Lines 871–1305

That thus this faire ladye this fende has dystroyede!
I had levere thane alle Fraunce, this fyftene wynter
I hade bene be-fore thate freke, a furlange of waye,
Whene 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 hyme-selvene,
To trete with that tyraunt fore tresone of londes,
And take trewe for a tyme, tille it may tyde bettyre.”
“Sire, see ȝe ȝone farlande, with ȝone two-fyrez,
Þar filsuez þat fonde, fraist whene 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 wyth-owttyne nowmer,
Mo florenez in faythe thane Fraunce es in aftyre;
And more tresowr untrewely that traytowr has getyne,
Thane in Troye was as I trowe, þat tyme þat it was wonne.”
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, þat wyste whatt he menede!
He calles syr Cayous þat of þe cowpe serfede,
And syr Bedvere þe bolde, þat bare hys brande ryche,—
“Luke ȝe aftyre evensange be armyde at-ryghttez,
On blonkez by ȝone buscayle, by ȝone blythe stremez,
ffore I wille passe in pilgremage prevely here aftyre,
In the tyme of suppere, whene lordez are servede,
ffor to sekene a saynte be ȝone salte stremes,
In Seynt Mighelle mount, there myraclez are schewede.”
Aftyre evesange, Sir Arthure hyme-se[l]fene
Wente to hys wardrope, and warp of hys wedez;
Armede hym in a actone with orfraeez fulle ryche,
Aboven one þat a jeryne of Acres owte over,
Aboven þat a jesseraunt of jentylle maylez,
A jupone of Jerodyne jaggede in schredez;
He brayedez one a bacenett burneschte of sylver,
The beste þat was in Basille, wyth bordurs ryche;
The creste and þe coronalle, enclosed so faire
Wyth clasppis of clere golde, couched wyth stones;
The vesare, þe aventaile, enarmede so faire,
Voyde with-owttyne vice, with wyndowes of sylver;
His gloves gaylyche gilte, and gravene at þe hemmez,
With grayvez and gobelets, glorious of hewe;
He bracez a brade schelde, and his brande aschez,
Bounede hyme a broune stede, and one þe bente hovys;
He sterte tille his sterepe and stridez one lofte,
Streynez hyme stowttly, and sterys hyme faire,
Brochez þe baye stede, and to þe buske rydez,
And there hys knyghtes hyme kepede fulle clenlyche arayede:
Thane they roode by þat ryver, þat rynnyd so swythe,
Þare þe ryndez overrechez with realle bowghez;
The roo and þe rayne-dere reklesse thare rounene,
In ranez and in rosers to ryotte þame selvene;
The frithez ware floreschte with flourez fulle many,
Wyth fawcouns and fesantez of ferlyche hewez;
All þe feulez thare fleschez, that flyez with wengez,
ffore thare galede þe gowke one grevez fulle lowde,
Wyth alkyne gladchipe þay gladdene þeme selvene:
Of þe nyghtgale notez þe noisez was swette,
They threpide wyth the throstills thre-hundreth at ones!
þat whate swowynge of watyr, and syngynge of byrdez,
It myghte salve hyme of sore, that sounde was nevere!
Thane ferkez this folke, and one fotte lyghttez,
ffestenez theire faire stedez o ferrome by-twene;
And thene the kynge kenely comandyde hys knyghtez
ffor to byde with theire blonkez, and bowne no forthyre,—
“ffore I wille seke this seynte by my-selfe one,
And melle with this mayster mane, þat this monte ȝemez;
And seyne salle ȝe offyre, aythyre aftyre oper,
Menskfully at Saynt Mighelle fulle myghty with Criste!”
The kyng coveris þe cragge wyth cloughes fulle hye,
To the creste of the clyffe he clymbez one lofte;
Keste upe hys umbrere, and kenly he lukes,
Caughte of þe colde wynde to comforthe hym selvene;
Two fyrez he fyndez fflawmande fulle hye,
The fourtedele a furlange be-twene þis he walkes;
þe 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 evene there he fyndez
A wery wafulle wedowe, wryngande hire handez,
And gretande on a grave grysely teres,
Now merkyde one molde, sene myddaye it semede:
He saluȝede þat sorowfulle with sittande wordez,
And fraynez aftyre the fende fairely there aftyre:
Thane this wafulle wyfe un-wynly hym gretez,
Coverde up on hire kneess, and clappyde hir handez;
Said, “carefulle caremane, thow carpez to lowde!
May ȝone warlawe wyt, he worows us alle!
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!
Whedire buskes þou berne? unblysside þow semes!
Wenez thow to brittene hyme with thy brande ryche?
Ware thow wyghttere thane Wade or Wawayne owthire,
Thow wynnys no wyrchipe, I warne the be-fore!
Thow saynned the unsekyrly to seke to þese mountez,
Siche sex ware to symple to semble with hyme one;
ffor and thow see hyme with syghte, the servez 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 for-thynkkys!
Ware syche fyfty one a felde, or one a faire erthe,
The freke walde with hys fyste felle ȝow at ones!
Loo! here, the duchez dere, to daye was cho takyne,
Depe dolvene and dede dyked in moldez;
He hade morthirede this mylde be myddaye war rongene,
With-owttyne mercy one molde, not watte it ment:
He has forsede hir and fylede, and cho es fay levede;
He slewe hir un-slely, and slitt hir to þe navylle!
And here have I bawmede hir, and beryede þer aftyr,
ffor bale of þe botelesse, blythe be I never!
Of alle þe frendrez cho hade, þere folowede none aftyre,
Bot I hir foster modyr of fyftene wynter!
To ferke of this farlande, fande salle I never,
Bot here be foundene on felde, tille I be fay levede!”
Thane answers syr Arthure to þat alde wyf;
“I am comyne fra the conquerowr, curtaise and gentille,
As one of þe hathelest of Arthur knyghtez,
Messenger to þis myx, for mendemente of þe pople,
To mele with this maister mane, that here this mounte ȝemez;
To trete with this tyraunt for tresour of landez,
And take trew for a tyme, to bettyr may worthe.”
“ȝa, thire wordis are bot waste,” quod this wif thane,
“ffor bothe landez and lythes ffulle lyttille by he settes;
Of rentez ne of rede golde rekkez he never,
ffor he wille lenge owt of lawe, as hym-selfe thynkes,
With-owtene licence of lede, as lorde in his awene;
Bot he has a kyrtille one, kepide for hyme selvene,
That was sponene in Spayne with specyalle byrdez,
And sythyne garnescht in Grece fulle graythly to-gedirs,
That es hydede alle with hare hally al overe,
And bordyrde with the berdez of burlyche kyngez,
Crispid and kombide, that kempis may knawe
I the kynge by his colowr, in kythe there he lengez;
Here the fermez he fangez of fyftene rewmez,
ffor ilke Esterne ewyne, how-ever that it falle;
They send it hyme sothely for saughte of þe pople,
Sekerly at þat sesone with certayne knyghtez,
And he has aschede Arthure alle þis sevene wynter.
fforthy hurdez he here, to owttraye hys pople,
Tille þe Bretones kynges have burneschte his lyppys,
And sent his berde to that bolde wyth his beste berynes;
Bot thowe hafe broghte þat berde, bowne the no forthire,
ffor it es butelesse bale, thowe biddez oghte elles;
ffor he has more tresowr to take whene hyme lykez,
Than evere aughte Arthure, or any of hys elders;
If thowe hase broghte þe berde, he bese more blythe
Thane þowe gafe hym Burgoyne, or Bretayne þe more;
Bot luke nowe for charitee, þow chasty thy lyppes,
That the no wordez eschape, whate so be-tydez;
Luke þat presante be priste, and presse hym bott lytille,
ffor he es at his sowper, he wille be sone grevyde;
And þow my concelle doo, þow doffe of thy clothes,
And knele in thy kyrtylle, and calle hym thy lorde;
He sowppes alle þis sesone with sevene knave childre,
Choppid in a chargour of chalke whytt sylver,
With pekille and powdyre of precious spycez,
And pyment fulle plentevous of Portyngale wynes;
Thre balefulle birdez his brochez þey turne,
That byddez his bedgatt, his byddynge to wyrche;
Siche foure scholde be fay with-in foure hourez,
Are his fylth ware filled, that his flesch ȝernes.”
“ȝa, I have broghte þe berde,” quod he, “the bettyre me lykez;
ffor-thi wille I boune me, and bere it my selvene;
Bot lefe walde þow lere me whare þat lede lengez,
I salle alowe þe and I liffe, oure Lorde so me helpe!”
“fferke fast to þe fyre,” quod cho, “that flawmez so hye;
Thare fillis þat fende hyme, fraist whene the lykez;
Bot thow moste seke more southe, syddynges a lyttille,
ffor he wille hafe sent hym-selfe sex myle large.”
To þe sowre of þe reke he soghte at þe gayneste,
Sayned hyme sekerly with certayne wordez,
And sydlynges of þe segge the syghte had he rechide,
How un-semly þat sott satt sowpande hym one;
He lay levand one lange, bugande un-faire,
Þe thee of a mans lymme lyfte up by þe haunche;
His bakke and his bewschers, and his brode lendez,
He bekez by þe bale fyre, and breklesse hyme semede;
Þare ware rostez fulle ruyde, and rewfulle bredez,
Beerynes and bestaile brochede to-geders;
Cowle-fulle cramede of crysinede childyre,
Sum as brede brochede, and bierdez þame tournede.
And þane this comlych kynge, by-cause of his pople,
His herte bledez for bale, one bent ware he standez!
Thane he dressede one his schelde, schuntes no lengere,
Braundesche his brighte swerde by þe bryghte hiltez,
Raykez to-warde þe renke reghte with a ruyde wille,
And hyely hailsez þat hulke with hawtayne wordez,—
“Now, alle-weldand Gode, þat wyrscheppez us alle,
Giff the sorowe and syte, sotte there thow lygges,
ffor the fulsomeste freke that fowrmede was evere!
ffoully thow fedys the, þe fende have thi saule!
Here es cury un-clene, carle, be my trowthe,
Caffe of creatowrs alle, thow curssede wriche!
Be-cause that þow killide has þise cresmede childyre,
Thow has marters made, and broghte oute of lyfe,
þat here are brochede one bente, and brittenede with thi handez,
I salle merke þe thy mede, as þou has myche serfed,
Thurghe myghte of Seynt Mighelle, þat þis monte ȝemes!
And for this faire ladye, þat þow has fey levyde,
And þus forced one foulde, for fylth of þi-selfene!
Dresse the now, dogge, sone, the develle have þi saule!
ffor þow salle dye this day, thurghe dynt of my handez!”
Thane glopnede þe glotone and glorede un-faire;
He grevede as a grewhounde, with grysly tuskes;
He gapede, he groned faste, with grucchande latez,
ffor grefe of þe gude kyng, þat hyme with grame gretez!
His fax and his foretoppe was filterede to-geders,
And owte of his face fome ane halfe fote large;
His frount and his forhevede alle was it over,
As þe felle of a froske, and fraknede it semede,
Huke-nebbyde as a hawke, and a hore berde,
And herede to þe hole eyghne with hyngande browes;
Harske as a hunde-fisch, hardly who so lukez,
So was þe hyde of þat hulke hally al over!
Erne had he fulle huge, and ugly to schewe,
With eghne fulle horreble, and ardaunt for sothe;
fflatt mowthede as a fluke, with fleryande lyppys,
And þe flesche in his fortethe fowly as a bere:
His berde was brothy and blake, þat tille his brest rechede,
Grassede as a mereswyne with corkes fulle huge,
And alle falterde þe flesche in his foule lyppys,
Ilke wrethe as a wolfe-hevede, it wraythe owtt at ones!
Bullenekkyde was þat bierne, and brade in the scholders,
Brok-brestede as a brawne, with brustils fulle large,
Ruyd armes as an ake with rusclede sydes,
Lyme and leskes fulle lothyne, leve ȝe for sothe:
Schovelle-fotede was þat schalke, and schaylande hyme semyde,
With schankez unschaply, schowande to-gedyrs;
Thykke theefe as a thursse, and thikkere in the hanche,
Greesse growene as a galte, fulle grylych he lukez!
Who þe lenghe of þe lede lelly accountes,
ffro þe face to þe fote, was fyfe fadome lange!
Thane stertez he up sturdely one two styffe schankez,
And sone he caughte hyme a clubb alle of clene yryne!
He walde hafe kyllede þe kyng with his kene wapene,
Bot thurghe þe crafte of Cryste ȝit þe carle failede;
The creest and þe coronalle, þe claspes of sylver,
Clenly with his clubb he crasschede doune at onez!
The kyng castes up his schelde, and covers hym faire,
And with his burlyche brande a box he hyme reches;
ffulle 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 hys face fersely per-aftyr!
The kyng chaungez his fote, eschewes a lyttille,
Ne had he eschapede þat choppe, chevede had evylle;
He folowes in fersly, and festenesse a dynte
Hye upe one the haunche, with his harde wapyne,
That he hillid the swerde halfe a fote large;
The hott blode of þe hulke un-to the hilte rynnez,
Ewyne into inmette the gyaunt he hyttez,
Just to þe genitales, and jaggede þame in sondre!
Thane he romyede and rarede, and ruydly he strykez
ffulle egerly at Arthur, and one the erthe hittez
A swerde lenghe with-in the swarthe, he swappez at ones,
That nere swounes þe kyng for swoughe of his dynttez!
Bot ȝit the kynge sweperly fulle swythe he byswenkez,
Swappez in with the swerde þat it þe swange brystedd;
Bothe þe guttez and the gorre guschez owte at ones,
Þat alle englaymez þe gresse, one grounde þer he standez!
Thane he castez the clubb, and the kynge hentez,
On þe creeste of þe cragg he caughte hyme in armez,
And enclosez hyme clenly, to crusehene hys rybbez;
So harde haldez he þat hende, that nere his herte brystez!
Þane þe balefulle bierdez bownez to þe erthe,
Knelande and cryande, and clappide þeire handez,—
“Crist comforthe ȝone knyghte, and kepe hym fro sorowe,
And latte never ȝone fende felle hyme olyfe!”
ȝitt es þe warlow so wyghte, he welters hyme undere,
Wrothely þai wrythyne and wrystille to-gederz,
With welters and walowes over with-in þase buskez,
Tumbellez and twrnes faste, and terez faire wedez,
Untenderly fro þe toppe thai tiltine to-gederz;
Whilome Arthure over, and oþer while undyre,
ffro þe heghe of the hylle un-to the harde roche;
They feyne never are they falle at þe flode merkes;
Bot Arthur with ane anlace egerly smyttez,
And hittez ever in the hulke up to þe hiltez;
Þe theefe at þe dede thrawe so throly hyme thryngez,
þat three rybbys in his syde he thrystez in sundere!
Thenne syr Kayous the kene unto the kynge styrtez,—
Said, “allas! we are lorne, my lorde es confundede,
Over fallene with a fende! us es fulle hapnede!
We mone be forfetede in faith, and flemyde for ever!”
Þay hafe up hys hawberke þane, and handilez þer-undyre,
His hyde and his haunche eke, one 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 that they fande no flesche entamede,
And for þat journee made joye, þir gentille knyghttez;
“Now, certez,” saise Sir Bedwere, “it semez, be my Lorde!
He sekez seyntez bot seldene, þe sorere he grypes,
That thus clekys this corsaunt owte of þir heghe clyffez,
To carye forthe siche a carle at close hym in silvere;
Be Myghelle of syche a makke, I hafe myche wondyre
That ever owre soveraygne Lorde suffers hyme in hevene;
And alle seyntez be syche, þat servez oure Lorde,
I salle never no seynt bee, be my fadyre sawle!”
Thane bourdez þe bolde kyng at Bedvere wordez,—
Þis seynt have I soghte, so helpe me owre Lorde!
ffor-thy brayd owtte þi brande, and broche hyme to þe herte;
Be sekere of this sergeaunt, he has me sore grevede!
I faghte noghte wyth syche a freke þis fyftene wyntyrs,
Bot in the montez of Araby I mett syche anoper;
He was þe forcyere be ferre þat had I nere fundene,
Ne had my fortune bene faire, fey had I levede!
Anone stryke of his hevede, and stake it there aftyre,
Gife it to thy sqwyere, fore he es wele horsede;
Bere it to syr Howelle, þat es in harde bandez,
And byd hyme 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 apone þe bent lyggez,
On þe creeste of þe cragge, thare fyrste we encontrede,
And þe clubb þarby, alle of clene irene,
þat many Cristene has kyllyde in Constantyne landez;
fferke to the far-lande, and fetche me þat wapene,
And late founde tille oure flete, in flode þare it lengez:
If thow wylle any tresour, take whate the lykez;
Have I the kyrtylle and þe clubb, I coveite noghte elles!
Now þey caire to þe cragge, þise comlyche knyghtez,
And broghte hyme þe brade schelde, and his bryghte wapene,
The clubb and the cotte alles, Sir Kayous hym selvene,
And kayres with conquerour, the kyngez to schewe;
That in coverte the kynge helde closse to hym selvene,
Whilles clene day fro þe clowde, clymbyd on lofte.
Be that to courte was comene clamour fulle huge,
And be-fore the comlyche kynge they knelyd alle at ones,—
“Welcome, oure liege lorde, to lang has thow duellyde!
Governour undyr Gode, graytheste and noble,
To whame grace es graunted, and gyffene at his wille!
Now thy comly come has comforthede us alle!
Thow has in thy realtee revengyde thy pople!
Thurghe helpe of thy hande, thyne enmyse are struyede,
That has thy renkes over-ronne, and refte theme theire childyre!
What never rewme owte of araye so redyly relevede!”
Thane þe conquerowr Cristenly carpez to his pople,
“Thankes Gode,” quod he, “of þis grace, and no gome elles,
ffor it was never manes dede, bot myghte of Hymselfene,
Or myracle of hys modyre, þat mylde es tille alle!”
He somond þan þe schippemene scharpely þer-aftyre,
To schake furth with þe schyre mene to schifte þe gudez:
“Alle þe myche tresowr that traytowr had wonnene,
To commons of the contré, clergye ond oþer,
Luke it be done and delte to my dere pople,
That none pleyne of theire parte, o peyne of ȝour lyfez.”
He comande hys cosyne, with knyghtlyche wordez,
To make a kyrke on þe cragg, ther the corse lengez,
And a covent there-in, Criste for to serfe,
In mynde of þat martyre, þat in þe monte rystez.
Qwen Sir Arthur the kynge had kylled þe gyaunt,
Than blythely fro Bareflete he buskes one þe morne,
With his batelle one brede, by þa blythe stremes;
To-warde Castelle Blanke he chesez hym the waye,
Thurghe a faire champayne, undyr schalke hyllis;
The kyng fraystez a-furth over the fresche strandez,
ffoundez with his faire folke over as hym lykez:
ffurthe stepes that steryne, and strekez his tentis
One a strenghe by a streme, in pas straytt landez.
Onone aftyre middaye, in the mene-while,
Þare comez two messangeres of tha fere marchez,
ffra þe marschalle of Fraunce, and menskfully hym gretes,
Besoghte hyme of sucowr, and saide hyme thise wordez,—
“Sir, thi marschalle thi mynistre, thy mercy be-sekez,
Of thy mekille magestee, fore mendement of thy pople,
Of þise marchez-mene, that thus are myskaryede,
And thus merred amange, maugree theire eghne;
I witter þe þe emperour es entirde into Fraunce,
With ostes of enmye, orrible and huge;
Brynnez in Burgoyne thy burghes so ryche,
And brittenes thi baronage, that bieldez thare-in;
He encrochez kenely by craftez of armez,
Countrese and castelles þat to thy coroun langez;
Confoundez thy commons, clergy and oper;
Bot thow comfurth them, syr kynge, cover salle they never!
He fellez forestez fele, forrayse thi landez,
ffrysthez no fraunchez, bot fraisez the pople;
þus he fellez thi folke, and fangez theire gudez!
ffremedly the Franche tung fey es be-lefede.
He drawes in-to douce Fraunce, as Duchemen tellez,
Dresside with his dragouns, dredfulle to schewe;
Alle to dede they dyghte with dynttys of swerddez,
Dukez and dusperes, þat dreches thare-ine;
ffor-thy the lordez of the lande, ladys and oper,
Prayes the for Petyr luffe, þe apostylle of Rome,
Sen thow arte presant in place, þat þow wille profyre make
To þat perilous prynce, be processe of tyme;
He ayers by ȝone hilles, ȝone heghe holtez undyr,
Hufes thare with hale strenghe of haythene kyngez;
Helpe nowe for His lufe, that heghe in hevene sittez,
And talke tristly to theme, that thus us destroyes!”
The kyng biddis syr Boice, “buske the be-lyfe!
Take with the syr Berille, and Bedwere the ryche,
Sir Gawayne and syr Gryme, these galyarde knyghtez,
And graythe ȝowe to ȝone grene wode, and gose over þer nedes;
Saise to syr Lucius, to unlordly he wyrkez,
Thus letherly agaynes law to lede my pople;
I lette hyme or oghte lange, ȝif me þe lyffe happene,
Or my lyghte salle lawe, þat hyme overe lande folowes;
Comande hym kenely wyth crewelle wordez,
Cayre owte of my kyngryke with his kydd knyghtez;
In caase that he wille noghte, þat cursede wreche,
Come for his curtaisie, and countere me ones!
Thane salle we rekkene fulle rathe, whatt ryghte þat he claymes,
Thus to ryot þis rewme and raunsone the pople!
Thare salle it derely be delte with dynttez of handez:
The Dryghttene at Domesdaye dele as hyme lykes!”
Now thei graythe theme to goo, theis galyarde knyghttez,
Alle gleterande in golde, appone grete stedes,
To-warde þe grene wode, þat with growndene wapyne,
To grete wele the grett lorde, that wolde be grefede sone;
Thise hende hovez on a hille by þe holte eynes,
Be-helde þe howsyng fulle hye of Hathene kynges;
They herde in theire herbergage hundrethez fulle many,
Hornez of olyfantez fulle helych blawene;
Palaisez proudliche pyghte, þat palyd ware ryche,
Of palle and of purpure, wyth precyous stones;
Pensels and pomelle of ryche prynce armez,
Pighte in þe playne mede, þe pople to schewe:
And thane the Romayns so ryche had arayede their tentez
On rawe by þe ryvere, undyre þe round hillez,
The emperour for honour ewyne in the myddes,
Wyth egles al over ennelled so faire:
And saw hyme and þe Sowdane, and senatowrs many,
Seke to-warde a sale with sextene kyngez,
Syland softely in, swettly by theme selfene,
To sowpe withe þat soveraygne, fulle selcouthe metez.
Nowe they wende over the watyre, þise wyrchipfulle knyghttez,
Thurghe þe wode to þe wone, there the wyese rystez;
Reght as þey hade weschene, and went to þe table,
Sir Wawayne þe worthethy un-wynly he spekes,—
“The myghte and þe majestee, that menskes us alle,
That was merked and made thurghe þe myghte of hym-selvene,
Gyffe ȝow sytte in ȝour sette, Sowdane and oþer,