Lines 849–1132

Iment þu hauest to wyue,
Awai he schal þe dryue;
For Cutberdes fairhede
Ne schal þe neure wel spede.”
HIt was at Cristesmasse,
Neiþer more ne lasse,
Þer cam in at none,
A Geaunt suþe sone,
Iarmed fram paynyme,
And seide þes ryme:--
“Site stille, sire kyng,
And herkne þis tyþyng.
Her buþ paens ariued,
Wel mo þane fiue.
Her beoþ on þe sonde,
King, vpon þi londe.
On of hem wile fiȝte
Aȝen þre kniȝtes.
Ȝef oþer þre slen vre,
Al þis lond beo ȝoure;
Ȝef vre on ouercomeþ ȝour þreo,
Al þis lond schal vre beo.
Tomoreȝe be þe fiȝtinge,
Whan þe liȝt of daye springe.”
Þanne sede þe kyng þurston,
“Cutberd schal beo þat on;
Berild schal beo þat oþer;
Þe þridde, Alrid, his broþer.
For hi beoþ þe strengeste,
And of armes þe beste.
Bute what schal vs to rede?
Ihc wene we beþ alle dede.”
Cutberd sat at borde,
And sede þes wordes:--
“Sire king, hit nis no riȝte,
On wiþ þre to fiȝte;
Aȝen one hunde,
Þre cristen men to fonde.
Sire, ischal al one,
Wiþute more ymone,
Wiþ mi swerd wel eþe
Bringe hem þre to deþe.”
Þe kyng aros amoreȝe,
Þat hadde muchel sorȝe;
And Cutberd ros of bedde,
Wiþ armes he him schredde.
Horn his brunie gan on caste,
And lacede hit wel faste,
And cam to þe kinge,
At his vp risinge.
“King,” he sede, “cum to felde,
For to bihelde
Hu we fiȝte schulle,
And togare go wulle.”
Riȝt at prime tide,
Hi gunnen ut ride,
And funden on a grene,
A geaunt suþe kene,
His feren him biside,
Hore deþ to abide.
Þeilke bataille
Cutberd gan assaille.
He ȝaf dentes inoȝe;
Þe kniȝtes felle iswoȝe.
His dent he gan wiþdraȝe,
For hi were neȝ aslaȝe.
And sede, “kniȝtes, nu ȝe reste
One while, ef ȝou leste.”
Hi sede, “hi neure nadde
Of kniȝte dentes so harde.
He was of hornes kunne,
Iborn in suddenne.”
Horn him gan to agrise,
And his blod arise.
Biuo him saȝ he stonde
Þat driuen him of londe,
And þat his fader sloȝ.
To him his swerd he droȝ.
He lokede on his rynge,
And þoȝte on Rymenhilde.
He smot him þureȝ þe herte,
Þat sore him gan to smerte.
Þe paens þat er were so sturne,
Hi gunne awei vrne.
Horn and his compaynye
Gunne after hem wel swiþe hiȝe,
And sloȝen alle þe hundes,
Er hi here schipes funde.
To deþe he hem alle broȝte;
His fader deþ wel dere hi boȝte.
Of alle þe kynges kniȝtes,
Ne scapede þer no wiȝte.
Bute his sones tweie
Bifore him he saȝ deie.
Þe king bigan to grete,
And teres for to lete.
Me leiden hem in bare,
And burden hem ful ȝare.
Þe king com in to halle,
Among his kniȝtes alle.
“Horn,” he sede, “i seie þe,
Do as i schal rede þe.
Aslaȝen beþ mine heirs,
And þu art kniȝt of muchel pris,
And of grete strengþe,
And fair o bodie lengþe.
MiRengne þu schalt welde,
And to spuse helde
Reynild, mi doȝter,
Þat sitteþ on þe lofte.”
“O sire king, wiþ wronge
Scholte ihc hit vnderfonge.
Þi doȝter þat ȝe me bede,
Ower rengne for to lede.
Welmore ihc schal þe serue,
Sire kyng, or þu sterue.
Þi sorwe schal wende
Or seue ȝeres ende.
Wanne hit is wente,
Sire king, ȝef me mi rente.
Whanne i þi doȝter ȝerne,
Ne schaltu me hire werne.”
Cutberd wonede þere
Fulle seue ȝere,
Þat to Rymenild he ne sente,
Ne him self ne wente.
Rymenild was in Westernesse,
Wiþ wel muchel sorinesse.
A king þer gan ariue
Þat wolde hire haue to wyue.
Aton he was wiþ þe king,
Of þat ilke wedding.
Þe daies were schorte,
Þat Riminhild ne dorste
Leten in none wise.
A writ he dude deuise;
Aþulf hit dude write,
Þat horn ne luuede noȝt lite.
Heo sende hire sonde
To euereche londe,
To seche horn, þe kniȝt,
Þer me him finde miȝte.
Horn noȝt þer of ne herde,
Til, o dai þat he ferde
To wude for to schete,
A knaue he gan imete.
Horn seden, “Leue fere,
Wat sechestu here?”
“Kniȝt, if beo þi wille,
I mai þe sone telle.
I seche fram biweste,
Horn of westernesse,
For a Maiden Rymenhild
Þat for him gan wexe wild.
A king hire wile wedde,
And bringe to his bedde,
King Modi of Reynes,
On of hornes enemis.
Ihc habbe walke wide
Bi þe se side,
Nis he no war ifunde,
Walawai þe stunde.
Wailaway þe while,
Nu wurþ Rymenild bigiled.”
Horn iherde wiþ his ires,
And spak wiþ bidere tires,
“Knaue, wel þe bitide,
Horn stondep þe biside.
Aȝen to hure þu turne,
And seie þat heo ne murne,
For ischal beo þer bitime,
A soneday bi pryme.”
Þe knaue was wel bliþe,
And hiȝede aȝen bliue.
Þe se bigan to þroȝe
Vnder hire woȝe.
Þe knaue þer gan adrinke;
Rymenhild hit miȝte of þinke.
Rymenhild vndude þe dure pin
Of þe hus þer heo was in,
To loke wiþ hire iȝe,
If heo oȝt of horn isiȝe.
Þo fond heo þe knaue adrent
Þat he hadde for horn isent,
And þat scholde horn bringe;
Hire fingres he gan wringe.
Horn cam to þurston þe kyng,
And tolde him þis tiþing.
Þo he was iknowe
Þat Rimenhild was hise oȝe,
Of his gode kenne,
Þe king of suddenne,
And hu he sloȝ in felde
Þat his fader quelde,
And seide, “king þe wise,
Ȝeld me mi seruise.
Rymenhild help me winne;
Þat þu noȝt ne linne,
And ischal do to spuse
Þi doȝter wel to huse.
Heo schal to spuse haue
Aþulf, mi gode felaȝe,
God kniȝt mid þe beste,
And þe treweste.”
Þe king sede so stille,
“Horn, haue nu þi wille.”
He dude writes sende
Into yrlonde,
After kniȝtes liȝte,
Irisse men to fiȝte.
To horn come inoȝe,
Þat to schupe droȝe.
Horn dude him in þe weie,
On a god Galeie.
Þe him gan to blowe
In alitel þroȝe.
Þe se bigan to posse
Riȝt in to Westernesse.
Hi strike seil and maste,
And Ankere gunne caste,
Or eny day was sprunge
Oþer belle irunge.
Þe word bigan to springe
Of Rymenhilde weddinge.
Horn was in þe watere;
Ne miȝte he come no latere.
He let his schup stonde,
And ȝede to londe.
His folk he dude abide
Vnder wude side.
Horn him ȝede alone,
also he sprunge of stone.
A palmere he þar mette,
And faire hine grette.
“Palmere, þu schalt me telle
Al of þine spelle.”
He sede vpon his tale,
“I come fram o brudale,
Ihc was at o wedding
Of a Maide Rymenhild.
Ne miȝte heo adriȝe
Þat heo ne weop wiþ iȝe.
Heo sede þat ‘heo nolde
Ben ispused wiþ golde;
Heo hadde on husebonde,
Þeȝ he were vt of londe.’
And in strong halle,
Biþinne castel walle,
Þer iwas atte ȝate;
Nolde hi me in late.
Modi ihote hadde
To bure þat me hire ladde.
Awai igan glide;
Þat deol inolde abide.
Þe bride wepeþ sore,
And þat is muche deole!”
Quaþ horn, “So crist me rede,
We schulle chaungi wede.