The Turnament of Tottenham

Of all thes kene conquerours to carpe it were kynde;
Of fele feyytyng folk ferly we fynde;
The Turnament of Totenham have we in mynde;
It were harme sych hardynes were holden byhynde,
In story as we rede
Of Hawkyn, of Herry,
Of Tomkyn, of Terry,
Of them that were dughty
And stalworth in dede.

It befel in Totenham on a dere day,
Ther was mad a shurtyng be the hy-way:
Theder com al the men of the contray,
Of Hyssylton, of Hy-gate, and of Hakenay,
And all the swete swynkers.
Ther hopped Hawkyn,
Ther daunsed Dawkyn,
Ther trumped Tomkyn,
And all were trewe drynkers.

Tyl the day was gon and evyn-song past,
That thay schuld reckyn ther scot and ther counts cast;
Perkyn the potter into the press past,
And sayd Randol the refe, a doyter thou hast,
Tyb the dere:
Therfor faine wyt wold I,
Whych of all thys bachelery
Were best worthye
To wed hur to hys fere.

Upstyrt thos gadelyngys wyth ther lang staves,
And sayd, Randol the refe, lo! thys lad raves;
Boldely amang us thy doyter he craves;
We er rycher men then he, and mor gode haves
Of cattell and corn;
Then sayd Perkyn, To Tybbe I have hyyt
That I schal be alway redy in my ryyt,
If that it schuld be thys day sevenyyt,
Or elles yet to morn.

Then sayd Randolfe the refe, Ever be he waryd,
That about thys carpyng lenger wold be taryd:
I wold not my doyter, that scho were miscaryd,
But at hur most worschip I wold scho were maryd,
Therfor a Turnament schal begynne
Thys day sevenyyt,--
Wyth a flayl for to fyyt:
And 'he,' that is most of myght
Schal brouke hur wyth wynne.

Whoso berys hym best in the turnament,
Hym schal be granted the gre be the comon assent,
For to wynne my doyter wyth 'dughtynesse' of dent,
And 'coppell' my brode-henne 'that' was broyt out of Kent:
And my dunnyd kowe
For no spens wyl I spare,
For no cattell wyl I care,
He schal have my gray mare,
And my spottyd sowe.

Ther was many 'a' bold lad ther bodyes to bede:
Than thay toke thayr leve, and homward they yede;
And all the weke afterward graythed ther wede,
Tyll it come to the day, that thay suld do ther dede.
They armed ham in matts;
Thay set on ther nollys,
For to kepe ther pollys,
Gode blake bollys,
For batryng of bats.

Thay sowed tham in schepeskynnes, for thay schuld not brest:
Ilk-on toke a blak hat, insted of a crest:
'A basket or a panyer before on ther brest,'
And a flayle in ther hande; for to fyght prest,
Furth gon thay fare:
Ther was kyd mekyl fors,
Who schuld best fend hys cors:
He that had no gode hors,
He gat hym a mare.

Sych another gadryng have I not sene oft,
When all the gret company com rydand to the croft:
Tyb on a gray mare was set up on loft
On a sek ful of fedyrs, for scho schuld syt soft,
And led 'till the gap.'
For cryeng of the men
Forther wold not Tyb then,
Tyl scho had hur brode hen
Set in hur Lap.

A gay gyrdyl Tyb had on, borowed for the nonys,
And a garland on hur hed ful of rounde bonys,
And a broche on hur brest ful of 'sapphyre' stonys,
Wyth the holy-rode tokenyng, was wrotyn for the
nonys;
For no 'spendings' thay had spared.
When joly Gyb saw hur thare,
He gyrd so hys gray mare,
'That scho lete a fowkin' fare
At the rereward.

I wow to God, quoth Herry, I schal not lefe behynde,
May I mete wyth Bernard on Bayard the blynde,
Ich man kepe hym out of my wynde,
For whatsoever that he be, before me I fynde,
I wot I schall hym greve.
Wele sayd, quoth Hawkyn.
And I wow, quoth Dawkyn,
May I mete wyth Tomkyn,
Hys flayle I schal hym reve.

I make a vow, quoth Hud, Tyb, son schal thou se,
Whych of all thys bachelery 'granted' is the gre:
I schal scomfet thaym all, for the love of the;
In what place so I come thay schal have dout of me,
Myn armes ar so clere:
I bere a reddyl, and a rake,
Poudred wyth a brenand drake,
And three cantells of a cake
In ycha cornere.

I vow to God, quoth Hawkyn, yf 'I' have the gowt,
Al that I fynde in the felde 'thrustand' here aboute,
Have I twyes or thryes redyn thurgh the route,
In ycha stede ther thay me se, of me thay schal have doute,
When I begyn to play.
I make avowe that I ne schall,
But yf Tybbe wyl me call,
Or I be thryes don fall,
Ryyt onys com away.

Then sayd Terry, and swore be hys crede;
Saw thou never yong boy forther hys body bede,
For when thay fyyt fastest and most ar in drede,
I schall take Tyb by the hand, and hur away lede:
I am armed at the full;
In myn armys I bere wele
A doy trogh and a pele,
A sadyll wythout a panell,
Wyth a fles of woll.

I make a vow, quoth Dudman, and swor be the stra,
Whyls me ys left my 'mare,' thou gets hurr not swa;
For scho ys wele schapen, and liyt as the rae,
Ther is no capul in thys myle befor hur schal ga;
Sche wul ne noyt begyle:
Sche wyl me bere, I dar say,
On a lang somerys day,
Fro Hyssylton to Hakenay,
Noyt other half myle.

I make a vow, quoth Perkyn, thow speks of cold rost,
I schal wyrch 'wyselyer' withouten any bost:
Five of the best capulys, that ar in thys ost,
I wot I schal thaym wynne, and bryng thaym to my cost,
And here I grant thaym Tybbe.
Wele boyes here ys he,
That wyl fyyt, and not fle,
For I am in my jolyte,
Wyth so forth, Gybbe.

When thay had ther vowes made, furth can thay hie,
Wyth flayles, and hornes, and trumpes mad of tre:
Ther were all the bachelerys of that contre;
Thay were dyyt in aray, as thaymselfes wold be:
Thayr baners were ful bryyt
Of an old rotten fell;
The cheveron of a plow-mell;
And the schadow of a bell,
Poudred wyth the mone lyyt.

I wot yt 'was' no chylder game, whan thay togedyr met,
When icha freke in the feld on hys feloy bet,
And layd on styfly, for nothyng wold thay let,
And foght ferly fast, tyll ther horses swet,
And few wordys spoken.
Ther were flayles al to slatred,
Ther were scheldys al to flatred,
Bollys and dysches al to schatred,
And many hedys brokyn

There was clynkyng of cart-sadellys, & clatteryng of cannes;
Of fele frekys in the feld brokyn were their fannes;
Of sum were the hedys brokyn, of sum the braynpannes,
And yll were thay besene, or thay went thanns,
Wyth swyppyng of swepyls:
Thay were so wery for-foght,
Thay myyt not fyyt mare oloft,
But creped about in the 'croft,'
As thay were croked crepyls.

Perkyn was so wery, that he began to loute;
Help, Hud, I am ded in thys ylk rowte:
An hors for forty pens, a gode and a stoute!
That I may lyytly come of my noye oute,
For no cost wyl I spare.
He styrt up as a snayle,
And hent a capul be the tayle,
And 'reft' Dawkin hys flayle,
And wan there a mare.

Perkyn wan five, and Hud wan twa:
Glad and blythe thay ware, that they had done sa;
Thay wold have tham to Tyb, and present hur with tha:
The Capulls were so wery, that thay myyt not ga,
But styl gon thay stond.
Alas! quoth Hudde, my joye I lese;
Mee had lever then a ston of chese,
That dere Tyb had al these,
And wyst it were my sond.

Perkyn turnyd hym about in that ych thrang,
Among thos wery boyes he wrest and he wrang;
He threw tham doun to the erth, and thrast tham amang,
When he saw Tyrry away wyth Tyb fang,
And after hym ran;
Off his horse he hym drogh,
And gaf hym of hys flayl inogh:
We te he! quoth Tyb, and lugh,
Ye er a dughty man.

'Thus' thay tugged, and rugged, tyl yt was nere nyyt:
All the wyves of Tottenham came to se that syyt
Wyth wyspes, and kexis, and ryschys there lyyt,
To fetch hom ther husbandes, that were tham trouth plyyt;
And sum bróyt gret harwos,
Ther husbandes hom to fetch,
Sum on dores, and sum on hech,
Sum on hyrdyllys, and som on crech.
And sum on whele-barows.

Thay gaderyd Perkyn about, 'on' everych syde,
And grant hym ther 'the gre,' the more was hys pryde:
Tyb and he, wyth gret 'mirth,' homward con thay ryde,
And were al nyyt togedyr, tyl the morn tyde;
And thay 'to church went:'
So wele hys nedys he has sped,
That dere Tyb he 'hath' wed;
The prayse-folk, that hur led,
Were of the Turnament.

To that ylk fest com many for the nones;
Some come hyphalte, and some trippand 'thither' on the
stonys;
Sum a staf in hys hand, and sum two at onys;
Of sum where the hedes broken, of some the schulder bonys:
With sorrow come thay thedyr.
Wo was Hawkyn, wo was Herry,
Wo was Tomkyn, wo was Terry.
And so was all the bachelary,
When thay met togedyr.

At that fest thay wer servyd with a ryche aray,
Every fyve & fyve had a cokenay;
And so thay sat in jolyte al the lung day;
And at the last thay went to bed with ful gret deray:
Mekyl myrth was them among;
In every corner of the hous
Was melody delycyous
For to here precyus
Of six menys song.