Lines 1921–2130

To Yrayn tho he ran,
Hys sword he drough out than.
Was scharp of egge, and ord ;
To Maboun he ran ryght.
Well faste he gan to fyght.
Of love ther nas no word.
But ever faught Maboun,
As a wod lyoun,
Lybeaus for the flo ;
But Lybeaus karf adoun
Hys scheld wyth hys fachoun,
That he tok Yrayn fro.

Wythout more tale teld,
The left arm wyth the scheld
Well evene he smot of tho ;
Tho spak Maboun hym tylle,
Of thyne dentys ylle,
Gentyll knyght, now ho.
And y woll yelde me,
In trewthe and lewte,
At thyn owene wylle ;
And that lady fre,
That ys yn my pouste,
I wyll the take tylle.

For thorugh that swordes dent
Myn hond y have yschent,
That femyn wyll me spylle ;
I femynede hem bothe,
Sertayn wythoute nothe,
In feld our fon to fylle.
Seyde Lybeaus, Be my thryste,
I nell naght of thy yefte.
All thys world to wynne ;
But ley on strokes swyfte,
Our on schall other lyste
That hedde of be the skynne.

Maboun and Lybeaus
Paste togedere hewes,
And stente for no synne ;
Lybeaus was more of myght,
And karf hys helm bryght,
And hys hedde atwynne.
Tho Maboun was ysclayn,
He ran ther he lefte Yrayn,
Wyth fachoun yn hys fest ;
For to cleve hys brayn,
Therof he was certayn.
And trewly was hys tryst.

And whanne he com thore,
Away he was ybore,
Whyderward he nyste ;
He softe hym for the nones,
Wyde yn alle the wones,
To fyghte more hym lyste.
And whanne he ne fond hym noght,
He held hymself be caught,
And gan to syke sare,
And seyde yn word and thought
Thys wyll be sore abought
That he ys thus fram me yfare.

On kne hym sette that gentyll knyght
And prayde to Marie bryght,
Kevere hym of hys care ;
As he prayde thus yn halle
Out of the ston walle
A wyndow doun fyll thare ;
And a greet wonder wythall
In hys herte gan fall,
As he sat and beheld ;
A warm come out a pace,
Wyth a womannes face.
Was yong and nothyng eld.

Hyr body and hyr wyngys
Schynede yn all thynges.
As gold gaylyche ygyld were.
Her tayle was myche unmete,
Hyr pawes grymly grete,
As ye may lythe and lere.
Lybeaus began to swete,
Ther he satte yn hys sete,
Maad as he were,
So sore hym gan agryse.
That he ne myghte aryse,
Thaugh hyt hadde bene all afere.

And er Lybeaus hyt wyste
The warm wyth mouth hym kyste,
All aboute hys swyre ;
And after that kyssinge
The warmys tayle and wynge
Anon hyt fell fro hyre.
So fayr yn all thyng
Woman wythout lesyng
Ne saw he never er tho,
But sche stod before hym naked,
And all her body quaked,
Therfore was Lybeaus wo.

Sche seyde, Knyght gentyle,
God yelde the dy whyle.
That my son thou woldest slo ?
Thou hast yslawe nouthe
Two clerkes kouthe.
To deeth they wold me have ydo.
Be est, north, and sowthe,
Be wordes of har mouthe,
Well many man kouth they schend ;
Wyth hare chauntement,
To warm me hadde they ywent.
In wo to welde and wende.

Tyll y hadde kyste Gaweyn,
Eyther som other knyght sertayn,
That wer of hys kende ;
And for thou savyst my lyf,
Casteles ten and fyf
I yeve the wythouten ende :
And y to be thy wyf.
Ay wythouten stryf,
Yyf hyt ys Artours wylle.
Lybeaus was glad and blythe,
And lepte to horse swythe,
And lefte that ladye stylle.

But ever he dradde Yrayn,
For he was naght yslayn,
Wyth speche he wold hym spylle
To the castell gate he rode,
And hovede and abod,
To Jhesu he bad wyth good wylle.
Sende hym tydyngys glad,
Of ham that long hadde
That lady do vylanye ;
Lybeaus Lambard tolde,
And othre knyghtes bolde,
How hym there gan agye ;

And how Maboun was yslayn,
And wondede was Yrayn,
Thorugh grace of seynt Marie ;
And how that lady bryght
To a warm was dyght,
Thorugh kraft of chaunterye.
And how thrugh kus of a knyght
Woman sche was aplyght,
And a semyly creature ;
But sche stod me before,
Naked as sche was ybore,
And seyde, now y am sure

My fomen beth yslayn,
Maboun and Yrayn,
In pes now may we dure.
Whan syr Lybeaus, knyght of prys,
Hadde ytolde the styward, y wys,
All thys aventure,
A robe of purpure bys,
Ypelvryd wyth puryd grys,
Anon he lette forth brynge ;
Calles and keverchefs ryche
He sent her pryvylyche.
Anon wythout dwellynge ;

And whan sche was redy dyght,
Sche rod with mayn and myght,
And wyth her another kyng ;
And all the peple of the toune,
Wyth a fayr processyoun,
Thyder they gonne thrynge.
Whan the lady was come to towne,
Of gold and ryche stones a krowne,
Upon her hedde was sette ;
And weren glad and blythe,
And thonkede god fele syde,
That her bales bette.

All the lordes of dignyte,
Dede her omage and feawte,
As hyt was due dette ;
Thus Lybeaus, wys and wyght,
Wan that ylke lady bryght,
Out of the develes nette.
Seve nyght they made sojour,
Wyth Lambard yn the tour,
And all the peple yn same ;
And tho wente they wyth honour
To the noble kyng Artour,
Wyth moche gle and game :

And thonkede godes myghtes,
Artour and hys knyghtes,
That he ne hadde no schame ;
Artour yaf her also blyve
Lybeaus to be hys wyfe,
That was so gentyll a dame.
The joy of that bredale
Nys not told yn tale,
Ne rekened yn no gest ;
Barons and lordynges fale
Come to that semyly sale.
And ladyes well honeste.

Ther was ryche servyse.
Of all that men kouth devyse.
To lest and ek to mest ;
The menstrales, yn bour and halle,
Hadde ryche yftes wythalle,
And they that weryn unwrest.
Fourty dayes they dwellde,
And har feste helde,
Wyth Artour the kyng ;
As the Frenssch tale teld,
Artour, wyth knyghtes held,
At hom gan hem brynge.

Fele yer they levede yn same,
Wyth moche gle and game,
Lybeaus and that swete thyng.
Jhesu Cryst our savyour,
And hys moder, that swete flour,
Graunte us alle good endynge.