Lines 1–252

In Faguell, a fayre countre,
A great lorde somtyme dyd dwell,
Which had a lady so fayre and fre
That all men good of her dyd tel.

Fayre and pleasaunt she was in sight,
Gentyl and amayable in eche degre,
Chaste to her lorde, bothe day and nyght,
As is the turtyll upon the tre.

All men her loved, bothe yonge and olde,
For her vertue and gentylnesse.
Also in that lande was a knight bolde,
Ryght wyse, and ful of doughtinesse.

All men spake of his hardynesse,
Ryche and poore of eche degre,
So that they called him, doutlesse.
The noble knyght of curtesy.

This knight so curteys was and bolde,
That the lorde herde therof anone.
He sayd that speke with him he wolde,
For hym the messengere is gone,

Wyth a letter unto this knight.
And sayd, Syr, i pray god you se
My lorde of Faguell you sendeth ryght
An hundred folde gretynge by me.

He preieth you in all hastynge
To come in his court for to dwell,
And ye shal lake no maner of thynge,
As townes, towres, and many a castell.

The curteyse knight was sone content,
And in all dilygence that might be
Wyth the messyngere anone he went
This lorde to serve with humylite.

Fast they rode bothe day and nyght,
Tyll he unto the lorde was come ;
And whan the lorde of hym had a sight,
Right frendly he did him welcome.

He gave hym towenes, castelles and towres,
Wherof all other had envye,
They thought to reve him his honoures,
By some treason or trechery.

This lady, of whome i spake before,
Seyng this knight so good and kynde,
Afore all men that ever were bore
She set on hym her herte and minde.

His paramour she thought to be,
Hym for to love wyth herte and minde,
Nat in vyce but in chastyte,
As chyldren that together are kynde.

This knight also curteyse and wyse.
With herte and mynde both ferme and fast,
Lovyd this lady wythouten vyse,
Whyche tyll they dyed dyd ever laste.

Both night and day these lovers true
Suffred great payne, wo, and grevaunce,
How eche to other theyr minde might shewe;
Tyll at the last, by a sodaine chaunce,

This knight was in a garden grene,
And thus began him to complayne,
Alas ! he sayd, with mornynge eyen,
Now is my herte in wo and payne.

From mournynge can I nat retrayne,
This ladyes love dothe me so wounde,
I feare she hath of me disdayne :
With that he fell downe to the grounde.

The lady in a wyndowe laye,
With herte cold as any stone,
She wyst nat what to do nor saye
Whan she herde the knightes mone.

Sore sighed that lady of renowne,
In her face was no colour founde,
Than into the gardein came she downe,
And sawe this knight lye on the grounde.

Whan she sawe hym lye so for her sake,
Her hert for wo was almoost gone,
To her comforte coude she none take,
But in swoune fell downe hym upon,

So sadly that the knyght awoke,
And whan that he sawe her so nere.
To hym comforte anone he toke,
And began the lady for to chere.

He sayd, Lady and love, alas,
Into this cure who hath you brought
She sayd, My love, and my solas.
Your beaute standeth so in my thought,

That, yf i had no worldly make,
Never none should have my herte but ye.
The knyght sayd, Lady for your sake,
I shal you love in chastyte.

Our love, he sayde, shal be none other
But chaste and true, as is betwene
A goodly syster and a brother,
Fro luste our bodyes to kepe clene.

And where so ever mi body be,
Bothe day and night, at every tyde,
My simpele herte in chastite
Shall ever more lady with you abide.

This lady, white as any floure,
Replete with feminine shamefastnesse,
Begayn to chaunge her fare coloure,
And to hym sayd, My love, doubtelesse,

Under suche forme i shall you love,
With faythful herte in chastite,
Next unto god that is above
Bothe in welthe and adversyte.

Eche of them kyssed other truely.
But, ever alas ! ther was a fo
Behynde the wall, them to espye,
Which after torned them to muche wo.

Out of the gardyn whan they were gone,
Eche from other dyd departe,
Awaye was all theyr wofull mone,
The one had lyghted the others herte.

Than this spye, of whome i tolde,
Whyche stode behinde the garden wall,
Wente unto his lorde ful bolde,
And sayd, Syr, shewe you i shall,

By your gardyn as i was walkynge,
I herde the knight of curtesye
Which with your lady was talkinge
Of love unlawfull pryvely :

Therfore yf ye suffre him for to precede,
Wyth your lady to have his joye,
He shal bee lede fro you in dede
Or elles they bothe shall you distroye.

Whan than the lorde had understande
The wordes that the spye him tolde,
He sware he would rydde him fro that [lande],
Were he never so stronge and bolde.

He sware an othe, by god almight,
That he should never be glade certayne
While that knight was in his sight,
Tyl that he by some meane were slaine.

Than let he do crye a feest,
For every man that thider wolde come,
For every man bothe moost and leest,
Thyder came lordes bothe olde and yonge.

The lorde was at the table set,
And his lady by him that tide,
The knight of curtesy anone was set,
And set downe on the other syde.

Theyr hartes should have be wo-begone,
If they had knowen the lordes thought;
But whan that they were styll echone,
The lorde these wordes anone forth brought:

Me thinke it is fyttinge for a knight
For aventures to enquyre,
And nat thus, bothe day and night,
And home to sojourne by the fyre.

Therfore, syr knight of curtesye,
This thinge wyl i you counseyl,
To ryde and go throughe the countre,
To seke adventures for your avayle.

As unto Rodes for to fight,
The christen fayth for to mayntayne,
To shewe by armes your force and myght,
In Lumbardy, Portyngale, and in Spayne.

Than spake the knyght to the lord anone,
For your sake wyl i aventure my lyfe,
Whether ever i come agayne or none,
And for my ladyes sake, your wyfe.

If i dyd nat i were to blame.
Than sighed the lady with that worde,
In dolour depe her herte was tane,
And sore wounded as wyth a sworde.

Than after dyner the knight did go
His horse and harneyse to make redy,
The woful lady came him unto,
And to him sayd right pyteously :

Alas ! yf ye go, i must complayne
Alone as a woful creature,
If that ye be in batayle slayne,
On lyve may i not endure.

Alas, unhappy creature !
Where shal i go, where shal i byde ?
Of dethe sothely nowe am i sure,
And all worldly joye i shal set asyde.

A payre of sheres than dyd she take,
And cut of her here bothe yelowe and bright
Were this, than sayd she, for my sake,
Upon your helme, moche curteyse knight.

I shall, dere lady, for your sake,
This knyght sayd, with styl morninge :
No comforte to him coude he take,
Nor absteine him fro perfounde syghinge.

For grete pyte i can not wryte
The sorowe that was betwene them two
Also i have to small respyte
For to declare theyr payne and wo.

The wofull departinge and complaynt
That was betwene these lovers twayne
Was never man that coude depaynt.
So wofully did they complayne.

The teres ran from theyr eyen twayne,
For doloure whan they did departe ;
The lady in her castell did remayne,
Wyth langour replenysshed was her herte.

Now leve we here this lady bryght,
Within her castel makinge her mone,
And tourne we to the curteys knyght,
Whyche on his journey forth is gone.

Unto hymself this knight sayd he,
Agaynst the chrysten i wyl not fyght,
But to the Rodes wyl i go
Them to susteyne with all my myght.

Than did he her heere unfolde,
And one his helme it set on hye,
Wyth rede thredes of ryche golde,
Whiche he had of his lady.

Full richely his shelde was wrought,
Wyth asure stones and beten golde,
But on his lady was his thought,
The yelowe heare whan he dyd beholde.

Than forth he rode by dale and downe,
After aventures to enquyre,
By many a castel, cyte and towne,
All to batayl was his desyre.

In every justyng where he came
None so good as he was founde,
In every place the pryce he wan.
And smote his adversaryes to the grounde.

So whan he came to Lumberdye,
Ther was a dragon theraboute,
Whyche did great hurt and vylanye,
Bothe man and beste of hym had doubte.

As this knight rode there alone,
Save onely his page by his syde,
For his lady he began to mone,
Sore syghynge as he did ride.

Alas ! he sayd, my lady swete,
God wote in what case ye be
God wote whan we two shall mete,
I feare that i shal never you se.

Than as he loked hym aboute,
Towarde a hyll that was so hye,
Of this dragon he harde a shoute,
Yonder is a feast, he sayd, truly.

The knight him blessyd, and forthe dyd go,
And sayd, I shall do my travayle,
Betyde me well, betyde me wo,
The fyers fynde i shall assayle.

Than wyth the dragon dyd he meate,
Whan she him sawe she gaped wyde,
He toke good hede, as ye may wete,
And quyckely sterted a lytle asyde.

He drewe his swerde like a knyght,
This dragon fyersly to assayle,
He gave her strokes ful of myght,
Stronge and mortall was the batayle.

The dragon gave this knight a wounde,
Wyth his tayle upon the heed,
That he fell downe unto the grounde.
In a sowne as he had ben deed.