Lines 1681–2100

"God help me!" quoth that gentle knight;
"Whilom was I a man of might,
To deal out meat and cloth,
And now I am so foul to see
That every man who looks on me
The sight of me doth loathe!
Now son," he saith, "thy weeping stay,
Tho' these be tidings ill to-day,
I tell thee by my troth,
Certes none other rede I know
Than that to beg our bread we go,
So it behoves us both."

The morrow soon as it was light
The child, and eke that gentle knight,
Made ready to be gone,
And forth they journeyed in that stead
As needs they must, to beg their bread,
Since they of meat had none.
So long they journeyed up and down
They came unto a market town,
A five mile further on;
Weeping, they go from street to street,
For love of God they pray for meat,
Much grief they knew anon.

In that same time, I understand,
Great plenty was throughout the land
Both meat and drink had they;
The folk, they were of hand right free,
And brought unto them willingly
Of everything that day,
Since they the man a leper see,
And the child passing fair to be,
Pity upon them lay,
They brought enow of all their good,
Then was the boy right blithe of mood,
And let his weeping stay.

The good knight's foot, it waxed so sore
That he, I trow, might walk no more
For all of this world's good,
To the town's end the lad him bare
And straight a hut he built him there
That by the highway stood;
And as the country folk, each day,
To market bound, must pass that way,
They gat from them their food,
And Amoraunt oft went to town
And meat and drink begged up and down
When most in need they stood.

Thus in the Geste 't is writ to see
That here they dwelt for years full three
The lad and he, also,
In poverty and care they live
On what the country folk may give
As thus they come and go;
But it fell out in the fourth year
That corn began to wax full dear,
Hunger stalked to and fro,
Was neither young nor old, I trow,
Who meat and drink would give them now,
Then want they needs must know.

Oft Amoraunt to town hath gone
But meat and drink there found he none,
Neither of man nor wife,
And when the twain they were alone
Then ruefully they made their moan,
Weary were they of life;
Amiloun's wife, the sooth to say,
Within that land she dwelt alway
Of miles but distant five,
And lived in joy both night and day
While he in care and sorrow lay,
Now evil may she thrive!

One day, as thus they sat alone,
That gentle knight, he made his moan,
Spake to the child that tide,
And saith: "Now must thou go, my son,
And seek my lady swift anon,
Who dwelleth here beside,
Pray her, by Him Who died on Rood,
She grant me now, of all my good,
An ass, whereon to ride,
Forth from the land we now will fare
And beg our bread with grief and care
Nor longer here abide."

Then Amoraunt, to court went he,
Before that lady fair to see,
With courteous speech alway:
"Lady," he quoth, "with good intent,
My lord a message by me sent,
For walk no more he may,
He prayeth thee, in humble mood,
This much to grant of all his good,
An ass to ride to-day;
Then forth from out this land we'll fare,
And come again I trow me, ne'er,
Tho' hunger should us slay."

The lady quoth she were full fain
To send unto them asses twain
If they from hence would fare,
Afar, in distant lands remain —
"Nay, certes, Lady, ne'er again
Thou seest us — " he sware.
The lady, she was blithe and glad,
An ass she bade them give the lad,
And said in anger there:
"Now ye from out my land shall go,
God grant that it may fall out so
That I behold ye ne'er!"

The lad, he would no longer bide,
But swift his ass he did bestride
And gat him home again,
And told his lord in that same tide
All that his lady, in her pride,
Did shamelessly maintain;
He set the knight upon the ass,
Forth from the city gate they pass
Thereof were they full fain,
Through many a country, up and down,
They begged their meat from town to town,
Alike in wind and rain.

By God's Will, o'er that land, ere long,
The famine waxed so grim and strong
As they went far and wide,
That they for hunger were nigh dead,
They had not half their fill of bread,
The twain were sorely tried,
Then quoth the knight upon a day:
"We needs must sell our ass away,
'T is our sole wealth this tide,
Save this, my goodly cup of gold,
And certes, that shall ne'er be sold,
Tho' I for hunger died!"

Amoraunt, and the good knight, there,
With rueful cheer, in grief and care,
With morn, upon a day,
They gat them to a market-town,
And when the knight had lighted down,
With never more delay,
Amoraunt, to the town he sped,
And this, their ass, with him he led,
Five shillings, did men pay;
And on that money lived they long,
The whiles the dearth, it waxed full strong,
Nor more might get alway.

And when that ass they now had sold,
For shillings five, as here I told,
There they abode days three,
Amoraunt, he waxed strong, I ween,
Of winters had he told fifteen,
Courteous, and fair, and free,
For this, his lord, he well did care,
Upon his back he set him there,
Forth from the town went he,
And thus, for half a year and more,
To seek his meat the knight he bore,
Now blessed shall he be!

Thus Amoraunt waxed strong and stout,
And thus he bare his lord about
As read in Geste ye may,
Then winter came, so hard and strong
That oft, "Alas!" must be their song,
For deep the country lay;
The roads in mud were deep, that tide,
And oft-times did they slip and slide,
And fall down in the clay;
True was the lad, and kind of blood,
And served his lord in gentle mood,
Nor thought to go his way.

Thus Amoraunt, as now I say,
He served his lord by night and day
And on his back still bore,
But "Wellaway" was oft his cry,
So deep in mire the land did he
His bones they waxed full sore,
And all their money, it was gone,
Till but twelve pence was left alone,
Therewith, so runs my lore,
The twain, a hand-cart did they buy,
So that the knight therein might lie,
He might not bear him more.

Thus the lad pushed Sir Amiloun
Thro' many a country, up and down,
As ye may understand,
Till to a town they came, I wis,
Wherein that baron, Sir Amis,
Was duke and lord in land,
Then straitly did he pray, the knight,
"Bear me to the duke's court forthright,
Good lad, 't is my command,
He is a man of gentle mood,
And there, I ween, we'll get some good,
Thro' grace of God's own Hand.

"But hearken to me now, dear son,
And for His Love, Who this world won,
As thou art fair and free,
See thou tell no man, at this same,
Whither I go, or whence I came,
Or what my name shall be."
The lad, he heard and answered, "Nay,"
Forthwith to court he took his way
As ye may hear from me,
Before the other beggars then
He pushed his cart thro' mire and fen,
Great dole it was to see!

And it befell that self-same day
As now I tell, in this my Lay,
It was mid-winter tide,
And the rich duke now at the same
With joy and bliss from church he came
As lord and prince in pride;
When he came to his castle-gate
The beggars all who stood thereat
They drew them on one side,
And with his knights and serjaunts all
He passed into his noble hall
In joy and bliss to bide.

As in king's court, 't is law, I know,
The trumpets for the meat 'gan blow,
To board they went so bold,
When all were set in order there
Then in due time they served them fair
As men most blithe on mold;
And that rich duke, no he I tell,
E'en as a prince they served him well
With right rich cups of gold,
While he who brought him to that state,
He lay shut out, without the gate,
A-hungered sore, and cold.

Forth from the gate a knight there came,
With him a serjaunt at that same,
To field they passed anear,
And thro' the Grace of God on high
On Amiloun he cast his eye
Saw him of loathly cheer,
Sithen, they Amoraunt behold,
And very fair the lad they hold,
As ye in Geste may hear;
Then said they both that, by Saint John,
In all the court they knew of none
For beauty half his peer!

That good knight straight to him did go
And courteously was fain to know,
As ye may understand,
Whither he went, and whence he came,
And why he stood there at that same,
And whom he served in land?
He answered: "Sir, so God me save
Here am I but mine own lord's knave
Who lieth in God's Hand,
As thou be knight of gentle blood
I pray thee, that to us some good
Be done, at thy command!"

With that the good knight asked him fair
If he would leave the leper there
And service with him take?
And promised him, by sweet Saint John,
To serve the duke in court anon,
And rich he would him make.
The lad, he answered, mild of mood,
And sware, by Him Who died on Rood,
Whiles he might walk and wake,
That, might he win this whole world's good,
This, his dear lord, by whom he stood,
He never would forsake!

The good man deemed him mad to be,
Or fool to a wise man was he,
Who was of wit forlorn;
Or else his lord, so foul to eye,
Had been a man of station high
Of noble lineage born;
Therefore he thought no more to say,
But back to hall he took his way,
Spake to the duke that morn:
"My lord," he said, "now hearken me,
The best jest, by my loyalty,
Shalt hear, since thou wert born!"

Then the rich duke bade him anon
To tell before them every one
His tale, without delay —
"Now, Sire," he said, "by sweet Saint John,
Without this gate I now had gone
Intent on this my play,
Of poor men many, at thy door,
Both old and young, both less or more,
There I beheld them stay,
And midst the men who there did stand,
The foulest thing in any land,
A leper, there he lay.

"That leper in a cart doth lie,
He is so feeble, verily,
On foot he may not go,
A naked lad by him doth stay,
No fairer child, the sooth to say,
In this world do I know.
In Christendom, I trow, there be
No fairer lad to-day than he
That any land can show;
And yet the greatest fool he is
With whom I ever spake, I wis,
Here in this world below."

The rich duke answered him straightway,
"What folly, tell me, did he say,
How is he mad of mood?"
"Now, Sire," he said, "I bade him part
From this, the leper in the cart,
By whom but now he stood,
And in thy service should he be,
I proffered him both land and fee,
Enough of this world's good.
He answered me straightway with No,
He from his lord would never go,
Therefore I hold him wood."

Then quoth the duke: "Perchance of yore
His lord, who now doth suffer sore,
Hath holpen him in need;
Or of his blood the boy was born;
Or he an oath, may be, hath sworn
With him his life to lead.
Or stranger he, or of his blood,
That lad," he said, "is true and good,
As God, He shall me speed,
I 'ld speak with him ere hence they go,
Since he such steadfast truth doth show,
I would requite his meed."

With that the duke, in Geste 't is told,
He called to him a squire so bold,
And spake as he was fain:
"Take thou," he quoth, "my cup of gold,
As full of wine as thou may'st hold,
Within these, thy hands twain;
Forth to the gate the cup now bear,
A leper shalt thou seek out there,
He lieth in a wain;
This wine, now, by Saint Martin, say,
He and his page shall drink straightway,
My cup, bring thou again."

The squire, he took the cup that stead,
And to the castle gate he sped,
The cup brimfull he bare,
And to the leper straight did say:
"This cup of wine, my lord to-day
Sends, drink it if ye dare."
The leper took his cup of gold,
'T was fashioned in the self -same mould,
E'en as the duke's it were,
And the rich wine therein did pour
Till both alike, nor less, nor more,
Of wine had equal share.

The squire gazed those cups upon,
The leper's and his lord's, anon,
E'en as he stood before,
And never in that moment he
Could say which should the better be
So like the guise they wore;
Back to the hall he ran that day,
And, "Certes, Sire," he straight did say,
"Hast lost good deeds of yore,
Here a good deed was wasted now,
He is a richer man than thou,
I swear thy face before!"

With that the rich duke answered, "Nay,
That may not be, by night or day,
Against the law it were!"
The squire again he answered, "Yea,
A traitor is he, by my fay,
Who should to judgment fare,
For when I brought him this, thy wine,
A gold cup he drew forth, so fine,
Thine own, methought it were,
Thro' all the world, by sweet Saint John,
So wise a man there shall be none,
Who could discern the pair!"

"Certes," Sir Amis quoth anon,
"In all the world, of cups were none
So like in everything,
Save mine, and his, my brother's true,
The twain were wrought for us anew,
At this, our severing;
If it be so, then, so I ween,
Sir Amiloun, he slain hath been,
An here no lie ye bring,
If any stole his cup away
Then I myself that thief shall slay
By Jesu, Heaven's King!"

Then from his seat he sprang, the lord,
And, like a madman, drew his sword,
Urged on by wrath and wrake,
Straight to the castle gate he ran
In all the world there was no man
Who might him overtake;
He saw the leper in the wain,
And gripped him fast with his hands twain,
And soused him in the lake,
And smote him e'en as he were wood,
And all who there about him stood,
Great dole began to make.

"Traitor," then quoth the duke so bold,
"Say, whence had'st thou that cup of gold;
How didst thou come thereto?
For now, by Him Whom Judas sold,
My brother did that same cup hold,
Whenas he went me fro'."
"Yea, certes, Sire, so doth it stand,
'T was his, while he in his own land
Abode, now is it so
As certainly, while I be here,
That it is mine, I bought it dear,
And have a right thereto!"

With that the duke waxed fierce of mood,
There was no man who by him stood
Durst lay upon him hand,
But with his foot he spurned him there,
And smote him, as he frenzied were,
With this, his naked brand.
The leper fast by feet he made,
And in the slough and mire he laid,
For naught would he withstand,
But cried: "Thief, shalt be slain straightway,
Save of the cup the truth dost say
How came it in thine hand?"