Lines 281–568

Heo sende hire sonde
Aþelbrus to honde,
Þat he come hire to,
And also scholde horn do
Al in to bure,
ffor heo gan to lure.
And þe sonde seide
Þat sik lai þat maide,
And bad him come swiþe
For heo nas noþing bliþe.
Þe stuard was in herte wo,
For he nuste what to do.
Wat Rymenhild hure þoȝte,
Gret wunder him þuȝte.
Abute horn þe ȝonge
To bure for to bringe,
He þoȝte upon his mode
Hit nas for none gode.
He tok him anoþer,
Athulf, hornes broþer.
“Aþulf,” he sede, “riȝt anon
Þu schalt wiþ me to bure gon,
To speke wiþ Rymenhild stille
And witen hure wille.
In hornes ilike
Þu schalt hure biswike.
Sore ihc me ofdrede
He wolde horn misrede.”
Aþelbrus gan Aþulf lede
And in to bure wiþ him ȝede.
Anon vpon Aþulf child
Rymenhild gan wexe wild.
He wende þat horn hit were
Þat heo hauede þere.
Heo sette him on bedde,
Wiþ Aþulf child he wedde.
On hire armes tweie
Aþulf heo gan leie.
“Horn,” quaþ heo, “wel longe
Ihc habbe þe luued stronge.
Þu schalt þi trewþe pliȝte
On myn hond her riȝte,
Me to spuse holde,
And ihc þe lord to wolde.”
Aþulf sede on hire ire,
So stille so hit were,
“Þi tale nu þu lynne,
For horn nis noȝt her inne.
Ne beo we noȝt iliche,
Horn is fairer and riche,
Fairer bi one ribbe
Þane eni Man þat libbe.
Þeȝ horn were vnder Molde,
Oþer elles wher he wolde,
Oþer henne a þusend Mile,
Ihc nolde him ne þe bigile.”
Rymenhild hire biwente,
And Aþelbrus fule heo schente.
“Hennes þu go, þu fule þeof,
Ne wurstu me neure more leof
Went vt of my bur,
Wiþ muchel mesauenteur.
Schame mote þu fonge
And on hiȝe rode anhonge.
Ne spek ihc noȝt wiþ horn,
Nis he noȝt so vnorn.
Horn is fairer þane beo he,
Wiþ muchel schame mote þu deie.”
Aþelbrus in a stunde
Fel anon to grunde.
“Lefdi, Min oȝe,
Liþe me a litel þroȝe.
Lust whi ihc wonde
Bringe þe horn to honde.
For horn is fair and riche,
Nis no whar his iliche.
Aylmar, þe gode kyng,
Dude him on mi lokyng.
Ȝef horn were her abute,
Sore y me dute
Wiþ him ȝe wolden pleie
Bitwex ȝou selue tweie.
Þanne scholde wiþuten oþe
Þe kyng maken vs wroþe.
Rymenhild, forȝef me þi tene,
Lefdi, my quene,
And horn ihc schal þe fecche,
Wham so hit recche.”
Rymenhild, ȝef he cuþe,
Gan lynne wiþ hire Muþe.
Heo makede hire wel bliþe
Wel was hire þat siþe.
“Go nu,” quaþ heo, “sone,
And send him after none
Whane þe kyng arise,
On a squieres wise.
To wude for to pleie.
Nis non þat him biwreie;
He schal wiþ me bileue
Til hit beo nir eue,
To hauen of him mi wille.
After ne recchecche what me telle.”
Aylbrus wende hire fro;
Horn in halle fond he þo,
Bifore þe kyng on benche,
Wyn for to schenche.
“Horn,” quaþ he, “so hende,
To bure nu þu wende,
After mete stille,
Wiþ Rymenhild to duelle.
Wordes suþe bolde
In herte þu hem holde.
Horn, beo me wel trewe;
Ne schal hit þe neure rewe.”
Horn in herte leide
Al þat he him seide.
He ȝeode in wel riȝte
To Rymenhild þe briȝte.
On knes he him sette,
And sweteliche hure grette.
Of his feire siȝte
Al þe bur gan liȝte.
He spac faire speche;
Ne dorte him noman teche.
“Wel þu sitte and softe,
Rymenhild þe briȝte,
Wiþ þine Maidenes sixe
Þat þe sitteþ nixte.
Kinges stuard vre
Sende me in to bure.
Wiþ þe speke ihc scholde;
Seie me what þu woldest.
Seie, and ich schal here,
What þi wille were.”
Rymenhild vp gan stonde
And tok him bi þe honde.
Heo sette him on pelle,
Of wyn to drinke his fulle.
Heo makede him faire chere
And tok him abute þe swere.
Ofte heo him custe,
So wel so hire luste.
“Horn,” heo sede, “wiþute strif
Þu schalt haue me to þi wif.
Horn, haue of me rewþe,
And plist me þi trewþe.”
Horn þo him biþoȝte
What he speke miȝte.
“Crist,” quaþ he, “þe wisse,
And ȝiue þe heuene blisse
Of þine husebonde,
Wher he beo in londe;
Ihc am ibore to lowe
Such wimman to knowe.
Ihc am icome of þralle,
And fundling bifalle.
Ne feolle hit þe of cunde
To spuse beo me bunde.
Hit nere no fair wedding
Bitwexe a þral and a king.”
Þo gan Rymenhild mis lyke,
And sore gan to sike.
Armes heo gan buȝe;
Adun he feol iswoȝe.
Horn in herte was ful wo,
And tok hire on his armes two.
He gan hire for to kesse,
Wel ofte mid ywisse.
“Lemman,” he sede, “dere,
Þin herte nu þu stere.
Help me to kniȝte,
Bi al þine miȝte
To my lord þe king,
Þat he me ȝiue dubbing.
Þanne is mi þralhod
Iwent in to kniȝthod,
And i schal wexe more,
And do, lemman, þi lore.”
Rymenhild, þat swete þing,
Wakede of hire swoȝning.
“Horn,” quaþ heo, “vel sone
Þat schal beon idone.
Þu schalt beo dubbed kniȝt
Are come seue niȝt.
Haue her þis cuppe,
And þis Ring þer vppe,
To Aylbrus and stuard,
And se he holde foreward.
Seie ich him biseche,
Wiþ loueliche speche,
Þat he adun falle
Bifore þe king in halle,
And bidde þe king ariȝte
Dubbe þe to kniȝte.
Wiþ seluer and wiþ golde
Hit wurþ him wel iȝolde.
Crist him lene spede
Þin erende to bede.”
Horn tok his leue,
For hit was neȝ eue.
Aþelbrus he soȝte
And ȝaf him þat he broȝte,
And tolde him ful ȝare
Hu he hadde ifare,
And sede him his nede,
And bihet him his mede.
Aþelbrus also swiþe
Wente to halle bliue.
“Kyng,” he sede, “þu leste
A tale mid þe beste.
Þu schalt bere crune
Tomoreȝe in þis tune.
Tomoreȝe is þi feste;
Þer bihoueþ geste.
Hit nere noȝt for loren
For to kniȝti child horn
Þine armes for to welde;
God kniȝt he schal ȝelde.”
Þe king sede sone,
“Þat is wel idone.
Horn me wel iquemeþ;
God kniȝt him bisemeþ.
He schal haue mi dubbing
And afterward mi derling.
And alle his feren twelf
He schal kniȝten him self.
Alle he schal hem kniȝte
Bifore me þis niȝte.”
Til þe liȝt of day sprang
Ailmar him þuȝte lang.
Þe day bigan to springe,
Horn com biuore þe kinge,
Mid his twelf yfere;
Sume hi were luþere.
Horn he dubbede to kniȝte
Wiþ swerd and spures briȝte.
He sette him on a stede whit;
Þernas no kniȝt hym ilik.
He smot him alitel wiȝt
And bed him beon a god kniȝt.
Aþulf fel a knes þar
Biuore þe king Aylmar.
“King,” he sede, “so kene,
Grante me a bene.
Nu is kniȝt sire horn
Þat in suddenne was iboren.
Lord he is of londe,
Ouer us þat bi him stonde.
Þin armes he haþ and scheld,
To fiȝte wiþ vpon þe feld.
Let him vs alle kniȝte,
For þat is vre riȝte.”
Aylmar sede sone ywis,
“Do nu þat þi wille is.”
Horn adun liȝte
And makede hem alle kniȝtes.
Murie was þe feste,
Al of faire gestes.
Ac Rymenhild nas noȝt þer,
And þat hire þuȝte seue ȝer.
After horn heo sente,
And he to bure wente.
Nolde he noȝt go one;
Aþulf was his mone.
Rymenhild on flore stod,
Hornes come hire þuȝte god,
And sede, “Welcome, sire horn,
And Aþulf, kniȝt þe biforn.
Kniȝt, nu is þi time
For to sitte bi me.
Do nu þat þu er of spake,
To þi wif þume take.