Lines 3046–3480

The cowntas of Crasyne with hir clere madyns,
Knelis downe in the kyrnelles thare the kyng hovede,
On a coverede horse comlyli arayede;
They knewe hym by contenaunce, and criede fulle lowde,—
“Kyng crownede of kynde, take kepe to þese wordes!
We be-seke ȝow, syr, as soveraynge and lorde,
That ȝe safe us to daye, for sake of ȝoure Criste!
Sende us some socoure, and saughte with the pople,
Or þe cete be sodaynly with assawte wonnene!”
He weres his vesere with a vowt noble,
With vesage verteuous, this valyant bierne;
Moles to hir mildly with fulle meke wordes,—
“Salle no mysse do ȝow, ma-dame, þat to me lenges;
I gyf ȝow chartire of pes, and ȝoure cheefe maydens,
The childire and þe chaste mene, the chevalrous knyghtez;
The duke es in dawngere, dredis it bott lyttylle!
He salle I dene þe fulle wele, dout ȝow noghte elles.”
Thane sent he one iche a syde to certayne lordez,
ffor to leve þe assawte, the cete was ȝoldene;
With þe erle eldeste sone he sent hym þe kayes,
And seside þe same dyghte, be sent of þe lordes:
The duke to Dovere es nyghte, and alle his dere knyghtez,
To duelle in dawngere and dole þe dayes of hys lyve,
Thare fleede at the ferrere ȝate folke withowttyne nombyre,
ffor ferde of syr fflorent and his fers knyghtez;
Voydes the cete and to the wode rynnys,
With vetaile, and vessele, and vestoure so ryche:
Thay buske upe a banere abowne þe brode ȝates
Of syr fflorent in ffay, so fayne was he never!
The knyghte hovys on a hylle, beholde to þe wallys,
And saide, “I see be ȝone syngne the cete es oures!”
Sir Arthure enters anone with hostes arayede,
Evene at þe undrone etles to lenge;
In iche levere on lowde the kynge did crye,
Of payne of lyf and lym and lesynge of londes,
That no lele ligemane that to hym lonngede
Sulde lye be no ladysse, ne be no lele maydyns,
Ne be no burgesse wyffe, better ne werse;
Ne no biernez myse-bide, that to þe burghe longede.
Whene þe kyng Arthure hade lely conquerid,
And the castelle coverede of þe kythe riche,
Alle þe crowelle and kene, be craftes of armes,
Captayns and constables, knewe hym for lorde.
He devysede and delte to dyverse lordez,
A dowere for þe duchez and hir dere childire;
Wroghte wardaynes by wytte to welde alle þe londez,
That he had wonnene of werre, thorowe his weise knyghtez.
Thus in Lorayne he lenges as lord in his awene,
Settez lawes in the lande, as hym leefe toghte;
And one þe Lammese daye to Lucerne he wendez,
Lengez thare at laysere with lykynge i-nowe;
Thare his galays ware graythede, a fulle gret nombyre,
Alle gleterand as glase, undire grene hyllys,
With cabanes coverede for kynges anoyntede,
With clothes of clere golde for knyghtez and oper;
Sone stowede theire stuffe, and stablede þeire horses,
Strekes streke over þe strem in-to þe strayte londez.
Now he moves his myghte with myrthes of herte,
Overe mountes so hye, þase mervailous wayes;
Gosse in by Goddarde, the garett be wynnys,
Graythes the garnisone grisely wondes!
Whene he was passede the heghte, than the kyng hovys
With his hole bataylle, be-haldande abowte,
Lukande one Lumbarddye, and one lowde melys,—
“In ȝone lykande londe, lorde be I thynke.”
Thane they cayre to Combe, with kyngez anoyntede,
That was kyde of þe coste, kay of alle oþer:
Sir fflorent and syr ffloridas þan fowndes before,
With ffreke mene of ffraunce welle a fyve hundreth;
To þe cete unsene thay soghte at þe gayneste,
And sett an embuschement, als þeme-selfe lykys;
Thane ischewis owt of þat cete fulle sone be þe morne,
Slale discoverours, skyftes theire horses;
Than skyftes þes skoverours, and skippes one hyllis,
Discoveres for skulkers that they no skathe lymppene;
Poveralle and pastorelles passede one aftyre,
With porkes to pasture at the price ȝates;
Boyes in þe subarbis bourdene ffulle heghe,
At a bare synglere that to þe bente rynnys.
Thane brekes oure buschement, and the brigge wynnes,
Brayedez in-to þe burghe with baners displayede,
Stekes and stablis thorowe that them aȝayne-stondes;
ffowre stretis, or þay stynte, they stroyene fore evere!
Nowe es the conquerour in Combe, and his courte holdes
With-in the kyde castelle, with kynges enoynttede;
Be consaillez the commons þat to þe kyth lengez,
Comfourthes þe carefulle with knyghtly wordez;
Made a captayne kene a knyghte of hys awene,
Bot alle the contré and he fulle sone ware accordide.
The syre of Melane herde saye þe cete was wonnene,
And send to Arthure sertayne lordes,
Grete sommes of golde, sexti horse chargegid,
Be-soghte hyme as soverayne to socoure þe pople,
And saide he wolde sothely be sugette for ever,
And make hyme servece and suytte for his sere londes;
ffor plesaunce of Pawnce, and of Pownte Tremble,
ffor Pyse, and for Pavy, he profers fulle large,
Bothe purpur, and palle, and precious stonys,
Palfrayes for any prynce, and provede stedes;
And ilke a ȝere for Melane a melione of golde,
Mekely at Martynmesse to menske with his hordes;
And ever withowttyne askynge he and his ayers
Be homagers to Arthure, whilles his lyffe lastis.
The kynge be his concelle a condethe hym sendis,
And he es comene to Combe, and knewe hym as lorde.
Into Tuskané he tournez, whene þus wele tymede,
Takes townnes fulle tyte with towrres fulle heghe;
Walles he welte downe, wondyd knyghtez,
Towrres he turnes, and turmentez þe pople!
Wroghte wedewes fulle wlonke, wrotherayle synges,
Ofte wery and wepe, and wryngene theire handis;
And alle he wastys with werre, thare he awaye rydez;
Thaire welthes and theire wonnyges, wandrethe he wroghte!
Thus they spryngene and sprede, and sparis bot lyttille,
Spoylles dispetouslye, and spillis theire vynes;
Spendis un-sparely, þat sparede was lange,
Spedis theme to Spolett with speris inewe!
ffro Spayne in-to Spruyslande the worde of hyme sprynges,
And spekynnges of his spencis, disspite es fulle hugge!
Towarde Viterbe this valyant avires the reynes;
Avissely in þat vale he vetailles his biernez,
With vernage, and oper wyne, and venysone bakene;
And one the vicounte londes he visez to lenge.
Vertely the avawmwarde voydez theire horsez;
In the Vertennone vale, the vines imangez,
Thare suggeournes this soverayne, with solace in herte,
To see whene the senatowrs sent any wordes;
Revelle with riche wyne, riotes hym selfene,
This roy with his ryalle mene of þe rownde table,
With myrthis, and melodye, and many kyne gamnes;
Was never meriere men made one this erthe!
Bot one a Saterdaye at none, a sevenyghte thare aftyre,
The konyngeste cardynalle that to the courte lengede
Knelis to þe conquerour, and karpes thire wordes,—
Prayes hym for þe pes, and profyrs fulle large,
To hafe pete of þe Pope, þat put was at-undere;
Be-soghte hym of surrawns, for sake of oure Lorde,
Bot a sevenyghte daye to þay ware alle semblede,
And they schulde sekerlye hym see the Sonondaye þeraftyre,
In the cete of Rome, as soveraynge and lorde;
And crowne hym kyndly with krysomede hondes,
With his ceptre, as soveraynge and lorde:
Of this undyrtakynge ostage are comyne,
Of ayers fulle avenaunt awughte score childrenne,
In toges of tarsse fulle richelye attyrde,
And betuke theme the kynge, and his clere knyghttes.
When they had tretide thiere trewe, with trowmpynge þerafter
They tryne unto a tente, whare tables whare raysede;
The kynge hyme selfene es sette, and certayne lordes,
Undyre a sylure of sylke sawghte at the burdez:
Alle the senatours are sette sere be þame one,
Serfed solemply with selcouthe metes:
The kynge myghty of myrthe, with his milde wordes,
Rehetez the Romaynez at his riche table,
Comforthes the cardynalle so kynghtly hyme selvene;
And this roye ryalle, as romawns us tellis,
Reverence the Romayns in his riche table;
The tawghte mene and þe conynge, whene theme tyme thoghte,
Tas theire lefe at þe kynge, and tornede agayne;
To þe cete þat nyghte thaye soughte at þe gayneste,
And thus the ostage of Rome with Arthure es levede.
Than this roy royalle rehersys theis wordes,—
“Now may we revelle and riste, fore Rome es oure awene!
Make oure ostage at ese, þise avenaunt childyrene,
And luk ȝe hondene theme alle that in myne oste lengez;
The emperour of Almayne, and alle theis este marches,
We salle be overlynge of alle þat one the erthe lengez!
We wille by þe crosse dayes encroche þeis loydez,
And at þe Crystynmesse daye be crownned ther-aftyre;
Ryngne in my ryalltes, and holde my rownde table,
Withe the rentes of Rome, as me beste lykes:
Syne graythe over þe grette see with gud mene of armes,
To revenge the renke that one the rode dyede!”
Thane this comlyche knyge, as cronycles tellys,
Bownnys brathely to bede with a blythe herte;
Of he slynges with sleghte, and slakes gyrdille,
And fore slewthe of slomowre one a slepe fallis.
Bot be ane aftyre mydnyghte alle his mode changede;
He mett in the morne while fulle mervaylous dremes!
And whene his dredefulle drem whas drefene to þe ende,
The kynge dares for dowte dye as he scholde;
Sendes aftyre phylosophers, and his affraye telles,—
“Sene I was formede in fayth, so ferde whas I never!
ffor-thy rawnsakes redyly, and rede me my swefennys,
And I salle redily and ryghte rehersene the sothe:
Me-thoughte I was in a wode willed myne one,
That I ne wiste no waye whedire þat I scholde,
ffore wolvez, and whilde swynne, and wykkyde bestez,
Walkede in that wasternne, wathes to seche;
Thare lyouns fulle lothely lykkyde þeire tuskes,
Alle fore lapynge of blude of my lele knyghtez!
Thurghe þat foreste I flede, thare floures whare heghe,
ffor to fele me for ferde of tha foule thyngez;
Merkede to a medowe with montayngnes enclosyde,
The meryeste of medill-erthe that mene myghte be-holde!
The close was in compas castyne alle abowte,
With claver and clereworte clede evene over;
The vale was evene rownde with vynes of silver,
Alle with grapis of golde, gretter ware never!
Enhorilde with arborye and alkyns trees,
Erberis fulle honeste, and byrdez þere undyre;
Alle froytez foddenid was þat floreschede in erthe,
ffaire frithed in frawnke appone tha free bowes;
Whas thare no downkynge of dewe that oghte dere scholde,
With þe drowghte of þe daye alle drye ware þe flores!
Than discendis in the dale, downe fra þe clowddez,
A duches dere-worthily dyghte in dyaperde wedis,
In a surcott of sylke fulle selkouthely hewede,
Alle with loyotour overlaide lowe to þe hemmes,
And with ladily lappes the lenghe of a ȝerde,
And alle redily reversside with rebanes of golde,
Bruchez and besauntez, and oþer bryghte stonys,
With hir bake and hir breste was brochede alle over,
With kelle and with corenalle clenliche arrayede,
And þat so comly of colour one knowene was never!
A-bowte cho whirllide a whele with hir whitte hondez,
Over-whelme alle qwayntely þe whele as cho scholde;
The rowelle whas rede golde with ryalle stonys,
Raylide with reched and rubyes inewe;
The spekes was splentide alle with speltis of silver,
The space of a spere lenghe springande fulle faire;
There one was a chayere of chalke-whytte silver,
And chekyrde with charebocle chawngynge of hewes;
Appone þe compas ther clewide kyngis one rawe,
With corowns of clere golde þat krakede in sondire:
Sex was of þat setille fulle sodaynliche fallene,
Ilke a segge by hyme selfe, and saide theis wordez,—
That ever I regnede one þir rog, me rewes it ever!
Was never roye so riche that regnede in erthe!
Whene I rode in my rowte, roughte I noghte elles,
Bot revaye, and revelle, and rawnsone the pople!
And thus I drife forthe my dayes, whilles I dreghe myghte,
And there-fore derflyche I am dampnede for ever!”
The laste was a litylle mane that laide was be-nethe,
His leskes laye alle lene and latheliche to schewe,
The lokkes lyarde and longe the lenghe of a ȝerde,
His lire and his lyghame lamede fulle sore;
Þe two eyne of the byeryne was brighttere þane silver,
The toþer was ȝalowere thene the ȝolke of a naye,—
‘I was lorde,’ quod the lede, ‘of londes i-newe,
And alle ledis me lowttede that lengede in erthe;
And nowe es lefte me no lappe my lygham to hele,
Bot lightly now am I loste, leve iche mane the sothe!’
The secunde syr forsothe þat sewede theme aftyre,
Was sekerare to my sighte, and saddare in armes;
Ofte he syghede unsownde, and said theis wordes,—
‘On ȝone see hafe I sittene, as soverayne and lorde,
And ladys me lovede to lappe in theyre armes;
And nowe my lordchippes are loste, and laide for ever!’
The thirde thorowely was throo, and thikke in the schuldyrs,
A thra man to thrette of, there thretty ware gaderide;
His dyademe was droppede downe, dubbyde with stonys,
Endente alle with diamawndis, and dighte for þe nonis;
‘I was dredde in my dayes,’ he said, ‘in dyverse rewmes,
And now dampnede to þe dede, and dole es the more!’
The fourte was a faire mane, and forsesy in armes,
Þe fayreste of fegure that fowrmede was ever!
‘I was frekke in my faithe,’ he said, ‘whilles I one fowlde regnede,
ffamows in fferre londis, and floure of alle kynges;
Now es my face defadide, and foule es me hapnede,
ffor I am fallene fro ferre, and frendles by-levyde!’
The fifte was a faire mane þane fele of thies oþer,
A fforsey mane and a ferse, with fomand lippis;
He fongede faste one þe feleyghes, and fayled his armes,
Bot ȝit he failede and felle a fyfty fote large;
Bot ȝit he sprange and sprente, and spraddene his armes,
And one þe spere lenghe spekes, he spekes þire wordes—
‘I was in Surrye a syr, and sett be myne one,
As soverayne and seyngnowr of sere kynges londis;
Now of my solace I am fulle sodanly fallene,
And forsake of my syne, ȝone cete es me rewede!’
The sexte hade a sawtere semliche bowndene,
With a surepel of silke sewede fulle faire,
A harpe and a hande-slynge with harde flynte stones;
What harmes he has hente he halowes fulle sone,—
‘I was demede in my dayes,’ he said, ‘of dedis of armes
One of the doughtyeste that duellede in erthe;
Bot I was merride one molde in my moste strenghethis,
With this maydene so mylde, þat mofes us alle.’
Two kynges ware clymbande, and claverande one heghe,
The creste of þe compas they covette fulle ȝerne;
‘This chaire of charbokle,’ they said, ‘we chalange here aftyre,
As two of þe cheffeste chosene in erthe!’
The childire ware chalke-whitte, chekys and oþer,
Bot the chayere abowne chevede they never:
The forthirmaste was freely with a frount large,
The faireste of fyssnanny þat fowrmede was ever;
And he was buskede in a blee of a blewe noble,
With flourdelice of golde floreschede al over;
The toþer was cledde in a cote alle of clene silver,
With a comliche crosse corvene of golde,
ffowre crosselettes krafty by þe crosse riftes,
And ther-by knewe I the kynge, þat crystnede hyme semyde.
Thane I went to þat wlonke, and wynly hire gretis,
And cho said, ‘welcome i-wis! wele arte thow fowndene;
The aughte to wirchipe my wille, and thow wele cowthe,
Of alle the valyant men that ever was in erthe;
ffore alle thy wirchipe in werre by me has thow wonnene,
I hafe bene frendely freke, and fremmede tille oþer;
That has þow fowndene in faithe, and fele of þi biernez,
ffore I fellid downe syr Frolle with froward knyghtes;
ffore-thi the fruytes of Fraunce are freely thynne awene.
Thow salle þe chayere escheve, I chese þe my-selfene,
Be-fore alle þe cheftaynes chosene in this erthe.’
Scho lifte me up lightly with hir lene hondes,
And sette me softely in the see, þe septre me rechede;
Craftely with a kambe cho kembede myne hevede,
That the krispane kroke to my crownne raughte;
Dressid one me a diademe, that dighte was fulle faire,
And syne profres me a pome pighte fulle of faire stonys,
Enamelde with azoure, the erth there-one depayntide,
Selkylde with the salte see appone sere halfes,
In sygne þat I sothely was soverayne in erthe:
Than broght cho me a brande with fulle bryghte hiltes,
And bade me brawndysche þe blade, ‘þe brande es myne awene:
Many swayne with þe swynge has the swtte levede;
ffor whilles thow swanke with the swerde, it swykkede þe never.’
Than raykes cho with roo, and riste whene hir likede,
To þe ryndes of þe wode, richere was never;
Was no pomarie so pighte of pryncez in erthe,
Ne nonne apparaylle so prowde, bot paradys one.
Scho bad þe bowes scholde bewe downe, and bryng to my hondes
Of þe beste that they bare one brawnches so heghe;
Than they heldede to hir heste alle holly at ones,
The hegheste of iche a hirste, I hette ȝow forsothe:
Scho bade me fyrthe noghte þe fruyte, bot fonde whilles me likede,
‘ffonde of þe fyneste, thow freliche byerne,
And reche to the ripeste, and ryotte thy selvene!
Riste, thow ryalle roye, for Rome es thyne awene!
And I salle redily rolle the roo at þe gayneste,
And reche the þe riche wyne in rynsede coupes.’
Thane cho wente to the welle by þe wode enis,
That alle wellyde of wyne, and wonderliche rynnes;
Kaughte up a coppe-fulle, and coverde it faire;
Scho bad me dereliche drawe, and drynke to hir selfene:
And thus cho lede me abowte the lenghe of an owre,
With alle likynge and luffe, þat any lede scholde;
Bot at þe myddaye fulle ewyne all hir mode chaungede,
And mad myche manace with mervayllous wordez;
Whene I cryede appone hire, cho kest downe hir browes,
‘Kyng, thow karpes for noghte, be Criste þat me made!
ffor thow salle lose this layke, and thi lyfe aftyre!
Thow has lyffede in delytte and lordchippes inewe!’
Abowte scho whirles the whele, and whirles me undire,
Tille alle my qwarters þat whille whare qwaste al to peces!
And with that chayere my chyne was chopped in sondire!
And I hafe cheveride for chele, sen me this chance happenede.
Than wakkenyde I i-wys, alle wery for-dremyde,
And now wate thow my woo, worde as þe lykes.
“ffreke,” sais the philosophre, “thy fortune es passede!
ffor thow salle fynd hir thi foo, frayste whene the lykes!
Thow arte at þe hegheste, I hette the for-sothe!
Chalange nowe when thow wille, thow chevys no more!
Thow has schedde myche blode, and schalkes distroyede,
Sakeles in sirquytrie, in sere kynges landis;
Schryfe the of thy schame, and schape for thyne ende!
Thow has a schewynge, syr kynge, take kepe ȝif the like!
ffor thow salle fersely falle with-in fyve wynters!
ffownde abbayes in ffraunce, þe froytez are theyne awene,
ffore ffroille, and for fferawnt, and for thir ferse knyghttis,
That thow fremydly in ffraunce has faye belevede;
Take kepe ȝitte of oþer kynges, and kaste in thyne herte,
That were conquerours kydde, and crownnede in erthe;
The eldeste was Alexandere, þat alle þe erthe lowttede;
The toþer Ector of Troye, the chevalrous gume;
The thirde Julyus Cesare, þat geant was holdene,
In iche jorne jentille, ajuggede with lordes;
The ferthe was syr Judas, a justere fulle nobille,
The maysterfulle Makabee, the myghttyeste of strenghes;
The fyfte was Josue, þat joly mane of armes,
That in Jerusalem oste fulle myche joye lymppede;
The sexte was David þe dere, demyd with kynges
One of þe doughtyeste þat dubbede was ever,
ffor he slewe with a slynge, be sleyghte of his handis,
Golyas the grette gome, grymmeste in erthe;
Syne endittede in his dayes alle the dere psalmes,
Þat in þe sawtire ere sette with selcouthe wordes;
The two clymbande kynges, I knawe it forsothe,
Salle Karolus be callide, the kyng sone of Fraunce;
He salle be crowelle and kene, and conquerour holdene,
Covere be conqueste contres ynewe;
He salle encroche the crowne that Crist bare hym selfene,
And þat lifeliche launce, that lepe to his herte,
When he was crucyfiede on crose, and alle þe kene naylis,
Knyghtly he salle conquere to Cristyne men hondes:
The toþer salle be Godfraye, that Gode schalle revenge
One þe Gud Frydaye with galyarde knyghtes;
He salle of Lorrayne be lorde, be leefe of his fadire,
And syne in Jerusalem myche joye happyne,
ffor he salle cover the crosse be craftes of armes,
And synne be corownde kynge, with krysome enoynttede;
Salle no duke in his dayes siche destanye happyne,
Ne siche myschefe dreghe, whene trowthe salle be tryede!
ffore-thy ffortune þe fetches to fulfille the nowmbyre,
Alles nynne of þe nobileste namede in erthe;
This salle in romance be redde with ryalle knyghttes,
Rekkenede and renownde with ryotows kynges,
And demyd one domesdaye, for dedis of armes,
ffor þe doughtyeste þat ever was duelland in erthe:
So many clerkis and kynges salle karpe of ȝoure dedis,
And kepe ȝoure conquestez in cronycle for ever!
Bot the wolfes in the wode, and the whilde bestes,
Are some wikkyd mene that werrayes thy rewmes,
Es entirde in thyne absence to werraye thy pople,
And alyenys and ostes of uncouthe landis:
Thow getis tydandis I trowe, within tene dayes,
That some torfere es tydde, sene thow fro home turnede;
I rede thow rekkyne and reherse un-resonable dedis,
Ore the repenttes fulle rathe alle thi rewthe werkes!
Mane, amende thy mode, or thow myshappene,
And mekely aske mercy for mede of thy saule!”
Thane rysez the riche kynge, and rawghte one his wedys,
A reedde actone of Rosse, the richeste of floures,
A pesane, and a paunsone, and a pris girdille;
And one he henttis a hode of scharlette fulle riche,
A pavys pillione hatt, þat pighte was fulle faire
With perry of þe oryent, and precyous stones;
His gloves gayliche gilte, and gravene by þe hemmys,
With graynes of rubyes fulle gracious to schewe:
His hede grehownde, and his bronde, ande no byerne elles,
And bownnes over a brode mede, with breth at his herte;
ffurth he stalkis a stye by þa stille enys,
Stotays at a hey strette, studyande hyme one;
Att the surs of þe sonne, he sees there commande,
Raykande to Romewarde the redyeste wayes,
A renke in a rownde cloke, with righte rowmme clothes,
With hatte, and with heyghe schone homely and rownde;
With flatte ferthynges the freke was floreschede alle over,
Many schredys and schragges at his skyrttes hynnges,
With scrippe, ande with slawyne, and skalopis i-newe,
Both pyke and palme, alles pilgram hym scholde:
The gome graythely hym grette, and bade gode morwene;
The kyng lordelye hymselfe, of langage of Rome,
Of Latyne corroumppede alle, fulle lovely hym menys,—
“Whedire wilnez thowe, wye, walkande thyne onne?