Lines 769–1128

Then seide the soudan, Lemmon myn,
Icham nou glad wel afyn,
Mai ne morfblithur be.
Ye, sire, heo seide, be seint Katerin,
Yif haluendel the child were thyn
Then miht ye gladnes se.
Dame, he seide, hou is that ?
Nis hit not myn that ich biyat ?
No, sire, I wis, seith heo,
But thou weore cristne as hit is.
Thou nast no part therof I wis,
Nouther of child ne of me.

But yif thou cristne wol let the make,
More drede and more wrake
The while thou art alyve ;
For yif thou were a Cristene man,
Then were hit thin that thou wan,
Thi child and eke thi wyve :
And whon thou art ded thou schalt wende
To joye that lasteth withouten ende.
May no mon hit discryve.
Dame, seith the soudan, beo nou stille,
Ichul ben at thin owne wille.
And ben icristned blyve.

Mi maumetrie ichul forsake.
And cristendom ichul take,
Withinne this thridde day :
No more folk distruye I nil,
I preye that prest to come me til
To teche me Cristene lay.
Priveliche that hit be.
That no mon wite bote we thre,
As ferforth as ye may ;
Yif eny hit wist heigh or lowe,
Icholde be brent and don of dowe,
Yif I forsoke my lay.

The prest anon com after than,
And seide to the soudan.
Sire, now icham here,
With al the miht that I con,
To helpe make the a Cristene men.
And godes lawe to lere.
His hond uppon his breste he leide,
In verba dei he swor and seide,
To you bothe iferre ;
Trewe and trusti ichul be
To al that evere falleth for me,
And helpe at my powere.

A morwe, when the prest awaketh,
A feir vessel to him he taketh,
With watur cler and colde ;
Anon riht for the soudan sake,
His preyers he gon to make,
To him that Judas solde ;
And to Marie his moder dere.
That the soudan cristned were.
That was so breme and bolde ;
And yef him miht and space
Thorw his vertu and his grace
His cristendam wel to holde.

A morwe, as sone as hit was day.
The soudan in his bed lay,
And up he gan to rise ;
He clepede the prest, and gon to say,
Dihte the redi that thou may
That schal to my servyse.
The prest onswerde anon tho,
Ichave al redi that schal therto,
Al redi in alle wyse.
The soudan dihte him naked anon.
In to the watur he con gon,
And reseyvede the baptise.

The preste hihte fire Cleophas,
And nempnede so the soudan of Damas,
After his owne name ;
His colour that lodlich and blak was,
Hit by com feir thorw godes gras.
And cler withoute blame.
Whon the soudan hedde therof a siht.
That god was of so muche miht.
His care was tornd to game ;
Whon the prest hedde al iseid,
And holy watur on hym leyd.
To chaumbre thei wenten in same.

He com ther the ladi lay,
Certes, dame, he gon to say,
Thi god is good and trewe.
The ladi that ilke daye
Wepte with hire eyen gray
Unnethe hire lord heo knewe.
But wel heo wuste in hire thouht
On Mahoun he leevede nouht,
Bi chaungynge of his hewe,
And for that he was cristnet so
Al awei was hire wo,
Hire joye wox al newe.

Sire, heo seide, pur charite.
Send this prest in privite.
To my fader the kyng.
And bide him for the love of me,
That he come hider to the.
With al that he may bring :
And whon that he is hider icome.
He cristene the lond al and some
Bothe olde and ying.
And hose nil not cristned be
Hong hem heighe uppon a tre,
Withouten eny dwellyng.

The soudan tok the prest bi the honde.
And bad him go and nothing wonde.
To the kyng of Tars ful yare,
"And do him to understonde,
That icham thorw godes sonde
Ibrouht al out of care.
Bid him com hider with his ost,
Priveliche withouten bost.
For no thyng that he ne spare."
Forth the prest is iwent,
To don the lordes comaundement,
To Tars then is he fare.

Forth wente sir Cleophas,
To the court thorw godes gras,
Withouten eny dwellyng,
Tolde the kyng al the cas ;
Hou the child ded-boren was,
A misforchapen thing ;
And thorw the preyere of his wyf
Hit hedde bothe lyme and lyf,
In the watur of his cristenyng ;
And hou the proude soudan
Was bicome a Cristene man,
Thorw miht of hevene kyng.

He radde the lettres that he brouht.
In the lettre hit was iwrouht.
As ich ou telle may.
He badde hym come and lette nouht,
With al the pouwer that he mouht,
Uppon a serteyn day.
" Priveliche with thin ost.
Thou scholdest come withoute bost.
And serche uche cuntray.
And hose wole not cristnet be
Scholde be honged on a tre,
Withouten eny delay."

A gladdor mon mighte not ben,
He clepte his barouns and his qwen.
And tolde hem in his sawe.
The soudan, that stout and kene,
Cristnet was withouten wene.
And leevede on Cristes lawe.
And to me hath isent his sonde.
He wol cristene al his londe,
Yif he mihte wel fawe :
He nil not come to cristenyng,
Weore he never so heigh lordyng.
He scholde be to-drawe.

Therfore, lordynges, out-riht,
Duik, erl, baroun, and kniht.
Let yor folk out beode,
And when that ye both redi diht.
With helm on hed and brunye briht.
Help me wel at neode.
The kyng of Tars, that ilke tyde,
Sente aboute bi uche a syde.
To knihtes douhti in dede ;
The kyng dihte him for to wende,
With sixti thousend knihtes hende,
This was a feir felawrede.

Forth he went, withouten let,
The same day that he hedde set,
To the soudan wel yare ;
Whon thei were togeder imet,
A muri gretyng ther was gret,
Of lordes that ther ware.
A semely siht was to se
The ladi falde doun on kne
Bifore hire fader thare ;
Ther was joye, pite also,
Whon heo tolde of weole and wo.
Of auntres that weore fare.

The soudan ther he sat in halle.
He clepede his knihtes biforen him alle,
And al his oune meyni,
Bi heore name he gan him calle,
Lordynges, whatsoever bifalle,
Icristned ye schul be.
For ichave Mahoun forsake,
To Jhesu Crist ich have me take.
And sertes so schul be ;
And hose wol not so don.
He schal ben honged swithe son.
Be him that dyyed on tre.

Whon the soudan hedde thus told,
Ther was mony a Sarazin bold.
That with the soudan were.
Summe seide that thei wolde,
And summe seide that thei nolde.
Be cristened in none manere.
And hose wolde here maumetes forsake,
Cristene men let hem take,
And weore hem lef and dere ;
And ho that nolde do bi heore red,
Cristen men tak of heore hed.
Paste bi the swere.

The soudan had in his prison riht,
Thritti thousend prisons apliht,
Of mony an uncouth theode,
Thei that were strong and wiht.
He delyverede hem anon riht.
And armed hem upon stede :
And thei that mihte not so do.
He yaf hem mete and drynk also,
And al that hem was nede ;
Men mihte seo in that court than
Moni a blythe Cristene man.
In stori as we rede.

Anon riht in that ille tyde,
Thorw out his lond on uche a syde,
This word wel wyde sprong,
Thei sent aboute fer and nerre
Uppon the soudan fer to werre.
And seiden for that wrong,
Bi Mahoun and Tirmagaunt,
No men schal be heore warant,
Weore thei never so stronge ;
Bothe soudan and kyng.
And al that hem was folewyng.
The dethe thei scholde afonge.

Fyf kynges were of heigh parayle,
Uppon the soudan thei beode bataile.
That strong and douhti were ;
Hou the soudan hem gon assayle,
And what thei hihte withoute fayle,
Lustneth, and ye mouwe here.
The kyng Kenedok and kyng Lesyas,
Kyng Merkel, and kyng Cleomadas,
Kyng Menbrok was heore fere,
Theos fyf kynges forth bewent,
Moni a mon thei slowe and schent,
With strengthe and gret pouwere.

Uppon a day the kyng and the soudan
An hard batayle thei bigan,
Uppon this kynges fyve,
Ayeynes o Cristene man,
Ten hethene houndes wer ther than
Of Sarazins stoute and stythe.
Herkeneth now, bothe olde and ying,
Hou the soudan and the kyng
Among hem gunne to dryve.
And hou the Sarazins that day
Hopped hedles for heore pray,
I schall ow tell as blyve.

The Cristene soudan that tyde
Tok a spere and gon to ryde,
Ayeyn Kenedok so kene,
The kyng, that was so ful of pryde.
His spere he lette to hym glyde,
To wite withouten wene.
So harde togidere thei riden thare,
Both the speres that thei bare
Borsten hem bitwene,
The soudan drou his swerd ful good,
The kynges hed with the hod
He strok of quit and clene.

Kyng Lesyas of Taborie
To the soudan hedde envye,
For Kendok kyng was slawe ;
He toke a spere, withoute lye,
Ayeyn the soudan he gan hyghe.
And wolde hym sle ful fawe.
The kyng of Tars bitwene hem rod,
And Lesyas streok he abod,
As I fynde in my sawe ;
He smot him so the scheld
That hit fley into the feld,
Adoun he hath hym drawe.

He leop to horse, and gon to ryde,
And slough a doun bi uche a syde,
Alle that he bifore him founde ;
And alle that ever he hutte that tyde,
Weore he never so proud in pryde,
He yaf hem dethes wounde.
The kyng of Tars with his spere
Thorw the bodi he gon hym bere,
And falde him ded to grounde ;
The Sarazins nomen up a cri,
Now, Mahoun, ful of merci.
Help now in this stounde !

Kyng Merkel was ful wo,
To fihten anon he was ful thro,
A spere in honde he hent.
He priked his stede and let him go,
The kyng of Tars he thoughte to slo,
Er he thennes went.
He smot the kyng that ilke tyde
Thorw his hauberk in the syde,
That neih he hedde be schent ;
The kyng of Tars out of his sadel fel,
The blod out of his wounde wel,
Mony mon hit bi ment.

Whon the soudan saugh his blod.
For wraththe he thoughte he was neih wod,
And gon to prike with mayn,
He and al his felawrede
Brought hem ayein uppon his stede.
And halp hym up ayayn.
Whon he was on his stede ibrouht,
Al that he hutte and arauht.
He clef hem in to brayn :
Hyng Merkel ayeyn him went,
And yaf hym such a nother dunt,
That neih he hadde hym slavn.

Whon the soudan saugh that siht,
Wod for wraththe he was aplight,
And rod to the kyng Merkel,
And smot him so on the scheld.
That he fel in to the feld.
Among that houndes fel :
The kyng of Tars in that stounde
Hath sypt of that hethene hounde,
That er hedde foughte so wel ;
He swor, be him that tholede wounde,
That hethene dogge schal to grounde,
Be the help of seint Michel.

I nul not dyyen in his dette,
A strok on hym ichul bisette,
Beo he never so bolde ;
Ur ladi with an ave he grette,
That no mon scholde hym lette.
The feendes strengthe to folde.
He rod to hym anon riht,
With a dunt of muche miht,
In stori as hit is tolde ;
He hutte him on the helm on hiht.
Into the brayn thorw bacinet briht,
Thus is his servyse yolde.

Kyng Membrok was in gret payn
Whon he saugh thus his felawes slayn,
And in the feld to drevet,
He priked his hors with miht and mayn,
And fleigh aweiward on that playn,
For to huyden his heved.
The Cristene soudan in that tyde
Aftur him he gan to ryde,
For no thyng he ne leved,
And smot him so fer al his scheld
As he flegh in that feld,
Quitliche of his heved.

Thus the ladi with hire lore,
Broughte hire frendes out of sore,
Thorw Jhesu Cristes grace ;
Al the while that thai weore thare,
The joye that was among hem yare,
No mon may telle the space.
Whon thei weore out of world iwent,
Bifore god omnipotent.
Hem was diht a place.
Now Jhesu, that is ful of miht,
Graunt us alle in hevene liht
To seo thi swete face !