Lines 961–1440

Gyffrounys legge to-brak.
That men herde the krak,
Aboute yn lengthe and brede.
Tho seyde all tho that ther wore,
That Gyffroun hadde forlore,
The whyte gerfawkoun ;
To Lybeaus thay hym bore,
And wente, lasse and more,
Wyth hym ynto the toune.
Syr Gyffroun, upon hys scheld,
Was ybore hom fram the feld,
Wyth care and rufull roun ;

The gerfawkoun ysent was.
Be a knyght that hyght Gludas,
To Artour kyng wyth kroun.
And wryten all the dede
Wyth hym he gan lede.
The hauk how that he wan ;
Tho Artour herde hyt rede,
To hys knyghtes he seyde,
Lybeaus well werry-kan.
He hath me sent the valour
Of noble dedes four
Sethe he ferst began ;

Now wyll y sende hym tresour,
To spendy wyth honour,
As falleth for swych a man.
And hundred pound honest
Of floryns wyth the best
He sente to Cardelof than ;
Tho Lybeaus helde hys feste,
That fourty. dayes leste,
Of lordes of renoun.
Than Lybeaus and that may
Token hyr ryghte way
Toward Synadowne.

And fayre her leve token thay.
To wende ynto another contray,
Of duk, erl and baroun ;
As they ryden an a lowe,
Homes herde they blowe,
Ther unther the doune ;
And houndes ronne greet and smale,
Hontes grette yn the vale
The dwerke seyde that drowe
For to telle soth my tale,
Fele yeres ferely fale
That horn well y thede knowe.

Hym blowyth syr Otes de Lyle,
That servede my lady som whyle,
In her semyly sale,
Whanne he was take wyth gyle
He flawe for greet peryle
West ynto Wyrhale.
As they ryde talkynge
A rach ther come flyngynge
Overtwert the way,
Thanne seyde old and yynge,
From her ferst gynnynge,
They ne sawe hond never so gay.

He was of all colours
That man may se of flours,
Betwene Mydsomer and May ;
That mayde sayde al so snell,
Ne saw y never no juell
So lykynge to my pay :
God wold that y hym aughte !
Lybeaus anoon hym kaghte,
And yaf hym to mayde Elene ;
They ryden forth all yn saght,
And tolde how knyghtes faght.
For ladyes bryght and schene.

Ne hadde they ryde but a whyle,
The mountance of a myle.
In that forest grene.
They sawe an hynde com styke,
And two grehoundes ylyke.
Be that rech that y er of mene.
They hovede unther a lynde.
To se the cours of the hynde,
Lybeaus and hys fere ;
Thanne seygh they come byhynde
A knyght iclodeth yn Ynde,
Upon a bay destrere.

Hys bugle he gan to blowe,
For hys folk hyt schuld knowe
In what stede he wer ;
He seyde to hem that throwe,
Syr, that rach was myn owe,
Ygon for sevene yere :
Frendes, leteth hym go.
Lybeaus answerede tho.
That schall never betyde.
For wyth myn handes two
I hym yaf that mayde me fro
That hoveth me besyde.

Tho seyde ser Otes de Lyle,
Than artow yn peryle,
Byker yef thou abyde.
Tho seyde Lybeaus, Be seynt Gyle,
I ne yeve naght of thy gyle,
Cherll, though thou chyde.
Then seyde syr Otes de Lyle,
Syr, thyn wordes beth fyle,
Cherll was never my name ;
My fader an erll was whyle,
The countesse of Karlyle
Certes was my dame.

Wer ych yarmed now,
Redy as art thou,
We wolde feyghte yn same ;
But thou the rach me leve,
Thou pleyyst, er hyt be eve,
A wonder wylde game.
Tho seyde Lybeaus also prest,
Therof tho thy best,
Thys rach schall wyth me wende.
They tok har way ryght west,
In that wylde forest,
Ryght as the dwerk hem kende.

The lord wyth greet errour
Rod horn to hys tour.
And after hys frendes sende.
And tolde hem anon ryghtes
That on of Artourys knyghtes
Schamelych gan hym schende ;
And hadde hys rach ynome,
Thanne seyde alle and some.
The traytour schall be take,
And never ayen hom come,
Thaugh he wer thoghtyer gome.
Than Launcelet du Lake.

Tho dyghte they hem all to armes,
Wyth swerdes and wyth gysarmes,
As werre schold awake ;
Knytes and squyeres,
Lepte on her destrerys.
For har lordes sake.
Upon an hell well hyghe
Lybeaus ther they syghe,
He rod pas be pas ;
To hym they gon crye,
Traytour, thou schalt dye,
For thy wykkede trespas.

Syr Lybeaus ayen beheld
How fulfelde was the feld,
So greet peple ther was ;
He seyde, Mayde Elene,
For our rach, y wene,
Us Cometh a karfull cas.
I rede that ye drawe
Into the wode schawe,
Your heddes for to hyde ;
For I am swyde fawe,
Thaugh ych schulde be slawe,
Bykere of hem y woll abyde.

Into the wode they rode,
And Lybeaus theroute abothe.
As aunterous knyght yn pryde ;
Wyth bowe, and wyth arblaste,
To hym they schote faste.
And made hym woundes wyde.
Lybeaus stede ran,
And bar doun hors and man,
For nothyng nolde he spare ;
That peple seyde than,
Thys ys fend Satan,
That mankende wyll forfare.

For wham Lybeaus arafte
After hys ferste drawghte
He slep for evermare :
But sone he was besette
As theer ys yn a nette
Wyth grymly wondes sare.
Twelf knyghtes all prest
He saw come yn the forest.
In armes cler and bryght ;
Al day they hadde yrest,
And thought yn that forest,
To sle Lybeaus the knyght.

Of sute were all twelfe.
That on was the lord hymselfe,
In ryme to rede aryght ;
They smyte to hym all at ones,
And thoghte to breke hys bones,
And felle hym doun yn fyght.
Tho myghte men her dynge,
And swordes lowde rynge.
Among hem all yn fere ;
So harde they gonne thrynge,
The sparkes gonne out sprynge,
Fram scheld and helmes clere.

Lybeaus slough of hem thre.
And the fourth gonne to fle.
And thorst naght nyghhe hym nere,
The lord dwellede yn that schour.
And hys sones four,
To selle har lyves there.
Ther roune tho rappes ryve.
He ayens hem fyve,
Faught as he were wod ;
Neygh doun they gonne hym dryve,
As water doth of clyve.
Of hym ran the blode.

As he was neygh yspylt,
Hys swerd brast yn the hylt,
Tho was he mad of mode ;
The lord a strok hym sette,
Through helm and basnette.
That yn the scheld hyt stode.
Aswogh he fell adoun.
And hys hynder arsoun.
As man that was mete ;
Hys fomen were well boun.
To perce hys acketoun,
Gypell, mayl, and plate.

As he gan sore smerte.
Up he pullede hys herte.
And keverede of hys state ;
An ex he hente all boun,
At hys hynder arsoun,
Allmest hym thoughte to late.
Than besterede he hym as a knygth,
Thre stedes heoddes doun ryght.
He smot at strokes thre ;
The lord saw that syght,
And on hys courser lyght,
Awey he gan to fle,

Lybeaus no lenger abode.
But aftyr hym he rode,
And unther a chesteyn tre,
Ther he hadde hym quelthe.
But the lord hym yelde.
At hys wylle to be.
And be sertayne extente
Tresour, lond, and rente,
Castell, halle, and bour,
Lybeaus therto consente
In forward that he wente
To the kyng Artour,

And seye. Lord of renoun,
As overcome and prysoun
Y am to thyne honour.
The lord grauntede to hys wylle
Bothe lowthe and stylle.
And ledde hym to hys bour.
Anoon that mayde Elene,
Wyth gentyll men fyftene
Was fet to that castell
Sche and the dwerfe bydene
Tolde dedes kene
Of Lybeaus how hyt fell.

Swyche presentes four
He hadde ysent kyng Artour,
That he wan fayr and well ;
The lord was glad and blythe,
And thonketh fele syde
God and seynt Mychell.
Now reste we her awhyle
Of syr Otes de Lyle,
And telle we other tales.
Lybeaus rod many a myle,
Among aventurus fyle,
In Yrland and yn Wales.

Hyt befell yn the month of June,
Whan the fcnell hangeth yn toun,
Grene yn semely sales,
Thys somerys day ys long,
Mery ys the fowles song.
As notes of the nyghtyngales.
That tyme Lybeaus com ryde,
Be a ryver syde.
And saw a greet cyte,
Wyth palys prowd yn pryde.
And castelles heygh and wyde,
Wyth gates greet plente.

He axede what hyt hyght.
The mayde seyde anon ryght,
Syr, y telle hyt the,
Men clepeth hyt Yledor.
Her hath be fyghtynge more
Thanne owher yn any countre.
For a lady of prys,
Wyth rode rede as rose on ryse,
Thys countre ys yn dowte ;
A geaunt hatte Maugys,
Nowher hys per ther nys.
Her hathe be leyde abowte.

He ys blak as ony pych.
Nower ther ys non swych,
Of dede sterne and stoute ;
Ho that passeth the bregge
Hys armes he mot legge,
And to the geaunt alowte.
Tho seyde Lybeaus, Mayde hende,
Schold y wonde to wende,
For hys dentys ille ;
Yf god me grace sende,
Er thys day come to ende,
Wyth fyght y schall hym spylle.

I have yseyn grete okes
Falle for wyndes strokes,
The smale han stonde stylle ;
They y be yyng and lyte.
To hym yyt wyll y smyte
Do god all hys wylle.
They ryden forth all thre
Toward that fayre cyte,
Me clepeth hyt Ylledore ;
Maugeys they gonne yse,
Upon the bregge of tre,
Bold as wylde bore.

Hys scheld as blakke as pych,
Lyngell armes trappur was swych,
Thre mammettes therynne wore.
Of gold gaylyth ygeld,
A schafte an honde he held.
And oo scheld hym before.
He cryde to hym yn despyte.
Say, thou felaw yn whyt,
Tell me what art thou,
Torne hom agayn all so tyt,
For thy owene profyt,
Yef thou lovede thy prow.

Lybeaus seyde anoon ryght,
Artour made me knyght.
To hym y made a yow,
That y ne schulde never turne bak,
Therfore, thou devell yn blak,
Make the redy now.
Syr Lybeaus and Maugys,
On stedes prowde of prys,
Togedere ryde full ryght ;
Bothe lardes and ladyes
Leyn out yn pomet touris
To se that sely fyght ;

And prayde wyth good wyll,
Bothe lede and styll,
Helpe Lybeaus the knyght ;
And that fyle geaunt,
That levede yn Termagaunt,
That day to deye yn fyght.
Har scheldes brooke asonder,
Har dentes ferd as donder,
The peces gonne out sprynge ;
Ech man hadde wonder
That Lybeaus ne hadde ybe unther,
At the ferst gynnyng.

Thanne drough dey swordes bothe,
As men that weren wrothe,
And gonne togedere dynge ;
Lybeaus smot Maugys so,
That hys scheld fell hym fro,
And yn to the feld gan flynge.
Maugys was queynte and quede.
And smot of the stedes heed.
That all fell out the brayne ;
The stede fell doune deed,
Lybeaus nothyng ne sede,
Bot start hym up agayn.

An ax he hente boun.
That heng at hys arsoun.
And smot a strok of raayn ;
Thorugh Maugys stedes swyre,
And forkarf bon and lyre.
That heed fell yn the playn.
Afote they gonne to fyghte.
As men that wer of myghte.
The strokes betwene hem two
Descryve no man ne myghte,
For they wer unsyght,
And eyder othres fo.

Fram the our of pryme
Tyll hyt was evesong tyme
To fyghte they wer well thro;
Syr Lybeaus durstede sore.
And seyde Maugys thyn ore.
To drynke lette me go :
And y schall graunte the
What bone thou byddest me,
Swych cas yef that be tyt ;
Greet schame hyt wold be
For durste a knyght to sle.
And no mare profyt.

Maugys grauntede hys wyll.
To drynke all hys fyll,
Wythout any despyte ;
As Lybeaus ley on the bank.
And thorugh hes helm he drank,
Maugys a strok hym smyt.
That yn the ryuer he fell,
Hys armes echadell.
Was weet and evell adyght ;
But up he start snell.
And seyde. Be seynt Mychell,
Now am y two so lyght.

What wendest thou, fendes fere Y
Uncrystenede that were
Tyll y saw the wyth syght ;
I schall for thys baptyse
Ryght well quyte thy servyse,
Thorugh grace of god almtght.
Thanne newe fyght they began,
Eyther tyll other ran.
And delede dentes strong ;
Many a gentylman.
And ladyes whyt as swan,
For Lybeaus handes wrong.

For Maugys yn the feld
Forkarf Lybeaus scheld,
Wyth dente of armes long ;
Thanne Lybeaus ran away,
Ther that Maugys scheld lay,
And up he gan hyt fonge.
And ran agayn to hym
Wyth strokes stout and grym,
Togydere they gonne asayle,
Besyde that ryver brym
Tyll hyt darkede dym
Betwene hem was batayle.

Lybeaus was werrour wyght.
And smot a strok of myght,
Thorugh gypell, plate, and mayll ;
Forthwyth the scholder bon
Maugys arm fyll of anoon.
Into the feld saunz fayle.
The geaunt thys gan se
Islawe that he schulde be.
And ilaugh wyth myght and mayn.
Lybeaus after gan fle,
Wyth Sterne strokes thre.
And smot hys back atweyn.

The geaunt ther beleveth
Lybeaus smot of hys heved.
And of the batayle was fayn.
He wente ynto the toun
Wyth fayr processioun.
That folk com hym agayn.
A lady, whyt as flowr,
That hyghte la dame d'amore,
A feng hym fayr and well ;
And thankede hys honour,
That he was her socour,
Ayens the geaunt so fell.

To chambre sche gan hym lede,
And dede of all hys wede,
And clodede hym yn pell ;
And proferede hym wyth word
For to be her lord.
In cyte and castell.
Lybeaus grauntede yn haste,
And love to her he caste,
For sche was bryght and schene ;
Alas he ne hadde ybe chast !
For aftyrward at last,
Sche dede hym greet tene.

For twelf monthe and more
Lybeaus dwellede thore.
And mayde Elene ;
That never he myghte out-breke,
For to help a wreke
Of Synadowne the quene.
For thys fayr lady
Kowthe moch of sorcery,
More then other wycches fyfe ;
Sche made hym melodye.
Of all manere menstracy.
That man myghte descryve.

Whan he seygh her face,
Hym thought he was
In Paradys alyve ;
Wyth fantasme, and fayrye.
Thus sche blerede hys yye.
That evell mot sche thryve.
Tyll hyt fell on a day.
He mette Elene that may,
Wythinne the castell tour ;
To hym sche gan to say,
Syr knyght, thou art fals of fay,
Ayens the king Artour.