Lines 1–348

Jhesu, that ys kyng in trone.
As thou shoope bothe sonne and mone,
And all that shall dele and dyghte,
Now lene us grace such dedes to done,
In thy blys that we may wone,
Men calle hit heven lyghte ;
And thy moder, Mary, hevyn qwene,
Bere our arunde so bytwene,
That semely ys of syght.
To thy sone that ys so fre,
In heven with hym that we may be.
That lord ys most of myght.

Menstrelles, that walken fer and wyde.
Her and ther in every a syde,
In mony a dyverse londe,
Sholde, at her begynnyng,
Speke of that ryhtwes kyng,
That made both see and sonde.
Whoso wyll a stounde dwelle,
Of mykyll myrght y may you telle,
And mornyng ther amonge,
Of a lady fayr and fre.
Her name was called Emare,
As y here synge in songe.

Her fadyr was an emperour.
Of castell, and of ryche towre,
Syr Artyus was hys nome ;
He hadde bothe hallys and bowrys,
Frythes fayr, forestes with flowrys,
So gret a lord was none.
Weddedde he had a lady.
That was both fayr and semely,
Whyte as whales bone,
Dame Erayne hette that emperes,
She was full of love and goodnesse,
So curtays lady was none.

Syr Artyus was the best manne
In the worlde that lyvede thanne.
Both hardy and therto wyght,
He was curtays in all thyng,
Bo the to olde and to yynge,
And well kowth dele and dyght.
He hadde but on chyld in his lyve,
Begeten on his weddedde wyfe,
And that was fayr and bryght ;
For sothe, as y may telle the,
They called that chyld Emare,
That semely was ol syght.

When she was of her moder born,
She was the fayrest creature borne,
That yn the lond was thoo.
The emperes, that fayr ladye.
Fro her lord gan she dye.
Or hyt kowthe speke or goo.
The chyld, that was fayr and gent,
To a lady was hyt sente.
That men called Abro,
She thawghth hit curtesye and thewe,
Golde and sylke for to sewe,
Amonge maydenes moo.

Abro tawghte thys mayden small,
Nortour that men usedenn in sale,
Whyle she was in her bowre ;
She was curtays in all thynge,
Bothe to old and to yynge.
And whythe as lylye flowre ;
Of her hondes she was slye,
All he loved that her sye,
Wyth menske and mychel honour.
At the meydene leve we,
And at the lady fayr and fre ;
And speke we of the emperour.

The emperour, of gentyll blode,
Was a curteys lorde and a gode,
In all maner of thynge,
Aftur when his wyf was dede.
And ledde his lyf yn weddewede,
And myche loved playnge.
Sone aftur yn a whyle,
The ryche kynge of Cesyle
To the emperour gann wende,
A ryche present wyth hym he browght,
A cloth that was wordylye wroght,
He wellcomed hym as the hende.

Syr Tergaunte, that nobyll knyght,
He presented the emperour ryght.
And sette hym on hys kne,
Wyth that cloth rychyly dyght,
Full of stones ther hit was pyght,
As thykke as hit myght be,
Off topaze and rubyes,
And other stones of myche prys,
That semely wer to se,
Of crapowtes and nakette,
As thykke ar they sette,
For sothe as y say the.

The cloth was displayed sone.
The emperoer lokede therupone.
And myght hyt not se.
For glysteryng of the ryche ston
Redy syght had he non.
And sayde. How may thys be ?
The emperour sayde on hygh,
Sertes thys ys a fayry,
Or ellys a vanyte.
The kyng of Cysyle answered than,
So ryche a jwell ys ther non
In all Crystyante.

The amerayle dowghter of hethennes
Made this cloth withouten lees,
And wrowghte hit all with pride.
And putreyed hyt with gret honour,
Wyth ryche golde and asowr.
And stones on ylke a syde ;
And, as the story telles in honde,
The stones that yn this cloth stonde
Sowghte they wer full wyde.
Seven wynter hit was yn makynge,
Or hit was browght to endynge.
In herte ys not to hyde.

In that on korner made was
Idoyne and Amadas,
With love that was so trewe,
For they loveden hem wit honour,
Portrayed they wer with trewe-love flour,
Of stones bryght of hewe,
Wyth carbunkull and safere,
Kassydonys and onyx so clere,
Sette in golde newe,
Deamondes and rubyes,
And other stones of mychyll pryse.
And menstrellys with her gle.

In that other corner was dyght,
Trystram and Isowde so bryght.
That semely wer to se.
And for they loved hem ryght,
As full of stones ar they dyght.
As thykke as they may be.
Of topase and of rubyes,
And other stones of myche pryse,
That semely wer to se,
Wyth crapawtes and nakette,
Thykke of stones ar they sette.
For sothe as y say the.

In the thrydde korner, with gret honour,
Was Florys and dam Blawncheflour,
As love was hem betwene,
For they loved wyth honour,
Purtrayed they wer with trewe-love-flower,
Wyth stones bryght and shene.
Ther wer knyghtes and senatowres,
Emerawdes of gret vertues,
To wyte withouten wene,
Deamondes and koralle,
Perydotes and crystall,
And gode garnettes bytwene.

In the fowrthe korner was oon
Of Babylone the sowdan sonne.
The amerayles dowghtyr hym by.
For his sake the cloth was wrowght,
She loved hym in hert and thowght.
As testymoyeth this storye.
The fayr mayden her byforn
Was portrayed an unykorn.
With hys horn so hye,
Flowres and bryddes on ylke a syde,
With stones that wer sowght wyde,
Stuffed wyth ymagerye.

When the cloth to ende was wrowght,
To the sowdan sone hit was browght,
That semely was of syghte :
" My fadyr was a nobyll man,
Of the sowdan he hit wan,
Wyth maystrye and myghth ;
For gret love he yaf hyt me,
I brynge hit the in specyalte,
Thys cloth ys rychely dyght."
He yaf hit the emperour,
He receyved hit with gret honour,
And thonkede hym fayr and ryght,

The kyng of Cesyle dwelled ther
As long as his wyll wer,
With the emperour for to play,
And when he wolde wende,
He toke his leve at the hende.
And wente forth on hys way.
Now Remeneth this nobyll kyng.
The emperour after his dowghter hadde longyng,
To speke with that may,
Messengeres forth he sent,
Aftyr the mayde fayre and gent.
That was bryght as someres day.

Messengeres dyghte hem in hye,
With myche myrthe and melodye.
Forth gon they fare,
Both by stretes and by stye.
After that fayr lady.
Was godely unther gare.
Her norysse, that hyghte Abro,
With her she goth forth also,
And wer sette in a chare,
To the emperour gan the go.
He come ayeyn hem a myle or two,
A fayr metyng was there.

The mayden, whyte as lylye flour,
Lyghte ayeyn her fadyr, the emperour.
Two knyghtes gan her lede.
Her fadyr, that was of gret renowne.
That of golde wered the crowne,
Lyghte of hys stede ;
When they wer bothe on her fete,
He klypped her ond kyssed her swete,
And bothe on fote they yede,
They wer glad and made good chere,
To the palys they yede in fere.
In roraans as we rede.

Then the lordes that wer grete,
They wesh and seten doun to mete,
And folk hem served swyde,
The mayden, that was of sembelant swete,
Byfore her owene fadur seta.
The fayrest wommon on lyfe.
That all his hert and alle his thowghth,
Her to love was yn browght,
He byhelde her ofte sythe.
So he was anamored his thowghter tyll.
With her he thowghth to worche his wyll,
And wedde her to hys wyfe.

And when the mete-whyle was doun.
Into hys chamber he wente soun,
And called his counseyle nere.
He bad they shulde sone go and come.
And gete leve of the pope of Rome,
To wedde that mayden clere.
Messengeres forth they wente.
They durst not breke his commandement,
And erles with hem yn sere,
They wente to the courte of Rome,
And browghte the popus bullus sone,
To wedde his dowghter dere.

Then was the emperour gladde and blythe.
And lette shape a robe swythe,
Of that cloth of golde,
And when hit was don her upon,
She semed non erthely wommon,
That marked was of molde.
Then seyde the emperour so fre,
Dowghtyr, y woll wedde the,"
Thow art so fresh to beholde.
Then sayde that wordy unther wede,
Nay, syr, god of heven hit forbede,
That ever do so we shulde !

Yyf hit so betydde that ye me wedde,
And we shulde play togedere in bedde,
Bothe we were forlorne ;
The worde shulde sprynge fer and wyde
In all the worlde on every syde.
The worde shulde be borne.
Ye ben a lorde of gret pryce,
Lorde, lette never suche sorow aryce,
Take god you beforne ;
That my fader shulde wedde me,
God forbede that y hyt so se.
That wered the crowne of thorne !

The emperour was ryght wrothe,
And swore many a gret othe,
That deed shulde she be ;
He lette make a nobull boot,
And dede her theryn god wote,
In the robe of nobull ble.
She moste have with her no spendyng,
Nother mete ne drynke [givyng],
Bot shote her yn to the se ;
Now the lady dwelled there,
Wythowte anker or ore,
And that was gret pyte.

Ther come a wynd, y untherstonde.
And blewe the boot fro the londe.
Of her they lost the syght,
The emperour hym bethowght,
That he hadde all myswrowht.
And was a sory knyghte.
And as he stode yn studyynge,
He fell down in sowenynge,
To the yrthe was he dyght ;
Gret lordes stode therby,
And toke up the emperour hastyly.
And consorted hym fayr and ryght.

When he of sownyng kovered was.
Sore he wepte and sayde, Alas,
For my dowhter dere !
Alas, that y was made man,
Wrecched kaytyf that y hit am !
The teres ronne by his lere.
I wrawght ayeyn goddes lay.
To her that was so trewe of fay :
Alas, why ner she here !
The teres lasshed out of his yyen,
The grete lordes that hyt syyen,
Wepte and made yll chere.

Ther was nother olde ny yynge,
That kowthe stynte of wepynge,
For that comely unther kelle,
Into shypys faste gan they thrynge.
For to seke that mayden yynge,
That was so fayr of flesh and fell ;
They her sowght over all yn the see.
And myghte not fynde that lady fre,
Ayeyn they come full snell.
At the emperour now leve we,
And of the lady yn the see,
I shall begynne to tell.

The ladye fleted forth alone,
To god of heven she made her mone.
And to hys modyr also ;
She was dryven with wynde and rayn,
With strong stormes her agayn,
Of the water so bio.
As y have herd menstrelles syng yn sawe.
Hows ny lond myghth she non knawe,
Aferd she was to go.
She was so dryven fro wawe to wawe,
She hyd her hede and laye full lawe.
For watyr she was full woo.

Now this lady dwelled thore
A good seven nyghth and more.
As hit was goddys wylle.
With carefull herte, and sykyng sore,
Such sorow was here yarked yore,
And ever lay she styll.
She was dryven ynto a lond,
Thorow the grace of goddes sond,
That all thyng may fulfylle.
She was on the see so harde bestadde.
For hunger and thurste almost madde,
Woo worth wederes yll !

She was drvyen into a lond,
That hyghth Galys, y untherstond,
That was a fayr cuntre,
The kynges steward dwelled ther bysyde,
In a kastell of mykyll pryde,
Syr Kadore hyght he.
Every day wolde he go,
And take with hym a sqwyer or two,
And play hym by the see ;
On a tyme he toke the eyr.
With two knyghtes gode and fayr.
The wedur was lythe of le.