sang so loud, and shrill, and sharp, 
 'T was e'en as tho' one twanged a harp. 
 The Owl, she hearkened well that cry, 
 And ever downward turned her eye, 100 
 
312 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 So puffed and swollen was she seen, 
 As she had gulped a frog, I ween, 
 For that she wist the song should be 
 Against her sung, in mockery. 
 Natheless, swift answer would she try; 
 "Why dost not in the open fly, 
 And see which of us twain shall be 
 Brightest of hue, most fair to see?" '« S 
 "Nay, all too sharp thy claws, I trow, 
 I would not they should hold me now, 
 So swift and strong thy clutch doth fall, 
 E'en as a tongs it grips withal, 112 
 
 Didst think, as doth thy like alway, 
 Thou could'st with fair words me 
 
 betray? 
 I follow not thy rede, I wis, 
 Thy counsel fain would lead amiss, 
 Forsooth, it bringeth shame on thee, 
 Discovered is thy treachery ! 
 Nay, shield thy treason from the light, 
 And hide thy wrong beneath the right; 
 Wilt thou indulge thine evil spleen, 121 
 Then look thou that it be not seen! 
 For treason is with hate received 
 If it be open, and perceived. 
 Thy guile, it naught may profit thee 
 Since I be ware, and well may flee; 
 It helps thee naught that thou hast 
 
 might, 
 I, with my wiles, may better fight 
 Than thou may'st do, with all thy 
 
 strength, 
 I have, alike in breadth and length, 130 
 Here on my bough good harbourage, 
 'Well fights, who flies well,' saith the 
 
 sage! 
 But put we to this strife an end, 
 It profits naught such words to spend, 
 And a right judgment now to win 
 With fair and peaceful words begin. 
 Though we be not of one accord 
 'T were better far with gentle word, 
 Without discord, and without fight, 
 To plead our cause with sooth and 
 
 right. 140 
 
 Let each of us say what she will, 
 In words well chosen, and with skill." 
 
 Then quoth the Owl: "Who shall be 
 
 fain 
 To judge aright betwixt us twain?" 
 "I trow well," quoth the Nightingale 
 "Hereof shall be no lengthy tale, 
 For Master Nichole, of Guildford, 
 Right wise shall be, of skilful word, 
 In judgment wary he, and wise, 
 No vice finds favour in his eyes, 150 
 
 He '11 know right well, in this our song, 
 Who singeth right, who singeth wrong, 
 And he can sever from the right 
 The wrong, the darkness from the light." 
 
 The Owl awhile had her bethought 
 Before this answer forth she brought: 
 "I'll grant that he our judge shall be; 
 Tho' one-while passionate were he, 
 And loved the Nightingale withal, 
 And other song-birds that be small, 160 
 I trow his passions now be cooled, 
 And he by thee will not be fooled 
 In such wise that, for olden love, 
 He put me down, and thee above. 
 Ne'er shalt thou please him so, I wi3, 
 That he for thee shall judge amiss. 
 Of wisdom ripe, of steadfast rede, 
 To ill advice he'll ne'er take heed; 
 Now hath he no more lust for play, 
 But sure will take the rightful way." 170 
 
 Ready the Nightingale; (I trow 
 Had learned her lesson well enow — ) 
 "Owl," quoth she then, "now say me 
 
 sooth, 
 Why dost thou as a monster doeth? 
 Thou sing'st by night, and not by day, 
 And all thy song is 'Wellaway,' 
 I trow thy song, it bringeth fear 
 To all men who its fashion hear; 
 Thou to thy mate dost shriek and yell 
 In grisley wise, the sooth to tell. 180 
 Wise men, or fools, awaked from sleep, 
 They deem thou sing'st not, but dost 
 
 weep. 
 Thou fly'st by night, and not by day — 
 Thereof I marvel, and well may, 
 
THE OWL AND NIGHTINGALE 
 
 313 
 
 For everything that shunneth right 
 Loveth the darkness, hateth light; 
 And every one who loves misdeed 
 Seeketh the darkness for his need. 
 A wise word, tho' perchance unclean, 
 Is in men's mouths full oft, I ween, 190 
 King Alfred, he hath written, Owl, 
 'A man shuns those who know kimfotd.' 
 I trow e'en so with thee it is, 
 Thou fliest aye by night, I wis. 
 Another thing with thee is seen, 
 By night thine eyes be bright and keen, 
 By day-light sba.lt thou be stark blind, 
 Thou see'st neither bough nor rind; 
 Art blind, or well nigh blind, by day — 
 Thereby in parable men say : 200 
 
 Bight so the evil man doth wend 
 Who seeth naught to a good end, 
 And is so full of evil guile 
 That no man may escape his wile. 
 Bight well the dark way doth he know, 
 And from the light aside doth go. 
 And even so thy kin doth fare, 
 For light, I trow, have they no care." 
 
 The Owl had hearkened over long, 
 Her wrath by now had waxed full strong, 
 She quoth: "Thou Nightingale would'st 
 
 be, 211 
 
 Chatterer, were fit name for thee! 
 Forsooth, too many tales dost tell, 
 A splint would suit thy tongue right well ! 
 Thou deemest thou hast won the day; 
 Now shalt thou let me have my say, 
 Shalt hold thee still, and let me speak, 
 I will my vengeance on thee wreak. 
 Now list how I'll defend me well 
 And truly, nor long tale will telL 220 
 Thou say'st I hide my head by day — 
 Thereto I think not to say Nay, 
 But hearken, and I'll tell to thee 
 Both why, and wherefore, this shall be. 
 I have a bill both stiff and strong, 
 And right good claws, both sharp and 
 
 long, 
 As suiteth well unto hawk's kin — 
 Pleasure and practice lie herein 
 
 That I may nature follow free — 
 
 No man for that lays blame on me, 13a 
 
 Therefore in me it may be seen 
 
 That I by nature be right keen. 
 
 Thus to the small birds loath am L 
 
 Who low by ground or thicket fly, 
 
 They cry and shriek behind my back, 
 
 Follow in flocks upon my track; 
 
 It pleaseth me to be at rest, 
 
 And hold me still upon my nest, 
 
 I trow no whit the better I 
 
 To chafe and chatter, verily, 240 
 
 And scold them in foul words withal, 
 
 Herdsmen each other so miscalL 
 
 With shrews I have no lust to chide, 
 
 My way, it lieth from them wide. 
 
 A wise man judgeth thus alway, 
 
 And he full oft that same doth say: 
 
 'Men should not with the foolish chide 
 
 Nor with the oven yawn full wide,' 
 
 And I have some-time heard it tell 
 
 How Alfred spake, wisely, and well: 250 
 
 'Look that thy way thou never hold 
 
 Where men be wont to strive and scold — 
 
 Let fools chide, and the wise men go — ' 
 
 And I be wise, and do also. 
 
 And Alfred spake, some other tide, 
 
 A word well known, both far and wide: 
 
 ' Who mixeth with a fool, I ween, 
 
 He cometh never from. Mm clean.' 
 
 Dost think the hawk the worse shall 
 
 be 
 When marsh-crows scold him angrily, 
 And follow on his track in might 261 
 As they were fain with him to fight? 
 The hawk good counsel takes thereby, 
 He goes his way, and lets them cry. 
 But now thou say'st another thing; 
 Dost tell me that I cannot sing, 
 My song shall naught but wailing be, 
 Grisley to hear, in veritie. 
 That is not true, full oft I sing 
 Full loud, my voice doth clearly ring, 
 All songs thine ear as grisley strike 271 
 That be not to thy piping like. 
 My voice is bold, not weak to hear, 
 As a great horn it ringeth clear; 
 
3*4 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 But thine is like a feeble pipe, 
 Blown thro' a reed, green, and unripe. 
 Better I sing than thou at best, 
 As Irish priest thou chatterest; 
 I sing at eve, when day is sped, 
 I sing when men should seek their bed, 
 I sing again when 't is midnight, 281 
 And so my song is fitly dight 
 Whenas I see to rise afar 
 The daybreak, or the morning star. 
 Thus with my throat much good I win, 
 And men much profit find therein. 
 But thou dost sing the live-long night 
 From even, to the morning light, 
 And dost repeat that self-same song 
 Unceasing, thro' the whole night long. 
 Dost crow thy wretched cry alway 2gi 
 That never ceaseth, night nor day, 
 But with thy pipe, I trow thee well, 
 Dost din men's ears, who near thee dwell, 
 Until thy song doth worthless grow 
 And men no joy therein may know. 
 For mirth, I ween, so long may last 
 That all its pleasure be o'erpast; 
 And harp and pipe, and birdling's song 
 Mislike men, if they last o'er long. 300 
 Nor shall thy song so joyful be 
 But one shall deem it misery 
 If he must hearken 'gainst his will — 
 So shall thy song be wasted still. 
 Alfred, he spake the sooth indeed, 
 As one in book right well may read: 
 'AH things may lose their goodliness 
 Thro' lack of measure, and excess.' 
 With pleasure thou may'st satiate, 
 And over-fullness breedeth hate; 310 
 Each joy to weariness shall tend 
 If it continue without end, 
 Save one, that is God's Kingdom meet, 
 Ever the same, and ever sweet; 
 Take without ceasing from that store, 
 'T is ever full, and running o'er, 
 God's Kingdom is a wonder sure 
 That aye shall spend, and aye endure. 
 
 "Thou puttest on me other shame; 
 Thou say'st, I in mine eyes be lame; 320 
 
 Thou say'st, in that I fly by night 
 'T is that I cannot see in light. 
 Thou best! It may well be seen 
 That I have sight both good and keen, 
 For there be never duskiness 
 In which I e'er may see the less. 
 Thou deem'st, I cannot see with eye 
 Therefore by day I do not fly; 
 The hare all day shall hidden be 
 Natheless the hare right well can see, 
 And should hounds chance to run his 
 way 331 
 
 Full swift he flies from them away; 
 And many a narrow path doth take, 
 And many a twist and turn doth make, 
 And fares with many a bound and leap, 
 So to the groves his way doth keep. 
 For both his eyes so never he 
 Would do, if that he might not see. 
 Well as the hare I see, methinks, 
 Tho' thro' the day I sit, and blink. 340 
 The valiant man, who beareth shield, 
 And, near and far, doth fare afield, 
 Thro' many a land his way doth take 
 And doth by night good progress make; 
 Follow these valiant men will I, 
 And with their band by night will fly." 
 
 The Nightingale, within her thought 
 She pondered this, and long she sought 
 What she thereafter best might say, 
 Since she in no wise might gainsay 330 
 That which the Owl had said, indeed, 
 For that she spake both right, and 
 
 rede. 
 In sooth she deemed she so had sped, 
 Their speech to such a point had led, 
 She needs must fear right ill to fare 
 Nor true and fitting answer bear. 
 Natheless, she spake out valiantly 
 For he is wise, who, hardily, 
 Doth make good face against his foe, 3s« 
 Nor cause thro' cowardice doth forego. 
 For they wax bold, an thou shalt flee, 
 Who 'Id fly didst thou fight valiantly, 
 For, if he see thee bold, straightway, 
 Your boar 's a barrow pig, i' fay ! 
 
THE OWL AND NIGHTINGALE 
 
 3*5 
 
 And therefore, tho' full sore afraid, 
 The Nightingale a brave show made. 
 She quoth: "Now, Owl, I prithee say, 
 Why sing in winter, 'Wellaway'? 
 " Thou sing'st as doth a hen in snow, 
 All that she singeth is for woe; 370 
 
 In winter thou dost cry, and wail, 
 In summer-time thy song doth fail. 
 'T is for foul envy thou, alway, 
 With other birds wilt not be gay. 
 For jealousy dost burn, I wis, 
 Whenas our bale be turned to bliss; 
 Thou dost as evil men do still, 
 All gladness is against thy will; 
 To frown, and grudge, that is their way, 
 Whenas that other men be gay. 380 
 
 The envious would ever spy 
 Salt tears in this, his neighbour's, eye, 
 Nor recks he tho' their flocks shall fare 
 In wild confusion, head, and hair. 
 So is thy custom, at this tide, 
 For, when the snow lies thick and wide 
 And every man goes sorrowing, 
 Then thou from eve to morn dost sing. 
 But I, with me I bring all bliss, 
 My song rejoiceth all, I wis, 390 
 
 Men bless the day they hear my voice, 
 And at my coming all rejoice. 
 Blossom and leaf again are seen 
 On bough of tree, on meadow green; 
 The lily beauteous doth blow 
 To welcome me, I 'Id have ye know, 
 And by her fairness doth invite 
 That I, to her, shall wing my flight. 
 The rose, that blusheth red, I trow, 
 And springeth from the thorney bough, 
 She biddeth me to sing alway 401 
 
 For love of her, a roundelay. 
 And so I do, by night, by day, 
 The more I sing, the more I may. 
 And thus I please them with my song, 
 That, natheless, lasteth not o'erlong, 
 For when I see that men be glad 
 Naught would I do to make them sad, 
 When I have done what hither brought 
 My flight, I fare, by wisdom taught. 410 
 For when man thinketh on the sheaf, 
 
 And yellow hues come on the leaf, 
 I say, Farewell, and hence I go — 
 Naught do I reck of winter's woe, 
 For when hard times I needs must see 
 I get me home right speedily. 
 Thus love and thanks I ever know, 
 In that I come, and that I go. 
 Once I have done my work, then say, 
 Why should I bide, and wherefore? Nay, 
 I hold him no wise man, indeed, 421 
 
 Who lingers where there is no need!" 
 
 The Owl in silence sat, and heard, 
 And held in heart word after word, 
 And then bethought her how she might 
 An answer give, both fit and right; 
 For every man must take good heed 
 When he, 'gainst trick of word must 
 
 plead. 
 "Thou askest me," she quoth, "this 
 
 thing, 
 Why I, in winter cry and sing — 430 
 It is with men a custom good, 
 From the beginning hath it stood, 
 That each good man should, with his 
 
 friend, 
 From time to time, in gladness spend 
 Some hours with him, in house, and 
 
 board, 
 With gracious speech, and gracious word, 
 And specially at Christ's own Feast, 
 When rich and poor, greatest, and least, 
 Their Antiphon sing, night and day — 
 I fain would help them, an I may, 440 
 My mind is set on other thing 
 Than just to play, or eke, to sing, 
 And, answer were I fain to find, 
 I have one ready to my mind; 
 For summer-tide is all too fair, 
 And man full oft misdoeth there; 
 For Purity he careth naught, 
 On Lust, I trow, is all his thought, 
 
 " And thou thyself art there among, 
 In that of Lust is all thy song, 
 
3i6 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 "And when thine hour'of passion's o'er 
 I trow thy song is heard no more. 
 
 " Now art thou ta'en, what thinkest 
 
 thou? 
 Art rightly overcome, I trow!" 
 
 "Nay, Nay," she quoth, the Nightin- 
 gale, 
 " Now shalt thou hear another tale, 
 Not yet our speech fore- judged shall be, 
 Now hold thee still, and list to me; 
 With but one word I'll swiftly teach 
 How all of naught it is, thy speech!" 460 
 "That were not right," the Owl then 
 
 said, 
 "Thou at thy will thy plaint hast made, 
 And I have answered even so — 
 Now, ere we both to judgment go, 
 Here I set forth my cause 'gainst thee, 
 Thou, in thy turn, shalt speak 'gainst me, 
 And answer me, if so thou might! 
 But tell me now, thou wretched wight, 
 If thou hast any merit still 469 
 
 Save that thy throat be loud, and shrill? 
 No good art thou for anything, 
 Naught dost thou know, save chattering, 
 For small thou art, and weak shalt be, 
 Thy plumage nothing is to see, 
 What good I pray, dost do 'mid men? 
 . No more than doth a wretched wren ! 
 In thee men find none other good 
 •Save that thou criest in the wood, 
 And if thy song be past and gone 
 Of other wisdom hast thou none. 480 
 King Alfred said, a wise man he, 
 And well he spake, for true it be: 
 ' There is no man who, for his song, 
 Is loved or cherished over-long, 
 For he is but a worthless thing 
 Who knoweth naught, save how to sing,' 
 And thou art but a thing of naught, 
 Nor, save thy chatter, hast thou aught; 
 Of dim and dull hue art, withal, 
 Naught but a little sooty ball! 490 
 
 " What dost thou eat, save only lice? 
 Spiders thou lovest, and foul flies, 
 And worms, if such thou mayest find 
 In crevices of bark, and rind. 
 But true and good my service is, 
 I watch men's dwellings well, I wis, 
 And men, they deem my service good, 
 For that I help them with their food. 
 The mouse I take in barn withal, 
 And eke in church, when dusk doth 
 fall; 500 
 
 For dear to me shall be Christ's House, 
 Gladly I cleanse it from the mouse, 
 And never shall there come thereto 
 Vermin, if I my will may do. 
 And if it so shall please me well 
 To 'void the place where men may dwell, 
 I have within the wood a tree, 
 Thick and well-clad its boughs shall be, 
 And ivy green doth it o'er grow, 
 Ever the same that tree shall show; 510 
 Its hue, I trow, is never lost, 
 Whether it be or snow or frost; 
 Therein I have a sure stronghold, 
 In winter warm, in summer cold, 
 My house stands ever bright and green 
 When of thy dwelling naught is seen." 
 
 The Nightingale herself bethought, 
 Good counsel to her aid she brought, 
 Seeking 'mid hard and tough, I trow, 
 Until her rede seemed good enow, 520 
 And she an answer fit had found 
 To do her service at this stound. 
 "Owl," thus she quoth, "fain would'st 
 
 thou know 
 If I another skill may show 
 Save to sing sweet in summer-tide, 
 And bliss to spread both far and wide. 
 Why ask what further skill be mine? 
 Better my one than all of thine — 
 Better one song from me to win 
 Than all the songs of all thy kin — 530 
 Hearken, and hear wherefore — I wot 
 Man, he was born but to this lot 
 That he should come to Heaven's bliss, 
 Which is but song and mirth, I wis, 
 
THE OWL AND NIGHTINGALE 
 
 3 J 7 
 
 And every man doth strive thereto 
 Who aught of good doth know, or do. 
 Therefore in Holy Church men sing, 
 And clerks their skill in music bring 
 That men be minded by their song 
 Whither they go, and thereto long; 540 
 That men shall of true bliss be fain, 
 And thereof think, thereto attain, 
 Since by the church good proof is given 
 How glad shall be the bliss of Heaven. 
 Thus clerks, and monks, and canons all, 
 Who dwell within this holy wall, 
 Rise from their couches at midnight, 
 And sing a song of Heaven's light; 
 And priests, throughout the land they 
 sing, S4g 
 
 Whenas the light of day doth spring; 
 And I, I help as best I may 
 And sing with them both night and day. 
 And thus for me more joy they know, 
 For me their song doth swifter flow, 
 So do I warn men for their good 
 That they should be of blithesome mood, 
 And thus I bid them seek alway 
 That self-same song that lasts for aye. 
 Now, Owl, thou well mayst sit and blink, 
 Here is no chatter, so I think, 560 
 
 Beady am I afar to fare 
 And from the Pope my judgment bear. 
 Yet, natheless, shalt a little stay 
 And hear what I have yet to say, 
 Nor shalt thou, for this English land, 
 My words with any truth withstand. 
 
 " Thou deemest me the worse for this 
 That but one craft I know, I wis, 
 
 " Cast thou thy crafts together, still 
 The mine shall be the better skill. 570 
 The hounds the fox to death can drive, 
 The cat can save himself alive 
 Tho' never trick he know save one — 
 The fox, such good trick knoweth none 
 Altho' he hath full many a wile, 
 And deems each hound he may beguile. 
 
 The fox knows secret paths enow — 
 The c r at, he hangeth on the bough 
 So that the hound doth go astray, 
 And turneth oft another way. 580 
 
 The fox, he thro' the hedge doth crawl, 
 And from his first path bend withal, 
 Full oft he doth such cunning show 
 The dogs the scent no longer know, 
 Nor know whether, upon the track 
 'T were best to go afore, or back. 
 Thus doth the fox his wiles expend 
 That to his earth he, at the end, 
 Hath safely N come, — yet, sooth to tell, 
 Altho' his tricks may serve him well, sgo 
 Spite of his wiles, at last he '11 be 
 Robbed of his red coat, verily. 
 The cat, he knows but one trick still, 
 Whether he fly by fen, or hill, 
 He knows right well to climb, alway, 
 So can he ward his coat of gray. 
 Thus my one craft, I say to thee, 
 Better than all thy twelve shall be!" 
 
 "Abide, abide," the Owl did cry, 
 " Thy plaint, it leans to treachery, 600 
 Thou glozest so thy words alway 
 That men shall deem thou sooth dost say. 
 Abide, abide, I'll answer thee 
 So that all men shall truly see 
 That here dost much, and greatly, lie, 
 I'll show thine untruth, verily. 
 Thou say'st, that by thy song, Mankind 
 Be taught their way from hence to find 
 Up to the song that lasts for aye — 
 In sooth I wonder, and well may, 610 
 Thou darest to lie thus openly — 
 Dost think that thou, so easily, 
 Shalt bring to Heaven's bliss by song? 
 Nay, nay, they needs must find ere long 
 That, with sore tears and weeping, they 
 Must for their sins still pardon pray 
 Ere they may hope that bliss to find — 
 I rede men that they bear in mind 
 Rather to weep, than thus to sing, 6ig 
 An they would fain see Heaven's King. 
 For there be no man void of sin, 
 Therefore needs must, ere hence he win, 
 
3i8 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 That he with grief and tears entreat 
 He find that sour, that erst was sweet — 
 Thereto I'll help him as I may 
 Therefore I sing no empty lay; 
 My song is all with longing blent, 
 At whiles it turneth to lament, 
 That man bethink him well, I wis, 629 
 And mourn what he hath done amiss, 
 Thus would I urge him by my song 
 To groan for this, his guilt, and wrong. 
 If here would'st take to arguing 
 Better I weep than thou dost sing, 
 If right shall go ahead of wrong 
 Better my mourning than thy song. 
 And tho' some men be truly good, 
 And pure in heart, of righteous mood, 
 Natheless they yearn from hence to go — 
 That they be here, it brings them woe, 640 
 Tho' they themselves be saved, I ween, 
 Here have they naught but sorrow keen; 
 For other's sins they weep alway, 
 Ever for them Christ's Mercy pray. 
 Thus in both ways I help enow, 
 And two-fold aid I give, I trow; 
 The good I urge to yearning strong, 
 His longing quickens at my song, 
 And I the sinful help also, 
 Teaching, his way doth lead to woe. 650 
 
 " But thou dost sing of lustfulness, 
 Man finds in thee no holiness. 
 
 " Why dost not seek some other land 
 
 Where folk in greater need shall stand? 
 
 In Ireland thou dost never sing, 
 
 To Scotland ne'er thy flight dost wing, 
 
 Why dost not fare to Norroway, 
 
 Or sing to men of Galloway? 
 
 For there be men who little know 
 
 Of how a song should sweetly flow; 660 
 
 Why to their priests dost thou not sing 
 
 And knowledge of thy trilling bring? 
 
 Couldst teach them by thy voice, I 
 
 wis, 
 How angels sing in Heavenly bliss. 
 
 Nay, as a useless well dost do 
 That springeth by a streamlet's flow, 
 The down it leaveth parched and dry 
 And, useless, runs the waters by. 
 But I, both North and South I roam, 
 In every land I be at home, 670 
 
 Both far and near, both East and West, 
 I do mine office with the best, 
 And warn men by my voice to heed 
 Lest thy false song should them mislead. 
 I warn them well, by this my song, 
 That they in sin dwell not o'erlong; 
 I pray them cease their sin alway 
 Nor that they should themselves betray; 
 Better by far bemoan them here 
 Than be the mate of Devils drear! 680 
 
 " Once didst thou sing, 't is sooth indeed, 
 In lady's bower, and fain would lead 
 That dame a secret love to know — 
 There didst thou sing both loud and low, 
 Wouldst lead her to a deed of shame 
 And wrong against her wifely fame. 
 Her lord was well aware that time, 
 And cunning snare of gin, and lime, 
 He set to catch thee there withal, 
 Full soon into the trap didst fall; 690 
 Taken thou wast in cunning snare 
 Fast by the foot it held thee there. 
 This was thy doom, and this the law, 
 Wild horses should thy body draw. 
 Seek, if thou wilt, by evil rede 
 Or wife, or maiden, to mislead, 
 Such profit shalt thou win, by hap, 
 That thou shalt dangle from a trap!" 
 
 The Nightingale, at this same word, 699 
 With knightly art of spear and sword, 
 An she were man, were fain to fight, 
 So hath she done as best she might, l 
 And wise, did ward her with her tongue, 
 " Who speaks well, fights well, " saith the 
 
 song, 
 Thus, in her tongue her trust she laid : 
 " ' Who speaks well, fights well,' Alfred 
 
 said; 
 
THE OWL AND NIGHTINGALE 
 
 3'9 
 
 Wouldst shame me by this tale? I trow 
 Thereof the lord had grief enow; 
 He was so jealous of his wife 
 That he would not, for very life, 710 
 That with another man she spake, 
 It went full nigh his heart to break. 
 He locked her in a bower ere long, 
 That builded was full sure and strong, 
 I but took pity on her woe, 
 And sorrow for her lot would show; 
 Fain would I please her with my song, 
 Early I sang, and late, and long. 
 Therefore the knight with me was wroth, 
 For envy, I to him was loath, 720 
 
 He thought on me to wreak his shame, 
 But all was turned to his blame. 
 Henry the King thereof had dole, 
 (Jesu have mercy on his soul!) 
 He set his ban upon the knight 
 Who thus had sinned against the right 
 In such a good king's land and state, 
 For envy sheer, and foulest hate, 
 A little bird did cruelly snare 
 And, limb from limb, asunder tear. 730 
 'T was to the honour of my kin, 
 Thereby the knight small joy did win, 
 He gave for me an hundred pound — 
 Thereof my birds, much joy they found, 
 Such bliss was theirs, and sheer delight, 
 They blithely sang, as well they might, 
 Since I was so avenged, I hold 
 My speech henceforth shall be more bold, 
 Since Fate thus once hath dealt with 
 
 me, 
 Ever the blither shall I be. 740 
 
 Now may I sing both loud and low, 
 No man may wrath against me show. 
 But thou, thou miserable ghost, 
 I wot that ne'er a nook thou knowest, 
 No hollow bush to hide, withal, 
 Where no man's grasp on thee shall fall. 
 Master, and servant, children, be 
 All of one mind to worry thee, 
 If they may see thee sit alone 
 Swift do they take to them a stone, 75° 
 With turf, and stones on thee they fall, 
 Thy bones are fain to. break withal. 
 
 If thou to death be smitten, or shot, 
 Then first art thou of use, I wot, 
 Men hang thee then upon a stick 
 And with thy feathers, foul and thick. 
 And with thy claws that erstwhile fore, 
 Guardest the wheat, from the barn door. 
 Tho' thou art naught as flesh and blood 
 Thou art as scare-crow very good! 760 
 And when men would their new seeds 
 
 sow, 
 Sparrow, nor goldfinch, rook, nor crow, 
 Never to come anigh will dare 
 If so thy body hangeth there. 
 And so the tree shall surely blow, 
 And the young seeds shall spring and 
 
 grow, 
 And never bird comes there among 
 If thou shalt be above them hung. 
 Thy life is vile and foully sped, 
 Thou art no use, save thou be dead. 770 
 So shalt thou know, of surety, 
 Thy features all right grisley be 
 The while thou livest, when dost see 
 That when thou, dead, hanged high 
 
 shalt be, 
 They dread of thee the very sight 
 Those birds, who cried upon thy flight. 
 I trow with reason men be wroth 
 'Gainst thee, thy song to them is loath, 
 Early and late, I trow, thy song 
 Is ever of man's loss and wrong, 780 
 
 Men well may dread to hear thy cry, — 
 Thou singest ere some man shall die; 
 Ever thy song, it bodeth woe — 
 A man shall loss of riches know; 
 Perchance a friend shall ruined be; 
 Perchance his house burnt presently; 
 Or thieves, or foemen, steal by night; 
 Or murrain shall his cattle smite; 
 The folk shall suffer scarcity; 
 Or wife bereft of husband be; 790 
 
 Ever foretellest misery — 
 Ever of harm to man dost sing, 
 Sorrow and poverty dost bring; 
 In very sooth thou singest ne'er 
 Save when thou would'st some ill 
 
 declare. 
 
320 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 That thou be shunned by all, 't is meet, 
 And that men should thee pelt, and beat 
 With sticks, and stones, with turf, and 
 
 clout, 
 So that thou findest no way out. 
 Woe to the herald who shall ne'er 800 
 A message save of evil, bear, 
 Who ever bringeth tidings ill, 
 Whose speech is but of mischief still; 
 Yea, God with him full wroth shall be, 
 And all who wear such livery!" 
 The Owl, she tarried not o'erlong, 
 But gave an answer sharp and strong : 
 "What?" so she quoth, "shalt cowled be 
 That thus thou cursest laity? 809 
 
 Priest's office here thou fain wouldst do 
 Say, hast thou been ordained thereto? 
 I know not if thou Mass canst sing 
 But loud enow thy curses ring ! 
 'T is but for thine old jealousy 
 That thus thou layest blame on me. 
 Here is an answer good alway; 
 'Draw to thee !' doth the carter say; 
 Wouldst here reproach me with insight, 
 For knowledge deep, and secret might? 
 For, in good sooth, I be full wise, 820 
 And know what in the future lies, 
 For I of war and famine know; 
 Whether a man live long, or no; 
 I know what wife shall widowed be; 
 What land shall waste and violence see; 
 Who breathes on gallows his last breath, 
 Or dies some other evil death; 
 When men shall forth to battle fare 
 The victor I could well declare; 8sg 
 
 I know when pest shall smite the kine; 
 I know when deer for hunger pine; 
 Right well I know which tree shall blow; 
 Right well I know if corn shall grow; 
 I know which house with fire shall burn; 
 Who from his foe in flight shall turn; 
 I know when seas o'er-whelm the ship; 
 I know when frost and snow shall grip; 
 And yet I trow I know e'en more — 
 Well am I learned in book-lore, 
 And of the Gospels know I well 840 
 
 Far more than I can rightly tell; 
 
 For I full oft to churches turn 
 And much of wisdom there I learn. 
 Of Symbols I the meaning know, 
 And many another thing also; 
 If ill to any man befell 
 And I its coming may foretell, 
 Full oft, for this, my mickle wit, 
 Right sad and sorrowful I sit. 
 For when I see that woe and ill 850 
 
 Draw near, I must bemoan me still. 
 I would that men thereof take heed 
 And find aforetime fitting rede. 
 Alfred in wisdom spake this word — 
 He well may ponder who hath heard — 
 ' The ill that thou canst well foresee 
 Of half its strength it robbed shall be.' 
 Tho' hard the dints, their force is less 
 If I keep me in wariness, 
 And all in vain the shaft shall wing 860 
 If thou hast seen it leave the string. 
 For thou right well may'st turn aside 
 And flee, if thou its course hast spied. 
 And if disgrace a man befall 
 Should he reproach me therewithal? 
 Tho' I afore his harm have seen 
 It was not caused by me I ween. 
 So dost thou see one who is blind, 
 Who the straight path may nowise 
 
 find, 
 Shall follow a false road withal 870 
 
 Till in the ditch and mire he fall. 
 Dost ween because the harm I see 
 It therefore falls more speedily? 
 E'en so it fareth with my wit 
 The while upon my bough I sit 
 I know, and see, with sight full clear, 
 That harm to some man draweth near; 
 Shall he, who naught thereof may know 
 Reproach me, if the thing be so? 
 Shall he the mischief lay to me 880 
 
 Because I wiser am than he? 
 But when I see that grief and pain 
 Be nigh to man, I sore complain, 
 And pray that he himself may guard 
 For that misfortune's ways be hard. 
 But tho' I mourn, both loud and still, 
 All that betides is thro' God's Will. 
 
THE OWL AND NIGHTINGALE 
 
 321 
 
 Then why should men blame me, for- 
 sooth, 
 In that I warn them of the truth? 
 For tho' I warn throughout the year 890 
 Evil to them Is not more near, 
 But for this reason do I sing 
 That they may understand this thing, 
 That some misfortune draweth nigh 
 Whenas they hear me hoot and cry. 
 For no man so assured hath been 
 But that he well may dread, I ween, 
 That harm shall sometime him befall 
 Altho' he see it not withal. 
 King Alfred, very well he spake, 900 
 (And men his words as Gospel take) 
 That each man shall the better speed 
 The better that he taketb. heed, 
 And trusts to none his wealth, I trow, 
 In haste, tho' folk he have enow. 
 No heat there be but cold may grow; 
 No white so pure but stain may know; 
 Nothing so dear but may wax loath; 
 No gladness but may make men wroth; 
 But all that ever was, I wis, 910 
 
 Is fleeting, as is this world's bliss. 
 Here may'st thou know full speedily 
 That thou dost speak but giddily, 
 All that thou sayest for my shame 
 It turneth ever to thy blame, 
 Go as it may, it chances yet 
 Thou fallest to thine own onset; 
 The words thou dost against me spend 
 Turn to mine honour in the end, 
 Nay, better must thy plaint begin 920 
 If aught but shame dost think to win!" 
 The Nightingale, she sat, and sighed, 
 Right woeful was she at that tide, 
 For that the Owl spake in this wise 
 And laid her speech in such like guise. 
 Good counsel to her heart she laid 
 Pondering what she thereafter said, 
 Natheless, her part she understood — 
 "What, Owl," she quoth, "say, art thou 
 
 wood? 
 Of secret wisdom speakest aye, 930 
 
 Thou know'st not whence it comes 
 alway 
 
 Save that in witchcraft it hath share; 
 Thereof, thou wretch, should'st well 
 
 beware, 
 If thou midst men in peace would'st be 
 Else from the land thou need'st must flee, 
 For all who in such dealings share 
 From days of yore accursed were 
 By priest, and such thou yet shalt be — 
 From witchcraft ne'er hast set thee free. 
 In such wise did I speak but now 940 
 And thou didst ask of me, I trow, 
 In mockery, if 'cowled' I were, 
 That ban, it reacheth everywhere, 
 And tho' no priest in land were seen, 
 A cursed wretch thou still hadst been. 
 For every child shall call thee foul, 
 Each man, 'A miserable owl,' — 
 Yea, I have heard, and sooth it be, 
 That men be star-wise, verily, 
 And thus may future things foretell, 950 
 Thou sayest what is known full well. 
 But, wretch, what know'st thou of a star 
 Save that thou see'st it from afar? 
 So doth full many a beast and man 
 Who of such knowledge nothing can; 
 An ape may well a book behold 
 And turn its leaves, its pages fold, 
 But for all that he knows no more 
 Nor first, nor last, of clerkly lore; 959 
 And thus, tho' thou the stars shalt see 
 Never the wiser shalt thou be. 
 Again, foul thing, thou chidest me, 
 And dost reproach me wrathfully, 
 Saying, that by my song alway 
 Wives learn their husbands to betray. 
 Thou liest, I wis, thou wretched thing, 
 Shame did I ne'er on marriage bring; 
 But sooth it is I sing alway 
 For ladies sweet, and maidens gay. 
 And sooth it is of love I sing, 970 
 
 For marriage many a wife doth bring 
 To give to this, her husband true, 
 A love that ne'er her lover knew. 
 And maidens well such love may choose 
 That they their honour never lose, 
 But love with rightful love that same 
 Who hath the right their love to claim; 
 
322 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Such love I teach, such love they learn, 
 Thereto my song their heart doth turn." 
 
 The Owl rejoiced at such a tale, g8o 
 But yet bethought the Nightingale, 
 Tho' she at first the sooth would say, 
 At last had somewhat gone astray. 
 She quoth: "Now, of a sooth, I find 
 That maidens' weal be in thy mind, 
 Dost cherish them, and guard them well 
 And art full fain their praise to tell, 
 Ladies full often turn to me, 
 And let me oft their sorrow see. 
 
 " For there be husbands manifold ggo 
 Who know not how a wife to hold, 
 If others speak with her, I trow, 
 He deems she'll break her marriage vow; 
 Nay, to behold if she but dare 
 Another man, or speak him fair, 
 He shuts her in with lock and key, 
 Thereby shall vows oft broken be, 
 For oft by wrong shall she be brought 
 To do what ne'er was in her thought. 
 Woe to him who so swift shall speak 1000 
 That his wife shall such vengeance 
 
 wreak! 
 Thereof the ladies' plaint shall be 
 Full oft, and sore it troubleth me, 
 My heart, I trow, for grief is fain 
 To break, when I behold their pain, 
 With tbem I needs must weep full sore, 
 And pray Christ's Mercy evermore, 
 To aid that lady ere too late, 
 And send to her a better mate. 
 Another tale I 'Id now begin: ioio 
 
 And thou shalt ne'er, to save thy skin, 
 With "answer fit o'er this prevail 
 But thy contention here shall fail. 
 Many a merchant, many a knight, 
 Doth love, and hold his wife, aright, 
 And many a bondsman, even so — 
 The good wife, she the same shall do, 
 And serves her lord, by bed and board, 
 With gentle deed, and gentle word, 
 
 And ever seeks in service true 1020 
 
 The thing that to her lord is due. 
 Full oft it doth her lord befall 
 To fare afield, when need doth call, 
 Then is that good wife sad at heart 
 In that she from her lord must part; 
 She sits, and sigheth evermore, 
 For woe her heart is grieved full sore, 
 And, all for this her dear lord's sake, 
 Watcheth by 'day, by night doth wake, 
 And very long it seems, the while, 1030 
 Each step, she deemeth it a mile. 
 When others sleep her couch about, 
 I, alone, hearken there without; 
 And, since I know her moupnful mood, 
 At night I sing, for this, her good, 
 And of my song, for this, her sake, 
 Sometime a lamentation make, 
 Thus, in her sorrow take a share 
 Therefore she gives me welcome fair. 
 Thus do I help her all I may 1040 
 
 For that she treads the rightful way. 
 But thou hast shamed me bitterly, 
 My heart thereof shall heavy be, 
 So that, in sooth, I scarce may speak 
 But yet my wrath I needs must wreak. 
 Thou sayest, that I to man be loth, 
 That every man is with me wroth ; 
 With sticks and stones doth threaten me, 
 Beats me, and tears me, willingly; 
 And when at last I shall be slain 1050 
 To take and hang me they be fain, 
 That I may scare the pie and crow 
 From off the furrows where they sow. 
 Say it were sooth, I do them good, 
 And for their profit shed my blood, 
 I die, and serve them at that same — 
 Wherefore to thee the greater blame; 
 When thou art dead, shrivelled and dry, 
 Thy death helps no man, verily! 
 In sooth, I know not how it might 1060 
 For thou art but a wretched wight! 
 But tho' my life be shot away 
 Good service may I do alway, 
 For men may set me on a stick 
 There, where the wood grows close and 
 thick, 
 
THE OWL AND NIGHTINGALE 
 
 323 
 
 And thus may draw unto their snare 
 The little birds, and catch them there. 
 And so thro' me it doth befall 
 Man findeth roast for food withal — 
 But thou, thou ne'er, alive or dead, 1070 
 To profit man didst stand in stead, 
 I know not why dost rear thy brood 
 Alive, or dead, thou art no good!" 
 
 The Nightingale heard well enow 
 And hopped upon the leafy bough; 
 Higher she perched than she did ere — 
 "Owl," so she quoth, "now be thou 
 
 ware, 
 With thee I think to plead no more 
 For thou hast lost the rightful lore, 
 Thou criest, thou to man art loth, 1080 
 That every man with thee is wroth; 
 That with thy cry, and with thy yell, 
 Thou art accurst, thou knowest well. 
 Thou say'st that grooms take thee in 
 
 snare, 
 High on a rod they hang thee there, 
 They tear thee, and in pieces shake, 
 And some a scare-crow of thee make. 
 Methinks, that thou hast lost the game, 
 Thou criest aloud of thine own shame, 
 Methinks, dost play into mine hand 1090 
 Crying thy shame throughout the land." 
 When she had said this word, I trow, 
 She sat her on a leafy bough 
 And lifted up her voice on high 
 And sang so shrill, so piercingly, 
 That far and near men heard her song — 
 Anon, unto that tree they throng, 
 Thrush, throstle, wood-hatch, song-birds 
 
 all, 1098 
 
 Of fowls, I trow, both great and small, 
 For that they deemed the Nightingale 
 The Owl had vanquished, without fail, 
 Therefore they cried and sang, I wis, 
 Among the boughs with mickle bliss. 
 E'en so men heap upon him shame 
 Who, playing dice, hath lost the game. 
 The Owl the clamour heard withal: 
 "Would'st thou," she cried, "an army 
 
 call? 
 
 And would'st thou, wretch, against me 
 
 fight? 
 Nay, nay, thereto hast thou no might. 
 Why dost thou call them here to thee? 
 Methinks, would'st lead them against 
 
 me, mi 
 
 But thou shalt know, ere hence thou go, 
 How my kin guard them 'gainst a foe, 
 All they whose bills be strong and 
 
 hooked, 
 All they whose claws be sharp and 
 
 crooked, 
 All they be of my kin, indeed, 
 All they will come to me at need. 
 The very cock, who well can fight, ms 
 Should hold with me, I trow, of right, 
 We both have voices loud and strong, 
 And both, by night we sing our song; 
 Should I my loudest cry 'gainst thee 
 The stronger army mine should be. 
 'Pride goeth aye before a fall'; 
 A turf were more than worth ye all I 
 And ere the day be turned to eve 
 I 'Id not a quill upon ye leave. 
 But 't was our forward fast and true 
 Ere yet to thither-ward we drew, 
 That we should other daysman seek 
 Who judgment fair 'twixt us should 
 
 speak, 1131 
 
 And now would'st from that forward 
 
 shrink — 
 The judgment all too hard dost think ! 
 Never thou durst that doom abide 
 So would'st thou, wretch, now fight and 
 
 chide. 
 But would ye all my counsel take 
 Ere hue and cry 'gainst ye I make, 
 Then ye our strife would now let be, 
 And from this place would swiftly flee 
 For, by the claws of which I boast, 1140 
 If ye should now await my host, 
 Ye soon another song shall sing, 
 And curse all strife and quarrelling, 
 For none so keen shall be this tide, 
 I trow, mine onslaught to abide." 
 The Owl, she spake right valiantly, 
 Tho' she would not, so speedily, 
 
324 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 After her army straightway fare, 1148 
 Yet would she, natheless, answer there 
 The Nightingale with fitting word — 
 For many a man, with spear and sword, 
 Hath little strength, or e'en with shield, 
 But yet may well upon the field, 
 With valiant words, so brave appear 
 He makes his foe to sweat for fear. 
 The wren, who sang well, at that same, 
 In morning-tide, she thither came, 
 To help the Nightingale withal; 
 For tho' her voice, it was but small, 
 Her notes were very clear and shrill, 1160 
 And many songs had she at will; 
 The wren for wise men ever hold, 
 Tho' she were born upon the wold, 
 Yet among men had she been taught, 
 And all her lore from them she brought, 
 And she might speak where'er she would, 
 Before the King, if so she should. 
 "Listen," she quoth, "the word I'll take, 
 What, think ye here the peace to break, 
 And do unto the King such shame? 1170 
 Yet is he neither dead nor lame, 
 And harm and shaming shall ye win 
 An ye break peace his land within. 
 Let be, and make your peace, I pray, 
 And to your judgment go straightway, 
 And take the verdict on your plea 
 E'en as ye sware it so should be." 
 "That will I," quoth the Nightingale, 
 "Yet, Wren, I go not for thy tale 
 But all for sake of lawfulness; 1180 
 
 I would not, of unrighteousness 
 Be at the ending overcome — 
 In sooth, I fear for no man's doom, 
 But I have said, and hold for truth, 
 That Master Nichole, who, in sooth, 
 Is wise, should judge between us two, 
 And still I deem he so will do. 
 But say, where shall we find him now?" 
 The Wren sat on a linden bough; 
 "What, know ye not," quoth she, "his 
 home? 1 190 
 
 He dwelletb sure at Portesholme, 
 
 In Dorset that same town shall be 
 
 Beside an inlet of the sea. 
 
 There judgment doth he deal aright, 
 
 And many wise saws doth indite, 
 
 And thro' his mouth, and thro' his hand, / 
 
 Bettered we be to Scottish land. ' 
 
 Easy it is to seek his face 
 
 For he hath but one dwelling-place. 
 
 I trow that doth the bishops shame, 1200 
 
 And every man who of his name 
 
 Hath heard, and knoweth of his deed — 
 
 Why seek they not from him good rede 
 
 That he among them oft shall be 
 
 To teach them wisdom, verily, 
 
 Find him a place, and goodly rent, 
 
 That so his time with them be spent?" 
 
 "Certes," the Owl quoth, "that is so, 
 And these rich men much wrong they 
 
 do 
 When they a good man leave aside — 
 (Who is in wisdom true and tried — ) 
 And office give to whom they will 1212 
 Unheeding, and neglect him still. 
 But with their kin are they more free, 
 And children office-holders be, 
 111 judgment on their wit they pass, 
 As sheweth Master Nicholas. 
 But let us now unto him fare 
 For judgment swift awaits us there." 
 "That do we," quoth the Nightingale, 
 "But who shall now rehearse our tale, 
 And set it forth ere judgment fall?" 1222 
 "That," quoth the Owl, "I'll do withal, 
 For our debate, in order fair, 
 Word after word, I will declare, 
 And if thou think'st I speak amiss 
 Then shalt thou check my tale, I wis." 
 Then with these words away they flew 
 Alone, nor followers with them drew; 
 To Portesholme, I trow, they came, 1233 
 But how they fared at that same 
 That can I you in no wise tell, 
 I know no more of what befell. 
 
 Explicit. 
 
A BESTIARY 
 
 3*5 
 
 A BESTIARY 
 
 THE LION 
 
 I 
 
 The Lion from a hill doth hear 
 
 If the huntsman draws anear, 
 
 Or thro' his scent so keen, 
 
 Knoweth him nigh, I ween; 
 
 By which-ever way he will 
 
 Wend to the dale from hill, 
 
 His foot-prints, at that same tide, 
 
 Behind him he well doth hide, 
 
 His tail doth with dust o'erlay 
 
 The track that would mark his way, 10 
 
 Either with dust or with dew, 
 
 That no man may him pursue. 
 
 Thus he goeth adown to his den 
 
 Where he hideth him well from men. 
 
 n 
 
 And another custom is his; 
 
 Whene'er he is born, I wis, 
 
 All still the lion doth keep, 
 
 And stirs not, as if in sleep, 
 
 Till that the sunshine's ray 
 
 Doth three times upon him play, 20 
 
 Then his sire doth cause him to wake 
 
 With the roaring he doth make. 
 
 IH 
 
 A third custom the lion doth keep; 
 When he lieth adown to sleep, 
 Never, in his repose, 
 The lids of his eyes he'll close. 
 
 Significatio 
 
 I 
 
 The hill that is very high, 
 
 Is Heaven, assuredly, 
 
 And the Lion, our Lord shall be — 
 
 Above, in Heaven, is He, 30 
 
 Whenas it seemed Him well 
 
 Here upon earth to dwell, 
 
 so 
 
 The Fiend might not know, I wis, 
 Tho' all huntsman's craft were his, 
 How He came down that tide, 
 Nor how He Himself did hide. 
 Or unto that Maiden came — 
 Mary, I trow, her name — 
 From whom He took human frame. 
 
 n.m 
 
 When Our Lord for us did die, 40. 
 
 And willed in the grave to lie, 
 
 In a cave so still He lay 
 
 Till it came unto the Third day; 
 
 With His Father's help, that stead, 
 
 He rose again from the dead; 
 
 To Life eternal thus 
 
 'T is His will to waken us. 
 
 As a shepherd his flock doth keep 
 
 Is He Shepherd, we, His sheep, 
 
 He will shield us from all ill 
 
 If His word we hearken still 
 
 And in no way forsake His will. 
 
 THE EAGLE 
 
 Or the Eagle I'll speak this stead, 
 As in book I his ways have read, 
 How he casts old age away, 
 And reneweth his youth that day: 
 When he feels of his limbs the weight, 
 And his beak, it is none too straight, 
 And weak hath become his flight, 
 And dimmed of his eyes the sight, 
 Thus doth he renew his might. 
 He seeks a well flowing aye, 1 
 
 That springeth by night and day, 
 Thereover doth upward fly, 
 Till he seeth the heaven high; 
 Thro' the skies both six and seven, 
 Till he cometh unto the heaven, 
 And his way so high hath won 
 That he cometh e'en to the sun. 
 
326 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And the heat doth stay his flight, 
 
 Fare he North, or fare he South, 
 
 His eyes maketh once more bright. 
 
 He to know doth need. 
 
 Scorched are his feathers all, 20 
 
 Teach his mouth in humble mood 
 
 And downward he needs must fall, 
 
 God to praise and pray, 
 
 E'en to the well's deep ground, 
 
 Thus to win his soul's true food 
 
 Where he waxeth both whole and sound, 
 
 Thro' God's Grace alway. 
 
 And cometh forth all anew, 
 
 
 Save his beak, which is yet untrue. 
 
 
 Tho' his limbs, they be waxen strong, 
 
 THE SERPENT 
 
 If his beak, it be twisted wrong, 
 
 I 
 
 Then may he not find him food 
 
 
 That doeth him any good. 
 
 A worm thro' the world doth go, 
 
 Therewith doth he seek a stone, 30 
 
 Full well men that same they know, 
 
 And pecketh full hard thereon, 
 
 Adder, by name is he — 
 
 Pecks, till his beak once more 
 
 Thus he renewed shall be; 
 
 To its right shape he doth restore, 
 
 When his strength, it begins to break, 
 
 Sithen, with a straightened bill 
 
 And old age doth him overtake, 
 
 Doth he get him meat at his will. 
 
 He fasteth, for days full ten, 
 
 
 Till his skin, it loosens then, 
 
 Significatio 
 
 He is lean, and weak also, 
 
 And scarce on his way may go. 10 
 
 Like an Eagle be ye men, 
 
 Crippled, he creeps on his way, 
 
 Listen now to me, 
 
 And thus doth his craft display; 
 
 Old in sin ye've waxen then 
 
 A stone with a hole seeks he, 
 
 Ere ye Christian be; 
 
 And narrow that hole must be, 
 
 Thus is he renewed, each man, 40 
 
 Thro* the hole he his way doth find, • 
 
 When he goes to kirk, 
 
 But his skin, he leaves behind, 
 
 Ere that think thereof he can 
 
 In the flesh he comes forth that day; 
 
 These, his eyes, be mirk. 
 
 Water-ward makes his way, 
 
 There he Satan must forsake, 
 
 As he drinketh there, to wit, 
 
 And each sinful deed, 
 
 He the venom forth doth spit 20 
 
 And to Jesu Christ betake, 
 
 That bred in his breast hath been 
 
 He shall be his meed. 
 
 From his birth-time, so I ween, 
 
 Doth on Jesus Christ believe, 
 
 And when he his fill hath ta'en 
 
 Priestly lore doth learn, 
 
 Then is he renewed again. 
 
 So the mist his eyes shall leave, so 
 
 
 Ere h« thence shall turn. 
 
 II 
 
 All his hope to God doth run, 
 
 When the Adder hath shed his skin, 
 
 Learns His Love so true, 
 
 Is of poison purged within, 
 
 This, I trow, shall be the Sun 
 
 If a naked man he spy 
 
 Gives him light anew ! 
 
 Then he will not go anigh, 
 
 Naked, falls he to the font, 
 
 But fast from his face will flee 
 
 There renewed'is'he, 
 
 As if he a fire should see. 30 
 
 But a little doth he want, 
 
 If a clothed man he behold, 
 
 That I'll tell to ye; 
 
 Straightway he waxeth bold, 
 
 All untutored yet his mouth, 60 
 
 And reareth him up on high, 
 
 Paternoster, Creed, 
 
 To harm him readily, 
 
A BESTIARY 
 
 327 
 
 To harm him, or e'en to slay, 
 
 Is he ready, if so he may. 
 
 And save the man valiant be, 
 
 And defend himself worthily, 
 
 With the Worm is fain to fight, 
 
 And doth him attack forthright, 40 
 
 'Gainst the Adder defence shall wield, 
 
 And make of his body shield, 
 
 In this wise to shield his head — 
 
 For his limbs he hath little dread — 
 
 Scarce his life he may hold that stead. 
 
 Significatio 
 
 Ye Christian men know now 
 
 What ye each to Christ did vow, 
 
 There, at the kirk door fair, 
 
 Such time as ye christened were. 
 
 Thou didst vow to believe His saw, so 
 
 And to love His holy law, 
 
 To hold with heart and hand 
 
 To Holy Church's command, 
 
 If thou hast broken this vow 
 
 Then feeble and failing thou, 
 
 And forfeit, I trow, thy share 
 
 In the endless Life, and fair. 
 
 Art waxen too old for Bliss 
 
 As this Worm of the world it is! 
 
 Thou must, so I tell thee true, 60 
 
 Like the Adder, thyself renew, 
 
 Thou hast need thereof no less — 
 
 Confirm thee in steadfastness, 
 
 In virtue, and all good deed, 
 
 And help the poor man in need, 
 
 Whenever they meet with thee. 
 
 Think not thou shalt worthy be 
 
 To walk with thy head on high, 
 
 And thy glances toward the sky; 
 
 As ye walk among men, be seen 70 
 
 Gentle, and mild of mien, 
 
 And I rede thee, beware of pride, 
 
 And all other vice beside; 
 
 And see that thou ever pray 
 
 Alike by night and by day, 
 
 That Mercy may be thy meed, 
 
 And pardon for thy misdeed. 
 
 This life, it betokens withal 
 
 The path that the Adder doth crawl, 
 And this is the hole in the stone 80 
 
 Thro' which thou must pass anon; 
 Thou must free thee from this, thy sin, 
 As the Worm he doth from his skin, 
 Then unto God's house draw near; 
 The Gospel thou there shalt hear 
 To the soul is refreshing drink, 
 And the quenching of sin, I think. 
 The tale of thy sins alway 
 To the priest in shrift shalt say, 
 Thus the filth from thy breast be 
 
 cast, 90 
 
 And the covenant h olden fast, 
 In this thine heart aright 
 Which thou didst aforetime plight. 
 Thus shalt thou be young and new; 
 To thy forward be thou true, 
 And the Devil, he needs thee not, 
 He may do thee no harm, I wot, 
 He shall flee from before thee there 
 As the Worm from him that is bare. 
 With the clothed man the Adder is 
 
 bold, 100 
 
 And the Devil on sins hath hold; 
 And the man who is sinful yet 
 With his wiles doth he oft beset. 
 For ever against mankind 
 Hatred he bears in mind 
 If leave unto him be given 
 From Him, yea, Our Lord in Heaven, 
 To do to us mischief sore 
 As he did to our sires of yore. 
 So put we our body in bale, no 
 
 To the soul shall it much avail; 
 What was given us from on high 
 Let us hold it worthily. 
 
 THE ANT 
 
 The Ant is mighty, tho' small, 
 And mickle her toil withal, 
 In summer, and weather soft, 
 In such wise as we see full oft. 
 In the harvest-time we see 
 How she goeth openly, 
 
328 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And runneth to and fro, 
 
 And rest doth she seldom know, 
 
 But food doth she fetch to her mind 
 
 Where'er she the same may find, 10 
 
 And gathers whereon to feed 
 
 Whether of wood or of weed; 
 
 Corn and grass doth she gather free 
 
 Where'er she the same may see; 
 
 Such store in her hold hath laid 
 
 As later shall be her aid. 
 
 When the winter snows lie deep 
 
 She into her cave may creep, 
 
 And the winter may harm her not 
 
 Who meat in her hole hath got ao 
 
 Whereby she may live, I wot! 
 
 Thus she layeth up a store 
 
 Ere the fitting time be o'er, 
 
 So well doth she know her lore. 
 
 But wheat above all the rest 
 
 Is the corn that she liketh best, 
 
 For that will the seed forsake 
 
 Of the which but now I spake. 
 
 But the barley she leaveth there, 
 
 And never about will bear, 30 
 
 She shuns it, and shakes the same, 
 
 E'en as she held it shame. 
 
 In the Ant is a marvel seen 
 
 More than a man doth ween, 
 
 The corn that she bears, forthright 
 
 The grain she in twain will bite, 
 
 Lest it sprout, and be spoilt for meat 
 
 Ere she willeth the same to eat. 
 
 Significatio 
 
 The Ant, she doth teach us still 
 
 For our meat to toil and till, 40 
 
 This our livelihood to gain, 
 
 The while we on earth remain. 
 
 For when we must wend our way 
 
 Then cometh our winter's day, 
 
 We shall hunger and hardship bear 
 
 Save that we here were 'ware. 
 
 Do we as the Ant doth here, — 
 
 Then I tell ye true, 
 
 On that day of Doom so drear 
 
 We shall never rue. 5° 
 
 Seek we our life's Food, I wis, 
 
 Then we sure may be 
 
 As the Ant in winter is, 
 
 Never lack to see. 
 
 As the Ant doth barley shun 
 
 When she takes the wheat, 
 
 With the Old Law ye have done, 
 
 Find the New Law sweet! 
 
 As the corn she bears for food 
 
 She in twain doth break, fio 
 
 So the Law bids us do good, 
 
 Bids us sin forsake; 
 
 Gives us earthly rules so good, 
 
 Heavenly laws also, 
 
 Yet I ween that different food 
 
 Soul and Body know; 
 
 Our Lord Christ, He bade us aye 
 
 On His law to feed, 
 
 Now, and on the last great Day, 
 
 When we be in need. 70 
 
 THE HART 
 
 The Hart, it hath customs twain 
 From which we ensamples gain; 
 Thus we read in the book withal 
 That men Physiology call. 
 He doth drag the Adder from stone, 
 With his nose pulls it up anon, 
 From stone, or from stock also 
 When thereunder it fain would go. 
 Swift doth he swallow the Worm, 
 Thereafter he sore doth burn, 
 For the poisonous thing that tide 
 To heat doth it turn inside. 
 Then with cunning, he fareth fleet 
 Where floweth the water sweet, 
 And he drinketh it at his will 
 Till thereof he hath ta'en his fill, 
 And the venom hath no more power 
 To harm him, from that same hour. 
 But then doth he cast his horn, 
 Either in thicket or thorn, 
 Thus the wild Deer renews his 
 
 youth 
 So have I learned for truth. 
 
A BESTIARY 
 
 329 
 
 Significatio 
 
 Thus men, they the poison draw 
 From our elders, who brake the Law, 
 Thro' the Serpent, thereby Mankind 
 Have envy and strife in mind, 
 Be lustful, and covetous, 
 Lascivious and gluttonous, 
 And haughty, and proud in mien — 
 This is the poison I mean. 
 Full oft do we burn in mood, 
 And fare as if we were wood, 
 And whenever we thus do burn 
 It behoveth us swift to turn 
 And haste to Christ's living well, 
 That we may not go to Hell. 
 If His Teaching, we drink it in, 
 It will quench in our heart each sin. 
 Let us cast away pride that stead, 
 As the Hart his horns doth shed, 
 And to God-ward renew us thus 
 That Salvation be sure for us. 
 
 A practice have hart and hind, 
 That we all ought to bear in mind; 
 They be all of the self-same mood, — 
 If they go forth in search of food 
 And over the water fare 
 None leaveth his comrade there, 
 But one, he in front doth swim, 
 And the others, they all follow him, 50 
 Whether he swim or wade — 
 At need each the other doth aid, 
 The one doth his shinbone lay 
 On the other's loin alway; 
 If he who the train doth lead 
 For weariness slacks his speed, 
 The others, they come anear, 
 And help him to take good cheer, 
 Bear him, from watery ground, 
 To the shore, all hale and sound, 60 
 Thus aid in his need he found. 
 This custom is mid'st them seen 
 Tho' a hundred in herd they've 
 been. 
 
 Significatio 
 
 From the Hart this lesson we win 
 
 Ne'er to help another to sin, 
 
 But each one to love the other 
 
 E'en as he were his brother; 
 
 With his friend to steadfast fare 
 
 And his burthen with him to share, 
 
 And help him, in case of need, 
 
 For this, God, He giveth meed. 
 
 Heaven's Kingdom we sure shall see 
 
 If to others we helpful be. 
 
 Thus Our Dear Lord's law should we 
 
 Lovingly fulfil, 
 
 Mickle need, I trow, have we 
 
 To obey His Will. 
 
 THE FOX 
 
 A wild beast there is, I trow, 
 
 That knoweth of wiles enow, 
 
 For her cunning and craft, the fame, 
 
 Fox, do men call her name. 
 
 To the husbandman is she loth 
 
 For the harmful deeds she doth, 
 
 The cock and the capon good 
 
 She seizeth them both for food; 
 
 The gander and goose will take, 
 
 By neck or by beak fast make 10 
 
 And carry them off to her lair. 
 
 Thus men to her hatred bear, 
 
 And men alike, and fowl, 
 
 After her cry and howl. 
 
 Now hearken ye to a wonder 
 
 That this beast, she doth for hunger; 
 
 In the field to a furrow she '11 go, 
 
 And therein she lieth low. 
 
 Where the plough thro' the earth did 
 
 cleave, ig 
 
 Thus the birds would she fain deceive. 
 And she stirreth not in that stead, 
 But lieth as she were dead 
 For a good part of the day, 
 And scarce draweth breath alway. 
 The raven he sees, I wot, 
 Thinks a corse lieth there to rot, 
 
33° 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 And other birds come with speed 
 Thinking thereon to feed, 
 Safely, and without dread, 
 For they deem that the beast be dead. 
 On the Fox's fur they peck — 31 
 
 When she feeleth them on her back, 
 Then she leapeth up straightway 
 And swiftly doth them repay, 
 For these, the pecks of their beak, 
 She a vengeance ill doth wreak, 
 And teareth them all, I ween, 
 With her fangs so sharp and keen, 
 And when she hath eaten her fill 
 Then she goeth her way at will. 40 
 
 Significatio 
 
 Methinks that qualities twain 
 
 We find in this beast again, 
 
 Prudent and wise is she — 
 
 So the Devil and bad men be, 
 
 For subtle the Devil's way, 
 
 As he would in no wise betray, 
 
 Maketh feint he would harm us not, 
 
 Yet leads us to sin, I wot. 
 
 Bids us do of the Flesh the will, 
 
 And eat and drink our fill, so 
 
 And in our amusement, there 
 
 He prepareth for us a snare. 
 
 He pecketh the Fox's fell 
 
 Who idle tales doth tell, 
 
 And his flesh he, I trow, doth rend 
 
 Who himself to sin doth lend; 
 
 And the Devil these pecks alway 
 
 Doth with shame and disgrace repay, 
 
 For his sinful work and deed 
 
 Into darkest Hell doth lead. 60 
 
 The Fiend like the Fox shall be, 
 
 Full of guile and deceit is he; 
 
 Men like to the Fox in name 
 
 Be worthy of naught but shame; 
 
 He who good words and fair doth find 
 
 But hath evil thoughts in mind, 
 
 Is both Fiend and Fox, I wis — 
 
 Nor the Book it doth lie in this, 
 
 For a false Fox Herod we know, 
 
 What time Christ on earth did go 70 
 
 He said he 'Id believe His word, 
 Yet he purposed to slay Our Lord. 
 
 THE SPIDER 
 
 Some things created they be 
 
 And now in the world we see, 
 
 That be loathly and loathsome all, 
 
 And yet we believe withal 
 
 That every living thing 
 
 May to man a lesson bring. 
 
 The Spider, she spins with speed, 
 
 To the house roof, as she hath need, 
 
 This, her means of life at last 
 
 To beam, or to eave makes fast. 10 
 
 From old hath she had this skill 
 
 This, her web, to cast at will, 
 
 In her wise to weave aright 
 
 Until she the same hath dight. 
 
 With that, she doth go her way, 
 
 In her hole doth hidden stay, 
 
 And, watching, in wait doth lie, 
 
 Till thitherward fares a fly, 
 
 And, fallen therein at last, 
 
 In the web it struggles fast 20 
 
 Striving itself to free; 
 
 Then she runneth rapidly, 
 
 For ever ready is she. 
 
 She comes anon to the net, 
 
 Takes the fly in the trap she set, 
 
 To bite it sharply is fain, 
 
 So doth she become its bane. 
 
 She slays it, and drinks its blood, 
 
 Nor doeth it other good, 
 
 Then when she her fill hath ta'en 30 
 
 Into hiding she goes again. 
 
 Significatio 
 
 This creature betokens alway 
 
 The man who would others betray, 
 
 Whether in stead or in stall, 
 
 In market, or moat, or hall, 
 
 In open or secret guise, 
 
 Or in any other wise. 
 
 To bite his neighbour he sought 
 
A BESTIARY 
 
 33i 
 
 Who hath bale upon him brought; 
 Methinks he doth drink his blood 
 Who maketh him sad of mood; 
 And he eateth his neighbour still 
 When he worketh upon him ill. 
 
 THE WHALE 
 
 The Whale is a fish, I wis, 
 None greater in sea there is, 
 So that thou sure would'st say, 
 Did'st thou see it float alway, 
 That the same must an island be, 
 Girdled about by the sea. 
 That fish is so huge, the tide 
 That it hungers it gapeth wide, 
 From his throat comes a scent so fair 
 Earth hath naught may therewith com- 
 pare, 10 
 Other fishes to him draw nigh, 
 For it pleaseth them mightily. 
 Thus into his mouth they swim, 
 For they know not the guile of him; 
 The whale shuts his jaws straightway, 
 Sucks them in without more delay, 
 'T is the small fish he doth deceive, 
 The greater, he needs must leave. 
 He dwells in the deep sea ground, 
 And liveth there hale and sound, 20 
 Until it shall chance that there be 
 A storm that stirs up the sea. 
 When summer and winter strive, 
 There may he no longer thrive; 
 So troubled the sea, its ground, 
 He may not abide that stound, 
 But doth rise up, and lieth still 
 While the weather it is so ill. 
 The sailors, -in tempest's strife, 29 
 Who dread death, and are fain for life, 
 Looking round them, this fish they see, 
 And they deem it an isle to be, 
 Then joy in their hearts they know, 
 And toward it they swiftly row, 
 Their ship do they fasten there 
 And up on its back they fare, 
 With tinder and steel, and stone, 
 
 They make them a fire anon, 38 
 
 They warm them, and eat and drink — 
 The Whale, feeling the fire, doth sink, 
 And soon doth he dive to the ground, 
 And all, without wound, are drowned. 
 
 Significatio 
 
 The Devil is mighty in wile, 
 
 (So witches have craft and guile,) 
 
 He maketh men hunger and thirst 
 
 With sinful desires accurst, 
 
 And draweth to him with his breath 
 
 (Whoso follows him, findeth death — ) 
 
 They who love but little the law; 
 
 The great he may never draw, 50 
 
 The great, those who true have been 
 
 In body and soul, I mean. 
 
 He who lists to the Devil's lore 
 
 At long last he shall rue it sore; 
 
 He who fastens his hope on him 
 
 Must him follow to Hell's depths dim. 
 
 THE SIRENS 
 
 I would have ye know, in the sea 
 Full many a marvel there be, 
 There is one is y'clept Mermaid, 
 That is like to a maiden made 
 In body, and eke in breast, 
 But it is not so with the rest; 
 From the navel down is she 
 Other than man to see, 
 But the form of a fish doth show 
 With fins that from out her grow. 
 This wonder her home doth keep 
 In treacherous parts of the deep, 
 And there, on the whirlpool's brink, 
 She maketh the ship to sink, 
 And doth scathe to the sailor bring. 
 Merrily doth she sing, 
 And many voices hath she, 
 Diverse and shrill they be, 
 And evil are all verilie; 
 For the shipmen forget to steer 
 Whenever her voice they hear, 
 
33 2 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 But a slumber doth them o'ertake, 
 They sleep, and too late they wake, 
 The ship sinks with its folk, I ween, 
 And never again is seen. 
 But he who is wise and ware 
 Will turn again from her snare, 
 And oft he escape th still 
 From the breast that would do him ill. 
 Of the marvel he hath been told — 30 
 Now this creature strange to behold, 
 Half man, and half fish, it is 
 Some lesson for us, I wis. 
 
 Significatio 
 
 Now in many a man, I ween, 
 The meaning of this is seen, 
 Without, do they show Iamb's-skin, 
 But they be very wolves within; 
 They speak full righteouslie, 
 But their deeds, they wicked be; 
 Their deeds, they accord but ill 40 
 
 With what their mouth speaketh still. 
 Thus two-fold, I trow, their mood, 
 They are ready to swear by the Rood, 
 By the Sun, and eke by the Moon, 
 And yet do they lie eftsoon. 
 Thus with what they sing and they say 
 Do they many a man betray, 
 Of thy goods by treason take toll, 
 And by lying, destroy thy soul. 
 
 THE ELEPHANT 
 
 In Ynde ye may Elephants see, 
 Big and burly in body they be, 
 Together they herd on the wold, 
 As sheep that come forth from the fold. 
 And of young they beget and rear 
 But one, tho' three hundred year 
 In this world to their lot were set 
 No more would they aye beget. 
 One thing have they most in thought, 
 That they ne'er to a fall be brought, 10 
 Since they be lacking the power 
 To rise again in that hour. 
 
 (How this beast his rest doth take 
 
 When he wanders wide, 
 
 Since he is of monstrous make 
 
 Hear me tell this tide.) 
 
 He doth seek to himself a tree, 
 
 That shall strong and steadfast be, 
 
 And against the trunk dotb lean 
 
 When weary with walking, I ween. 20 
 
 When the hunter this doth know, 
 
 Who a trap will set, 
 
 Seeing where the beast doth go 
 
 This his rest to get, 
 
 Then the tree doth he saw away, 
 
 In such wise as best he may, 
 
 His work he with care doth hide 
 
 And makes him a place that tide 
 
 Wherein he may watch and see 
 
 If the beast, he deceived shall be. 30 
 
 Then cometh the monster, I ween, 
 
 On his side 'gainst the tree doth 
 
 lean, 
 In the shade of the tree so tall, 
 Doth he sleep, and together they fall. 
 If none other near him be stayed 
 Then he crieth and calleth for aid, 
 And rueful, I ween his cries — 
 He hopeth with help to rise, 
 One cometh who nigh is at hand, 
 And hopeth to make him stand, 40 
 
 With all his might tho' he tries, 
 He stirs him no whit as he lies. 
 Naught can he do, nor another, 
 They can only cry with their brother. 
 Tho' they shake him, a goodly band, 
 Deeming to make him stand, 
 Yet for the help of them all 
 He may not arise from his fall. 
 Then they trumpet so loud and fast, 
 Like a bell, or of horns the blast, , so 
 And for this, their mickle cry, 
 A youngling comes hastily, 
 And stooping adown that tide 
 His trunk he puts 'neath his side, 
 With the help of all the band 
 He makes him again to stand, 
 Thus he 'scapeth the hunter's snare 
 In such wise as I now declare. 
 
A BESTIARY 
 
 333 
 
 Significatio 
 
 Thus Adam, he fell thro' a tree, 
 
 Our first father, and so fell we; 60 
 
 Moses fain would him raise again, 
 
 But he might in no wise attain, 
 
 Nor after him prophets all 
 
 Could make him arise from his fall, 
 
 And stand once more as he stood 
 
 The heir to all Heavenly good. 
 
 With sorrow and sighing they thought 
 
 How succour might best be brought, 
 
 And with one voice they raised a cry 
 
 That pierced unto Heaven high, 70 
 
 And their calling and care did bring 
 
 To their aid Christ, Our Heavenly King. 
 
 Who is greatest in Heaven, withal 
 
 Became Man, and on earth was small, 
 
 His Passion He bare for us, 
 
 And going 'neath Adam thus 
 
 Raised him up, and Mankind with 
 
 him, 
 Who had fallen to Hell's depths dim. 
 
 THE TURTLE DOVE 
 
 In the book of the Turtle Dove 
 
 We find it writ in rhyme, 
 
 How, loyal to one true love 
 
 She keepeth her whole life time. 
 
 If she once hath found a mate, 
 
 Never will she stray, 
 
 Wives from her may pattern take 
 
 As I now will say; 
 
 By her mate she sits at night, 
 
 Thro' the day they fly, * 
 
 Whoso saith they part in flight, 
 
 I say, he doth lie. 
 
 But and if her mate be dead, 
 
 Widowed then is she, 
 
 Lone she flies and fares that stead, 
 
 Will none other's be. 
 
 So she sitteth alone for aye, 
 
 Her old love awaiteth she, 
 
 In her heart bears him night and day, 
 
 E'en as he alive should be. 2 
 
 Significatio 
 
 List, each loyal man, this lore, 
 
 Oft upon it muse, 
 
 This, our Soul, at the kirk door 
 
 Christ for mate did choose. 
 
 Of our Soul the Spouse is He, 
 
 Love Him with your might, 
 
 Never from Him severed be 
 
 Or by day or night. 
 
 Tho' from out our sight He fare 
 
 Be we to Him true, 
 
 Take no other lord, and ne'er 
 
 Change old love for new; 
 
 But believe He lives to reign 
 
 High on Heaven's Throne, 
 
 And that He will come again, 
 
 And by us be known; 
 
 Judgment upon man to tell 
 
 By Doom diverse given, 
 
 Those He hates shall pass to Hell, 
 
 Those He loves, to Heaven! 
 
 THE PANTHER 
 
 The Panther, a wild beast is he, 
 
 On earth is none fairer to see, 
 
 For black is his hue, I wot, 
 
 Marked over with many a spot, 
 
 Bound as a wheel, and white, 
 
 That becometh him well to sight. 
 
 And where'er he his life doth lead 
 
 He on other beasts doth feed; 
 
 He taketh the best at will 
 
 And eats of the meat his fill, 10 
 
 Then still in his lair he keeps, 
 
 And for three days long he sleeps, 
 
 Then, when the third day is o'er, 
 
 He doth rise, and will loudly roar; 
 
 From his throat there cometh a scent, 
 
 With his voice it abroad is sent, 
 
 That balsam doth far exceed 
 
 In sweetness, (so runneth my rede,) 
 
 Or all things of perfume fair 
 
 Whether moist or dry they were. 20 
 
 For the sweetness his breath hath stored, 
 
334 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Whenever he walks abroad, 
 
 Wherever he wander, or stay, 
 
 The beasts, they draw near alway, 
 
 And follow him up on the wold 
 
 For the sweetness whereof I have told; 
 
 Save the Dragon, that stirs not out 
 
 While the Panther, he roams about, 
 
 But stays in his lair that stead 
 
 As if he for fright were dead. 30 
 
 Significatio 
 
 Now this beast of which I have told 
 
 For a token of Christ I hold, 
 
 Fairer is He than men, 
 
 As a star is fairer than fen; 
 
 And He showed man His love full well 
 
 When He won him by Holy spell, 
 
 And lay alone in a hole 
 
 When for us He would share Death's 
 
 dole. 
 Three days did He lie alone, 
 Dead in blood, and in flesh, and bone, 
 Then He rose up, and cried, I wis, 41 
 Of Hell's torment, and Heaven's Bliss, 
 And rising to Heaven's fair host 
 Dwells with Father, and Holy Ghost. 
 With man left He so sweet a smell, 
 'T is the lore of His Holy Spell, 
 
 Whereby we may follow His way, 
 With the Godhead abide for aye. 
 And the Dragon, our foe is he; 
 Where the sound of God's word shall be 
 He stirs not, nor nigh may draw si 
 
 To him who doth love God's law. 
 
 THE DOVE 
 
 With the Dove we good customs find 
 That by us should be borne in mind, 
 Seven qualities good hath she 
 Which may well our ensample be. 
 The Dove hath in her no gall; 
 Be we simple and soft withal. 
 Nor her living as thief doth win; 
 Hold we robbery for a sin. 
 She lives not on worms but on seed; 
 On Christ's lore we all should feed. 10 
 To other birds is she a mother; 
 So ought we to be to each other. 
 As a moan and a groan her song; 
 So should we confess our wrong. 
 She in water the hawk doth see; 
 Warned in Book of the Fiend are we. 
 In the rock doth she make her nest; 
 In Christ's Mercy our hope should 
 rest 
 
RELIGIOUS AND LYRICAL 
 
HYMN OF SAINT GODRIC 
 
 Holt Mart, thou Virgin clean, 
 Mother of Jesu, the Nazarene, 
 Me, thy Goderic, help alway, 
 Shield, accept me, when I pray, 
 That eternally with thee 
 In God's Kingdom I may be. 
 
 Holy Mary, in Christ's Bower 
 Pearl of Maids, of Mothers Flower, 
 All my sins wash thou away, 
 Reign within my heart to-day, i 
 
 Bring me to God's Bliss with thee, 
 God Himself for aye to see! 
 
 ORMULUM 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 Now, Brother Walter, brother mine 
 After the flesh, in sooth, 
 And brother mine in Christendom 
 Thro' Baptism, and thro' truth, 
 And Brother mine in God's own House 
 In the third wise thou art, 
 Since in the self-same rule of life 
 We two have sworn our part — 
 And that we do as Canons live 
 Saint Austin's rule fulfil — 10 
 
 After thy bidding have I done, 
 And have performed thy will, 
 And turned into the English tongue 
 The Gospel's holy lore, 
 After such little wit as God 
 Hath given me in store. 
 For that thou thoughtest it might well 
 To mickle profit turn, 
 If English folk, for love of Christ, 
 Were fain the same to learn. 20 
 
 And follow it, its hest fulfil, 
 In word, and deed, and thought, 
 And therefore didst thou much desire 
 This work by me be wrought. 
 And now, behold, 't is done for thee 
 As Christ His Help did lend, 
 'Twere fitting that we both thank 
 Christ 
 
 That now 't is brought to end. 
 
 In sooth, well nigh the Gospels all 
 
 In book I've gathered here 30 
 
 That in the Mass-book may be found 
 
 For Mass, throughout the year; 
 
 And after every Gospel text 
 
 Its meaning may ye read, 
 
 That one may to the folk make clear 
 
 That which their soul doth need; 
 
 And yet, beside this, more enow 
 
 I've added thereunto 
 
 Of that which all Christ's Holy Folk 
 
 Shall both believe and do — 40 
 
 And I have set here, in this book, 
 
 Amid the Gospels still, 
 
 All of myself, full many a word, 
 
 The rhythm and rhyme to fill. 
 
 But thou shalt find that these, my words, 
 
 Where'er they added be, 
 
 Shall help the man who readeth it 
 
 To understand, and see 
 
 In better wise how he, in sooth, 
 
 The Gospel Words should hear — so 
 
 Therefore I trow thou should'st permit 
 
 The words I've written here, 
 
 Where'er such words, in Gospel lore, 
 
 May not by thee be found — 
 
 For whoso must, to simple folk, 
 
 The Gospel lore expound, 
 
 His words, to words of Holy Writ, 
 
33« 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Full oft he addeth still, 
 
 And I might not, with Gospel Words, 
 
 My verses fitly fill; 60 
 
 And therefore doth it chance that I 
 
 Should find the need, oft-time, 
 
 To add unto the Gospel Words 
 
 To fill my verse and rhyme. 
 
 To thee I now entrust this book 
 
 As charge and duty high, 
 
 That thou right well thro' it should'st 
 
 look, 
 The verses search and try, 
 That ne'er in all this book shall be 
 A word 'gainst Christ's Own Lore, 70 
 A word the folk may not believe 
 And practise evermore. 
 They shall be trodden underfoot, 
 And cast out utterly, — 
 (This is the doom of that foul flock 
 Who blind thro' malice be, — ) 
 Who blame the thing that they should 
 
 praise 
 Thro' pride and envy drear; 
 Methinks, they shall judge scornfully 
 Our labour, Brother dear! 80 
 
 For all such folk the work shall hold 
 Useless and idle all, 
 
 And this not thro' their skill, thro' pride 
 And envy shall befall. 
 Here it behoves us pray to God 
 That He forgive their sin, 
 And that we love Him well, for Whom 
 We did this work begin. 
 And give Him thanks that it be brought 
 By this His aid, to end, 90 
 
 For it may help all, who thereto 
 A willing ear shall lend, 
 And love its lore, and follow it 
 In thought and word, and deed — 
 And when, hereafter, any man 
 To write this book doth need, 
 I bid him to set down aright 
 Whate'er the book doth hold, 
 And follow closely all that I, 
 In this first copy, told. 100 
 
 With all such rhyme as here is set, 
 The words in number right, 
 
 And that he look right well that he 
 
 The letters double write; 
 
 For everywhere throughout this book 
 
 He'll find 't is written so — 
 
 Let him mark well that so he write, 
 
 For naught else may he do 
 
 In English, would he write it right, 
 
 That shall he soothly know ! no 
 
 And if a man should ask me why 
 
 I thought this deed to do, 
 
 I did it for this cause, because 
 
 Man's bliss for evermore 
 
 Doth hang upon this thing, that he 
 
 The Gospel's Holy Lore 
 
 With all his might should follow right 
 
 In thought, and word, and deed, 
 
 For all on earth to follow this, 
 
 The Christian's Faith, have need, 120 
 
 As they be taught, in deed and truth, 
 
 Of Holy Gospel Lore — 
 
 And therefore whoso learneth it, 
 
 And doth it, evermore, 
 
 He at his end shall worthy be 
 
 To God's salvation reach — 
 
 And therefore have I turned it 
 
 Into the English speech, 
 
 For that I would, right joyfully, 
 
 That English people all 130 
 
 Who with their ears shall hearken it, 
 
 In heart believe it all, 
 
 They, with their tongue, should tell it 
 
 forth, 
 After its precepts do, 
 So that their soul, thro' Christian Faith, 
 Come God's Salvation to. 
 For if they thus its teaching hear, 
 And walk its ways within, 
 I shall have helped them, by Christ's 
 
 Grace, 
 Eternal Bliss to win. 140 
 
 And I shall have, for this my toil, 
 A good reward, I wis, 
 In that I here, for love of God, 
 And hope of Heavenly Bliss, 
 Have done this into English speech, 
 Men's souls to profit win — 
 And if they now reject my work 
 
ORMULUM 
 
 339 
 
 'T is counted them for sin. 
 But I, I shall have earned thereby 
 The Grace of Christ indeed, 150 
 
 In that I wrought for them this book 
 To help their soul's true need; 
 Altho' they may, thro' sinful pride, 
 Refuse my words to read ! 
 
 Now Gospel is in English writ 
 
 Good Word, or Tidings Good, 
 
 Good Errand, insomuch as it 
 
 Thro' Holy Writers stood, 
 
 All wrought and written in a Book 
 
 Of how Christ came to earth, 160 
 
 And how, for Mankind's need, True God 
 
 As Man had here His Birth. 
 
 Of how Mankind, thro' this, His Death, 
 
 Was freed from bonds of Hell, 
 
 How He assuredly rose from Death 
 
 The Third Day — doth it tell. 
 
 How he thereafter did ascend 
 
 Surely to Heaven high, 
 
 And shall hereafter come again 
 
 All folk to judge and try, 170 
 
 And payment mete to every man 
 
 Fair, after his own deed — 
 
 That which of such good bringeth word 
 
 Good Tidings are indeed. 
 
 Therefore, I trow, the Gospel we 
 
 Good Message well may call, 
 
 And men may in the Gospel books 
 
 Right good deeds find withal; 
 
 Kindness, that Our Lord Jesus Christ 
 
 Hath done for us on earth, 180 
 
 When that He came to Man, for us 
 
 As Man had here His Birth. 
 
 For this good deed for us He did 
 
 The Lord Christ, here below, 
 
 In that He did True Man become 
 
 To free Mankind from woe — 
 
 Another kindness hath He done 
 
 Lord Christ, for this our good, 
 
 In that He was, for all men's need, 
 
 Baptized in Jordan's flood; 190 
 
 Since He would water, for our use 
 
 In Baptism, sanctify, 
 
 Therefore was He Himself baptized 
 
 In water, verily. 
 
 A Third good hath He done for us, 
 
 The Lord Christ, in that He 
 
 Hath yielded up His Life for us 
 
 Of right good will, and free, 
 
 To suffer Death upon the Cross, 
 
 Guiltless, and without stain, 20c 
 
 To free Mankind, by this, His Death, 
 
 From out the Devil's chain. 
 
 The Fourth good that He did for us, 
 
 The Lord Christ, will I tell, 
 
 'T was thro' His Holy Soul's descent 
 
 From Cross to Shades of Hell; 
 
 To draw out from the pains of Hell 
 
 The good souls, every one, 
 
 Who in this life had pleased Him well, 
 
 And righteously had done. 210 
 
 The Fifth good He hath done for us, 
 
 The Lord Christ, will I say, 
 
 'T was in that, for our good, He rose 
 
 From Death, on that Third Day, 
 
 And let th' Apostles see Him well 
 
 In human Flesh, and kind, 
 
 For that He would the Truth implant 
 
 And fasten in their mind, 
 
 That He, in very Truth and Deed, 
 
 Did from the Dead arise 220 
 
 In that same Flesh, which to the Cross 
 
 Was nailed before their eyes. 
 
 Since He would fasten and implant 
 
 That Truth within their heart, 
 
 His Presence to th' Apostles He 
 
 On earth did oft impart 
 
 Within the space of forty days 
 
 Since that He rose, I wis — 
 
 The Sixth good He hath done for us, 
 
 The Lord Christ, it is this — 230 
 
 That He ascended, for our good, 
 
 Again to Heaven's Bliss, 
 
 Thereafter sent the Holy Ghost 
 
 To His Disciple's band 
 
 To comfort, and embolden them 
 
 The Devil to withstand ; 
 
 To give them Wisdom, that aright 
 
 His Holy Lore they know, 
 
 And good desire, and fitting might, 
 
34° 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Patient to suffer woe, 240 
 
 All for the Love of God, and ne'er 
 
 To win them earthly gain — 
 
 A Seventh good, I trow, Our Lord 
 
 To do for us is fain, 
 
 In that, on Doomsday, He to us 
 
 Heaven's Bliss shall open throw, 
 
 If it so chance we worthy be 
 
 God's Mercy for to know. 
 
 And thus to us hath Our Lord Christ 
 
 A Sevenfold goodness shown 250 
 
 In that He unto us hath come, 
 
 As Man on Earth was known. 
 
 Now, in that Holy Book that as 
 
 Apocalypse we know, 
 
 Thro' teaching of the Holy Ghost, 
 
 Saint John to us doth show 
 
 That up in Heaven he saw a Book, 
 
 With Seven Seals beset, 
 
 And so fast closed that never one 
 
 Was found to ope it yet, 260 
 
 Save but the Holy Lamb of God, 
 
 Whom he saw there, in Heaven, — 
 
 And this, I trow, the token of 
 
 Those Seals, in number Seven — 
 
 The Sevenfold favours, that, for us, 
 
 Christ thro' His Coming won, 
 
 That never by no man, I trow, 
 
 Those Seals should be undone 
 
 Save by God's Lamb, Who came to us — 
 
 And thereby are we shown 270 
 
 Angel nor man there ne'er shall be 
 
 Nor any creature known, 
 
 Who of Himself could ever show 
 
 Such goodness sevenfold 
 
 To Man, that he might loose Mankind 
 
 From out of Hell's dark hold 
 
 Nor give him might, that Heaven's Bliss 
 
 Shall to his share be told! 
 
 But even as the Lamb of God 
 
 By this, His Might alone, 
 
 With little toil hath light, I trow, 
 
 Those Seven Seals undone, 
 
 Thus, even so, did Our Lord Christ, 
 
 By this, His Might alone, — 
 
 380 
 
 (With Father and with Holy Ghost 
 
 As One God only known — ) 
 
 Even so did He right easily, 
 
 By this, His Might and Power, 
 
 Upon Mankind, Himself alone, 
 
 A Sevenfold goodness shower. 290 
 
 So that He lightly might Mankind 
 
 From bonds of Hell set free 
 
 And give Mankind Desire and Love, 
 
 Power, Wisdom, Will, that we 
 
 May persevere in serving God, 
 
 And Heaven's Bliss may win; 
 
 And therefore is that goodness shown 
 
 The Gospel Book within, 
 
 This Sevenfold kindness that Our Lord 
 
 Hath shown us evermore — 300 
 
 Thus it behoves all Christian Folk 
 
 To follow Gospel Lore, 
 
 And therefore have I rendered it 
 
 In English, as 't is spoke, 
 
 For that I would, right joyfully, 
 
 That all our English folk 
 
 With ear should hearken to its rede, 
 
 In heart believe it aye, 
 
 And with their tongue should tell it 
 
 forth, 
 By deeds their Faith display; 310 
 
 And thus their souls, thro' Christian 
 
 Faith, 
 With Heaven's Bliss fulfil — 
 Now God Almighty give us Power, 
 Desire, and Wit, and Will, 
 To follow from this English Book 
 All holy lore, I wis, 
 That so at last we worthy be 
 To taste of Heaven's Bliss! 
 
 Amen, Amen, Amen. 
 And I, who did this English write 320 
 For English men withal, 
 I, men, when they did christen me, 
 As Orm, they did me call; 
 And here I, Orm, right earnestly, 
 With mouth and heart, would pray 
 That Christian men, who hear this 
 
 book, 
 Or read its words alway, 
 I would beseech them, one and all, 
 
A GOOD ORISOUN OF OUR LADIE 
 
 34* 
 
 This prayer for me to pray — 329 
 
 "The Brother who, in English tongue, 
 First hath this writing wrought, 
 
 May he, for this his work's reward, 
 To Heavenly Bliss be brought!" 
 
 Amen. 
 
 A GOOD ORISOUN OF OUR LADIE 
 
 Christ's dear Mother, Mary mild, 
 Light of life, Maid undefiled, 
 Low I bow and bend the knee, 
 Mine heart's blood I offer thee. 
 Thou my soul's light, mine heart's bliss, 
 Life, and hope, and health, I wis, 
 I thy praise sing, day and night, 
 Honouring thee with all my might. 
 Thou hast helped me passing well, 
 Brought my soul from out of Hell 10 
 E'en to Heaven — so thanks I give, 
 Lady dear, the while I live. 
 Christian men should worship here, 
 Sing thy praise with gladsome cheer, 
 Since thou, freed from Satan's hand, 
 Brought them to the Angel's land; 
 So we owe thee, lady sweet, 
 Our heart's love, and worship meet. 
 Fairest, blest o'er women thou, 
 Dearest to God's Heart, I trow; 20 
 
 Maidens worship thee alone, 
 Flower of Maids, before God's throne. 
 None on earth be like to thee, 
 None in Heaven thy peer shall be; 
 High thy throne o'er Cherubim, 
 Christ thou see'st 'mid Seraphim; 
 'Fore thee angels merry sing, 
 Music make, with carolling, 
 In thy presence glad to be, 
 Never sad thy face to see. 30 
 
 None thy bliss may understand — 
 Heaven lies within thine hand, 
 Of thy friends thou makest Kings; 
 Royal robes, and golden rings 
 Thou dost give — and rest full fair, 
 Safe from sorrow, death, or care. 
 There in bliss bloom, red and white, 
 Blossoms frost nor snow may smite, 
 Ever fresh, in summer glad — 
 There no man is weak or sad; 40 
 
 There they rest who served thee here, 
 Kept their lives from evil clear, 
 Free from sorrow, toil, or tears, 
 Groans of Hell ne'er vex their ears. 
 There they quaff, from cups of gold, 
 Draughts of life, with bliss untold. 
 Never heart of man may reach, 
 Never tongue may tell with speech, 
 What their share of Heaven's delight 
 Who have served thee day and night! 
 White the robes thine household wear, 
 Crown of gold doth each one bear; 52 
 White as lily, red as rose, 
 Glad the songs that each one knows! 
 In each crown the gems gleam fair; 
 Never wish is thwarted there; 
 Christ their King, their Queen art thou; 
 Wind nor rain may vex them now. — 
 Endless day they have for night, 
 Song for sorrow, peace for fight. 60 
 
 Theirs is bliss without annoy, 
 Game and gladness, endless joy, — 
 Lady dear, too long the day 
 Till thou fetchest us away! 
 Perfect joy we ne'er may know 
 Till thy bliss thou dost us show. 
 Chosen Maid, God's Mother dear, 
 Earth hath never seen thy peer, 
 Mother thou, and Maid contest, 
 Holy, high, in Angel's rest! 70 
 
 Saints and angels ever sing, 
 Hailing thee of life the spring; 
 Mercy aye is found in thee, 
 None who trusts thee lost shall be. 
 Save thy Son, all things above, 
 In my heart, I do thee love ! 
 Heaven fulfilled is with thy bliss, 
 Earth with this, thy gentleness; 
 Such thy grace, thy mercy free, 
 None lack help who cry to thee! 80 
 
342 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Mercy dost refuse to none 
 Tho' he wrong 'gainst thee have done. 
 Holy Queen of Heaven, I pray, 
 Thou wilt list my bede to-day, — 
 "Lady, by that greeting fair 
 Gabriel from on high did bear, 
 For the Sake of Jesu's Blood 
 Shed for us on Holy Rood, 
 Mother's pain, and sorrow sore, 
 When thou stood'st His Cross before, 90 
 Make me clean, without, within, 
 That I be not lost thro' sin. 
 The foul fiend, and all his train 
 Banish, keep me free from stain; 
 From thy love I'll ne'er depart, 
 Thou my life, my safety, art; 
 For thy love I toil and sigh, 
 For thy love thy thrall am I; 
 For thy love forswore, I wis, go 
 
 All things dear — think thou on this! 
 Sore I rue what grieveth thee, 
 For Christ's Five Wounds, pity me! 
 Save for that, I know full well, 
 I shall burn in fires of Hell. 
 Silent, all my deeds didst see, 
 Where, and what, yet bore with me; 
 Hadst thou 'venged thee of my sin 
 Paradise I ne'er might win. 
 Since thou, merciful, didst spare, 
 Pardon full I hope to share, no 
 
 Ne'er in pains of Hell to fall 
 Since I yield me here thy thrall. 
 Thine I am, and thine will be — 
 On God's Mercy, and on thee, 
 Rests my life — For thee I long 
 With desire exceeding strong! 
 Without thee no joy I know — 
 Be thou near when hence I go, 
 Show thy love at my last breath, 
 Shield my soul from lasting death. 120 
 Would I thrive? Look well to me, 
 No weal cometh save thro' thee. 
 With vile sins my soul is bound, 
 Healing in thine hand is found; 
 Thee I trust, next to thy Son, 
 For His Name, my life, as loan 
 
 Grant me, keep the fiend away, 
 Lest of Hell I be the prey. 
 For the best rule thou my days, 
 If I thrive, be thine the praise; 130 
 
 Never sinner didst forsake 
 Who did true repentance make. 
 Lightly could'st my grief allay, 
 Grant me more than I could pray, 
 Thou could'st still my sorrow now 
 When I, weeping, lowly bow; 
 Nothing fair in me to see, 
 Nothing fit to offer thee, 
 Wash me, clothe me, at this tide, 
 Thro' thy mercy, spreading wide. 140 
 Small thine honour if I fall, 
 Great the Devil's joy withal, 
 He doth grudge thee worship fair 
 And the bliss thy servants share. 
 Well thou know'st he hateth me 
 Most, because I honour thee! 
 Watch me, ward me, so I pray, 
 From his toils, from error's way; 
 An thou dost, thou 'It grant, I wis, 
 Portion fair of Heavenly bliss. 150 
 
 Sinning much, I'll much repent, 
 Shrive me, pray as penitent, 
 Yea, while life and health be mine 
 Ever servant true of thine 
 At thy feet I'll lie, and grieve, 
 Till my misdeeds thou forgive. 
 Life, and love, and heart's blood, thine, 
 Lady, I dare claim thee mine. 
 Have thou praise on Heaven and earth, 
 And the joy that 'seems thy worth. 160 
 Do thou, of Christ's Charitie, 
 Love and blessing give to me; 
 Keep my body pure alway — 
 God in mercy grant, I pray, 
 I may see thee throned in bliss; — 
 And my friends may be, I wis, 
 Better for this Lay I sung 
 Here to-day, in English tongue. 
 Mary, for thy holiness, 
 Bring this monk to joyfulness 170 
 
 Who this song hath made of thee, 
 Christ's dear Mother, Saint Marie!" 
 
 Amen. 
 
A LOVE RUNE 
 
 343 
 
 A LOVE RUNE 
 
 A Maid of Christ did me entreat 
 To weave for her a rhyme of love, 
 That she might learn, in fashion meet, 
 On whom 't were best to set her love. 
 Where truth were sure with truth to meet, 
 And best a woman's choice approve — 
 I'll not deny that maiden sweet, 
 But teach her, as my heart doth move. 
 
 "Maiden, here may'st thou well behold 
 How this world's love full fast doth flee, 
 Beset by frailties manifold, u 
 
 Fickle, and false, it faileth thee. 
 Thy wooers, but awhile so bold, 
 Have passed, as wind that bloweth free, 
 Beneath the clay they now lie cold 
 As meadow-grass, they withered be. 
 
 "There is no man, I trow, alive, 
 
 Who steadfast here on earth may be, 
 
 With sorrow must he ever strive, 
 
 In peace or rest small share hath he. 20 
 
 Swift at the goal doth he arrive, 
 
 His life-days fleet so speedily, 
 
 And Death from this world shall him drive 
 
 When he doth live most joyfully. 
 
 "No man so rich, no man so free, 
 But taketh soon from hence his way, 
 Nor shall he find safe warranty 
 In gold nor silver, green, nor gray. 
 None so swift-foot his death to flee, 
 And guard his life, e'en for a day; 30 
 Thus is this world, as ye may see, 
 A shadow, that. fast fleets away. 
 
 " Its fashion shall ye changing find, 
 The one doth come, the other go, 
 He now doth lead who lagged behind, 
 Who once was friend is now your foe. 
 Forsooth, he doth as doth the blind 
 Who sets his heart on this world's show, 
 Ye '11 see it do as doth the wind 39 
 
 That e'er from shifting point doth blow. 
 
 " Think not that love shall here abide. 
 Dost trust? 'T is to thy grief, I trow, 
 Be sure it swift from thee shall glide 
 Unsound, as reeds that wavering bow. 
 Froward it is at every tide, 
 While it endures, 't is grief enow; 
 At end, no man so true and tried 
 But he shall fall, as leaf from bough. 
 
 " Man's love endureth but a stound, 49 
 Now doth he love, — now is he sad, — 
 He cometh, — none his place have 
 
 found, — 
 Now is he wroth, — now is he glad! 
 Here one-while, then afar he's bound, 
 He loves, ere love return hath had, 
 But never true hath he been found, 
 Who trusteth him methinks is mad. 
 
 " If one be rich in this world's weal, 
 His heart, it none the less doth ache, 
 Dreading that thieves shall stealthy 
 
 steal 59 
 
 He thro' the night doth watch and wake. 
 He ponders how he best may deal 
 To guard, and full assurance make; 
 What profits all to help or heal 
 When Death the whole will from him 
 
 take? 
 
 "Where now is Paris? Helen, where? 
 Beauteous they were, and bright and 
 
 gay; 
 Where Amadace and Idoine fair? 
 Tristrem and Isoude, where be they? 68 
 Hector, who shield did dauntless bear, 
 And Caesar, who o'er worlds held sway? 
 As shaft from bow-string fast doth fare 
 So from this world they 've passed away. 
 
 " I trow 't is as they ne'er had been, 
 Yet men of them have wonders told, 
 And still are fain to hear, I ween, 
 Their pains and sorrows manifold. 
 
344 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 What they in life had said and seen — 
 But now their heat is turned to cold, 
 Thus hath this world aye faithless been, 
 Vainly ye think its joys to hold. 80 
 
 " Yea, tho' as rich a man he were 
 As Henry, now our king, shall be, 
 And fair as Absalom was fair, 
 Whose equal earth shall never see; 
 Yet soon his pride from him doth fare — 
 (A herring were too dear a fee — ) 
 Maiden, wouldst have of love thy share 
 True lover will I show to thee. 
 
 " Ah! Maiden sweet, an thou but knew 
 The virtues all that in Him be, 90 
 
 So fair He is, so bright of hue, 
 Of gladsome cheer, and mild is He. 
 Delight of Love, in Truth most true, 
 In Wisdom wise, of Heart most free, 
 Forsooth, thy deed thou ne'er shalt rue 
 If to His power thou yieldest thee. 
 
 " Richest of men is He on land 
 So far as men may speak with mouth, 
 The folk, they bow them to His Hand, 
 To East, to West, to North, to South. 
 Henry, the King of Engelland, 101 
 
 His vassal is, to Him he boweth; 
 Maiden, He bids thee understand 
 That Friendship fair to thee He voweth. 
 
 "He will with thee nor folk, nor steed, 
 Nor green, nor gray, nor raiment fair, 
 Of all such gear He hath no need 
 For riches hath He and to spare. 
 If thou wouldst proffer Him indeed 
 Thy love, wert fain His Love to share, 
 He 'Id wrap thee in such royal weed m 
 As never King nor Kaiser ware! 
 
 " What speakest thou of house or hold, 
 Such as was raised by Solomon? 
 Of jasper, sapphire, purest gold, 
 And many another precious stone? 
 Fairer His dwelling, hundredfold, 
 Than aught that man hath seen, or known , 
 
 He will its gates to thee unfold 
 
 If thou wilt Him for True-love own. 120 
 
 " On a foundation sure withal 
 'T is set, that may not yield nor fail, 
 No sapper undermines that wall, 
 No foeman may its towers assail. 
 All ills are healed within that hall, 
 And endless bliss doth there prevail; 
 For thee this hold is destined all, 
 Thou know'st not of its joys the tale! 
 
 " There friend from friend ne'er goes his 
 way, 129 
 
 None may be robbed of this, his right, 
 Nor hate nor wrath therein may stay 
 But pride and envy take their flight. 
 And all shall with the angels play 
 In concord sweet, in Heavenly light; 
 Do they not well, sweet Maiden, say, 
 Who such a Lord shall love aright? 
 
 " And never man His face shall see 
 E'en as He is, enthroned in Might, 
 But all with bliss fulfilled shall be 
 Beholding Him, Our Lord, with sight. 
 To look on Him is joy and glee, 141 
 
 For He is Day, that knows not Night, 
 Methinks, sweet Maid, right blest is she 
 Who hath her home with such a Knight! 
 
 " He set a treasure in thy power 
 Better than gold, or raiment fair, 
 And bade thee lock it in thy bower, 
 He 'Id have thee guard it with all care. 
 'Gainst thieves, 'gainst robbers, every 
 
 hour, 
 Needs must thou wakeful be, and ware, 
 Sweeter thou art than any flower 151 
 The while thou dost it scatheless bear. 
 
 " A gem it is, from far 't was brought, 
 Better is none 'neath Heaven's ground, 
 Chosen o'er all that, be in thought 
 The wounds of love it maketh sound. 
 Ah! Happy she who so hath wrought 
 To guard it well at every stound, 
 
A HYMN TO THE VIRGIN 
 
 345 
 
 For an that gem be lost, for naught 
 May it again by her be found ! 160 
 
 " Of this same stone wouldst know the 
 
 name? 
 I trow, 't is call&l 'Maidenhood,' 
 A precious gem it is, its fame 
 O'er other jewels high hath stood. 
 'Twill bring thee, Maiden, free of 
 
 shame 
 To Paradise, of gladsome mood, 
 Whilst for thine own that gem dost 
 
 claim 
 Sweeter art thou than spices good. 
 
 " Nay, speakest thou of any stone 
 
 That be in virtue rich, or grace, 170 
 
 Of amethyst, of chalcedone, 
 
 Of lectorie, or e'en topace, 
 
 Of jasper, sapphire, of sardone, 
 
 Emerald, beryl, chrysoprace, 
 
 Above all other precious stone 
 
 This one is prized, in every place. 
 
 " Sweet Maiden, as I thee have told, 
 This precious gem that thou dost 
 
 bear 
 Is better, yea, an hundredfold, 
 Than all these, tho' their hues be fair. 
 For set it is in Heavenly gold, 181 
 
 Of love hath fulness, and to spare, 
 All may right well that jewel behold, 
 In Heaven's bower it shineth fair. 
 
 " Maiden, didst pray me in thy rede 
 To choose for thee a lover, so 
 To do thy will I'll take good heed 
 And choose for thee the best I know. 
 Methinks, he doth an evil deed 
 Who, when his choice doth lie 'twixt two, 
 Shall choose the worse, and without 
 need 191 
 
 Shall let the better from him go. 
 
 "This rhyme, sweet Maid, to thee I 
 
 send, 
 'T is open, and unsealed alway, 
 Prithee, unroll it to the end, 
 And learn by heart what it doth say. 
 Thine ear unto its lesson lend, 
 And teach it other maids, I pray, 
 Whoso doth pains to learn it spend 
 Shall profit much, by night and day. 200 
 
 " So when thou sittest, languishing, 
 This written rhyme then take to thee, 
 And with sweet voice its verses sing, 
 And do what writ therein shall be. 
 Thy Love, He sendeth thee greeting, 
 May God Almighty be with thee, 
 And thee unto His Bridal bring 
 In Heaven, where His Throne shall be ! 
 
 "And give to him a good ending 
 Who this same rhyme hath writ for 
 thee. 210 
 
 Amen." 
 
 A HYMN TO THE VIRGIN 
 
 To one that is so fair and bright, 
 
 Velut maris stella, 
 Brighter than the noonday light, 
 
 Parens et puella, 
 To her I cry: "See thou to me, 
 Sweet lady, pray thy son for me, 
 
 tarn pia, 
 So that I may come to thee, 
 
 Maria 1 
 
 " Thou in care art counsel best, i 
 
 Felix fecundata, 
 To the weary art thou rest, 
 
 Mater honorata I 
 Pray thou Him with mildest mood, 
 Who for us hath shed His Blood 
 
 in cruce, 
 That by Him at last we're stood 
 
 in luce. 
 
346 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 " All this world it was forlorn, 
 
 Lady, Queen of Paradise, 
 
 Eva peccatrice, 10 
 
 electa, 
 
 Till Our Lord as Man was born, 
 
 Mother-maid, our prayers arise, 
 
 di te, genitrice, 
 
 es effecta I 
 
 With Ave, it passed away 
 
 
 Darkest night, and dawned the day, 
 
 " Well He knows He is thy Son, 
 
 Salutis, 
 
 Ventrem quern portasti, 
 
 From thee sprang the well alway, 
 
 He will not deny thy boon, 
 
 Virlviis. 
 
 Parvum quern lactasti ; 40 
 
 
 Good and gracious as He is, 
 
 " Lady, flower of everything, 
 
 He hath brought us unto Bliss, 
 
 Rosa sine spina, 
 
 Superni, 
 
 Who bare Jesu, Heavenly King, 30 
 
 And the pit hath closed, I wis, 
 
 Gratia divina, 
 
 Infemi I " 
 
 Thou o'er all dost bear the prize, 
 
 Explicit cantus iste. 
 
 A SONG ON THE PASSION 
 
 Summer 's come, and winter gone, 
 Longer wax the days, 
 And the birdlings every one, 
 Joyful songs they raise, 
 Yet by care I'm straitly bound 
 Spite of joy that may be found 
 in land, 
 
 All for a Child 
 
 That is so mild 
 
 of Hand. 10 
 
 Fair that Child, and wondrous kind, 
 Mighty is His thought, 
 Thro' the woods and hills to find 
 Me, he straitly sought; 
 And at last He findeth me 
 Thro' an apple from a tree 
 fast bound, 
 
 He brake ere long 
 
 The bands so strong, 
 
 with Wound. ao 
 
 That Child, Who was so fair and free, 
 
 To me bent Him low, 
 
 Sold unto the Jews for me, 
 
 Naught of Him they know, 
 
 But they quoth: "Now here shall we 
 
 Nail Him high upon a tree 
 
 on hill, 
 Yet ere that same 
 We'll do Him shame 
 
 at will." 30 
 
 Jesus, is that fair Child's Name, 
 King of every land, 
 Of this King have they made game, 
 Smitten Him with hand, 
 Fain to try Him: on the tree 
 Gave Him wounds, yea, two and three 
 full sore, 
 
 And therewithal 
 
 A drink of gall 
 
 they bore. 40 
 
 Death He bare on the Rood tree 
 For the life of all, 
 Otherwise no help might be, 
 We to Hell must fall, 
 And the fires of Hell must meet, 
 That, I trow, were never sweet 
 withal; 
 
 Nor might us save 
 
 Tower, castle brave, 
 
 nor hall. 50 
 
QUIA AMORE LANGUEO 347 
 
 Maid and Mother, there she stood, 
 
 From hold 
 
 Mary, full of grace, 
 
 He led, I wis, 
 
 From her eyes, the tears of blood 
 
 Those who were His 
 
 Fell fast in that place, 
 
 of old. 70 
 
 As the tears of blood ran free 
 
 
 Changed in flesh and blood was she, 
 
 Thus He rose on the Third Day, 
 
 and face, 
 
 Sat Him on His throne, 
 
 Her Son was drawn 
 
 Comes again on Judgment Day 
 
 As deer is torn 
 
 And our doom makes known. 
 
 in chace! 60 
 
 Ever may he groan and greet, 
 
 
 Who his death in sin doth meet; 
 
 Death He bare as Man, for men, 
 
 Jesus, 
 
 High upon the Rood, 
 
 As to the skies 
 
 All our sins He washed them then 
 
 Thou did'st arise, 
 
 With His Holy Blood, 
 
 Raise us ! 80 
 
 With that flood adown did 'light, 
 
 Amen. 
 
 Brake the gates of Hell forthright; 
 
 
 QUIA AMORE LANGUEO 
 
 As thro' a vale, in restless mind, 
 I sought by mountain and by mead, 
 A true-love for my need to find, 
 Unto a hill then took I heed; 
 A voice I heard — (there did I speed — ) 
 That spake in dolour and in woe: 
 "Behold My Sides, how sore they 
 
 bleed! 
 Quia Amore langueo ! " 
 
 Upon this hill I saw a tree, 
 Beneath, there sat a Man alone, 10 
 
 Wounded from Head to Foot was He, 
 I saw His Heart's Blood run adown. 
 Well fitted He to wear a Crown, 
 Such gracious mien He sure did show; 
 I asked His grief, He spake anon : 
 "Quia Amore langueo! 
 
 "I am True Love, that false was 
 
 ne'er, 
 I loved Man's Soul, my sister, so, 
 That, eager all with her to share, 
 Forth from My Kingdom did I go; 20 
 I wrought for her a palace fair — 
 
 She fled, I followed, loving so 
 That I this piteous pain did bear — 
 Quia Amore langueo 1 
 
 "My fair Love, and My Spouse so bright 
 From stripes I saved; she smote Me sore; 
 Her robe I wrought of Grace and Light, 
 Behold My Vesture crimsoned o'er! 
 And yet love-longing waxed the more — 
 Sweet are the stripes I bare, and lo ! 30 
 The troth I pledged I ne'er forswore — 
 Quia Amore langueo I 
 
 " Of Bliss her crown, and Mine of Thorn ; 
 The Bower her portion, Mine the Tree; 
 Worship I brought her, she, but Scorn; 
 Honour I gave, she, Villanie. 
 Love paid for Love is easy fee, 
 Her Hate ne'er made my Love her foe; 
 Ask Me no more why this should be — 
 Quia Amore langueo ! 40 
 
 "Look well upon My Hands, O man! 
 These Gloves as gift from her were 
 brought, 
 
348 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 They be not white, but red, and wan, 
 Blood's broiderie My Spouse hath 
 
 wrought! 
 I doff them not, nor loose for aught, 
 They woo her still where'er she go, 
 These Hands for her so friendly fought — 
 Quia Amore langueol 
 
 "Marvel not, man, tho' I sit still; 49 
 See, Love hath shod Me wondrous strait, 
 Buckled My Feet, as was her will. 
 With sharpest Nails — (Thou well 
 
 may'st wait!) 
 My Love thereof made no debate, 
 My Members would I open throw, 
 My Body, to her heart as mate — 
 Quia Amore langueo ! 
 
 "Within My Side I made her nest, 
 Look in, how wet a Wound is here! 
 Here as in chamber may she rest, 
 Together shall we slumber here. 60 
 
 Here may she wash her white and 
 
 clear, 
 Here is the charm for all her woe, 
 Come when she will she shall have 
 
 cheer — 
 Quia Amore langueo I 
 
 "Lo! I abide and wait her will, 
 I'll- sue the more she sayeth Nay; 
 If ruthless she, I'll press her still; 
 If dangerous, I will her pray. 
 But if she weep, with no delay 
 Mine arms out-spread I'll round her 
 throw, 70 
 
 Cry once, 'I come!' Now, Soul, assay! 
 Quia Amore langueo I 
 
 "Set on a hill, as watch-tower high, 
 T watch the vale, my spouse to see, 
 She runs away, yet cometh nigh, 
 Out of My sight she may not flee. 
 Some wait their prey, to make her flee, 
 I run before, and chase her foe, 
 Return my spouse again to me, 
 Quia Amore langueo I 80 
 
 "Behold! my Love, let us go play; 
 My garden beareth apples fine, 
 I shall thee clothe in rich array, 
 Feed thee with honey, milk, and wine — 
 Behold! My Love, let us go dine — 
 Within My scrip thy food is — Lo! 
 Tarry thou not fair Spouse of Mine — 
 Quia Amore langueo I 
 
 "If thou be foul, I'll cleanse the stain; 
 If thou be sick, I will thee heal; 90 
 
 Comfort thee if thou should'st com- 
 plain; 
 Fair Love, dost fear with Me to deal? 
 Foundest thou ever love so leal? 
 What wilt thou, Soul, that I shall do? 
 With force I may not make appeal — 
 Quia Amore langueo ! 
 
 "What shall I do now with My Spouse 
 But wait her will with gentleness 
 Till she look forth from out her house 
 Of Worldly Love? Yet Mine she is — 
 Her couch is made, her pillow bliss, 101 
 Her chamber chosen — Since 't is so, 
 Look on me, Love, in kindliness — 
 Quia Amore langueo ! 
 
 "My Love is in her chamber, peace! 
 Make ye no noise, but let her sleep, 
 Vex not of this, My Babe, the ease, 
 I were full loth My Child should weep ! 
 Nay, on My Breast I will her keep — 
 Marvel not tho' I tend her so — no 
 My Side had ne'er been pierced so deep 
 Save, Quia Amore langueo I 
 
 "Nay, would'st thou set thy love on 
 
 high? 
 My Love is more than thine may be; 
 In joy, in sorrow, I am nigh, 
 Would'st thou but once, Love, look on 
 
 Me! 
 I would not that thy food should be 
 But children's meat, nay, Love, not so! 
 I '11 prove thee with adversitie, 
 Quia Amore langueo 1 no 
 
FILIUS REGIS MORTUUS EST 
 
 349 
 
 "Nay, wax not weary, Mine own Wife, 
 
 'T were ill to live at ease alway, 
 
 In tribulation and in strife 
 
 I reign with but the surer sway. 
 
 In Weal and Woe I am thy stay, 
 Mine own Wife, bide, nor from Me go, 
 Death bringeth thee thy meed alway — 
 Quia Amare langueol" 
 
 FILIUS REGIS MORTUUS EST 
 
 As reason ruled my reckless mind, 
 And on wild ways as forth I went, 
 A city grave I chanced to find, 
 To turn thereto was mine intent; 
 I met a Maid, a Mother kind, 
 With sobs and sighing well nigh spent, 
 She wept, she wailed, so sore she pined, 
 Her hair and face with hands she rent. 
 Herself she did full sore torment, 
 Body, and bosom, without rest 10 
 
 She tare, and cried aye as she went: 
 "Filius Regis moriuus est!" 
 
 "The King's Son" so she cried: "is 
 
 dead, 
 The joy on which my life was stayed, 
 To see my Son, how sore He bled, 
 It cuts my heart as knife's sharp blade! 
 My Son, Whom at my breast I fed, 
 Soft lapped, with songs to sleep hath 
 
 laid, 
 To see Him thus His life-blood shed 19 
 Makes me, His mother, sore dismayed; — 
 I am both mother, wife, and maid, 
 Have no more sons to suck my breast, 
 Thus my grief's debt may ne'er be 
 
 paid, — 
 Filius Regis mortuus est 1 
 
 " Thus Filius Regis, mine own Child, 
 Hangs on the Cross, I needs must see 
 How He was wounded, and defiled 
 With spear and spitting, piteouslie! 
 I cried on Him as I were wild : 2g 
 
 ' My dear sweet Son, say see'st Thou me 
 Thy mother dear? ' With looks so mild 
 He spake: 'Mourn not, let sorrow be, 
 I shall be thine, and come to thee — ' 
 
 He spake, I swooned, by grief opprest, 
 Son mine! Son mine! On rough Rood 
 
 Tree 
 Filius Regis mortuus est I 
 
 " He died ! He died ! Who was my bliss — 
 I seeing, swooned, and cried, 'Alas!' 
 Small wonder if I mourn like this, 
 My Father, Brother, Spouse, He was! 
 My Mother, Succour, all that is, 4 i 
 
 All orphaned on my way I pass, 
 Of Spouse and Brother robbed, I wis, 
 A thing forlorn, that nothing has — 
 Gabriel hailed me 'full of Grace,' 
 Nay, 'full of Sorrow' had been best, 
 The tears, they trickle down my face — 
 Filius Regis mortuus est!" 
 
 She said: "I looked up to my Child, 
 Cried on the Jews to hang, ere long, so 
 Mother by Son, the Undefiled — 
 Oh Death! Oh Death! Dost do me 
 
 wrong, 
 My Babe dost slay, Who ne'er was wild, 
 My slaying tarries over long, 
 Thou Murderer, why art thou mild 
 To me, who would to Death belong? 
 Dost pain my Son with torment strong, 
 The mother pain, at her behest, 
 Alas ! I sing a sorry song — 
 Filius Regis mortuus est ! 60 
 
 "Oh Earth! 'gainst thee complaint, I 
 
 make 
 That thou didst drink His guiltless 
 
 Blood; 
 Stone, why didst thou thy hardness 
 
 slake 
 
35° 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 To Mortar, that the Cross firm stood? 
 The earth, the stone, Himself did make — 
 Ye yield ye servants to the Rood 
 To slay your Lord — an truth ye spake 
 He did ye never harm, but good! 
 Meek was He ever, mild of mood, 
 Ye pierce Him as He were a beast, 70 
 Alas! my Babe, my life's true Food — 
 Filius Regis mortuus est I 
 
 " Thou Tree, thou Cross, how durst thou 
 
 be 
 Gallows, to hang thy Maker so? 
 His Sire, to Him I cry 'gainst thee 
 Who on His Son hast worked this woe ! 
 Not cause, but help, that slain is He! 
 Mercy ye trees ! Ye be my foe, 
 Had ye but made a Rood for me 79 
 To hang by Him, 't were fitting so — 
 What may I say? Where shall I go? 
 The Tree hath hanged a King, a Priest! 
 Of all kings none His peer I know, 
 Filius Regis mortuus est I 
 
 " Ye creatures cruel, Iron, Steel, sharp 
 
 Thorn, 
 How dare ye thus your best Friend slay? 
 The Holiest Child that e'er was born 
 Did wounds and torment on Him lay ! 
 With spear and nails His Flesh have torn ; 
 Spear! the smith's hand why didst not 
 
 stay, 90 
 
 That ground thy blade so sharp this morn 
 That to His Heart didst cleave a way? 
 I cry on thee both night and day, 
 A Maiden's Son to death didst wrest, 
 Forlorn, I wring my hands alway, 
 Filius Regis mortuus est I 
 
 " Thou Scourge, thus made of toughest 
 
 skin, 
 Knotted and jagged, I cry on thee, 
 Didst beat my Babe, Who ne'er knew 
 
 sin, «9 
 
 Why smotest Him, and spared'st me? 
 Did He not make thee? Wherefore then 
 His flesh should thus so mangled be 
 
 That ne'er a spot should mercy win 
 But Flesh and Blood must follow thee? 
 Didst mar what was so fair to see — 
 Yet o'er thee shall He win conquest — 
 Father of Heaven in pity see, 
 Filius Regis mortuus est ! 
 
 " Thou Wretch, who proffered Him the gall 
 For drink, thou didst torment Him 
 more; no 
 
 Here down upon my knees I fall 
 God's judgment on thee now implore! 
 Upon ye Jews, the first of all, 
 Ye would Him not, His Flesh ye tore 
 With these, the tools on which I call, 
 Ye made them thus to grieve Him sore! 
 Ye Jews He made, and to restore 
 Was born as Man, but ye have drest 
 His Cross! Unhappy who ye bore! 
 Filius Regis mortuus est I no 
 
 " O ye false Jews! why did ye thus? 
 Why did ye slay your Saviour so? 
 When He in judgment sits o'er us 
 To shun His Wrath where will ye go? 
 All creatures eke were piteous, 
 The Sun, the Clouds, for this, His Woe 
 Their mourning made, discourteous 
 Ye mocking words did 'gainst Him throw! 
 Temple, and tower, 'neath earthquake's 
 throe 129 
 
 They shook, to bear ye on earth's breast, 
 The sun no light to ye would show — 
 Filius Regis mortuus est I 
 
 " Now mortuus est mine own fair Lord, 
 Death doth mine own dear Child deface; 
 Now thro' this world I walk abroad 
 E'en as a wretch that wanteth grace; 
 My grief I fain would thus record, 
 No more may I behold His Face! 
 The weary way from Calvary-ward 
 Weeping, and wailing, thus I trace. 140 
 If any love me, lend a place 
 Where I may weep my fill, and rest, 
 My Son for that will grant ye Grace — 
 Filius Regis mortuus estl" 
 
LYRICS 
 
 35' 
 
 LYRICS * 
 
 ALISOUN 
 
 March is yielding to April, 
 Leaf and flower afresh they spring, 
 Little birdlings at their will 
 In their wise do sing. 
 I in love and longing go 
 For the sweetest maid I know, 
 She can bring me out of woe, 
 I to her am bound. 
 A happy chance doth me betide, 
 Methinks that Heaven my choice did 
 guide io 
 
 From other maids to turn aside, 
 And light on Alisoun! 
 
 Oh! Her hair is fair to see, 
 
 Black her eyes 'neath dusky brow, 
 
 Sweetly doth she smile on me, 
 
 Slight is she, I trow. 
 
 An it were her will to take 
 
 This poor heart, and me to make 
 
 Her true love, I 'Id life forsake, 
 
 Dying, fall ad own! 20 
 
 A happy chance doth me betide, 
 
 Methinks that Heaven my choice did 
 
 guide 
 From other maids to turn aside, 
 And light on Alisoun! 
 
 Thro' the night I watch and wake 
 
 So my cheeks wax pale withal, 
 
 Lady, all for tby sweet sake 
 
 I be longing's thrall! 
 
 In this world I know is none 
 
 Fit to sing her praise, not one, — 30 
 
 White her throat as throat of swan, 
 
 Fairest maid in town. 
 
 A happy chance doth me betide, 
 
 Methinks that Heaven my choice did 
 
 guide 
 From other maids to turn aside, 
 And light on Alisoun! 
 
 > Boddeker, All Englitche Dichtungen, MS. Had. 2253. 
 
 Weary as the sleepless tide, 
 
 All for-worn with wooer's woe, 
 
 Lest Fate rob me of my bride, 
 
 Lo! I yearning go. 40 
 
 Better languish for a day, 
 
 Than in mourning go alway, 
 
 Fairest maid, in gear so gay, 
 
 Listen to my rune! 
 
 A happy chance doth me betide, 
 
 Methinks that Heaven my choice did 
 
 guide 
 From other maids to turn aside, 
 And light on Alisoun! 
 
 A SPRING SONG 
 
 Lent is come with Love to town, 
 
 With blossom, and with birdling's rune, 
 
 That all gladness bringeth — 
 
 Daisies blow on down and dale, 
 
 Sweetly trills the nightingale, 
 
 Each her glad song singeth. 
 
 The Throstle-cock doth loudly cry, 
 
 Past is winter's misery 
 
 When the woodruff springeth; 
 
 Yea, so glad the birdlings be 10 
 
 When they Winter's waning see, 
 
 That the woodland ringeth! 
 
 Now the rose is clad in red; 
 
 On the light twigs overhead 
 
 Leaves unfold at will; 
 
 And the moon doth shew her light, 
 
 Fair the lily blossoms white, 
 
 The fennel by the rill. 
 
 Wooing, preens himself the drake; 
 
 Man and maid, they merry make 20 
 
 Where the stream runs still. 
 
 But the sad, he moaneth aye, 
 
 I be one of those to-day, 
 
 Love doth like me ill ! 
 
 Now the moon sends forth her light, 
 As the seemly sunbeams bright 
 
352 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 ENGLISH POETS 
 
 When the birds sing gay; 
 
 When myself I, wondering, stand, 
 
 Dank, the dew on down it lies; 
 
 And with eye do see 
 
 Lovers in their secret wise 
 
 How they pierced Him, Foot and Hand, 
 
 Speak their Yea, or Nay. 30 
 
 With sharp nailes three; 
 
 'Neath the clod the worm doth woo, 
 
 And all bloody was His Brow — 
 
 And the maidens proudly go, 
 
 There was naught of Him, I trow, 
 
 Fair to see are they! 
 
 That from pain was free. 
 
 If I lack the love of one 
 
 Well, ah! well, should'st thou, my 
 
 Of this joy will I have none 
 
 heart, 
 
 But will, outlawed, stray! 
 
 For His love have bitter smart, 
 
 
 Sigh, and sorry be ! 20 
 
 WINTER SONG 
 
 
 
 Jesu mild, I Thee implore, 
 
 Winter wakeneth all my care, 
 
 Grant me strength and might, 
 
 Now the boughs be waxen bare, 
 
 That, with ceaseless yearning sore, 
 
 Oft I sigh, and mourn full sair 
 
 I love Thee aright. 
 
 When it cometh in my thought 
 
 Pain may suffer willingly 
 
 How this world's joy doth go to naught! 
 
 For thy gentle Son, Mary, 
 
 
 Lady free and bright. 
 
 Now it is, and now 't is not, 
 
 Maiden thou, and Mother mild, 
 
 As it ne'er had been, I wot, 
 
 For the love of This thy Child, 
 
 Many a man this word hath got: 
 
 Grant us Heaven's light. 30 
 
 "Naught endureth save God's Will — " 
 
 
 That we must die doth please us ill. 10 
 
 Woe is me! Could I to-day 
 
 
 Turn to Him my thought, 
 
 What afore was fresh and green 
 
 Take Him for my love alway 
 
 Now doth fade and fail, I ween, 
 
 Who us dearly bought; 
 
 Jesu, let Thine Help be seen, 
 
 Wide and deep His Wounds they were, 
 
 Shield us all from Hell — 
 
 Long and sore the Pains He bare — 
 
 For where I go I may not know, 
 
 (We of love know naught!) 
 
 Nor how long I here may dwell! 
 
 By the Blood that flowed that tide 
 
 
 From His pierced Hands and Side, 
 
 LOVE-LONGING 
 
 Us from Woe He brought! 40 
 
 When I see the blossoms spring, 
 
 Jesu, Lord, so mild and sweet, 
 
 Hear the birds' sweet song, 
 
 Here I sing to Thee, 
 
 Yearning thought, and love-longing 
 
 Yea, full oft I would Thee greet, 
 
 Thro' my heart they throng. 
 
 Pray Thee piteouslie, 
 
 All set on a love so new — 
 
 Grant that I may sin forsake, 
 
 Love so sweet, and love so true 
 
 In this world atonement make, 
 
 Gladdens all my song. 
 
 And from wrong be free, — 
 
 For in very truth, I wis, 
 
 And when this, our life, shall end, 
 
 All my joy, and all my bliss, 
 
 And from hence we needs must wend, 
 
 Go with Him along! 10 
 
 Take us unto Thee! s 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS 
 
 3S3 
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS i 
 
 THE SWEETNESS OF JESUS 
 
 Lord Christ, might I Thy Sweetness 
 
 see, 
 Thy Grace to me wouldst truly show, 
 Bitter all earthly love should be, 
 Thy Love alone I fain would know. 
 Teach Thou this lesson, Lord, to me, 
 To long in such wise here below 
 That all my heart be set on Thee, 
 And all my yearning t'ward Thee flow. 
 
 My Lord of love most worthy is 
 
 To souls who may Him soothly see, 10 
 
 To love Him rightly were true bliss, 
 
 The King of Love y-clept is He. 
 
 By chains of true love wrought, I wis, 
 
 Fast bound to Him I fain would be, 
 
 That so my heart be wholly His, — 
 
 For none save Him rejoiceth me ! 
 
 If for love shewn I love my kin, 
 Why, then, it seemeth to my thought, 
 I should of right with Him begin 
 Whose Love hath fashioned me of 
 
 naught. 20 
 
 His Likeness set my soul within — 
 This goodly world for me hath 
 
 wrought — 
 As Father, seeks my love to win, 
 And me for heir of Heaven hath bought. 
 
 A Mother's love to me He gave 
 Who, ere my birth, to me took heed, 
 That babe in Baptism's font did lave 
 Who erst was soiled thro' Adam's deed. 
 Rich Food and nourishment He gave, 
 For with His Flesh He did me feed, 30 
 A better Food no man may crave — 
 To lasting Life He doth me lead. 
 
 Brother and Sister is He still 
 
 For that He spake and taught this lore; 
 
 1 From the Vernon MS. 
 
 That they who do His Father's Will 
 His Brethren are they, evermore. 
 He chose mankind this lot to fill — 
 I set my trust on Him therefore, 
 That He will keep me safe from ill 
 And heal me from His Mercy's store. 40 
 
 His Love surpasseth, so I wis, 
 All earthly love that may be here, 
 My spouse, both God and Man He is, 
 I earth-born wretch, must hold Him 
 
 dear! 
 For Heaven and Earth be wholly His — 
 A mighty Lord is He to fear — 
 His title is the King of Bliss — 
 To Him I fain would draw me near. 
 
 Yea, for His Love I needs must long 49 
 Since He hath mine so dearly bought, 
 When I had sinned, and wrought Him 
 
 wrong, 
 From Heaven to Earth my soul He 
 
 sought. 
 As Man, was born mankind among, 
 And all His glory held for naught; 
 He strove with prayer and crying strong 
 Ere me again to bliss He brought. 
 
 When I was thrall, to make me free 
 His Love from Heaven to Earth Him 
 
 led, 
 Naught but my love He asked in fee, 
 For me His Life with Death was 
 
 wed. 60 
 
 When with my foe He fought for me 
 Wounded He was, and sorely bled; 
 His precious Blood, as on the Tree 
 He hung, for me was freely shed. 
 
 Blood-stained He was, and stripped all 
 
 bare 
 Who sometime was all fair to see; 
 His Heart with spear was pierced there, 
 His wide Wounds gaped full piteously. 
 
354 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 He gave His Life, and naught would 
 
 spare, 
 That all my guilt should ransomed be; 70 
 Thus I his suffering fain would share 
 And hold His Death most dear to me. 
 
 For grief my heart must break in twain 
 If to His Love I take good heed, 
 The cause was I of all His pain, 
 He suffered sore for my misdeed. 
 That I eternal life should gain 
 He died as Man — such is man's meed, 
 Then, when He willed to live again, 
 He rose as God, in very deed. 80 
 
 To Heaven He passed with mickle 
 
 bliss, — 
 Vanquished, the fiends before Him 
 
 quail, 
 His banner o'er me floats, I wis, 
 Whene'er my foes would me assail. 
 My heart must needs be wholly His, 
 For He as Friend shall never fail, 
 Nor asked He more than simply this: 
 Troth of true Love, for sore Travail. 
 
 Thus did my Lord my battle fight, 
 And for my sake was wounded sore, go 
 To win my love to Death was dight, 
 What favour might He shew me more? 
 To pay Him doth surpass my might, 
 I can but love Him evermore, 
 And do His Will, and deal aright, 
 E'en as He taught in lovesome lore. 
 
 His Bidding faithful to fulfil 
 
 That were, methinks, both fit and 
 
 kind, 
 By day and night to work His Will 
 And bear Him ever in my mind. 100 
 But ghostly foes they work me ill 
 E'en as frail flesh doth make me blind; 
 I needs must crave His Mercy still, 
 For better aid I may not find. 
 
 None other help is left to me, 
 I to His Mercy me betake, 
 
 Who with His Flesh hath made me free, 
 And me, poor wretch, His Child would 
 
 make. 
 I pray my Lord, of Charitie, 
 That He this sinner ne'er forsake, no 
 But give me grace from sin to flee 
 And in His Love my longing slake. 
 
 Sweet Jesu, grant me only this, 
 Take thought of me when hence I wend, 
 Keep me in steadfast truth, I wis, 
 From foul fiends shield me and befriend. 
 Forgive what I have done amiss, 
 From pains of Hell my soul defend, 
 And lead me, Lord, unto Thy Bliss 119 
 To dwell with Thee, World without end! 
 
 Amen. 
 
 PRAYER AT THE ELEVATION 
 
 Welcome, Lord, in form of Bread, 
 Thou the Living, Thou the Dead, 
 Jesu, Thee we name! 
 Thou, One God in Persons Three, 
 Lord, have Mercy upon me, 
 Shield me here from shame! 
 
 Thou the Sole-Begotten Son, 
 
 With the Spirit, Three in One, 
 
 Crowned King art Thou ! 
 
 Man of more than mortal Might, 10 
 
 God of God, and Light of Light, 
 
 Born of Mary now! 
 
 Jesu, hail! we worship Thee! 
 Fairest Blossom on Life's tree, 
 Hail! Thy message fair! 
 Hail ! the Fruit, and hail ! the Flower, 
 Be our Saviour in this hour, 
 Lord of Earth and Air! 
 
 Hail! Thou King of Life and Light! 19 
 Hail! Thou Man of Deathless Might, 
 Prince enthroned and crowned! 
 Hail! Thou Mighty Conqueror! 
 Hail! be Thou the Governor 
 Of this wide world round! 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS 
 
 355 
 
 Holy Flesh, and Holy Blood, 
 God and Man, be Thou our Food, 
 Jesu, King of Kings! 
 Hail! Thou Born of Maiden mild, 
 Very God and very Child, 
 Maker of all things! 
 
 Hail ! thou Rose upon the Bough, 
 Here as Man we hail Thee now, 
 For us wert Thou dead! 
 Hail! Thou God of endless Might, 
 Son of God, in Glory bright, 
 Hail! in form of Bread! Amen. 
 
 ORISON TO THE FIVE JOYS OF 
 OUR LADY 
 
 Mabt Mother, hail to thee! 
 Maid and Mother, think on me 
 For thy mickle might; 
 Mary, Maiden meek and mild, 
 From mischance keep me thy child, 
 And harm, by day and night. Ave. 
 
 Mary, Maid withouten peer, 
 
 This my orison now hear 
 
 Tho' I merit naught; 
 
 Unto thee I cry and call, 10 
 
 Thou, who art the flower of all, 
 
 Keep me in thy thought! Ave. 
 
 Mother thou, and Maid alway, 
 By that first joy here I pray 
 Born of Gabriel's rede, 
 That it keep me day and night 
 From the devil and his might, 
 Shield me from misdeed! Ave. 
 
 For thy joy when God was born, 
 Lady, leave me not forlorn 20 
 
 Whom thy Son bought dear ! 
 Grant that this my prayer to-day 
 Stand me in good stead alway, 
 To me lend thine ear! Ave. 
 
 For thy joy when Christ, Alive 
 
 Rose, as God, with wide Wounds Five, 
 On the Paschal Day, 
 Pray thy Son, Mother mild! 
 That He keep from ill His child, 
 E'en as well He may ! Ave. 3° 
 
 For thy joy at His Ascent 
 When to Heaven again He went, 
 Help me, Maid of might! 
 Be my shield, and be my spear, 
 That no evil one draw near 
 Keep me day and night. Ave. 
 
 For thy joy at thy last end 
 
 When thou didst to Heaven wend 
 
 Gladness to fulfil; 
 
 To that rest, O! Maiden pure, 40 
 
 Which for ever shall endure, 
 
 Bring me, at thy will! Ave. 
 
 A MIRACLE OF OUR LADY 
 
 Whoso loves Our Lady aye 
 She his love will well repay, 
 Whether life or death his share; 
 Gracious is she, e'en as fair 
 As this tale doth truly tell 
 Which in Paris once befell. 
 
 In that city, long ago, 
 
 A poor child went to and fro; 
 
 As a beggar, would he win 
 
 Food and drink for this, his kin, 10 
 
 Father, mother, up and down 
 
 Begged his way throughout the town. 
 
 With his mouth his bread he won, 
 Other craft the boy had none, 
 Save his voice so sweet and clear, 
 All men joyed his song to hear; 
 With his notes that rang so sweet 
 He gat food from street to street, 
 All men hearkened readily 
 The Antiphon of Our Ladie. 20 
 
 And men called the song, I wis, 
 "Alma Mater Redemptoris." 
 
3S 6 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Would ye now its meaning hear, 
 "Hail the Saviour's Mother dear! 
 Gate of Heaven, Star oj the Sea, 
 Save the souls that trust in thee." 
 On that song men set great store 
 As he sang from door to door. 
 
 But so sweetly rang the song 
 All the Jews waxed wroth ere long; 30 
 Till it chanced, one Saturday, 
 That his road thro' Jewry lay, 
 Loud he sang the song, and clear, 
 Well he loved the words to hear, 
 To the Jews 't was loath alway — 
 So they thought the child to slay. 
 
 One, on evil purpose bent, 
 Bade him enter, well content; 
 Seized the child, and with a knife, 
 Cut his throat, and took his life. 40 
 
 Bl the deed, and foul the wrong, 
 Yet it might not stay the song, 
 Even when that deed was done 
 Way to silence him was none! 
 
 Then the Jew, full sore afraid 
 
 Lest his malice be displayed, 
 
 Down a sewer-hole, full nigh, 
 
 Thrust the corpse right secretly; 
 
 Down the hole the child he threw, 
 
 Yet the song burst forth anew; so 
 
 Lustily it rang, the cry 
 
 Of a boy's voice, clear and high. 
 
 All men heard, both far and near, 
 
 Piercing rang the notes, and clear. 
 
 The child's mother, patiently, 
 Till the noontide sun was high, 
 Waited, that he homeward bare 
 Food and drink, with them to share. 
 Noontide came, and noontide passed, 
 And the mother, sore aghast, 60 
 
 In dismay, thro' every street 
 Sought, where she her boy might meet. 
 
 When she came to Jewery 
 
 Lo! his voice rang sweet and high, 
 
 Clearer as she nigher drew — 
 Where he was right well she knew. 
 Then she prayed her child to see — 
 But the Jew spake, verily, 
 No such child was there alway — 
 Yet she ceased not to pray — 70 
 
 Quoth her boy was there indeed — 
 Still the Jew denied her rede. 
 
 Said the woman: "Thou art wrong, 
 He is here, I hear his song." 
 Still the Jew he steadfast sware 
 No such child had passed by there. 
 None the less all men might hear 
 How the song rang loud and clear, 
 And the longer, louder grew, 
 Far and near his voice they knew. 80 
 
 On her way she went anon, 
 Hath to mayor and bailiff gone, 
 Saith: the Jew he did her wrong, 
 Stole her child for this his song. 
 Prayeth of them law and right, 
 That her son be brought to sight; 
 Prays the mayor, of Charitie 
 From his bonds her boy to free. 
 
 Then she tells, the folk among, 
 
 How she lived by this, his song — 90 
 
 The mayor pitied her withal, 
 
 Did the folk together call, 
 
 Told them of the mother's plight, 
 
 Quoth, he would do law and right, 
 
 Bade the folk with him to wend 
 
 To bring the matter to an end. 
 
 They came with clamour loud and 
 
 noise, 
 Yet o'er all they heard the voice, 
 As an angel's, to their ear 
 Loud it rang, so sweet and clear, 100 
 The mayor forced the door forthright 
 Bade them bring the boy to sight. 
 No more might the Jew refuse, 
 Otherwise himself excuse, 
 But confessed his deed of wrong — 
 Brought to judgment by a song! _,*■--- ■ 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS 
 
 357 
 
 The mayor to seek the boy was bound — 
 In the sewer the corpse they found, 
 Drowned deep in filth — straightway 
 Forth 't was drawn to light of day. no 
 Filth and grime the corpse besmear, 
 Slit the throat from ear to ear, — 
 Ere the folk would wend their way 
 For his crime the Jew must pay. 
 
 Then the Bishop, verily, 
 
 Came, this wonder fain to see, 
 
 In his presence, loud and clear, 
 
 Sang the child, for all to hear. 
 
 With his hand the Bishop sought 
 
 To the throat, and forth he brought 120 
 
 A lily flower, so glistening white 
 
 Fairer none had seen with sight, 
 
 On its leaves, in gold, I wis, 
 
 "Alma Mater Redemptoris 1" 
 
 As the lily forth they take 
 
 Of that song an end they make, 
 
 These sweet notes are heard no more, 
 
 'T was a dumb, dead corpse they bore. 
 
 Then in guise most solemn, all 
 
 As the Bishop bade, withal, 130 
 
 Through the town the corpse they bare 
 
 (He himself would with them fare,) 
 
 With priest and clerk, who well could 
 
 sing, 
 While the bells he bade them ring; 
 With lighted torch, and incense sweet 
 To that corpse do honour meet. 
 To the Minster came they then, 
 Did as meet for all dead men, 
 Sang a Mass of Requiem fair — 
 Soon they stood astonied there 140 
 
 Rose the corpse the clerks among, 
 "Salve Sancta Parens," sung. 
 
 The child, as men right well might 
 
 see, 
 Well had loved Our Sweet Ladie, 
 Here she honoured him, I wis, 
 And his soul she brought to bliss. 
 So I rede that every man 
 Do her service, as he can, 
 
 Yield her love, as best he may, 
 She that love will well repay, 
 Mary Maid, by this, thy might, 
 Bring us safe to Heaven so bright! 
 
 AGAINST MY WILL I TAKE MY 
 LEAVE 
 
 Now lords and ladies, blithe and bold. 
 To bless your name I fain were bound, 
 I thank ye all a thousand-fold, 
 And pray God keep ye whole and sound. 
 Where'er ye fare, on grass or ground, 
 I pray He cause ye not to grieve, 
 For friendship fair I here have found, — 
 Against my will I take my leave. 
 
 For friendship fair, for gifts so good, 
 For meat and drink, in great plentie, 10 
 The Lord Who suffered on the Rood 
 Keep all this comely companie. 
 On sea or land, where'er ye be, 
 I pray He cause ye not to grieve, 
 So well have ye entreated me — 
 Against my will I take my leave. 
 
 Against my will I needs must wend 
 Nor longer make abiding here, 
 For everything must have an end, 
 And friends may not be ever near. 20 
 Hold we each other ne'er so dear 
 Notice to quit we all receive, 
 And when we busk us for our bier 
 Against our will we take our leave. 
 
 Depart we must, I know not when, 
 
 Nor know I whither we must fare, 
 
 But this is aye within our ken 
 
 Each man, or bliss, or bale, shall share. 
 
 Therefore I rede ye all, beware, 
 
 Nor deem fair words ill works retrieve, 30 
 
 That so our soul we forfeit there 
 
 When that of life we take our leave. 
 
 When this our life our form hath left 
 Our body, shrouded, lieth low, 
 
35» 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 Our riches all from us be reft 
 
 And cold earth on our corpse they throw. 
 
 Where are the friends who thee may 
 
 know? 
 Say now, who shall thy soul relieve? 
 I rede thee, man, ere hence thou go 
 Prepare thee well to take thy leave. 40 
 
 Be ready for what may befall 
 Lest suddenly the summons smite, 
 Thou know'st not when thy Lord may 
 
 call, 
 Look that thy lamp be burning bright. 
 Believe me well, save thou have light 
 Thy Lord shall thee right ill receive, 
 And drive thee hence from out His Sight 
 For all too late didst take thy leave. 
 
 Christ, Whom a Virgin Mother bore, 
 Now grant us grace to serve Him so so 
 That we may come His Face before 
 When from this world we needs must go, 
 Amend the ill that here we do 
 While that to clay we cling and cleave, 
 And make our peace with friend and 
 
 foe 
 So in good time to take our leave. 
 
 Now Fare-ye-well, ye good men all, 
 And Fare-ye-well, both young and old, 
 And Fare-ye-well, both great and small, 
 I thank ye all a thousand-fold. 60 
 
 I wot that good were richly told 
 If from mine hand ye might receive; 
 Christ shelter ye from care so cold 
 'For now 't is time to take my leave. 
 
 DEO GRATIAS 
 
 In a church this chance befell, 
 Bells to morning Mass did ring, 
 Sure it pleased me wondrous well 
 So I tarried, lingering. 
 Saw a clerk a book forth bring, 
 Pointed well in many a place, 
 Swift he sought what he should sing : 
 All was Deo Gratias. 
 
 All the cantors in the choir 
 With one voice the words they cry, 10 
 Sweet the sound — I drew me nigher, 
 Called a priest full privily; 
 Said: "Sir, of thy courtesy 
 Prithee, grant me now this grace, 
 Say what meaneth this, and why 
 Ye sing Deo Gratias?" 
 
 All in silk that clerk was clad, 
 
 O'er a lectern leaned he, 
 
 Spake a word that made me glad 
 
 Saying: "Son, now hearken me; 20 
 
 Father, Son in Trinitie, 
 
 Holy Spirit, Fount of Grace, 
 
 God we praise, so oft as we 
 
 Sing our Deo Gratias. 
 
 " Sure, to thank Him are we bound 
 With such wit as man may win, 
 Sorrowful the wide world round 
 Till He crept into our kin. 
 Virgin womb He lay within — 
 Mary Maiden, full of grace; 30 
 
 Shed His Blood for all men's sin — 
 Therefore — Deo Gratias." 
 
 Quoth the priest: "Son, by thy leave 
 I must now mine office say, 
 Nor for this I prithee grieve, 
 Thou hast heard the truth alway. 
 Wherefore now we priests must pray, 
 Holy Church must offer Mass 
 In Christ's Honour, day by day, 
 Saying, Deo Gratias." 40 
 
 From the church my way I went, 
 On that word was all my thought, 
 Said it o'er and o'er, intent, 
 Praying, I forgat there naught. 
 Tho' from bliss my lot were brought 
 'T were small help to cry, Alas! 
 In God's Name, whate'er be wrought, 
 Say I, Deo Gratias. 
 
 Mend what thou hast done amiss, 
 
 Do the right, from fear be freed, 5° 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS 
 
 359 
 
 Be thy lot or bale, or bliss, 
 Sure, thy patience winneth meed, 
 An a gentle life thou lead, 
 Kindness show in every case, 
 Thank thy God if well thou speed, 
 Saying, Deo Gratias. 
 
 Should God on thee gifts bestow 
 
 More than other two or three, 
 
 Then I rede thee, rule thou so 
 
 That men may speak well of thee. fio 
 
 Shun all pride, from boasting flee, 
 
 Lest thy virtues sin deface, 
 
 Keep thee courteous, pure, and free, 
 
 Think on Deo Gratias. 
 
 Should men bid thee office bear, 
 
 Set thee in a place of might, 
 
 See thou givest judgment fair, 
 
 Bob thou no man of his right. 
 
 Art thou valiant, fierce in fight, 
 
 See thou none for envy chase; 70 
 
 Fear thy God by day and night, 
 
 Think on Deo Gratias. 
 
 If this word in heart we bear, 
 And in love and loyalty lend, 
 We thro' Christ may claim a share 
 In the joy that knows no end. 
 When from out this world we wend 
 To His Palace we may pass, 
 With His Saints to sing sans end 
 Blissful, Deo Graiias. 80 
 
 MANE NOBISCUM, DOMINE 
 
 One summer, ere Ascension fell, 
 'T was Evensong, and eke Sunday, 
 Long in devotion did I dwell, 
 And earnestly for peace did pray. 
 A text I heard that pleased me aye, 
 Written it was in words but three, 
 And thus it runneth, sooth to say, 
 "Mane nobiscum, Domine!" 
 
 Now what this word doth rightly mean 
 In English tongue that will I tell, 10 
 
 If we in conscience keep us clean 
 "Deign Thou, Our Lord, with us to dwell." 
 The foul Fiend's power do Thou fell 
 Who died for us upon the Tree, 
 Whether things fall out ill or well, 
 Mane nobiscum, Domine I 
 
 When Thou from death had'st risen, 
 
 anon, 
 In Palmer's guise Thy way wouldst go, 
 Thou met'st with pilgrims making moan, 
 But Who Thou wert, they might not 
 
 know. 20 
 
 Then Cleophas this word also 
 Spake: "Night is nigh as we may see, 
 The light of day is waxing low, 
 Mane nobiscum, Domine I" 
 
 Abide with us Our Father dear, 
 Thy dwelling is in Heaven's Bliss, 
 Thy Name by us be hallowed here 
 That we Thy Kingdom may not miss. 
 la Heaven Thy Will fulfilled is, 
 And that it so on earth may be 30 
 
 Guide us aright — to teach us this 
 Mane nobiscum, Domine 1 
 
 Our daily bread, our natural food, 
 Dear Lord, we pray Thee, for us dight, 
 ■ Our debts, do Thou our God so good, 
 Forgive us, of Thy mickle Might. 
 So shall we those, with heart so light, 
 Forgive, who in our debt may be; 
 Then, lest we rule us not aright, 
 Mane nobiscum, Domine ! 40 
 
 Dwell with us, lest we suffer loss, 
 Let no temptation lead astray, 
 But if we sin, then by Thy Cross 
 Mercy and pardon would we pray. 
 With all the meekness that we may 
 We cry, low kneeling on our knee, 
 "When men our corpse on bier shall lay 
 Mane nobiscum, Domine I " 
 
 Lord, dwell with us in all our need, 
 For without Thee we have no might 
 
 so 
 
360 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 To raise our hands, or tell our bede, 
 Nor wit nor wealth may cleanse our 
 
 sight. 
 What snare soe'er may hold us tight 
 Safe are we, an we cry to Thee, 
 In all our need, by day and night, 
 Mane nobiscum, Dominel 
 
 He dwelleth with thee, have no fear 
 
 For evil chance that may befall, 
 
 Or for the fiend who lurketh near 
 
 To rob us of our bliss withal. 60 
 
 Save we be 'neath Thy ruling here 
 
 Our flesh is frail, we cannot flee, 
 
 Then keep our path from cumbrance 
 
 clear — 
 Mane nobiscum, Domine I 
 
 Dwell with us, Lord of Love and Peace, 
 And make Thy home our hearts within, 
 That we in Charity increase, 
 And keep us clean from deadly sin. 
 Grant us Thy Smile, O Lord, to win, 
 For Mary's sake, that Maiden free — 70 
 In every work that we begin, 
 Mane nobiscum, Domine I 
 
 Mane nobiscum, Domine ! 
 Without Thee we were surely naught, 
 What Joy or Bliss else may there be 
 For those whom Thou so dear hast 
 
 bought? 
 In word and will, in heart and thought, 
 We here beseech the Trinitie: 
 "When we from out this world be 
 
 brought 
 Mane nobiscum, Domine 1 "' 80 
 
 TRUTH IS EVER BEST 
 
 Whoso would him well advise 
 Of this sad world's way, I ween, 
 He must needs, forsooth, despise 
 Falsehood foul, that wrought hath 
 
 been. 
 Certes, some day shall be seen 
 How our toil doth miss its quest, 
 
 When Good and 111 be judged, I ween, 
 We shall find that Truth is best. 
 
 Truth is best for king and knight — 
 Certes, he who runs may read, 10 
 
 Ladies all, so fair and bright, 
 Truth should love in act and deed. 
 Merchant-men, in goodly weed, 
 Who to buy and sell are prest, 
 Should from falsehood foul be freed, 
 Follow Truth, 't is ever best. 
 
 Verily, I dare to say, 
 Man nor woman here shall be 
 But would fain, if but they may, 
 Have in life prosperity; 20 
 
 And at death would presently 
 Come to Heaven's eternal rest — 
 None those goodly courts shall see 
 Who held not here that Truth was best. 
 
 Truth shall judge us all one day, 
 Righteously, and without wrong, 
 Then must we both see, and say, 
 We withstood him overlong. 
 Therefore lordings, stout and strong, 
 Judge betimes at Truth's behest; 30 
 For God's Love, all men among, 
 Truth uphold, as aye the best. 
 
 Therefore keep this in your mind, 
 Whoso dealeth with the law, 
 Ne'er with Falsehood's feints unkind 
 Stifle right, nor Truth withdraw. 
 Nay, of Falsehood stand in awe, 
 Tho' ye be for Truth opprest, 
 For Christ's Sake, let no gold draw 
 Thee aside — since Truth is best. 40 
 
 Would we rule us all with Truth, 
 Make Him aye our Governour, 
 Sin nor Sloth should work us ruth, 
 We should be of Knighthood flower. 
 Truth in strife shall aye have power, 
 Greatest, when most hardly pressed, 
 Stand we faithful in that hour 
 Vowing, Truth is ever best. 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS 
 
 361 
 
 Truth was sometime here our Lord, 
 Virtue reigned with Him as Queen, 
 Spain and Britain this record, 
 Other lands have witness been 
 That we honour due, I ween, 
 Did them, bade them here to rest, 
 Falsehood ne'er with them was seen, 
 Truth they loved — 't was ever best. 
 
 Would we now let Truth again 
 O'er us crown and sceptre bear, 
 Other lands should yield full fain 
 Fealty and homage fair. 
 Boldly this I would declare, 
 Falsehood foul should stand confest, 
 None, from prince to page would 
 
 dare 
 War with Truth, that aye is best. 
 
 Falsehood well may reign awhile 
 When maintained by Avarice, 
 Greed at last shall him beguile 
 Tho' in wisdom he be nice. 
 Falsehood, he hath had his price 
 In the North, and eke in West, 
 Hunt him, as the cat hunts mice, 
 He who chooseth Truth doth best. 
 
 SALVE, SANCTA PARENS! 
 
 Hail, lovely Lady, leman bright, 
 Mighty Mother, and Maiden mild, 
 Who bare within thy body bright 
 At once thy Maker, and thy Child, 
 And yet wert Maiden undefiled — 
 Rose and Root of true reverence, 
 Wit and Wisdom unbeguiled, 
 Salve, Sancta Parens 1 
 
 Hail for the joy when Gabriel, 
 Chieftain chosen in chastitie, 
 Low on his knees before thee fell, 
 And spake with great solemnitie : 
 "Hail full of grace, God is with thee, 
 Thou shalt conceive without offence, 
 For all time blessed shalt thou be — 
 Salve, Sancta Parens I " 
 
 60 
 
 70 
 
 Hail, Empress high of Heaven and Hell! 
 When of that angel's tidings fair 
 Elisabeth didst speed to tell 
 Right joyful was the meeting there. 20 
 He leapt for joy, the babe she bare, 
 For John of Jesus was gaudens, 
 Thus Queen, to thee I make my prayer, 
 Salve, Sancta Parens! 
 
 Hail, Maiden, hope of men forlorn; 
 In Eastern skies there shone a Star, 
 To Bethlehem, when thy Babe was born, 
 It led three kings from lands afar. 
 Rich offerings for thy Child they bare 
 Of gold, and myrrh, and frankincense. 
 To thee I sing, as I did ere, 31 
 
 Salve, Sancta Parens! 
 
 Hail, Woman crowned with Weal and 
 
 Woe, 
 Whenas the Passion-tide drew nigh 
 And dole and dread thy Son must 
 
 know 
 That Man be saved eternally; 
 When, on His Resurrection Day 
 He saw thee erst in His Presence, 
 In gracious wise He spake alway: 
 ' ' Salve, Sancta Parens !" 40 
 
 "Hail, holy Mother!" Sooth to say 
 Thus spake Our Lord, in fashion 
 
 meet, 
 To Mary, and then went His Way, 
 Nor did henceforth Our Lady greet. 
 And Holy Church, she knoweth why, 
 As clerks declare it in sequence, 
 It draweth me to thee, Mary — 
 Salve, Sancta Parens ! 
 
 Hail, crowned Queen of Heaven and Hell ! 
 Hail, true Love to the Trinitie ! 50 
 
 Thou Darling dear, dight us to dwell 
 In Paradise, that fair citie. 
 Princess sans peer, of thy pitie, 
 Put us in peace when we pass hence, 
 That we may sing with joy to thee, 
 Salve, Sancta Parens! 
 
362 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 CAROLS 
 
 Rejoice, all ye who be here present, 
 Omnes de Saba venient. 
 
 Out of the East a star shone bright, 
 To three kings hath it given light, 
 Who travelled far by day and night 
 To seek the Lord, Who all hath sent — 
 
 Rejoice, all ye who be here present, 
 
 Omnes de Saba venient. 
 
 Thereof King Herod needs must hear, 
 How three kings drew his land anear, 
 Seeking a Child Who had no peer, n 
 And after them he straightway sent — 
 
 Rejoice, all ye who be here present, 
 
 Omnes de Saba venient. 
 
 He spake, King Herod, to those kings 
 
 three: 
 "If so be that Child ye are fain to see, 
 Pass on, yet come again to me 
 And tell if your labour be well spent — " 
 Rejoice, all ye who be here present, 
 Omnes de Saba venient. 20 
 
 Then forth they went by the starry 
 
 gleam 
 Till they came to gladsome Bethlehem, 
 And a goodly Babe, forsooth, they deem 
 Him Who His Blood for us hath spent. 
 
 Rejoice, all ye who be here present, 
 
 Omnes de Saba venient. 
 
 Balthasar, he kneeled first adown, 
 And he cried : " Hail King of high renown, 
 Thou of all kings dost bear the Crown, 
 Therefore have gold for Thy Present! " 
 
 Rejoice, all ye who be here present, 31 
 
 Omnes de Saba venient. 
 
 Melchior, he knelt, that king so good, 
 And he quoth: "All hail to Thy high 
 Priesthood, 
 
 Take incense as gift to Thy true Man- 
 hood, 
 For here I brought it with good 
 intent — " 
 Rejoice, all ye who be here present, 
 Omnes de Saba venient. 
 
 But Jaspar, he kneeled in that stead, 
 And quoth: "Hail Lord, for Knighthood 
 sped 40 
 
 I offer myrrh to Thy true Godhead, 
 For Thou art He Who all hath sent!" 
 
 Rejoice, all ye who be here present, 
 
 Omnes de Saba venient. 
 
 Now lords and ladies in rich array 
 Lift up your hearts on this Holy 
 
 Day, 
 And to God the Son here let us pray, 
 Who once for us on Rood was rent — 
 Rejoice, all ye who be here present, 
 Omnes de Saba venient. 50 
 
 Mater, era filium, 
 Ut post hoc exilium 
 Nobis donet gaudium 
 Beatorum omnium t 
 
 "Who this Babe, O! Maiden fair, 
 Thou within thine arm dost bear?" 
 " 'T is a King's Son, mark Him well, 
 Who in highest Heaven doth dwell!" 
 Mater, ora filium, etc. — 
 
 "Man for Father had He none, 
 Save Himself, Yea, God alone, 
 Fain to save Mankind forlorn 
 Of a maiden was He born." 
 
 Mater, ora filium, — 
 
 "Kings their homage free have told, 
 Frankincense, and myrrh, and gold, 
 
CAROLS 
 
 363 
 
 To my Son, of aweful Might, 
 King of Heaven, and Lord of Light." 
 Mater, ora filium, — 
 
 "Maiden, do thou pray for us 
 To thy gentle Son Jesus, 
 That He grant us of His grace 
 In His Heaven to find a place! 
 
 Mater, ora filium," — 
 
 Make we merry in hall and bower, 
 To-day was born Our Saviour 1 
 
 To-day hath God, of His Mercie 
 Sent His Son with man to be, 
 To dwell with us in veritie, 
 
 God that is Our Saviour! 
 
 To-day in Bethlehem did befall 
 A Child was born in ox's stall, 
 Who needs must die to save us all, 9 
 God that is Our Saviour! 
 
 To-day there spake an angel bright 
 To shepherds three, who watched by 
 
 night, 
 And bade them take their way forth- 
 right 
 
 To God, that is Our Saviour! 
 
 Therefore, 't is meet we kneel to-day 
 And Christ Who died on Cross we 
 
 pray 
 To shew His Grace to us alway, 
 
 God that is Our Saviour! 
 
 All of a Rose, a lovely Rose, 
 All of a Rose I sing a song. 
 
 Hearken to me both old and young, 
 How from its root a Rose-tree sprung, 
 Of fairer rose no song was sung, 
 Never, in any king's land ! 
 
 Branches six had that Rose, I ween, 
 Those branches were both bright and 
 
 sheen, 8 
 
 That Rose is Mary, Heaven's Queen — 
 
 From her breast a Flower sprung ! 
 
 The first Branch was of wondrous might, 
 When It sprang forth on Christmas 
 
 night 
 A star shone over Bethlehem bright, 
 
 Far and wide its beams flung. 
 
 The second Branch was of great honour, 
 It came adown from Heaven's tower, 
 Blessed shall be that goodly Flower, 
 
 Break It shall the Fiend's band. 
 
 The third Branch, wide afar it spread; 
 To Mary, in her lowly bed, 20 
 
 Three kings Its beams have safely led, 
 Branch and Flower to show! 
 
 The fourth Branch sprang adown to 
 
 Hell 
 The foul Fiend's boast to surely quell, 
 That never soul therein should dwell — 
 
 Blest be the day, and land ! 
 
 The fifth Branch was right fair to see, 
 It sprang to Heaven, both top and tree, 
 There shall It dwell, our Boon to be, 
 
 Yet rest in priest's hand. 30 
 
 The sixth Branch, it shall, bye and 
 
 bye, 
 Be the Five Joys of Maid Marie, — 
 Now Christ save all this companie, 
 
 That long life we may know! 
 
 Pray for us to the Prince of Peace, 
 Amice Christi, Johannes 1 
 
 To thee, who wast Christ's own darling 
 Man and maid alike, I bring 
 My homage, and from heart I 'Id sing, 
 Amice Christi, Johannes I 
 
364 CHIEF MIDDLE 
 
 Ehui/iatL jfUfil'B 
 
 For that he was so pure a maid 
 
 "Now Farewell Mall, and Will, Fare- 
 
 On Christ's Own Breast asleep he laid, 
 
 well, 
 
 God's secrets were to him displayed — 
 
 Now keep ye still, and guard ye well, 
 
 Amice Christi, Johannes 1 10 
 
 Until I come my news to tell, 
 
 
 And Will, ring evermore thy bell — " 
 
 When Christ to Pilate's house was 
 
 ut Hoy t 
 
 brought 
 
 In his pipe — 30 
 
 This virgin Knight forsook Him naught, 
 
 What shall I sing — 
 
 To die with Him was all his thought — 
 
 
 Amice Christi, Johannes I » 
 
 " Now must I go where Christ is born, 
 
 
 Farewell, I come again with morn, 
 
 Christ's Mother in his care was laid, 
 
 Dog, keep the sheep from out the corn, 
 
 Fit mate a maiden for a Maid, 
 
 And gird ye well when I blow my horn — " 
 
 Now pray we to him for his aid — 
 
 ut Hoy I 
 
 Amice Christi, Johannes I 
 
 In his pipe — 
 
 
 What shall I sing — 
 
 
 To Bethlehem now Wat hath sped, 
 
 What shall I sing but Hoy ! 
 
 His sweat ran down, so fast he fled, 40 
 
 When the jolly shepherd made so much joy f 
 
 Jesus doth lowly hide His Head, 
 
 
 'T wixt ox and ass he makes His bed — 
 
 The shepherd upon a hill he sat, 
 
 ut Hoy I 
 
 He ware his tabard and his hat, 
 
 In his pipe — 
 
 He had tarbox, pipe, and flageolet, 
 
 What shall I sing — 
 
 And his name was Jolly, Jolly, Wat, 
 
 
 For he was a good herd-boy — 
 
 The shepherd said: "I go forthright 
 
 ut Hoy ! 
 
 To see that strange and wondrous sight, 
 
 In his pipe he made so much joy, 
 
 Where angels sing from Heaven's 
 
 What shall I sing but Hoy ? 10 
 
 height, 
 
 
 And yonder star doth shine so bright." 
 
 The shepherd down on the hill was laid, 
 
 ut Hoy I 50 
 
 His dog was fast to his girdle made — 
 
 In his pipe — 
 
 In a little while he was sore dismayed, 
 
 What shall I sing — 
 
 " Gloria in Excelsis / " to him was said — 
 
 
 ut Hoy 1 
 
 " Jesu, my pipe I give to Thee, 
 
 In his pipe — 
 
 Robe, tarbox, scrip, I offer free, — 
 
 What shall I sing — 
 
 Home to my fellows now I flee, 
 
 
 The sheep, methinks, have need of me." 
 
 The shepherd high on the hillside stood, 
 
 ut Hoy! 
 
 The sheep, they flocked round the 
 
 In his pipe — 
 
 shepherd good, 
 
 What shall I sing — 
 
 With his hand he raised from his brow 
 
 
 the hood, to 
 
 "Now Farewell Wat, my herdsman 
 
 He saw a star as red as blood — 
 
 true — " 60 
 
 ut Hoy I 
 
 " What, lady, so my name ye knew? 
 
 In his pipe — 
 
 Lull ye my Lord to sleep anew, 
 
 What shall I sing — 
 
 And Joseph, now Good-day to you — " 
 
CAROLS 
 
 365 
 
 ut Hoy I 
 
 " Jesu my Son, of Heaven the King, 
 
 In his pipe — 
 
 Why liest Thou here in stall, 
 
 What shall I sing — 
 
 And why hast Thou no fair bedding 
 
 
 Spread in some rich king's hall? 
 
 "Now dance and sing full well I may, 
 
 Methinks of right 
 
 For at Christ's Birth was I to-day, 
 
 The Lord of Might 
 
 Home to my mates I'll take my way, 
 
 Should lie in fair array; 
 
 Christ bring us all to bliss I pray." 70 
 
 But none the less 
 
 ut Hoy 1 
 
 I will not cease 
 
 In his pipe he made so much joy, 
 
 To sing, by, by, lully, lulley." 40 
 
 What shall I sing but Hoy ? 
 
 This very night — 
 
 
 "0! Mary Mother, queen of Bliss, 
 
 This very night 
 
 Methinks it were ill done 
 
 I saw a sight, 
 
 If I should seek the kings, I wis 
 
 A star as bright 
 
 'T is they should hither run. 
 
 As any day ; 
 
 But you shall see 
 
 And hearkened long 
 
 Kings crowned three 
 
 A Maiden's song, 
 
 Come here on the twelfth day — 
 
 LuUey, by-by, 
 
 For this behest 
 
 Lully, lulley. 
 
 Give Me your breast, so 
 
 
 And sing, by, by, lully, lulley." 
 
 A lovely Lady sat and sung, 
 
 This very night — 
 
 Thus to her Babe did say : 10 
 
 
 "My Son, my Lord, my Dear Dar- 
 
 "Jesu, my Son, I pray Thee say, 
 
 ling, 
 
 As Thou art to me dear, 
 
 Why liest thus in hay? 
 
 How may I please Thee best alway, 
 
 Mine own dear Son, 
 
 And make Thee right good cheer? 
 
 Whence art Thou come? 
 
 For all Thy Will 
 
 Art very God, I-fay, 
 
 I would fulfil, 
 
 Yet none the less 
 
 Thou knowest it well, I-fay, 
 
 I will not cease 
 
 Rock Thee, perchance, 60 
 
 To sing, by, by, lully, lulley." 
 
 Or may-be, dance, 
 
 This very night — 
 
 And sing, by, by, lully, lulley." 
 
 
 This very night — 
 
 Then spake the Babe that was so young, 
 
 
 And thus methinks He said : 21 
 
 "Now Mary, Mother, heark to Me, 
 
 "Yea, I am known in Heaven as 
 
 Take thou Me up aloft, 
 
 King, 
 
 And in thine arms soft cradle Me, 
 
 Tho' now in manger laid. 
 
 And dance Me now full oft; 
 
 And angels bright 
 
 And lap Me warm, 
 
 Round me shall light, 
 
 That, free from harm, 
 
 E'en now they wing their way; 
 
 Secure I rest alway, 70 
 
 In that fair sight 
 
 And if I weep, 
 
 Shall ye delight, 
 
 And will not sleep, 
 
 And sing, by, by, lully, lulley." 20 
 
 Then sing, by, by, lully, lulley." 
 
 This very night — 
 
 This very night — 
 
366 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 " Jesu, my Son, high Heaven's King, 
 
 This very night 
 
 
 If so Thy Will it were, 
 
 I saw a sight, 
 
 
 Grant me my will in this one thing 
 
 A star as bright 
 
 
 As seemeth fit and fair; 
 
 As any day ; 
 
 
 And all men still 
 
 And hearkened long 
 
 
 Who can, and will, 80 
 
 A Maiden's song, 
 
 90 
 
 Make merry on this Day, 
 
 Luttey, by-by, 
 
 
 To Bliss them bring, 
 
 Lully, lulley. 
 
 
 And I will sing, 
 
 
 
 Lutty, by, by, lully, Ivlley." 
 
 
 
 LYRICS BY RICHARD ROLLE OF 
 HAMPOLE 
 
 Jesu! For us didst hang on Rood, 
 For Love Thou gavest Thine Heart's 
 
 Blood, 
 Love made of Thee our soul's True Food, 
 Thy Love has brought us to all good. 
 
 Jesu, my Love! Of Heart so free, 
 All this didst do for love of me, 
 What shall I for this offer Thee? 
 Naught dost Thou crave but love from me. 
 
 Jesu! My God, my Lord, my King, 
 Would'st have of me none other thing 10 
 Save but true love, and heart's longing, 
 And tears of love, and true mourning. 
 
 Jesu ! My Love, my Joy, my Light, 
 I would thee love as is Thy right, 
 Grant me to love with all my might 
 And mourn for Thee by day and night. 
 
 Jesu! Grant me such love of Thee 
 That all my thought on Thee may be, 
 Turn Thou Thine eyes, I pray, on me, 
 And graciously my sorrow see! 20 
 
 Jesu! Thy Love is all my thought, 
 Of other things I reck me naught 
 
 Save what I have against Thee wrought 
 And Thou hast me so dearly bought! 
 
 Jesu! Forsooth naught doth me move 
 In all this world both far and near, 
 With longing sore, and with true love, 
 Save Thou, my Lord, and Love so dear ! 
 
 Jesu! True love I owe to Thee 29 
 
 Who on the Cross didst show, that tide, 
 The Crown of Thorns, the sharp Nails 
 
 three, 
 The cruel Spear that pierced Thy Side. 
 
 Jesu! Of Love the pledge I see, 
 Thine Arms are spread to clasp me close, 
 Thine Head is bowed for kisses free, 
 Thy cloven Side, thine Heart's Love 
 shows! 
 
 Lord Jesu ! When I think of Thee, 
 And look upon Thy Cross aright, 
 Thy Body stained with Blood I see, 39 
 Lord.piercemyheartwith that sad sight! 
 
 Jesu! Thy Mother by Thee stood, 
 Her tears of love full fast must flow, 
 To see Thy Wounds, Thy Holy Blood, 
 Her heart it sore oppressed with woe. 
 
THE FIVE JOYS OF THE VIRGIN MARY 
 
 367 
 
 Jesu ! Love made Thy Tears to fall, 
 'T was Love that made Thy Blood to flow, 
 For Love wast scourged and smitten all, 
 For Love Thy Life Thou didst forego. 
 
 Mary, I pray, as thou art free, 
 A part of this thy grief I 'Id bear, 
 That I may sorrow here with thee, 
 And bliss with thee hereafter share ! 
 
 THE FIVE JOYS OF THE VIRGIN MARY 1 
 
 Full many a man a song doth find 
 For her who gladdens all mankind 
 
 And once was born on earth; 
 Yet, tho' all men who speak with tongue 
 Should sound her praise in joyous song, 
 
 Still more should be her worth! 
 
 Angels on high their voices raise, 
 As Queen of Heaven show forth her 
 praise, 
 
 And find in her their bliss; 
 Earth doth her as Our Lady own, 10 
 And throughout Hell her power is known, 
 
 For Empress there she is. 
 
 The cause of all this dignity, 
 Her pureness and humility, 
 
 And God's Almighty Grace, 
 Whereby she bare high Heaven's King; 
 So men may worthy worship bring 
 
 To her, in every place. 
 
 All that is on, or under, mold 
 
 How might they now from her withhold 
 
 The reverence that is meet, 21 
 
 When He, Who rules the world alway 
 Himself doth homage to her pay 
 
 As this, His mother sweet? 
 
 And many a virgin now doth fare 
 Who doth God in her spirit bear 
 
 And in her holy thought, 
 But she, who never man had known, 
 In deed, and not in thought alone, 
 
 Her God to birth hath brought. 30 
 
 Of her, from whom God flesh did take 
 A fitting song how might I make 
 
 1 William of Shorebam. 
 
 Whose life so foul hath been? 
 Yet Sister, thou dost bid me sing, 
 And in one song together bring 
 
 These, her Five Joys, I ween. 
 
 That such a song be made by me 
 Who an unlearned man shall be, 
 
 In sooth, I dare not say, 
 I trust me to Our Lady still, 40 
 
 And make it as shall be her will 
 
 To teach me that same Lay. 
 
 As in our Creed we well may see 
 Her joys so manifold they be, 
 
 None may them rightly tell, 
 Such joy she hath thro' her dear Son, 
 As never by mankind was won, 
 
 No tongue may speak the spell. 
 
 Four Joys, they were her portion here 
 Thro' Grace of Him, her Son so dear, so 
 
 The Gospel bids us know, 
 And all from that same Fount of bliss 
 Whereof she now doth joy, I wis, 
 
 As streams from well they flow. 
 
 The well of Paradise, I ween, 
 Hath of this same a token been 
 
 With its fair rivers four, 
 That watered all that goodly ground, 
 And never mortal man hath found 
 
 The measure of its store. 60 
 
 This well is God Himself, made Man, 
 And all her joys from Him they ran, 
 
 In four-fold fashion sped ; 
 First when she did her Child conceive, 
 And Gabriel must high Heaven leave 
 
 As messenger, that stead, 
 
368 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 To bring her tidings great that morn 
 How Christ of her would fain be born 
 
 Man's guilt to wipe away, 
 To bring mankind from out of Hell — 70 
 Whatheart may think, or tongue may tell 
 
 The joy she felt that day? 
 
 In Nazareth, that goodly town, 
 There Gabriel, he 'lighted down, 
 
 "Ave Maria 1" his cry, 
 He gave that maiden greeting fair, 
 And unto her a gift he bare 
 From God in Heaven high. 
 
 In her would God His dwelling make, 
 There flesh and blood of her to take 80 
 
 E'en as the angel said; 
 Nor she a man should know, I trow, 
 Nor break in any wise her vow, 
 
 But still abide a maid. 
 
 Saint John the Baptist knew that same, 
 Whenas she to his mother came, 
 
 Sprang when he heard her voice; 
 Elizabeth knew well that tide 
 How the babe moved beneath her side, 
 
 And there would fain rejoice. 90 
 
 More cause, Our Lady, then had she, 
 Joyous and blithe I ween, to be, 
 
 Without or pride or boast, 
 For well she knew the truth, I wot, 
 And wist full well He was begot 
 
 Of God the Holy Ghost. 
 
 And Joseph dealt as man so mild, 
 For that he wist she was with child 
 
 Alone he 'Id go his way, 
 He would not that she should be slain, 
 Nor by the law be judged, and ta'en, 101 
 
 And stoned with stones alway. 
 
 And Joseph, he was blithe that night 
 Whenas there came an angel bright 
 
 To give assurance still; 
 And blither far was she, that may, 
 For she was comforted all day 
 
 With angels, at her will. 
 
 To this First Joy, of which I speak, 
 We count her joy of forty weeks no 
 
 The while she went with child; 
 Within her womb, as at that same, 
 The unicorn, He waxed full tame, 
 
 That erstwhile was so wild. 
 
 The Second Joy, it was her lot 
 When Jesus, He was born, I wot, 
 
 Upon the Christmas night, 
 With never sorrow, never sore — 
 And so shall never woman more 
 
 Who is for child-birth dight. no 
 
 For e'en as she did first conceive, 
 Nor sin its stain upon her leave, 
 
 From fleshly lust was freed ; 
 Therefore her Child, to birth He won 
 As thro' the glass doth pass the sun 
 
 Nor opening doth need. 
 
 In swaddling bands she did Him dight, 
 As it shall be for children right, 
 
 And gave Him suck anon; 
 Tho' He was born in dark of night 130 
 Yet was there never lack of light 
 
 For Heaven itself looked on. 
 
 In beam of light an angel came 
 Into the field of Bethlehem, 
 
 The shepherd-folk among, 
 The tidings of Christ's Birth he bore — 
 Therewith came singing many more, 
 
 Of angels a great throng. 
 
 I trow those words he spake full well 
 "Gratia plena," Gabriel, 140 
 
 That meaneth, "full of Grace; " 
 They sang of glory great above, 
 And peace our portion, for her love, 
 
 The angels in that place. 
 
 The ox and ass, amid the straw, 
 Whertas they their Creator saw 
 
 There, 'mid their food to lie, 
 Altho' unknowing beasts were they 
 Yet they rejoiced in their own way, 
 
 And language, verilie. 150 
 
THE FIVE JOYS OF THE VIRGIN MARY 
 
 369 
 
 And when it came to the eighth day 
 He did the Jewish law obey, 
 
 Was circumcised aright, 
 Jesus, they called His name that morn, 
 As angels, ere that He was born, 
 
 Had said He should be hight. 
 
 Mary with mickle joy espied 
 Three Kings, as they did thither ride 
 
 From Eastern lands afar, 
 Gold, frankincense, and myrrh, they 
 bring, • 160 
 
 Since He was Lord, of kings the King, 
 
 As tokened by the Star. 
 
 When He was offered fittingly 
 Within the templo Domini 
 
 E'en as the law did say, 
 The old man, Simeon, on high 
 He spake of Him a prophecy 
 
 As in his arms He lay. 
 
 When He had but twelve winters told, 
 Seated among the masters old, 170 
 
 Altho' He softly spake, 
 Men held it for a marvel fair, 
 To all the clerks who questioned there 
 
 An answer could He make. 
 
 Thus virtue crowned His Childhood's 
 
 hour, 
 And so He waxed to Manhood's power, 
 
 In Jordan's stream, aright ' 
 He was baptized; from Heaven above 
 The Father spake, in form of Dove 
 
 The Holy Ghost did 'light. 1S0 
 
 And to this Joy we count them all, 
 The joys, that to her lot did fall 
 
 Of this, her Child, so good, 
 E'en from the day that He was born 
 To save mankind that was forlorn 
 
 Until He'died on Rood. 
 
 A Third Joy must Our Lady 's be 
 When she the Risen Christ did see 
 
 From Death's hard bondage wend, 
 
 From out the grave wherein He lay igo 
 As it befell on the third day 
 After His Life did end. 
 
 What joy of Him might she have more 
 After such grief and suffering sore 
 
 As she had seen with eye, 
 Than thus in life her Son to see, 
 And know He aye alive should be 
 
 And never more might die? 
 
 That He was Life, and Strength, and 
 
 Might, 
 That did He show on Easter night 200 
 
 Ere darkness passed away, 
 And all the Earth, I trow, did quake, 
 And Heaven above did joyful make 
 
 His Resurrection Day! 
 
 For thence came angels, white in weed, 
 Who said that Christ was Risen indeed, 
 
 She saw that they spake true; 
 That in the grave no more He lay — 
 Lest any should their word gainsay 
 
 The stone they overthrew. sio 
 
 By these, His Manhood's deeds, she 
 
 knew 
 "Dominus tecum" to be true, 
 
 As erst the angel said, 
 That is to say "God is with thee," 
 And here in truth and verity 
 
 The Godhead was displayed. 
 
 Nor was she lonely in her bliss, 
 But shared it with her friends, I wis 
 
 It was so much the more ; ng 
 
 For gladness sure doth seem more fair 
 When with our friends the same we share 
 
 After we've sorrowed sore. 
 
 Ah! blithe I trow they well may be 
 Their Living Lord again to see, 
 
 Amid them had He been! 
 First showed Himself, for our relief, 
 To her, of penitents the chief, 
 
 To Mary Magdalene; 
 
37° 
 
 CHIEF MIDDLE ENGLISH POETS 
 
 To Peter next, then unto all — 
 Thomas of Ynde, to doubt a thrall, 230 
 His Wounds hath felt that stound, 
 And handling flesh, and bone, and blood, 
 He cried aloud, as there he stood, 
 "My Lord I here have found!" 
 
 Our Lord made answer swift, I ween : 
 "Thou dost believe since thou hast seen 
 
 And touched Me as I stand; 
 My Blessing, Thomas, here I leave 
 To those who, seeing not, believe, 
 
 Nor crave to touch with hand!" 240 
 
 And to this Joy I count as well 
 All other joys whereof they tell 
 
 Body or soul's content, 
 From this, Christ's Resurrection Day, 
 Till His Ascension came alway 
 
 When forty days were spent. 
 
 The Fourth Joy, as I now will tell, 
 Upon the Holy Thursday fell 
 
 Upon a mountain high, 
 Jesus she saw, Who was her Son, 250 
 And flesh and blood from her had won, 
 
 Ta'en up into the sky. 
 
 All joy, I trow, was hers that tide 
 When she our kinsman thus espied, 
 
 Jesus, her own dear Son, 
 Thus rise into high Heaven's bliss, 
 A worthy home to make, I wis, 
 
 Where she might dwell anon. 
 
 Yet were it not enough, I ween, 
 
 That this, her place, prepared had been 
 
 Thus high in Heavenly bliss, 261 
 But also ours, there is none other, 
 For that He is so kind a Brother 
 
 As we believe, I wis! 
 
 Nor doth He will a long delay, 
 But we to Him shall go our way 
 
 Whenas we hence shall win, 
 Save that to Him we be unkind, 
 And bear not this, His Love, in mind, 
 
 But grieve Him by our sin. 470 
 
 Yet is He mild, and spa ret li some — 
 As He went hence, so shall He come 
 
 On Doomsday, with great light, 
 To try of every man his deed, 
 And then, according to his meed, 
 
 Judgment to give aright. 
 
 There is no better counsel here 
 
 Than thus to be Christ's comrades dear 
 
 In Heavenly Bliss, for aye, 279 
 
 From stain of sin we needs must flee, 
 And pray God, and Our sweet La die, 
 
 To be our help, alway. 
 
 Her power shall ne'er the lesser be. 
 Above all others blest is she, 
 
 Be they, or wife, or maid, 
 As this, the Gospel telleth us, 
 "Benedicta tu in mulieribus," 
 
 Elizabeth, she said. 
 
 And all her joys at Pentecost, 
 
 And other joys, both least and most, 290 
 
 That did on earth befall, 
 Since Christ's Ascension, with that same, 
 Until her own Assumption came, 
 
 I here include them all. 
 
 The Fifth Joy of Our Lady dear 
 No tongue of man may speak it here, 
 
 Thereof no more descry, 
 Save that the glorious Bride, at last, 
 From out this world in glory passed 
 
 With sweetest melody. 300 
 
 Unknown to man the mode, for sure, 
 The office of her sepulture 
 
 Was all in heavenly wise, 
 And duller man to heavenly speech 
 Than beast, that man were fain to teach 
 
 Reason, in human wise. 
 
 Therefore thereof is nothing writ, 
 For man thereof knows naught, to wit, 
 
 So lofty is the theme; 
 But Holy Church right well doth know 
 To feel of death no mortal throe 311 
 
 Doth such a life beseem. 
 
THE FIVE JOYS OF THE VIRGIN MARY 
 
 37 1 
 
 We find it writ that angels bright 
 Do at a good man's death alight 
 
 Who here on earth doth lie, 
 From Holy Writ we apprehend 
 That God Himself, He would descend 
 
 Whenas she came to die. 
 
 Thereby, I trow, we well may wit, 
 Tho' there be naught in Holy Writ, 320 
 
 That Christ Himself was there, 
 And Heaven's host with Him that day, 
 Our Lady sweet to lead away 
 
 Lest fiends to touch her dare. 
 
 Thus, brethren dear, did she ascend, 
 With soul and body heavenward wend, 
 
 For Christ is true, and kind, 
 That flesh wherefrom He Flesh did take 
 Should it its grave 'mid others make 
 
 Nor greater honour find? 330 
 
 So I dare say, and with good right, 
 That all the Court of Heaven did 'light 
 
 When she from hence would fare, 
 And Christ Himself, He came that day, 
 Body and soul He bare away 
 
 His dwelling-place to share. 
 
 There doth she reign as Queen, sans 
 
 end, 
 I pray her grace to us she send 
 
 Who these her joys now tell; 
 I trust from sin she'll keep us still, 340 
 For He is fain to do her will 
 
 Who is of joy the well. 
 
 For of her womb the Fruit is He 
 Whereby the angels nourished be, 
 
 Who is our holy Food; 
 Elizabeth hath spoken this — 
 "Et benedictus fructus ventris 
 
 Tui, Jesus" the good! 
 
 Now this my song to end is brought, 
 As thou, my Sister, hast besought, 350 
 
 And as I best might speed; 
 To Heaven's Queen now pray and 
 
 sing, 
 That us from pain and loss she bring, 
 E'en in our utmost need. 
 
 Amen. 
 
 (Oretis pro anima Willelmi de Schoreham, 
 quondam vicarii de Chart, iuxta Ledes.) 
 
NOTES 
 
NOTES 
 
 HISTORICAL 
 
 Latamon. The translations are based 
 upon Sir Frederic Madden's edition (2 vols., 
 1847). A special interest attaches to Laya- 
 mon's work, both from the point of view of 
 language and of subject-matter. It marks 
 the transition point from Anglo-Saxon to 
 English, and is therefore one of the very earli- 
 est monuments of English literature, in the 
 strict sense of the term. Ostensibly a trans- 
 lation of the French Brut, by Wace, it is fully 
 twice as long as that work, and contains much 
 material absent from it. This is particularly 
 remarkable in the Arthurian section; the ac- 
 count of the founding of the Bound Table, and 
 of Arthur's Dream, given in the text, are pe- 
 culiar to Layamon; Wace simply says that 
 Arthur founded the Round Table "Dont 
 Bretons dient moult fables," but gives us no 
 idea of the character of these "fables." He 
 makes no allusion to Arthur's dream, yet this 
 latter must have been a well-established tra- 
 dition, for it appears in the romances in a 
 form different from that here given. In a pre- 
 vious volume, Romance, Vision, and Satire, 
 I have translated the version found hi the Old 
 English Morte Arthure, where Arthur's fate is 
 foreshadowed under the symbolism of For- 
 tune's Wheel, in which form it was taken over 
 by the prose romances. Layamon's version 
 of the fall of the rooftree, if less elaborate, is 
 even more vivid and picturesque, and pos- 
 sesses the additional feature, absent from the 
 romances, that Gawain is associated with his 
 uncle's downfall, which of course corresponds 
 with the facts, both in pseudo-history and 
 romance. There can be little doubt that there 
 was a popular tradition asserting that Arthur's 
 fate was foretold to him through a dream, but 
 whether Layamon represents the original 
 form of that tradition we cannot say. Nor is it 
 easy to decide whence he drew his additional 
 material; there are three theories as to his im- 
 mediate source, all of which are possible: (o) 
 He may have used a later, and much enlarged 
 " Wace ' ' text, differing from that of the manu- 
 scripts preserved to us. (6) He may have used 
 an intermediate chronicle, based upon Wace, 
 but incorporating insular traditions unknown 
 
 to the French writer. Such, for example, 
 might have been the Brutus of Martin of 
 Rochester, referred to in a manuscript of 
 Robert de Borron's Merlin. That such a 
 chronicle did really exist seems to be proved 
 by the latter part of the Modena Perceval, 
 where we find lines and passages derived from 
 Wace in juxtaposition with details found only 
 in Layamon. (c) That Layamon, living on 
 the borders of Wales, was familiar with, and 
 utilized, popular tradition, orally transmitted, 
 especially tradition connected with Arthur; ' 
 (6) and (c) are not exclusive of each other, 
 and may both have been operating causes. I 
 should be more inclined to accept the con- 
 junction of these two than to postulate the 
 existence of a "Wace" version which has now 
 completely disappeared. There is a large field 
 for research work here, and, in any case, the 
 literary merit of Layamon's chronicle is so 
 great, he is so genuine a poet and patriot, that 
 his work must always possess an interest and 
 fascination for the student of English litera- 
 ture. 
 
 Bobert of Gloucester. Translated from 
 the edition by W. A. Wright, Rolls Series 
 (1886-87). The author of this chronicle must 
 not be confounded with the famous Bobert, 
 Earl of Gloucester, who was so generous a 
 patron of literature in the twelfth century. 
 He was probably a monk of the Abbey of 
 Gloucester, a foundation which played no 
 unimportant r61e in the collection and dissem- 
 ination of English legendary literature. The 
 writer probably lived towards the end of the 
 thirteenth century, and, while familiar with 
 the works of earlier chroniclers, is also draw- 
 ing upon his own personal experiences. A dis- 
 cussion of the sources employed will be found 
 in Mr. Wright's Introduction. The chronicle, 
 which breathes a genuine spirit of patriotism, 
 may be considered as the earliest attempt to 
 supply the demand, on the part of the rising 
 English middle class, for a popular history of 
 their own land. 
 
 Bobert op Brunne. Translated from the 
 edition by Dr. Furnivall, Rolls Series (1887). 
 The extract given explains clearly the aim, 
 
376 
 
 NOTES 
 
 and gives all the information we possess as to 
 the personality, of the writer. The chronicle 
 is of interest, also, from the literary point of 
 view, as indicating the development of a move- 
 ment for the provision of a popular literature 
 in a form that could be readily understood. 
 Robert of Brunne was also the author of a 
 lengthy treatise of a didactic character, 
 Handlyng Synne, from which an excerpt is 
 given later on. The chronicle is a later work, 
 and was written in the first half of the four- 
 teenth century, concluding with the year 
 1838. 
 
 Barbour's Bruce. From the edition by 
 Skeat. Early English Text Society (Extra 
 Series, vols, xi, xxi, xxrx). This poem, while 
 the events recorded cannot be said to be gen- 
 erally lacking in historical foundation, is yet 
 so strongly colored by romantic and popular 
 tradition, that its general character is that 
 rather of a Chanson de Gesle, in the strict 
 sense of that term, than of a chronicle proper. 
 At the same time it is much less of a fiction 
 than is the poem of Richard Coeur de Lion, 
 and it has therefore been included in the his- 
 torical section. 
 
 Lament fob King Edward I. Taken 
 from Alt-Englische Diehtungen des MS. Karl. 
 £253 (Boddeker), a work to which fuller 
 reference will be made later. On account of 
 its genuine historical character it has seemed 
 best to include this poem with the historical 
 selections rather than with the lyrics drawn 
 from the same source. The author is un- 
 known. 
 
 LEGENDARY 
 
 The Legendaries form a. very important 
 group in English mediaeval literature; de- 
 signed for purposes of edification the Lives of 
 the Saints were at first confined to independent 
 poems, more or less romantic, and popular, 
 in form. Gradually the demand for a collec- 
 tion which could be utilized for readings on 
 Sundays and festivals, suitable for church or 
 monastic use, caused these originally inde- 
 pendent stories to be brought together in one 
 or more authoritative collections. Of these, 
 two, in especial, have been preserved; the 
 Southern, which was the work mainly of the 
 monks of Gloucester, the Northern, of those 
 of Durham. Dr. Horstmann, who has devoted 
 himself to the study of these texts, considers 
 that the completion of these Legendaries must 
 
 have been the work of many decades and 
 much collaboration; that during the progress 
 of the work the manuscripts were widely cir- 
 culated, and augmented by additions on the 
 part of other monastip communities, so that 
 the versions preserved to us vary considerably 
 in content and arrangement. The transla- 
 tions of the lives of Saint Dunstan and Saint 
 Thomas are based on Matzner (Alt-Englische 
 Sprach-Proben); that of Saint Brandon, on 
 Horstmann's edition (Early English Text 
 Society, vol. 87). The Saint Brandon text may 
 be studied also in connection with the Im- 
 rama, or Wonder-Voyages literature, of which 
 it is a very famous example. 
 
 Saint Cecilia, belonging to the Northern 
 group, is taken from Alt-Englische Legenden, 
 Horstmann (Heilbronn, 1881); that of Saint 
 Eustace (Placidas), which represents the popu- 
 lar and independent form of these legends, 
 from the same source. 
 
 Owain Miles, from the edition by Turn- 
 bull and Laing (Edinburgh, 1837). This 
 poem occupies much the same position as 
 that of Placidas : both are popular versions of 
 a story which, in a more extended form, was 
 later on incorporated in the official Legenda- 
 ries. The story of Saint Patrick's Purgatory, 
 and the revelation of its marvels to a knight 
 of King Stephen's reign, was exceedingly pop- 
 ular in the Middle Ages. The earliest version 
 is the Latin text of Henry of Saltry (1140), 
 which was copied by various writers and 
 finally rendered into French verse by Marie 
 de France. There are three distinct Middle 
 English versions: one, in the rhyming coup- 
 lets of Marie's translation, from which ex- 
 tracts are given in Turnbull and Laing's edi- 
 tion of our poem; the version of the Southern 
 Legendary, which has been twice published 
 by Dr. Horstmann, from different manu- 
 scripts, first in Alt-Englische Legenden (Pader- 
 born, 1875), and later in the volume of the 
 Early English Text Society, referred to above. 
 Finally, there is the version of our poem, 
 which, from its rarity, as well as its intrinsic 
 interest, seemed worthy to be included in this 
 volume. The first part, dealing with the tor- 
 ments of Purgatory, is somewhat "banal," 
 and full of repetition, but the visit to Para- 
 dise presents many points of interest. The 
 origin of the whole story merits a more 
 detailed and careful study than it has as 
 yet received; I am inclined to think that it 
 preserves a "Mystery" tradition of peculiar 
 interest. 
 
NOTES 
 
 377 
 
 ROMANCES 
 
 KrsG Hobs. From the edition by Mac- 
 Knight (Early English Text Society, vol. 14). 
 This romance possesses peculiar interest for 
 English readers, as it probably represents 
 a genuine historic tradition. The incidents 
 and topography hare been the subject of 
 much discussion by scholars, and while dif- 
 ferent theories of "provenance" have been 
 suggested there is a general consensus of opin- 
 ion that the story has a real foundation in 
 fact. Two other versions exist: the Anglo- 
 Norman Horn et Rimenild, the authorship of 
 which presents some interesting problems; 
 and Horn ChUde, a later English form. The 
 relation of the three versions is fully discussed 
 by J. Hall, in his edition of our poem, with the 
 result that he decides that they are independ- 
 ent forms of the same traditional theme. 
 
 Havelok the Dane. From the edition 
 by Skeat {Early English Text Society, Extra 
 Series, vol. rv). In this poem, again, we have 
 the echo of probably genuine historic events. 
 The close connection with the town of 
 Grimsby renders it particularly interesting 
 to Tfrig iisTi readers. A full discussion of the 
 poem and its probable source will be found 
 in History of English Literature, W. H. Scho- 
 field, pp. 266-71. We have so few remains of 
 what may be called genuine "English" ro- 
 mance that this and the preceding poem are, 
 perhaps, of more value than others which 
 possess higher literary merit. 
 
 Arthtb and Merlin. Prom the edition 
 by Kolbing (AU-Englische BMiothek, vol. rv, 
 Leipzig, 1890). The exact source of this poem 
 remains to be determined; in its general lines 
 it follows closely the version of the prose, or 
 vulgate, Merlin, but is much less detailed. 
 Kolbing was of opinion that it is by the same 
 hand as King Alisaunder and Richard Cann- 
 ae Lion, and in the introduction to his edition 
 gives the grounds for this opinion. One of his 
 reasons is the writer's frequent reference to 
 the seasons of the year and their effect upon 
 men. I have given translations of these pas- 
 sages, to which no parallel exists in the origi- 
 nal Merlin, but in so far as they may be held 
 to be evidences of authorship it is well to re- 
 member that such a love of, and reference to, 
 Nature, in her varying aspects, is a distinct 
 characteristic of English mediaeval poetry. 
 (Cf., for example, Sir Gauvin and the Green 
 Knight ; Malory's translation abounds in sim- 
 ilar passages.) It may be remembered, too. 
 
 that Arthur is "der Meienbaere Mann," and 
 there is reason to believe that much of Ar- 
 thurian material and tradition finds its ulti- 
 mate root in nature cults. Kolbing may quite 
 possibly be in the right, but his arguments 
 must be used with caution. 
 
 Richard Qetjr de Liox. From the edi- 
 tion by Weber (Metrical Romances, vol. n). 
 This poem is a curious combination of genu- 
 ine historical fact and romantic fiction. It is 
 partly based upon traditions of the House of 
 Anjou. One of the early counts was wedded, 
 so the chronicles relate, to a lady of surpass- 
 ing beauty and demoniac origin, who disap- 
 peared in the dramatic manner related in the 
 poem. The uncontrollable temper possessed 
 by the members of the Angevin family was 
 held by them to be an inheritance from this 
 demon ancestress; Richard himself was in the 
 habit of saying, "We came from the Devil, 
 and we go to the Devil." No hint of diaboli- 
 cal origin is, however, attached to Richard's 
 mother, Elinor of Aquitaine. The story of his 
 encounter with the lion was probably a mere 
 invention in order to provide a picturesque 
 explanation for his title. Love-affairs between 
 captive knights and the daughters of their 
 jailers, heathen or Christian, were doubtless of 
 frequent occurrence in the times of the cru- 
 sades, and the popular story of Gilbert a 
 Becket and his Saracen bride may well have 
 suggested later imitations. 
 
 Sib Orfeo. From the critical edition by 
 Zielke (Breslau, 1880). This charming pres- 
 entation of a classical theme in the guise of 
 a mediaeval fairy-tale is particularly interest- 
 ing as a specimen of the has, which preceded, 
 and in some instances (as, for example, the 
 Tristan) no doubt formed the basis of, the 
 later and more elaborate chivalric romances. 
 Arthurian literature abounds in references to 
 such has. The immediate source of our poem 
 appears to have been a French version, now 
 lost, but to which allusions are not infre- 
 quent in mediaeval romance. 
 
 Sir Thistbem. From Kolbing's edition (Die 
 Nordische und die Englische Version der Tris- 
 tan Sage, Heilbronn, 1883). This poem is a 
 translation of the famous Tristan of Thomas, 
 fragments of which alone remain. The Eng- 
 lish version is distinctly inferior in literary 
 merit both to its original and to the parallel 
 German translation of Gottfried von Stras- 
 bourg; but the abrupt and vivid style is not 
 without a charm of its own, and the importance 
 
37» 
 
 NOTES 
 
 of the subject-matter is such that it has 
 seemed worth while to give the text in its en- 
 tirety. Students should refer to M. Bedier's 
 edition of Thomas for information on the 
 question of the ' ' content " of the original poem, 
 and the relation in which the existing transla- 
 tions stand towards their source. The passage 
 given previously from Robert of Brunne is of 
 interest here; it is curious that both Thomas 
 and his translator, Gottfried von Stras- 
 bourg, express themselves in similar terms; 
 the first asserting that no one tells the story 
 according to Breri, who knew "lea gestes et 
 lea cuntes, De lux lea reia, de tuz lea cuntea Ki 
 orent eaU en Bretaingne," while the German 
 poet asserts that while many have read the 
 story of Tristan but few have read it aright. 
 The origin and growth of the Triatan tradition 
 present a fascinating problem which still 
 awaits solution. 
 
 Amis and Amiloun. From the edition by 
 Kolbing (Alt-Engliache Bibliothek, 1884). 
 The story of these two devoted friends has 
 had a remarkable and most varied career. 
 It makes its first appearance in the Latin 
 poem of Radulfus Tortarius, written prob- 
 ably in the last decade of the eleventh cen- 
 tury. The heroes were next adopted as pala- 
 dins of Charlemagne, and became the subjects 
 of a Chanaon de Oeaie ; here they are slain by 
 the Saracens, and buried in the church of 
 Mortara, in Lombardy, where their tombs 
 were long a favorite object of pilgrimage. The 
 next stage was that of an Anglo-Norman 
 Roman d'Aventure, from which source the 
 poem translated in our text is derived. Hof- 
 mann, in his edition of the Chanaon de Geate, 
 gives a list of no fewer than twenty-one ver- 
 sions and translations of the story; as he 
 justly remarks, it is one of the most famous 
 and widely spread of all the mediaeval tales — 
 "in the five centuries 1100-1600, it made its 
 way from Italy to England, from Spain to 
 Iceland." It may be doubted whether any 
 other story can show such a record. 
 
 Sm Launfal. From the edition by Erling 
 (1883). This poem, an amplification of the 
 lai of Lanval, by Marie de France, is by 
 Thomas Chester, who may possibly also be 
 the author of the poem Sir Libeaus Desconua, 
 which deals with the adventures of Gawain's 
 son. It thus, originally, belongs to the same 
 category as Sir Orfeo, both being represent- 
 atives of the Breton lai which formed the 
 groundwork for much of the later mediaeval 
 romance. The theme of our poem, the love of 
 
 a fairy for a mortal, and their separation in 
 consequence of the knight's neglect to observe 
 the conditions imposed by his "other-world" 
 mistress, was remarkably popular; we have 
 more than one lai of a similar character. As 
 a folk-tale theme it retains its vitality to the 
 present day, and may be met with in most 
 collections of folk- or fairy- tales. 
 
 Sir Amadace. From the editions by Weber 
 (Metrical Romancea) and Robson {Three 
 Engliah Metrical Romancea, Camden Society, 
 1842). Both the manuscripts of this charm- 
 ing poem are defective, and they differ a good 
 deal verbally, so I have thought it well to use 
 both for the purposes of this translation. 
 The main theme of the poem is identical with 
 that of Amis and Amiloun, i.e., the rigid fidel- 
 ity of the hero, even under the most trying 
 circumstances, to the obligations imposed by 
 friendship and gratitude; but here the theme is 
 combined with another of widespread popu- 
 larity, that of The Grateful Dead, a story 
 found in one form or another all over the 
 world. The two themes are most ingeniously 
 combined and worked out, and the romance, 
 both on account of its subject-matter and the 
 skill with which it is composed, seemed worth 
 giving in its entirety. 
 
 Ywain and Gawain. From the edition 
 by Schleich (1887). This poem was probably 
 written in the early part of the fourteenth 
 century, and is a translation of the Chevalier 
 au Lion, or Yvain, of Chretien de Troyes, held 
 by many scholars to be the best of that au- 
 thor's works. The story is a good story, but 
 the main interest of the poem is critical, and 
 lies in the problem of its relation alike to its 
 immediate source and to the other versions 
 of the tale. While on the whole the poet is 
 undoubtedly translating from Chretien, he, 
 from time to time, diverges from his source 
 in a manner which indicates a familiarity 
 with other, in some points, superior, versions 
 of the story. 
 
 Syr Perctvellb op Galles. From the 
 edition by Halliwell {The Thornton Romancea, 
 Camden Society, 1844). This romance is of 
 special interest, as it gives us a version of the 
 Perceval story in folk-tale form, and entirely 
 independent of the Grail theme with which it 
 is, as a rule, combined. The position to be 
 assigned to this poem in the evolution of the 
 Perceval story is a point much debated by 
 scholars. Does it represent a genuine early 
 and popular form of the tale, or is it, on the 
 
NOTES 
 
 379 
 
 contrary, merely an abridgment, with cer- 
 tain folk-tale additions, of the poem of Chre- 
 tien de Troyes? The late M. Gaston Paris 
 held the first view, and considered the Syr 
 PercyveUe to represent the original form of the 
 story. German scholars, who, like Professors 
 Foerster and Golther, maintain the over- 
 whelming importance of the works of Chre- 
 tien as sources of Arthurian tradition, hold 
 the second. There is, however, no doubt that, 
 carefully analyzed, the poem presents a sur- 
 prising proportion of primitive features, — 
 features, in many instances, absent from the 
 French work. Dr. Griffith, who has published 
 an exhaustive study of the poem, is of opinion 
 that it is a popular " minstrel " version of a 
 folk-tale current in the northwest of England, 
 and adduces strong evidence in support of 
 this theory. Dr. Brugger, who is the most 
 competent of modern German Arthurian 
 critics, also maintains its primitive and inde- 
 pendent character. Alike from its charm as a 
 tale, and its importance as a member of the 
 Perceval group, it has seemed well to give the 
 poem in its entirety. 
 
 Sni Lancelot. From the edition of the 
 Harleian Morte Arthure, by Bruce (Early 
 English Text Society, Extra Series, vol. 
 Lxxxvm). This version of the Arthurian le- 
 gend is of great interest, not only on account 
 of its literary merit, which is considerable, 
 but also for the position which it occupies in 
 the evolution of the Arthurian cycle. It was 
 largely used by Malory in the concluding sec- 
 tion of his work; for example, the final inter- 
 view between Lancelot and Guenevere, of 
 which there is no trace in the original French 
 Lancelot, has been borrowed from this poem. 
 There are correspondences in the arrangement 
 of subject-matter between the prose compila- 
 tion, the Harleian poem, and the Italian 
 Chantari di Lancilotto, preserved in a manu- 
 script of the Laurentiana Library in Florence, 
 which can hardly be accidental. The ultimate 
 sources of our English Arthurian literature 
 have not yet been satisfactorily determined, 
 and the Morte Arthure poems of the Thornton 
 and Harleian manuscripts are of special inter- 
 est in this connection. 
 
 TALES 
 
 The Seven Sages of Rome. From the 
 edition by Campbell (The Seven Sages of 
 Rome, Boston, 1907). Probably no collection 
 of tales has ever been so popular or so widely 
 
 diffused as that known by the name of The 
 Seven Sages, or Seven Wise Masters. Professor 
 Campbell, in an exhaustive Introduction to 
 his edition, records no fewer than eight Ori- 
 ental and forty European versions, all differ- 
 ing, more or less, in their content. Thus, while 
 the framework was practically fixed, the tales 
 might be altered, or transferred from one 
 speaker to another, at the will of the compiler. 
 Many of them are of a character little edify- 
 ing to modern readers ; the two chosen as spec- 
 imens have been selected, that of the dog, 
 as an early form of a persistently popular tale, 
 that of Merlin, as an interesting variant of an 
 important theme. 
 
 The Fox and the Wolf. From Matzner 
 (AU-Englische Sprach-Proben). This story 
 is a specimen of the numerous Beast tales 
 which were extremely popular in the Middle 
 Ages, and finally led to the compilation of the 
 Thier-Epos, or Romance of Reynard the Fox, 
 a popular satire on the social and religious 
 conditions of the time. Our story is found in 
 the epic, but may well have had an independ- 
 ent source. It is an amusing tale, well and 
 picturesquely told. 
 
 The Land of Cockatgne. From Matzner 
 (AU-Englische Sprach-Proben). The idea of a 
 purely material Paradise seems to have been 
 very popular in the Middle Ages. In this 
 particular poem we have the theme treated 
 as the vehicle for a satire of a somewhat broad 
 character, upon the religious life. 
 
 PROVERBIAL AND DIDACTIC 
 
 The Precepts of Alfred. From the edi- 
 tion by Morris (Early English Text Society, 
 vol. 49, 1872). These precepts (which seems 
 a more correct term than the frequently ap- 
 plied proverbs) testify to the reputation for 
 wisdom enjoyed by Alfred; he might, indeed, 
 be termed the English Solomon. The poem 
 of The Owl and Nightingale, given in the text, 
 is an interesting illustration of this, both dis- 
 putants quoting sayings of Alfred in support 
 of their argument. These little poems are 
 exceedingly charming, showing alike a sense 
 of humor and no inconsiderable knowledge of 
 human nature. They deserve to be more gen- 
 erally known than is the case at present. 
 
 Proverbs of Hendtnoe. From Boddeker 
 (Alt-Englische Dichtungen, 1878). This col- 
 lection, which is really proverbial in character, 
 
3 8o 
 
 NOTES 
 
 is especially interesting in view of the fact 
 that the putative author, Hendynge, is said to 
 be " Marcolf 's son," thus connecting the work 
 with the famous Dialogues of Salomon and 
 Marcolf, extremely popular in the Middle 
 Ages. Nothing is known of the compiler; the 
 work is later than the Precepts of Alfred, but 
 contains much genuine old proverbial matter. 
 
 The Sacrilegious Cahollers. From the 
 edition by Furnivall (Early English Text So- 
 ciety, vols. 119, 123). This curious title is the 
 literal translation of the original, Manuel des 
 PSchiez, by William of Waddington, a lengthy 
 treatise on the Seven Deadly Sins, illustrated 
 by tales setting forth the punishment incurred 
 by the different classes of sinners. We have 
 already given the Introduction to Robert of 
 Brunne's Chronicle; the Handlyng Synne was 
 composed some thirty years previously (c. 
 1303), and is not a mere translation of the 
 French, as Robert has considerably enlarged 
 the collection of tales; there are almost as 
 many again in the English as in the French. 
 These illustrative tales are of varying value, 
 and some would certainly not appeal to mod- 
 ern readers. The example given in the text 
 has more than one claim to notice; it is obvi- 
 ously based upon an old tradition, and, while 
 a good story in itself, it also finds interesting 
 parallels in mediaeval romance, where we have 
 more than one instance of knights joining in- 
 advertently in a ' Carole,' and finding them- 
 selves unable to stop. Both the prose Lan- 
 celot and MSraugis de Portlesguez contain an 
 adventure of this description. Cf . " The Car- 
 oles in Mediaeval Romance," J. L. Weston 
 {The Quest, April, 1911). 
 
 The Debate of the Body and the Soul. 
 From Matzner (Alt-Englische Sprach-Proben). 
 The source of the English popular poems on 
 this subject appears to be the detailed Latin 
 dialogues, current in the twelfth century . The 
 theme, however, was known earlier, as there 
 exists an Anglo-Saxon version in the famous 
 Exeter Book (tenth century) , and also in a man- 
 uscript of Worcester Cathedral. There are 
 several Middle English versions, the one here 
 given being the most poetical; and also French 
 and Spanish texts. In fact, this was one of the 
 most popular themes for a mediaeval writer 
 whose aim was that of edification. 
 
 The Owl and Nightingale. From the 
 edition by Wells (Boston, 1907). This poem 
 is another example of the popular "Debate" 
 literature, but more secular in tone. We know 
 
 nothing of the author, who may, perhaps, 
 be the Master Nicholas to whom tie dis- 
 putants agree to refer the subject of their 
 debate. 
 
 A Bestiary. From the edition by Morris 
 (Early English Text Society, vol. 49). This 
 curious example of the lore of the Middle 
 Ages is a translation from the Latin Physio- 
 logus of Theobaldus, but the English version 
 differs somewhat from the original, as it omits 
 the description of the Centaur, and adds that 
 of the Dove, which concludes the text. The 
 Latin descriptions are not all in the same 
 meter, but each adheres to the same style 
 throughout; the sudden changes, which I 
 have endeavored to reproduce faithfully, are 
 a peculiarity of the English version. The 
 curious analogies and interpretations of the 
 Bestiary are met with so frequently in medi- 
 aeval sermons and religious art that its inclu- 
 sion in a volume of this character appeared 
 to be desirable. 
 
 RELIGIOUS AND LYRICAL 
 
 Hymn op Saint Godhic. From Zupitza 
 (Englische Studien, vol. xi). This charming 
 little lyric is traditionally supposed to have 
 been taught to Saint Godric, a monk of 
 Whitby, by the Blessed Virgin herself. Cf. 
 W. H. Schofield, History of English Literature, 
 p. 436, where the story is given in detail. We 
 possess two other fragmentary poems, by the 
 same author. 
 
 Obmulum. From the revised edition by 
 Holt (1878). This work shares with Laya- 
 mon's Brut the interest of being one of the 
 earliest monuments of our language, in its 
 period of transition from Anglo-Saxon to Eng- 
 lish. The two works, though practically con- 
 temporary, were written in different parts 
 of England, and represent different dialects. 
 Layamon wrote on the borders of Hereford- 
 shire (West Midland dialect); Orm's dialect, 
 on the other hand, shows a strong intermix- 
 ture of Scandinavian forms, and is probably 
 of Anglian provenance. The writer very pos- 
 sibly belonged to the Augustinian Monastery 
 of Peterboro'. It is interesting to compare 
 this introduction with that of Layamon; the 
 two are singularly alike in their genuine sim- 
 plicity and desire to be of service to their fel- 
 lows, without any thought of pessonal fame 
 or reward; to be remembered in the prayers 
 of their readers is all they ask. 
 
NOTES 
 
 38i 
 
 A Good Orisoun op Our Ladie. From the 
 edition by Morris (Early English Text Society, 
 vol. 84). This poem, written by an unknown 
 hand at the beginning of the thirteenth cen- 
 tury, shows the author to have been a poet of 
 no mean order; his picturesque imagery, com- 
 bined with a mystical fervor, recalls the style 
 of the Rossettis, brother and sister. It is a 
 poem that deserves to be included in any re- 
 presentative collection of English verse. 
 
 A Love Rune. From the edition by Morris 
 (Early English Text Society, vol. 49). The 
 dedication of this poem runs : " Incipit quidam 
 cant us quern composuitf rater Thomas de Hales, 
 de ordine fratrum minorum, ad instanciam cu- 
 jusdam puette Deo dicate." Nothing more is 
 known of the writer, who, from the internal 
 evidence, must have been a man well read in 
 the popular literature of his time. The poem 
 is interesting both for its intrinsic merit and 
 on account of its numerous allusions. It is 
 well known to students of English litera- 
 ture. 
 
 A Hymn to the Virgin, and A Song on 
 the Passion. From the same collection as 
 above (Early English Text Society, vol. 49). 
 These poems are given as good examples of 
 the religious poetry of the time; the author- 
 ship is unknown. 
 
 Quia Amore Langueo, and Filius Regis 
 Mortuus est. From the edition by Furnivall 
 (Early English Text Society, vol. 15). In each 
 case the poems have been printed from two 
 manuscripts in parallel columns, the transla- 
 tion in the text is from MS. Lambeth, 853, 
 which gives the better version. The author- 
 ship of these two fine poems is unknown; they 
 are found in the manuscripts as part of a 
 series of "Complaints" (the liturgical term 
 "Reproaches" would probably be better), 
 but are decidedly superior to the rest of the 
 poems. Quia Amore Langueo has been in- 
 cluded in The Oxford Book of English Verse, 
 but I have not met with the Filius Regis 
 elsewhere, and its claim to attention as a 
 poignant and pathetic piece of verse seemed 
 to demand its inclusion here. 
 
 Lyhics from the Harleian MS. 2253. 
 These poems are taken from Boddeker's edi- 
 tion (Alt-Englische Dichtungen des MS. Karl. 
 2253). This is one of our most valuable mis- 
 cellaneous collections of English mediaeval 
 literature. Before the invention of printing 
 had rendered the acquisition of books a com- 
 
 paratively easy matter, men of literary tastes 
 were compelled to make their own collections 
 of such works, in prose and verse, as appealed 
 to them personally. Sometimes these collec- 
 tions seem to have been the work of one hand; 
 in other cases the manuscript was a family 
 heritage, receiving additions in each genera- 
 tion. The value of such collections to the mod- 
 ern student is inestimable. To them, in many 
 cases, we owe the knowledge of important 
 works which, but for the care and industry of 
 the compilers of these collections, would have 
 been lost to posterity. Thus the Auchinleck 
 MS. has preserved for us Sir Tristrem, the 
 Thornton, Syr Percyvelle; both works of 
 extreme importance for the criticism of the 
 romantic cycles to which they belong. The 
 Harleian MS. is especially valuable for its 
 lyrical selections, forty in number, many of 
 which are not found elsewhere. 
 
 Poems from the Vernon MS. From the 
 edition by Horstmann, and Furnivall, for the 
 Early English Text Society : Minor Poems of 
 the Vernon MS., vols. 9,8, 117. The principal 
 characteristic of this important MS. is the 
 presence of a large number of lyrics with Latin 
 refrains, several of which are given above. 
 They are very charming and well worth know- 
 ing. The general character of the Vernon 
 poems is religious. 
 
 Carols from the Hill MS. From the 
 edition by Fluegel (Anglia, xxvi). The Hill 
 MS. is extremely miscellaneous in character, 
 being the commonplace book of a merchant 
 of the City of London in the sixteenth century; 
 the contents include lists of civic dignitaries, 
 secular pieces, and a specially good collection 
 of carols, many of which are not found else- 
 where. I have chosen those which seemed to 
 me the most poetical for inclusion here. A 
 larger selection from the same source will be 
 found in Old English Carols, J. L. Weston 
 (Nutt, London, 1911). 
 
 _ Lyrics by Richard Rolle. From the edi- 
 tion by Horstmann (Early Yorkshire Writers, 
 1895). Rolle was a well-known religious 
 writer of the fourteenth century; probably 
 born at Thornton in Yorkshire, he became at 
 an early age a hermit at Hampole, in the same 
 county, whence he is generally known as 
 Richard Rolle of Hampole. His works, which 
 are fairly voluminous, are marked by a genu- 
 ine mystic fervor, the prose treatises being 
 superior to the poems in this respect. He was 
 long supposed to have been the author of a 
 
382 
 
 NOTES 
 
 lengthy didactic work, The Prick of Con- 
 science, but recent criticism has thrown doubt 
 on this attribution. 
 
 The Five Jots op the Virgin Mabt. 
 From the edition by Konrath {Early English 
 Text Society, Extra Series, vol. lxxxvi). The 
 dialect of the poems is Kentish, and the au- 
 thor, of whom nothing further is known, was, 
 apparently, a native of Shoreham in Kent, 
 and sometime Vicar of Chart, a living appro- 
 priated by Walter Reynolds, Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, to the Augustinian Priory and 
 Convent of Leeds, Kent. The poems, seven 
 in all (of which one is attributed to Robert 
 Grossetfete, Bishop of Lincoln, and may be a 
 translation from the Latin of that prelate), 
 are of a didactic character, and evidently 
 composed with a view to edification and in- 
 struction. They deal with such subjects as 
 The Seven Sacraments ; T he Seven Dead ly Sins ; 
 The Ten Commandments ; Creation and Fall 
 of Man; thus differing from the writings of 
 Richard Rolle, which are strongly personal in 
 character, expressions of the relation of the 
 Soul to God. William of Shoreham was evi- 
 dently an expert theologian, and master of his 
 subject, but hardly a poet of distinction. The 
 poem in the text was selected as being shorter 
 and less didactic in tone, while the colophon 
 left no doubt as to the authorship. 
 
 ADDITIONAL NOTES 
 
 For the information of students unfamiliar 
 with the subject it may be well to say that, 
 of the principal manuscript groups referred 
 to as sources, the Harleian and the Cotton 
 are in the British Museum; The Douce, Digby, 
 Laud, Vernon, and Hill, at Oxford. The 
 Auchinleck MS. is in the Advocates' Library, 
 Advocates' Hall, Edinburgh. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL 
 
 Biographical data concerning the poets of 
 this period unfortunately are both rare and 
 incomplete. Thus, concerning Layamon, 
 Orm, Robert of Brunne, we know just what 
 they tell us in the passages given in the text, 
 and no more; i.e., we know their position in 
 life, where they lived, and why they wrote, 
 but beyond that, even their date has to be 
 determined by internal evidence. We have 
 the name of Thomas of Hales, and we know 
 where William of Shoreham lived; Richard 
 Rolle is really the only writer concerning 
 whom we have anything like full details. 
 With regard to the authorship of the romances, 
 we are in even worse case; we have one name, 
 Thomas Chester; for the rest we know neither 
 their names, their date, nor the sources upon 
 which they drew. These are all questions of 
 internal evidence and critical hypothesis. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 GENERAL WORKS OF REFERENCE 
 
 Fob the student of Early English literature the best general collection of material is_ to be 
 found in the series of texts published by the Early English Text Society. They are issued in two 
 series. Original and Extra, distinguished from each other by the numerals, the Original texts 
 bearing Arabic figures, the Extra, Roman numerals. Volumes of both are issued annually, the 
 Original series dating from 1864, the ExtrSTfrom 1867. Certain of the texts have been reedited 
 in the light of later knowledge, and the editors are all scholars of reputation. The Series is 
 published by Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner & Co., London; and by Henry Frowde, Oxford 
 University Press, Oxford and London. It has been largely used in the preparation of this volume. 
 
 The two first volumes of Messrs. Macmillan's History of English Literature, English 
 Literature from the Beginning to the Norman Conquest (Stopford Brooke), and English Literature 
 from the Norman Conquest to Chaucer (W. H. Schofield), cover the same period; the latter, in 
 especial, will be found a good book of reference. 
 
 Matzner's Alt-Englische Sprach-Proben (2 vols., Berlin, 1867) contains a very useful 
 selection of Middle English texts, with good Notes, and Glossary. 
 
 A Treasury op English Literature. Kate Warren (Constable, London, 1906). This is an 
 anthology covering the ground from the beginning of Anglo-Saxon literature, in the seventh 
 to the eighteenth century, with an introductory essay by Mr. Stopford Brooke, whose Primer 
 of English Literature it was designed to illustrate. The compiler is a Lecturer in English 
 Language and Literature, attached to the London University, and the texts chosen have been 
 used by her to illustrate her lectures. They are given in the original, with translation in foot- 
 notes, but, naturally, the extent of the scheme has necessitated their being very restricted in 
 length. The book, however, may be very useful as a lecturer's manual. 
 
 HISTORICAL 
 GENERAL 
 
 Sources and Literature op English History. C. Gross (London and New York). 
 
 The Arthurian Material in the Chronicles. R. Huntingdon Fletcher (Harvard Studies, 
 Boston, 1906). Though specially devoted to the Arthurian pseudo-history, this work contains 
 a description and discussion of the various chronicles, and is a most useful book of reference. 
 
 SPECIAL 
 
 Layamon's Brut. Ed. by Sir Frederic Madden, 2 vols. (London, 1847). 
 
 The Rolls Series, for Robert of Gloucester, and Robert Brunne. This series contains critical 
 editions of all the principal British Chronicles. 
 
 Layamon, Vehsuch ueber seine Quellen. Imelmann (Berlin, 1906). A study on the 
 immediate source of Layamon, which the writer decides must have been of French origin. 
 
 The Legend op Sir Perceval. J. L. Weston (vol. n, chap. xn). A discussion of the Mort 
 Artus section of the Modena Perceval, which is a prose rendering of a metrical chronicle appar- 
 ently occupying the intermediate position between Wace and Layamon. 
 
 LEGENDARY 
 
 Early English Text Society, vol. 87, for the Southern Legendaries, printed by Dr. 
 Horstmann from the Laud MS. 108 (Bodleian Lib.); Matzner, Alt-Enqlibche Sprach- 
 
386 BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Phoben, gives the Lives of Saint Thomas and Saint Dunstan from MS. B. M. Harleian, 2277; 
 these are the two principal manuscript collections of the Southern group. 
 
 Alt-Englische Legendes. Horstmann (Heilbronn, 1881), gives the Northern group from 
 MSS. Harleian, 4196, and Cotton, Tiberius, E. VII (both B. M.). 
 
 Alt-Englische Legenden. Horstmann (Paderborn, 1875), contains the pseudo-Gospels of 
 the Nativity and Childhood of Our Lord, from the Northern Legendary, and Barlaam and 
 Josaphat, and the Purgatory of Saint Patrick from the Southern. 
 
 The Saint Brandan text, included here, from the Southern legendary, really belongs to a 
 somewhat different category; it is a noted example of the Imram or Wonder-Voyage, a theme 
 extremely popular in all literatures. 
 
 The Book op Wondee- Voyages. J. Jacobs (Nutt, London, 1896), contains a very good 
 collection of these stories, drawn from different literatures, with interesting notes on the sources 
 by various scholars. In his notes to The Voyage of Maelduin, the late Mr. Alfred Nutt remarked 
 that this was probably the original source of the Voyage of Saint Brandan, " a Christian adapta- 
 tion of the theme immensely popular throughout the Middle Ages. Thanks to it the Irish 
 seamen's legends became part of the literature common to all Western Christendom. As late 
 as the fifteenth century the Isles of the Blessed Brandan were being sought for by adventurous 
 seamen, and Columbus himself was probably influenced by the tale." 
 
 The Voyage of Bran son op Febal to the Land op the Living. Kuno Meyer and Alfred 
 Nutt (London, Grimm Library, vols, iv and vi), is an Irish pre-Christian version of the same 
 theme, and may, not improbably, have suggested the name of our monk. 
 
 Owain Miles. Ed. from the unique MS. Auchinleck, Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, by 
 Turnbull and Laing (Edinburgh, 1837) ; the edition was limited to thirty-two copies, and is now 
 difficult to procure. I am indebted to Professor Ker for the loan of his copy. 
 
 The Purgatory of Saint Patrick, in its final "legendary" form, will be found in Horst- 
 mann's edition of the Southern Legendary, and also in the Paderborn volume mentioned above. 
 
 ROMANCES 
 GENERAL 
 
 Epic and Romance. W. P. Ker (2d ed. London, Macmillan, 1908). An excellent Introduc- 
 tion to the general study of this literature. 
 
 Ancient English Metrical Romances. Ritson (3 vols., 1802), contains the text of thirteen 
 metrical romances, some of which have not been reprinted. 
 
 Metrical Romances. Weber (3 vols., 1810), contains ten romances, other than those pub- 
 lished by Ritson. 
 
 Syr Gawayne. Sir Frederic Madden (for Bannatyne Club, 1849). A collection of romances 
 dealing with that hero; a very fine volume, and now difficult to procure. 
 
 Three English Metrical Romances. Robson (from the Irland MS. for Camden Society, 
 1842), contains Sir Amadace. 
 
 The Thornton Romances. Ed. Halliwell (Camden Society, 1844), contains Syr Percyvette 
 of Galles. 
 
 Alt-Englische Bibliothek. Ed. Kelbing, contains critical editions of English metrical 
 romances. 
 
 SPECIAL 
 
 King Horn. (Three manuscripts: Cambridge, Gg.; Harleian, 2253; Laud, 108.) Ed. Rit- 
 son, Ancient Metrical Romances ; Early English Text Society, vol. 14 (MacKnight, Editor of 
 E. E. T. S.); Wissmann, 1881; J. Hall, Oxford, 1901. This last is a critical edition, with full 
 Introduction, and discussion of previous editions and literature. 
 
 Matzner, Alt-Englische Sprach-Proben, vol. i. 
 
 The Anglo-Norman, Horn et Rimenild. was published by F. Michel (Bannatyne Club, 
 1845), and reedited by Brede and Stengel (1881). Horn Childe is printed by Hall at the end 
 of his edition. 
 
 The Story of Horn and Rimenild. W. H. Schofield {Modern Language Association of 
 America, 1903), contains a discussion on the sources and topography of the legend. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 387 
 
 Havelok the Dane. (Unique MS. Laud, 108, Bodleian.) Ed. by Sir Frederic Madden 
 (Roxburghe Club, 1828); by Skeat, Early English Text Society (Extra Series, vol. iv), and 
 reSdited in 1902; Holthausen, 1901. 
 
 Arthur and Meblin. (Unique MS. Auchinleck, Advocates' Library, Edinburgh.) Ed. 
 Turnbull (Abbotsford Club, 1838); Kolbing (AU-Englische Bibliothek, vol. iv, Leipzig, 1890). 
 A later version of this poem exists in four manuscripts, incomplete in each case, and is printed 
 by Kolbing in the same volume. The vulgate Merlin, which represents the ultimate source of 
 the poem, is accessible in Dr. Sommer's edition (London, Nutt, 1894). 
 
 Richard C<eur de Lion. (Five manuscripts, all incomplete; Caius Coll. Cambridge; 
 Auchinleck ; Douce ; Harleian, 4690, and one in the possession of the Marquis of Stafford.) 
 Ed. by Weber from the Caius MS., Metrical Romances (vol. n) ; and by Turnbull and Laing, 
 from the Auchinleck, in their edition of Owain Miles. 
 
 Sir Orpeo. (Three manuscripts: Auchinleck; Ashmolean, 61, Bodleian Lib.; and Harleian, 
 8810.) Ed. from the Harleian by Ritson, Ancient English Metrical Romances ; from the Auchin- 
 leck by Laing (1822); finally by Zielke, in a critical edition based on all the manuscripts (Bres- 
 lau, 1880). 
 
 Sir Tristrem. (Unique MS. Auchinleck.) Ed. by Scott (1804); Kolbing, Die Nordische und 
 die Englische Version der Tristan Sage (Heilbronn, 1883) ; MacNeil, Scottish Text Society (1886) . 
 The Norse translation of Thomas's poem is contained in the first volume of Kblbing's edition; 
 the German translation, Tristan und Isolde, by Gottfried von Strasbourg, has been several 
 times published; the most accessible form is that by Bechstein, Deutsche Classiker Des Mitt el- 
 alters (3 vols.). An abridged prose translation by J. L. Weston will be found in No. 11 of 
 Arthurian Romances (Nutt, London, 1899). For a discussion of these different versions, their 
 relation to the original, and the probable source of Thomas's poem, the student should consult 
 M. Joseph Bedier's edition of Thomas, Le Roman de Tristan (Soc/iMc" des Anciens Textes Fran- 
 cois, 2 vols., Paris, 1902, 1905). 
 
 Amis and Amiloun. (Four manuscripts: Auchinleck; Douce; Harleian, 2386; and one 
 belonging to the Duke of Sutherland.) Ed. Weber, Metrical Romances, and Kolbing, Alt- 
 Englische Bibliothek (1884). Amis et Amile, Hofmann (Erlangen, 1882), contains the Latin 
 text, and the Chanson de Geste, with a full bibliography; and Les Epojie'es Francoises (L. Gautier), 
 also contains Chanson de Geste and bibliography. 
 
 Sir Launfal. (Unique MS. Caligula, A. n.) Ed. Ritson, Ancient English Metrical Romances ; 
 Halliwell (Shakspeare Society, 1845); and Erling (1883). Cf. also Englische Studien (vol. 
 xvni). The lai of Lanval, of which the poem is an amplified version, will be found in Warnke's 
 edition of the works of Marie de France (2d edition, 1901) ; a prose rendering is given in Four 
 Lais of Marie de France, 3. L. Weston (Arthurian Romances, No. m, Nutt, London, 1900). 
 For a discussion of the variants of this popular theme, cf . The Lays of Graelent and Lanval, 
 W. Schofield (Modern Language Association of America, 1900). 
 
 Sib Amadace. (Two manuscripts, both defective at commencement: Auchinleck, and 
 Irland.) Ed. from the Auchinleck by Weber, Metrical Romances ; from the Irland by Robson, 
 Three Early English Metrical Romances (Camden Society, 1842). Cf. also, The Grateful Dead, 
 G. H. Perrould (Folk-Lore Society, extra vol., 1907), where a detailed discussion and comparison 
 of the central theme will be found. This work is interesting and valuable as throwing light upon 
 the sources of many mediaeval chivalric tales. 
 
 Ywain and Gawain. (Unique MS. B. M. Cotton, Galba, E. rx.) Ed. Ritson, Ancient English 
 Metrical Romances, and Schleich (1887). The poem of Chretien de Troyes, of which this is a 
 translation, will be found in Professor Foerster's edition of Chretien's works (vol. 11, 1887) ; the 
 German version, by Hartmann von Aue, in Deutscher Classiker des Mittelalters (1888); the 
 Welsh, in Mr. Alfred Nutt's edition of the Mabinogion (London, 1902) . A discussion of the Eng- 
 lish poem and its relation to the other versions will be found in vol. 1 of The Modern Language 
 Quarterly ("Ywain and Gawain," J. L. Weston). On the formation of the poem, Legend of Sir 
 Lancelot, 3. L.,Weston. (Chap, v, " The Position of Chretien de Troyes in the Arthurian Cycle ") . 
 
 Syr Perctvelle of Galles. (Unique MS. Thornton, Library of Lincoln Cathedral.) Ed. 
 Halliwell (Camden Society, 1844); and by W. Morris (1895). A very full discussion of this 
 poem, its sources, and relation to other versions of the Perceval story, will be found in Sir 
 Perceval of Galles, by R. H. Griffith (University of Chicago Press, 1911). Cf. also a review of the 
 above work by J. L. Weston, Romania, 1911, and The Legend of Sir Perceval, 3. L. Weston 
 (vol. 1, chaps. 11 and m). 
 
388 BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Sib Lancelot. (Unique MS. Harleian, 2252.) Ed. Furnivall (1864), and by Bruce (Early 
 English Text Society, Extra Series, vol. lxxxviii, 1903). For a discussion and demonstration of 
 the use of this poem by Malory, cf . The Sources of Malory (vol. m of Dr. Sommer's edition of 
 Malory, London, Nutt, 1891). The Chantari di Lancilotto, which appears to derive from the 
 same source as "Malory and our poem, was printed by Birch in 1874. 
 
 TALES 
 GENERAL 
 
 Reliqule Antiqulb. Wright and Halliwell. 
 
 Bishop Percy's folio Ms. Hale and Furnivall (1867-69). 
 
 Fabliaux. Meon. 
 
 Fabliaux. J. Bedier. 
 
 Alt-Englische Sprach-Pboben. Matzner. (All these contain a number of popular tales.) 
 The lays of Marie de France, several of which were translated into English, may also be classed 
 under this heading. Cf. Marie de France, Seven Lais. Rickert (Nutt, London, 1901). 
 
 The Seven Sages of Rome. For the extensive literature of this subject see Professor 
 Campbell's edition, The Seven Sages of Rome (Boston, 1907), where an introduction of cxrv 
 pages is devoted to the discussion of the varying forms in which the collection has been pre- 
 served to us. 
 
 Deux Redactions du Roman des Sept Sages. Gaston Paris (SociM des Anciens Textes 
 Francais, 1876), contains an analysis and grouping of the different versions; the scheme here 
 suggested by the French scholar is that now generally adopted. 
 
 The Fox and The Wolf. (Digby MS. 86.) Ed. Wright and Halliwell, Reliquin Antiquim, 
 and printed from this edition by Matzner, Alt-Englische Sprach-Proben. Le Roman de Renard, 
 by Gaston Paris (Melanges de Literature Francaise du Moyen Age), published by M. Roques 
 for the " SociSU Amicale Gaston Paris " 1912. Contains a full discussion of the Works on this 
 subject, and an examination of the varying number and relative position of the tales included. 
 
 The Land of Cockaigne. (Harleian MS. 913.) Printed by Furnivall Early English Poems 
 (1862), and again by Matzner, Alt-Englische Sprach-Proben. The poem may be compared with 
 The Vision of MacConglinne, published by Professor Meyer (1892). 
 
 PROVERBIAL AND DIDACTIC 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Reliqule Antiqule. Wright and Halliwell (1845). T 
 Early Middle English Proverbs. Foerster (Engliscke Studien, vol. xxx). 
 Dialogue of Solomon and Saturn. Kemble (1848). 
 
 Le Conte du Chat et de la Chandelle. Cosquin (Romania, 1011. For a general survey 
 of mediaeval European proverbial literature). 
 
 SPECIAL 
 
 Precepts of Alfred. (Unique MS., Jesus College, Oxford.) A parallel manuscript of 
 Trinity College, Cambridge, is now lost, but a copy of it was utilized by Dr. Morris for his 
 edition, Early English Text Society (vol. 49, 1872). 
 
 Proverbs of Hendynge. (B. M. Harleian, 2253.) Printed by Bijddeker in his Alt-Englische 
 Dichtungen des MS. Harl. 2253 (1878). The allied Salomon and Marcolf literature is discussed 
 by Cosquin in the study referred to above. 
 
 Handlyng Synne. (Harleian MS. 1701; Bodleian, 415.) Ed. by Furnivall, Early English 
 Text Society (vols. 119 and 123, 1901), with parallel French text. 
 
 The Debate of the Body and the Soul. (MSS. Laud, 108, and Vernon.) Ed. from these 
 manuscripts by Wright, Latin Poems attributed to Walter Mopes (Camden Society, 1841). It is 
 also found in Harl. 2253. Matzner (Alt-Englische Sprach-Proben) prints it from Wright. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 389 
 
 The Owl and Nightingale. (Two manuscripts: Cotton Caligula, A. IX; and Jesus 
 College, 29. Bodleian.) The only complete edition of the text is that by J. E. Wells (Boston, 
 1907), given in parallel text from the two manuscripts. 
 
 A Bestiary. (B. M. MS. Arundel, 292.) Ed. Morris, Early English Text Society (vol. 49, 
 1872). This is a translation of the Latin Physiohgus of Theobaldus; the original text is given in 
 an appendix, from MS. Harleian, 898. 
 
 RELIGIOUS AND LYRICAL 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 English literature is peculiarly rich in poems of a religious and lyrical character. Three noted 
 manuscript collections are extant: the Harleian, 2253, ed. by Bijddeker, Alt-Englische Dick- 
 tungen des MS. Hart. 2253 (1878) ; the Vernon MS. in the Bodleian Library, ed. by Horstmann 
 and Furnivall for the Early English Text Society {Minor Poems of the Vernon MS., Parts 1 and 
 11, vols. 98 and 117, 1892, 1901); and the Hill MS. in Balliol College, Oxford, ed. by Fluegel, 
 Anglia, xxvi, and subsequently by Dyboski, Early English Text Society (Extra Series, ci, 1907). 
 The following volumes of the Early English Text Society also contain lyrics, religious and secular, 
 drawn from various manuscript sources: — 
 
 15. Political, Religious, and Love Poems. Furnivall. 
 
 24. Hymns to the Virgin and Christ. Furnivall. 
 
 26. Religious Pieces in Prose and Verse. Perry. 
 
 34 and 53. Old English Homilies, etc., Parts i and n. Morris. 
 
 49. An Old English Miscellany. Morris. 
 
 124. Political and Other Poems from the Digby MS. 102. Kail. ' 
 
 Extra Series 
 
 LXI. Hoccleve's Minor Poems. Furnivall. 
 
 LXXIII. Hoccleve's Minor Poems, Part n. Gollancz. 
 
 LXXXVI. William of Shoreham's Poems. Konrath. 
 
 CI. Songs, Carols, etc., prom the Hill MS. Dyboski. 
 
 Other selections of lyrical poetry are, Specimens of Lyrical Poetry composed in Eng- 
 land in the Reign of Edward I. Wright (1842) ; The Oxford Book of English Verse, 
 which is easily accessible. Miss Warren's anthology, mentioned at the beginning of this 
 bibliography, also contains a number of lyrics. 
 
 SPECIAL 
 
 Hymn of Saint Godhic. (Cf. Zupitza, Englische Studien, vol. xi.) 
 
 Ormulum. (Unique MS. Junian, i, Bodleian Library, incomplete.) Ed. White (1852) ; revised 
 edition, Holt (1878). 
 
 A Good Orisoun of Our Ladie. (B. M. Cotton, Nero, A. xiv; an incomplete version in 
 Lambeth MS. 487.) Ed. by Morris, Early English Text Society, vol. 34 (1868). 
 
 A Love Rune. (MS. Jesus College, Oxford.) Ed. Morris, Early English Text Society, vol. 49 
 (1872). 
 
 A Hymn to The Virgin, and A Song on the Passion. (Both from MS. Egerton, 613.) 
 Ed. Morris, Early English Text Society, vol. 49 (1872). 
 
 Quia Amore Langueo. (Lambeth MS. 853; Cambridge, Hh. 4. 12.) 
 
 Filiub Regis Mortuus est. (Lambeth MS. 853; Harleian, 3954.) Ed. by Dr. Furnivall 
 in parallel columns from both manuscripts, Early English Text Society, vol. 15 (1866). 
 
 Richard Rolle of Hampole. The works of this writer, which are fairly voluminous, have 
 been published by Dr. Horstmann, Early English Yorkshire Writers (1895). 
 
 William of Shoreham. (Unique MS. B. M. Add. 17376.) Ed. Konrath, Early English Text 
 Society. Extra Series, vol. lxxxvi (1902). 
 
INDEXES 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 A fox came forth from out the wood, 275. 
 
 A-horse to the king's host drew, 13. 
 
 A Maid of Christ did me entreat, 843. 
 
 A wild beast there is, I trow, 329. 
 
 A Worm thro' the world doth go, 326. 
 
 After Bladud came Leir, 1. 
 
 Alas ! that folk who once were free, 27. 
 
 All men that be of heart full true, 32. 
 
 All of a Rose, a lovely Rose, 363. 
 
 All who love God's holy lore, 78. 
 
 An earl, he dwelt there at that tide, 262. 
 
 As reason ruled my reckless mind, 349. 
 
 As thro' a vale, in restless mind, 347. 
 
 At Yule the Bishop Bricius, he, 119. 
 
 Christ's dear Mother, Mary mild, 341. 
 Christ Jesus, pitiful is He, 72. 
 
 Dear Lords, listen now to me, 236. 
 
 England, it is a right good land, I ween of 
 lands the best, 20. 
 
 Far in the sea, and west of Spain, 279. 
 
 For love of God in Trinity, 174. 
 
 Full ill shall it be in churchyard to dance, 
 
 298. 
 Full many a man a song doth find, 367. 
 
 Godard took the maids that day, 110. 
 
 Hail, lovely Lady, leman bright, 361. 
 Holy Mary, thou Virgin clean, 337. 
 
 I bid ye all be gay, 93. 
 
 I was at Ercildoune, 141. 
 
 I would have ye know, in the sea, 331. 
 
 In a church this chance befell, 358. 
 
 In summertide it so befell, 310. 
 
 In the book of the Turtle Dove, 333. 
 
 In the days when Arthur bold, 204. 
 
 In Ynde ye may Elephants see, 332. 
 
 It chanced, as on a winter's night, 304. 
 
 It chanced on a Yule-tide day, 11. 
 
 Jesu! For us didst hang on Rood, 366. 
 
 Lent is come with Love to town, 351. 
 
 Lord Christ, might I Thy Sweetness see, 
 
 353. 
 Lord Jesus, King of Victory, 123. 
 Lordings all who now be here, 25. 
 
 Make we merry in hall and bower, 363. 
 March is yielding to April, 351. 
 Mary Mother, hail to thee! 355. 
 Mater, ora filium, 362. 
 
 Now, Brother Walter, brother mine, 337. 
 Now lords and ladies, blithe and bold, 357. 
 Now they dight them speedily, 126. 
 
 Of the Eagle I'll speak this stead, 325. 
 One summer, ere Ascension fell, 359. 
 
 Pray for us to the Prince of Peace, 363. 
 
 Rejoice, all ye who be here present, 362. 
 
 Saint Brandan, that same holy man, he lived 
 
 in this, our land, 57. 
 Saint Dunstan was of English blood, and born 
 
 on English earth, 37. 
 Saint Thomas, then, he sighed full sore, for he 
 
 did understand, 41. 
 Since Brutus out of Troy was brought, 269. 
 Sir Aymer had great companie, 29. 
 Some things created they be, 830. 
 Stories we read right willingly, 26. 
 Summer's come, and winter gone, 346. 
 
 The Ant is mighty, tho' small, 327. 
 The Emperor rose at dawn of day, 281. 
 The fiends, with them the knights they bear, 
 
 83. 
 The Hart, it hath customs twain, 328. 
 The king hath sought the wood withal, 31. 
 The king, he would no longer stay, 28. 
 The Lion, from a hill doth hear, 325. 
 
394 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 The Panther, a wild beast is he, 333. 
 
 The Whale is a fish, I wis, 331. 
 
 Then the good knight and his steward true, 
 
 216. 
 Then went Sir Ywain to his inn, 228. 
 There sat, in the town of Seaford, 289. 
 There was a priest of yore, 1. 
 This very night, 365. 
 Thus Douglas to Saint Andrews came, 27. 
 To one that is so fair and bright, 345. 
 
 We read full oft, and find it writ, 133. 
 Welcome, Lord, in form of Bread, 354. 
 What shall I sing but Hoy? 364. 
 When all from out the hall had gone, 283. 
 When I see the blossoms spring, 352. 
 Who would learn of Wisdom's rede, 294. 
 Whoso loves Our Lady aye, 355. 
 Whoso would him well advise, 360. 
 Winter wakeneth all my care, 352. 
 With the Dove we good customs find, 334. 
 
INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 Against my Will I take my Leave, 357. 
 
 Alisoun, 351. 
 
 Amice Christi, Johannes, 363. 
 
 Amis and Amiloun, 174. 
 
 Ant, The, 327. 
 
 Arthur and Merlin, 119. 
 
 Bestiary, A, 325. 
 Bruce, 26. 
 
 Choosing of Arthur, The, 119. 
 
 Death of Arthur, The, 269. 
 
 Death of Saint Thomas a Becket, The, 41. 
 
 Debate of the Body and the Soul, The, 
 
 304. 
 Dedication (Ormulum), 337. 
 Deo Gratias, 358. 
 Dove, The, 334. 
 
 Eagle, The, 325. 
 Elephant, The, 332. 
 
 Filius Regis Mortuus Est, 349. 
 
 Five Joys of the Virgin Mary, The, 367. 
 
 Founding of the Round Table, The, 11. 
 
 Fox, The, 329. 
 
 Fox and the Wolf, The, 275. 
 
 Good Orisoun of Our Ladie, A, 341. 
 
 Hart, The, 328. 
 
 Havelok the Dane, 110. 
 
 His Parentage (Richard Cceur de Lion), 
 
 123. 
 How Aymer de- Valence, and John of Lorn 
 
 chased the Bruce with Hound and Horn, 
 
 29. 
 How King Robert was hunted by the Sleuth- 
 
 Hound, 31. 
 How Richard won the Name of Cceur de Lion, 
 
 126. 
 How the Bruce crossed Loch Lomond, 28. 
 Hymn of Saint Godric, 337. 
 Hymn to the Virgin, A, 345. 
 
 In Praise of Freedom, 27. 
 
 Introduction (Barbour's Bruce), 26. 
 
 Introduction (Layamon), 1. 
 
 Introduction (Robert of Brunne's Chronicle), 
 25. 
 
 Introduction (Robert of Gloucester's Chroni- 
 cle), 20. 
 
 James of Douglas, 27. 
 
 King Horn, 93. 
 King Leir, 1. 
 
 Lament for King Edward I, 32. 
 
 Land of Cockaigne, The, 279. 
 
 Layamon, 1. 
 
 Life of Saint Dunstan, The, 37. 
 
 Lion, The, 325. 
 
 Love-Longing, 352. 
 
 Love Rune, A, 343. 
 
 Lyrics by Richard Rolle of Hampole, 366. 
 
 Maid of Ascolot, The, 262. 
 Mane Nobiscum, Domine, 359. 
 Mater, ora filium, 362. 
 Miracle of Our Lady, A, 355. 
 
 Omnes de Saba venient, 362. 
 
 Orison to the Five Joys of Our Lady, 355. 
 
 Ormulum, 337. 
 
 Owain Miles, 83. 
 
 Owl and Nightingale, The, 310. 
 
 Panther, The, 333. 
 Passing of Arthur, The, 13. 
 Placidas (Saint Eustace), 78. 
 Prayer at the Elevation, 354. 
 Precepts of Alfred, 289. 
 Proverbs of Hendynge, The, 294. 
 
 Quia Amore Langueo, 347. 
 
 Richard Cceur de Lion, 123. 
 Robert of Brunne's Chronicle, 25. 
 Robert of Gloucester's Chronicle, 20. 
 
396 
 
 INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 Sacrilegious Carollers, The, 
 
 298. 
 
 Sweetness of Jesus, The, 353. 
 
 Saint Brandan, 57. 
 
 
 Syr Percyvelle of Galles, 236. 
 
 Saint Cecilia, 72. 
 
 
 
 Salve, Sancta Parens, 861. 
 
 
 This very night, 866. 
 
 Serpent, The, 326. 
 
 
 To-day was born our Saviour, 363. 
 
 Seven Sages of Rome, The, 
 
 281. 
 
 Truth is Ever Best, 360. 
 
 Sir Amadace, 216. 
 
 
 Turtle Dove, The, 333. 
 
 Sir Lancelot, 262. 
 
 
 
 Sir Launfal, 204] 
 
 
 Whale, The, 331. 
 
 Sir Orfeo, 133. 
 
 
 What shall I sing but Hoy, 364. 
 
 Sir Tristrem, 141. 
 
 
 Winning of the Lady of the Fountain, The, 
 
 Sirens, The, 331. 
 
 
 228. 
 
 Song on the Passion, A, 346. 
 
 Winter Song, 352. 
 
 Spider, The, 330. 
 
 
 
 Spring Song, A, 351. 
 
 
 Ywain and Gawain, 228.