The alliterative Morte ArthureAnonymousca. 280 kilobytesMiddle English CompendiumAllitMA

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1993The Alliterative Morte Arthure : A Critical Editionxiv, 361 p., [8] leaves of plates : ill. ; 24 cm.Burt FranklinNew Yorkc.1976The printed text contained illustrations which are not noted in the electronic text

Paragraph divisions follow the Krishna critical edition except in the few instances where the sections in the original manuscript do not coincide with those divisions. In these cases, we have over-ridden Krishna's paragraph divisions and maintained the integrity of the original text, catalogued as Lincoln Cathedral. Library. MS 91 (Thornton), by adding structural divisions and starting new paragraphs. The Thornton Manuscript (Lincoln Cathedral MS 91). London: The Scolar Press, 1975.

The Alliterative Morte Arthure Lines 1 through 25 Now grett glorious Godd, thurgh grace of Hym seluen, And the precyous prayere of Hys prys Modyr, Schelde vs fro schamesdede and synfull werkes, And gyffe vs grace to gye and gouerne vs here, In this wrechyd werld, thorowe vertous lywynge, That we may kayre til Hys courte, the kyngdom of Hevyne, When oure saules schall parte and sundyre fra the body, Ewyre to belde and to byde in blysse wyth Hym seluen; And wysse me to werpe owte som worde at this tym That nothyre voyde be ne vayne, bot wyrchip till Hym selvyn, Plesande and profitabill to the popule þat them heres. Ȝe that liste has to lyth or luffes for to here Off elders of alde tym and of theire awke dedys, How they were lele in theire lawe and louede God Almyghty, Herkynes me heyndly and holdys ȝow styll, And I sall tell ȝow a tale þat trewe es and nobyll, Off the ryeall renkys of the Rownnde Table, That chefe ware of cheualrye and cheftans nobyll, Bathe ware in thire werkes and wyse men of armes, Doughty in theire doyngs and dredde ay schame, Kynde men and courtays and couthe of courte thewes; How they whanne wyth were wyrchippis many, Sloughe Lucyus þe lythyre, that Lorde was of Rome, And conqueryd that kyngryke thorowe craftys of armes; Herkenes now hedyrwarde and herys this storye. Lines 26 through 77 Qwen that the kyng Arthur by conqueste hade wonnyn Castells and kyngdoms and contreez many, And he had couerede the coroun of the kyth ryche, Of all that Vter in erthe aughte in his tym: Orgayle and Orkenay and all this owte iles, Irelande vttirly, as occyane rynnys; Scathyll Scottlande by skyll he skyftys as hym lykys, And Wales of were he wane at hys will; Bathe Flaundrez and Fraunce fre til him seluyn, Holaund and Henawde they helde of hym bothen, Burgoyne and Brabane and Bretayn the Lesse, Gyan and Gothelande and Grace the ryche; Bayon and Burdeux he beldytt full faire, Turoyn and Tholus, with toures full hye; Off Peyters and of Prouynce he was prynce holdyn, Of Valence and Vyenne, off value so noble, Of Ouergne and Anyou, thos erledoms ryche— By conqueste full cruell þey knewe hym fore lorde; Of Nauerne and Norwaye and Normaundye eke, Of Almayne, of Estriche, and oþer ynowe; Danmarke he dryssede all by drede of hym seluyn, Fra Swynn vnto Swetherwyke, wiþ his swerde kene. Qwenn he thes dedes had don, he doubbyd hys knyghtez, Dyuysyde dowcherys and delte in dyuerse remmes, Mad of his cosyns kyngys ennoyntede, In kyth there they couaitte crounes to bere. Whene he thys rewmes hade redyn and rewlyde the popule, Then rystede that ryall and helde þe Rounde Tabyll; Suggeourns þat seson to solace hym seluen In Bretayn þe Braddere, as hym beste lykes. Sythyn wente into Wales with his wyes all, Sweys into Swaldye with his snell houndes, For to hunt at þe hartes in thas hye laundes, In Glamorgan with glee, thare gladchipe was euere. And thare a citée he sette, be assentte of his lordys, That Caerlyon was callid, with curius walles, On the riche reuare þat rynnys so faire, There he myghte semble his sorte to see whenn hym lykede. Thane aftyre at Carlele a Cristynmese he haldes, This ilke kyde conquerour, and helde hym for lorde, Wyth dukez and duspers of dyuers rewmes, Erles and ercheuesqes and oþer ynowe, Byschopes and bachelers and banerettes nobill, Þat bowes to his banere, buske when hym lykys. Bot on the Cristynmes Daye, when they were all semblyde, That comlyche conquerour commaundez hym seluyn Þat ylke a lorde sulde lenge and no lefe take To the tende day fully ware takyn to þe ende. Thus on ryall araye he helde his Rounde Table, With semblant and solace and selcouthe metes; Whas neuer syche noblay in no manys tym Mad in mydwynter in þa weste marchys. Lines 78 through 115 Bot on the Newȝere Daye, at þe none euyne, As the bolde at the borde was of brede seruyde, So come in sodanly a senatour of Rome, Wyth sexten knyghtes in a soyte, sewande hym one. He saluȝed the souerayne, and the sale aftyr, Ilke a kyng aftyre kyng, and mad his enclines; Gaynour in hir degré he grette as hym lykyde, And syne agayne to þe gome he gaffe vp his nedys: "Sir Lucius Iberius, the Emperour of Rome, Saluz the as sugett, vndyre his sele ryche; It es credens, Sir Kyng, with cruell wordez; Trow it for no trufles: his targe es to schewe. Now in this Newȝers Daye, with notaries synge, I make the somouns in sale to sue for þi landys, That on Lammesse Daye thare be no lette founden, Þat thow bee redy at Rome with all thi Rounde Table, Appere in his presens with thy price knyghtez, At pryme of the daye, in payne of ȝour lyvys, In þe kydd capytoile, before þe kyng selvyn, When he and his senatours bez sette as them lykes, To ansuere anely why thow ocupyes the laundez That awe homage of alde till hym and his eldyrs; Why thow has redyn and raymede and raunsound þe pople, And kyllyde doun his cosyns, kyngys ennoynttyde; Thare schall thow gyffe rekkynyng for all thy Round Table Why thow arte rebell to Rome and rentez them wytholdez. Ȝiff thow theis somouns wythsytte, he sendes thie thies wordes: He sall the seke ouer þe see wyth sexten kynges, Bryne Bretayn þe Brade and bryttyn thy knyghtys, And bryng the bouxsomly as a beste with brethe whare hym lykes, That thow ne schall rowte ne ryste vndyr the heuene ryche, Þofe thow for reddour of Rome ryne to þe erthe; For if thow flee into Fraunce or Freselaund owþer, Þou sall be feched with force and ouersette fore euer! Thy fadyr mad fewtée, we fynde in oure rollez, In the regestre of Rome, who-so ryghte lukez. Withowttyn more trouflyng the trebute we aske That Iulius Cesar wan with his ientill knyghttes." Lines 116 through 165 The Kyng blyschit on the beryn with his brode eghn, Þat full brymly for breth brynte as the gledys, Keste colours as Kyng, with crouell lates, Luked as a lyon, and on his lyppe bytes. The Romaynes for radnesse ruschte to þe erthe, Fore ferdnesse of hys face, as they fey were; Cowchide as kenetez before þe Kyng seluyn: Because of his contenaunce confusede them semede. Then couerd vp a knyghte and criede ful lowde, "Kyng corounede of kynd, curtays and noble, Misdoo no messangere for menske of þi seluyn, Sen we are in thy manrede and mercy þe besekes. We lenge with Sir Lucius, that Lorde es of Rome, That es þe meruelyousteste man þat on molde lengez; It is lefull till vs his likyng till wyrche; We come at his commaundment; haue vs excusede." Then carpys þe Conquerour crewell wordez: "Haa, crauaunde knyghte, a cowarde þe semez! Þare is some segge in this sale, and he ware sare greuede, Thow durste noghte for all Lumberdye luke on hym ones." "Sir," sais þe Senatour, "so Crist mott me helpe, Þe voute of thi vesage has woundyde vs all! Thow arte þe lordlyeste lede þat euer I one lukyde; By lukyng, withowttyn lesse, a lyon the semys!" "Thow has me somond," quod þe Kyng, "and said what þe lykes; Fore sake of thy soueraynge I suffre the þe more; Sen I was coround in kyth, wyth crysum enoyntede, Was neuer creature to me þat carpede so large. Bot I sall tak concell at kynges enoyntede, Off dukes and duspers and doctours noble, Offe peres of þe parlement, prelates and oþer, Off þe richeste renkys of þe Rounde Table; Þus schall I take avisemente of valiant beryns, Wyrke aftyre the wytte of my wyes knyghttes; To warpe wordez in waste no wyrchip it were, Ne wilfully in þis wrethe to wreken my seluen. Forþi sall þow lenge here and lugge wyth þise lordes, This seuenyghte in solace, to suggourne ȝour horses, To see whatte lyfe þat wee leede in thees lawe laundes, Forby þe realtée of Rome, þat recheste was euere." He command Sir Cayous, "Take kepe to thoos lordez, To styghtyll þa steryn men as theire statte askys, That they bee herberde in haste in thoos heghe chambres, Sythin sittandly in sale seruyde theraftyr. That they fynd na fawte of fude to thiere horsez, Nowthire weyn, ne waxe, ne welthe in þis erthe, Spare for no spycerye, bot spende what þe lykys, That there be largesce on lofte and no lake founden. If þou my wyrchip wayte, wy, be my trouthe, Þou sall haue gersoms full grett, that gayne sall þe euere." Lines 166 through 230 Now er they herberde in hey and in oste holden, Hastyly wyth hende men within thees heghe wallez; In chambyrs with chympnes þey chaungen þeire wedez, And sythyn the chauncelere þem fecchede with cheualrye noble. Sone þe Senatour was sett, as hym wele semyde; At þe Kyngez ownn borde twa knyghtes hym seruede, Singulere sothely, as Arthure hym seluyn, Richely on þe ryghte hannde at the Round Table, Be resoun þat þe Romaynes whare so ryche holden, As of þe realeste blode þat reynede in erthe. There come in at þe fyrste course, befor þe Kyng seluen, Bareheuedys þat ware bryghte, burnyste with syluer, All with taghte men and town in togers full ryche, Of saunke reall in suyte, sexty at ones; Flesch fluriste of fermyson with frumentée noble, Therto wylde to wale and wynlyche bryddes, Pacokes and plouers in platers of golde, Pygges of porke despyne þat pasturede neuer, Sythen herons in hedoyne, hyled full faire, Grett swannes full swythe in silueryn chargeours, Tartes of turky—taste wham þem lykys— Gumbaldes grathely, full gracious to taste, Seyne bowes of wylde bores with þe braune lechyde, Bernakes and botures in baterde dysches, Þareby braunchers in brede—bettyr was neuer— With brestez of barowes þat bryghte ware to schewe; Seyn come þer sewes sere, with solace þerafter— Ownd of azure all ouer and ardant þem semyde— Of ilke a leche þe lowe launschide full hye, Þat all ledes myghte lyke þat lukyde þem apon; Þan cranes and curlues craftyly rosted, Connygez in cretoyne, colourede full faire, Fesauntez enflureschit on flammande siluer, With dariells endoride and daynteez ynewe; Þane clarett and creette, clergyally rennen, With condethes full curious, all of clene siluyre, Osay and algarde and oþer ynewe, Rynisch wyne and rochell—richere was neuer— Vernage of Venyce vertuouse and Crete, In faucetez of fyn golde—fonode whoso lykes. The Kyngez cope-borde was closed in siluer, In grete goblettez ouergylte, glorious of hewe; There was a cheefe buttlere, a cheualere noble, Sir Cayous þe curtaise, þat of þe cowpe seruede: Sexty cowpes of suyte fore þe Kyng seluyn, Crafty and curious, coruen full faire, In euerilk a party pyghte with precyous stones, That nan enpoyson sulde goo preuely þervndyre, Bot þe bryght golde for brethe sulde briste al to peces, Or ells þe venym sulde voyde thurghe vertue of þe stones. And the Conquerour hym seluen, so clenly arayede, In colours of clene golde cleede, wyth his knyghttys, Drissid with his dyademe on his deesse ryche, Fore he was demyd þe doughtyeste þat duellyde in erthe. Thane þe Conquerour kyndly carpede to þose lordes, Rehetede þe Romaynes with realle speche: "Sirs, bez knyghtly of contenaunce, and comfurthes ȝour seluyn; We knowe noghte in þis countré of curious metez, In thees barayne landez, bredes none oþer; Forethy, wythowttyn feynyng, enforce ȝow þe more To feede ȝow with syche feble as ȝe before fynde." "Sir," sais þe Senatour, "soo Criste motte me helpe, There ryngnede neuer syche realtee within Rome walles! There ne es prelatte, ne pape, ne prynce in þis erthe, That he ne myghte be wele payede of þees pryce metes." Lines 231 through 287 Aftyre theyre welthe þey wesche and went vnto chambyre, Þis ilke kydde Conquerour, with knyghtes ynewe; Sir Gaywayne þe worthye Dame Waynour he ledys; Sir Owghtreth on the toþer syde, of Turry was lorde. Thane spyces vnsparyly þay spendyde thereaftyre: Maluesye and muskadell, þase meruelyous drynkes, Raykede full rathely in rossete cowpes, Till all þe riche on rawe, Romaynes and oþer. Bot the soueraingne sothely, for solauce of hym seluen, Assingnyde to þe Senatour certaygne lordes, To lede to his leueré, whene he leue askes, With myrthe and with melodye of mynstralsy noble. Thane þe Conquerour to concell cayres thereaftyre, Wyth lordes of his lygeaunce þat to hym selfe langys; To þe geauntes toure iolily he wendes, Wyth justicez and iuggez and gentill knyghtes. Sir Cador of Cornewayle to þe Kyng carppes, Lughe on hym luffly with lykande lates: "I thanke Gode of þat thraa þat vs þus thretys! Ȝow moste be traylede, I trowe, bot ȝife ȝe trett bettyre. Þe lettres of Sir Lucius lyghttys myn herte! We hafe as losels liffyde many longe daye, Wyth delyttes in this land with lordchipez many, And forelytenede the loos þat we are layttede; I was abaischite, be oure Lorde, of oure beste bernes, Fore gret dule of deffuse of dedez of armes. Now wakkenyse þe were! Wyrchipide be Cryste! And we sall wynn it agayne be wyghtnesse and strenghe!" "Sir Cadour," quod þe Kyng, "thy concell es noble; Bot þou arte a meruailous man with thi mery wordez; For thow countez no caas, ne castes no forthire, Bot hurles furthe appon heuede, as thi herte thynkes. I moste trette of a trew towchande þise nedes, Talke of thies tythdands þat tenes myn herte: Þou sees þat þe Emperour es angerde a lyttill; Yt semes be his sandismen þat he es sore greuede; His senatour has sommonde me and said what hym lykyde, Hethely in my hall, wyth heynȝous wordes, In speche disspyszede me and sparede me lyttill— I myght noghte speke for spytte, so my herte trymblyde! He askyde me tyrauntly tribute of Rome, That tenefully tynt was in tym of myn elders, There alyenes, in absence of all men of armes, Couerd it of comons, as cronicles telles. I have title to take tribute of Rome; Myne ancestres ware emperours and aughte it þem seluen, Belyn and Brene and Bawdewyne the Thyrde; They ocupyede þe Empyre aughte score wynnttyrs, Ilkane ayere aftyre oþer, as awlde men telles; Thei couerde þe capitoile and keste doun þe walles, Hyngede of þeire heddys-men by hundrethes at ones. Seyn Constantyne, our kynsmane, conquerid it aftyre, Þat ayere was of Ynglande and Emperour of Rome, He þat conquerid þe crosse be craftez of armes That Criste was on crucifiede, þat Kyng es of Heuen. Thus hafe we euydens to aske þe Emperour þe same, That þus regnez at Rome, whate ryghte þat he claymes." Lines 288 through 303 Þan answarde Kyng Aungers to Arthure hym seluyn, "Thow aughte to be ouerlynge ouer all oþer kynges, Fore wyseste and worthyeste and wyghteste of hanndes, The knyghtlyeste of counsaile þat euer coron bare; I dare saye fore Scottlande þat we them schathe lympyde: When þe Romaynes regnede þay raunsound oure eldyrs, And rade in theire ryotte and rauyschett oure wyfes, Withowttyn reson or ryghte refte vs oure gudes. And I sall make myn avowe deuotly to Criste, And to þe haly vernacle, vertuus and noble, Of this grett velany I sall be vengede ones, On ȝone venemus men, wyth valiant knyghtes! I sall the forthire of defence, fosterde ynewe, Fifty thowsande men, wythin two eldes, Of my wage for to wende whare so the lykes, To fyghte wyth thy faamen, þat vs vnfaire ledes!" Lines 304 through 336 Thane the burelyche Beryn of Bretayne þe Lyttyll Counsayles Sir Arthure, and of hym besekys To ansuere þe alyenes wyth austeren wordes, To entyce the Emperour to take ouere the mounttes. He said, "I make myn avowe verreilly to Cryste And to þe haly vernacle þat voide schall I neuere, For radnesse of na Romayne þat regnes in erthe, Bot ay be redye in araye and at areste founden. No more dowtte the dynte of theire derfe wapyns, Þan þe dewe þat es dannke when þat it doun falles: Ne no more schoune fore þe swape of theire scharpe suerddes, Then fore þe faireste flour þatt on the folde growes! I sall to batell the brynge of brenyede knyghtes Thyrtty thosannde be tale, thryftye in armes, Wythin a monethe daye into whatte marche Þat þow wyll sothelye assygne, when thy selfe lykes." "A! A!" sais þe Walsche kyng, "wirchipid be Criste! Now schalle we wreke full wele þe wrethe of oure elders! In West Walys iwysse syche wonndyrs þay wroghte, Þat all for wandrethe may wepe þat on þat were thynkes. I sall haue the avanttwarde wytterly my seluen, Tyll þat I haue venquiste þe Vicounte of Rome, Þat wroghte me at Viterbe a velanye ones, As I paste in pylgremage by the Pounte Tremble; He was in Tuskayne þat tyme and tuke of oure knyghttes, Areste them vnryghttwyslye and raunsound þam aftyre; I sall hym surelye ensure þat saghetyll sall we neuer, Are we sadlye assemble by oure selfen ones, And dele dynttys of dethe with oure derfe wapyns! And I sall wagge to þat were, of wyrchipfull knyghtes, Of Wyghte and of Walschelande and of the weste marches, Twa thosande in tale, horsede one stedys, Of þe wyghteste wyes in all ȝone weste landys!" Lines 337 through 381 Syre Ewan fytz Vryence þane egerly fraynez— Was cosyn to þe Conquerour, corageous hym selfen— "Sir, and we wyste ȝour wyll, we walde wirke þeraftyre: Ȝif þis journée sulde halde or be ajournede forthyre, To ryde one ȝone Romaynes and ryott theire landez, We walde schape vs therefore to schippe whene ȝow lykys." "Cosyn," quod þe Conquerour, "kyndly þou asches; Ȝife my concell accorde to conquere ȝone landez, By þe kalendez of Iuny we schall encountre ones, Wyth full creuell knyghtez, so Cryste mot me helpe! Thereto make I myn avowe devottly to Cryste, And to the holy vernacle, vertuous and noble, I sall at Lammesse take leue to lenge at my large In Lorayne or Lumberdye, whethire me leue thynkys; Merke vnto Meloyne and myne doun þe wallez, Bathe of Petyrsande and of Pys and of þe Pounte Tremble; In þe Vale of Viterbe vetaile my knyghttes, Suggourne there sex wokes and solace my selfen; Send prekers to þe price toun and plaunte there my segge, Bot if þay profre me þe pece be processe of tym." "Certys," sais Sir Ewayn, "and I avowe aftyre, And I þat hathell may see euer with myn eghn, Þat ocupies thin heritage, þe Empyere of Rome, I sall auntyre me anes hys egle to touche, Þat borne es in his banere of brighte golde ryche, And raas it from his riche men and ryfe it in sondyre, Bot he be redily reschowede with riotous knyghtez! I sall enforsse ȝowe in þe felde with fresche men of armes, Fyfty thosande folke apon faire stedys, On thi foomen to foonde, there the faire thynkes, In Fraunce or in Friselande—feghte when þe lykes!" "By oure Lorde," quod Sir Launcelott, "now lyghttys myn herte! I loue Gode of þis loue þis lordes has avowede. Nowe may lesse men haue leue to say whatt them lykes, And hafe no lettyng be lawe, bot lystynnys þise wordez: I sall be at journée with gentill knyghtes, On a jamby stede, full jolyly graythide, Or any journée begane to juste with hym selfen, Emange all his geauntez, Genyuers and oþer, Stryke hym styfflye fro his stede, with strenghe of myn handys, For all þa steryn in stour þat in his stale houys! Be my retenu arayede, I rekke bott a lyttill To make rowtte into Rome with ryotous knyghtes; Within a seuenyghte daye, with sex score helmes, I sall be seen on the see—saile when þe lykes!" Lines 382 through 406 Thane laughes Sir Lottez and all on lowde meles: "Me likez þat Sir Lucius lannges aftyre sorowe; Now he wylnez þe were, hys wanedrethe begynnys! It es owre weredes to wreke the wrethe of oure elders. I make myn avowe to Gode and to þe holy vernacle, And I may se þe Romaynes, þat are so ryche halden, Arayede in þeire riotes on a rounde felde, I sall at þe reuerence of þe Rounde Table, Ryde thrughte all þe rowtte, rerewarde and oþer, Redy wayes to make and renkkes full rowme, Rynnande on rede blode as my stede ruschez! He þat folowes my fare and fyrste commes aftyre Sall fynde in my farewaye many fay leuyde!" Thane þe Conquerour kyndly comforthes þese knyghtes, Alowes þaim gretly theire lordly avowes: "Alweldande Gode wyrchip ȝow all, And latte me neuere wanntte ȝow, whylls I in werlde regne; My menske and my manhede ȝe mayntene in erthe, Myn honour all vtterly in oþer kyngys landes; My wele and my wyrchipe, of all þis werlde ryche, Ȝe haue knyghtly conqueryde, þat to my coroun langes; Hym thare be ferde for no faees þat swylke a folke ledes, Bot euer fresche for to fyghte in felde when hym lykes; I acounte no kynge þat vndyr Criste lyffes; Whills I see ȝowe all sounde, I sette be no more." Lines 407 through 514 Qwhen they tristily had tretyd, þay trumppede vp aftyre, Descendyd doune with a daunce of dukes and erles. Thane þey semblede to sale and sowpped als swythe, All þis semly sorte, wyth semblante full noble. Thene the roy reall rehetes thes knyghttys, Wyth reuerence and ryotte of all his Rounde Table, Till seuen dayes was gone—þe Senatour askes Answere to þe Emperour with austeryn wordez. Aftyre þe Epiphanye, when þe purpos was takyn, Of peris of þe parlement, prelates and oþer, The Kyng in his concell, curtaise and noblee, Vtters þe alienes and ansuers hym seluen: "Gret wele Lucius, thi lorde, and layne noghte þise wordes; Ife þow be lygmane lele, late hym wiet sone I sall at Lammese take leue and loge at my large In delitte in his laundez, wyth lordes ynewe, Regne in my realtée and ryste when me lykes, By þe reyuere of Reone halde my Rounde Table, Fannge the fermes, in faithe, of all þa faire rewmes, For all þe manace of hys myghte and mawgrée his eghne! And merke sythen ouer the mounttez into his mayne londez, To Meloyne the meruaylous, and myn doun the walles; In Lorrayne ne in Lumberdye lefe schall I nowthire Nokyn lede appon liffe þat þare his lawes ȝemes; And turne into Tuschayne, whene me tyme thynkys, Ryde all þas rowme landes wyth ryotous knyghttes; Byde hym make reschewes, fore menske of hym seluen, And mette me fore his manhede in þase mayne landes. I sall be foundyn in Fraunce—fraiste when hym lykes— The fyrste daye of Feuerȝere, in thas faire marches; Are I be fechyde wyth force or forfette my landes, Þe flour of his faire folke full fay sall be leuyde! I sall hym sekyrly ensure, vndyre my seele ryche, To seege þe cetée of Rome wythin seuen wyntyre, And that so sekerly ensege apon sere halfes, That many a senatour sall syghe for sake of me one! My sommons er certified, and thow arte full seruyde Of cundit and credense—kayre the lykes; I sall thi journaye engyste, enjoyne them my seluen, Fro this place to þe porte, there þou sall passe ouer; Seuen dayes to Sandewyche I sette at the large, Sexty myle on a daye—þe somme es bott lyttill. Thowe moste spede at the spurs and spare noghte thi fole; Thow weyndez by Watlyng Strette and by no waye ells; Thare thow nyghes on nyghte nedez moste þou lenge: Be it foreste or felde, found þou no forthire; Bynde thy blonke by a buske with thy brydill euen, Lugge þi selfe vndyre lynde, as þe leefe thynkes; There awes none alyenes to ayer appon nyghttys, With syche a rebawdous rowtte to ryot thy seluen. Thy lycence es lemete in presence of lordys; Be now lathe or lette, ryghte as þe thynkes, For bothe þi lyffe and thi lym lygges þerappon, Þofe Sir Lucius had laide þe lordchipe of Rome; For þe þow founden a fute withowte þe flode merkes, Aftyr þe aughtende day, when vndroun es rungen, Þou sall be heuedede in hye and with horsse drawen, And seyn heyly be hangede, houndes to gnawen! The rente ne rede golde þat vnto Rome langes Sall noghte redily, renke, raunson thyn one!" "Sir," sais þe Senatour, "so Crist mot me helpe, Might I with wirchip wyn awaye ones, I sulde neuer fore emperour þat on erthe lenges, Efte vnto Arthure ayere on syche nedys; Bot I am sengilly here, with sex sum of knyghtes; I beseke ȝow, Sir, that we may sounde passe: In any vnlawefull lede lette vs by þe waye, Within thy lycence, lorde, thy loosse es enpeyrede." "Care noghte," quod the Kyng; "thy coundyte es knawen Fro Carlele to þe coste, there thy cogge lengges; Þoghe thy cofers ware full, cramede with syluer, Thow myghte be sekyre of my sele sexty myle forthire." They enclined to þe Kyng, and coungé þay askede, Cayers owtt of Carelele, catchez on theire horsez; Sir Cadore þe curtayes kende them the wayes, To Catrike þem cunvayede and to Crist þem bekennyde. So þey spede at þe spoures, þey sprangen þeire horses, Hyres þem hakenayes hastyly þereaftyre; So fore reddour þey reden and risted them neuer, Bot ȝif they luggede vndire lynd whills þem lyghte failede; Bot euere þe Senatour forsothe soghte at þe gayneste. By þe sevend day was gone þe cetée þai rechide; Of all þe glee vndire Gode so glade ware þey neuere, As of þe sounde of þe see and Sandwyche belles. Wythowttyn more stownntyng þey schippide þeire horsez, Wery, to þe wane see þey went all att ones; With þe men of þe walle they weyde vp þeire ankyrs, And fleede at þe fore flude; in Flaundrez þey rowede, And thorughe Flaundres þey founde, as þem faire thoghte, Till Akyn in Almayn, in Arthur landes; Gosse by þe Mount Goddarde full greuous wayes, And so into Lumberddye, lykande to schewe. They turne thurghe Tuskayne, with towres full heghe, In Pis appairells them in precious wedez; The Sonondaye in Suters þay suggourne þeire horsez, And sekes þe seyntez of Rome, be assente of knyghtes; Sythyn prekes to þe pales, with portes so ryche, Þare Sir Lucius lenges, with lordes enowe; Lowttes to hym lufly, and lettres hym bedes, Of credence enclosyde, with knyghtlyche wordez. Then þe Emperour was egree and enkerly fraynes; Þe answere of Arthure he askes hym sone, How he arayes þe rewme and rewlys þe pople, Ȝif he be rebell to Rome whate ryghte þat he claymes. "Thow sulde his ceptre haue sesede and syttyn aboun, Fore reuerence and realtée of Rome þe noble; By sertes þow was my sandes and senatour of Rome; He sulde, fore solempnitée, hafe seruede þe hym seluen!" Lines 515 through 521 "That will he neuer for no wye of all þis werlde ryche, Bot who may wynn hym of werre, by wyghtnesse of handes; Many fey schall be fyrste appon þe felde leuyde, Are he appere in this place profre when þe likes. I saye the, Sir, Arthure es thyn enmye fore euer, And ettells to bee ouerlyng of þe Empyre of Rome, That alle his ancestres aughte, bot Vtere hym selfe. Lines 522 through 553 Thy nedes this Newe Ȝere I notifiede my selfen, Before þat noble of name and neynesom of kynges; In the moste reale place of þe Rounde Table, I somounde hym solempnylye, one-seeande his knyghtez. Sen I was formyde, in faythe, so ferde was I neuere, In all þe placez ther I passede of pryncez in erthe. I wolde foresake all my suyte of segnourry of Rome, Or I efte to þat soueraygne whare sente one suyche nedes! He may be chosyn cheftayne, cheefe of all oþer, Bathe be chauncez of armes and cheuallrye noble, For whyeseste and worthyeste and wyghteste of hanndez; Of all the wyes þate I watte in this werlde ryche, The knyghtlyeste creatoure in Cristyndome halden, Of kyng or of conquerour crownede in erthe; Of countenaunce, of corage, of crewelle lates, The comlyeste of knyghtehode þat vndyre Cryste lyffes. He maye be spoken in dyspens despysere of syluere, That no more of golde gyffes þan of grette stones, No more of wyne þan of watyre þat of þe welle rynnys, Ne of welthe of þis werlde bot wyrchipe allone. Syche contenaunce was neuer knowen in no kythe ryche, As was with þat conquerour in his courte halden; I countede at this Crystynmesse of kyngez enoynttede Hole ten at his table þat tym with hym selfen. He wyll werraye iwysse—be ware ȝif þe lykes; Wage many wyghtemen and wache thy marches, That they be redye in araye and at areste foundyn; For ȝife he reche vnto Rome, he raunsouns it for euere! I rede þow dresce the þerfore, and drawe no lytte langere; Be sekyre of þi sowdeours and sende to þe mowntes; Be þe quartere of þis ȝere, and hym quarte stannde, He wyll wyghtlye in a qwhyle on his wayes hye." Lines 554 through 569 "Bee estyre," sais þe Emperour, "I ettyll my selfen To hostaye in Almayne with armede knyghtez; Sende freklye into Fraunce, þat flour es of rewmes, Fande to fette þat freke and forfette his landez; For I sall sette kepers, full conaunde and noble, Many geaunte of Geen, justers full gude, To mete hym in the mountes and martyre hys knyghtes, Stryke þem doun in strates and struye them fore euere! There sall appon Godarde a garette be rerede, That schall be garneschte and kepyde with gude men of armes, And a bekyn abouen to brynne when þem lykys, Þat nane enmye with hoste sall entre the mountes; There schall one Mounte Bernarde be beyldede anoþere, Buschede with banerettes and bachelers noble; In at the portes of Pavye schall no prynce passe, Thurghe the perelous places, for my pris knyghtes." Lines 570 through 609 Thane Sir Lucius lordlyche lettres he sendys Onone into þe Oryente, with austeryn knyghtez, Till Ambyganye and Orcage and Alysaundyre eke, To Inde and to Ermonye, as Ewfrates rynnys, To Asye and to Affrike and Ewrope þe large, To Irritayne and Elamet and all þase owte ilez, To Arraby and Egipt, till erles and oþer, That any erthe ocupyes in þase este marches, Of Damaske and Damyat, and dukes and erles, For drede of his daungere they dresside þem sone; Of Crete and of Capados the honourable kyngys Come at his commandmente clenly at ones, To Tartary and Turky, when tythynngez es comen; They turne in by Thebay, terauntez full hugge, The flour of þe faire folke of Amazonnes landes— All thate faillez on þe felde be forfette fore euere! Of Babyloyn and Baldake the burlyche knyghtes, Bayous with theire baronage bydez no langere; Of Perce and of Pamphile and Preter Iohne landes, Iche prynce with his powere appertlyche graythede; The Sowdane of Surrye assemblez his knyghtes, Fra Nylus to Nazarethe, nommers full huge; To Garyere and to Galelé þey gedyre all at ones, The sowdanes that ware sekyre sowdeours to Rome; They gadyrede ouere þe Grekkes See with greuous wapyns, In theire grete galays, wyth gleterande scheldez; The kynge of Cyprys on the see þe Sowdane habydes, With all þe realls of Roodes arayede with hym one. They sailede with a syde wynde oure þe salte strandez, Sodanly þe Sarezenes, as them selfe lykede; Craftyly at Cornett the kynges are aryefede, Fra þe ceté of Rome sexti myle large. Be that the Grekes ware graythede, a full gret nombyre, The myghtyeste of Macedone, with men of þa marches; Pulle and Pruyslande presses with oþer, The legemen of Lettow with legyons ynewe. Thus they semble in sortes, summes full huge, Sowdanes and Sarezenes owt of sere landes; The Sowdane of Surry and sextene kynges, At the cetée of Rome assemblede at ones. Lines 610 through 624 Thane yschewes þe Emperour, armede at ryghtys, Arayede with his Romaynes appon ryche stedys; Sexty geauntes before, engenderide with fendez, With weches and warlaws to wacchen his tentys, Ayware whare he wendes, wyntres and ȝeres. Myghte no blonkes them bere, thos bustous churlles, Bot couerde camellez of tourse, enclosyde in maylez. He ayerez oute with alyenez, ostes full huge, Ewyn into Almayne, þat Arthure hade wonnyn; Rydes in by þe ryuere and ryottez hym seluen, And ayerez with a huge wyll all þas hye landez. All Westwale of werre he wynnys as hym lykes, Drawes in by Danuby and dubbez hys knyghtez; In the contré of Coloine castells enseggez, And suggeournez þat seson wyth Sarazenes ynewe. Lines 625 through 678 At the vtas of Hillary, Syr Arthure hym seluen In his kydde councell commande þe lordes: "Kayere to ȝour cuntréz and semble ȝour knyghtes, And kepys me at Constantyne clenlyche arayede; Byddez me at Bareflete apon þa blythe stremes, Baldly within borde, with ȝowre beste beryns; I schall menskfully ȝowe mete in thos faire marches." He sendez furthe sodaynly sergeantes of armes To all hys mariners on rawe, to areste hym schippys. Wythin sexten dayes hys fleet whas assemblede, At Sandwyche on þe see, saile when hym lykes. In the palez of Ȝorke a parlement he haldez, With all þe perez of þe rewme, prelates and oþer; And aftyre þe prechynge, in presence of lordes, The Kyng in his concell carpys þes wordes: "I am in purpos to passe perilous wayes, To kaire with my kene men to conquere ȝone landes, To owttraye myn enmy, ȝif auenture it schewe, That ocupyes myn heritage, þe Empyre of Rome. I sett ȝow here a soueraynge—ascente ȝif ȝowe lykys— That es me sybb, my syster son, Sir Mordrede hym seluen, Sall be my leuetenaunte, with lordchipez ynewe, Of all my lele legemen þat my landez ȝemes." He carpes till his cosyne þane, in counsaile hym seluen: "I make the kepare, Sir Knyghte, of kyngrykes manye, Wardayne wyrchipfull, to weilde al my landes, That I haue wonnen of werre, in all þis werlde ryche. I wyll þat Waynour, my weife, in wyrchipe be holden, That hire wannte noo wele ne welthe þat hire lykes; Luke my kydde castells be clenlyche arrayede, There cho maye suggourne hire selfe wyth semlyche berynes; Fannde my forestez be frythede o frenchepe for euere, That nane werreye my wylde botte Waynour hir seluen, And þat in þe seson whene grees es assignyde, That cho take hir solauce in certayne tymms. Chauncelere and chambyrleyn chaunge as þe lykes; Audytours and offycers ordayne thy seluen, Bathe juréez and juggez and justicez of landes; Luke thow justifye them wele that injurye wyrkes. If me be destaynede to dye at Dryghtyns wyll, I charge the my sektour, cheffe of all oþer, To mynystre my mobles fore mede of my saule To mendynauntez and mysese in myschefe fallen; Take here my testament of tresoure full huge: As I trayste appon the, betraye thowe me neuer! As þow will answere before the austeryn Jugge, That all þis werlde wynly wysse as Hym lykes, Luke þat my laste wyll be lelely perfournede. Thow has clenly þe cure that to my coroune langez Of all my werldez wele, and my weyffe eke; Luke þowe kepe the so clere there be no cause fonden When I to contré come, if Cryste will it thole; And thow haue grace gudly to gouerne thy seluen, I sall coroune þe, knyghte, kyng with my handez." Lines 679 through 692 Þan Sir Modrede full myldly meles hym seluen, Knelyd to þe Conquerour and carpes þise wordez: "I beseke ȝow, Sir, as my sybbe lorde, Þat ȝe will for charyté cheese ȝow anoþer; For if ȝe putte me in þis plytte, ȝowre pople es dyssauyde; To presente a prynce astate my powere es symple. When oþer of werre wysse are wyrchipide hereaftyre, Than may I forsothe be sette bott at lyttill. To passe in ȝour presance my purpos es takyn, And all my purueaunce apperte fore my pris knyghtez." "Thowe arte my neuewe full nere, my nurrée of olde, That I haue chastyede and chosen, a childe of my chambyre; For the sybredyn of me, foresake noghte þis offyce; That thow ne wyrk my will, thow watte whatte it menes." Lines 693 through 735 Nowe he takez hys leue and lengez no langere, At lordez, at legemen, þat leues hym byhynden. And seyne þat worthilyche wy went vnto chambyre, For to comfurthe þe Qwene, þat in care lenges. Waynour, waykly wepande, hym kyssiz, Talkez to hym tenderly with teres ynewe: "I may wery the wye thatt this werre mouede, That warnes me wyrchippe of my wedde lorde; All my lykyng of lyfe owte of lande wendez, And I in langour am lefte, leue ȝe, for euere. Whyne myghte I, dere lufe, dye in ȝour armes, Are I þis destanye of dule sulde drye by myne one?" "Grefe þe noghte, Gaynour, fore Goddes lufe of Hewen, Ne gruche noghte my ganggyng: it sall to gude turne. Thy wonrydez and thy wepyng woundez myn herte; I may noghte wit of þis woo, for all þis werlde ryche! I haue made a kepare, a knyghte of thyn awen, Ouerlyng of Ynglande, vndyre thy seluen, And that es Sir Mordrede, þat þow has mekyll praysede, Sall be thy dictour, my dere, to doo whatte the lykes." Thane he takes hys leue at ladys in chambyre, Kysside them kyndlyche and to Criste beteches; And then cho swounes full swythe, when he hys swerde aschede, Twys in a swounyng, swelte as cho walde. He pressed to his palfray, in presance of lordes, Prekys of the palez with his prys knyghtes; Wyth a reall rowte of þe Rounde Table Soughte towarde Sandwyche—cho sees hym no more. Thare the grete ware gederyde, wyth galyarde knyghtes, Garneschit on þe grene felde and graythelyche arayede; Dukkes and duzseperez daynttehely rydes, Erles of Ynglande, with archers ynewe; Schirreues scharply schiftys the comouns, Rewlys before þe ryche of the Rounde Table; Assingnez ilke a contrée to certayne lordes, In the southe on þe see banke, saile when þem lykes. Thane bargez them buskez and to þe baunke rowes, Bryngez blonkez on bourde and burlyche helmes; Trussez in tristly trappyde stedes, Tentez and othire toylez and targez full ryche, Cabanes and clathe-sekkes and coferez full noble, Hekes and haknays and horsez of armez; Thus they stowe in the stuffe of full steryn knyghtez. Lines 736 through 1221 Qwen all was schyppede that scholde they schounte no lengere, Bot ventelde them tyte, as þe tyde rynnez; Coggez and crayers þan crossez þaire mastez, At the comandment of þe Kynge vncouerde at ones. Wyghtly on þe wale þay wye vp þaire ankers, By wytt of þe watyre-men of þe wale ythez; Frekes on þe forestavne faken þeire coblez, In floynes and fercostez and Flemesche schyppes; Tytt saillez to þe toppe and turnez þe lufe, Standez appon stere-bourde, sternly þay songen. The pryce schippez of the porte prouen theire depnesse, And fondez wyth full saile ower þe fawe ythez; Holly withowttyn harme þay hale in bottes; Schipemen scharply schoten þaire portez, Launchez lede apon lufe, lacchen þer depez; Lukkez to þe lade-sterne when þe lyghte faillez, Castez coursez be crafte when þe clowde rysez, With þe nedyll and þe stone one þe nyghte tydez; For drede of þe derke nyghte þay drecchede a lyttill, And all þe steryn of þe streme strekyn at onez. The Kynge was in a gret cogge, with knyghtez full many, In a cabane enclosede, clenlyche arayede; Within on a ryche bedde rystys a littyll, And with þe swoghe of þe see in swefnyng he fell. Hym dremyd of a dragon, dredfull to beholde, Come dryfande ouer þe depe to drenschen hys pople, Ewen walkande owte of the weste landez, Wanderande vnworthyly ouere the wale ythez; Bothe his hede and hys hals ware halely all ouer Oundyde of azure, enamelde full faire; His scoulders ware schalyde all in clene syluere, Schreede ouer all þe schrympe with schrinkande poyntez; Hys wombe and hys wenges of wondyrfull hewes, In meruaylous maylys he mountede full hye; Whaym þat he towchede he was tynt for euer. Hys feete ware floreschede all in fyne sabyll, And syche a vennymous flayre flowe fro his lyppez, That the flode of þe flawez all on fyre semyde. Thane come of þe oryente, ewyn hym agaynez, A blake, bustous bere abwen in the clowdes, With yche a pawe as a poste and paumes full huge, With pykes full perilous—all plyande þam semyde; Lothen and lothely lokkes and oþer, All with lutterde legges, lokerde vnfaire, Filtyrde vnfrely, with fomaunde lyppez, The foulleste of fegure that fourmede was euer. He baltyrde, he bleryde, he braundyschte þerafter; To bataile he bounnez hym with bustous clowez; He romede, he rarede, that roggede all þe erthe, So ruydly he rappyd at to ryot hym seluen. Thane the dragon on dreghe dressede hym aȝaynez, And with hys dinttez hym drafe on dreghe by þe walkyn; He fares as a fawcon: frekly he strykez; Bothe with feete and with fyre he feghttys at ones. The bere in the bataile þe bygger hym semyde, And byttes hym boldlye wyth balefull tuskez; Syche buffetez he hym rechez with hys brode klokes, Hys brest and his brayell whas blodye all ouer. He rawmpyde so ruydly that all þe erthe ryfez, Rynnande on reede blode as rayne of the heuen. He hade weryede the worme by wyghtnesse of strenghte, Ne ware it fore the wylde fyre þat he hym wyth defendez. Thane wandyrs þe worme awaye to hys heghttez, Commes glydande fro þe clowddez and cowpez full euen, Towchez hym wyth his talounez and terez hys rigg, Betwyx þe taile and the toppe ten fote large. Thus he brittenyd the bere and broghte hym o lyfe— Lette hym fall in the flode, fleete whare hym lykes. So they þryng þe bolde kyng bynne þe schippe-burde, Þat nere he bristez for bale, on bede whare he lyggez. Than waknez þe wyese kyng, wery foretrauaillede, Takes hym two phylozophirs that folowede hym euer, In the seuyn scyence the suteleste fonden, The conyngeste of clergye vndyre Criste knowen. He tolde þem of hys tourmente þat tym þat he slepede: "Drechede with a dragon, and syche a derfe beste, Has mad me full wery; ȝe tell me my swefen, Ore I mon swelte as swythe, as wysse me oure Lorde!" "Sir," saide þey son thane, thies sagge philosopherse, "The dragon þat þow dremyde of, so dredfull to schewe, That come dryfande ouer þe deepe to drynchen thy pople, Sothely and certayne, thy seluen it es, That thus saillez ouer þe see with thy sekyre knyghtez; The colurez þat ware castyn appon his clere wengez, May be thy kyngrykez all, that thow has ryghte wonnyn; And the tatterede taile with tonges so huge, Betakyns þis faire folke that in thy fleet wendez; The bere that bryttenede was abowen in þe clowdez Betakyns the tyrauntez þat tourmentez thy pople; Or ells with somme gyaunt some journée sall happyn, In syngulere batell by ȝoure selfe one, And þow sall hafe þe victorye, thurghe helpe of oure Lorde, As þow in thy visione was opynly schewede. Of this dredfull dreme ne drede the no more; Ne kare noghte, Sir Conquerour, bot comforth thy seluen; And thise þat saillez ouer þe see, with thy sekyre knyghtez." With trumppez then trystly they trisen vpe þaire saillez, And rowes ouer the ryche see, this rowtte all at onez; The comely coste of Normandye they cachen full euen, And blythely at Barflete theis bolde are arryfede, And fyndys a flete there of frendez ynewe, The floure and þe faire folke of fyftene rewmez; Fore kyngez and capytaynez kepyde hym fayre, As he at Carelele commaundyde at Cristynmesse hym seluen. Be they had taken the lande and tentez vpe rerede, Comez a templere tyte and towchide to þe Kynge: "Here es a teraunt besyde that tourmentez thi pople, A grett geaunte of Geen, engenderde of fendez; He has fretyn of folke mo than fyfe hondrethe, And als fele fawntekyns of freeborne childyre. This has bene his sustynaunce all this seuen wyntteres, And ȝitt es that sotte noghte sadde, so wele hym it lykez! In þe contree of Constantyne ne kynde has he leuede, Withowttyn kydd castells enclosid wyth walles, That he ne has clenly dystroyede all the knaue childyre, And them caryede to þe cragge and clenly deworyd! The Duchez of Bretayne todaye has he takyn, Beside Reynes as scho rade with hire ryche knyghttes; Ledd hyre to þe mountayne thare þat lede lengez, To lye by that lady aye whyls hir lyfe lastez. We folowede o ferrom, moo then fyfe hundrethe Of beryns and of burgeys and bachelers noble, Bot he couerde the cragge—cho cryede so lowde, The care of þat creatoure couer sall I neuer! Scho was flour of all Fraunce, or of fyfe rewmes, And one of the fayreste that fourmede was euere, The gentileste jowell ajuggede with lordes Fro Geen vnto Geron, by Ihesu of Heuen! Scho was thy wyfes cosyn—knowe it if þe lykez— Comen of þe rycheste that rengnez in erthe; As thow arte ryghtwise Kyng, rewe on thy pople, And fande for to venge them that thus are rebuykyde!" "Allas!" sais Sir Arthure, "so lange haue I lyffede; Hade I wyten of this, wele had me chefede; Me es noghte fallen faire, bot me es foule happynede, That thus this faire ladye this fende has dystroyede! I had leuere thane all Fraunce this fyftene wynter I hade bene before thate freke a furlange of waye, When he that ladye had laghte and ledde to þe montez; I hadde lefte my lyfe are cho hade harme lymppyde. Bot walde þow kene me to þe crage thare þat kene lengez; I walde cayre to þat coste and carpe wythe hym seluen, To trette with that tyraunt fore treson of londes, And take trewe for a tym, till it may tyde bettyr." "Sire, see ȝe ȝone farlande, with ȝone two fyrez? Þar filsnez þat fende—fraiste when the lykes— Appone the creste of the cragge, by a colde welle, That enclosez þe clyfe with þe clere strandez; Ther may thow fynde folke fay wythowttyn nowmer, Mo florenez, in faythe, than Fraunce es in aftyre; And more tresour vntrewely that traytour has getyn Thane in Troye was, as I trowe, þat tym þat it was wonn." Thane romyez the ryche kynge for rewthe of þe pople, Raykez ryghte to a tente and restez no lengere; He welterys, he wristeles, he wryngez hys handez; Thare was no wy of þis werlde that wyste whatt he menede. He calles Sir Cayous, þat of þe cowpe serfede, And Sir Bedvere þe bolde, þat bare hys brande ryche: "Luke ȝe aftyre euensang be armyde at ryghttez, On blonkez by ȝone buscayle, by ȝone blythe stremez, Fore I will passe in pilgremage preuely hereaftyre, In the tyme of suppere, whene lordez are servede, For to seken a saynte be ȝone salte stremes, In Seynt Mighell Mount, there myraclez are schewede." Aftyre euesange, Sir Arthure hym selfen Wente to hys wardrop and warp of hys wedez, Armede hym in a acton with orfraeez full ryche, Abouen on þat a jeryn of Acres owte ouer, Abouen þat a jesseraunt of jentyll maylez, A jupon of Ierodyn, jaggede in schredez; He brayedez one a bacenett, burneschte of syluer, The beste þat was in Basill, wyth bordurs ryche; The creste and þe coronall enclosed so faire Wyth clasppis of clere golde, couched wyth stones; The vesare, þe aventaile, enarmede so faire, Voyde withowttyn vice, with wyndowes of syluer; His gloues gaylyche gilte and grauen at þe hemmez, With graynez and gobelets, glorious of hewe. He bracez a brade schelde and his brande aschez, Bounede hym a broun stede and on þe bente houys; He sterte till his sterep and stridez on lofte, Streynez hym stowttly and sterys hym faire, Brochez þe baye stede and to þe buske rydez, And there hys knyghtes hym kepede full clenlyche arayede. Than they roode by þat ryuer þat rynnyd so swythe, Þare þe ryndez ouerrechez with reall bowghez; The roo and þe raynedere reklesse thare ronnen, In ranez and in rosers, to ryotte þam seluen; The frithez ware floreschte with flourez full many, Wyth fawcouns and fesantez of ferlyche hewez; All þe feulez thare fleschez that flyez with wengez, Fore thare galede þe gowke one greuez full lowde: Wyth alkyn gladchipe þay gladden þem seluen; Of þe nyghtgale notez þe noisez was swette— They threpide wyth the throstills, thre hundreth at ones; Þat whate swowyng of watyr and syngyng of byrdez, It myghte salue hym of sore þat sounde was neuere. Than ferkez this folke and on fotte lyghttez, Festenez theire faire stedez o ferrom bytwene; And thene the Kyng kenely comandyde hys knyghtez For to byde with theire blonkez and bowne no forthyre: "Fore I will seke this seynte by my selfe one, And mell with this mayster mane þat this monte ȝemez; And seyn sall ȝe offyre, aythyre aftyre oþer, Menskfully at Saynt Mighell full myghtty with Criste." The Kyng coueris þe cragge wyth cloughes full hye, To the creste of the clyffe he clymbez on lofte; Keste vpe hys vmbrer and kenly he lukes, Caughte of þe colde wynde to comforthe hym seluen. Two fyrez fyndez, flawmande full hye; The fourtedele a furlang betwene þus he walkes; The waye by þe welle strandez he wandyrde hym one, To wette of þe warlawe, whare þat he lengez. He ferkez to þe fyrste fyre, and euen there he fyndez A wery wafull wedowe, wryngande hire handez, And gretande on a graue grysely teres; Now merkyde on molde sen myddaye it semede. He saluȝede þat sorowfull with sittande wordez, And fraynez aftyre the fende fairely thereaftyre. Thane this wafull wyfe vnwynly hym gretez, Couerd vp on hire kneess and clappyde hire handez; Said "Carefull careman, thow carpez to lowde; May ȝone warlawe wyt, he worows vs all! Weryd worthe þe wyghte ay that þe thy wytt refede, That mase the to wayfe here in þise wylde lakes. I warne þe fore wyrchipe þou wylnez aftyr sorowe; Whedyre buskes þow, berne? Vnblysside þow semes. Wenez thow to britten hym with thy brande ryche? Ware thow wyghttere than Wade or Wawayn owthire, Thow wynnys no wyrchip, I warne the before. Thow saynned the vnsekyrly to seke to þese mountez; Siche sex ware to symple to semble with hym one, For and thow see hym with syghte, the seruez no herte To sayne the sekerly, so semez hym huge! Thow arte frely and faire and in thy fyrste flourez, Bot thow arte fay, be my faythe, and þat me forthynkkys. Ware syche fyfty on a felde or one a faire erthe, The freke walde with hys fyste fell ȝow at ones! Loo, here the duchez dere—todaye was cho takyn— Depe doluen and dede, dyked in moldez; He hade morthirede this mylde be myddaye war rongen, Withowttyn mercy one molde—I not watte it ment. He has forsede hir and fylede, and cho es fay leuede; He slewe hir vnslely and slitt hir to þe nauyll. And here haue I bawmede hir and beryede þeraftyr; For bale of þe botelesse, blythe be I neuer. Of alle þe frendez cho hade, þere folowede none aftyre, Bot I, hir foster modyr of fyftene wynter; To ferke of this farlande, fande sall I neuer, Bot here be founden on felde till I be fay leuede." Thane answers Sir Arthure to þat alde wyf, "I am comyn fra þe Conquerour, curtaise and gentill, As one of þe hathelest of Arthur knyghtez, Messenger to þis myx, for mendemente of þe pople, To mele with this maister man that here this mounte ȝemez; To trete with this tyraunt for tresour of landez, And take trew for a tym, to bettyr may worthe." "Ȝa, thire wordis are bot waste," quod this wif thane, "For bothe landez and lythes full lyttill by he settes; Of rentez ne of rede golde rekkez he neuer, For he will lenge owt of lawe, as hym selfe thynkes, Withowten licence of lede, as lorde in his awen. Bot he has a kyrtill one, kepide for hym seluen, That was sponen in Spayne with specyall byrdez, And sythyn garnescht in Grece full graythly togedirs. It es hyded all with har hally al ouere, And bordyrde with the berdez of burlyche kyngez, Crispid and kombide, that kempis may knawe Iche kyng by his colour, in kythe there he lengez; Here the fermez he fangez of fyftene rewmez: For ilke Esterne ewyn, howeuer that it fall, They send it hym sothely for saughte of þe pople, Sekerly at þat seson, with certayne knyghtez. And he has aschede Arthure all þis seuen wynntter: Forthy hurdez he here, to owttraye hys pople, Till þe Bretons kyng haue burneschte his lyppys, And sent his berde to that bolde wyth his beste berynes. Bot thowe hafe broghte þat berde, bowne the no forthire, For it es buteless bale thowe biddez oghte ells; For he has more tresour to take when hym lykez Than euere aughte Arthure or any of hys elders; If thowe hafe broghte þe berde he bese more blythe Thane þowe gafe hym Burgoyne or Bretayne þe More. Bot luke nowe for charitée þow chasty thy lyppes, That the no wordez eschape, whateso betydez; Luke þi presante be priste, and presse hym bott lytill, For he es at his sowper, he will be sone greuyde; And þow my concell doo, þow dosse of thy clothes, And knele in thy kyrtyll, and call hym thy lorde. He sowppes all þis seson with seuen knaue childre, Choppid in a chargour of chalke-whytt syluer, With pekill and powdyre of precious spycez, And pyment full plenteuous of Portyngale wynes; Thre balefull birdez his brochez þey turne, Þat byddez his bedgatt, his byddyng to wyrche; Siche foure scholde be fay within foure hourez, Are his fylth ware filled that his flesch ȝernes." "Ȝa, I haue broghte þe berd," quod he, "the bettyr me lykez; Forthi will I boun me, and bere it my seluen; Bot, lefe, walde þow lere me whare þat lede lengez, I sall alowe þe and I liffe, oure Lorde so me helpe." "Ferke fast to þe fyre," quod cho, "that flawmez so hye; Thare fillis þat fende hym, fraist when the lykez; Bot thow moste seke more southe, sydlyngs a lyttill, For he will hafe sent hym selfe sex myle large." To þe sowþe of þe reke he soghte at þe gayneste, Sayned hym sekerly with certeyne wordez, And sydlyngs of þe segge the syghte had he rechid, How vnsemly þat sott satt sowpand hym one; He lay lenand on lang, lugand vnfaire, Þe thee of a manns lymme lyfte vp by þe haunche; His bakke and his bewschers and his brode lendez He bekez by þe bale-fyre, and breklesse hym semede. Þare ware rostez full ruyd and rewfull bredez, Beerynes and bestaile brochede togeders, Cowle full cramede of crysmed childyre, Sum as brede brochede, and bierdez þam tournede. And þan this comlych kyng, bycause of his pople, His herte bledez for bale, one bent ware he standez. Thane he dressede one his schelde, schuntes no lengere, Braundeschte his bryghte swerde by þe bryghte hiltez, Raykez towarde þe renke reghte with a ruyd will, And hyely hailsez þat hulke with hawtayne wordez: "Now allweldand Gode, þat wyrscheppez vs all, Giff the sorowe and syte, sotte, there thow lygges, For the fulsomeste freke that fourmede was euere; Foully thow fedys the, þe Fende haue thi saule! Here es cury vnclene, carle, be my trowthe, Caffe of creatours all, thow curssede wriche! Because that þow killide has þise cresmede childyre, Thow has marters made, and broghte oute of lyfe, Þat here are brochede on bente and brittened with thi handez, I sall merke þe thy mede, as þou has myche serfed, Thurghe myghte of Seynt Mighell, þat þis monte ȝemes; And for this faire ladye, þat þow has fey leuyde, And þus forced one foulde, for fylth of þi selfen. Dresse the now, dogge-sone—the Deuell haue þi saule— For þow sall dye this day, thurghe dynt of my handez!" Than glopned þe gloton and glored vnfaire; He grenned as a grewhounde, with grysly tuskes; He gaped, he groned faste, with grucchand latez, For grefe of þe gude kyng þat hym with grame gretez. His fax and his foretoppe was filterede togeders, And owte of his face come ane halfe fote large; His frount and his forheued all was it ouer, As þe fell of a froske, and fraknede it semede; Huke-nebbyde as a hawke, and a hore berde, And herede to þe hole eyghn with hyngande browes; Harske as a hunde-fisch hardly whoso lukez, So was þe hyde of þat hulke hally al ouer. Erne had he full huge and vgly to schewe, With eghne full horreble and ardauunt forsothe; Flatt-mowthede as a fluke, with fleryand lyppys, And þe flesche in his fortethe fowly as a bere. His berde was brothy and blake, þat till his brest rechede, Grassede as a mereswyne, with corkes full huge, And all falterd þe flesche in his foule lippys, Ilke wrethe as a wolfe-heuede, it wraythe owtt at ones. Bulle-nekkyde was þat bierne and brade in the scholders, Brok-brestede as a brawne, with brustils full large, Ruyd armes as an ake with rusclede sydes, Lym and leskes full lothyn, leue ȝe forsothe. Schouell-foted was þat schalke, and schaylande hyn semyde, With schankez vnschaply, schowand togedyrs; Thykke theese as a thursse, and thikkere in þe hanche, Greesse growen as a galte, full gryslych he lukez. Who þe lenghe of þe lede lelly accountes, Fro þe face to þe fote was fyfe fadom lange. Thane stertez he vp sturdely on two styffe schankez, And sone he caughte hym a clubb all of clene yryn; He walde hafe kyllede þe Kyng with his kene wapen, Bot thurghe þe crafte of Cryste ȝit þe carle failede; The creest and þe coronall, þe claspes of syluer, Clenly with his clubb he crassched doune at onez. The Kyng castes vp his schelde and couers hym faire, And with his burlyche brande a box he hym reches; Full butt in þe frunt the fromonde he hittez, That the burnyscht blade to þe brayne rynnez. He feyed his fysnamye with his foule hondez, And frappez faste at his face fersely þeraftyre; The Kyng chaungez his fote, eschewes a lyttill— Ne had he eschapede þat choppe, cheuede had euyll; He folowes in fersly and festenesse a dynte Hye vpe on þe hanche with his harde wapyn, That he hillid þe swerde halfe a fote large— The hott blode of þe hulke vnto þe hilte rynnez; Ewyn into inmette the gyaunt he hyttez, Iust to þe genitales and jaggede þam in sondre. Thane he romyed and rared, and ruydly he strykez Full egerly at Arthur, and on the erthe hittez; A swerde lenghe within þe swarthe he swappez at ones, That nere swounes þe Kyng for swoughe of his dynnttez. Bot ȝit the Kyng sweperly full swythe he byswenkez, Swappez in with the swerde þat it þe swange brystedd; Bothe þe guttez and the gorr guschez owte at ones, Þat all englaymez þe gresse one grounde þer he standez. Thane he castez the clubb and the Kyng hentez: On þe creeste of þe cragg he caughte hym in armez, And enclosez hym clenly, to cruschen hys rybbez— So hard haldez he þat hende þat nere his herte brystez. Þane þe balefull bierdez bownez to þe erthe, Kneland and cryande, and clappide þeire handez: "Criste comforthe ȝone knyghte, and kepe hym fro sorowe, And latte neuer ȝone fende fell hym o lyfe." Ȝitt es þe warlow so wyghte, he welters hym vnder, Wrothely þai wrythyn and wrystill togederz, Welters and walowes ouer within þase buskez, Tumbellez and turnes faste and terez þaire wedez; Vntenderly fro þe toppe þai tiltin togederz, Whilom Arthure ouer and oþerwhile vndyre; Fro þe heghe of þe hyll vnto þe harde roche, They feyne neuer are they fall at þe flode merkes. Bot Arthur with ane anlace egerly smyttez, And hittez euer in the hulke vp to þe hiltez; Þe theefe at þe dede-thrawe so throly hym thryngez, Þat three rybbys in his syde he thrystez in sunder. Then Sir Kayous þe kene vnto þe Kyng styrtez: Said "Allas, we are lorne—my lorde es confundede; Ouerfallen with a fende—vs es full hapnede! We mon be forfeted, in faith, and flemyde for euer!" Þay hafe vp hys hawberke þan and handilez þervndyr His hyde and his haunche eke, on heghte to þe schuldrez, His flawnke and his feletez and his faire sydez, Bothe his bakke and his breste and his bryghte armez; Þay ware fayne þat þey fande no flesche entamed, And for þat journée made joye, þir gentill knyghttez. "Now certez," saise Sir Bedwere, "it semez, be my Lorde, He sekez seyntez bot selden, þe sorer he grypes, Þat þus clekys this corsaunt owte of þir heghe clyffez, To carye forthe siche a carle at close hym in siluer. Be Myghell, of syche a makk I hafe myche wondyre That euer owre soueraygne Lorde suffers hym in Heuen; And all seyntez be syche þat seruez oure Lorde, I sall neuer no seynt bee, be my fadyre sawle!" Thane bourdez þe bolde kyng at Bedvere wordez: "Þis seynt haue I soghte, so helpe me owre Lorde! Forthy brayd owtte þi brande, and broche hym to þe herte; Be sekere of this sergeaunt, he has me sore greuede. I faghte noghte wyth syche a freke þis fyftene wyntyre; Bot in þe montez of Araby I mett syche anoþer: He was þe forcyer be ferre þat had I nere funden— Ne had my fortune bene faire, fey had I leuede. Onone stryke of his heuede, and stake it thereaftyre, Gife it to thy sqwyere, fore he es wele horsede, Bere it to Sir Howell, þat es in harde bandez, And byd hym herte hym wele, his enmy es destruede. Syne bere it to Bareflete, and brace it in yryne, And sett it on the barbycane, biernes to schewe. My brande and my brode schelde apon þe bent lyggez, On þe creeste of þe cragge, thare fyrste we encontrede, And þe clubb þarby, all of clene iren, Þat many Cristen has kyllyde in Constantyne landez; Ferke to the farlande, and fetche me þat wapen, And late founde till oure flete, in flode þare it lengez. If thow wyll any tresour, take whate the lykez; Haue I the kyrtyll and þe clubb, I coueite noghte ells." Now þey caire to þe cragge, þise comlyche knyghtez, And broghte hym þe brade schelde and his bryghte wapen, Þe clubb and þe cotte alls, Syr Kayous hym seluen, And kayres with the Conquerour, the kyngez to schewe That in couerte þe Kyng helde closse to hym seluen, Whills clene day fro þe clowde clymbyd on lofte. Be that to courte was comen clamour full huge; And before þe comlyche kyng they knelyd all at ones: "Welcom, our liege lorde, to lang has thow duellyde— Gouernour vndyr Gode, graytheste and noble, To wham grace es graunted and gyffen at His will; Now thy comly come has comforthede vs all. Thow has in thy realtee reuengyde thy pople; Thurghe helpe of thy hande, thyne enmyse are struyede, That has thy renkes ouerronne and refte them theire childyre; Whas neuer rewme owte of araye so redyly releuede!" Than þe Conquerour Cristenly carpez to his pople: "Thankes Gode," quod he, "of þis grace, and no gome ells, For it was neuer manns dede, bot myghte of Hym selfen, Or myracle of Hys Modyr, þat mylde es till all." He somond þan þe schippemen scharpely þeraftyre, To schake furthe with þe schyremen to schifte þe gudez, All þe myche tresour þat traytour had wonnen, To comouns of the contré, clergye and oþer: "Luke it be done and delte to my dere pople, That none pleyn of theire parte, o peyne of ȝour lyfez." He comande hys cosyn, with knyghtlyche wordez, To make a kyrke on þe cragg, ther the corse lengez, And a couent therein, Criste for to serfe, In mynde of þat martyre, þat in þe monte rystez. Lines 1222 through 1616 Qwen Sir Arthur the Kyng had kylled þe gyaunt, Than blythely fro Bareflete he buskes on þe morne; With his batell on brede, by þa blythe stremes, Towarde Castell Blanke he chesez hym the waye; Thurghe a faire champayne, vndyr schalke hyllis, The Kyng fraystez a furth ouer the fresche strandez, Foundez with his faire folke ouer as hym lykez; Furthe stepes that steryn and strekez his tentis One a strenghe by a streme, in þas straytt landez. Onone aftyre myddaye, in the mene-while, Þare comez two messangers of tha fere marchez, Fra þe Marschall of Fraunce, and menskfully hym gretes, Besoghte hym of sucour and saide hym þise wordez: "Sir, thi marschall, þi mynistre, thy mercy besekez, Of thy mekill magestée, fore mendement of thi pople, Of þise marchez-men, that thus are myskaryede, And thus merred amang, maugrée theire eghne. I witter þe þe Emperour es entirde into Fraunce, With ostes of enmyse, orrible and huge; Brynnez in Burgoyne thy burghes so ryche, And brittenes thi baronage, that bieldez þarein; He encrochez kenely by craftez of armez, Countrese and castells þat to thy coroun langez, Confoundez thy comouns, clergy and oþer: Bot thow comfurth them, Sir Kyng, couer sall they neuer! He fellez forestez fele, forrayse thi landez, Frysthez no fraunchez, bot fraiez the pople; Þus he fellez thi folke and fangez theire gudez: Fremedly the Franche tung fey es belefede. He drawes into douce Fraunce, as Duchemen tellez, Dresside with his dragouns, dredfull to schewe; All to dede they dyghte with dynnttys of swerddez, Dukez and dusperes þat dreches tharein. Forthy the lordez of the lande, ladys and oþer, Prayes the for Petyr luffe, þe Apostyll of Rome, Sen thow arte presant in place, þat þow will profyre make To þat perilous prynce, be processe of tym. He ayers by ȝone hilles, ȝone heghe holtez vndyr, Hufes thare with hale strenghe of haythen kyngez; Helpe nowe for His lufe, that heghe in Heuen sittez, And talke tristly to them þat thus vs destroyes." The Kyng biddis Sir Boice, "Buske the belyfe; Take with the Sir Berill and Bedwere the ryche, Sir Gawayne and Sir Geryn, these galyarde knyghtez, And graythe ȝowe to ȝone grene wode, and gose on þer nedes: Saise to Syr Lucius, to vnlordly he wyrkez, Thus letherly agaynes law to lede my pople; I lette hym or oghte lange, ȝif me þe lyffe happen, Or many lyghte sall lawe þat hym ouere lande folowes. Comande hym kenely wyth crewell wordez, Cayre owte of my kyngryke with his kydd knyghtez: In caase that he will noghte, þat cursede wreche, Com for his curtaisie, and countere me ones. Thane sall we rekken full rathe whatt ryghte þat he claymes, Thus to ryot þis rewme and raunsone the pople. Thare sall it derely be delte with dynttez of handez— The Dryghtten at Domesdaye dele as Hym lykes!" Now thei graythe them to goo, theis galyarde knyghttez, All gleterande in golde, appon grete stedes, Towarde þe grene wode, with grownden wapyn, To grete wele the grett lorde, that wolde be grefede sone. Thise hende houez on a hill by þe holte eyues, Behelde þe howsyng full hye of hathen kynges: They herde in theire herbergage hundrethez full many Hornez of olyfantez full helych blawen; Palaisez proudliche pyghte, þat palyd ware ryche, Of pall and of purpure, with precyous stones; Pensels and pomell of ryche prynce armez, Pighte in þe playn mede, þe pople to schewe. And than the Romayns so ryche had arayede their tentez, On rawe by þe ryuer, vndyr þe round hillez, The Emperour for honour ewyn in the myddes, Wyth egles al ouer, ennelled so faire; And saw hym and þe Sowdane, and senatours many Seke towarde a sale with sextene kyngez, Syland softely in, swettly by them selfen, To sowpe withe þat soueraygne full selcouthe metez. Nowe they wende ouer the watyre, þise wyrchipfull knyghttez, Thurghe þe wode to þe wone there the wyese rystez; Reght as þey hade weschen and went to þe table, Sir Wawayne þe worthy vnwynly he spekes: "The myghte and þe maiestée þat menskes vs all, That was merked and made thurghe þe myghte of Hym seluen, Gyffe ȝow sytte in ȝour sette, Sowdane and oþer, That here are semblede in sale—vnsawghte mott ȝe worthe! And þe fals heretyke þat Emperour hym callez, That ocupyes in erroure the Empyre of Rome, Sir Arthure herytage, þat honourable kyng, That all his auncestres aughte but Vtere hym one, That ilke cursynge þat Cayme kaghte for his brothyre Cleffe on þe, cukewalde, with croune ther thow lengez, For the vnlordlyeste lede þat I on lukede euer! My lorde meruailles hym mekyll, man, be my trouthe, Why thow morthires his men, þat no mysse serues, Comouns of þe countré, clergye and oþer, Þat are noghte coupable þerin, ne knawes noght in armez. Forthi the comelyche kynge, curtays and noble, Comandez þe kenely to kaire of his landes, Ore ells for thy knyghthede encontre hym ones; Sen þow couettes the coroune, latte it be declarede! I hafe dyschargide me here—chalange whoo lykez— Before all thy cheualrye, cheftaynes and oþer; Schape vs an ansuere, and schunte þow no lengere, Þat we may schifte at þe schorte and schewe to my lorde." The Emperour ansuerde wyth austeryn wordez: "Ȝe are with myn enmy, Sir Arthur hym seluen; It es non honour to me to owttray hys knyghttez, Þoghe ȝe bee irous men þat ayres on his nedez; Bot say to thy soueraygne I send hym thes wordez, Ne ware it for reuerence of my ryche table, Þou sulde repent full rathe of þi ruyde wordez— Siche a rebawde as þowe rebuke any lordez, Wyth theire retenuz arrayede, full reall and noble— Here will I suggourne whills me lefe thynkes, And sythen seke in by Sayne with solace þeraftere, Ensegge al þa cetése be þe salte strandez, And seyn ryde in by Rone, þat rynnez so faire, And of all his ryche castells rusche doun þe wallez; I sall noghte lefe in Paresche, by processe of tyme, His parte of a pechelyne—proue when hym lykes!" "Now certez," sais Sir Wawayne, "myche wondyre haue I Þat syche an alfyn as thow dare speke syche wordez! I had leuer then all Fraunce, that heuede es of rewmes, Fyghte with the faythefully on felde be oure one." Thane answers Sir Gayous full gobbede wordes— Was eme to þe Emperour and erle hym selfen— "Euere ware þes Bretouns braggers of olde! Loo, how he brawles hym for hys bryghte wedes, As he myghte bryttyn vs all with his brande ryche; Ȝitt he berkes myche boste, ȝone boy þere he standes!" Than greuyde Sir Gawayne at his grett wordes, Graythes towarde þe gome with grucchande herte; With hys stelyn brande he strykes of hys heuede, And sterttes owtte to hys stede, and with his stale wendes. Thurghe þe wacches þey wente, thes wirchipfull knyghtez, And fyndez in theire farewaye wondyrlyche many; Ouer þe watyre þey wente by wyghtnesse of horses, And tuke wynde as þey walde by þe wodde hemmes. Thane folous frekly one fote frekkes ynewe, And of þe Romayns arrayed appon ryche stedes, Chasede thurghe a champayne oure cheualrous knyghtez, Till a cheefe forest, on scalke-whitte horses. Bot a freke all in fyne golde, and fretted in sable, Come forþermaste on a freson, in flawmande wedes; A faire floreschte spere in fewtyre he castes, And folowes faste on owre folke and freschelye ascryez. Thane Sir Gawayne the gude, appone a graye stede, He gryppes hym a grete spere and graythely hym hittez; Thurghe þe guttez into þe gorre he gyrdes hym ewyn, That the grounden stele glydez to his herte; The gome and þe grette horse at þe grounde lyggez, Full gryselyche gronande, for grefe of his woundez. Þane presez a preker in, full proudely arayede, That beres all of pourpour, palyde with syluer; Byggly on a broune stede he profers full large— He was a paynyme of Perse þat þus hym persuede. Sir Boys, vnabaiste all, he buskes hym agaynes, With a bustous launce he berez hym thurghe, Þat þe breme and þe brade schelde appon þe bente lyggez; And he bryngez furthe the blade and bownez to his felowez. Thane Sir Feltemour of myghte, a man mekyll praysede, Was mouede on his manere and manacede full faste; He graythes to Sir Gawayne graythely to wyrche, For grefe of Sir Gayous, þat es on grounde leuede. Than Sir Gawayne was glade: agayne hym he rydez, Wyth Galuth his gude swerde graythely hym hyttez; The knyghte on þe coursere he cleuede in sondyre— Clenlyche fro þe croune his corse he dyuysyde, And þus he killez þe knyghte with his kydd wapen. Than a ryche man of Rome relyede to his byerns: "It sall repent vs full sore and we ryde forthire! Ȝone are bolde bosturs þat syche bale wyrkez; It befell hym full foule þat þam so fyrste namede." Thane þe riche Romayns retournes þaire brydills To þaire tentis in tene, telles theire lordez How Sir Marschalle de Mowne es on þe monte lefede, Forejustyde at that journée for his grett japez. Bot thare chasez on oure men cheuallrous knyghtez, Fyfe thosande folke appon faire stedes, Faste to a foreste ouer a fell watyr, That fillez fro þe falow see fyfty myle large. Thare ware Bretons enbuschide, and banarettez noble, Of þe cheualrye cheefe of þe kyngez chambyre, Seese them chase oure men and changen þeire horsez, And choppe doun cheftaynes that they moste chargyde. Thane þe enbuschement of Bretons brake owte at ones, Brothely at baner, and Bedwyne knyghtez Arrestede of þe Romayns þat by þe fyrthe rydez All þe realeste renkes þat to Rome lengez; Thay iche on þe enmyse and egerly strykkys, Erles of Ingland, and "Arthure!" ascryes; Thrughe brenes and bryghte scheldez brestez they thyrle, Bretons of the boldeste, with theire bryghte swerdez. Thare was Romayns ouerredyn and ruydly wondyde, Arrestede as rebawdez with ryotous knyghttez; The Romaynes owte of araye remouede at ones, And rydes awaye in a rowtte, for reddoure it semys. To þe Senatour Petyr a sandesmane es commyn, And saide "Sir, sekerly, ȝour seggez are supprysside." Than ten thowsande men he semblede at ones, And sett sodanly on our seggez, by þe salte strandez; Than ware Bretons abaiste and greuede a lyttill, Bot ȝit the banerettez bolde and bachellers noble Brekes that battailles with brestez of stedes; Sir Boice and his bolde men myche bale wyrkes. The Romayns redyes þam, arrayez þam better, And al toruscheez oure men withe theire ryste horsez, Arestede of the richeste of þe Rounde Table, Ouerrydez oure rerewarde and grette rewthe wyrkes. Thane the Bretons on þe bente habyddez no lengere, Bot fleede to þe foreste and the feelde leuede; Sir Beryll es born down and Sir Boice taken, The beste of our bolde men vnblythely wondyde; Bot ȝitt our stale on a strenghe stotais a lyttill, All tostonayede with þe stokes of þa steryn knyghtez; Made sorowe fore theire soueraygne, þat so þare was nomen, Besoughte Gode of socure, sende whene Hym lykyde. Than commez Sir Idrus, armede vp at all ryghttez, Wyth fyue hundrethe men appon faire stedes; Fraynez faste at oure folke freschely þareaftyre, Ȝif þer frendez ware ferre, þat on þe felde foundide. Thane sais Sir Gawayne, "So me God helpe, We hafe bene chased todaye and chullede as hares, Rebuyked with Romaynes appon þeire ryche stedez, And we lurkede vndyr lee as lowrande wreches! I luke neuer on my lorde þe dayes of my lyfe, And we so lytherly hym helpe þat hym so wele lykede." Thane the Bretons brothely brochez theire stedez, And boldly in batell appon þe bent rydes; All þe ferse men before frekly ascryes, Ferkand in þe foreste, to freschen þam selfen. The Romaynes than redyly arrayes them bettyre, One rawe on a rowm felde, reghttez theire wapyns, By þe ryche reuere, and rewles þe pople; And with reddour Sir Boice es in areste halden. Now thei semblede vnsaughte by þe salte strandez: Saddly theis sekere menn settys þeire dynttez; With lufly launcez on lofte they luyschen togedyres, In lorayne so lordlye on leppande stedes. Thare ware gomes thurghegirde with grundyn wapyns, Grisely gayspand with grucchande lotes; Grete lordes of Greke greffede so hye. Swyftly with swerdes they swappen thereaftyre, Swappez doun full sweperlye swelltande knyghtez, That all swellttez one swarthe that they ouerswyngen; So many sweys in swoghe, swounande att ones. Syr Gaweayne the gracyous full graythelye he wyrkkes: The gretteste he gretez wyth gryselye wondes; Wyth Galuth he gyrdez doun full galyard knyghtez— Fore greefe of þe grett lorde so grymlye he strykez. He rydez furthe ryallye and redely thereaftyre, Thare this reall renke was in areste halden; He ryfez þe raunke stele, he ryghttez þeire brenez, And refte them the ryche man and rade to his strenghes. The Senatour Peter thane persewede hym aftyre, Thurghe þe presse of þe pople, wyth his pryce knyghttes; Appertly fore þe prysonere proues his strenghes, Wyth prekers the proudeste that to þe presse lengez. Wrothely on the wrange hande Sir Gawayne he strykkes, Wyth a wapen of were vnwynnly hym hittez; The breny one þe bakhalfe he brystez in sondyre— Bot ȝit he broghte forthe Sir Boyce, for all þeire bale biernez. Thane þe Bretons boldely braggen þeire tromppez, And fore blysse of Sir Boyce was broghte owtte of bandez, Boldely in batell they bere doun knyghtes; With brandes of broun stele þey brettened maylez; Þay stekede stedys in stour with stelen wapyns, And all stewede with strenghe þat stode þem agaynes. Sir Idrus fitz Ewayn þan "Arthur!" ascryeez, Assemblez on þe Senatour wyth sextene knyghttez, Of þe sekereste men þat to oure syde lengede. Sodanly in a soppe they sett in att ones, Foynes faste att þe forebreste with flawmande swerdez, And feghttes faste att þe fronte freschely þareaftyre, Felles fele on þe felde appon þe ferrere syde, Fey on þe faire felde by þa fresche strandez. Bot Sir Idrus fytz Ewayn anters hym seluen, And enters in anly and egyrly strykez, Sekez to þe Senatour and sesez his brydill; Vnsaughtely he saide hym þese sittande wordez: "Ȝelde þe, Sir, ȝapely, ȝife þou þi lyfe ȝernez; Fore gyftez þat þow gyffe may þou ȝeme now þe selfen. Fore dredlez dreche þow or droppe any wylez, Thow sall dy þis daye thorowe dyntt of my handez!" "I ascente," quod þe Senatour, "so me Criste helpe; So þat I be safe broghte before þe Kyng seluen, Raunson me resonabillye, as I may ouerreche Aftyre my renttez in Rome may redyly forthire." Thane answers Sir Idrus with austeryn wordez: "Thow sall hafe condycyon, as þe Kyng lykes, When thow comes to þe kyth there the courte haldez, In caase his concell bee to kepe the no langere, To be killyde at his commandment his knyghttez before." Þay ledde hym furthe in þe rowte and lached ofe his wedes, Lefte hym wyth Lyonell and Lowell, hys brothire. O lawe in þe launde þan, by þe lythe strandez, Sir Lucius lyggemen loste are fore euer. The Senatour Peter es prysoner takyn; Of Perce and of Porte Iaffe full many price knyghtez, And myche pople wythall perischede þam selfen— For presse of þe passage they plungede at onez. Thare myghte men see Romaynez rewfully wondyde, Ouerredyn with renkes of the Round Table. In þe raike of þe furthe they righten þeire brenys, Þat rane all on reede blode redylye all ouer. They raughte in þe rerewarde full ryotous knyghtez For raunsone of rede golde and reall stedys; Radly relayes and restez theire horsez, In rowtte to þe ryche kynge they rade al at onez. A knyghte cayrez before and to þe Kynge telles, "Sir, here commez thy messangerez with myrthez fro þe mountez; Þay hafe bene machede todaye with men of þe marchez, Foremaglede in þa marras with meruailous knyghtez. We hafe foughten, in faithe, by ȝone fresche strandez, With þe frekkeste folke that to þi foo langez; Fyfty thosaunde on felde of ferse men of armez, Wythin a furlange of waye, fay ere bylefede. We hafe eschewede þis chekke thurghe chance of oure Lorde, Of tha cheualrous men that chargede thy pople. The cheefe chaunchelere of Rome, a cheftayne full noble, Will aske þe chartyre of pesse, for charitée, hym selfen. And the Senatour Petire to presoner es takyn; Of Perse and of Porte Iaffe paynymmez ynewe Commez prekande in the presse with thy prysse knyghttez, With pouerté in thi preson theire paynez to drye. I beseke ȝow, Sir, say whate ȝowe lykes, Whethire ȝe suffyre them saughte or sone delyuerde. Ȝe may haue fore þe Senatour sextie horse chargede Of siluer be Seterdaye, full sekyrly payede; And for þe cheefe chauncelere, þe cheualere noble, Charottez chokkefull charegyde with golde; The remenaunt of þe Romaynez be in areste halden, Till thiere renttez in Rome be rightewissly knawen. I beseke ȝow, Sir, certyfye ȝone lordez, Ȝif ȝe will send þam ouer þe see or kepe þam ȝour selfen. All ȝour sekyre men, forsothe, sounde are byleuyde, Saue Sir Ewayne fytz Henry es in þe side wonddede." "Crist be thankyde," quod the Kyng, "and hys clere Modyre, That ȝowe comforthed and helpede be crafte of Hym selfen; Skilfull skomfyture he skiftez as Hym lykez; Is none so skathlye may skape ne skewe fro His handez. Desteny and doughtynes of dedys of armes, All es demyd and delte at Dryghtynez will. I kwn the thanke for thy come—it comfortes vs all. Sir Knyghte," sais þe Conquerour, "so me Criste helpe, I ȝif the for thy thyȝandez Tolouse þe riche, The toll and þe tachementez, tauernez and oþer, Þe town and þe tenementez, with towrez so hye, That towchez to þe temporaltée, whills my tym lastez. Bot say to þe Senatour I sende hym þes wordez: Thare sall no siluer hym saue bot Ewayn recouer; I had leuer see hym synke on the salte strandez, Than the seegge ware seke, þat es so sore woundede. I sall disseuere that sorte, so me Criste helpe, And sett them full solytarie, in sere kyngez landez. Sall he neuer sownde see his seynowres in Rome, Ne sitt in þe assemblé in syghte wyth his feris; For it comes to no kyng þat Conquerour es holden, To comon with his captifis fore couatys of siluer. It come neuer of knyghthede—knawe if ȝif hym lyke— To carpe of coseri when captyfis ere takyn; It aughte to no presoners to prese no lordez, Ne come in presens of pryncez whene partyes are mouede. Comaunde ȝone constable, þe castell þat ȝemes, That he be clenlyche kepede, and in close halden; He sall haue maundement tomorne, or myddaye be roungen, To what marche þay sall merke, with mauger to lengen." Þay conuaye this captyfe with clene men of armez, And kend hym to þe constable, alls þe Kynge byddez; And seyn to Arthure þey ayr and egerly hym towchez The answere of þe Emperour, irows of dedez. Thane Sir Arthur, on erthe atheliste of oþere, At euen at his awen borde auantid his lordez: "Me aughte to honour them in erthe ouer all oþer thyngez Þat þus in myn absens awnters þem selfen; I sall them luffe whylez I lyffe, so me our Lorde helpe, And gyfe þem landys full large whare them beste lykes; Thay sall noghte losse on þis layke, ȝif me lyfe happen, Þat þus are lamede for my lufe be þis lythe strandez." Bot in þe clere daweyng, þe dere kynge hym selfen Comaundyd Sir Cadore, with his dere knyghttes, Sir Cleremus, Sir Cleremonde, with clene men of armez, Sir Clowdmur, Sir Clegis, to conuaye theis lordez; Sir Boyce and Sir Berell, with baners displayede, Sir Bawdwyne, Sir Bryane, and Sir Bedwere þe ryche, Sir Raynalde and Sir Richere, Rawlaund childyre, To ryde with þe Romaynes in rowtte wyth theire feres. "Prekez now preualye to Parys the ryche, Wyth Petir the pryssonere and his price knyghttez; Beteche þam þe proueste, in presens of lordez, O payne and o perell þat pendes theretoo; That they be weisely wachede and in warde holden, Warded of warantizez with wyrchipfull knyghttez, Wagge hym wyghte men, and woonde for no siluyre— I haffe warnede þat wy, be ware ȝif hym lykes." Lines 1617 through 1636 Now bownes þe Bretons, als þe Kynge byddez, Buskez theire batells, theire baners displayez; Towardez Chartris they chese, thes cheualrous knyghttez, And in the champayne lande full faire þay eschewede: For þe Emperour of myghte had ordand hym selfen Sir Vtolfe and Sir Ewandyre, two honourable kyngez, Erles of þe Orient, with austeryn knyghttez, Of þe awntrouseste men þat to his oste lengede, Sir Sextynour of Lyby and senatours many, The Kyng of Surrye hym selfe, with Sarzynes ynowe, The Senatour of Sutere, wyth sowmes full huge, Whas assygnede to þat courte be sent of his peres, Traise towarde Troys þe treson to wyrke, To hafe betrappede with a trayne oure traueland knyghttez, That hade persayfede þat Peter at Parys sulde lenge, In presonne with þe prouoste, his paynez to drye. Forthi they buskede them bownn, with baners displayede, In the buskayle of his waye, on blonkkes full hugge; Planttez them in the pathe with powere arrayede, To pyke vp þe presoners fro oure pryse knyghttez. Lines 1637 through 1644 Syr Cadore of Cornewalle comaundez his peris, Sir Clegis, Sir Cleremus, Sir Cleremownnde þe noble, "Here es þe close of Clyme, with clewes so hye: Lokez the contrée be clere, the corners are large; Discoueres now sekerly skrogges and oþer, That no skathell in þe skroggez skorne vs hereaftyre; Loke ȝe skyfte it so þat vs no skathe lympe, For na skomfitoure in skoulkery is skomfite euer." Lines 1645 through 1686 Now þey hye to þe holte, thes harageous knyghttez, To herken of þe hye men, to helpen theis lordez; Fyndez them helmede hole and horsyde on stedys, Houande on þe hye waye by þe holte hemmes. With knyghttly contenaunce Sir Clegis hym selfen Kryes to þe companye and carpes thees wordez: "Es there any kyde knyghte, kaysere or oþer, Will kyth for his kyng lufe craftes of armes? We are comen fro þe Kyng of þis kythe ryche, That knawen as for conquerour, corownde in erthe, His ryche retenuz here all of his Round Table, To ryde with þat reall rowtt where hym lykes; We seke justyng of werre, ȝif any will happyn, Of þe jolyeste men ajuggede be lordes, If here be any hathell man, erle or oþer, That for þe Emperour lufe will awntere hym selfen." And ane erle þane in angere answeres hym son: "Me angers at Arthure, and att his hathell bierns, That thus in his errour ocupyes theis rewmes, And owtrayes þe Emperour, his erthely lorde. The araye and þe ryalltéz of þe Rounde Table Es wyth rankour rehersede in rewmes full many; Of oure renttez of Rome syche reuell he haldys, He sall ȝife resoun full rathe, ȝif vs reghte happen, That many sall repente that in his rowtte rydez, For the reklesse roy so rewlez hym selfen!" "A!" sais Sir Clegis þan, "so me Criste helpe, I knawe be thi carpyng a cowntere þe semes! Bot be þou auditoure or erle or Emperour thi selfen, Appon Arthurez byhalue I answere the sone: The renke so reall þat rewllez vs all, The ryotous men and þe ryche of þe Rounde Table, He has araysede his accownte and redde all his rollez, For he wyll gyfe a rekenyng that rewe sall aftyre, That all þe ryche sall repente þat to Rome langez, Or þe rereage be requit of rentez þat he claymez. We crafe of ȝour curtaisie three coursez of werre, And claymez of knyghthode, take kepe to ȝour selfen! Ȝe do bott trayne vs todaye wyth trofeland wordez; Of syche trauaylande men trecherye me thnykes. Sende owte sadly certayne knyghttez, Or say me sekerly sothe—forsake ȝif ȝowe lykes." Lines 1687 through 1723 Þane sais þe Kynge of Surry, "Alls saue me oure Lorde, Ȝif þow hufe all þe daye, þou bees noghte delyuerede, Bot thow sekerly ensure with certeyne knyghtez, Þat þi cote and thi breste be knawen with lordez, Of armes of ancestrye entyrde with londez." "Sir Kyng," sais Sir Clegys, "full knyghttly þow askez; I trowe it be for cowardys thow carpes thes wordez. Myn armez are of ancestrye enueryd with lordez, And has in banere bene borne sen Sir Brut tyme; At the cité of Troye þat tymme was ensegede, Ofte seen in asawtte with certayne knyghttez, Fro þe Borghte broghte vs and all oure bolde elders To Bretayne þe Braddere, within chippe-burdez." "Sir," sais Sir Sextenour, "saye what þe lykez, And we sall suffyre the, als vs beste semes; Luke thi troumppez be trussede, and trofull no lengere, For þoghe þou tarye all þe daye, the tyddes no bettyr. For there sall neuer Romayne þat in my rowtt rydez Be with rebawdez rebuykyde whills I in werlde regne!" Thane Sir Clegis to þe Kyng a lyttill enclinede, Kayres to Sir Cadore and knyghtly hym tellez, "We hafe founden in ȝone firthe, floresched with leues, Þe flour of þe faireste folke þat to þi foo langez: Fifty thosandez of folke of ferse men of armez, Þat faire are fewteride on frounte vndyr ȝone fre bowes; They are enbuschede on blonkkes, with baners displayede, In ȝone bechen wode appon the waye sydes. Thay hafe the furthe forsette all of þe faire watyre, That fayfully of force feghte vs byhowys; For thus vs schappes todaye, schortly to tell, Whedyre we schone or schewe—schyft as þe lykes." "Nay," quod Cador, "so me Criste helpe, It ware schame þat we scholde schone for so lytyll. Sir Lancelott sall neuer laughe, þat with þe Kyng lengez, That I sulde lette my waye for lede appon erthe; I sall be dede and vndone ar I here dreche, For drede of any doggeson in ȝone dym schawes!" Lines 1724 through 1737 Syr Cador thane knyghtly comforthes his pople, And with corage kene he karpes þes wordes: "Thynk on þe valyaunt prynce þat vesettez vs euer With landez and lordcheppez, whare vs beste lykes; That has vs ducherés delte and dubbyde vs knyghttez, Gifen vs gersoms and golde and gardwynes many, Grewhoundez and grett horse and alkyn gamnes, That gaynez till any gome that vndyre God leuez. Thynke on riche renoun of þe Rounde Table, And late it neuer be refte vs fore Romayne in erthe; Feyne ȝow noghte feyntly, ne frythes no wapyns, Bot luke ȝe fyghte faythefully, frekes, ȝour selfen; I walde be wellyde all qwyke and quarterde in sondre, Bot I wyrke my dede, whils I in wrethe lenge." Lines 1738 through 1829 Than this doughtty duke duddyd his knyghttez, Ioneke and Askanere, Aladuke and oþer, That ayerez were of Esex and all þase este marchez, Howell and Hardelfe, happy in armez, Sir Heryll and Sir Herygall, þise harageouse knyghttez. Than the souerayn assignede certayne lordez, Sir Wawayne, Sir Vryell, Sir Bedwere þe ryche, Raynallde and Richeere and Rowlandez childyre: "Takez kepe on this prynce with ȝoure price knyghtez, And ȝife we in þe stour withstonden the better, Standez here in this stede, and stirrez no forthire; And ȝif þe chaunce falle þat we bee ouercharggede, Eschewes to som castell, and chewyse ȝour selfen, Or ryde to þe riche Kyng, ȝif ȝow roo happyn, And bidde hym com redily to rescewe hys biernez." And than the Bretons brothely enbrassez þeire scheldez, Braydez one bacenetez and buskes theire launcez; Thus he fittez his folke and to þe felde rydez, Fif hundreth on a frounte fewtrede at onez. With trompes þay trine, and trappede stedes, With cornettes and clarions and clergiall notes; Schokkes in with a schakke and schontez no langere, There schawes ware scheen vndyr þe schire eyuez. And thane the Romaynez rowtte remowes a lyttill, Raykes with a rerewarde þas reall knyghttez; So raply þay ryde thare that all þe rowte ryngez Of ryues and raunke stele and ryche golde maylez. Thane schotte owtte of þe schawe schiltrounis many, With scharpe wapynns of were schotand at ones; The Kyng of Lebe before the wawarde he ledez, And all his lele ligemen o laundon ascriez. Thane this cruell kyng castis in fewtire, Kaghte hym a couerde horse and his course haldez, Beris to Sir Berill and brathely hym hittes— Throwghe golet and gorger he hurtez hym ewyne; The gome and þe grette horse at þe ground liggez, And gretez graythely to Gode and gyffes Hym þe saule. Thus es Berell the bolde broghte owtte of lyue, And byddez aftyre beryell þat hym beste lykez. And thane Sir Cador of Cornewayle es carefull in herte, Because of his kynysemane, þat þus es myscaryede; Vmbeclappes the cors and kyssez hym ofte, Gerte kepe hym couerte with his clere knyghttez. Thane laughes the Lebe Kyng and all on lowde meles, "Ȝone lorde es lyghttede—me lykes the bettyre; He sall noghte dere vs todaye, the Deuyll haue his bones!" "Ȝone kyng," said Cador, "karpes full large, Because he killyd þis kene—Criste hafe þi saule: He sall hafe corne-bote, so me Criste helpe; Or I kaire of þis coste, we sall encontre ones. So may þe wynde weile turnne, I quytte hym or ewyn, Sothely hym selfen or summ of his ferez." Thane Sir Cador þe kene knyghttly he wyrkez, Cryez "A Cornewale!" and castez in fewtere, Girdez streke thourghe þe stour on a stede ryche; Many steryn mane he steride by strenghe of hym one. Whene his spere was sprongen, he spede hym full ȝerne, Swappede owtte with a swerde that swykede hym neuer, Wroghte wayes full wyde and wounded knyghttez, Wyrkez in his wayfare full werkand sydez, And hewes of þe hardieste halsez in sondyre, That all blendez with blode thare his blanke rynnez. So many biernez the bolde broughte owt of lyfe, Tittez tirauntez doun and temez theire sadills, And turnez owte of þe toile when hym tyme thynkkez. Thane the Lebe Kynge criez full lowde One Sir Cador the kene, with cruell wordez, "Thowe hase wyrchipe wonne and wondyde knyghttez; Thowe wenes for thi wightenez the werlde es thy nowen. I sall wayte at thyne honnde, wy, be my trowthe; I haue warnede þe wele, be ware ȝif the lykez!" With cornuse and clariones þeis newe-made knyghttez Lythes vnto þe crye and castez in fewtire; Ferkes in on a frounte one feraunte stedez, Fellede at þe fyrste come fyfty att ones. Schotte thorowe the schiltrouns and scheuerede launcez, Laid doun in þe lumppe lordly biernez. And thus nobilly oure newe men notez þeire strenghez— Bot new notte es onon þat noyes me sore. The Kyng of Lebe has laughte a stede þat hym lykede, And comes in lordely in lyonez of siluere, Vmbelappez þe lumpe and lattes in sondre— Many lede with his launce þe liffe has he refede. Thus he chaces þe childire of þe Kyngez chambire, And killez in þe champanyse cheualrous knyghttez; With a chasyng spere he choppes doun many. Thare was Sir Alyduke slayne and Achinour wondyde, Sir Origg and Sir Ermyngall hewen al to pecez. And ther was Lewlyn laughte and Lewlyns brothire, With lordez of Lebe, and lede to þeire strenghez. Ne hade Sir Clegis comen and Clemente þe noble, Oure newe men hade gone to noghte and many ma oþer. Lines 1830 through 1843 Þane Sir Cador þe kene castez in fewtire A cruell launce and a kene and to þe Kynge rydez, Hittez hym heghe on þe helme with his harde wapen, That all þe hotte blode of hym to his hande rynnez. The hethen harageous kynge appon þe hethe lyggez, And of his hertly hurte helyde he neuer. Thane Sir Cador þe kene cryez full lowde, "Thow has corne-botte, Sir Kyng, þare God gyfe þe sorowe; Thow killyde my cosyn, my kare es the lesse. Kele the nowe in the claye, and comforthe thi selfen! Thow skornede vs lang ere with thi skornefull wordez, And nowe has þow cheuede soo, it es thyn awen skathe. Holde at þow hente has, it harmez bot lyttill, For hethynge es hame-holde, vse it who-so will." Lines 1844 through 1869 The Kyng of Surry þan es sorowfull in herte, For sake of this soueraygne, þat þus was supprissede; Semblede his Sarazenes and senatours manye: Vnsaughtyly þey sette thane appon oure sere knyghttez. Sir Cador of Cornewaile he cownterez them sone, With his kydde companye clenlyche arrayede; In the frount of þe fyrthe, as þe waye forthis, Fyfty thosande of folke was fellide at ones. Thare was at þe assemblé certayne knyghttez Sore wondede sone appone sere halfes; The sekereste Sarzanez that to þat sorte lengede, Behynde the sadylls ware sette sex fotte large. They scherde in the schiltrone scheldyde knyghttez, Schalkes they schotte thrughe schrenkande maylez, Thurghe brenys browden brestez they thirllede, Brasers burnyste bristez in sondyre, Blasons blode and blankes they hewen, With brandez of browne stele brankkand stedez. The Bretons brothely brittenez so many, The bente and þe brode felde all on blode rynnys. Be thane Sir Cayous þe kene a capitayne has wonnen, Sir Clegis clynges in and clekes anoþer, The capitayne of Cordewa, vndire þe Kynge selfen, That was keye of þe kythe of all þat coste ryche; Vtolfe and Ewandre Ioneke had nommen, With þe Erle of Affryke and oþer grette lordes; Lines 1870 through 1891 The Kyng of Surry the kene to Sir Cador es ȝelden, Þe Synechall of Soter to Segramoure hym selfen. When þe cheualrye saw theire cheftanes were nommen, To a cheefe foreste they chesen theire wayes, And felede them so feynte, they fall in þe greues, In the ferynne of þe fyrthe, fore ferde of oure pople. Thare myght men see the ryche ryde in the schawes, To rype vpe the Romaynez ruydlyche wondyde; Schowttes aftyre men, harageous knyghttez, Be hunndrethez they hewede doun be þe holte eyuys. Thus oure cheualrous men chasez þe pople; To a castell they eschewede, a fewe þat eschappede. Thane relyez þe renkez of þe Rounde Table, For to ryotte þe wode þer þe duke restez; Ransakes the ryndez all, raughte vp theire feres, That in þe fightyng before fay ware byleuyde. Sir Cador garte chare theym and couere them faire, Kariede them to þe Kyng with his beste knyghttez; And passez vnto Paresche with presoners hym selfen, Betoke theym the proueste, pryncez and oþer; Tase a sope in the toure and taryez no langere, Bot tournes tytte to þe Kynge and hym wyth tunge telles. Lines 1892 through 1911 "Syr," sais Sir Cador, "a caas es befallen; We hafe cowntered today, in ȝone coste ryche With kyngez and kayseres, krouell and noble, And knyghtes and kene men, clenlych arayede. They hade at ȝone foreste forsette vs þe wayes, At the furthe in þe fyrthe, with ferse men of armes; Thare faughtte we, in faythe, and foynede with sperys, One felde with thy foomen and fellyd them on lyfe. The Kyng of Lebe es laide and in þe felde leuyde, And manye of his legemen þat þare to hym langede. Oþer lordez are laughte of vncouthe ledes; We hafe lede them at lenge, to lyf whilles þe lykez. Sir Vtolfe and Sir Ewaynedyr, theis honourable knyghttez, Be a nawntere of armes Ioneke has nommen, With erlez of þe Oryentte and austeren knyghttez, Of awncestrye þe beste men þat to þe oste langede; The Senatour Carous es kaughte with a knyghtte, The Capitayne of Cornette, that crewell es halden, The Syneschall of Suter vnsaughte wyth þes oþer, The Kyng of Surry hym selfen and Sarazenes ynowe. Lines 1912 through 1919 Bot fay of ours in þe felde a fourtene knyghttez, I will noghte feyne ne forbere, bot faythfully tellen; Sir Berell es one, a banerette noble, Was killyde at þe fyrste come with a kyng ryche; Sir Alidoyke of Towell, with his tende knyghtez, Emange þe Turkys was tynte and in tym fonden; Gude Sir Mawrell of Mauncez and Mawren his broþer, Sir Meneduke of Mentoche, with meruailous knyghttez." Lines 1920 through 1945 Thane the worthy Kyng wrythes and wepede with his eughne, Karpes to his cosyn Sir Cador theis wordez: "Sir Cador, thi corage confundez vs all! Kowardely thow castez owtte all my beste knyghttez. To putte men in perille, it es no pryce holden, Bot þe partyes ware puruayede and powere arayede; When they ware stade on a strenghe, þou sulde hafe withstonden, Bot ȝif thowe wolde all my steryn stroye for þe nonys!" "Sir," sais Sir Cador, "ȝe knowe wele ȝour selfen Ȝe are kyng in þis kythe, karpe whatte ȝow lykys; Sall neuer vpbrayde me, þat to þi burde langes, That I sulde blyn fore theire boste thi byddyng to wyrche; When any stirttez to stale, stuffe þam þe bettere, Ore thei will be stonayede and stroyede in ȝone strayte londez. I dide my delygens todaye, I doo me one lordez, And in daungere of dede fore dyuerse knyghttez; I hafe no grace to þi gree, bot syche grett wordez— Ȝif I heuen my herte, my hape es no bettyre." Þofe Sir Arthure ware angerde, he ansuers faire; "Thow has doughttily donn, Sir Duke, with thi handez, And has donn thy deuer with my dere knyghttez; Forthy thow arte demyde, with dukes and erlez, For one of þe doughtyeste þat dubbede was euer. Thare es non ischewe of vs on this erthe sprongen; Thow arte apparant to be ayere, are one of thi childyre— Thow arte my sister sone, forsake sall I neuer." Lines 1946 through 1972 Thane gerte he in his awen tente a table be sette, And tryede in with tromppez trauaillede biernez; Serfede them solempnely with selkouthe metez, Swythe semly in syghte with sylueren dischees. Whene the senatours harde saye þat it so happenede, They saide to þe Emperour, "Thi seggez are suppryssede; Sir Arthure, thyn enmy, has owterayede þi lordez, That rode for þe rescowe of ȝone riche knyghttez. Thow dosse bot tynnez þi tym and turmenttez þi pople; Thow arte betrayede of þi men that moste thow on traystede, That schall turne the to tene and torfere for euer." Than the Emperour irus was angerde at his herte, For oure valyant biernez siche prowesche had wonnen. With kyng and with kaysere to consayle they wende, Souerayngez of Sarazenez and senatours manye; Thus he semblez full sone certayne lordez, And in the assemblé thane he sais them theis wordez: "My herte sothely es sette—assente ȝif ȝowe lykes— To seke into Sexon, with my sekyre knyghttez, To fyghte with my foomen, if fortune me happen, Ȝif I may fynde the freke within the four haluez; Or entir into Awguste, awnters to seke, And byde with my balde men within þe burghe ryche; Riste vs and reuell and ryotte oure selfen, Lende þare in delytte in lordechippez ynewe, To Sir Leo be comen with all his lele knyghtez, With lordez of Lumberdye, to lette hym þe wayes." Lines 1973 through 2005 Bot owre wyese Kyng es warre to waytten his renkes, And wysely by þe woddez voydez his oste; Gerte felschen his fyrez, flawmande full heghe, Trussen full traystely and treunt thereaftyre. Seþen into Sessoyne he soughte at the gayneste, And at the surs of þe sonne disseuerez his knyghttez; Forsette them the cité appon sere halfez, Sodaynly on iche halfe, with seuen grett stales. Anely in the vale a vawewarde enbusches: Sir Valyant of Vyleris, with valyant knyghttez, Before þe Kyngez visage made siche avowez To venquyse by victorie the Vescownte of Rome; Forthi the Kyng chargez hym, what chaunce so befall, Cheftayne of þe cheekke, with cheualrous knyghttez. And sythyn meles with mouthe, þat he moste traistez; Demenys the medylwarde menskfully hym selfen: Fittes his fotemen alls hym faire thynkkes, On frounte in the forebreste the flour of his knyghtez; His archers on aythere halfe he ordaynede þeraftyre To schake in a sheltrone, to schotte when þam lykez. He arrayed in þe rerewarde full riall knyghtez, With renkkes renownnd of þe Round Table, Sir Raynalde, Sir Richere, that rade was neuer, The riche Duke of Rown wyth ryders ynewe. Sir Cayous, Sir Clegis, and clene men of armes, The Kyng casts to kepe be þaa clere strandes; Sir Lott and Sir Launcelott, þise lordly knyghttez, Sall lenge on his lefte hande, with legyones ynewe, To meue in þe morne-while, ȝif þe myste happynne; Sir Cador of Cornewaile and his kene knyghtez, To kepe at þe karfuke, to close in þer oþere; He plantez in siche placez pryncez and erlez, That no powere sulde passe be no preué wayes. Lines 2006 through 2031 Bot the Emperour onone, with honourable knyghtez And erlez enteres the vale, awnters to seke, And fyndez Sir Arthure with hostez arayede; And at his income, to ekken his sorowe, Oure burlyche bolde Kyng appon the bente howes, With his bataile on brede and baners displayede. He hade þe ceté forsett appon sere halfes, Bothe the clewez and þe clyfez with clene men of armez, The mosse and þe marrasse, the mounttez so hye, With gret multytude of men, to marre hym in þe wayes. When Sir Lucius sees, he sais to his lordez, "This traytour has treunt this treson to wyrche; He has the ceté forsett appon sere halfez, All þe clewez and the cleyffez with clene men of armez; Here es no waye, iwys, ne no wytt ells, Bot feghte with oure foomen, for flee may we neuer." Thane this ryche mane rathe arayes his byernez, Rewlede his Romaynez and reall knyghtez; Buschez in the avawmewarde the Vescounte of Rome, Fro Viterbe to Venyse theis valyante knyghtez; Dresses vp dredfully the dragone of golde, With egles alouer, enamelede of sable; Drawen dreghely the wyne and drynkyn thareaftyre, Dukkez and dusseperez, dubbede knyghtez; For dauncesyng of Duchemen and dynnyng of pypez, All dynned fore dyn that in þe dale houede. Lines 2032 through 2094 And thane Sir Lucius on lowde said lordlyche wordez: "Thynke on the myche renownn of ȝour ryche fadyrs, And the riatours of Rome, þat regnede with lordez, And the renkez ouerrane all that regnede in erthe, Encrochede all Cristyndome be craftes of armes— In eueriche a viage the victorie was halden; Insette all þe Sarazenes within seuen wyntter, The parte fro the Porte Iaffe to Paradyse ȝatez. Thoghe a rewme be rebelle, we rekke it bot lyttill; It es resone and righte the renke be restreynede. Do dresse we tharefore and byde we no langere, Fore dredlesse withowttyn dowtte, the daye schall be ourez!" Whene þeise wordez was saide, the Walsche kyng hym selfen Whas warre of this wyderwyn þat werrayede his knyghttez; Brothely in the vale with voyce he ascryez, "Viscownte of Valewnce, enuyous of dedys, The vassallage of Viterbe todaye schall be reuengede; Vnuenquiste fro þis place voyde schall I neuer!" Thane the Vyscownte valiante, with a voute noble, Auoyeddyde the avawewarde, enuerounde his horse; He drissede in a derfe schelde, endenttyd with sable, With a dragone engowschede, dredfull to schewe, Deuorande a dolphyn with dolefull lates, In seyne that oure soueraygne sulde be distroyede, And all don of dawez with dynntez of swerddez— For thare es noghte bot dede thare the dragone es raissede. Thane the comlyche kyng castez in fewtyre, With a crewell launce cowpez dull euen, Abowne þe spayre a spanne, emange þe schortte rybbys, That the splent and the spleen on the spere langez; The blode sprente owtte and sprede as þe horse spryngez, And he sproulez full spakely, bot spekes he no more. And thus has Sir Valyantt halden his avowez, And venqwyste þe Viscownte, þate victor was halden. Thane Sir Ewayne fitz Vriene full enkerlye rydez Onone to the Emperour, his egle to towche; Thrughe his brode bataile he buskes belyfe, Braydez owt his brande with a blyth chere, Reuerssede it redelye and awaye rydys; Ferkez in with the fewle in his faire handez, And fittez in freely one frounte with his feris. Now buskez Sir Launcelot and braydez full euen To Sir Lucius the lorde and lothelye hym hyttez; Thurghe pawnce and platez he percede the maylez, That the prowde pensell in his pawnche lengez; The hede hayled owtt behynde ane halfe fote large, Thurghe hawberke and hanche, with þe harde wapyn, The stede and the steryn mane strykes to þe grownde, Strake down a standerde and to his stale wendez. "Me lykez wele," sais Sir Loth, "ȝone lordez are delyuerede! The lott lengez nowe on me, with leue of my lorde; Today sall my name be laide and my life aftyre, Bot some leppe fro the lyfe that on ȝone lawnde houez!" Thane strekez the steryn and streynys his brydyll, Strykez into the stowre on a stede ryche, Enjoynede with a geaunt and jaggede hym thorowe; Jolyly this gentill forjustede anoþer, Wroghte wayes full wyde, werrayande knyghtez, And wondes all wathely that in þe waye stondez; Fyghttez with all the frappe a furlange of waye, Felled fele appon felde with his faire wapen, Venqwiste and has the victorie of valyaunt knyghtez, And all enverounde the vale and voyde when hym likede. Lines 2095 through 2122 Thane bowmen of Bretayne brothely thereaftyre Bekerde with bregaundez of ferre in tha laundez; With flonez fleterede þay flitt full frescly þer frekez, That flowe o ferrome in flawnkkes of stedez. Fichene with fetheris thurghe þe fyne maylez— Siche flyttyng es foule þat so þe flesche derys. Dartes the Duchemen dalten aȝaynes, With derfe dynttez of dede dagges thurghe scheldez; Qwarells qwayntly swappez thorowe knyghtez, With iryn so wekyrly, that wynche they neuer: So they scherenken fore schotte of þe scharppe arowes, That all the scheltron schonte and schoderide at ones, Thane riche stedes rependez and rasches on armes— The hale howndrethe on hye appon heythe lygges; Bott ȝitte þe hathelieste on hy, haythen and oþer, All hoursches ouer hede harmes to wyrke. And all theis geauntez before, engenderide with fendez, Ioynez on Sir Ionathal and gentill knyghtez; With clubbez of clene stele clenkkede in helmes, Craschede doun crestez and craschede braynez, Kyllede coursers and couerde stedes, Choppode thurghe cheualers on chalke-whytte stedez; Was neuer stele ne stede mighte stande them aȝaynez, Bot stonays and strykez doun that in þe stale houys, Till þe Conquerour come with his kene knyghttez, With crewell contenaunce he cryede full lowde, "I wende no Bretons walde bee basschede for so lyttill, And fore barelegyde boyes þat on the bente houys!" Lines 2123 through 2289 He clekys owtte Collbrande, full clenlyche burneschte, Graythes hym to Golapas, þat greuyde moste, Kuttes hym euen by þe knees clenly in sondyre. "Come down," quod the Kyng, "and karpe to thy ferys; Thowe arte to hye by þe halfe, I hete þe in trouthe: Thow sall be handsomere in hye, with þe helpe of my Lorde!" With þat stelen brande he strake ofe his hede. Sterynly in þat stoure he strykes anoþer; Thus he settez on seuen with his sekyre knyghttez— Whylles sexty ware seruede soo ne sessede they neuer. And thus at the joynynge the geauntez are distroyede, And at þat journey forjustede with gentill lordez. Than the Romaynes and the rennkkez of þe Rounde Table Rewles them in arraye, rerewarde ande oþer; With wyghte wapynez of werre thay wroghten on helmes, Rittez with raunke stele full ryalle maylez. Bot they fitt them fayre, thes frekk byernez, Fewters in freely one feraunte stedes, Foynes ful felly with flyschande speris, Freten of orfrayes feste appon scheldez; So fele fay es in fyghte appon þe felde leuyde, That iche a furthe in the firthe of rede blode rynnys. By that swyftely one swarthe þe swett es byleuede, Swerdez swangen in two sweltand knyghtez, Lyes wyde opyn, welterande on walopande stedez; Wondes of wale men, werkande sydys, Facez fetteled vnfaire in filterede lakes, All craysed, fortrodyn with trappede stedez, The faireste on folde that fygurede was euer, Alls ferre alls a furlang, a thosande at ones. Be than the Romaynez ware rebuykyde a lyttill, Withdrawes theym drerely and dreches no lengare; Oure prynce with his powere persewes theyme aftyre, Prekez on þe proudeste with his price knyghttez. Sir Kayous, Sir Clegis, Sir Cleremond the noble Enconters them at þe clyffe with clene men of armes; Fyghttes faste in þe fyrth, frythes no wapen, Felled at þe firste come fyfe hundrethe at ones. And when they fande theym foresett with oure fers knyghtez, Fewe men agayne fele mot fyche them bettyre, Feghttez with all þe frappe, foynes with speres, And faughte with the frekkeste þat to Fraunce langez. Bot Sir Kayous þe kene castis in fewtyre, Chasez one a coursere and to a kyng rydys; With a launce of Lettowe he thirllez his sydez, That the lyuer and þe lunggez on þe launce lengez; The schafte schodyrde and schott in the schire byerne, And soughte thorowowte þe schelde and in þe schalke rystez. Bot Kayous at the income was kepyd vnfayre With a cowarde knyghte of þe kythe ryche; At þe turnyng that tym the traytoure hym hitte, In thorowe the felettes, and in þe flawnke aftyre, That the boustous launce þe bewells attamede, Þat braste at þe brawlyng and brake in þe myddys. Sir Kayous knewe wele, be þat kyde wounde, That he was dede of þe dynte and don owte of lyfe; Than he raykes in arraye and one rawe rydez, One this reall his dede to reuenge; "Kepe the, cowarde," he calles hym sone, Cleues hym wyth his clere brande clenliche in sondire. "Hadde thow wele delte thy dynt with thi handes, I hade forgeffen þe my dede, be Crist now of Hewyn." He weyndes to þe wyese kyng and wynly hym gretes: "I am wathely woundide—waresche mon I neuer; Wirke nowe thi wirchipe, as þe worlde askes, And brynge me to beryell—byd I no more. Grete wele my ladye, þe Qwene, ȝife þe werlde happyne, And all þe burliche birdes þat to hir boure lengez, And my worthily weife, þat wrethide me neuer, Bid hire, fore hir wyrchipe, wirke for my saulle." The Kyngez confessour come, with Criste in his handes, For to comforthe the knyghte, kende hym þe wordes; The knyghte coueride on his knees with a kaunt herte, And caughte his Creatoure, þat comfurthes vs all. Thane remmes þe riche kynge fore rewthe at his herte, Rydes into rowte, his dede to reuenge; Presede into þe plumpe, and with a prynce metes, That was ayere of Egipt in thos este marches, Cleues hym with Collbrande clenlyche in sondyre; He broches euen thorowe þe byerne and þe sadill bristes, And at þe bake of þe blonke þe bewells entamede. Manly in his malycoly he metes anoþer, The medill of þat myghtty, þat hym myche greuede; He merkes thurghe the maylez the myddes in sondyre, That the myddys of þe mane on þe mounte fallez, Þe toþer halfe of þe haunche on þe horse leuyde— Of þat hurte, alls I hope, heles he neuer. He schotte thorowe þe schiltrouns with his scharpe wapen, Schalkez he schrede thurghe and schrenkede maylez, Baneres he bare downne, bryttenede scheldes, Brothely with brown stele his brethe he þare wrekes; Wrothely he wryththis by wyghtnesse of strenghe, Woundes þese whydyrewyns, werrayede knyghttes, Threppede thorowe þe thykkys thryttene sythis, Thryngez throly in the thrange and chis euen aftyre. Thane Sir Gawayne the gude, with wyrchipfull knyghttez, Wendez in the avawewarde be tha wodde hemmys; Was warre of Sir Lucius, one launde there he houys, With lordez and liggemen that to hym selfe lengede. Thane the Emperour enkerly askes hym sonne, "What will thow, Gawayne, wyrke with thi wapyn? I watte be thi waueryng thow willnez aftyre sorowe; I sall be wrokyn on thi wrethe, fore all thi grete wordez!" He laughte owtte a lange swerde and luyschede one faste, And Sir Lyonell in the launde lordely he hym strykes: Hittes hym on þe hede, þat þe helme bristis, Hurttes his herne-pane an hannde-brede large. Thus he layes one þe lumppe and lordlye þem serued, Wondide worthily wirchipfull knyghttez; Fighttez with Florent, that beste es of swerdez, Till þe fomande blode till his fyste rynnes. Thane þe Romayns releuyde, þat are ware rebuykkyde, And all torattys oure men with theire riste horsses; Fore they see þaire cheftayne be chauffede so sore, They chasse and choppe doun oure cheualrous knyghttes. Sir Bedwere was borne thurghe, and his breste thyrllede, With a burlyche brannde, brode at þe hiltes; The ryall raunke stele to his herte rynnys, And he rusches to þe erthe—rewthe es the more. Thane þe Conquerour tuke kepe and come with his strenghes To reschewe þe ryche men of þe Rounde Table, To owttraye þe Emperour, ȝif auntire it schewe, Ewyn to þe egle, and "Arthure!" askryes. The Emperour thane egerly at Arthure he strykez, Awkwarde on þe vmbrere and egerly hym hittez; The nakyde swerde at þe nese noyes hym sare, The blode of the bolde kyng ouer þe breste rynnys, Beblede at þe brode schelde and þe bryghte mayles. Oure bolde kyng bowes þe blonke be þe bryghte brydyll, With his burlyche brande a buffette hym reches, Thourghe þe brene and þe breste with his bryghte wapyn: O slante doun fro þe slote he slyttes at ones. Thus endys þe Emperour of Arthur hondes, And all his austeryn oste þareofe ware affrayede. Now they ferke to þe fyrthe, a fewe þat are leuede, For ferdnesse of oure folke, by þe fresche strandez; The floure of oure ferse men one ferant stedez Folowes frekly on þe frekes, thate frayede was neuer. Thane þe kyde conquerour cryes full lowde, "Cosyn of Cornewaile, take kepe to þi selfen That no captayne be kepyde for non siluer, Or Sir Kayous dede be cruelly vengede." "Nay," sais Sir Cador, "so me Cryste helpe, Thare ne es kaysere ne kyng þat vndire Criste ryngnes Þat I ne schall kill colde dede be crafte of my handez!" Thare myghte men see chiftaynes on chalke-whitte stedez Choppe doun in the chaas cheualrye noble; Romaynes þe rycheste and ryall kynges Braste with ranke stele theire rybbys in sondyre; Braynes forebrusten thurghe burneste helmes, With brandez forbrittenede one brede in þe laundez; They hewede doun haythen men with hiltede swerdez Be hole hundrethez on hye, by þe holte eyuyes. Thare myghte no siluer thaym saue ne socoure theire lyues, Sowdane ne Sarazene ne senatour of Rome. Thane releuis þe renkes of the Rounde Table Be þe riche reuare that rynnys so faire; Lugez thaym luflye by þa lyghte strandez, All on lawe in þe lawnde, thas lordlyche byernes. Thay kaire to þe karyage and tuke whate them likes, Kamells and cokadrisses and cofirs full riche, Hekes and hakkenays and horses of armes, Howsyng and herbergage of heythen kyngez; They drewe owt of dromondaries dyuerse lordes, Moyllez mylke whitte and meruayllous bestez, Olfendes and arrabys and olyfauntez noble, Þer are of þe Oryent, with honourable kynges. Lines 2290 through 2229 Bot Sir Arthure onone ayeres þeraftyre Ewyn to þe Emperour, with honourable kyngis; Laughte hym vpe full louelyly with lordlyche knyghttez, And ledde hym to þe layere thare the Kyng lygges. Thane harawdez heghely, at heste of the lordes, Hunttes vpe the haythemen that on heghte lygges: The Sowdane of Surry and certayne kynges, Sexty of þe cheefe senatours of Rome. Thane they bussches and bawmede þaire honourliche kyngis, Sewed them in sendell sexti-faulde aftire, Lappede them in lede, lesse that they schulde Chawnge or chawffe, ȝif þay myghte escheffe; Closed in kystys clene vnto Rome, With theire baners abowne, theire bagis therevndyre, In whate countr— þay kaire that knyghttes myghte knawe Iche kynge be his colours, in kyth whare he lengede. Onone on þe secounde daye, sone by þe morne, Twa senatours ther come, and certayne knyghttez, Hodles fro þe hethe, ouer þe holte eyues, Barefote ouer þe bente, with brondes so ryche; Bowes to þe bolde kyng and biddis hym þe hiltes, Whethire he will hang theym or hedde or halde theym on lyfe. Knelyde before þe Conquerour in kyrtills allone; With carefull contenaunce þay karpide þese wordes: "Twa senatours we are, thi subgettez of Rome, That has sauede oure lyfe by þeise salte strandys, Hyd vs in þe heghe wode, thurghe þe helpyng of Criste, Besekes the of socoure, as Soueraygne and Lorde; Grante vs lyffe and lym with leberall herte, For His luffe that the lente this lordchipe in erthe." "I graunte," quod the gude kyng, "thurghe grace of my selfen: I giffe ȝowe lyffe and lyme and leue for to passe, So ȝe doo my message menskefully at Rome, That ilke charge þat I ȝow ȝiffe here before my cheefe knyghttez." "Ȝis," sais the senatours, "that sall we ensure, Sekerly be oure trowhes thi sayenges to fullfill; We sall lett for no lede þat lyffes in erthe, Fore pape, ne for potestate, ne prynce so noble, That ne sall lelely in lande thi letteres pronounce, For duke ne for dussepere, to dye in þe payne." Lines 2330 through 2341 Thane the banerettez of Bretayne broghte þem to tentes, There barbours ware bownn, with basyns on lofte, With warme watire, iwys, they wette them full son; They schouen thes schalkes schappely theraftyre, To rekken theis Romaynes recreaunt and ȝolden; Forthly schoue they them to schewe, for skomfite of Rome. They coupylde þe kystys on kameles belyue, On asses and arrabyes theis honourable kynges— The Emperoure for honoure all by hym one, Euen appon an olyfaunte, hys egle owtt ouere— Bekende them the captyfis, the Kynge dide hym selfen, And all byfore his kene men karpede thees wordes: Lines 2342 through 2370 "Here are the kystis," quod the Kyng, "kaire ouer þe mownttez: Mette full monee, þat ȝe haue mekyll ȝernede, The taxe and þe trebutte of tene schore wynteres, That was tenefully tynte in tym of oure elders; Saye to þe Senatoure þe ceté þat ȝemes, That I sende hym þe somme, assaye how hym likes. Bott byde them neuere be so bolde, whylls my blode regnes, Efte for to brawlle þem for my brode landez, Ne to aske trybut ne taxe be nakyn tytle, Bot syche tresoure as this, whilles my tym lastez." Nowe they raike to Rome the redyeste wayes, Knylles in the Capatoylle and comowns assembles, Souerayngez and senatours the ceté þat ȝemes, Bekende them the caryage, kystis and oþer, Alls þe Conquerour comaunde with cruell wordes. "We hafe trystily trayuellede þis tributte to feche, The taxe and þe trewage of fowre score wynteris, Of Inglande, of Irelande, and all þir owtt illes, That Arthure in the Occedente ocupyes att ones. He byddis ȝow neuere be so bolde, whills his blode regnes, To brawle ȝowe fore Bretayne ne his brode landes, Ne aske hym trebute ne taxe be nonkyns title, Bot syche tresoure as this, whills his tyme lastis. We haffe foughtten in France, and vs es foule happenede, And all oure myche faire folke faye are byleuede; Eschappide there ne cheuallrye, ne cheftaynes noþer, Bott choppede downn in the chasse, syche chawnse es befallen. We rede ȝe store ȝowe of stone and stuffen ȝour walles: Ȝow wakkens wandrethe and werre—be ware ȝif ȝow lykes." Lines 2371 through 2415 In the kalendez of Maye this caas es befallen: The roy ryalle renownde, with his Rownde Table, One the coste of Costantyne, by þe clere strandez, Has þe Romaynes ryche rebuykede for euer. Whene he hade foughtten in Fraunce and the felde wonnen, And fersely his foomen fellde owtte of lyfe, He bydes for þe beryenge of his bolde knyghtez That in batell with brandez ware broughte owte of lyfe. He beryes at Bayone Sir Bedwere þe ryche; The cors of Kayon þe kene at Came es beleuefede, Koueride with a crystall clenly all ouer— His fadyre conqueride þat kyth knyghtly with hondes. Seyn in Burgoyne he bade to bery mo knyghttez, Sir Berade and Bawdwyne, Sir Bedwar þe ryche, Gud Sir Cador at Came, as his kynde askes. Thane Sir Arthure onone, in þe Auguste þeraftyre, Enteres to Almayne wyth ostez arrayed; Lengez at Lusscheburghe, to lechen hys knyghttez, With his lele liggemen, as lorde in his awen. And on Christofre Daye a concell he haldez, Withe kynges and kaysers, clerkkes and oþer; Comandez them kenely to caste all þeire wittys, How he may conquere by crafte the kythe þat he claymes. Bot the Conquerour kene, curtais and noble, Karpes in the concell theys knyghtly wordez: "Here es a knyghte in theis kleuys, enclosside with hilles, That I haue cowayte to knawe, because of his wordez: That es Lorayne þe lele, I kepe noghte to layne; The lordchipe es louely, as ledes me telles. I will ducherye devyse and dele as me lykes, And seyn dresse wyth þe Duke, if destyny suffre; The renke rebell has bene vnto my Rownde Table, Redy aye with Romaynes to ryotte my landes; We sall rekken full rathe, if reson so happen, Who has ryghte to þat rente, by ryche Gode of Heuen! Than will I by Lumbardye, lykande to schawe, Sett lawe in þe lande, þat laste sall euer; The tyrauntez of Tuskayn tempeste a littyll, Talke with þe temperall, whills my tym lastez. I gyffe my protteccione to all þe Pope landez, My ryche pensell of pes my pople to schewe; It es a foly to offende oure fadyr vndire Gode, Owþer Peter or Paule, þa postles of Rome. Ȝif we spare the spirituell, we spede bot the bettire; Whills we haue for to speke, spille sall it neuer." Lines 2416 through 2463 Now they spede at þe spurres, withowttyn speche more, To þe marche of Meyes, theis manliche knyghtez, That es in Lorrayne alofede, as London es here, Ceté of þat seynȝowre, that soueraynge es holden. The Kyng ferkes furthe on a faire stede, With Ferrer and Ferawnte and oþer foure knyghtez; Abowte the ceté þa seuen they soughte at þe nextte, To seke them a sekyre place to sett withe engeynes. Thane they bendyde in burghe bowes of vyse, Bekyrs at þe bolde kyng with boustouse lates; Allblawsters at Arthure egerly schottes, For to hurte hym or his horse with þat hard wapen. The Kynge schonte for no schotte, ne no schelde askys, Bot schewes hym scharpely in his schene wedys; Lenges all at laysere and lokes on the wallys, Whare þey ware laweste the ledes to assaille. "Sir," said Sir Ferrer, "a foly thowe wirkkes, Thus nakede in thy noblaye to neghe to þe walles, Sengely in thy surcotte, this ceté to reche, And schewe þe within, there to schende vs all. Hye vs hastylye heynne, or we mon full happen, For hitt they the or thy horse, it harmes for euer." "Ife thow be ferde," quod the Kyng, "I rede thow ryde vttere, Lesse þat þey rywe the with theire rownnd wapyn! Thow arte bot a fawntkyn—no ferly me thynkkys, Þou will be flayede for a flye þat on thy flesche lyghttes. I am nothyng agaste, so me Gode helpe: Þof siche gadlynges be greuede, it greues me bot lyttill; Thay wyn no wirchipe of me, bot wastys theire takle— They sall wante or I weende, I wagen myn hevede. Sall neuer harlott haue happe, thorowe helpe of my Lorde, To kyll a corownde kyng with krysom enoynttede!" Thane come þe herbariours, harageous knyghtez, The hale batells on hye harrawnte theraftyre; And oure forreours ferse, appon fele halfes, Come flyeande before one ferawnte stedes, Ferkande in arraye theire ryall knyghttez, The renkez renownde of þe Rounnd Table. All þe frekke men of Fraunce folowede thareaftyre, Faire fittyde on frownte, and on the felde houys. Thane the schalkes scharpelye scheftys theire horsez, To schewen them semly in theire scheen wedes; Buskes in batayle with baners displayede, With brode scheldes enbrassede and burlyche helmys, With penouns and pensells of ylke prynce armes, Appayrellde with perrye and precious stones; The lawnces with loraynes and lemande scheldes, Lyghtenande as þe leuenyng and lemand al ouer. Lines 2464 through 2500 Thane the price men prekes and proues þeire horsez, Satills to þe ceté appon sere halfes; Enserches the subbarbes sadly thareaftyre, Discoueris of schotte-men and skyrmys a lytill; Skayres þaire skottefers and theire skowtte-waches, Brittenes theire barrers with theire bryghte wapyns, Bett down a barbycan and þe brygge wynnys; Ne hade the garnyson bene gude at þe grete ȝates, Thay hade wonn that wone be theire awen strenghe. Than withdrawes oure men and drisses them bettyre, For dred of þe drawe-brigge dasschede in sondre; Hyes to þe harbergage thare the Kyng houys, With his batell on heghe, horsyde on stedys. Thane was þe Prynce puruayede and þeire places nommen, Pyghte pauyllyons of palle and plattes in seegge; Thane lenge they lordly, as þem leefe thoghte, Waches in ylke warde, as to þe werre falles, Settes vp sodaynly certayne engynes. One Sonondaye be þe soone has a flethe ȝolden, The Kyng calles on Florente, þat flour was of knyghttez: "The Fraunchemene enfeblesches, ne farly me thynkkys; They are vnfondyde folke in þe faire marches, For them wantes þe flesche and fude that them lykes. Here are forestez faire appon fele halues, And thedyre feemen are flede with freliche bestes. Thow sall foonde to þe fell and forraye the mountes; Sir Forawnt and Sir Florydas sall folowe thi brydyll. Vs moste with some fresche mette refresche oure pople, That are feedde in þe fyrthe with þe froyte of þe erthe. Thare sall weende to þis viage Sir Gawayne hym selfen, Wardayne full wyrchipfull, and so hym wele semes; Sir Wecharde, Sir Waltyre, theis wyrchipfull knyghtes, With all wyseste men of þe weste marches; Sir Clegis, Sir Clarybalde, Sir Clarymownde þe noble, The Capytayne oo Cardyfe clenlyche arrayede. Goo now, warne all þe wache, Gawayne and oþer, And weendes furthe on ȝour waye withowttyn moo wordes." Lines 2501 through 2524 Now ferkes to þe fyrthe thees fresche men of armes, To þe fell so fewe, theis fresclyche byernes, Thorowe hopes and hymland, hillys and oþer, Holtis and hare woddes with heslyn schawes, Thorowe marasse and mosse and montes so heghe; And in the myste of mornyng one a mede falles, Mawen and vnmade, maynoyrede bott lyttyll, In swathes sweppen down, full of swete floures. Thare vnbrydills theis bolde and baytes þeire horses, To þe grygynge of þe daye, þat byrdez gan synge, Whylls the surs of þe sonne, þat sonde es of Cryste, That solaces all synfull þat syghte has in erthe. Thane weendes owtt the wardayne, Sir Gawayne hym selfen, Alls he þat weysse was and wyghte, wondyrs to seke; Than was he warre of a wye, wondyre wele armyde, Baytand on a wattire banke by þe wodde eyuis, Buskede in brenyes bryghte to behalde, Enbrassede a brode schelde on a blonke ryche, Withowttyn ony berne, bot a boye one, Houes by hym on a blonke and his spere holdes. He bare gessande in golde thre grayhondes of sable, With chapes and cheynes of chalke-whytte slyuer, A charebocle in þe cheefe, chawngawnde of hewes, And a cheefe anterous, chalange who lykes. Lines 2525 through 2667 Sir Gawayne glyftes on the gome with a glade will; A grete spere fro his grome he grypes in hondes, Gyrdes ewen ouere þe streme on a stede ryche, To þat steryn in stour, one strenghe þare he houys. Egerly one Inglisce "Arthure!" he askyres; The toþer irouslye ansuers hym sone, On a launde of Lorrayne with a lowde steuen, That ledes myghte lysten þe lenghe of a myle: "Whedyr prykkes thow, pilouur, þat profers so large? Here pykes thowe no praye, profire when þe lykes! Bot thow in þis perell put of the bettire, Thow sall be my presonere, for all thy prowde lates!" "Sir," sais Sir Gawayne, "so me Gode helpe, Siche glauerande gomes greues me bot lyttill! Bot if thowe graythe thy gere, the will grefe happen, Or thowe goo of þis greue, for all thy grete wordes!" Than þeire launces they lachen, thes lordlyche byernez, Laggen with longe speres one lyarde stedes; Cowpen at awntere be kraftes of armes, Till bothe þe crowell speres brousten att ones. Thorowe scheldys þey schotte and scherde thorowe mayles, Bothe schere thorowe schoulders a schaftmonde large. Thus worthylye þes wyes wondede ere bothen— Or they wreke þem of wrethe awaye will þey neuer. Than they raughte in the reyne and agayne rydes, Redely theis rathe mene rusches owtte swerdez, Hittes one hellmes full hertelyche dynttys, Hewes appon hawberkes with full harde wapyns; Full stowttly þey stryke, thire steryn knyghttes, Stokes at þe stomake with stelyn poyntes, Feghtten and floresche withe flawmande swerdez, Till þe flawes of fyre flawmes one theire helmes. Thane Sir Gawayne was greuede and grychgide full sore; With Galuthe his gude swerde grymlye he strykes: Clefe þe knyghttes schelde clenliche in sondre— Who lukes to þe lefte syde when his horse launches With þe lyghte of þe sonne men myghte see his lyuere. Thane granes þe gome fore greefe of his wondys, And gyrdis at Sir Gawayne, as he by glentis; And awkewarde egerly sore he hym smyttes: An alet enamelde he oches in sondire, Bristes þe rerebrace with the bronde ryche, Kerues of at þe coutere with þe clene egge, Anentis þe avawmbrace, vayllede with siluer. Thorowe a dowble vesture of veluett ryche With þe venymous swerde a vayne has he towchede, That voydes so violently þat all his witte changede; The vesere, the aventaile, his vesturis ryche, With the valyant blode was verrede all ouer. Thane this tyrante tite turnes þe brydill, Talkes vntendirly and sais "Þow arte towchede; Vs bus haue a blode-bande or thi ble change, For all þe barbours of Bretayne sall noghte thy blode stawnche; For he þat es blemeste with þis brade brande blyne schall he neuer." "Ȝa," quod Sir Gawayne, "thow greues me bot lyttill; Thowe wenys to glopyne me with thy gret wordez; Thow trowes with thy talkyng þat my harte talmes. Thow betydes tourfere or thowe hyen turne, Bot thowe tell me tytte, and tarye no lengere, What may staunche this blode þat thus faste rynnes." "Ȝise, I say þe sothely, and sekire þe my trowthe: No surgyon in Salarne sall saue þe bettyre; Withthy þat thowe suffre me, for sake of thy Cryste, To schewe schortly my schrifte and schape for myn ende." "Ȝis," quod Sir Gawayne, "so me God helpe, I gyfe þe grace and graunt, þofe þou hafe grefe seruede, Withthy thowe say me sothe what thowe here sekes, Thus sengilly and sulayne all þi selfe one; And whate laye thow leues one, layne noghte þe sothe, And whate legyaunce and whare þow arte lorde." "My name es Sir Priamus; a prynce es my fadyre, Praysede in his partyes with prouede kynges; In Rome thare he regnes he es riche halden. He has bene rebell to Rome and reden theire landes, Werreyand weisely wyntters and ȝeres; Be witt and be wyssdome and be wyghte strenghe, And be wyrchipfull werre, his awen has he wonn. He es of Alexandire blode, ouerlyng of kynges, The vncle of his ayele, Sir Ector of Troye; And here es the kynreden that I of come, And Iudas and Iosue, þise gentill knyghtes. I ame apparaunt his ayere, and eldeste of oþer, Of Alexandere and Aufrike and all þa owte landes; I am in possessione and plenerly sessede In all þe price cetées that to þe porte langes; I sall hafe trewly the tresour and the londes, And bothe trebute and taxe whills my tym lastes. I was so hawtayne of herte, whills I at home lengede, I helde nane my hippe heghte vndire heuen ryche; Forthy was I sente hedire with seuen score knyghttez, To asaye of this werre, be sente of my fadire, And I am for cirqwitrye schamely supprisede, And be awntire of armes owtrayede fore euere. Now hafe I taulde the þe kyne that I ofe come, Will thow, for knyghthede, kene me thy name?" "Be Criste," quod Sir Gawayne, "knyghte was I neuer; With þe kydde Conquerour a knafe of his chambyre, Has wroghte in his wardrope wynters and ȝeres, One his long armour that hym beste lykid; I poyne all his pavelyouns þat to hym selfe pendes, Dyghttes his dowblettez for dukes and erles, Aketouns auenaunt fore Arthure hym selfen, That he vsede in werre all this aughte wyntter. He made me ȝomane at Ȝole, and gafe me gret gyftes, And c. pound and a horse and harnayse full ryche; Gife I happe to my hele that hende for to serue, I be holpen in haste, I hette the forsothe." "Giffe his knafes be syche, his knyghttez are noble! There es no kyng vndire Criste may kemp with hym on; He will be Alexander ayre, that all þe erthe lowttede, Abillere þan euer was Sir Ector of Troye. Now fore the krisome þat þou kaghte þat day þou was crystenede, Whethire thowe be knyghte or knaffe, knawe now þe sothe." "My name es Sir Gawayne, I graunt þe forsothe, Cosyn to þe Conquerour, he knawes it hym selfen; Kydd in his kalander a knyghte of his chambyre, And rollede the richeste of all þe Rounde Table. I ame þe dussepere and duke he dubbede with his hondes, Deynttely on a daye before his dere knyghtes; Gruche noghte, gude sir, þofe me this grace happen: It es þe gifte of Gode, the gree es Hys awen." "Petire!" sais Priamus, "Now payes me bettire Thane I of Provynce warre prynce and of Paresche ryche; Fore me ware leuer preuely by prykkyd to þe harte, Than euer any prikkere had siche a pryse wonnyn. Bot here es herberde at hand, in ȝone huge holtes, Halle bataile one heyghe—take hede ȝif the lyke— The Duke of Lorrayne the derfe, with his dere knyghtes, The doughtyest of Dolfinede and Duchemen many, The lordes of Lumbardye, that leders are halden, The garnyson of Godard gaylyche arrayede, The wyese of þe Westuale, wirchipfull biernez, Of Sessoyn and Surylande Sarazenes enewe; They are nowmerde full neghe and namede in rollez, Sexty thowsande and ten, forsothe, of sekyre men of armez; Bot ȝif thow hye fro þis hethe, it harmes vs bothe, And bot my hurtes be son holpen, hole be I neuer. Take heede to þis hanseman þat he no horne blawe, Are thowe heyly in haste beese hewen al to peces; For they are my retenuz, to ryde whare I wyll, Es non redyare renkes regnande in erthe; Be thow raghte with þat rowtt, thow rydes no forþer, Ne thow bees neuer rawnsonede for reches in erthe." Lines 2668 through 2751 Sir Gawayn wente or þe wathe com whare hym beste lykede, With this wortheliche wye, that wondyd was sore; Merkes to þe mountayne there oure men lenges, Baytaynde theire blonkes þer on þe brode mede: Lordes lenande lowe on lemand scheldes, With lowde laghttirs on lofte for lykyng of byrdez, Of larkes, of lynkwhyttez, þat lufflyche songen; And some was sleghte one slepe with sleyghte of þe pople, Þat sange in þe seson in the schenne schawes, So lawe in þe lawndez so lykand notes. Thane Sir Whycher whas warre þaire wardayne was wondyde, And went to hym wepand and wryngande his handes; Syr Wycherd, Sir Walthere, theis weise men of armes, Had wondyre of Sir Gawayne, and wente hym agayns, Mett hym in the mydwaye and meruaile them thoghte How he maisterede þat man, so myghtty of strenghes. Be all þe welthe of þe werlde, so woo was þem neuer: "For all oure wirchipe, iwysse, awaye es in erthe!" "Greue ȝow noghte," quod Gawayne, "for Godis luffe of Heuen; For this es bot gosomer and gyffen on erles; Þoffe my schouldire be schrede and my schelde thyrllede, And the wielde of myn arme werkkes a littill, This prissonere, Sir Priamus, þat has perilous wondes, Sais þat he has saluez sall soften vs bothen." Thane stirttes to his sterape sterynfull knyghttez, And he lordely lyghttes and laghte of his brydill, And lete his burlyche blonke baite on þe flores; Braydes of his bacenette and his ryche wedis, Bownnes to his brode schelde and bowes to þe erthe— In all the bodye of that bolde es no blode leued. Than preses to Sir Priamous precious knyghtes, Auyssely of his horse hentes hym in armes; His helme and of his hawberke þay taken of aftyre, And hastily for his hurtte all his herte chawngyd, They laide hym down in the lawndez and laghte of his wedes, And he lenede hym on lange, or how hym beste lykede. A fyole of fyne golde they fande at his gyrdill, Þat es full of þe flour of þe fouur well, Þat flowes owte of Paradice when þe flode ryses, That myche froyt of fallez, þat feede schall vs all; Be it frette on his flesche, þare synues are entamede, The freke schalle be fische-halle within fowre howres. They vncouere þat cors with full clene hondes; With clere watire a knyghte clensis theire wondes, Keled theym kyndly and comforthed þer hertes. And whene þe carffes ware clene, þay clede them aȝayne; Barell-ferrers they brochede and broghte them the wyne, Bothe brede and brawn and bredis full ryche. When þay hade eten anon they armede after; Thane tha awntrende men "As armes!" askryes. With a claryoune clere thire knyghtez togedyre, Callys to concell and of this case tellys: "Ȝondyr es a companye of clene men of armes, The keneste in contek þat vndir Criste lenges; In ȝone oken wode an oste are arrayede, Vndirtakande men of þiese owte londes, As sais vs Sir Priamous, so helpe Seynt Peter! Go men," quod Gawayne, "and grape in ȝoure hertez, Who sall graythe to ȝone greue to ȝone gret lordes; Ȝif we gettlesse goo home, the Kyng will be greuede, And say we are gadlynges, agaste for a lyttill. We are with Sir Florente, as todaye falles, That es floure of Fraunce, for he fleede neuer; He was chosen and chargegide in chambire of þe Kyng, Chiftayne of þis journée with cheualrye noble; Whethire he fyghte or he flee, we sall folowe aftyre; Fore all þe fere of ȝone folke forsake sall I neuer!" "Fadyre," sais Sir Florent, "full faire ȝe it tell. Bot I ame bot a fawntkyn, vnfraystede in armes; Ȝif any foly befall, þe fawte sall be owrs, And fremdly o Fraunce be flemede for euer. Woundes noghte, ȝour wirchip, my witte es bot symple; Ȝe are owre wardayne, iwysse, wyrke as ȝowe lykes; Ȝe are at the ferreste noghte passande fyve hundrethe, And þat es fully to fewe to feghte with them all, Fore harlottez and hansemene sall helpe bott littill— They will hye theym hyen, for all þeire gret wordes. I rede ȝe wyrke aftyre witte, as wyesse men of armes, And warpes wylily awaye, as wirchipfull knyghtes." "I grawnte," quod Sir Gawayne, "so me Gode helpe; Bot here are galyarde gomes þat of þe gre seruis, The kreuelleste knyghttes of þe Kynges chambyre, That kane carpe with the coppe knyghtly wordes— We sall proue todaye who sall the prys wyn." Lines 2752 through 2824 Nowe ferriours fers vnto þe fyrthe rydez, And fongez a faire felde and on fotte lyghttez; Prekes aftyre þe pray, as pryce men of armes. Florent and Floridas, with fyve score knyghttez, Folowede in þe foreste, and on þe way fowndys, Flyngande a faste trott, and on þe folke dryffes. Than felewes fast to oure folke wele a fyve hundreth Of freke men to þe fyrthe, appon fresche horses; One Sir Feraunt before, apon a fayre stede, Was fosterede in Famacoste—the Fende was his fadyre. He flenges to Sir Florent, and pristly he kryes, "Why flees thow, falls knyghte? The Fende hafe þi saule!" Thane Sir Florent was fayne, and in fewter castys; One Fawuell of Fryselande to Feraunt he rydys, And raghte in þe reyne on þe stede ryche, And rydes towarde the rowte, restes he no lengere: Full butt in þe frounte he flysches hym euen, And all disfegoures his face with his fell wapen; Thurghe his bryghte bacenette his brayne has he towchede, And brusten his neke-bone, þat all his breste stoppede. Thane his cosyn askryede and cryede full lowde, "Thowe has killede colde dede þe kynge of all knyghttes!" He has bene fraistede on felde in fyftene rewmes; He fonde neuer no freke myghte feghte with hym one. Thow schall dye for his dede with my derfe wapen, And all þe doughtty for dule þat in ȝone dale houes!" "Fy," sais Sir Floridas, "thow fleryande wryche! Thow wenes for to flay vs, floke-mowthede schrewe!" Bot Floridas with a swerde, as he by glenttys, All þe flesche of þe flanke he flappes in sondyre, That all þe filthe of þe freke and fele of þe guttes Foloes his fole fotte, whene he furthe rydes. Than rydes a renke to reschewe þat byerne, Þat was Raynalde of þe Rodes and rebell to Criste, Peruertede with paynyms þat Cristen persewes; Presses in prowdly, as þe praye wendes, Fore he hade in Prewsslande myche pryce wonnen— Forthi in presence thare he profers so large. Bot thane a renke, Sir Richere of þe Rounde Table, One a ryall stede rydes hym aȝaynes; Thorowe a rownnde rede schelde he ruschede hym sone, That the rosselde spere to his herte rynnes; The renke relys abowte and rusches to þe erthe, Roris full ruydlye, bot rade he no more. Now all þat es fere and vnfaye of þes fyve hundreth Falles on Sir Florent, a fyve score knyghttes; Betwyx a plasche and a flode, appon a flate lawnde, Oure folke fongen theire felde and fawghte them agaynes. Than was lowde appon lofte "Lorrayne!" askryede, When ledys with longe speris lasschen togedyrs, And "Arthure!" on our syde, when theyme oghte aylede. Than Sir Florent and Floridas in fewtyre þey caste, Fruschen on all þe frape and biernes affrayede, Fellis fyve at þe frounte thare they fyrste enteride, And, or they ferke forthire, fele of þese oþere. Brenyes browdden they briste, brittenede scheldes, Bettes and beres down the best þat þem byddes; All þat rewlyd in the rowtte they ryden awaye, So rewdly they rere theys ryall knyghttes. When Sir Priamous, þat prince, persayuede theire gamen, He hade peté in herte þat he ne durste profire; He wente to Sir Gawayne and sais hym þese wordes: "Thi price men fore thy praye putt are all vndyre; They are with Sarazenes ouersette, mo þan seuen hundreth Of þe Sowdanes knyghtes owt of sere londes; Walde þow suffire me, Sir, for sake of thi Criste, With a soppe of thi men suppowell theym ones?" "I grouche noghte," quod Gawayne, "þe gree es þaire awen! They mon hafe gwerddouns full grett graunt of my lorde; Bot the freke men of Fraunce fraiste them selfen— Frekes faughte noghte þeire fill this fyftene wynter. I will noghte stire with my stale halfe a stede lenghe, Bot they be stedde with more stuffe than on ȝone stede houys." Lines 2825 through 2850 Than Sir Gawayne was warre, withowttyn þe wode hemmes, Wyes of þe Westfale appon wyght horsez, Walopande wodely, as þe waye forthes, With all þe wapyns, iwys, þat to þe werre longez. The erle Antele the Olde the avawmwarde he buskes, Ayerande on ayther hande heghte thosande knyghtez; His pelours and pauysers passede all nombyre That euer any prynce lede puruayede in erthe. Than þe Duke of Lorrayne dresesse thareaftyre, With dowbill of þe Duchemen, þat doughtty ware holden; Paynymes of Pruyslande, prekkers full noble, Come prekkande before with Priamous knyghttez. Than saide the erle Antele to Algere, his broþer, "Me angers ernestly at Arthure knyghtez, Thus enkerly on an oste awnters þem selfen; They will be owttrayede anon, are vndron ryng, Thus folily on a felde to fyghte with vs all; Bot they be fesede in faye ferly me thynkes. Walde they purposse take and passe on theire wayes, Prike home to theire prynce and theire pray leue, They myghte lenghen theire lyefe and lossen bott littill— It wolde lyghte my herte, so helpe me oure Lorde!" "Sir," sais Sir Algere, "thay hafe littill vsede To be owttrayede withe oste—me angers þe more; The fayreste schall be full feye þat in oure floke ryddez Alls fewe as they bene, are they the felde leue." Lines 2851 through 2915 Than gud Gawayne, gracious and noble, All with glorious gle he gladdis his knyghtes: "Gloppyns noghte, gud men, for gleterand scheldes, Þofe ȝone gadlyngez be gaye on ȝone gret horses; Banerettez of Bretayne, buskes vp ȝour hertes! Bees noghte baiste of ȝone boyes, ne of þaire bryghte wedis. We sall blenke theire boste for all theire bolde profire, Als bouxom as birde es in bede to hir lorde. Ȝeffe we feghte todaye, þe felde schall be owrs, The fekill faye sall faile and falssede be distroyede! Ȝone folk is one frountere, vnfraistede theym semes; Thay make faythe and faye to þe Fend seluen! We sall in this viage victoures be holden, And avauntede with voycez of valyant biernez, Praysede with pryncez in presence of lordes, And luffede with ladyes in dyuerse londes; Aughte neuer siche honoure none of oure elders— Vnwyn ne Absolon ne non of thies oþer. When we are moste in destresse Marie we mene, That es oure maisters seyne, þat he myche traistez, Melys of þat mylde Qwene that menskes vs all— Who-so meles of þat Mayde myskaries he neuer." Be þese wordes ware saide, they ware noghte ferre behynd Bot the lenghe of a launde, and "Lorayne!" askryes. Was neuer siche a justyng at journé in erthe, In the Vale of Iosephate, as gestes vs telles, When Iulyus and Ioatall ware juggede to dy, As was when þe ryche men of þe Rownde Table Ruschede into þe rowte one ryall stedes; For so raythely þay rusche with roselde speris, That the raskaille was rade, and rane to þe grefes, And karede to þat courte as cowardes for euer. "Peter!" sais Sir Gawayne; "This gladdez myn herte, That ȝone gedlynges are gon that made gret nowmbre; I hope that thees harlottez sall harme vs bot littill, Fore they will hyde them in haste within ȝone holte euis. Thay are fewere one felde þan þay were fyrste nombird, Be fourtty thousande, in faythe, for all theyre faire hostes!" Bot one Iolyan of Iene, a geante full howge, Has jonede on Sir Ierant, a justis of Walis; Thorowe a jerownde schelde he jogges hym thorowe, And a fyn gesserawnte of gentill mayles— Ioynter and gemows he jogges in sondyre. One a jambé stede þis jurnée he makes; Thus es þe geante forjuste, that errawnte Iewe, And Gerard es jocunde, and joyes hym þe more. Than the genatours of Genne enjoynes att ones, And frykis on þe frowntere well a fyve hundreth; A freke highte Sir Federike, with full fele oþer, Ferkes on a frusche and fresclyche askryes, To fyghte with oure forreours, þat on felde houis. And thane the ryalle renkkes of þe Rownde Table Rade furth full ernestly and rydis them agaynes, Mellis with the medillwarde, bot they ware ill machede, Of siche a grett multytude was meruayle to here. Seyne at þe assemblé the Sarazenes discoueres The soueraygne of Sessoyne, that saluede was neuer; Gyawntis forjustede with gentill knyghtes, Thorowe gesserawntes of Iene jaggede to þe herte. They hewe thorowe helmes hawtayne biernez, Þat þe hiltede swerdes to þaire hertes rynnys. Than þe renkes renownd of þe Rownd Table Ryffes and ruyssches down renayede wreches; And thus they dreuen to þe dede dukes and erles, All þe dreghe of þe daye, with dredfull werkes. Lines 2916 through 2961 Than Sir Priamous þe prynce, in presens of lordes, Presez to his penown and pertly it hentes, Reuertede it redily and awaye rydys, To þe ryall rowte of þe Rownde Table; And heyly his retenus raykes hym aftyre, For they his reson had rede on his schelde ryche. Owte of þe scheltrone þey schede, as schepe of a folde, And steris furth to þe stowre and stode be þeire lorde. Seyne they sent to þe Duke and saide hym þise wordes: "We hafe bene thy sowdeours this sex ȝere and more; We forsake þe todaye be serte of owre lorde; We sewe to oure soueraynge in sere kynges londes. Vs defawtes oure feez of þis foure wyntteres: Thow arte feble and false and noghte bot faire wordes. Oure wages are werede owte and þi werre endide; We maye with oure wirchipe weend whethire vs lykes. I red þowe trette of a trewe and trofle no lengere, Or þow sall tyne of thi tale ten thosande or euen." "Fy à debles!" saide þe Duke; "The Deuell haue ȝour bones! The dawngere of ȝon doggez drede schall I neuer. We sall dele this daye, be dedes of armes, My dede, and my ducherye, and my dere knyghtes. Siche sowdeours as ȝe I sett bot att lyttill, That sodanly in defawte forsakes theire lorde." The Duke in his scheltrone dreches no lengere, Drawes hym a dromedarie, with dredfull knyghtez; Graythes to Sir Gawayne, with full gret nowmbyre Of gomes of Gernaide, that greuous are holden; Thas fresche horsede men to þe frownt rydes, Felles of oure forreours be fourtty at ones— They hade foughtten before with a fyve hundrethe; It was no ferly, in faythe, þofe they faynt waxen. Thane Sir Gawayne was grefede and grypys his spere, And gyrdez in agayne with galyarde knyghttez; Metes þe Marches of Mees and melles hym thorowe, As man of þis medill-erthe þat moste hade greuede. Bot on Chastelayne, a childe of þe Kynges chambyr, Was warde to Sir Wawayn of þe weste marches, Cheses to Sir Cheldrike, a cheftayne noble, With a chasyng he chokkes hym thurghe— This chekke hym eschewede be chauncez of armes. So þay chase þat childe, eschape may he neuer; Bot on Swyan of Swecy, with a swerde egge, The swyers swyre-bane he swappes in sondyre; He swounande diede and on þe swarthe lengede, Sweltes ewynne swiftly, and swanke he no more. Lines 2962 through 2988 Þan Sir Gawayn gretes with his gray eghne— The guyte was a gude man, begynnande of armes; Fore the charry childe so his chere chawngide, That the chillande watire on his chekes rynnyde. "Woo es me," quod Gawayne, "that I ne weten hade; I sall wage for that wye all þat I welde, Bot I be wroken on that wye that thus has hym wondyde." He dresses hym drerily and to þe Duke rydes, Bot one Sir Dolphyn the derfe dyghte hym agaynes, And Sir Gawayne hym gyrd with a grym launce, That the grounden spere glade to his herte. And egerly he hente owte and hurte anoþer, An haythen knyghte, Hardolfe, happye in armes; Sleyghly in at the slotte slyttes hym thorowe, That the slydande spere of his hande sleppes. Thare es slayne in þat slope, be sleyghte of his hondes, Sexty slongen in a slade of sleghe men of armes. Þofe Sir Gawaynne ware wo, he wayttes hym by, And was warre of þat wye that the childe wondyde, And with a swerde swiftly he swappes hym thorowe, That he swyftly swelte and on þe erthe swounes. And thane he raykes to þe rowte and ruysches one helmys, Riche hawberkes he rente and rasede schyldes, Rydes on a rawndoune and his rayke holdes, Thorowowte þe rerewarde he holdes wayes; And thare raughte in the reyne this ryall þe ryche, And rydez into þe rowte of þe Rownde Table. Lines 2989 through 3000 Þane oure cheualrous men changen theire horsez, Chases and choppes down cheftaynes noble, Hittes full hertely on helmes and scheldes, Hurtes and hewes down haythen knyghtez; Ketell-hattes they cleue euen to þe scholdirs— Was neuer siche a clamour of capitaynes in erthe. Thare was kynges sonnes kaughte, curtays and noble, And knyghtes of þe contré, that knawen was ryche; Lordes of Lorayne and Lumbardye bothen Laughte was and lede in with oure lele knyghttez. Thas þat chasede that daye, theire chaunce was bettire— Swiche a cheke at a chace escheuede theym neuer. Lines 3001 through 3031 When Sir Florent be fyghte had þe felde wonen, He ferkes ine before with fyve score knyghttez; Theire prayes and þeire presoneres passes one aftyre, With pylours and pauysers and pryse men of armes. Thane gudly Sir Gawayne gydes his knyghttez, Gas in at þe gayneste, as gydes hym telles, Fore greffe on a garysone of full gret lordes Sulde noghte gripe vpe his gere, ne swyche grame wirche. Forethy they stode at the straytez and with his stale houede, Till his prayes ware paste the pathe that he dredis; When they the ceté myghte see that the Kyng seggede— Sothely the same daye was with asawte wonnen— An hawrawde hyes before, the beste of the lordes, Hom at þe herbergage, owt of tha hyghe londes, Tornys tytte to þe tente and to the Kyng telles All the tale sothely, and how they hade spede: "All thy forreours are fere, that forrayede withowttyn, Sir Florent and Sir Floridas and all thy ferse knyghttez; Thay hafe forrayede and foghten with full gret nowmbyre, And fele of thy foomen has broghte owt of lyffe. Oure wirchipfull wardayne es wele escheuyde, For he has wonn todaye wirchip for euere; He has Dolfyn slayne and þe Duke takyn; Many dowghty es dede be dynt of his hondes. He has presoners price, pryncez and erles, Of þe richeste blode þat regnys in erthe; All thy cheuallrous men faire are eschewede; Bot a childe Chasteleynne myschance es befallen." "Hawtayne," sais þe Kyng, "harawde, be Criste, Thow has helyd myn herte, I hete the forsothe; I ȝife the in Hamptone a hundreth pownde large." Lines 3032 through 3083 The Kynge þan to assawte he sembles his knyghtez, With somercastell and sowe appon sere halfes; Skyftis his skotiferis and skayles the wallis, And iche wache has his warde with wiese men of armes. Thane boldly þay buske and bendes engynes, Payses in pylotes and proues theire castes; Mynsteris and masondewes they malle to þe erthe, Chirches and chapells chalke-whitte blawnchede. Stone stepells full styffe in þe strete ligges, Chawmbyrs with chymnés and many cheefe inns; Paysede and pelid down playsterede walles— The pyne of þe pople was peté for to here. Thane þe Duchez hire dyghte with damesels ryche, The Cowntas of Crasyn, with hir clere maydyns, Knelis down in þe kyrnelles thare the Kyng houede, On a couerede horse comlyli arayede. They knewe hym by contenaunce and criede full lowde, "Kyng crownede of kynde, take kepe to þese wordes! We beseke ȝow, Sir, as soueraynge and lorde, That ȝe safe vs todaye, for sake of ȝoure Criste; Send vs some socoure and saughte with the pople, Or þe ceté be sodaynly with assawte wonnen." He weres his vesere with a vowt noble; With vesage vertouous, this valyante bierne Meles to hir myldly with full meke wordes: "Sall no mysse do ȝow, ma dame, þat to me lenges; I gyf ȝow chartire of pes, and ȝoure cheefe maydens, The childire and þe chaste men, the cheualrous knyghtez; The Duke es in dawngere, dredis it bott littyll. He sall be demyd full wele, dout ȝow noghte elles." Thane sent he on iche a syde to certayne lordez, For to leue þe assawte, the ceté was ȝolden; With þe Erle eldeste son he sent hym þe kayes, And seside þe same nyghte, be sent of þe lordes. The Duke to Douere es dyghte, and all his dere knyghtez, To duelle in dawngere and dole þe dayes of hys lyue. Thare fleede at the ferrere ȝate folke withowttyn nombyre, For ferde of Sir Florent and his fers knyghtez; Voydes the ceté and to the wode rynnys, With vetaile and vessell and vestoure so ryche. Thay buske vpe a banere abown þe brode ȝates— Of Sir Florent, in fay, so fayne was he neuer; The knyghte houys on a hyll, behelde to þe wallys, And saide, "I see be ȝone syngne the ceté es oures." Sir Arthure enters anon, with hostes arayede, Euen at þe vndrone etles to lenge. In iche leueré on lowde the Kynge did crye, Of payne of lyf and lym and lesyng of londes, That no lele ligemane, that to hym lonngede, Sulde lye be no ladysse, no be no lele maydyns, Ne be no burgesse wyffe, better ne werse, Ne no biernez mysebide, that to þe burghe longede. Lines 3084 through 3127 When þe Kyng Arthure had lely conquerid, And the castell couerede of þe kythe riche, All þe crowell and kene, be craftes of armes, Captayns and constables knewe hym for lorde. He deuysede and delte to dyuerse lordez A dowere for þe Duchez and hir dere childire; Wroghte wardaynes by wytte to welde all þe londez, That he had wonnen of werre, thorowe his weise knyghtez. Thus in Lorayne he lenges, as lorde in his awen, Settez lawes in the lande, as hym leefe thoghte. And one þe Lammese Day to Lucerne he wendez, Lengez thare at laysere with lykyng inowe; Thare his galays ware graythede, a full gret nombyre, All gleterand as glase, vndire grene hyllys, With cabanes couerede for kynges anoyntede, With clothes of clere golde for knyghtez and oþer. Sone stowede theire stuffe and stablede þeire horses, Strekes streke ouer þe strem into þe strayte londez. Now he moues his myghte with myrthes of herte, Ouere mowntes so hye, þase meruailous wayes; Gosse in by Goddarde, the garett he wynnys, Graythes the garnison grisely wondes. When he was passede the heghte, than the Kyng houys With his hole bataylle, behaldande abowte, Lukand one Lumbarddye, and one lowde melys, "In ȝone lykand londe, lorde be I thynke." Thane they cayre to Combe, with kyngez anoyntede, That was kyde of þe coste, kay of all oþer. Sir Florent and Sir Floridas þan fowndes before, With freke men of Fraunce well a fyve hundreth; To þe cete vnsene thay soghte at þe gayneste, And sett an enbuschement, als þem selfe lykys. Thane ischewis owt of þat ceté, full sone be þe morne, Slely discouerours, skyftes theire horses; Than skyftes þes skouerours and skippes on hyllis, Diskoueres for skulkers that they no skathe lymppen. Pouerall and pastorelles passede on aftyre, With porkes to pasture at the price ȝates; Boyes in þe subarbis bourden full heghe, At a bare synglere that to þe bente rynnys. Thane brekes oure buschement and the brigge wynnes, Brayedez into þe burghe with baners displayede; Stekes and stabbis thorowe that them aȝaynes-stondes; Fowre stretis or þay stynte they stroyen fore euere. Lines 3128 through 3149 Now es the Conquerour in Combe and his courte holdes Within þe kyde castelll, with kynges enoynttede; Reconsaillez the comouns þat to þe kyth lengez, Comfourthes þe carefull with knyghtly wordez; Made a captayne kene a knyghte of hys awen, Bot all þe contré and he full sone ware accordide. The Syre of Melane herde saye þe ceté was wonnen, And send to Arthure sertayne lordes, Grete sommes of golde, sexti horse chargegid, Besoghte hym as souerayne to socoure þe pople, And saide he wolde sothely be sugette for euer, And make hym seruece and suytte for his sere londes; For Plesaunce, for Pawnce, and for Pownte Tremble, For Pyse, and for Pavy, he profers full large, Bothe purpur and palle and precious stonys, Palfrayes for any prynce and prouede stedes; And ilke a ȝere for Melan a melion of golde, Mekely at Martynmesse to menske with his hordes; And euer withowttyn askyng he and his ayers Be homagers to Arthure, whills his lyffe lastis. The Kyng be his concell a condethe hym sendis, And he es comen to Combe, and knewe hym as lorde. Lines 3150 through 3175 Into Tuskane he tournez, when þus wele tymede, Takes townnes full tyte, with towrres full heghe; Walles he welte down, wondyd knyghtez, Towrres he turnes and turmentez þe pople, Wroghte wedewes full wlonke wrotherayle synges, Ofte wery and wepe and wryngen theire handis; And all he wastys with werre, thare he awaye rydez, Thaire welthes and theire wonnynges, wandrethe he wroghte. Thus they spryngen and sprede and sparis bot lyttill, Spoylles dispetouslye and spillis theire vynes, Spendis vnsparely þat sparede was lange, Spedis them to Spolett with speris inewe. Fro Spayne into Spruyslande the worde of hym sprynges, And spekynngs of his spencis—disspite es full hugge. Towarde Viterbe this valyant avires the reynes; Avissely in þat vale he vetailles his biernez, With vernage and oþer wyne and venyson baken; And one the Vicounte londes he visez to lenge. Vertely the avawmwarde voydez theire horsez, In the Vertennon Vale, the vines imangez; Thare suggeournes this souerayne with solace in herte, To see when the senatours sent any wordes. Reuell with riche wyne, riotes hym selfen, This roy with his ryall men of þe Rownde Table, With myrthis and melodye and manykyn gamnes— Was neuer meriere men made on this erthe. Lines 3176 through 3205 Bot one a Seterdaye at none, a seuenyghte thareaftyre, The konyngeste cardynall that to the courte lengede, Knelis to þe Conquerour and karpes thire wordes: Prayes hym for þe pes and profyrs full large, To hafe peté of þe Pope, þat put was atvndyre; Besoghte hym of surrawns, for sake of oure Lorde, Bot a seuenyghte daye to þay ware all semblede, And they schulde sekerlye hym see the Sonondaye þeraftyre, In the ceté of Rome, as soueraynge and lorde; And crown hym kyndly with krysomede hondes, With his ceptre and swerde, as soueraynge and lorde. Of this vndyrtakyng ostage are comyn, Of ayers full auenaunt awughte score childrenne, In toges of tarsse full richelye attyryde, And betuke them the Kynge and his clere knyghttes. When they had tretide thiere trewe, with trowmpynge þerafter, They tryne vnto a tente, whare tables whare raysede; The Kynge hym selfen es sette, and certayne lordes, Vndyre a sylure of sylke, sawghte at the burdez; All the senatours are sette sere be þam one, Serfed solemply with selcouthe metes. The Kyng myghtty of myrthe, with his mylde wordes, Rehetez the Romaynes at his riche table, Comforthes the Cardynall so knyghtly hym seluen; And this roye ryall, as romawns vs tellis, Reuerence the Romayns in his riche table. The tawghte men and þe conynge, when them tym thoghte, Tas theire lefe at þe Kynge and tornede agayne: To þe ceté þat nyghte thaye soughte at þe gayneste, And thus the ostage of Rome with Arthure es leuede. Lines 3206 through 3337 Than this roy royall rehersys theis wordes: "Now may we reuell and riste, fore Rome es oure awen! Make oure ostage at ese, þise auenaunt childyren, And luk ȝe honden them all that in myn oste lengez. The Emperour of Almayne and all theis este marches, We sall be ouerlynge of all þat on the erthe lengez! We will by þe Crosse Dayes encroche þeis londez, And at þe Crystynmesse Daye be crowned theraftyre; Ryngne in my ryalltés, and holde my Rownde Table, Withe the rentes of Rome, as me beste lykes; Syne graythe ouer þe grette see with gud men of armes, To reuenge the Renke that on the Rode dyede." Thane this comlyche Kynge, as cronycles tellys, Bownnys brathely to bede with a blythe herte; Of he slynges with sleghte and slakes gyrdill, And fore slewthe of slomowre on a slepe fallis. Bot be ane aftyre mydnyghte all his mode changede: He mett in the morne-while full meruaylous dremes. And when his dredefull drem whas drefen to þe ende, The Kynge dares for dowte, dye as he scholde; Sendes aftyre phylosophers, and his affraye telles: "Sen I was formede, in fayth, so ferde whas I neuer! Forthy rawnsakes redyly and rede me my swefennys, And I sall redily and ryghte rehersen the sothe. Me thoughte I was in a wode willed myn one, That I ne wiste no waye whedire þat I scholde, Fore woluez and whilde swynne and wykkyde bestez Walkede in that wasternne, wathes to seche; Thare lyouns full lothely lykkyde þeire tuskes, All fore lapynge of blude of my lele knyghtez. Thurghe þat foreste I flede, thare floures whare heghe, For to fele me for ferde of tha foule thyngez; Merkede to a medowe with montayngnes enclosyde, The meryeste of medillerthe that men myghte beholde. The close was in compas castyn all abowte With clauer and clereworte clede euen ouer; The vale was enuerownde with vynes of siluer, All with grapis of golde, gretter ware neuer; Enhorilde with arborye and alkyns trees, Erberis full honeste and hyrdez þerevndyre; All froytez foddenid was þat floreschede in erthe, Faire frithed in frawnke appon tha free bowes; Whas thare no downkynge of dewe that oghte dere scholde: With þe drowghte of þe daye all drye ware þe flores. Than discendis in the dale, down fra þe clowddez, A duches dereworthily dyghte in dyaperde wedis, In a surcott of sylke selkouthely hewede, All with loyotour ouerlaide lowe to pe hemmes, And with ladily lappes the lenghe of a ȝerde, And all redily reuersside with rebanes of golde; Bruchez and besauntez and oþer bryghte stonys With hir bake and hir breste was brochede all ouer; With kelle and with corenall clenliche arrayede, And þat so comly of colour on knowen was neuer. Abowte cho whirllide a whele with hir whitte hondez, Ouerwhelme all qwayntely þe whele as cho scholde; The rowell whas rede golde with ryall stonys, Raylide with reches and rubyes inewe; The spekes was splentide all with speltis of siluer, The space of a spere lenghe springande full faire; Thereone was a chayere of chalke-whytte siluer, And chekyrde with charebocle, chawngynge of hewes. Appon þe compas ther clewide kyngis one rawe, With corowns of clere golde þat krakede in sondire; Sex was of þat setill full sodaynliche fallen, Ilke a segge by hym selfe, and saide theis wordez: 'That euer I rengnede on þir roo me rewes it euer! Was neuer roye so riche that regnede in erthe; Whene I rode in my rowte, roughte I noghte ells, Bot reuaye and reuell and rawnson the pople; And thus I drife forthe my dayes, whills I dreghe myghte, And therefore derflyche I am dampnede for euer.' The laste was a lityll man that laide was benethe; His leskes laye all lene and latheliche to schewe, The lokkes lyarde and longe, the lenghe of a ȝerde, His lire and his lygham lamede full sore; Þe tone eye of þe byeryn was brighttere þan siluer, The toþer was ȝalowere then the ȝolke of a naye. 'I was lorde,' quod the lede, 'of londes inewe, And all ledis me lowttede that lengede in erthe; And nowe es lefte me no lappe my lygham to hele, Bot lightly now am I loste, leue iche mane the sothe.' The secunde sir, forsothe, þat sewede them aftyre, Was sekerare to my sighte and saddare in armes; Ofte he syghede vnsownde and said theis wordes: 'On ȝone see hafe I sitten als souerayne and lorde, And ladys me louede to lappe in theyre armes; And nowe my lordchippes are loste and laide for euer.' The thirde thorowely was throo and thikke in the schuldyrs, A thra man to thrette of, there thretty ware gaderide; His dyadem was droppede down, dubbyde with stonys, Endente all with diamawndis and dighte for þe nonis; 'I was dredde in my dayes,' he said, 'in dyuerse rewmes, And now dampnede to þe dede, and dole es the more.' The fourte was a faire mane and forsy in armes, Þe fayreste of fegure that fourmede was euer: 'I was frekke, in my faithe,' he said, 'whills I one fowlde regnede, Famows in ferre londis and floure of all knyges; Now es my face defadide, and foule es me hapnede, For I am fallen fro ferre and frendles byleuyde.' The fifte was a faire man þan fele of þies oþer, A forsy man and a ferse, with fomand lippis; He fongede faste on þe feleyghes and falded his armes, Bot ȝit he failede and fell a fyfty fote large; Bot ȝit he sprange and sprente and spradden his armes, And one þe spere-lenghe spekes, he spekes þire wordes: 'I was in Surrye a syr and sett be myn one, As souerayne and seyngnour of sere kynges londis; Now of my solace I am full sodanly fallen, And for sake of my syn, ȝone sete es me rewede.' The sexte hade a sawtere semliche bownden, With a surepel of silke sewede full faire, A harpe and a hande-slynge with harde flynte stones; What harmes he has hente he halowes full sone: 'I was demede in my dayes,' he said, 'of dedis of armes, One of the doughtyeste that duellede in erthe; Bot I was merride one molde in my moste strenghethis, With this mayden so mylde, þat mofes vs all.' Two kynges ware clymbande and clauerande one heghe, The creste of þe compas they couette full ȝerne; 'This chaire of charbokle,' they said, 'we chalange hereaftyre, As two of þe cheffeste chosen in erthe.' The childire ware chalke-whitte, chekys and oþer, Bot the chayere abownne cheuede they neuer; The forthirmaste was freely, with a frount large, The faireste of fyssnamy þat fourmede was euer; And he was buskede in a blee of a blewe noble, With flourdelice of golde floreschede al ouer; The toþer was cledde in a cote all of clene siluer, With a comliche crosse coruen of golde, Fowre crosselettes krafty by þe crosse ristes, And therby knewe I the kyng, þat crystnede hym semyde. Lines 3338 through 3455 Than I went to þat wlonke and wynly hire gretis, And cho said, 'Welcom iwis; wele arte thow fownden; The aughte to wirchipe my will, and thow wele cowthe, Of all the valyant men that euer was in erthe; Fore all thy wirchipe in werre by me has thow wonnen. I hafe bene frendely, freke, and fremmede till oþer, That has þow fownden in faithe, and fele of þi biernez: Fore I fellid down Sir Frolle with frowarde knyghtes; Forethi the fruytes of Fraunce are freely thynne awen. Thow sall þe chayere escheue, I chese þe my selfen, Before all þe cheftaynes chosen in this erthe.' Scho lifte me vp lightly with hir lene hondes, And sette me softely in the see, þe septre me rechede; Craftely with a kambe cho kembede myn heuede, That the krispane kroke to my crownne raughte; Dressid one me a diademe that dighte was full faire, And syne profres me a pome pighte full of faire stonys, Enamelde with azoure, the erth thereon depayntide, Serkylde with the salte see appone sere halfes, In sygne þat I sothely was souerayne in erthe. Than broght cho me a brande with full bryghte hiltes, And bade me 'Brawndysche þe blade, þe brande es myn awen; Many swayn with þe swynge has the swette leuede, For whills thow swanke with the swerde, it swykkede þe neuer.' Than raykes cho with roo and riste when hir likede, To þe ryndes of þe wode—richere was neuer; Was no pomarie so pighte of pryncez in erthe, Ne nonne apparayll so prowde, bot Paradys one. Scho bad þe bewes scholde bewe down and bryng to my hondes Of þe beste that they bare one brawnches so heghe; Than they heldede to hir heste all holly at ones, The hegheste of iche a hirste, I hette ȝow forsothe. Scho bade me fyrthe noghte þe fruyte, bot fonde whills me likede: 'Fonde of þe fyneste, thow frelich byerne, And reche to þe ripeste and ryotte thy seluen. Riste, thow ryalle roye, for Rome es thyn awen! And I sall redily roll þe roo at þe gayneste, And reche the þe riche wyne in rynsede coupes.' Thane cho wente to þe welle by þe wode euis, That all wellyde of wyne and wondirliche rynnes; Kaughte vy a coppe-full and couerde it faire; Scho bad me dereliche drawe and drynke to hir selfen. And thus cho lede me abowte the lenghe of an owre, With all likyng and luffe þat any lede scholde; Bot at þe myddaye full ewyn all hir mode chaungede, And mad myche manace with meruayllous wordez. When I cryede appon hire, cho kest down hir browes: 'Kyng, thow karpes for noghte, be Criste þat me made! For thow sall lose this layke and thi lyfe aftyre; Thow has lyffede in delytte and lordchippes inewe!' Abowte scho whirles the whele and whirles me vndire, Till all my qwarters þat whille whare qwaste al to peces, And with that chayere my chyne was chopped in sondire! And I hafe cheueride for chele sen me this chance happenede. Than wakkenyde I iwys, all wery fordremyde, And now wate thow my woo, worde as þe lykes." "Freke," sais the philosophre, "thy fortune es passede; For thow sall fynd hir thi foo—frayste when the lykes. Thow arte at þe hegheste, I hette the forsothe; Chalange nowe when thow will, thow cheuys no more. Thow has schedde myche blode and schalkes distroyede, Sakeles, in cirquytrie, in sere kynges landis. Schryfe the of thy schame and schape for thyn ende; Thow has a schewynge, Sir Kynge—take kepe ȝif the lyke; For thow sall fersely fall within fyve wynters. Fownde abbayes in Fraunce—þe froytez are theyn awen— Fore Froill and for Ferawnt and for thir ferse knyghttis, That thowe fremydly in Fraunce has faye beleuede. Take kepe ȝitte of oþer kynges and kaste in thyne herte, That were conquerours kydde and crownnede in erthe: The eldeste was Alexandere, þat all þe erthe lowttede, The toþer Ector of Troye, the cheualrous gume; The thirde Iulyus Cesare, þat geant was holden, In iche jorné jentill, ajuggede with lordes; The ferthe was Sir Iudas, a justere full nobill, The maysterfull Makabee, the myghttyeste of strenghes; The fyfte was Iosue, þat joly mane of armes, Þat in Ierusalem oste full myche joye lymppede; The sexte was Dauid þe dere, demyd with kynges One of þe doughtyeste þat dubbede was euer; For he slewe with a slynge, be sleyghte of his handis, Golyas the grette gome, grymmeste in erthe, Syne endittede in his dayes all the dere psalmes, Þat in þe sawtire ere sette with selcouthe wordes; The two clymbande kynges, I knawe it forsothe, Sall Karolus be callide, the kyng son of Fraunce; He sall be crowell and kene, and conquerour holden, Couere be conqueste contres ynewe; He sall encroche the crowne that Crist bare hym selfen, And þat lifeliche launce that lepe to his herte, When he was crucyfiede one Crose, and all þe kene naylis, Knyghtly he sall conquere to Cristyn men hondes. The toþer sall be Godfraye, that Gode schall reuenge One þe Gud Frydaye with galyarde knyghtes; He sall of Lorrayne be lorde, be leefe of his fadire, And syne in Ierusalem myche joye happyn, For he sall couer the Crosse be craftes of armes, And synne be corownde kynge with krysome enoynttede; Sall no duke in his dayes siche destanye happyn, Ne siche myschefe dreghe when trewthe sall be tryede. Forethy Fortune þe fetches to fulfill the nowmbyre, Alls nynne of þe nobileste namede in erthe: This sall in romance be redde with ryall knyghttes, Rekkenede and renownde with ryotous kynges, And demyd on Domesdaye, for dedis of armes, For þe doughtyeste þat euer was duelland in erthe; So many clerkis and kynges sall karpe of ȝoure dedis, And kepe ȝoure conquestez in cronycle for euer. Bot the wolfes in the wode and the whilde bestes, Are some wikkyd men that werrayes thy rewmes, Es entirde in thyn absence to werraye thy pople, And alyenys and ostes of vncouthe landis. Thow getis tydandis, I trowe, within ten dayes, That some torfere es tydde, sen thow fro home turnede; I rede thow rekkyn and reherse vnresonable dedis, Ore the repenttes full rathe all thi rewthe werkes. Mane, amende thy mode, or thow myshappen, And mekely aske mercy for mede of thy saule." Lines 3456 through 3486 Thane rysez the riche Kyng and rawghte on his wedys, A reede acton of rosse, the richeste of floures, A pesane and a paunson and a pris girdill; And one he henttis a hode of scharlette full riche, A pauys pillion hatt, þat pighte was full faire With perry of þe Oryent and precyous stones; His gloues gayliche gilte and grauen by þe hemmys With graynes of rubyes full gracious to schewe. His bede grehownde and his bronde ande no byerne ells, And bownnes ouer a brode mede, with breth at his herte; Furth he stalkis a stye by þa still euys, Stotays at a hey strette, studyande hym one. Att the surs of þe sonne he sees there commande, Raykande to Romewarde the redyeste wayes, A renke in a rownde cloke with righte rowmme clothes, With hatte and with heyghe schone homely and rownde; With flatte ferthynges the freke was floreschede all ouer, Manye schredys and schragges at his skyrttes hynnges; With scrippe ande with slawyn and skalopis inewe, Both pyke and palme alls pilgram hym scholde. The gome graythely hym grette and bade gode morwen; The Kyng lordelye hym selfe, of langage of Rome, Of Latyn corroumppede all, full louely hym menys: "Whedire wilnez thowe, wye, walkande thyn one? Qwhylls þe werlde es o werre, a wawhte I it holde. Here es ane enmye with oste vndire ȝone vynes: And they see the, forsothe, sorowe the betyddes; Bot ȝif thow hafe condethe of þe Kynge selfen, Knaues will kill the and keppe at thow haues; And if þou halde þe hey waye, they hente the also, Bot if thow hastyly hafe helpe of his hende knyghttes." Lines 3487 through 3502 Than karpes Sir Cradoke to the Kynge selfen: "I sall forgyffe hym my dede, so me Gode helpe, Onye grome vndire Gode that one this grownde walkes. Latte the keneste come that to þe Kyng langes, I sall encountire hym as knyghte, so Criste hafe my sawle! For thow may noghte reche me, no areste thy selfen, Þoffe þou þe richely arayede in full riche wedys. I will noghte wonde for no werre to wende whare me likes, Ne for no wy of this werlde þat wroghte es on erthe! Bot I will passe in pilgremage þis pas vnto Rome, To purchese me pardone of the Pape selfen, And of paynes of Purgatorie be plenerly assoyllede. Thane sall I seke sekirly my souerayne lorde, Sir Arthure of Inglande, that auenaunt byerne; For he es in this empire, as hathell men me telles, Ostayande in this Oryente with awfull knyghtes." Lines 3503 through 3590 "Fro qwyn come þou, kene man," quod þe Kynge than, "That knawes Kynge Arthure and his knyghttes also? Was þou euer in his courte, qwylls he in kyth lengede? Thow karpes so kyndly, it comforthes myn herte. Well wele has þou wente and wysely þou sechis, For þou arte Bretowne bierne, as by thy brode speche." "Me awghte to knowe þe Kynge: he es my kydde lorde, And I calde in his courte a knyghte of his chambire; Sir Craddoke was I callide in his courte riche, Kepare of Karlyon vndir the Kynge selfen: Nowe am I cachede owtt of kyth with kare at my herte, And that castell es cawghte with vncowthe ledys." Than the comliche kynge kaughte hym in armes, Keste of his ketill-hatte and kyssede hym full sone, Saide, "Welcom, Sir Craddoke, so Criste mott me helpe! Dere cosyn of kynde, thowe coldis myn herte; How faris it in Bretayne, with all my bolde beryns? Are they brettenede or brynte or broughte owte of lyue? Ken þou me kyndely whatte caase es befallen; I kepe no credens to crafe—I knawe the for trewe." "Sir, thi wardane es wikkede and wilde of his dedys, For he wandreth has wroghte sen þou awaye passede: He has castells encrochede and corownde hym seluen, Kaughte in all þe rentis of þe Rownde Tabill; He devisede þe rewme and delte as hym likes, Dubbede of þe Danmarkes dukes and erlles, Disseueride þem sondirwise and cités dystroyede. To Sarazenes and Sessoynes appon sere halues, He has semblede a sorte of selcouthe berynes; Soueraynes of Surgenale and sowdeours many, Of Peyghtes and paynyms and prouede knyghttes, Of Irelande and Orgaile owtlawede berynes. All thaa laddes are knyghttes þat lange to þe mowntes, And ledynge and lordechipe has all, alls them selfe likes; And there es Sir Childrike a cheftayne holdyn, That ilke cheualrous man, he chargges thy pople; They robbe thy religeous and ravische thi nones, And redy ryddis with his rowtte to rawnsone þe pouere; Fro Humbyre to Hawyke he haldys his awen, And all þe cowntré of Kentt be couenawnte entayllide; The comliche castells that to the corown langede, The holttes and the hare wode and the harde bankkes— All þat Henguste and Hors hent in þeire tym; Att Southampton on the see es seuen skore chippes, Frawghte full of ferse folke owt of ferre landes, For to fyghte with thy frappe when þow them assailles. Bot ȝitt a worde witterly, thowe watte noghte þe werste: He has weddede Waynore, and hir his wieffe holdis, And wonnys in the wilde bowndis of þe weste marches, And has wroghte hire with childe, as wittnesse tellis. Off all þe wyes of þis worlde, woo motte hym worthe, Alls wardayne vnworthye women to ȝeme. Thus has Sir Modrede merrede vs all! Forthy I merkede ouer thees mowntes to mene þe the sothe." Than the burliche kynge, for brethe at his herte, And for this botelesse bale, all his ble chaungede. "By þe Rode," sais þe Roye, "I sall it revenge! Hym sall repente full rathe all his rewthe werkes!" All wepande for woo he went to his tentis; Vnwynly this wyesse kynge he wakkenysse his beryns, Clepid in a clarioune kynges and othire, Callys them to concell and of þis cas tellys: "I am with treson betrayede, for all my trewe dedis; And all my trauayle es tynt, me tydis no bettire! Hym sall torfere betyde þis tresone has wroghte, And I may traistely hym take, as I am trew lorde. This es Modrede, þe mane that I moste traystede, Has my castells encrochede and corownde hym seluen, With renttes and reches of the Rownde Table; Has made all hys retenewys of renayede wrechis, And devysed my rewme to dyverse lordes, To sowdeours and to Sarazenes owtte of sere londes. He has weddyde Waynore and hyr to wyefe holdes; And a childe es eschapede, the chaunce es no bettire. They hafe semblede on the see seuen schore chippis, Full of ferrom folke to feghte with myn one; Forthy to Bretayne the Brode buske vs byhouys, For to brettyn the beryne that has this bale raysede. Thare sall no freke men fare bott all one fresche horses, That are fraistede in fyghte and floure of my knyghttez; Sir Howell and Sir Hardolfe here sall beleue, To be lordes of the ledis that here to me lenges; Lokes into Lumbardye þat thare no lede chaunge, And tendirly to Tuskayne take tente alls I byde; Resaywe the rentis of Rome qwen þay are rekkenede; Take sesyn the same daye that laste was assygnede, Or elles all þe ostage withowttyn þe wallys, Be hynggyde hye appon hyghte all holly at ones." Lines 3591 through 3779 Nowe bownes the bolde kynge with his beste knyghtes, Gers trome and trusse and trynes forth aftyre; Turnys thorowe Tuskayne, taries bot littill, Lyghte noghte in Lumbarddye bot when þe lyghte failede; Merkes ouer the mowntaynes full mervaylous wayes, Ayres thurghe Almaygne evyne at the gayneste, Ferkes evyne into Flawndresche with hys ferse knyghttes. Within fyftene dayes his flete es assemblede, And thane he schoupe hym to chippe and schownes no lengere, Scherys with a charpe wynde ouer þe schyre waters. By þe roche with ropes he rydes on ankkere, Thare the false men fletyde and one flode lengede, With chefe chaynes of chare chokkode togedyrs, Charggede evyn chekeful of cheualrous knyghtes, And in þe hynter one heghte helmes and crestes; Hatches with haythen men hillyd ware tharevndyre, Prowdliche purtrayede with payntede clothys, Iche a pece by pece prykkyde tyll oþer— Dubbyde with dagswaynnes dowblede they seme; And thus þe derfe Danamarkes had dyghte all theyre chippys, That no dynte of no darte dere them ne schoulde. Than the Roye and þe renkes of the Rownde Table All ryally in rede arrayes his chippis; That daye ducheryes he delte and doubbyde knyghttes, Dresses dromowndes and dragges and drawen vpe stonys; The toppe-castells he stuffede with toyelys, as hym lykyde. Bendys bowes of vys brothly þareaftyre; Tolowris tentyly takell they ryghtten, Brasen hedys full brode buskede one flones, Graythes for garnysons gomes arrayes; Gryme gaddes of stele, ghywes of iryn, Stiȝttelys steryn one steryne with styffe men of armes; Mony lufliche launce appon lofte stondys, Ledys one leburde, lordys and oþer, Pyghte payvese one porte, payntede scheldes, One hyndire hurdace one highte helmede knyghtez. Thus they scheften fore schotys one thas schire strandys, Ilke schalke in his schrowde—full scheen ware þeire wedys. The bolde kynge es in a barge and abowtte rowes, All bare-heuvede for besye with beueryn lokkes, And a beryn with his bronde and ane helme betyn, Mengede with a mawntelet of maylis of siluer, Compaste with a coronall and couerde full riche; Kayris to yche a cogge to comfurthe his knyghttes: To Clegys and Cleremownde he cryes one lowde, "O Gawayne, O Galyran, thies gud mens bodyes." To Loth and to Lyonell full louefly he melys, And to Sir Lawncelot de Lake lordiche wordys: "Lat vs couere þe kythe—the coste es owre ownn— And gere them brotheliche blenke, all ȝone blod-hondes, Bryttyn them within bourde and brynne them þareaftyre; Hewe down hertly ȝone heythen tykes! Thay are harlotes halfe, I hette ȝow myn honnde!" Than he coueres his cogge and caches one ankere, Kaughte his comliche helme with þe clere maylis, Buskes baners one brode, betyn of gowles, With corowns of clere golde, clenliche arraiede; Bot þare was chosen in þe chefe a chalke-whitte Mayden, And a Childe in hir arme, þat Chefe es of Hevyne; Withowtten changyng in chace, thies ware þe cheefe armes Of Arthure þe auenaunt, qwhylls he in erthe lengede. Thane the marynerse mellys and maysters of chippis; Merily iche a mate menys till oþer: Of theire termys they talke, how þay ware tydd, Towyn trvssell one trete, trvssen vpe sailes, Bet bonettez one brede, bettrede hatches, Brawndeste brown stele, braggede in trompes, Standis styffe one the stamyn, steris one aftyre, Strekyn ouer þe streme thare stryvynge begynnes. Fro þe wagande wynde owte of þe weste rysses, Brethly bessomes with byrre in beryns sailles; With hir bryngges one burde burliche cogges, Qwhylls þe bilyge and þe beme brestys in sondyre; So stowttly þe forsterne one þe stam hyttis, Þat stokkes of þe stere-burde strykkys in peces. Be than cogge appon cogge, krayers and oþer, Castys crepers one crosse als to þe crafte langes. Thane was hede-rapys hewen þat helde vpe þe mastes; Thare was conteke full kene and crachynge of chippys: Grett cogges of kampe crasseches in sondyre; Mony kaban clevede, cabills destroyede. Knyghtes and kene men killide the braynes; Kidd castells were corven with all theire kene wapen, Castells full comliche þat coloured ware faire. Vptyhes eghelyng þay ochen þareaftyre: With þe swynge of þe swerde sweys þe mastys, Ovyrefallys in þe firste frekis and othire; Frekke in þe forchipe fey es byleuefede. Than brothely they bekyre with boustouse tacle; Bruschese boldlye on burde brynyede knyghtes, Owt of botes one burd was buskede with stonys, Bett down of þe beste, brystis the hetches; Som gomys thourghegyrde with gaddys of yryn: Gomys gayliche clede englaymes wapen. Archers of Inglande full egerly schottes, Hittis thourghe þe harde stele full hertly dynttis. Sone hotchen in holle the heþene knyghtes— Hurte thourghe þe harde stele, hele they neuer. Than they fall to þe fyghte, foynes with sperys, All the frekkeste one frownte þat to þe fyghte langes; And ilkon frechely fraystez theire strenghes, Were to fyghte in þe flete with theire fell wapyn. Thus they dalte þat daye, thire dubbide knyghtes, Till all þe Danes ware dede and in þe depe throwen. Than Bretons brothely with brondis they hewen, Lepys in vpone lofte lordeliche berynes; When ledys of owt-londys leppyn in waters, All oure lordes one lowde laughen at ones. Be thane speris whare sprongen, spalddyd chippys, Spanyolis spedily sprentyde ouer burdez; All þe kene men of kampe, knyghtes and oþer, Killyd are colde dede and castyn ouer burdez. Theire swyers sweyftly has þe swete leuyde; Heþen heuande on hatche in þer hawe ryses, Synkande in þe salte see seuen hundrethe at ones. Thane Sir Gawayne the gude, he has þe gree wonnen, And all þe cogges grete he gafe to his knyghtes, Sir Geryn and Sir Grisswolde and othir gret lordes, Garte Galuth, a gud gome, girde of þaire hedys. Thus of þe false flete appon þe flode happenede, And thus þeis feryne folke fey are beleuede. Ȝitt es þe traytoure one londe with tryede knyghttes, And all trompede they trippe one trappede stedys, Schewes them vndir schilde one þe schire bankkes— He ne schownttes for no schame but schewes full heghe. Sir Arthure and Gawayne avyede them bothen, To sexty thosandez of men þat in theire syghte houede. Be this the folke was fellyde, thane was þe flode passede; Thane was it slyke a slowde in slakkes full hugge, That let þe Kyng for to lande in the lawe watyre; Forthy he lengede on laye for lesyng of horsys, To loke of his legemen and of his lele knyghtes, Ȝif any ware lamede or loste, life ȝife they scholde. Than Sir Gawayn þe gude a galaye he takys, And glides vp at a gole with gud men of armes; When he growndide, for grefe he gyrdis in þe watere, That to þe girdyll he gos in all his gylte wedys; Schottis vpe appon þe sonde in syghte of þe lordes, Sengly with hys soppe—my sorowe es the more. With baners of his bagys, beste of his armes, He braydes vp on the banke in his bryghte wedys; He byddys his baneoure," Buske þow belyfe To ȝone brode batayle that one ȝone banke houes, And I ensure ȝow sothe I sall ȝowe sewe aftyre. Loke ȝe blenke for no bronde, ne for no bryghte wapyn, Bot beris down of þe beste and bryng them o dawe; Bees noghte abayste of theire boste, abyde on þe erthe. Ȝe haue my baneres borne in batailles full hugge; We sall fell ȝone false, þe Fende hafe theire saules! Fightes faste with þe frape, þe felde sall be owres; May I þat traytoure ouertake, torfere hym tyddes, That this treson has tymbyrde to my trewe lorde. Of siche a engendure full littyll joye happyns, And þat sall in this journée be juggede full euen." Now they seke ouer þe sonde þis soppe at þe gayneste, Sembles one þe sowdeours and settys theire dyntys: Thourghe þe scheldys so schene schalkes þey towche, With schaftes scheueride schorte of þas schene launces; Derfe dynttys they dalte with daggande sperys. One þe danke of þe dewe many dede lyggys: Dukes and duszeperis and dubbide knyghttys; The doughttyeste of Danemarke vndone are for euer. Thus thas renkes in rewthe rittis theire brenyes, And rechis of þe richeste vnreken dynttis; Thare they thronge in the thikke and thristis to þe erthe Of the thraeste men thre hundrethe at ones. Bot Sir Gawayne for grefe myghte noghte agayne-stande, Vmbegrippys a spere and to a gome rynnys, Þat bare of gowles full gaye with gowtes of syluere; He gyrdes hym in at þe gorge with his grym launce, Þat þe grownden glayfe graythes in sondyre; With þat boystous brayde he bownes hym to dye— Þe Kyng of Gutlande it was, a gude man of armes. Thayre avawwarde than all voydes þareaftyre, Alls venqueste verrayely with valyant beryns. Metis with medilwarde, that Modrede ledys; Oure men merkes them to, as them myshappenede. For hade Sir Gawayne hade grace to halde þe grene hill, He had wirchipe, iwys, wonnen for euer. Bot þan Sir Gawayne, iwysse, he waytes hym wele To wreke hym on this werlaughe þat þis werre mouede; And merkes to Sir Modrede amonge all his beryns, With the Mownttagus and oþer gret lordys. Þan Sir Gawayne was greuede and with a gret wyll Fewters a faire spere and freschely askryes: "Fals fosterde foode, the Fende haue thy bonys! Fy one the, felone, and thy false werkys! Thow sall be dede and vndon for thy derfe dedys, Or I sall dy this daye, ȝif destanye worthe!" Lines 3780 through 3812 Thane his enmye, with oste of owtlawede beryns, All enangylls abowte oure excellente knyghttez, That the traytoure be tresone had tryede hym seluen; Dukes of Danemarke he dyghttes full sone, And leders of Lettowe, with legyons inewe; Vmbylappyde oure men with launcez full kene. Sowdeours and Sarazenes owte of sere landys, Sexty thosande men semlyly arrayede, Sekerly assembles thare one seuen schore knyghtes, Sodaynly in dischayte by tha salte strandes. Thane Sir Gawayne grette with his gray eghen, For grefe of his gud men that he gyde schulde; He wyste that þay wondyde ware and wery forfoughtten, And what for wondire and woo, all his witte faylede. And thane syghande he saide, with sylande terys, "We are with Sarazenes besett appon sere halfes. I syghe noghte for my selfe, sa helpe oure Lorde; Bot for to see vs supprysede, my sorowe es the more. Bes dowghtty todaye, ȝone dukes schall be ȝoures; For dere Dryghttyn this daye, dredys no wapyn. We sall ende this daye alls excellent knyghttes, Ayere to endelesse joye with angells vnwemyde. Þofe we hafe vnwittyly wastede oure selfen, We sall wirke all wele in þe wirchipe of Cryste. We sall for ȝone Sarazenes, I sekire ȝow my trowhe, Souppe with oure Saueoure solemply in Heuen, In presence of þat precious Prynce of all oþer, With prophetes and patriarkes and apostlys full nobill, Before His freliche face that fourmede vs all. Ȝondire to ȝone ȝaldsons, he þat ȝeldes hym euer, Qwhylls he es qwykke and in qwerte, vnquellyde with handis, Be he neuer mo sauede, ne socourede with Cryste, Bot Satanase his sawle mowe synke into Helle!" Lines 3813 through 3839 Than grymly Sir Gawayne gryppis hys wapyn; Agayne þat gret bataille he graythes hym son: Radly of his riche swerde he reghttes þe cheynys, In he schokkes his schelde, schountes he no lengare; Bot alls vnwyse, wodewyse, he wente at þe gayneste, Wondis of thas wedirwyns with wrakfull dynttys— All wellys full of blode thare he awaye passes; And þofe hym ware full woo, he wondys bot lyttill, Bot wrekys at his wirchip þe wrethe of hys lorde. He stekys stedis in stoure and sterenefull knyghttes, That steryn men in theire sterapes stone-dede þay lygge; He ryvys þe ranke stele, he rittes þe mayles— Thare myghte no renke hym areste, his reson was passede. He fell in a fransye for fersenesse of herte; He feghttis and fellis down þat hym before standis— Fell neuer fay man siche fortune in erthe. Into þe hale bataile hedlyngs he rynys, And hurtes of þe hardieste þat one the erthe lenges. Letande alls a lyon he lawnches them thorowe, Lordes and ledars that one the launde houes. Ȝit Sir Gawayne for wo wondis bot lyttill, Bot woundis of thas wedirwyns with wondirfull dyntes, Alls he þat wold wilfully wasten hym selfen; And for wondsom and will all his wit failede, That wode alls a wylde beste he wente at þe gayneste; All walewede one blode, thare he awaye passede— Iche a wy may be warre be wreke of anoþer. Lines 3840 through 3863 Þan he moues to Sir Modrede amange all his knyghttes, And mett hym in þe myde-schelde and mallis hym thorowe; Bot the schalke for the scharpe he schownttes a littill, He schare hym one þe schorte rybbys a schaftmonde large: The schafte schoderede and schotte in the schire beryn, Þat þe schadande blode ouer his schanke rynnys, And schewede on his schynbawde, þat was schire burneste. And so they schyfte and schove, he schotte to þe erthe; With þe lussche of þe launce he lyghte one hys schuldyrs, Ane akere lenghe one a launde, full lothely wondide. Than Gawayne gyrde to þe gome and one þe groffe fallis— Alls his grefe was graythede, his grace was no bettyre— He schokkes owtte a schorte knyfe schethede with siluere, And scholde haue slottede hym in, bot no slytte happenede: His hand sleppid and solde o slante one þe mayles, And þe toþer slely slynges hym vndire; With a trenchande knyfe the traytoure hym hyttes, Thorowe þe helme and þe hede, one heyghe one þe brayne: And thus Sir Gawayne es gon, the gude man of armes, Withowttyn reschewe of renke and rewghe es þe more; Thus Sir Gawayne es gon, that gyede many othire— Fro Gowere to Gernesay, all þe gret lordys, Of Glamour, of Galys londe, þis galyarde knyghtes, For glent of gloppynyng glade be they neuer. Lines 3864 through 3918 Kyng Froderike of Fres faythely þareaftyre Fraynes at the false mane of owre ferse knyghte: "Knew thow euer this knyghte in thi kithe ryche, Of whate kynde he was comen? Beknowe no þe sothe; Qwat gome was he this with the gaye armes, With þis gryffoune of golde, þat es one growffe fallyn? He has grettly greffede vs, so me Gode helpe, Gyrde down oure gude men and greuede vs sore; He was þe sterynneste in stoure that euer stele werryde, Fore he has stonayede oure stale and stroyede for euer!" Than Sir Mordrede with mouthe melis full faire: "He was makles one molde, mane, be my trowhe; This was Sir Gawayne the gude, þe gladdeste of othire, And the graciouseste gome that vndire God lyffede, Mane hardyeste of hande, happyeste in armes, And þe hendeste in hawle vndire heuen riche, Þe lordelieste of ledyng qwhylls he lyffe myghte, Fore he was lyone allossede in londes inewe; Had thow knawen hym, Sir Kyng, in kythe thare he lengede, His konynge, his knyghthode, his kyndly werkes, His doyng, his doughtynesse, his dedis of armes, Thow wolde hafe dole for his dede þe dayes of thy lyfe." Ȝit þat traytour alls tite teris lete he fall, Turnes hym furthe tite, and talkes no more, Went wepand awaye and weries the stowndys, Þat euer his werdes ware wroghte siche wandrethe to wyrke. Whene he thoghte on þis thynge, it thirllede his herte: For sake of his sybb blode sygheande he rydys; When þat renayede renke remembirde hym seluen Of reuerence and ryotes of þe Rownde Table, He remyd and repent hym of all his rewthe werkes; Rode awaye with his rowte, ristys he no lengere, For rade of oure riche kynge, ryve þat he scholde. Thane kayres he to Cornewaile, carefull in herte, Because of his kynsemane that one the coste ligges; He taries tremlande ay, tydandis to herken. Than the traytoure treunted þe Tyseday þareaftyre, Trynnys in with a trayne treson to wirke; And by þe Tambire þat tide his tentis he reris, And thane in a mette-while a messangere he sendes, And wraite vnto Waynor how the werlde chaungede, And what comliche coste the Kyng was aryuede, One floode foughten with his fleete and fellyd them o lyfe; Bade hir ferken oo ferre and flee with hir childire, Whills he myghte wile hym awaye and wyn to hir speche, Ayere into Irelande, into þas owte-mowntes, And wonn thare in wildernesse, within þa wast landys. Than cho ȝermys and ȝeȝes at Ȝorke in hir chambire, Gronys full grysely with gretand teres, Passes owte of þe palesse with all hir pryce maydenys, Towarde Chestyre in a charre thay chese hir þe wayes, Dighte hir ewyn for to dye, with dule at hir herte; Scho kayres to Karelyone and kawghte hir a vaile, Askes thare þe habite in þe honoure of Criste, And all for falsede and frawde and fere of hir louerde. Lines 3919 through 3931 Bot whene oure wiese kyng wiste þat Gawayne was landede, He al towrythes for woo, and, wryngande his handes, Gers lawnche his botes appon a lawe watire, Londis als a lyon with lordliche knyghtes, Slippes in in the sloppes o slante to þe girdyll, Swalters vpe swyftly with his swerde drawen, Bownnys his bataile and baners displayes, Buskes ouer þe brode sandes with breth at his herte, Ferkes frekkly one felde þare þe feye lygges. Of the traytours men one trappede stedis, Ten thosandez ware tynte, þe trewghe to acownt, And certane on owre syde seuen score knyghtes, In soyte with theire souerayne vnsownde are beleuede. Lines 3932 through 3948 Þe Kyng comly ouerkeste knyghtes and othire, Erlles of Awfrike and Estriche berynes, Of Orgaile and Orekenay, þe Iresche kynges, The nobileste of Norwaye, nowmbirs full hugge, Dukes of Danamarke and dubbid knyghtes; And the Guthede kynge in the gay armes Lys gronande on þe grownde and girde thorowe even. The riche kynge ransakes with rewthe at his herte, And vp rypes the renkes of all þe Rownde Tabyll; Ses them all in a soppe in sowte by them one, With the Sarazenes vnsownde enserclede abowte; And Sir Gawayne the gude in his gaye armes, Vmbegrippede the girse and one grouffe fallen, His baners brayden down, betyn of gowlles, His brand and his brade schelde all blody beronen; Was neuer oure semliche kynge so sorowfull in herte, Ne þat sanke hym so sade bot þat sighte one. Lines 3949 through 3974 Than gliftis þe gud kynge and glopyns in herte, Gronys full grisely with gretande teris; Knelis down to þe cors and kaught it in armes, Kastys vpe vmbrere and kyssis hym sone, Lokes one his eye-liddis, þat lowkkide ware faire, His lippis like to þe lede and his lire falowede. Þan the corownde kyng cryes full lowde, "Dere kosyn o kynde, in kare am I leuede, For nowe my wirchipe es wente and my were endide; Here es þe hope of my hele, my happynge of armes— My herte and my hardynes hale one hym lengede, My concell, my comforthe, þat kepide myn herte. Of all knyghtes þe kynge þat vndir Criste lifede, Þou was worthy to be kyng, þofe I þe corown bare; My wele and my wirchipe of all þis werlde riche Was wonnen thourghe Sir Gawayne and thourghe his witt one." "Allas!" saide Sir Arthure, "Nowe ekys my sorowe; I am vttirly vndon in myn awen landes. A, dowttouse, derfe dede, þou duellis to longe! Why drawes þou so one dreghe? Thow drownnes myn herte!" Than sweltes the swete kyng and in swoun fallis, Swafres vp swiftely and swetly hym kysses, Till his burliche berde was blody berown, Alls he had bestes birtenede and broghte owt of life; Ne had Sir Ewayne comen and othire grete lordys, His bolde herte had brousten for bale at þat stownde. Lines 3975 through 3996 "Blyne," sais thies bolde men, "thow blondirs þi selfen; Þis es botles bale, for bettir bees it neuer. It es no wirchipe, iwysse, to wryng thyn hondes; To wepe als a woman it es no witt holden. Be knyghtly of contenaunce, als a kyng scholde, And leue siche clamoure, for Cristes lufe of Heuen!" "For blode," said the bolde kyng, "blyn sall I neuer, Or my brayne tobriste, or my breste oþer! Was neuer sorowe so softe that sanke to my herte; Itt es full sibb to my selfe, my sorowe es the more. Was neuer so sorowfull a syghte seyn with myn eyghen; He es sakles supprysede for syn of myn one." Down knelis þe Kyng and kryes full lowde; With carefull contenaunce he karpes thes wordes: "O rightwis, riche Gode, this rewthe Thow beholde, Þis ryall, rede blode ryn appon erthe; It ware worthy to be schrede and schrynede in golde, For it es sakles of syn, sa helpe me oure Lorde." Down knelis þe Kyng with kare at his herte, Kaughte it vpe kyndly with his clene handis, Keste it in a ketill-hatte and couerde it faire, And kayres furthe with þe cors in kyghte þare he lenges. Lines 3997 through 4024 "Here I make myn avowe," quod the Kynge than, "To Messie, and to Marie, the mylde Qwene of Heuen, I sall neuer ryvaye, ne raches vncowpyll At roo ne raynedere þat rynnes appone erthe; Neuer grewhownde late glyde, ne gossehawke latt flye, Ne neuer fowle see fellide þat flieghes with wenge; Fawkon ne formaylle appon fiste handill, Ne ȝitt with gerefawcon rejoyse me in erthe; Ne regne in my royaltez, ne halde my Rownde Table, Till thi dede, my dere, be dewly reuengede; Bot euer droupe and dare, qwylls my lyfe lastez, Till Drighten and derfe dede hafe don qwate them likes." Than kaughte they vpe þe cors with kare at theire hertes, Karyed one a coursere with þe Kynge selfen; The waye vnto Wynchestre þay wente at the gayneste, Wery and wandsomdly, with wondide knyghtes. Thare come þe prior of þe plas and professide monkes, Apas in processione and with the Prynce metys; And he betuke þam the cors of þe knyghte noble. "Lokis it be clenly kepyd," he said, "and in þe kirke holden, Done for derygese, as to þe ded fallys, Menskede with messes for mede of þe saule; Loke it wante no waxe, ne no wirchipe ells, And at þe body be bawmede and one erthe holden; Ȝiff þou kepe thi couent encroche any wirchipe At my comyng agayne, ȝif Crist will it thole, Abyde of þe beryeng till they be broughte vndire, Þat has wroghte vs this woo and þis werre mouede." Lines 4025 through 4059 Þan sais Sir Wychere þe wy, a wyese mane of armes, "I rede ȝe warely wende and wirkes the beste; Soiorne in this ceté and semble thi berynes, And bidde with thi bolde men in thi burghe riche; Get owt knyghttez of contres that castells holdes, And owt of garysons grete gude men of armes, For we are fraithely to fewe to feghte with them all, Þat we see in his sorte appon þe see bankes." With krewell contenaunce thane the Kyng karpis theis wordes: "I praye the, kare noghte, Sir Knyghte, ne caste þou no dredis; Hadde I no segge bot my selfe one vndir sone, And I may hym see with sighte or one hym sette hondis, I sall even amange his mene malle hym to dede! Are I of þe stede styre halfe a stede lenghe, I sall stryke hym in his stowre and stroye hym for euer; And þareto make I myn avowe devottly to Cryste, And to Hys Modyre Marie, þe mylde Qwene of Heuen, I sall neuer soiourne sounde, ne sawghte at myne herte, In ceté ne in subarbe sette appon erthe, Ne ȝitt slomyre ne slepe with my slawe eyghne, Till he be slayne þat hym slowghe, ȝif any sleyghte happen; Bot euer pursue the payganys þat my pople distroyede, Qwylls I may pare them and pynne, in place þare me likes." Thare durste no renke hym areste of all þe Rownde Table, Ne none paye þat Prynce with plesande wordes, Ne none of his ligemene luke hym in the eyghne, So lordely he lukes for losse of his knyghttes. Thane drawes he to Dorsett and dreches no langere, Derefull dredlesse with drowppande teris; Kayeris into Kornewayle with kare at his herte: The trays of þe traytoure he trynys full euene, And turnys in be þe Treyntis þe traytoure to seche, Fyndis hym in a foreste þe Frydaye thereaftire; The Kyng lyghttes one fott and freschely askryes, And with his freliche folke he has þe felde nomen. Lines 4060 through 4112 Now isschewis his enmye vndire þe wode eyuys, With ostes of alynes full horrebill to schewe. Sir Mordrede the Malebranche, with his myche pople, Foundes owt of the foreste appon fele halfes, In seuen grett batailles semliche arrayede, Sexty thowsande men—the syghte was full hugge— All fyghtande folke of þe ferre laundes, Faire fettede one frownte be tha fresche strondes. And all Arthurs oste was amede with knyghtes, Bot awghtene hundrethe of all, entrede in rolles; This was a mache vnmete, bot myghttis of Criste, To melle with þat multitude in þase man londis. Than the royall roy of þe Rownde Table Rydes one a riche stede, arrayes his beryns, Buskes his avawmwarde, als hym beste likes; Sir Ewayne and Sir Errake and othire gret lordes, Demenys the medilwarde menskefully thareaftyre, With Merrake and Meneduke, myghtty of strenghes; Idirous and Alymere, þire auenaunt children, Ayers with Arthure, with seuen score of knyghtes; He rewlis þe rerewarde redyly thareaftyre, The rekeneste redy men of þe Rownde Table, And thus he fittis his folke and freschely askryes, And syen comforthes his men with knyghtlyche wordes: "I beseke ȝow, Sirs, for sake of oure Lorde, That ȝe doo wele todaye and dredis no wapen; Fighttes fersely nowe and fendis ȝoure seluen, Fellis down ȝone feye folke, the felde sall be owrs; They are Sarazenes, ȝone sorte— vnsownde motte they worthe! Sett one them sadlye, for sake of oure Lorde. Ȝif vs be destaynede to dy todaye one this erthe, We sall be hewede vnto Heuen, or we be halfe colde. Loke ȝe lett for no lede lordly to wirche: Layes ȝone laddes lowe be the layke ende. Take no tente vnto me, ne tale of me rekke; Bes besy one my baners with ȝoure brighte wapyns, That they be strenghely stuffede with steryn knyghtes, And holden lordly one lofte, ledys to schewe; Ȝif any renke them arase, reschowe them sone. Wirkes now my wirchipe, todaye my werre endys; Ȝe wotte my wele and my woo—wirkkys as ȝow likys. Crist comly with crown comforthe ȝow all, For þe kyndeste creatours that euer kynge ledde; I gyffe ȝow all my blyssyng with a blithe will, And all Bretowns bolde—blythe mote ȝe worthe." They pype vpe at pryme tyme, approches them nere: Pris men and priste proues theire strenghes; Bremly the brethemen bragges in troumppes, In cornettes comlyly, when knyghttes assembles, And thane jolyly enjoynys þeis jentyll knyghttes; A jolyere journé ajuggede was neuer, Whene Bretons boldly enbraces theire scheldes, And Cristyn encroyssede them and castis in fewtire. Lines 4113 through 4154 Þan Sir Arthure oste his enmye askryes, And in they schokke theire scheldes, schontes no lengare; Schotte to þe schiltrons and schowttes full heghe, Thorowe scheldis full schene schalkes they touche. Redily thas rydde men of the Rownde Table With ryall raunke stele rittys theire mayles; Bryneys browdden they briste and burneste helmys, Hewes haythen men down, halses in sondre. Fyghtande with fyne stele, þe feye blod rynnys; Of þe frekkeste of frounte, vnfers ere belevede. Ethyns of Argayle and Irische kynges Enverounes oure avawmwarde with venymos beryns; Peghttes and paynymes with perilous wapyns, With speres disspetousely disspoylles oure knyghttes, And hewede down the hendeste with hertly dynttys; Thorow the holle batayle they holden theire wayes. Þus fersly they fyghte appon sere halfes, That of þe bolde Bretons myche blode spillis; Thare durste non rescowe them for reches in erthe, Þe steryn ware þare so stedde and stuffede with othire; He durste noghte stire a steppe, bot stodde for hym seluen, Till thre stalis ware stroyede be strenghe of hym one. "Idrous," quod Arthure, "ayre the byhoues; I see Sir Ewayne ouersette with Sarazenes kene. Redy the for rescows, arraye thee sone; Hye þe with hardy men in helpe of thy fadire. Sett in one the syde and socoure ȝone lordes: Bot they be socourrede and sownde, vnsawghte be I euer." Idrous hym ansuers ernestly þareaftyre: "He es my fadire, in faithe—forsake sall I neuer; He has me fosterde and fedde and my faire bretheren. Bot I forsake this gate, so me Gode helpe, And sothely all sybredyn bot thy selfe one; I breke neuer his biddyng for beryn one lyfe, Bot euer bouxvm as beste blethely to wyrke. He comande me kyndly, with knyghtly wordes, That I schulde lelely one þe lenge and one noo lede ells; I sall hys comandement holde, ȝif Criste wil me thole. He es eldare than I, and ende sall we bothen: He sall ferkke before, and I sall come aftyre; Ȝiffe hym be destaynede to dy todaye one þis erthe, Criste comly with crown take kepe to hys saule." Lines 4155 through 4261 Þan remys the riche kyng with rewthe at his herte, Hewys hys handys one heghte and to þe heuen lokes: "Qwythen hade Dryghttyn destaynede at his dere will, Þat he hade demyd me todaye to dy for ȝow all; That had I leuer than be lorde all my lyfe tym Off all þat Alexandere aughte qwhills he in erthe lengede." Sir Ewayne and Sir Errake, þes excellente beryns, Enters in one þe oste and egerly strykes; The ethenys of Orkkenaye and Irische kynges, Þay gobone of þe gretteste with growndene swerdes, Hewes one þas hulkes with þeire harde wapyns, Layed down þas ledes with lothely dynttys; Schuldirs and scheldys þay schrede to þe hawnches, And medills thourghe mayles þay merken in sondire— Siche honoure neuer aughte none erthely kyng At theire endyng daye, bot Arthure hym seluen. So þe droughte of þe daye dryede theire hertes, That bothe drynkles they dye—dole was þe more. Now mellys oure medillwarde and mengen togedire Sir Mordrede þe Malebranche, with his myche pople; He had hide hym behynde within thas holte eyuys, With halle bataile on hethe—harme es þe more; He hade sene þe conteke al clene to þe ende, How oure cheualrye cheuyde be chaunces of armes; He wiste oure folke was forfoughtten, þat þare was feye leuede; To encowntere þe Kyng he castes hym sone. Bot the churles chekyn hade chaungyde his armes: He had sothely forsaken þa sawturoure engrelede, And laughte vpe thre lyons all of whitte siluyre, Passande in purpre of perrie full riche, For þe Kyng sulde noghte knawe þe cawtelous wriche; Because of his cowardys he keste of his atyre, Bot the comliche kyng knewe hym full swythe, Karpis to Sir Cadors þes kyndly wordez: "I see þe traytoure come ȝondyr trynande full ȝerne: Ȝone ladde with þe lyones es like to hym selfen; Hym sall torfere betyde, may I touche ones, For all his treson and trayne, alls I am trew lorde. Today Clarente and Caliburne sall kythe them togedirs, Whilke es kenere of kerfe or hardare of eghge; Fraiste sall we fyne stele appone fyne wedis. Itt was my derlyng daynteuous and full dere holden, Kepede fore encorownmentes of kynges enoynttede; One dayes when I dubbyde dukkes and erlles, It was burliche borne be þe bryghte hiltes; I durste neuer dere it in dedis of armes, Bot euer kepide clene, because of my seluen. For I see Clarent vnclede, þat crowne es of swerdes, My wardrop of Walyngfordhe I wate es distroyede; Wist no wy wone bot Waynor hir seluen; Scho hade þe kepynge hir selfe of þat kydde wapyn, Off cofres enclosede þat to þe crown lengede, With rynges and relikkes and þe Regale of Fraunce, That was fownden on Sir Froll when he was feye leuyde." Than Sir Marrike in malyncoly metys hym sone, With a mellyd mace myghtyly hym strykes; The bordour of his bacenett he bristes in sondire, Þat þe schire rede blode ouer his brene rynnys. The beryn blenkes for bale, and all his ble chaunges, Bot ȝitt he byddys as a bore and brymly he strykes; He braydes owte a brande, bryghte als euer ony syluer, Þat was Sir Arthure awen and Vtere his fadirs, In þe wardrop of Walyngfordhe was wonte to be kepede; Þarewith þe derfe dogge syche dynttes he rechede, Þe toþer withdrewe one dreghe and durste do non oþer; For Sir Marrake was man merrede in elde, And Sir Mordrede was myghty and in his moste strenghis; Come non within þe compas, knyghte ne non oþer, Within þe swyng of swerde, þat ne he þe swete leuyd. Þat persayfes oure Prynce and presses to faste, Strykes into þe stowre by strenghe of hys handis, Metis with Sir Mordrede, he melis vnfaire: "Turne, traytoure vntrewe—þe tydys no bettyre; Be gret Gode, thow sall dy with dynt of my handys! The schall rescowe no renke, ne reches in erthe." The Kyng with Calaburn knyghtly hym strykes: Þe cantell of þe clere schelde he kerfes in sondyre, Into þe schuldyre of þe schalke a schaftmonde large, Þat þe schire rede blode schwede one þe maylys. He schodirde and schrenkys and schontes bott lyttill, Bott schokkes in scharpely in his schene wedys: The felone with þe fyn swerde freschely he strykes; The felettes of þe ferrere syde he flassches in sondyre, Thorowe jopown and jesserawnte of gentill mailes— The freke fichede in þe flesche an halfe fotte large; That derfe dynt was his dede, and dole was þe more That euer þat doughtty sulde dy, bot at Dryghttyns wyll. Ȝitt with Calyburn his swerde full knyghttly he strykes, Kastes in his clere schelde and coueres hym full faire; Swappes of þe swerde hande, als he by glentes: Ane inche from þe elbowe he ochede it in sondyre, Þat he swounes one þe swarthe and one swym fallis; Thorowe bracer of brown stele and þe bryghte mayles, That the hilte and þe hande appon þe hethe ligges. Thane frescheliche þe freke the fente vpe rerys, Brochis hym in with the bronde to þe bryghte hiltys, And he brawles one the bronde and bownes to dye. "In faye," says þe feye kynge, "sore me forthynkkes That euer siche a false theefe so faire an ende haues." Qwen they had fenyste þis feghte, thane was þe felde wonen, And the false folke in þe felde feye are byleuede; Till a foreste they fledde and fell in the greuys, And fers feghtande folke folowes them aftyre, Howntes and hewes down the heythen tykes, Mourtherys in the mowntaygnes Sir Mordrede knyghtes; Thare chapyde neuer no childe, cheftayne ne oþer, Bot choppes them down in the chace—it chargys bot littyll. Lines 4262 through 4346 Bot when Sir Arthure anon Sir Ewayne he fyndys, And Errake þe auenaunt and oþer grett lordes, He kawghte vp Sir Cador with care at his herte, Sir Clegis, Sir Cleremonde, þes clere men of armes, Sir Lothe and Sir Lyonell, Sir Lawncelott and Lowes, Marrake and Meneduke, þat myghty ware euer. With langoure in the launde thare he layes them togedire, Lokede on theyre lighames and with a lowde steuen, Alls lede þat liste noghte lyfe and loste had his myrthis, Than he stotays for made and all his strenghe faylez, Lokes vpe to þe lyfte and all his lyre chaunges, Downne he sweys full swythe and in a swoun fallys, Vpe he coueris one kneys and kryes full often: "Kyng comly with crowne, in care am I leuyde; All my lordchipe lawe in lande es layde vndyre, That me has gyfen gwerdons, be grace of Hym seluen, Mayntenyde my manhede be myghte of theire handes, Made me manly on molde and mayster in erthe, In a tenefull tym this torfere was reryde, That for a traytoure has tynte all my trewe lordys. Here rystys the riche blude of the Rownde Table, Rebukkede with a rebawde, and rewthe es the more! I may helples one hethe house be myn one, Alls a wafull wedowe þat wannttes hir beryn; I may werye and wepe and wrynge myn handys, For my wytt and my wyrchipe awaye es for euer; Off all lordchips I take leue to myn ende. Here es þe Bretons blode broughte owt of lyfe, And nowe in þis journée all my joy endys." Thane relyes þe renkes of all þe Rownde Table: To þe ryall roy thay ride þam all; Than assembles full sone seuen score knyghtes, In sighte to þaire souerayne, þat was vnsownde leuede. Than knelis the crownede kynge and kryes one lowde, "I thanke þe, Gode, of Thy grace, with a gud wyll, That gafe vs vertue and witt to vencows þis beryns; And vs has grauntede þe gree of theis gret lordes. He sent vs neuer no schame, ne schenchipe in erthe, Bot euer ȝit þe ouerhande of all oþer kynges. We hafe no laysere now þese lordys to seke, For ȝone laythely ladde me lamede so sore; Graythe vs to Glasthenbery—vs gaynes non oþer— Thare we may ryste vs with roo and raunsake oure wondys. Of þis dere day werke, þe Dryghtten be loued, That vs has destaynede and demyd to dye in oure awen." Thane they holde at his heste hally at ones, And graythes to Glassthenberye þe gate at þe gayneste; Entres þe Ile of Aueloyne, and Arthure he lyghttes, Merkes to a manere there, for myghte he no forthire; A surgyn of Salerne enserches his wondes, The Kyng sees be asaye þat sownde bese he neuer, And sone to his sekire men he said theis wordes: "Doo calle me a confessour, with Criste in his armes; I will be howselde in haste, whate happe so betyddys. Constantyn, my cosyn, he sall the corown bere, Alls becomys hym of kynde, ȝife Criste will hym thole; Beryn, fore my benyson, thowe berye ȝone lordys, That in baytaille with brondez are broghte owte of lyfe; And sythen merke manly to Mordrede children, That they bee sleyghely slayne and slongen in watyrs; Latt no wykkyde wede waxe, no wrythe one this erthe— I warne fore thy wirchipe, wirke alls I bydde. I foregyffe all greffe, for Cristez lufe of Heuen; Ȝife Waynour hafe wele wroghte, wele hir betydde." He saide In manus with mayne one molde whare he ligges, And thus passes his speryt, and spekes he no more. The baronage of Bretayne thane, bechopes and othire, Graythes them to Glasthenbery with gloppynnande hertes, To bery thare the bolde kynge and bryng to þe erthe, With all wirchipe and welthe þat any wy scholde. Throly belles thay rynge and Requiem syngys, Dosse messes and matyns with mournande notes: Relygeous reueste in theire riche copes, Pontyficalles and prelates in precyouse wedys, Dukes and dusszeperis in theire dule-cotes, Cowntasses knelande and claspande theire handes, Ladys languessande and lowrande to schewe; All was buskede in blake, birdes and othire, That schewede at the sepulture, with sylande teris— Whas neuer so sorowfull a syghte seen in theire tym. Thus endis Kyng Arthure, as auctors alegges, That was of Ectores blude, the kynge son of Troye, And of Sir Pryamous the prynce, praysede in erthe; Fro thythen broghte the Bretons all his bolde eldyrs Into Bretayne the Brode, as þe Bruytte tellys.