Lines 817–1083

“Ne douȝt no more of me in alle,
Þan it were myself byfalle.
Wete ȝe wel weturly,
Heele y wyl ȝoure drury.”
To a bedde þey ben brouȝt,
Þat is of palle and of sylke wrouȝt;
And þere þey sette hem doun
And drouȝ hem self al a room:
Þer was no man þat myȝt radde
Þe ioye þat þey twoo madde.
Florys þen to speke bygan,
And seide, “lord þat madest man,
I it þonke goddes sone
Þat al my care I haue ouercome;
Now my leue I haue y-founde,
Of al my care y am vnbounde.”
Clarys hem seruyd al at wylle,
Boþ dernlyche and stylle.
Clarys with þe white syde
Rose vp on morne tyde,
And cleped after Blaunchefloure
To wende with him in to þe Toure:
She seide “y am commaund”;
But her answere was slepaund.
Þe Amyral had such a woone,
Þat euery day shulde come
Twoo maydons of hur bour
Vp to him in to þe Toure,
With water and clooth, and basyn,
For to wesshe his hondes ynne:
Þat day þey seruyd him feire;
Anoþer day come another peire;
But most were wonyd into þe Toure,
Clarys and Blauncheflour.
Clarys come þenne aloon:
Þe Amyral asked a-noon,
“Where is Blauncheflour so free?
Why comeþ she not heder with þe?”
“Sir,” she seide anoon ryȝt,
“She haþ wakyd al þis nyȝt,
And y-cryde and y-loke
And y-redde on hur booke,
And y-bede to god her orysoun
Þat he geue þe his benysoun,
And þat he holde long þy lyf;
And now þe mayde slepeþ swyth;
She slepeþ so fast, þat mayde swete,
Þat she may not com ȝete.”
“Certes,” seide þe kyng,
“Now is she a swete þing:
Wel auȝt me ȝerne her to wyf,
Þat so preyeth for my lyf.”
Anoþer day Clarys erly Aryst;
Þat Blauncheflour well wyst,
And seide, “y come anoon,”
When Clarys her clepe bygan,
And fel in a slepe newe.
Sone after it made hem to rewe:
Clarys to þe Pyler cam;
A basyn of gold in hond she nam,
And Cleped after Blaunchefloure
To wende with hur in to þe Toure.
Þe Amyral asked after Blauncheflour,
“What! is she not come ȝet?
Now she me douteþ al to lyte.”
Forþ he cleped his Chamburlayn,
And bade him wende with his mayn
To wete why she wyl not come
As she was wonyd to doon.
Þe Chamburlayn is forth noom;
In to Chambre he is coom,
And stondeþ byfore hur bedde,
And fyndeþ þere, nebbe to nebbe,
Nebbe to nebbe, and mouþ to mouþ.
To þe Amyral it was sone couþ;
Vp in to þe Toure he steyȝ,
And told his lord al þat he seyȝ.
Þe Amyral late him his swerd brynge,
For wete he wolde of þat tydynge:
He went to hem þere þey lay:
Ȝit was she a-slepe þere ay.
The Amyral lete þe clothes doun cast
A lytel by-nethe hur brest,
And sone he knew anoon
Þat oon was woman, & þat oþer groom.
He quaked for tene þere he stood;
Hem to sloon was in his mood;
Ȝit he þouȝt, or he hem quelde,
What þey were, þey shuld him telle,
And seth he wyl with dome hem done.
Þe Children wakyd swyth soone,
And saw þe swerde ouer hem drawe;
Þey ben adrad, and in awȝe.
Þan seide Florys to Blauncheflour,
“Of oure lyf is no socour.”
But þey cryde him mercy swyth,
For to length her lyue.
Vp he bade hem sytte booth,
And do on boþ her cloþ;
Seþ he dide hem bynde fast,
And in prison lete hem be cast.
Now haþ he after his Barons sent,
To wreke him after Iugement,
Now han þe Barons vndernome,
And to þe Amyral þey ben coome.
He stood vp a-monge hem al,
With semblant wroþ withalle,
And seide: “Lordynges, with much honour,
Ȝe herde speke of Blauncheflour,
Þat y bouȝt hur dere a plyȝt
For seuen sithes of golde hur wyȝt;
For y wende with-out wene
Þat feire mayde to haue had to Quene.
Among my maydons in my Toure
I hur dide, with muche honoure;
Byfore her bedde my self y coom;
I fonde þeryn a naked man.
Þan were þey to me so looþ,
I þouȝt to haue sleyn hem booþ,
I was so wroþ and so wood.
Ȝit y withdrowȝ myn hoot blood
Tyl y haue sende after ȝow, by assent,
To wreke me with Iugement.
Now ȝit ȝe woot how it is goon,
Wreke me soon of my foon.”
Þan spake a kyng of þat londe,
“We haue herd al þis shame and shonde;
But, or we hem to deth deme,
Lat vs hem see, ȝif it þe Queeme,
What þey wolde speke or sygge,
Ȝif þey wyl auȝt ageyn vs legge:
Hit were nouȝt ryȝt iugement,
Without answere make acoupement.
Til þis is herde of more and lasse,
What myster is, to bere wytnesse?”
After þe Children haue þey sent,--
To brenne hem was his entent;--
Two serieauntes hem gan brynge
Toward hur al wepynge.
Drery booþ þese children goo;
Ayther bemeneþ oþeris woo.
Þan seide Florys to Blauncheflour,
“Of oure lyf is no socour:
Yf kinde of man it þole myȝt,
Twyes y shuld dye with ryȝt,
Oones for my self, anoþer for the,
For, þy deeþ þou hast for me.”
Blauncheflour seyde þoo,
“Þe gylt is myn, of oure woo.”
Florys drouȝ forþ þat ryng
Þat his moder him gaff at her partyng:
“Haue þis ryng, lemman myne;
Þou shalt not dye while it is þyne.”
Blaunchefloure seide þoo,
“So ne shal it neuer goo,
Þat þis ryng shal help me,
And þe deed on þe see.”
Florys þat ryng hur rauȝt,
And she it him agayn betauȝt,
Nouther ne wyl other deed seene;
Þey let it falle hem bytwene;
A king com after; a ryng he fonde,
And brouȝt it forth in his honde.
Þus þe Children wepyng com
To þe fire and hur doom.
Byfore þe folk þey were brouȝt;
Drery was her bothes þouȝt;
Þere was noon so sterne man
Þat þe Children loked oon,
Þat þey ne wolde, al wel fawe,
Her iugement haue withdrawe,
And with grete Catel hem bygge,
Ȝif þey durst speke or sygge;
For Flores was so feire a ȝonglyng,
And Blaunchefloure so swete a þing,
Þer wyst no man whor hem were woo,
For no semblaunt þat þey made þoo.
Þe Admyral was so wood,
Ne myȝt he nouȝt kele his hoot blood;
He bade þe Children fast be bound,
And in to þe fire slong.
Þat ilke king þat þe ryng fond,
To Amyral he spake and round,
And wolde hem saue to þe lyf,
And told how for þe ryng þey gon stryf.
Þe Amyral lete hem ageyn clepe,
For he wolde here hem speke,
And asked Florys what he heete:
And he tolde him ful skeete:
“Sir,” he seide, “yf it were þy wylle,
Þou ne getest not þat maide to spylle;
But, good sir, quel þou me,
And lete þat maide on lyue be.”
Blauncheflour seide byne,
“Þe gilt of oure dedes is moyne.”
Þe Admyral seide þoo
“I-wys ȝe shul dye boo.”
His swerd he breide out of his sheeth,
Þe Children to haue done to deeth.
Blaunchefloure put forþ hur swire,
And Florys dide her agayn to tyre,
And seide, “I am man; I shal byfore,
With wrong hast þou þy lyf loore.”
Florys forth his swerd putte,
And Blauncheflour agayn him tytte.
Þe king seide, “dredry mot ȝe be,
Þis rouþ by þis Children to see.”
Þe king þat þe ryng hadde,
For routh of hem sone he radde,
And at þe Amyral wyl he spede,
Þe Children fro þe deþ to lede.
“Sir,” he seide, “it is lytel prys,
Þese Children for to slee y-wys;
And it is wel more worship,
Florys counsel þat ȝe weete,
Who him tauȝt þat ilke gynne,
Þy toure for to come ynne,
And who him brouȝt þare,
And other, þat ȝe may be ware.”
Þan seide þe Amyral, “as god me saue,
Florys shal his lyf haue,
Ȝif he me telle who him tauȝt þerto,
Of Florys, þat shal y neuer doo.”
Now þey bydden al y-wys
Þat þe Admyral graunted þis,
To forȝeue þat trespas
Ȝif Florys told how it was.
Now euery word he haþ him tolde,
How þat maide was for him solde,
And how he was of spayn a kynges sone,
For grete loue þeder y-come,
For to fonde, with sum gynne,
Þat feire maide for to wynne,
And how þe porter was his man by-come,
For his gold and for his warysoun,
And how he was in þe Florys borne.
Alle þe lordinges lowȝ þerforne:
Now þe Admyral wol him tyde;
Florys setteþ next his syde,
And efte he made him stonde vpryȝt,
And dubbed him þere knyȝt,
And bade he shulde with him be,
Þe furthermost of his meyne.
Florys falleþ doun to his feet,
And prayeþ geue him his sweet.
Þe Amyral gaf him his lemman:
Al þat þere were, þankyd him þanne.
To a Chirche he let hem brynge,
And dede let wed hem with a rynge.
Boþ þese twoo swete þinges y-wys
Fel his feet for to kysse;
And þrouȝ consel of Blauncheflour,
Clarys was fet doun of þe Toure,
And Amyral wedded hur to queene.
Þere was fest swythe breeme;
I can not telle al þe sonde,
But rycher fest was neuer in londe.
Was it nouȝt longe after þan,
Þat to Florys tydyng cam,
Þat þe king his Fader was deed.
Þe Baronage gaf him reed
Þat he shuld wende hoom,
And fonge his feire kyngdoom.
At þe Amyral þey toke leue,
And he byddeþ þem byleue.
Home he went with royal array,
And was crownyd with-in a short day.