The Lyfe of Ipomydon / Hue de RotelandeHue de RotelandeTadahiro Ikegamica. 125 kbOxford Text ArchiveUniversity of Michigan Humanities Text InitiativeIpomydon

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March 1996The Lyfe of Ipomydon Hue de Rotelande Tadahiro Ikegami 1983 Seijo University

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The Lyfe of Ipomydon Line group 1 Mekely, lordyngis, gentyll and fre, Lystene a while and herken to me. I shall you telle of a kynge, A dowghty man, withowte lesynge. In his tyme he was full bolde, A worthy man and wele of-tolde. Feyre he was on fote and hand And wele belouyd in all that lande, Off body he was styffe and stronge, And to no man he wold do wronge. Of Poyle-lond lord was he, Gold and syluer he had plente, Hye and low louyd hym alle, Moche honoure to hym was falle. Hys name was kynge Ermones, He hated wronge and louyd pees. His quene was bothe bryght and shene, Moche goodnesse was hem bytwene. To God they preyd after an eyre: He sent theym one, bothe good and feyre. Feyre he was of flesshe and blode, They thangkyd God with myld mode. To chyrche they bare the chyld thanne And Crystenyd hym Ipomydon. Till a noryce they dyd hym take And for þat chyld grete joy they make. Many ladyes toke they hym to ȝeme, That serued all þat chyld to queme. The childe was feyre and waxe withall And playd in chamber and in halle. The kynge of hym had joy plente, A feyrer child myght no man see. He lette calle a knyght full trew, That namyd was syr Tholomew. He was a knyght of grete pouste And well bylouyd in that contre Bothe of more and of lesse, For hym folowyd all goodnesse. Curteyse he was and hend of mouthe, Of norture, iwys, myche he couthe, That lordys vsyd in there halle And ladyes in chamber grete and smalle. Hermones sayd in his manere: "I haue a sonne þat me ys dere, That shall be eyre of all my lande. I wille ye haue hym to vndyrstand And to teche hym in all manere, Lyke as he thyne owne were.' "Sir,' quod þis knyght, myld of speche, "Wold God I cowthe your sonne teche Thyng that myght torne hym to prow.' Ipomydon resseyueth he now. Tholomew, a clerke he toke, That taught the child vppon þe boke Bothe to synge and to rede, And after he taught hym other dede; Aftirward to serve in halle Bothe to grete and to smalle, Before the kyng mete to kerve, Hye and low feyre to serve, Bothe of howndis and haukis game. Aftir he taught hym all and same In se, in feld and eke in ryuere, In wodde to chase the wild dere And in the feld to ryde a stede, That all men had joy of his dede. All þat lond of hym spake good, For he was so myld of mode; Hende he was, curteyse and fre, A godelyer man myght no man see. They preysed hym, bothe more and lesse, Bothe man and woman, as I gesse. All lovyd hym þat were hym by, For he bare hym so curtessely. Now is he waxen a goodly man, To all godnesse he yaff hym than. He ys a myghty man, for the nonys, And wele ishape with grete bonys. In all that contre was there none, To hym myght cast þe tre ne stone. The kyng of hym grete joy had, For all folke of hym were glad. Every yere the kyng wold At Whytsontyde a fest hold. Off dukis, erlis and barons, Many there come frome dyuers townes; Ladyes, maydens, gentill and fre, Come thedyr frome ferre contre, And grete lordis of ferre lond Thedyr were prayd byfore the hand. When all were come togedyr than, There was joy of many a man, Full riche I wote were hyr service, For better myght no man devyse. Ipomydon þat day servyd in halle, All spake of hym, bothe grete and smalle, Ladies and maydens byheld hym on, So godely a man they had sene none. His feyre chere in halle theym smert, That many a lady smote throw the hert, And in there hertis they made mone, That there lordis ne were suche one. Aftyr mete they went to pley, All the peple, as I you sey, Somme to chambre and som to boure, And somme to the hye towre, And somme in the halle stode And spake what hem thought gode. Men that were of that cyte Enquered of men of other contre, Of Calabre-lond who was kynge, And som answerd to [t]his askynge: "He ys dede sythe many a day, And byhynde he lefte a feyre may That ys his doughter and his eyre. In all þat lond is non so feyre, And so sayne all þat hyr do see, She is þe feyreste þat may bee. For, thoughe a man wold all þis day Hyr beaute discryve, he coude not sey All hyr worshyp ne hyr porture; She is a lady of grete honoure. In all þis world is non so wyse That hir goodnesse kan devyse. Kyngis and dukes comethe hyr to seke, And so done emperoures eke, And wold haue þat mayde to wyfe, But she will non þat is on lyffe, But he doughtyeste be of hande, That suche on is non lyvande.' This word sprange wyde withall, Bothe in chambre and in halle, Of the eyre of Calabre, þat feyre may, Ipomydon he herkenyd ay; Bothe in chambre and in boure Men spake þat lady grete honowre. There was none þat speke couthe, But they the lady had in mouthe. Line group 2 Ipomydon drew hym nye tho And ofte he herkenyd to and fro; When he herd of hir so speke, Hym thought his herte wold tobreke, But if he myght se þat mayde, To wete if she were as they seyde; Off hyr he had suche a thoght That in mornyng he was broght, And so he mornythe nyght and day, But yit to no man wold he sey. By than come forthe syr Tholomew, That was hys master good and trewe. "Gode syr,' he sayd, "for charyte, Telle me who hathe grevyd the, And why thou makyst þis mornynge. I swere by Jesu, heuyn-kynge, He shall abye on somme manere, But if it be thy fader dere.' "Nay, master,' he sayd, "not soo. I shalle you telle or that I go, But if I haue the helpe of the Joye thou getest neuyr of me, For now to you, syr, I will sey: Myne hert ys sette vppon a may, That she may nevir oute of my thoght, But I hyr se I worthe to noght. The eyre of Calabre forsothe it is, That men speke of so myche blysse; But if I may þat lady serve, For care and sorow my hert wille sterve!' Tholomew sayd, "Lette be this wille! Thynke ye now youreselfe to spille? Ye ar the kynges son and hys eyre, And may haue maryages gode and feyre; There ys no man in Crystente Þat richer maryages may haue þan ye!' "Master, these wordis avaylethe noght; But if I do as I haue thoght, And to hyr go, as I you saye, I dye for hyr withoute deley!' Sir Tholomew sayd, "Sythe it is so, That ye may not hyr forgo, I shall go vnto the kynge And gete you leve, withoute lettynge, That ye may go, sir, at your wille, And se the mayden all youre fille.' Sir Tholomew forthe gan goo, And to þe kynge he went tho; Vppon his knees he hym sette And the kyng full feyre he grette: "Sir, of one thyng I you prey, Besechyng you to sey not nay, Off your sonne, Ipomydon, For he thynkith to be a man: Off youre courte and youre norture He hathe wele lernyd, I you ensure; He wold wend into strange contre More in service for to bee; So that ye take it not at greffe, Full feyne he wolde prey you of leffe, And I shall make me redy To wend with hym in companye And serve hym as his owne knyght And honoure hym with all my myght.' Than seyd Hermones the kynge: "Iff this be his owne desyrynge I am well payed of his wille, For his askyng I hold skille; And now I wote thou arte my frend Sithe þat thow wilt with hym wend; Take you inough of all thynge And loke ye wante no spendynge!' Sir Tholomew forthe gan goo And to Ipomydon come he tho, And sayd, "Syr, withoute lesynge, Your fadir hathe grantid youre askynge; He bad þat ye nothyng shuld spare, And myself shall with you fare.' "I pray God thanke you, master dere, That ye me love I may se here.' Than they busked theym to goo, Horse they toke and harnesse also; Off all thynge they wantid none. Now to his fader the child is gone; On knees he felle byfore the kynge And prayd hym of his dere blissynge: "That blissyng haue þou, my sonne trew, That Marye gaff hyr sonne Jesu.' Line group 3 Now they go forthe on hir way; Ipomydon to hys men gan sey That ther be none of hem alle So hardy by hys name hym calle Whereso they wend ferre or nere, Or ouer the strange ryuere: "Ne no man telle what I am, Where I shall go ne whens I cam.' All they granted his comandement, And forthe they went with one assent. Ipomydon and Tholomew Robys had on and mantillis new Off the richest þat myght bee; There was nonesuche in that contre, For many was the ryche stone That the mantillis were vppon. So longe there weys they haue nome That to Calabre they ar come. They come to the castelle yate, Þe porter was redy thereat; The porter to theyme they gan calle And prayd hym go into þe halle: "And say thy lady gent and fre That comen ar men of ferre contre, And if it plese hyr we wold hyr prey That we myght ete with hyr to-day.' The porter sayd full cortessly: "Your erand to do I am redy.' The lady to hyr mete was sette, The porter come and feyre hyr grette: "Madame,' he sayd, "God you saue. Atte your gate gestis ye haue, Strange men as for to see; They aske mete for charyte.' The lady comaundith sone anon Þat the gates were vndone: "And bryng theym all byfore me, For wele at ese shall they bee.' They toke hyr pagis, hors and alle. Þese two men went into þe halle; Ipomydon on knees hym sette And the lady feyre he grette: "I am a man of strange contre And pray you, yff your wille to be, That I myght dwelle with you to-yere, Of your norture for to lere. I am come frome ferre lond, For speche I here byfore the hand That your norture and your servise Ys holden of so grete empryse. I pray you þat I may dwelle here, Somme of your seruyse for to lere.' The lady byheld Ipomydon, Hym semyd wele a gentilman; She knew non suche in hyr londe, So goodly a man and wele farand; She saw also by his norture He was a man of grete valure. She cast full sone in hyr thoght That for no seruyce come he noght, But it was worship hyr vnto, In feyre seruyce hym to do. She sayd, "Syr, welcome ye be, And all þat comyn be with the. Sithe ye haue had so grete travayle, Of a service ye shall not fayle. In thys contre ye may dwelle here And at youre wyll for to lere; Of þe cuppe ye shall serue me, And all your men with you shal be. Ye may dwelle here at youre wille But your beryng be full ylle.' "Madame,' he sayd, "grantmercy!' He thankid the lady cortesly; She comandyth hym to þe mete, But, or he satte in any sete, He saluted theym, grete and smalle, As a gentillman shuld in halle; All they sayd sone anone, They saw neuyr so goodly a man, No so light ne so glad, Ne none þat so ryche atyre had. There was non þat sat nore yede, But they had mervelle of hys dede, And sayd he was no lytell syre That myght shew suche atyre. Whan they had ete and grace sayd And þe tabyll away was leyd, Vpp þan aroos Ipomydon, And to þe botery he went anon, And his mantille hym aboute; On hym lokyd all the route And euery man sayd to other there: "Will ye se þe proude squeer Shall serue my lady of þe wyne In his mantell þat is so fyne!' That they hym scornyd wist he noght, On othyr thyng he had his thoght. He toke þe cuppe of þe botelere And drew a lace of sylke full clere, Adowne than felle hys mantylle by. He prayd hym for his curtessy That lytelle yifte þat he wold nome, Tille eftesone a better come. Vp it toke the botelere, Byfore the lady he gan it bere And prayd the lady hertely To thanke hym of his cortessye. All that was tho in the halle Grete honowre they spake hym alle, And sayd he was no lytelle man That suche yiftys yiffe kan. There he dwellyd many a day And servid the lady wele to pay; He bare hym on so feyre manere To knyghtis, ladyes and squyere, All louyd hym þat were hym by, For he bare hym so cortesly. Tne lady had a cosyne þat hight Jason, Full wele he louyd Ipomydon; Where þat he yede in or oute, Jason went with hym aboute. The lady lay but she slept noght, For of the squyere she had grete thoght, How he was feyre and shape wele, Body and armes and euerydele; Ther was non in all hir land So wele besemyd, doughty of hand; But she kowde wete for no case, Whens he come ne what he was, Ne of no man cowde enquere Other than the strange squyere. She hyr bythought on a queyntyse If she myght know in ony wyse, To wete whereof he were come; Thys was hyr thoght all and somme; She thought to wode hyr men to ta[n]e, That she myght know hym by his game. On the morow whan it was day, To hyr men than gan she say: "To-morow whan it is day-lyght, Loke ye be all redy dight With youre h[ou]ndis more and lesse, In the forest to take my grese, And there I will myselfe be, Youre game to byhold and see.' Ipomydon had houndis thre That he broght frome his contre; When they were to þe wodde gone, This lady and hyr men ichone, And with hem hyr howndis ladde, All that euyr any howndis had, Sir Tholomew foryate he noght, His mastres howndis thedyr he broght, That many a day ne had ronne ere; Full wele he thoght to note hem there. Whan they come to þe laund on hight, The quenys pavylon there was pight That she myght se of the best, All þe game of þe forest. The wandlessours went þrow þe forest And to þe lady brought many a best, Herte and hynde, buk and doo And othir bestis many moo. The howndis þat were of grete prise, Pluckid downe dere all at a tryse, Ipomydon with his houndis thoo Drew downe bothe buk and doo; More he toke with howndis thre Than all þat othyr compaigne. There squyers vndyd hyr dere, Iche man on his owne manere; Ipomydon a dere yede vnto, Full konnyngly gan he it vndo, So feyre þat veneson he gan to dight That bothe hym byheld squyer and knyght; The lady lokyd oute of hyr pavyloun And saw hym dight the venyson, There she had grete deynte, And so had all þat dyd hym see. She sawe all þat he downe droughe, Of huntyng she wist he cowde inoughe And thoght in hyr herte than, That he was come of gentillmen. She bad Jason hyr men to calle; Home þay passyd, grete and smalle, Home they come sone anone. This lady to hyr mete gan gone And of venery had hyr fille, For they had take game at wille. Ipomydon serued, as I vndirstand, As he was wonte done byforehand. "Sir,' she sayd, "sanȝ fayle, Ye haue bene in grete travayle. Anothyr man, as I you say, Shall serue me at mete þis day; Go to youre mete sone on hye, My cosyn Jason shall sytte you by.' The ladyes hert was on hym cast And she byheld hym wondir fast, Euer on hym she kest hyr eye, Ipomydon full wele it sye. Anone it gaff hym in his thoght, To loke ageyne lette wold he noght, Nor no more coward thoght he to be Off his lokyng than was she. The lady perseyued it full wele, Of all his lokyng euerydele, And therewith bygan to shame, For she myght lightly falle in blame; If men perseyued it ony thyng, Bytwyxe hem two suche lokynge, Than wold they sey all bydene That somme loue were hem bytwene; Þan shuld she falle in slandre And lese myche of hyr honoure. She thoght to werne hym preuely By hyr cosyn þat sat hym by. Line group 4 "Jason,' she sayd, "þou art to blame, And therwith the ought to shame To byhold my mayd in vayne. Euery man to othyr wille seyne That bytwyx you ys somme synne; Of thy lokyng I rede þou blynne.' Ipomydon hym bythoght anone How þat she blamyd Jason Withoute deservyng euerydele, But the encheson he perseyued wele; Downe he lokyd and thoght grete shame That Jason bare for hym þat blame; Stille he satte and sayd no more He thoght to dwelle no lenger there. As the lady hyr chambre had tane, Byfore hyr come Ipomydon And sayd, "Madame, God yeld it the, The grete honoure þou haste done me. Haue good day, now wille I fare Into þe contre þat I was are.' "Felaw,' she sayd, "chese at þi wille Whether þou wilt wend or abyde stille.' He went anone into the halle And toke his leue of grete and smalle, Bothe at lesse and at more, And they thoght thereof ryght sore. To Jason he wendith anone-ryght And takith hys leve with hert vnlyght; Than sayd Jason on hye: "Leve syr, leve this folye And with my lady þou dwelle here, She louythe the in all manere. Iff thow wende forth in this wille, For sorow she wille hyrelf spylle.' "Jason, felow, lett be thy thoght. Lenger dwelle here ne wille I noght, For I shall wende home to my kynge And leve you here with all joyinge.' "My dere frend, sythe it is so That thou wilt algatis goo, Yeve me leve with the to wend Into what contre þat þou wilt lend, I wold full fayne do it in dede.' "Grantmercy, syr, God yif the mede. With me hedyr come ye noght. Ne shall with me but that I broght.' He toke hys leve at Jason there And went forthe ellyswhere. Whan the lady wist þat he was gone, A sory woman þan was she oon; Vppon hyr bedde she gan hyr ley And to hyrself than gan she say: "There is not suche a man in lande, If he be doughty of his hand, As he is of body to see, Of what lond that euyr he bee.' "Allas,' she sayd, "and welleaway, That for a word he went away! Had men sought all mankynde, A feyrer body shuld no man fynde.' This lady þat was of ryche blode, That nyght she cowde but lytell gode, That she shuld suche mone make For a strange mannys sake, That no man wist what he was; But yit she sayd ofte, "Allas, For suche is none in Crystente, Full wele hym semeth a knyght to be!' Thus she comforted hyr amonge And ofte she felle in mornyng stronge. Ipomydon went, as ye may here, Byhynde he lefte a messyngere For to brynge hym tythyngis newe, Iff there were any that he knewe; What they were he shuld hym brynge, And that anon, withoute lettynge, The land of Poyle he hathe nome And to þe kyng, his fader, ys come And to þe quene, his modyr dere, For hym they made ryght glad chere. Curteyse he was, bothe stoute and bolde, And myche in land he was of-tolde; All men hym louyd, suche was his grace. Of chyld Ipomydon here is a space. Line group 5 They were togedyr many yere, With myche myrth and game in fere; The kyng his sonne knyght gan make, And many another for his sake. Justes were cryed, ladyes to see, Thedyr come lordys grete plente, Turnementis atyred in the felde, A thousand armed with spere and shelde. Knyghtis bygan togedir to ryde, Somme were vnhorsyd on euery syde. Ipomydon þat day was victoryus And there he gaff many a cours, For there was non that he mette, And his spere on hym wold sette, That aftir within a lytell stounde Hors and man bothe went to ground. The heraudes gaff þe child þe gree, A thousand pownd he had to fee. Mynstrellys had yiftes of golde, And fourty dayes þys fest was holde. Off the eyre of Calabre here will I telle, And of hyr baronage fayre and well, How that they had at counselle bene And of assent was theym bytwene Þat here lady shuld take an husband To gouerne theyme and all there land, Bycause she was of yong age. To hyr come all hyr baronage And sayd, "Madame, we wille you pray That we myght oure will sey. Youre lond thynkyth ye do theyme wronge Withowte kyng to dwelle so longe, That myght gouerne þis land so feyre, And bytwyxe you gete an eyre, And hold þis land in right blode.' The lady answerd with myld mode: "Your counseyle ys gode euerychone, But husband yit will I haue none.' They toke leve and wente here way And bytaught the lady gode day. To counselle new than gon they gone And full sone they were at one, To kyng Melliager, hyr eme, they went And told hym of the ladyes entent: For an husband þey had bene at hyrre, And she yaff theym lyght answere. Furthe they went, withoute lettyng, To the land there he was kynge. Kynge Melliager sone they found And anone they knelyd to ground, Praying hym as lord dere That he wold here prayer here; They told hym all togedyr nowe What þat they had done and howe, And suche answere she yaffe theyme tylle, Husband to haue she had no wille: "Wherefore, lord, we wold you prey, For we wote wele þat ye best may Councelle wele oure lady nowe, As best may be the remes prowe.' "Lordyngis,' he sayd, "withoutyn fayle, I assent vnto your conce[y]lle, For to my cosyn will I goo And make hyr, or I wend hyr fro, Me to graunt husband to take, Or clene my love she shall forsake.' Than they thankyd the kynge so free And went home to theyre contre. Kyng Mellyager to his cosyn ys gone, And she hym welcomyd feyre anon, And of his comyng she was glad, And moche joye of hym she made. Whan they had take hyr sporte in halle, The kynge to counselle gan hyr calle And sayd, "Dere cosyn, here my wille: An husband must ye take you tylle, The whiche may of þis land by kynge, And gouerne it in all thynge; For no woman may take on hand, Wele to gouerne suche a land.' "Sir,' she sayd, "ye be of my blode, I hold your counselle feyre and good And aftir it feyne wold I doo, As most worship may be me to; But sythe þat I haue husband shalle, Do make crye vndir þis castell walle, Justes there thre dayes to laste, And who þat there may bere hym best And that doughtyest ys of hande Shall wedde me and all this lande. Syr, loke ye crye, withoute delaye, By halfe yere afore the day, That it be know ferre and nere, On what day it shall be here.' Now thynkith this feyre may On the strange squyer nyght and day: "If he be suche as I hym holde, Also doughty and so bolde, For me than he wille be here And wynne me in all manere.' Heraudes were callyd in hye, Thrughe the land to make the crye; This crye was knowen ouerall, In all the land grete and smalle. Ipomydons messyngere anone Home to Poyle gan he gone; The crye he vndyrstode wele And told his maister euerydele. Ipomydon in hert was full glad, Whan that he the tythyngis herd; He callyd his maister Tholomewe, That euer was full gode and trewe, And sayd, "Syr, make vs redy, For into Calabre now will I!' He purveyd hym thre noble stedis And also thre noble wedys; That one was white as any mylke, The trappure of hym was white sylke; Þat other was rede, bothe styffe and stoure, The trappure was of þe same coloure; Blake þan was þat othir stede, The same coloure was his wede. Thre greyhondis with hym he ladde, The best þat his fader had, Rede and whyte and blake they were. Whan he was dight in this manere, With hym he toke a feyre may, And went forthe on his jorney; Into Seseney the wey they nome. Within the lond whan þat he come, He bad Tholomew take his stedys, All his men and all his wedys: "And take your inne in the cyte By nyght þat no man you see. Lette no man se theyme nyght ne day, But them þat shall here mete ley.' Hys owne wey forthe he nome Vnto a forest tyll þat he come; There huntyd kyng Mellyager in þat forest, Atte hert and hynd and wyld beste; Ipomydon mette with a knyght And askyd hym anone-right Who that grete lord was, That in the forest made þe chase. The knyght sayd, "Yff ye will here, It ys the kynge Mellyagere That thus huntithe here besyde.' Ipomydon vnto þe kynge gan ryde And saluted hym as a kyng dere, He welcomyd hym on feyre manere. He prayd the kynge if it were his wille, A lytelle stounde to stonde stille And here the speche of a knyght; The kynge hym grauntid anone-right. "I am a knyght, as ye may see, And come I am frome ferre contre, For nobley of you I haue herd telle; All my desyre ys with you to dwelle, In youre contre to be here, The maner of þis land to lere.' The kynge byheld þe knyght than, Hym thoght he was a godely man: "In all this land, bothe ferre and mere, Ys none so feyre a bachelere.' "Sir knyght,' he sayd in feyre manere, "Gladly shall ye dwellyn here.' Ipomydon sayd, "I shall you telle, At this couenant wold I dwelle; Full fayne I wold be redy bowne To lede your quene bothe vp and downe, Fro hyr chambre to hyr halle, And my leman I wold hyr calle; My mayden þat is of honoure Shall dwelle in þe quenys boure; At euery terme þat I hyr lede, A kusse of þe quene shall be my mede. I will no more for my servyse.' The kyng anone, withoute avyse, Thoght he come for othyr thynge, And grantyd hym his askynge. Anone the kyng lefte his game, Home they rode bothe insame And to þe quene þe covenantys seyd. "As ye haue done, I hold me payd.' There he dwellyd many a day With myche myrthe, game and play; Full feyre he dyd his servyse And servyd þe quene at hyr devyse; Where þat she went, in boure or halle, The quene his leman dyd he calle. So it befelle vppon a day That to þe justes men dyd hem araye; Thedyr wold kyng Mellyagere With all the knyghtis þat with hym were: Sir Campanyus, þat good knyght, In all þat lond was none so wight, And sir Caymys, þe kyngis steward, A doughty knyght and no coward. The kynge sayd to sir Ipomydon, That callyd was the quenys lemman, As he mette hym in the halle: "The tyme ys come þat juste we shalle; Dight you now, go we oure way! I wote ye thynke to wynne þe may.' And he answerd with myld chere: "Who shuld þan serve my lady dere? For certis of justes can I noght, To serve my lady is all my thoght. If I hyr lefte for other dede, I were not worthy to haue my mede.' The kynge hym turnyd þan away And to his knyghtis gan he say: "So feyre a body as bereth hee, Allas, a coward þat he shuld be!' Campanyus and all þat stode hym by Bymenyd that knyght curtesly; They toke there leve at þe quene And wente forthe all bydene, Vnto Calabre they toke þe way, There they shuld just þat other day. Leve we theyme at þe justynge And talke we now of other thynge, Line group 6 Off Ipomydon and þe lady shene That was at home with þe quene. Whan tyme come þey shuld to mete, Ipomydon brought hir to hyr sete; Into the halle whan he hyr broght, To take hys cusse forgate he noght. Whan she had etyn, to chambre she wente, Ipomydon to the quene he wente: "To-morow, madame, I wold you pray, With leve of you, whan yt is day, Go to þe forest to take a dere. My greyhondes ranne not þis quartere; Whyle my lord ys at þe justynge, My greyhoundis I wold feyne se rennynge. O thyng, madame, I wold you pray: If I come not be tyme of day, Whan ye se tyme, to mete ye wend, For I wote neuyr how long I lend.' "Sir," she sayd, "God you spede.' He kyssyd hyr and forthe he yede. Ipomydon callyd his master than, Sir Tholomew, that noble man: "To my hostage ye go by nyght, My white stede, loke he be dight, And with the armure hedyr ye brynge To-morow, or the day sprynge. Hye you oute at þe castelle yate And frome all syght kepe you allgate.' Ipomydon went to þe portere And prayd hym, if his wille were, The yate myght by opyn or day; Þe porter grantyd hym and toke hym þe key, And at þe fryst cokke roose hee; Furthe he went with greyhondis thre, In a lesshe he dyd hem do And blew a grete horne also; He blew lowde and shoke it wele That it ronge all þe castelle. The maydenys to þe quene gan say: "Youre lemman gothe to wynne þe may.' The quene answerd, withoute lettynge: "All men konne not of justynge. Thoughe he kanne not of suche dedys, He may be gode at other nedis.' Ipomydon is to Tholomew gone And toke hym hys houndis euerychon. He prayd hym, as his maister dere, To note theyme wele in all manere, And with the flesshe kepe theym in place, There þat theyre stevyn sette was. He sayd, "God spede þe, lord dere! Thereto I shall do my deuere.' Ipomydon went forthe and his page Till he came to an ermytage; He lokyd forthe and byheld, many a knyght he saw in feld. Iche to other fast gan ryde With grete sperys on iche syde. He toke his spere anone-ryght And lepte on his stede so light; In he come amonge hem alle, Throw the clowdis as he had falle; The fryst knyght he gan to ryde With a spere, þat wold abyde, In-myddis the sheld he sette his spere, That hors and man he gan downe bere. Anothir knyght he mette also, That his bakke tobrast in two; The thryd he sloughe, withoute lettynge, The fourthe wente into þe same rynge. There was no knyght þat he mette, Þat wold hys spere on hym sette, But if his spere all tobrakke, He wold hym to þe ground shake. The lady lay ouer þe castell walle And byheld þe justis alle; She sent speres white and blake To all men þat wold hem take. Jason she sent vnto þe knyght That in white harneise was dight, To bere hym sperys at his nede; She thoght hym worthiest of dede, And every man till othir gan saye, He was þe manlyest there þat day. Than all þe peple homeward went And Jason to þe knyght hym bente, Praying hym, "As lord dere, Come home here to thyne owne manere, For wele I wote thou shalt be kynge, The whiche is gretly to my lykynge!' "Jason,' he sayd, "God þe foryelde Thy grete servyce to-day in þe felde, That þou hast done me in þis place.' Jason merveyled of þat case: "Sir,' he sayd, "for charyte, What man be ye þat knoweth me?' "it were merveile but I þe knew. Somme-tyme þou were my felow trewe. I am,' he sayd, "þe strange squyere That servyd my lady þis endris yere; Grete hyr wele on all manere. This day for hyr I haue bene here, But lenger dwelle here may I noght, Suche tithyngis to me is broght Home frome myne owne contre, And forth I most, as I telle the.' "A sir,' he sayd, "art thou he? For God þat dyed vppon a tree, Come now and with my lady speke, Or ellis I wote hyr herte will breke, For and she knew þou went away, She lyveth nevir to-morow day.' "Thou shalt, Jason, vndirstond I wold not tarye for all þis land.' He toke his leve and went his way. Jason to þe quene gan say Word for word euerydele: "The strange squyer grette you wele. He was þat ylke whyte knyght That in þe feld so richely was dight.' This lady to hyr chambre ys gone; A sory woman was she one. Vppon hyr bedde she gan downe falle On swoune afore hyr maydens alle, And whan she roos of swounynge Hir handis fast gan she wrynge: "Allas,' she sayd, "what I was wode, A witteles thyng, and cowde no goode! My witte myght haue seruyd me That suche a man doughty most be.' But yit she trowyd in hyr thoght, So lightly wold he leve hyr noght; That was hyr comfort most in care, And ellis she had hyrself forfare. Ipomydon to his maister camme, He found hym and his houndes anone; Plente of flesshe had he caught, Hors and harneyse he hym bytaught, And eyther passyd to hyr inne. Ipomydon the flesshe toke with hym, Byfore the quene he ganne it bere, As she was sette at hyr sopere. "Madame,' he sayd, "my lord, þe kynge, Hathe not þus sped with hy[s] justynge.' All the halle that þere were insame, At hym they loughe and had game. Ipomydon went to his mete, Faste he brake and faste he ete, For he had fasted all þat day; Suche a lykynge he had in pley. As they satte at there sopere, In comythe the kyngis messyngere; Vppon his knee he hym sette And þe quene feyre he grette. To hyr sent word hyr lord, þe kynge, How they had done at þe justynge; Tho askyd þe quene anone-right: "Was there any with Campanyus dyd fight, That was so doughty in þe felde, Outher with spere or with shelde?' "Ya, madame, so mot I thee, Ther was oone worthe suche thre: In white armure he was dight, In all þe feld was none so wight, But if it were my lord, þe kynge, For he is passand in euery thynge.' The quene asked, "what was hee?' The messyngere sayd, "So mot I the, At þat tyme knew hym no man.' Than byspake Ipomydon, And sayd, "Messyngere, I the pray, Vnto my lorde, þe kyng, þou saye That my good whyte greyhound Hathe sleyne more dere and broght to ground Than wold hys haue done to-daye.' Ipomydon to þe quene gan saye, Praying he moste þe kyng somme bere, To wete þat he was no lyere. The quene ys to hyr chambre gone, Thedir ledithe hyr Ipomydon; He prayd leue on þe morow to play, As he had done þat othir day. The quene hym grauntyd curtessly; To hys maister he dyd hym hye, And prayd hym sone and anone To his ostage þat he shuld gone And brynge hym his rede stede, Foryete noght þe same wede, In the place þat they were ere, And þat he shuld be erly there. Ful erly roos Ipomydon, His horne, hys greyhond he toke þan. He blew it lowde and wele gan shake, That all þe maydens þo gan awake. Than sayd all þat were þerinne: "Your lemman gothe þe mayd to wynne.' The quene answeryd, as she dyd ere: "He may more wynne þan he were þere.' The kyngis messengere forthe went And toke hym hole his present; Euery word þe kynge he tolde, Than seyd þe knyghtys þat were bolde: "Allas, þat suche a knyght shuld leve But he to manhode wold hym yeve!' Ipomydon to his maister wente, His armure and his stede he hent, Þe rede greyhound he toke hym ryght. That day he prayd hym do his myght, And in þat place kepe þe fleshe With þe greyhoundis in þe lesshe. Forthe he went in þat stounde And to þe ermytage he came sound, Into þe feld he lokyd þanne, He saw many an armyd man, Hym he armyd and forthe gan ryde. Faste they justyd on euery syde, And euyr byheld þe lady bryght, If she myght se þe whyte knyght; For she on hym non eye myght caste, She thoght hyr hert wold tobreste. Jason þat day was made knyght And richely in þe feld was dight; Ipomydon, this case he sawe Þat Jason was knyght, his owne felawe; To hym he prekyd faste in hye; Whan he shulde mete, he rode hym by. That day he taught hym so to done That worthely he wanne his shone. But Ipomydon, as I you saye, Many a knyght he fellyd þat day, So many sperys he brakke onsondre That all folke on hym had wondere. They sayd there nas in all þat lande Noon so manly man of hande, For all they sayd þo full tyte, The rede was better þan þe white, And so he bare hym þat daye That knyghtys wexe wery of his playe. Whan euery knyght to hys inne gan ryde, Sir Jason dyd with hym abyde And sayd, "Syr knyght, God þe foryelde Thy grete helpe to-day in þe felde! Thrughe the the more loue þat I wanne, That more desyre I ne canne. I wote þou shalt be lord here, For I know noon þat is þi pere, Saffe yistyrday the whyte knyght, But he is oute of lond dight.' "Nay, Jason, my trew fere, Thou shalt se þat I am here. But grete wele my lady dere, For hyr to-day haue I bene here, The whiche I say, withouten fayle, Will me torne to grete travaile, And many an hors ryde to ded, Or I come there þat me most nede; For all my lond I lese for ay, But I be there by a certeyne day.' Jason sayd, "Syr, mercy, And thynke vppon my lady, For and ye passe hyr þus froo, For sorow she wille hyrselfe slo!' Ipomydon sayd, "By heuyn-kynge, At this tyme I will not lynge, But grete hyr wele and haue gode day, And I shall come whan þat I may.' Sir Jason passyd forthe in hyee And this tale tolde to the lady: "The rede knyght and þe whyte ys one, But forsothe now ys he goon!' Than sory was that swete thynge, And efte she felle in mornynge; But she bethought hyr, [a]s she dyd are, And ellis she had hyrselfe forfare. Ipomydo[n] to his maister yede, And toke his armure and his stede; He toke the flesshe and þe greyhound, And gan to go toward the towne. His hors he had and his huntyng-wede, Anone into þe halle he yede, Byfore þe quene the flesshe he leyd, "Here ys my dayes jorney,' he sayd. At hym they loughe and made glad chere, The quene went to hyr sopere And hyr leman sat hyr by. The kynges messengere come in hye, And sayd þe kyng grete hyr wele. The justis he told hyr euerydele. The fryst word þe quene gan say: "Come þe white knyght there to-day?' "Nay,' he sayd, "By God allmyght, But there was a noble rede knyght, The whiche all men þat gan hym see, Said þat he was bettir þan hee.' Ipomydon sayd to þe messengere: "Recomand me to my lord so dere, And say that Gager, my rede greyhounde, Moche dere hathe broght þis day to ground. I had more joye at hys rynnynge Than to stand and stare to se þe justynge. "Madame,' he said, "so God me amend, Of youre game I rede ye hym send.' "Sir,' she said, "as ye thynke beste. Farewele for now I go to reste.' Vnto hyr chambre she went þan; Byfore hyr come Ipomydon, Ones of leue he wold hyr praye, He wold not hunte after many a day. She hym grantyd of his bone, To his master he went sone; He yede and fette, withoute lakke, Stede and harnesse þat was blakke; He knew þe way at þe beste, Where they shuld mete in þe foreste. The messyngere come vnto þe kynge, Hys present feyre he dyd hym brynge; What he shuld sey forgatte he noght. The kynge of hym wondir thoght And in his hert had grete pyte, So goodly a man as was hee, That euyr he was so lytell of prise And therto full of cowardise. Whateuyr they thoght in here hert, Many of them he made to smerte. Latte hym go, God hym spede, Till eftesone we of hym rede! Line group 7 Ipomydon rose erly there, As he was wonte to done ere; Forthe he rode blowyng his horne, That all the maydens gan hym scorne And sayd, "Your leman gothe to playe, For he wille wynne vp all to-daye.' The quene hem blamyd wondir faste, Hyr hert to hym was somwhat caste. To hys master he went in hye And prayd hym full hertely To take more dere, yf he myght, Than he dyd þe tother day-light. Anone his hors he gan dighte And rode to þe feld forthe-ryght, Armure blak lyke the stede, To þe ermytage forthe he yede; Anone his stede he bestrode, Amonge hem all in he rode. He was sone warre of a knyght That in rede atyre was dight-- "This rede knyght was here yisterday, He justid for þat feyre may. There was none bare hym so feyre, Of Calabre he wille wynne þe eyre.' The lady lay on toure on hye, The rede knyght full sone she see; She wende it were þe strange squyere Þat she hopid shuld be hyr fere. Her purpos was to hym to wende, Whan the justes come to ende, And brynge hym with feyre manere, To hyr was none so leffe ne dere. Right as the quene in thoght stode, The rede knyght anone in rode; The blake toke a spere in honde, To just with hym he thoght in londe, And eyther with othyr sone they mette, In-myd the sheld the stroke they sette. The blak knyghtes spere was stiffe and stronge, And therwith he gan fast thronge The knyght and stede within a stounde, That they lay bothe vppon the ground. Ipomydon toke þe rede stede, To hys men he gan hym lede. Than come forthe syr Caymys, A proude knyght and a daynous; Just he wold with þe blak knyght, But all to lytelle was hys myght; With a spere þat welle wold laste, Knyght and hors downe he caste. Sir Caymys hors he toke in hye, The rede knyghtes he sette hym bye. Sir Campaynus hym faste byhelde, He thoght to just with hym in felde; Hys thoght was to wynne þe maye, But he fayled foule of his praye. Forthe they rode togedyr faste That there sperys asondre braste; Bothe they were stiffe and stronge, Þey luste to ryde, þey taryed not longe, And eyther of theym toke a spere; Campaynus þoght hym downe to bere. In-mydde þe place þe knyghtes mette, Ipomydon so Campanus grette, That knyght and stede in þat case Felle on hepe in-midde þe place. The blake knyght toke hys stede goode, The kynge thereof began to wode That his knyghtes bore downe were. He folowyd þe knyght with a spere; He had thoght to done hym harme, For he smote hym throw þe arme. Ipomydon with þat stroke abrayde And to þe kynge þus he sayde: "As þou arte kynde, gentille and free, Abyde and juste a cours with me, And I foryiffe þis vilanye!' The kynge sayd, "Therto grant I!' Full fayne he wold haue bene away, But for shame he sayd not nay. The kynge and he, in place þey mette, The blake knyght suche a stroke hym sette, That kynge and hors downe he caste, That hym thoght hys nekke tobraste. The kynges stede he ledde away, Þat euery man to other gan saye: "He may wele be kynge of londe For the doughtyeste man of hand That any man sawe euer ere.' And so sayd all þat there were, They gaffe hym þe gre of felde For þe doughtyest vndyr shelde. Herawdis discryued hys arme blake And sayd, in þe world was not his make, And they sayd, withoute lettynge, He was worthy to be kynge. Whan euery man homeward gan draw, Jason went to his felawe: "Come home, syr, I you pray, To youre owne, I darre wele say. Ye shal be made kynge of lond For þe doughtiest man of hand. Thou hast no pere, I darre wele say, So sayd all þat were here to-day.' "Jason,' he sayd, "God yeld it the, The grete honoure þou proferist me.' Jason sayd, "If your willis bee, What ar ye þat knowis me?' "Somme-tyme I was þi felaw dere Þat callyd was þe strange squyere; I haue bene here þese thre dayes, But now no lenger dwelle I maye.' "For Goddis loue,' sayd Jason there, "Come brynge my lady oute of care And comforte hyr in all thynge, And thynke also ye shal be kynge.' He sayd, "Jason, þi wordis þou spare, That wold me torne to myche care; I haue dwellyd here to longe, The whiche will cause me travaile stronge. Recomaund me to hyr anone-right, For I must travaile day and nyght.' He toke hys leve and forthe ganne fare; Jason tornyd home full of care, And whan he come into the halle, He tolde þe lady what was byfalle, The blak knyght was þe squyer stronge, That had dwellyd with hyr so longe, And how he wanne hyr with his hand: "But he is passid oute of þis lande.' The lady mornyd and was full woo And thoght hyr hert wold brest on two, But yit she trowed in hyr thoght, So lightly wold he leve hyr noght, Sithe þat he had, withoute fayle, For hyr loue so grete travaile. Ipomydon forthe is goone With his stedis euerychone; He fonde his master with flesshe inoughe Hovynge vndir the grene wodde-boughe; He toke hym þe stedis euerychone And to his inne he bad hym gone. He toke his houndis and his horne And leyd the flesshe hym beforne; Byfore the quene he it leyd, And in his game þus he sayd: "Know ye any at þe justynge Hathe wonne halfe so myche thynge?' The quene, as she was wonnt to done, To hyr soper she went sone, And hyr leman hyr byforne; Scantly had þey the mete corvyn Þat in comyth kyngis messyngere And grette þe lady in thys manere: "Wele you gretiþe my lord, þe kynge. He byddythe you for any thynge That ye be to-morow erely At þe chalenge of þe lady.' The quene than ganne saye: "Hathe the rede knyght wonne hyr to-day?' "I say, madame, so God me spede, The rede knyght hathe lost his stede, My lord, þe kyng, hathe his also, Campaynnus, Caymes and oth[e]r mo; The blakke knyght hathe wonne hem alle, Moche honour to hym ys falle.' Than byspake Ipomydon: "Bettyr is on huntynge to goone In the forest, so God me spede, Than þus lyghtly to lese a stede. Wherefore, messyngere, I þe pray, In my byhalfe þat þou say, When þou comyst to þe kynge, Grete hym wele in all thynge, And say my blak greyhound, Gilmyn, To-day hathe bore hym welle and fyne, For he hathe take wild bestis, The grettest þat was in þe foreste, And therefore, madame, if youre wil be, Sithe we haue go grete plente, Send hym somme, while we may. He wille it quyte another day.' Ipomydon was sore travailed In the gamys þat he had; Hys arme vnstoppid, þe blode gan falle Vppon the tabyll afore hem alle; Than sayd þe quene, "My leman dere, How ar ye hurt, on what manere?' "Forsothe, madame, I shall you say: I lette renne at a dere to-daye, My palfrey I prekid aftir so faste That he stumblyd and me downe caste. At þat tyme I toke this harme, A stubbe smote me þrow þe arme, And þat was for, I shuld saye, The gree of þe feld I had to-daye.' So they laughyd at hym þat nyght That somme myght not sytte vpryght. The quene sayd, "My leman hende, To-morow wille we togedyr wende And see who hathe wonne þe may.' Ipomydon answerd and sayd, "Naye, Sithe I was not at þe justynge, I wille not be at þe chalengynge, But one thynge, madame, I you pray. Delyuere my mayde to me þis day, For suche tithyngis is come to me That I muste home to my contree; And I shall be, bothe day and nyght, While þat I lyffe, your owne knyght.' The quene sayd, "Dwelle here stille!' To lette hym go she had no wille. He toke his leve at þe lady And at þe maydens þat stode hyr by; His owne mayde þat was so bryght, To his ostage she went right, There she nyver come byfore, Sithe his stedis herborowed þere. He sette hym downe in þe halle, Hys oste to hym he lette calle. Into þe stable he hym ledis, There as stode his goode stedis, And sayd to hym, "My frend dere, I wolde þe pray on þis manere, That þou my word vndirstand And this message take on hande: Thou haste herd speke of þe justynge That hathe be for the lady yonge, And also of þe white knyght, The fryst day þat justyd ryght; I was þat knyght þat stondythe þe by, And on this white stede rode I. Of þe rede knyght þou herd sey, Þat justed on þat othir daye; That same knyght forsothe I was, This rede stede I had in place. Vppon the þrydde day þou herd telle Of a blak knyght how it byfelle; On this blak stede þat day I satte And all þese othyr on hym I gatte; Therefore, good syr, I the pray That þou do, as I the saye: Aryse vp in the mornynge And go to þe maydens chalengynge! Take this same white stede And a man dight in þe same wede, Vnto my lord, the kynge, þou wende And grete hym wele as lorde hend, Sey, þe quenys leman, hys owne knyght, Sent hym þis stede and armour bryght; The fryste day he rode theron thare, He wote wele how he hym bare; And say þat wele wouchesaffe I wolde, Thoughe euery here were syluer and golde. Take þe rede stede with þe armor clere And grete wele my lady dere; And say hyr leman and hyr knyght Sent hyr þis stede and armour bryght! Take þe armour and þe blak stede, To sir Campanus þou hym lede! Take here þe kyngis owne stede, To the eyre of Calabre þou hym lede!' And all togedyr he gan hym saye How he shuld present þe fayre may: "Campanus stede þou take anone And lede hym, to sir Jason. This othir rede stede, withoute drede, I to þe yeve for thy mede, On hym þou shalt before ryde And all these othyr be þi syde.' He taught hym, or he went away, On what wise þat he shuld say, And for the herbegage of his stedys He yaff hym twenty pound to medes. The burgeyse held vp his hand And thankyd God þat he hathe found: "Of Calabre I wote who shall be kynge, Now am I glad of my herbowrynge. I shall make youre presente Right gladly with good entente.' The burgeyse toke þe stedys þanne, On euery stede he sette a man, On the thre þat þe knyghtes were, Men armyd in all hyr gere. Forthe they went, withoute lesynge, Toward þe maydens chalengynge. Sone they come to þe cyte There lordis were grete plente. Sone the lordis dyd theyme see, There they satte in companye, They had wondyr of þe stedys And of þe men in dyuerse wedis; The kynge knew þe burgeyse at alle, Anone to hym he lette hym calle: "Whose be these stedis þat be so stronge? Myne I know welle hem amonge.' "Sir, with youre leue stille ye sytte, And the troughe ye shall wetee. The quenys leman, syr, iwis, Gretythe þe wele with joy and blysse And sendithe the this whyte stede, And with hym þe same wede, That he rode on the fryste day. Hym to take he wolde you praye, Wouche hym saffe on you he wolde, Thowȝ euery here were syluer and golde; He prayd God kepe you hole and sounde, For þe beste lord þat euyr he fownde.' To þe quene he wendithe there: "Wele you gretith your leman dere. This rede stede þat is so swyfte, He prayeth you take hym of his gifte. On you he woucheþ saff, be seynt Martyn, Though euery here were syluer and gold fyne, For his lady gode and trewe And þe curteyseste þat euer he knewe.' To syr Campanus forthe he went: "The quenys leman, syr, you sente This blak stede with þe atyre, I say, Þat he rode on þe laste day; He prayes you ye wold hym take, For a doughty knyght, by Goddis sake.' To þe mayde he wente there And grete hyr on this manere: "The strange squyer hathe you sent Thys ilke stede to present; He stale hym nat he bad me say, He wanne hym vppon the light-day, And if ye leve hym not bydene, He bad yow axe þe kynge, youre eme, And hold vp that ye haue hight, To take no man but he were wight.' The kynge sayd, "I felt full wele How he bare hym euerydele; Of his dedis I am full sore, Suche a stroke I bare neuer are. I darre wele say, by Goddis myght, That he is a doughty knyght, Withoute boste, stalworth of hand. A queynter knyght is not in land.' Sir Campanus spake wordis þan And sayd, "He is a doughty man, To juste he lette as he were ferd, But foule he hathe oure eyne bleryd.' The burgeyse to Jason sayd þus: "This stede aught sir Campanus. He sent hym the for hys fere, To loke wele to his lady dere.' To sir Caymes gan he say: "He gretyth þe wele by me to-day. He wold haue sent you stedis mo, But he had none he myght forgo. This rede stede he gaffe to me, Hys messyngere for to bee, And for the harbegage of his stedis He yaff me twenty pound to medis.' All they sayd there they stode, He was come of gentill blode. Than sayd þe eyre of Calabre bright: "Help to gete me þat gentill knyght! But I hym haue þat in feld me wanne, Forsothe, I shall nevir haue man.' Anone gan sir Caymes say: "Is he stolyn thus away And broke my ladyes boure, þe quene, And ledde away hyr mayden shene? Worthe I nevir glad ne fayne, But I brynge theym bothe agayne.' The kynge was bothe curteyse and gente, Full goodly he reseyved his present; Hertely he thankid þe gentill knyght And sayd in lond was none so wight. He yaff þe burgeyse for his message An hundreth pound to herytage. Line group 8 But Ipomydon forth is gone And his men euerychone. His messyngere he lefte stille there, To brynge hym tithyngis, if any were, In suche manere as they felle; What they were he shuld hym telle. Ipomydon come by a foreste, A while he thoght there to rest, He was forwakyd and all werye; To hys men he sayd on hye: "Slepe I muste, withoute fayle, For I am wery for travayle.' He layd his hede on his mayden barme And felle on slepe, he thoght on harme. He had not slepyd but a while, Not the space of a myle, The mayden sawghe forthe comynge An armyd knyght faste rydynge; She woke hyr lord and bad hym ryse, For hyr hert bygan to gryse. Than come forthe Caymys full stoute, To hym he spake wordis proude: "Traytour,' he sayd, "þou dydist dishonour, Whan thou brakkist þe quenys boure And toke hyr mayden and my stede. Agayne to courte I will þe lede. Aryse, traytour, I byd the, To court þou shalt agayne with me!' Ipomydon hym answerd now: "To courte I darre as wele as thou, But for the torne I nylle, Not bot at myne owne wille. For His loue þat vs dere bought, Sithe I haue haste, lette me noght!' Caymys than gan to hym sayne: "Wilthow nyllthow, þou shalt agayne, Or right here þou shalte abyde!' Ipomydon sterte vp that tyde, Anone he worthyd vppon his stede, They rode togedyr with good spede. Ipomydon vnhorsyd Caymys tho, That his arme braste in two. He bad hys men take his stede And lette a wors hors hym lede. In his sadille þey sette hym bakwarde And bound hym faste with a cord, To the tayle was turnyd his visage, They bad hym lerne a new vsage. Thus Caymys rode toward þe towne, Whan he had lost all his renowne. His hors hyeth hym homeward to fare, The master also with moche care. His hors to þe courte hym broght. The kynge euyr on Caymys thoght And sayd he wold not go to bedde, Tille he wiste how þe knyght spedde. The hors broght Caymys to þe yate, The porter lette hym in thereatte. Jason the hors in gan brynge And ledde the knyght byfore þe kynge. The kynge askyd, by Goddis payne, Iff he had brought the knyght agayne. Anone he answerd to the kynge And tolde hym hys myslykynge: "Thoughe all þe knyghtis in the halle Come to hym, bothe grete and smalle, He wold of theyme yiff nothynge But if it were of you, syr kynge.' Than they loughe all insame, And at his harme had good game. There was none in that place, But they were glad of þat case. Thus Caymys hathe his seruyce quytte, And of Ipo[m]ydon here is a fytte. Line group 9 Ipomydon held forthe his way, Full glad he was of his jorney. He saw grete folke agayn hym ryde, The whiche had sought hym wondir wyde, For to brynge hym new tidyngis That dede was his fadir, the kynge, Of whiche tithyngis he was wo, But he may not agayne God do. Throughe his lond he went rydynge; All they honoryd hym as kynge, And whan he come into þat stede, That the kynge, his fadyr, was dede, Throghe that land he lette crye That all men shuld thedir hye, Prestis and klerkis of euery towne, Byschoppis, erlys and barowne. There he made an entyrement With many messes with good entente. An ersbyschope beryed his fadir dere, Prechynge there was of many a frere. Pore men þat sat vppon þe ground, Wele delyd of many a pownde. A grete feste there was dight For erlys and for many a knyght; All men þat wold thereof take, Had mete there for Goddis sake. Whan this feste was brokyn vp, Euery man his leve tuke And went hyr way, as I you telle; Ipomydon thoght at home to dwelle. His modir and he dwellyd insame With moche myrthe, joye and game, Tille it befelle vppon a day, The quene to hyr sonne gan saye In pryuyte and in counse[y]lle: "Thou hast a brother, withouten fayle, Preuely goten was me vppon, Or I was weddyd to any man, But hastely he was done fro me; I note yf he alyffe bee, But he me sent þis endyr yere A riche rynge of gold full clere. And euyr he any brother had, I shuld yeffe it hym he bad, Þat where he come amonge hye or lowe, By that rynge he shuld hym knowe. Tha[n] take thys rynge, my sonne, of me. In what contre that he bee, Who that knowith this ylk rynge, He ys thy brothyr, withoute lesynge!' The rynge he toke of his modyr And trustid wele to know his brothir. Thus they partid in þat place, But aftir within a shorte space To hym come his baronage That were men of grete parage; There entente is to crowne hym kynge, But his thoght was on other thynge, For crowne wold he none bere. He wold be more assayed ere In othir londis, ferre and nere, Of his strenghe and his powere. He had an eme was stiffe and stronge. Of myddille age to lyve longe. Sir Pers of Poyle was his name, Men he distroyed that dyd shame. Byfore his baronage, I vndirstand, Ipomydon sesyd hym in his lande And yaffe hym the profyte for his sake, Tylle þat he the crowne wold take. Turne we now all the matere And speke we of Calabre the eyre. A duke dwellythe Calabre besyde, A stoute man and of grete pryde. He was myghty and of grete powere, Men dred h[y]m bothe ferre and nere. His name was duke Geron, Of Sesseny-lond he was baron. This doughty duke herd saye The eyre of Calabre was suche a may, Messengeris he sent anon Vnto Calabre for to gone. He sayd he wold haue hyr to wyffe, If she wold, withouten stryffe, "And in case she wold not soo, I shall make hyr moche woo; For I shall distroye hyr landis alle, Hyr men sle, bothe grete and smalle, Hyr castelle breke and hyr toure, With strenghe take hyr in hyr boure, Lesse than she may fynde a knyght That for hyr loue with me darre fight.' Forthe went the messyngere And told þe lady this matere; The lady answerd ryght-sone And sayd she wold neuyr haue none, "But hym þat me wanne, so God me saffe, Othyr husband wille I none haue.' This messyngere his erand gan sayne And homeward he went agayne. He told the duke of his answere And anone he bygan grete werre, For grete power gadryd he To wynne þis mayde þat was so free. Ipomydon his messyngere herde Of this tithyngis how it ferde; To his master he went sone And told hym bothe all and somme. Whan he that herde, Ipomydon, Than was he a sory man, That he ne myght with that duke fight, The whiche was holden so noble a knyght. Right vnsemely on queynte manere He hym dight, as ye shalle here. A barbor he callyd, withouten more, And shove hym bothe byhynd and byfore, Queyntly endentyd oute and in, And also he shove halfe his chynne. He semyd a fole, þat queynt syre, Bothe by hede and by atyre. Armure he toke þat was rusty, And horsyd hym on an old rouncy; An helme as blak as any panne, A crokyd spere he toke hym than. Whan þat he was thus dight, He semyd ylle a doughty knyght. To Sesseyn he went, as ye may here, Vnto the kynge Mellyagere, And in his halle brak his spere, Ryght as he wode were, The tronchoune felle vppon þe bord; He faryd as he had bene wode. The kynge and quene laughid light And sayd he was a fole welle dight. "Fole, go to mete!' þe kyng gan say; The fole answerd and sayd, "Nay! For yit I wille not ete with the, But thou a bone will grant mee: The fryste dede of armys I wille haue Þat any man of þe wille craue.' "Fole, go to mete!' sayd þe kynge, "I grant the thyne askynge.' The fole yede to mete in hye And tyed his hors fast hym bye, But or he rose fro þe borde Many men laughyd at his word. Into þe halle come rydynge a may, Oute of Calabre, sothe to say, On a white mule byfore þe kynge, A dwerffe with hyr come rydynge. "Sir kyng, my lady gretis wele the, And prayeth the, for charyte, To helpe hyr in this mystere Agayne the dukis powere; He hathe distroyed hyr landis alle, Right vnto hyr castelle walle, And bot if she haue helpe of the, She wille leue hyr landis and flee.' The kynge answeryd anone And sayd, "All my knyghtes ar gone, Campanus and other full bolde. Helpe my cosyn fayne I wolde, But they be all at a dede, To helpe a lady oute of drede. In this world wote I no knyght That durst his one with hym fyght.' Vp sterte the fole anone, To the kynge he sayd full sone: "Loo, I am here all redy dight, That darre with hym allone fighte.' "Sitte downe, fole!' the mayd gan saye, "Vs list to speke of no pleye. Dryve thy folye where thow wille, For no joye haue I theretille!' The fole sayd, "Be þou wrothe or glad, Suche promyse of the kynge I had That I shuld haue þe fryst dede.' The mayde turnyd and forthe yede. The fole stert vp, withoute delaye, And sayd, "Syr kynge, haue good day!' He lepyd on his hors there And sayd, "Farewelle and haue gode yere!' Somme sayd he was a fole welle dight, Somme sayd he semyd a knyght That is come fro ferre contre, Bycause he wold not knowyn be. He prekyd his hors wondir faste, The mayde he saw at the laste. As they rode by the way, The mayde to the dwerfe gan saye: "Vndo my tente and sette it faste, For here a while y wille me ryste!' Mete and drynke bothe they had, That was fro home with them lad. Bothe they dranke therof and ete, But euyr the fole withoute sete, One morselle they nold hym caste, Thoughe he shuld for hungre brest. Þe dwerfe sayd, "We ar to blame. Yiff þe fole somme mete for shame!' "Not one morselle!' she gan say, "For hungre shall dryue hym away.' With that there come rydyng a knyght To hyr tente anone-ryght. "Come forthe with me!' to hyr he bad, "I haue the spyed sythe þou oute yede. Thou arte my lemman as I haue thoght.' The fole sayd, "Þat leve I noghte. She ys myne, I wille hyr haue, Fro the I hope hyr wele to saue!' The knyght sayd, "Fole, leve thy folye, Or ellis þou shalt dere abye!' The fole sterte to a tronchoune Þat bare vp the maydens pavilloun, And smote the knyght on the crowne That sterke-dede he felle to ground. He yaffe the dwerffe þe knyghtes gere, To hymselfe he toke the spere. Vp they rose and forthe yede, Till efte to ryste they had nede. They toke mete and made them glad, To þe mayd the dwerf bad: "Yif the fole somme mete for shame, He hathe sauyd you fro blame, And thynke ye shuld haue be shent, Had he be oute of youre present!' The mayde answeryd hym anone: "Byfore God, mete getteth he none. It was but foly, I prayse it noght, I wold he were fro vs broght.' With that there come another knyght, The mayd he chalengid anone-ryght And sayd, "Come forth, my leman dere!' The fole sayd, "Þou haste none here. She is myne and longe hathe bene.' With that þe knyght bygan to tene And sayd, "Fole, thou shalt abye, Yff þou speke more of þis folye!' The fole sayd, "I will not blynne. If thou hyr haue, þou shalt hyr wynne!' With that he lepte on his hors lyght, And eyther to other ganne hem dight; The fole hym metithe with a spere That throughe the body he ganne hym bere. The knyght was dede throughe þat dede, To the dwerffe he yaff his stede. Forthe they buskyd hem anone To a place they thought to gone, There they wold haue bene al nyght; Þey myght no ferther for lak of light. They toke them mete and drynke gode-spede, Vnnethe they wold þe fole any bede. Right as they satte and made hem glad, There come a knyght, as þe deville hym bad; He was the dukis brother Geron, All was blak þat he had on, Bothe his hors and his wede. To þe mayde he gan hym spede And sayd, "Sythe I fynd you here, Ye shall be my leman dere!' The fole sayd, "Nay, not so. Anothir she hathe tane hyr too: That am I that þou seest here. If thou hyr bye, she is to dere.' "Fole,' he sayd, "þou bourdist grete. With my spere I shall the bete! Hyr tyme foule had she spedde, If she shold lye with þe in bedde.' The fole sayd, "Twyse I hir bought. With thy chydynge þou gettest hyr noght. Iff thou hyr haue, þou shalt hyr bye A peny derrer þan euer dyd I.' There was no lenger to abyde, But eyther of theym to othyr gan ryde; The fole mette þe knyght soo, That his bak braste on twoo. With that stroke he hym sloughe And his armur of he droughe. Anone he toke þe knyghtis stede And armyd hym in his wede. Whan the fole was wele dight, The mayde hym semyd a godely knyght, And trowyd wele fole was he none, By the dedis þat he had done. They layde hem downe to take hyr reste. The dwerf fulle sone slepyd faste, But the mayde wakynge laye And on the fole thynkith ay; She demyd he was a doughty knyght, Wherefore to hym she gan hyr dight. "Sir knyght,' she sayd, "slepe ye nowe? Ye ar no fole þat wele I knowe. Ye be a knyght doughty of hand, I know none suche in all þis land, And þe same knyght, so trow I, Þat somme-tyme wanne my lady, I trow full wele þat thou be he. Wilt thou hyr leve and wed me? Thou shalt be of grete powere: I am as ryche as is the eyre Off Calabre-lond, withoute doute.' The knyght lokyd fast aboute And euyr more stille he lay And herde hyr speke, as I you say, And whan þat she had all sayd, He sterte vp in a brayde, And bygan for to rese, As he wold take hyr by the nese. Euyr the fayrer þat she spake, The fouler braydes gan he make. Thus he wrawled and wroth away, One word to hyr he nolde not say. Whan she saw it wold not be, "Sir knyght,' she sayd, "for charyte, Trowest thow þou shalt not fayle To helpe my lady in þis batayle And with the duke Geron to fyght, As þou kynge Melliager hight? What shall I to my lady say, Whethyr will ye come or nay?' "To-morow whan I þe duke see, Parauntur in suche plyte I may bee That I wille the bataille take, And so it may falle I wille it forsake, For I am holdyn nothynge you tille, Noght but at myne owne wille.' The mayden turnyd homeward and thoght, To his answere she coude sey noght. She bad þe knyght haue good day, And he bad, "Farewele, fayre maye.' In at a preuy posterne gate By nyght she stale in thereate, And to þe lady she told sone What the fole had for hyr done, And that he comythe for hyr to fight. This lady was a sorowfull wight, For on the morow þe duke with pryde Vnto the castelle gate gan ryde, But they were stokyn hym agayne. With lowde voyse he gan to sayne: "Come owte, leman, on feyre manere. I wille no lenger tarye here, Or ellys a knyght ye oute sende, With me to fight you to deffende!' And as he stode þus talkynge, He saw a knyght come rydynge; A glad man tho was he, His brothir he wende it had be. It was not he, as ye shall here, He answerid þe duke on this manere: "What art thou that makist þis crye, And at this gate so grete mastrye?' "I am,' he sayd, "lord of here-inne, For I am sekir þis mayde to wynne, And will so do or I hens gone, That othir husband gettyth she none.' Ipomydon saide, "Þat thou shalt mysse, For all myne owne that lady ys, And full longe she hathe be soo, Therefore I rede the hens goo. I wille hyr deffend frome all men!' The duke answerd bitterly then: "Traytour,' he sayd, "þou art anothir. I wende thou haddist bene my brothir. His stede thou hast, his armour, loo, Thow hast hym slayne I trow also!' "That I hym slow I gaynesay noght. The so to serue haue I thoght.' With that word, withoute lye, Fast togedir gan they hye, That there sperys all tobrast; They drowghe swerdis and faught faste. The lady lay in a hye toure And saw bytwene theym all þe stoure, But she ne wist whiche for hyr did fight, For they in lyke wede were dight. Gretter bataille myght none be, For neyther wold for othyr flee; They faught togedyr wondir longe, Þe bataille was bothe stiff and stronge, That of there lyves neyther rought. Ipomydon than hym bythoght He was in poynte to lese there, That he had bought wondir dere; Hys swerd in bothe handis he toke, It was sharpe, as saythe þe boke, And hertely he dyd it vplyfte, Amyd the crowne he yaff hym swifte, Thrughe helme and bassenet it raught, Hys crowne was shavyn at one draught. The duke felt hym hurt full sore, He prayed þe knyght to smyte no more: "I am nye dede, I may not stande, I yelde me here vnto thyn hande And shall be thyne owne knyght, At thy wille bothe day and nyght. I shall restore into this lande More good þan euyr I here fonde, And euyrmore while þat I lyve, A thousand pownd I wille þe yiffe.' Ipomydon sayd, "I grant þe here, So þat thou do on this manere, Thow come not nye this pavilloun, But hye the faste oute of þis town!' The duke hym grantyd hastely, Oute of the towne for to hye. He and all þat with hym come, Homeward they hyed hem full sone. Ipomydon rode to þe pavillon, Right as it were duke Geron. Besyde þe castelle wherin was þe eyre, Rennethe a ryuer longe and feyre, With shippis and sayles manyfolde; There stremes were of fyne golde. This lady sayd she wold flee, Iff that the duke wan þe gre. These shippis were stuffyd with vytayle, Þat with this lady sholde sayle. She lokyd oute into the towne And saw one come to þe pavilloun. She wende þe duke had wonne þe gre, Wherefore she busked hyr to flee. Ipomydo[n] to þe yates wente, Than the lady helde hyrself shent. "Come forthe,' he sayd, "my leman dere, For I haue wonne þe now here!' The lady herde hym make suche crye, To hyr shyppe she gan hyr hyee; They plukkyd vp sayles and forthe þey paste, She and hyr men, bothe more and lasse. Line group 10 Turne we now anone-ryghtes And speke of kyng Melliager knyghtes, That whan hyr jorney was done They hem buskyd home full sone, Campanus and his felows full bolde. But the tydynges were hem tolde Off þe eyre of Calabre, þe fayre may, And of þe duke, as I you say, And how she sent aftir sokoure, The preuyest mayden in hyr boure, And how a fole hathe take on hond, To fight with hym in þat londe. Sir Campanus buskid hym to fare, To bryng this lady oute of care, And all the power þat had þe kynge Buskyd theyme to þat fyghtynge In all the hast þat they myght, With the duke for to fight. Toward Calabre as they rode, Þey saw shippis in þe flode; Anoon they callyd to theyme there And askyd hem of whens they were. The shippemen sayd, "Of Calabre-londe. A duke hathe wonne it with his hand. Here ys þe lady, as ye may see, She hathe forsake hyr owne contre.' Campanus prayed þe lady to dwelle, And somwhat of hyr greffe to telle. She herd they were hyr eme knyghtes And tornyd ayeyne anon-ryghtes And tolde the knyghtes all in hye Off þe duke þat was so doughty, And how the fole had hym borne Off good poyntis therebeforne, And how þe duke hathe hym slayne, "And comyn ys to my yates agayne.' Campanus sayd anone-ryght: "I darre ley it was þe same knyght Was comyn oute of hys owne londe, For he was doughty of his hand. Madame, I rede we torne agayne, And we shall see who is slayne, And than we shalle þis dede awreke, Iff we haue grace with hym to speke, That all þis land shall thereof here, And ellys honge me be the swyre, But I his hede vnto you brynge!' All they grantyd, withoute lesynge. This lady turnyd hyr shippe anon And with sir Campanus forthe gan goon. When she come þe castelle nye, As ferre as euyr she myght see, In that place she wold abyde, Tille she wist how it wold tyde. Campanus all his men lette calle, And to þe castelle they went alle; They saw a knyght in blak atyre, They went full wele þe duke it were Þat had distroyed þe land aboute. To hym they hyed all þe route. Campanus sayd in þis manere: "What art þou that standis here? Tell me why þou makist þis dynne, And what þou woldist haue herein.' He sayd, "My leman þat I wanne, I wille not leue hyr for no man!' Sir Campanus sayd, "Þou getist hyr noght! I rede frome hyr thou change þi thoght, And go home to thy contre, Or ellis, forsothe, þou shalt dede be. Wherefore hens fast thou hye, Withowte any more vylany, And ellis I swere, by God almyght, We shall all ageynst þe fight.' Ipomydon sayd, "What may this bee? Is this the maner of this contre? Yif any of yow haue better right Than I haue to þis lady bryght, Come forthe and prove yt with your hand, One for one, while I may stand!' Campanus answerd to þe knyght: "Chese whether þou wilt go or ellys fight!' Ipomydon sayd, "Sythe it is soo That I shall hyr thus forgoo, Rather I wille þe bataille take And lese my lyffe for hyr sake, And put it all in Goddis hond!' Agayne hem all he thoght to stond; All at ons at hym they layd, Ipomydon hys swerd outebrayd, And many a man he fellys downe ryght. He faught with many a doughty knyght, That many a stroke vppon hym layd. "Yeld the, traytour!' "Not yit!' he sayd. The knyghtes that were of grete pryde, Faste they faught on yche syde. Ipomydon saw non othyr wone, But socouryd hym at a walle of stone, And they pursewyd aftir faste, Þat many vnto þe dethe he caste. So longe ageynste them he gan stand, They hewyd the gloves of his hand; All bare-handyd faught þis knyght, They saw neuyr are non so wight. Sir Campanus, as I vndirstande, Saw the rynge on his hand, That he yaffe his modyr, þe quene; Many a yere are he me had it sene. Campanus prayd hym stand stille, While he askyd hym a skyle. The knyght answerd and bad hym sey, For all they were wery of there play. "Sir knyght,' he sayd, "telle me this thynge! Where had ye that ilke rynge?' Ipomydon answerd as he thought, And sayd, "Forsothe, I stale it noght. For þou coueytes to haue þis rynge, I swere by Jesus, heuyn-kynge, Or þou it haue with mystrye, With sore strokis þou shalt it bye!' Sir Campanus prayd hym with feyre chere To telle hym on feyre manere, Where he had þat ylke rynge, And say the sothe, withoute lesynge. Ipomydon sayd, "So God me spede, Y wille not telle þe for no drede. But telle me why þou doste enquere, And I shalle yeve the an answere.' "This rynge,' he sayd, "þat is so fyne, Forsothe, somme-tyme it was myne. Now, as ye ar a gentill man, Telle me where ye þat rynge wanne.' "The quene,' he sayd, "of Poyle-land yaff me this rynge, ye shall vndirstand. She ys my modyr good and fayre, Off all þat land I am þe eyre.' "Sir knyght,' he sayd, "yit abyde. What sayd she more to you þat tyde?' "She sayd, I had a brother on lyve Was gotyn or þat she was wyffe, And sayd, who þat knew this rynge Was my brother, withoute lesynge.' Sir Campanus sayd, "By God allmyght, I am thy brother, þou gentill knyght.' They felle downe bothe in þat stound, At onys fallynge to þe ground. Men caught hem vp and wakyd hem bothe, They were full glad and nothynge lothe. Ipomydon enqueryd of his brothyr What was his name, for none knew othyr. He sayd, "Syr Campanus I hight, That gaynste þe dyd fyght. With kynge Melleager dwelle I.' "Som-tyme we were in company. Knew ye nevyr the quenys lemman, That somtyme this mayd wan?' "A, brother,' he sayd, "be ye he?' There was joye grete plente. Ipomydon sayd, "I bare þe shelde, That wanne þe lady in þe felde. Stedis I had þere þat day in place, Þe sothe ye know þat it so was, Whyte and rede and blak also; Wele ye wote þat it was so. And there I wanne throw Goddis grace The beste stedis þat day in place, Þe kynges stede and thyne also, And of myne owne I sent you two, And youres I sent to other men; Ye wote wele it was so then. I toke my leve of þe quene, With me went my mayden shene Home toward myne owne lond. Sir Caymes sayd, I vndirstand, That he wold feche vs bothe agayne, Or ellis þat he wold be slayne. He sayd, I went withoute leve, All ye wist how it dyd preue, And therfore, brother, as I haue sayd, I am best worthy to haue þe mayd.' They saw it was þe same knyght, Þan all ther hertes began to light. Euer as they went, they gan hym kysse, There was joye and moche blisse. Messyngeris afore gan thrynge, To bryng þe lady good tythynges. When she saw þey come so fast, Than þe lady was agast. She wende þey had scomfyted be, Þis lady bad draw sayle and flee. The messyngers cryed as þey were wode, Whan they saw hyr go with þe flode. They sayd, "Madame, drede you noght. The strange squyer hathe you sought.' Whan she herd of hym speke, She thought hyr hert wold tobreke, But she myght se hym with syght, That hyr wanne in grete fight. They tornyd þe shippis to þe land, Togedyr they mette at þe sond. Whan þe lady of hym had syght, She comaundyd a bote forthe-ryght, For at þe lond fayne wold she bee, That she myght þe knyght see. She lepyd oute of þe bote in hye, Into þe water þe knyght stode bye, And he in aftir also faste, Þat vp he gatte hyr at þe last. Whan þey come vnto þe lond, Ipomydon toke hyr by þe hond And told hyr þere, withouten fayle, Hyr loue had causyd hym grete travaile: "Sythe fryst þat I with you dyd dwelle, Half my sorow can I not telle, And how ye blamyd your cosyn Jason For þat I loked you vppon, And þo I toke my leve and went, Tille I herd of youre entente, How þat ye wold haue a knyght That of his hand was most wight. Thedyr I drew when I it herde, All ye wote how þat it ferd. I seruyd your eme longe withalle, The quenys lemman þey dyd me calle; And aftir I justed dayes thre, Many men ther dyd I see, And there I wan stedis good, Somme were rede as any blode, And also wisely God me amend, The kyngis stede to you I send; But sone after, I vndirstand, I went into myn owne lond, Tille I herd vppon a day Of þe duke þat made outray; I busked me in queynt manere, Right as I a fole were, And went agayne to þe kynge. He knew me not for nothynge; And thedyr come frome you a mayd, And to þe kynge þese wordis she sayd, That he muste you socoure sende, Fro þe duke you to deffend. But þe kyng you of help forsoke And I the bataile to me toke; Forthe with þe mayd gan I gone And there I kepte hyr frome hyr fone. Thre knyghtes of hyr lyffes I lete, And now þe duke I haue scomfyte. I darre wele say, by Goddis sond, I haue you wonne with my hond.' Whan þe lady herd how it was, She felle on swounyng in þe place. He toke hyr vp with good spede, His mouthe to hyrs he gan bede, They kyssyd togedyr with good chere, For eyther was to othyr dere. I lette you wete, withoute delay, Halfe ther joye I can not say. Forthe they went to þe castelle There this lady byfore dyd dwelle. All that nyght they were insame With moche myrthe, joy and game. On the morow the clerkis were bowne, To wryte lettres of grete renowne To the kynge of Seseny-lond, That was hyr eme, I vndyrstand; To þe emperoure, I dare wele say, Were wrytte lettres of grete nobley, To ershebisshoppes and bysshopis of þe land, Prestes and clerkis þat were at hand, Dukis, erlys and barons also; Knyghtis and squyers shuld thedyr go. Messyngeris were sent euerywhere, For pore and ryche, all shold be there. And whan these lordis tythyngis herd, They hyed hem fast thedyrward. Þis fest was cryed longe byfore, Fourty dayes withoute more. Metis were made grete plente, For many a man þer shuld bee. With the emperoure come to þe feste An hundreth knyghtes at þe lest, And with the kynge, hyr eme, also Two hundreth hors withoute mo. Sir Piers of Poyle thedyr come And with hym knyghtes of grete fame, That doughty were of þat land, In bataile preuyd, I vndirstand. On the morow whan it was day, Thay busked theyme, as I you say, Toward þe chirche with game and glee, To make þat grete solempnyte. The archebisshopp of þat land Weddyd theyme, I vndirstand. Whan it was done, as I you say, Home they went, withoute delay. By þat they come to þe castelle, There mete was redy euerydele. Trumpes to mete gan blow tho, Claryons and other menstrellis mo. Þo they wasshe and yede to mete, And euery lord toke his sete. Whan they were sette, all þe route, Menstrellis blew than all aboute, Tille they were seruyd with pryde Of the fryst cours þat tyde. The seruyce was of grete aray, That they were seruyd with þat day. Þus they ete and made hem glad, With suche seruyce as they had. Whan they had dyned, as I you say, Lordis and ladyes yede to play, Somme to tablis and somme to chesse, With othir gammys, more and lesse. Ipomydon gaff in þat stound To mynstrellis fyue hundreth pound, And othyr yiftes of grete nobley He yaff to other men þat day. Thus this fest, as it was told, Fourty dayes it was hold. Ipomydon his brother lette calle, There he stode in the halle, And yaff hym all Poyle-land, But on erledom, I vnderstond, And of that land made hym kyng, And afftyr hym hys offspryng. He thankyd God and hym with mode, And euery man spak of hym good. Syr Camppanus fforthe ys gon on sond To the kyng of Sesanay-lond, There he was in hys chambyr, Talkyng with the ladyes on ffere. He told of the yefftes ffayre, Off Poyle-lond how he was eyre. The ladyes answerd all on one: "Souche a man in the world ys none!' Ipomadon, there he stod in hall, Tholomew he lette to hym call And yaff hym an erledom ffre, And a mayde, hys leff to bee, That was with hym in Pole-lond, With the quene, I vnderstond. Syr Tholomew tho gan say: "I thanke yow, lord, for thys may And for yowre yefftes many on, That ye hawe yewen me here befforne.' Tho passyd he fforthe, as I yow say, There he lyked best to play. Ipo[m]adon, in hall there he stod, Bethowght hym of myld mode, Of hys ffelaw, syr Jason, How he was a worthy man. To hym he gaff bothe fferre and nere Grete londes, as ye may here, To hys wyff a fayre may, That he had louyd many a day, And other yiftes he yaff also Tille other men many moo. Whan this feste was comyn to þe end, Euery man busked hem home to wend. On the morow, withoute lesynge, The emperoure went vnto þe kynge, His leve to take gan he gone, And with hym lordis many on. At þe takynge of his leve Halfe þe joye I can not discryve, That there was hem amonge, Off ladies and of knyghtis stronge. The emperoure his leve hathe tane At þe kynge, Ipomydon, And at þe quene fayre and free, So dyd many mo than hee. Thus the lordes fayre and hend, Homeward all þey gan to wend, Euery lord to his contre, Or where them lyked best to be, And lefte them there bothe insame, With myche myrthe, joye and game, There to dwelle for euyrmore, Tille theyme departyd dethe sore. Ipomydon and his lady dere Togedyr were many yere, With all joye þat men myght see. In world so moche non myght be, As was euer þem amonge, Till dethe þem departid þat was stronge. And whan they dyed, I trow, iwis, Bothe they yede to heuyn-blysse, There as non other thynge may bee, But joye and blisse, game and glee. To þat blysse God bryng vs alle, That dyed on rode for grete and smalle. Amen. Explic[i]t Ipomydon.