Lines 1741–2175

Howelle and Hardelfe, happy in armez,
Sir Herylle and sir Herygalle, þise harageouse knyghttez:
Than the soverayne assignede certayne lordez,
Sir Wawayne, syr Uryelle, Sir Bedwere þe riche,
Raynallde and Richeere, and Rowlandez childyre,—
“Takez kepe one this prynce with ȝoure price knyghttez,
And ȝife we in þe stowr withstondene the better,
Standez here in this stede, and stirrez no forthire;
And ȝif þe chaunce falle þat we bee over-charggede,
Eschewes to some castelle, and chewyse ȝour-selfene;
Or ryde to þe riche kynge ȝif ȝow roo happyne,
And bidde hym come redily to rescewe hys biernez.”
And than the Bretons brothely enbrassez þeire scheldez,
Braydez one bacenetez, and buskes theire launcez.
Thus he fittez his folke, and to þe felde rydez,
ffif hundreth one a frounte fewtrede at onez!
With trompes þay trine, and trappede stedes,
With cornettes and clarions, and clergialle notes;
Schokkes in with a schakke, and schontez no langere,
There schawes ware scheene undyr þe schire eynez.
And thane the Romaynez rowtte remowes a lyttille,
Raykes with a rerewarde pas realle knyghttez;
So raply þay ryde thare, that alle þe rowte ryngez,
Of ryves and raunke stele, and ryche golde maylez;
Thane schotte owtte of þe schawe schiltrounis many,
With scharpe wapynes of ware schotande at ones:
The kynge of Lebe be-fore the wawarde he ledez,
And alle his lele lige mene o laundone ascriez:
Thane this cruelle kynge castis in fewtire,
Kaghte hym a coverde horse, and his course haldez,
Beris to syr Berille, and brathely hym hittes,
Throwghe golet and gorgere he hurtez hym ewyne!
The gome and þe grette horse at þe grounde liggez,
And gretez graythely to Gode, and gyffes hym þe saule!
Thus es Berelle the bolde broghte owtte of lyve,
And byddez aftyre Beryelle, þat hym beste lykez.
And thane syr Cador of Cornewayle es carefulle in herte,
Be-cause of his kynyse mane, þat þus es myscaryede;
Umbeclappes the cors, and kyssez hyme ofte,
Gerte kepe hym coverte with his clere knyghttez.
Thane laughes the Lebe kynge, and alle on lowde meles,—
“ȝone lorde es lyghttede! me lykes the bettyre!
He salle noghte dere us to daye, the devylle have [his] bones!”
“ȝone kynge,” said Cador, “karpes fulle large,
Be-cause he killyd þis kene; Criste hafe þi saule!
He salle hafe come bote, so me Criste helpe!
Or I kaire of þis coste, we salle encontre ones!
So may þe wynde weile turnne, I quytte hym or ewyne,
Sothely hym selfene, or summe of his ferez!”
Thane syr Cador þe kene knyghttly he wyrkez,
Cryez, “A! Cornewale,” and castez in fewtere,
Girdez streke thourghe þe stowr on a stede ryche!
Many steryne mane he steride by strenghe of hyme one!
Whene his spere was sprongene, he spede hym fulle ȝerne,
Swappede owtte with a swerde, that swykede hym never,
Wroghte wayes fulle wyde, and wounded knyghttez;
Wyrkez his wayfare fulle werkand sydez,
And hewes of þe hardieste halsez in sondyre,
That alle blendez with blode thare his blanke rynnez!
So many biernez the bolde broghte owt of lyfe,
Tittez tirauntez doune, and temez theire sadilles,
And turnez owte of þe toile, whene hym tyme thynkkez!
Thane the Lebe kynge criez fulle lowde
One syr Cador the kene, with cruelle wordez,
Thowe hase wyrchipe wonne, and wondyde knyghttez!
Thowe wenes fore thi wightenez the werlde es thy nowene!
I salle wayte at thyne honnde, wy, be my trowthe!
I have warnede þe wele, beware ȝif the lykez!
With cornuse and clariones þeis newe made knyghttez
Lythes un-to þe crye, and castez in fewtire;
fferkes in one a ffrounte one fferaunte stedez,
ffellede at þe fyrste come fyfty att ones!
Schotte thorowe the schiltrouns, and scheverede launcez,
Laid doune in þe lumppe lordly biernez!
Aud thus nobilly oure newe mene notez þeire strenghez.
Bot new notte es onone þat noyes me sore;
The kynge of Lebe has laughte a stede þat hym lykede,
And comes in lordely in lyonez of silvere,
Umbelappez þe lumpe, and lattes in sondre;
Many lede with his launce þe liffe has he refede!
Thus he chaces þe childire of þe kyngez chambire,
And killez in þe champanyse chevalrous knyghttez!
With a chasynye spere he choppes doune many!
Thare was syr Alyduke slayne, and Achinour wondyde,
Sir Origge and syr Ermyngalle hewene al to pecez!
And ther was Lewlyne laughte, and Lewlyns brothire,
With lordez of Lebe, and lede to þeire strenghez:
Ne hade syr Clegis comene, and Clemente þe noble,
Oure newe mene hade gone to noghte, and many ma oþer.
Thane sir Cador the kene castez in fewtire
A cruelle launce and a kene, and to þe kynge rydez,
Hittez hym heghe one the helme with his harde wapene,
That alle the hotte blode of hym to his hande rynnez!
The hethene harageous kynge appone þe hethe lyggez,
And of his hertly hurte helyde he never!
Thane syr Cador þe kene cryez fulle lowde,—
“Thow has corne botte, syr kynge, þare God gyfe þe sorowe,
Thow killyde my cosyne, my kare es the lesse!
Kele the nowe in the claye, and comforthe thi selfene!
Thow skornede us langere with thi skornefulle wordez,
And nowe has þow chevede soo; it es thyne awene skathe!
Holde at þow hente has, it harmez bot lyttille,
ffor hethynge es hame holde, use it who so wille.”
The kyng of Surry þane es sorowfulle in herte,
ffor sake of this soveraygne, þat þus was supprisede;
Semblede his Sarazenes, and senatowrs manye:
Unsaughtyly þey sette thane appone oure sere knyghttez;
Sir Cador of Cornewaile he cownterez theme sone,
With his kydde companye clenlyche arrayede;
In the frount of þe fyrthe, as þe waye forthis,
ffyfty thosande of folke was fellide at ones!
Thare was at þe assemblé certayne knyghttez,
Sore wondede sone appone sere halfes;
The sekereste Sarzanez that to þat sorte lengede,
Be-hynde the sadylles ware sette sex fotte large;
They scherde in the schiltrone scheldyde knyghttez,
Schalkes they schotte thrughe schrenkande maylez,
Thurghe brenys browdene brestez they thirllede,
Brasers burnyste bristez in sondyre;
Blasons blode and blankes they hewene,
With brandez of browne stele brankkand stedez!
The Bretones brothely brittenez so many,
The bente and þe brode felde alle one blode rynnys!
Be thane syr Cayous þe kene a capitayne has wonnene,
Sir Clegis clynges in, and clekes anoper;
The capitayne of Cordewa, undire þe kynge selfene,
That was keye of þe kythe of alle þat coste ryche,
Utolfe and Ewandre, Joneke had nommene,
With þe erle of Affryke and oper grette lordes.
The kynge of Surry the kene to syr Cador es ȝeldene,
The Synechalle of Sotere to Segramoure hym selfene.
When þe chevalrye saw theire cheftanes were nommene,
To a cheefe foreste they chesene theire wayes,
And felede theme so feynte, they falle in þe greves,
In the ferynne of þe fyrthe, fore ferde of oure pople.
Thare myght mene see the ryche ryde in the schawes,
To rype up the Romaynez ruydlyche wondyde!
Schowttes aftyre mene, harageous knyghttez,
Be hunndrethez they hewede doune be þe holte eynys!
Thus oure chevalrous mene chasez þe pople;
To a castelle they eschewede a fewe þat eschappede.
Thane relyez þe renkez of þe rounde table,
ffor to ryotte be wode, þer þe duke restez;
Ransakes the ryndez alle, raughte up theire feres,
That in þe fightyng be-fore fay ware by-levyde.
Sir Cador garte chare theym, and covere theme faire,
Kariede theme to the kynge with his beste knyghttez;
And passez un-to Paresche with presoners hym-selfene,
Betoke theyme the proveste, pryncez and oper;
Tase a sope in the toure, and taryez no langere,
Bot towrnes tytte to þe kynge, and hym wyth tunge telles.
“Syr,” sais syr Cador, “a caas es be-fallene;
We hafe cownterede to day, in ȝone coste ryche,
With kyngez and kayseres, krouelle and noble,
And knyghtes and kene men clenlych arayede!
Thay hade at ȝone foreste forsette us þe wayes,
At the furthe in þe fyrthe, with ferse mene of armes;
Thare faughtte we in faythe, and foynede with sperys,
One felde with thy foo mene, and fellyd theme on lyfe.
The kyng of Lebe es laide, and in þe felde levyde,
And manye of his lege mene þat þere to hym langede!
Oþer lordez are laughte of uncouthe ledes;
We hafe lede them at lenge, to lyf whilles þe lykez.
Sir Utere and syr Ewayne dyre, theis honourable knyghttez,
Be an awntere of armes Joneke has nommene,
With erlez of þe Oryentte, and austerene knyghttez,
Of awncestrye þe beste mene þat to þe oste langede;
The senatowr Barouns es kaughte with a knyghtte,
The capitayne of Cornette, that crewelle es haldene,
The syneschalle of Suters unsaughte wyth þes oþer,
The kynge of Surry hym-selfene, and Sarazenes.
Bot fay of ours in þe felde a fourtene knyghttez,
I wille noghte feyne ne forbere, but faythfully tellene;
Sir Berelle es one, a banerette noble,
Was killyde at þe fyrste come with a kynge ryche;
Sir Alidoyke of Towelle, with his tende knyghtez,
Emange þe Turkys was tynte, and in tyme fondene;
Gude sir Mawrelle of Mauncez, and Mawrene his broþer,
Sir Meneduke of Mentoche, with mervailous knyghttez.”
Thane the worthy kynge wrythes, and wepede with his enghne,
Karpes to his cosyne syr Cador theis wordez,—
“Sir Cador, thi corage confundez us alle!
Kowardely thow castez owtte alle my beste knyghttez!
To putte mene in perille, it es no pryce holdene,
Bot þe pertyes ware purvayede, and powere arayede;
When they ware stade on a strenghe, þou sulde hafe with-stondene,
Bot ȝif thowe wolde alle my steryne stroye for þe nonys!”
“Sir,” sair syr Cador, “ȝe knowe wele ȝourselvene;
ȝe are kynge in this kythe, karpe whatte ȝow lykys!
Salle never upbrayde me, þat to þi burde langes,
That I sulde blyne for theire boste, thi byddyng to wyrche;
Whene any stirttez to stale, stuffe þame þe bettere,
Ore thei wille be stonayede, and stroyede in ȝone strayte londez.
I dide my delygens to daye, I doo me one lordez,
And in daungere of dede fore dyverse knyghttez,
I hafe no grace to þi gree, bot syche grett wordez;
ȝif I heven my herte, my hape es no bettyre.”
ȝofe syr Arthure ware angerde, he ansuers faire,
“Thow has doughttily donne, syr duke, with thi handez,
And has donne thy dever with my dere knyghttez;
ffor-thy thow arte demyde, with dukes and erlez,
ffor one of þe doughtyeste þat dubbede was ever!
Thare es none ischewe of us, on this erthe sprongene;
Thow arte apparant to be ayere, are one of thi childyre;
Thow arte my sister sone, for-sake salle I never!”
Thane gerte he in his awene tente a table be sette,
And tryede in with tromppez travaillede biernez;
Serfede them solempnely with selkouthe metez,
Swythe semly in syghte with sylverene dischees.
Whene the senatowrs harde saye þat it so happenede,
They saide to þe emperour, “thi seggez are suppryssede!
Sir Arthure, thyne enmy has owterayede þi lordez,
That rode for þe rescowe of ȝone riche knyghttez!
Thow dosse bot tynnez þi tyme, and turmenttez þi pople;
Thow arte be-trayede of þi mene, that moste thow on traystede.
That schalle turne the to tene and torfere for ever.”
Than the emperour irus was angerde at his herte,
ffor oure valyant biernez siche prowesche had wonnene.
With kynge and with Kaysere to consayle they wende,
Soverayngez of Sarazenez, and senatowrs manye;
Thus he semblez fulle sone certayne lordez,
And in the assemble thane he sais them theis wordez,—
“My herte sothely es sette, assente ȝif ȝowe lykes,
To seke into Sexone, with my sekyre knyghttez,
To fyghte with my foo mene, if fortune me happene,
ȝif I may fynde the freke with-in the foure halvez;
Or entire in-to Awguste awnters to seke,
And byde with my balde mene with-in þe burghe ryche;
Riste us and revelle, and ryotte oure selfene,
Lende þare in delytte in lordechippez ynewe,
To syr Leo be comene with alle his lele knyghtez,
With lordez of Lumberdye, to lette hyme the wayes.”
Bot owre wyese kyng es warre to wayttene his renkes,
And wyesly by þe woddez voydez his oste;
Gerte felschene his fyrez, flawmande fulle heghe,
Trussene fulle traystely, and treunt there aftyre.
Seþene into Sessoyne, he soughte at the gayneste,
And at the surs of þe sonne disseverez his knyghttez:
fforsette theme the cite appone sere halfez,
So-daynly on iche halfe, with sevene grett stales.
Anely in the vale a vawewarde enbusches;
Sir Valyant of Vyleris, with valyant knyghttez,
Be-fore þe kyngez visage made siche avowez,
To venquyse by victorie the vescownte of Rome!
ffor-thi the kynge chargez hym, what chaunce so be-falle,
Cheftayne of the cheekke, with chevalrous knyghttez,
And sythyne meles with mouthe, þat he moste traystez:
Demenys the medylwarde menskfully hyme selfene,
ffittes his fote-mene, alles hym faire thynkkes;
On frounte in the fore breste, the flour of his knyghtez,
His archers on aythere halfe he ordaynede per-aftyre
To schake in a sheltrone, to schotte whene þame lykez;
He arrayed in þe rerewarde fulle rialle knyghtez,
With renkkes renownd of þe rounde table,
Sir Raynalde, sir Richere, that rade was never,
The riche Duke of Rowne wyt ryders ynewe;
Sir Cayous, sir Clegis, and clene mene of armes,
The kyng castes to kepe be þaa clere strandes.
Sir Lott and syr Launcelott, þise lordly knyghttez,
Salle lenge on his lefte hande, wyth legyones ynewe,
To meve in þe morne, while ȝif þe myste happynne;
Sir Cador of Cornewaile, and his kene knyghtez,
To kepe at þe Karfuke, to close in ther oþere:
He plantez in siche placez pryncez and erlez,
That no powere sulde passe be no prevé wayes.
Bot the emperour onone, with honourable knyghtez
and erlez, enteres the vale, awnters to seke,
And fyndez sir Arthure with hostez arayede;
And at his in-come, to ekkene his sorowe,
Oure burlyche bolde kynge appone the bente howes,
“With his bataile one brede, and baners displayede.
He hade þe cété for-sett appone sere halfes,
Bothe the clewez and þe clyfez with clene mene of armez!
The mosse and þe marrasse, the mounttez so hye,
With gret multytude of mene, to marre hym in þe wayes.
Whene syr Lucius sees, he sais to his lordez,
This traytour has truaunt this tresone to wyrche!
He has the cété forsett appone sere halfez,
Alle þe clewez and the cleyffez with clene mene of armez!
Here es no waye i-wys, ne no wytt elles,
Bot feghte with oure foo-mene, for flee may we never!
Thane this ryche mane rathe arayes his byernez,
Rowlede his Romaynez, and realle knyghtez;
Buschez in the avawmewarde the vescounte of Rome,
ffro Viterbe to Venyse, theis valyante knyghtez:
Dresses up dredfully the dragone of golde,
With egles al-over, enamelede of sable;
Drawene dreghely the wyne, and drynkyne thereaftyre,
Dukkez and dusseperez, dubbede knyghtez,
ffor dauncesynge of Duche-mene, and dynnynge of pypez,
Alle dynned fore dyne that in þe dale hovede.
And thane syr Lucius on lowde said lordlyche wordez,
Thynke one the myche renownne of ȝour ryche fadyrs;
And the riatours of Rome, þat regnede with lordez;
And the renkez over rane alle that regnede in erthe,
Encrochede alle Cristyndome be craftes of armes;
In everiche a viage the victorie was haldene;
In sette alle þe Sarazenes within sevene wyntter,
The parte ffro the Porte Jaffe to Paradyse ȝatez!
Thoghe a rewme be rebelle, we rekke it bot lyttille!
It es resone and righte the renke be restreynede!
Do dresse we tharefore, and byde we no langere,
ffore dredlesse with-owttyne dowtte, the daye schalle be ourez!”
Whene þeise wordez was saide, the Walsche kynge hym selfene
Was warre of this wyderwyne, þat werrayede his knyghttez:
Brothely in the vale with voyce he ascryez,—
“Viscownte of Valewnce, envyous of dedys,
The vassalage of Viterbe to daye schalle be revengede!
Unvenquiste for þis place voyde schalle I never!”
Thane the vyscownte valiante, with a voyse noble,
Avoyedyde the avawewarde, enverounde his horse;
He drissede in a derfe schelde, endenttyd with sable,
With a dragone engowschede, dredfulle to schewe,
Devorande a dolphyne with dolefulle lates,
In seyne that oure soveraygne sulde be distroyede,
And alle done of dawez with dynttez of swreddez;
ffor thare es noghte bot dede thare the dragone es raissede!
Thane the comlyche kynge castez in fewtyre,
With a crewelle launce cowpez fulle evene
Abowne þe spayre a spanne, emange þe schortte rybbys,
That the splent and the spleene on the spere lengez!
The blode sprente owtte and sprede as þe horse spryngez,
And he sproulez fulle spakely, bot spekes he no more!
And thus has syr Valyant haldene his avowez,
And venqwyste þe viscownte, thate victor was haldene!
Thane syr Ewayne syr Fytz Uriene fulle enkerlye rydez
Onone to the emperour his egle to towche;
Thrughe his brode bataile he buskes be-lyfe,
Braydez owt his brande with a blyth chere,
Roverssede it redelye, and awaye rydys;
fferkez in with the fewle in his faire handez,
And ffittez in freely one ffrounte with his feris.
Now buskez syr Lanncelot, and braydez fulle evene
To syr Lucius the lorde, and lothelye hyme hyttez;
Thurghe pawnce and platez he percede the maylez,
That the prowde penselle in his pawnche lengez!
The hede haylede owtt be-hynde ane halfe fote large,
Thurghe hawberke and hanche, with þe harde wapyne!
The stede and the steryne mane strykes to þe grownde,
Strake downe a standerde, and to his stale wendez!
“Me lykez wele,” sais syr Loth, “ȝone lordez are delyverede!
The lott lengez nowe on me, with leve of my lorde:
To day salle my name be laide, and my life aftyre,
Bot some leppe fro the lyfe, that one ȝone lawnde hovez!”
Thane strekez the steryne, and streynys his brydylle,
Strykez in-to the stowre on a stede ryche,
Enjoynede with a geaunt, and jaggede hym thorowe!
Jolyly this gentille for-justede anoþer,
Wroghte wayes fulle wyde, werrayande knyghtez,
And wondes alle wathely, that in þe waye stondez!
ffyghttez with alle the ffrappe a furlange of waye,
ffelled fele appone felde with his faire wapene,
Venqwiste and has the victorie of valyaunt knyghtez,
And alle enverounde the vale, and voyde whene hym likede!
Thane bowmene of Bretayne brothely ther-aftyre
Bekerde with bregaundez of ferre in tha laundez,
With flonez fleterede þay flitt fulle fresely þer frekez,
ffichene with fetheris thurghe þe fyne maylez:
Sithe flyttynge es foule that so the flesche derys,
That flowe o ferrome in flawnkkes of stedez;
Dartes the Duche-mene daltene aȝaynes,
With derfe dynttez of dede, dagges thurghe scheldez;
Qwarelles qwayntly swappez thorowe knyghtez
With iryne so wekyrly, that wynche they never.
So they schérenkene fore schotte of þe scharppe arowes,
That all the scheltrone schonte, and schoderide at ones!
Thane riche stedes rependez, and rasches one armes;
The hale howndrethe one hye appone heyghe lygges,
Bot ȝitte þe hathelieste on hy, haythene and oþer;
All hoursches over hede harmes to wyrke.
And alle theis geauntez be-fore, engenderide with fendez,
Joynez on sir Jenitalle, and gentille knyghtez,
With clubbez of clene stele clenkkede in helmes,
Graschede doune crestez, and craschede braynez;
Kyllede cousers and coverde stedes,
Choppode thurghe chevalers one chalke-whytte stedez.
Was never stele ne stede myghte stande them aȝaynez,
Bot stonays and strykez doune, that in þe stale hovys.
Tille þe conquerowr come with his kene knyghttez,
With crowelle contenaunce he cryede fulle lowde,—
“I wende no Bretouns walde bee basschede for so lyttille,
And fore bare-legyde boyes, þat one the bente hovys!”
He clekys owtte Collbrande fulle clenlyche burneschte,
Graythes hyme to Golapas, þat grevyde moste;
Kuttes hyme evene by þe knees clenly in sondyre.
“Come downe,” quod the kynge, “and karpe to thy ferys!
Thowe arte to hye by þe halfe, I hete þe in trouthe!
Thowe salle be handsomere hye, with þe helpe of my Lorde!”
With þat stelene brande he strake ofe his hede.
Sterynly in þat stoure he strykes anoþer.
Thus he settez on sevene with his sekyre knyghttez:
Whylles sexty ware servede soo, ne sessede they never!
And thus at the joyenyge the geauntez are dystroyede,
And at þat journey for-justede with gentille lordez.
Than the Romaynes, and the renkkes of þe rounde table,
Rewles them in arraye, rerewarde ande oþer,
With wyghte wapynez of werre, thay wroghtene one helmes,
Rittez with rennke stele fulle ryalle maylez;
Bot they fut theme fayre, thes frekk byernez,
ffewters in freely one fferaunte stedes,
ffoynes fulle felly with flyschande speris,
ffretene of orfrayes feste appone scheldez.
So fele fay es in fyghte appone þe felde levyde,
That iche a furthe in the firthe of rede blode rynnys!
By that swyftely one swarthe þe swett es bylevede,
Swerdez swangene in two, sweltand knyghtez
Lyes wyde opyne welterande one walopande stedez;
Wondes of wale mene werkande sydys,
ffacez fetteled unfaire in filterede lakes,
Alle craysed for-trodyne with trappede stedez,
The faireste fygured folde that fygurede was ever,
Alles ferre alles a furlange, a thosande at ones!
Be than the Romaynez ware rebuykyde a lyttille,
With-drawes theyme drerely, and dreches no lengare;
Oure prynce with his powere persewes theym aftyre,
Prekez one þe proudeste with his price knyghttez.
Sir Kayous, sir Clegis, with clene mene of armez,
Enconters theme at þe clyffe with clene mene of armez;
ffyghttes faste in þe fyrth, frythes no wapene,
ffelled at þe firste come fyfe hundrethe at ones!
And when they fande theym foresett with oure fers knyghtez,
ffewe mene agayne fele, mot fyche theme bettyre;
ffeghttez with alle þe frappe, foynes with speres,
And faughte with the frekkeste þat to Fraunce langez.
Bot sir Kayous þe kene castis in fewtyre,
Chasez one a coursere, and to a kynge rydys;
With a launce of Lettowe he thirllez his sydez,
That the lyver and þe lunggez on þe launce lengez.
The schafte scodyrde and schott in the schire byerne,
And soughte thorowowte þe schelde, and in þe schalke rystez.
Bot Kayous at the income was kepyd un-fayre
With a cowarde knyghte of þe kythe ryche;
At the turnynge that tyme the traytowrs hym hitte
In thorowe the felettes, and in þe flawnke aftyre,
That the boustous launce þe bewelles attamede,