Fitt III

Into the londe of Artas
Syr Egyllamowre can passe,
There the erlys were ;
Alle that cuntrey was fulle fayne,
That he homeward was comyn ageyne,
Alle tho that he fonde there.
Crystyabelle herde telle of hys comyng home,
Ageyne the knyght then ys sche gone,
Sche buskyd and made hur ȝare.
" Syr," sche seyde, " how have ye faryn ?"
" Damycelle, wele, and in travelle byn
To brynge us bothe owt of care."

There he kyssyd the lady gente,
And to halle they wente,
The erle there-wyth to tene.
The hedys to hym there he down layde,
" Lo ! lorde," the knyght sayde,
" In Sydon have y bene."
Therfore was the erle fulle woo,
" Y trowe ther wylle no develle the sloo,
Be Cryste, syr, so y wene ;
Thou art abowteward, y undurstonde,
To wynne alle Artas of myn honde,
And wynne my doghtyr schene."

The knyght seyde, " So mote y the,
Noght but y worthy bee,
Helpe God that ys beste !"
The erle seyde, " Ȝyt hyt schalle falle,
That oon schalle come and pay for alle,
Thowe thou be nevyr so preste."
The knyght preyed the erle so free,
"xij. wekys that ye wylle geve me,
My boonys for to reste."

Aftur soper, as y yow telle,
He wendyd to chaumbur with Crystyabelle,
There laumpus were brennyng bryght ;
That lady was not for to hyde,
Sche sett hym on hur beddys syde,
And welcomyd home that knyght.
" Damycelle," he seyde, " so have y spede,
With the grace of God y schalle the wedd ;"
Therto ther trowthys they plyght.
So gracyously he come hur tylle,
Of poyntes of armys he schewyd hur hys fylle,
That there they dwellyd alle nyȝt.

Be xij. wekys were comyn and gone,
Crystyabelle as whyte as fome,
Alle pale was hur hewe !
Sche prayed hur gentylle women so fre,
That they wolde layne hur privyte,
" To me that ye be trewe !"
The erle brennyth for sorow and care,
" Have doo, syr knyȝt, and make the yare,
Thy jurnay comyth alle newe."
When Crystyabelle herde ther-of say,
Scho mornyd for hym bothe nyȝt and day,
That sone myght hur rewe.

" Syr, at grete Rome, as y the telle,
Ther lythe a dragon ferse and felle ;
Herkenyth, y schalle yow say.
The fende ys of so grete renowne,
Ther dar no man come nere the town
Be xv. myle of way.
Arme the, syr knyȝt, and thedur wende,
And loke thou slee hym with thyn honde,
Or ellys thou sey me nay."
" Syr, that was never my purpos
For to leve oon soche a trase,
Be nyght nor be day.

" With the grace of God Almyght,
Wyth the worme ȝyt schalle y fyght,
Thowe he be nevyr so wylde."
Afturward, as y yow telle,
He takyth hys leve of Crystyabelle,
As fayre as floure in felde :
" Damycelle," he seyde, " a poynt of armys ys ondone,
Me be-hovyth to wende and come fulle sone,
Wyth the helpe of Mary mylde !
A golde rynge y schalle geve the,
Kepe hyt wele, my lady free,
Yf Cryste sende the a chylde."

Forthe he wendyth, as y yow say,
To grete Rome he takyth the way
To seke the worme so bolde ;
Tokenynges sone of hym he fonde,
Slayne men on every honde,
Be hunderdes he them tolde.
Yf he were never so bolde a knyght,
Of that worme when he had a syght
Hys herte began to folde ;
Hyt was no wondur thoghe he were wrothe,
He stroke hym and hys stede bothe
To the grounde so colde !

The knyȝt rose and hys schylde up sett,
That wyckyd worme ther-with mett
Wyth byttur dynte and felle ;
He schett fyre ryght sore,
Evyr nere the nyght the more,
As the develle of helle.
Syr Egyllamowre, for sothe to say,
Halfe the tonge he stroke away,
That fende began to ȝelle !
And with the stompe that hym was levyd,
He stroke the knyght in the hedd
A depe wounde and a felle.

The knyght seyde, " Now am y schente !"
Nere that wyckyd worme he wente,
Hys hedd he stroke away ;
And sythen so nere ys he gone,
He clevyd hym by the rugge-bone,
The felde he wan that day.
The emperoure stode in hys towre,
And say the fyght of syr Egyllamowre,
And to hys men can say,
" Do to crye in Rome the worme ys slayne,
That hathe a knyȝt done hym selfe allone,
Pertly be my fay !"

Yn grete Rome they dyd to crye,
Every offycer in hys bayly,
" The dragon hath tan hys ȝynde."
The emperoure hath tan the way
To the knyght, there as he lay
Besyde the dylfulle thynge ;
And alle that ever myght ryde or goo
Come syr Egyllamowre unto,
And wyth blysse home can hym brynge.
They were so fayne the worme was slayn,
Wyth procescions hym comyng ageyn,
They dydd the bellus to rynge.

The emperoure hath a doghtyr bryght,
Hath undurtane to hele that knyght,
Hur name ys Dawntowre ;
Scho savys hym fro the dedd,
And with hur handy s sche helyth hys hedd
A twelmonyth in hur bowre.

The ryche emperoure of Rome,
He sende aftur the dragon sone
That in the felde was leyde ;
Hys syde was herde as any bras,
Hys whyngus grene as any gras,
Hys hedd as fyre was redd.
Hys body gretter then a tunne ;
The nobylle knyȝt the felde hath wonne,
And slayn hym in that tyde ;
The emperoure was mekylle of pryde,
And made to bete hym bak and syde,
Ryght thorowe hys owne rede.

When they sye that grete beste,
Mony a man was of hym agaste,
And fro hym flewe fulle sone ;
Ther mett hym thre hundurd and moo,
The emperoure badd they schulde hym take tho,
Hys wylle to be done.
To seynt Laurens kyrke they hym bare,
There schalle he lye for evyrmare,
That fowle worme withowten wone.
When they remevyd that fowle thynge,
Mony a man felle in dede swownyng,
For stynke that fro hym come.

Then come letturs to Artas,
That the worme in Rome slayn was,
A knyght then hath hym sloon.
So longe at leche-crafte can he dwelle,
A man-chylde had Crystyabelle,
As whyte as whallys boon.
The erle had made to God a vowe,
" Doghtur, in-to the see schalt thou
Yn a schypp allone ;
And that bastard that to the ys dere,
Crystyndome schalle he non have here ! "
Hyr maydenys wepte everychon.

Thowe sche were never so feyre a wyght,
Ȝyt was a schypp fulle redy dyght,
That sche in forthe schulde fare.
Sche lokyd on hur sone with hur eye,
" Sone," sche seyde, " now schalle we dye,
Thy fadur schalle see us no mare ! "
Hur chaumbur women that be hur can stonde,
They weptyn faste and wrang ther hande,
They had fulle mekylle care.
When they wyste that sche schoulde forthe passe,
Then they cryed and seyde, " Alias !
Now are we lafte fulle bare."

Thys lady was in care cladd,
To a schypp they have hur ladd,
Alle and hur frely fode.
Sche seyde, " Feyre fadur, y yow pray,
Let a preste me a gospelle saye
For fendys on the node."
Sche preyd hur gentylwomen so free,
" Grete wele my lorde, whan ye hym see."
They weptyn as they were wode.
Hur chaumbur women in swownyng dud falle,
And so dud hur frendys alle,
That wolde hur ony gode.

The lady syghed with herte so sore,
A wynde rose and to a roche hur bare,
And there-up can sche londe.
Sche was fulle fayne, y undurstonde,
Sche wende there had be a kende londe,
And thedurward can sche wende.
Nothyng ellys fonde sche thare,
But fowlys mony that wylde ware,
Faght faste on every honde ;
A grype come in alle hur care,
Hur yonge sone awey he bare
Yn-to a cuntre unkende.

Than that lady seyde, " Alias !
That ever y woman borne was,
My chylde ys thus rafte me froo ! "
Yn the londe of Ysraelle can he lyght,
A gryffon seythe the boke he hyght
That wroght the lady woo.
The kyng of Israelle an-huntyng ys wente,
And say where the grype was lente,
And thedurward can he goo ;
He stroke on the chylde with hys bylle,
And the chylde cryed lowde and schylle,
And he rose and levyd the chylde soo.

A squyer to the chylde can passe,
Yn a scarlet mantelle fowndyn he was
Wyth a fulle a ryche pane ;
Yn a scarlet mantelle woundyn,
And with a goldyn gyrdylle bowndyn,
Hys eyen grey as crystalle stone.
Alle they sweryn be the rode,
" Thys chylde ys comyn of gentylle blode,
Where that ever that he was tane."
For that he fro the gryffon felle,
They namyd the chylde syr Degrabelle,
That welsome was of wone.

The kyng lafte huntyng at that tyde,
And home with the chylde can he ryde,
That fro the grype was hente.
" Dame," he seyde to the qwene,
" Mekylle of solas have we sene,
To day God hath me sente."
Therof he was bothe glad and blythe,
He sende aftur a norse swythe,
Hys sydes were bothe large and gente.
Kepe we thys chylde of mekylle honowre,
And speke we of hys modur whyte as flowre,
What weyes oure Lord hath hur lente.

Alle nyght in the roche sche laye,
A wynde rose ageynys day,
And fro the londe hur dryvys.
Sche had neydur reste then odur,
But eche storme gretter then odur,
On God fulle faste scho cryes.
As the boke of Rome says,
Sche was meteles vj. dayes,
For care hur herte clevyth.
Be the vij. day abowte none,
Jhesu sende hur socowre sone,
Yn Egypt forthe sche ryvyth.

The kyng of Egyp stode in a towre,
He say that lady whyte as flowre,
Was wrekyd on the sonde ;
He comawndyd a squyer for to go to the see,
And loke what in the yondur schyp may be,
The wynde hath drevyn hur to the londe.
To that schypp he come fulle tyte,
Upon the syde then can he smyte,
Than sche up can stonde.
For feyntnes sche myght not speke a worde,
The lady leynyd hur on the borde,
And made sygnys wyth hur hande.
Make we mery for Goddys est,
Thys ys the thryddfytt of owre geste,
That dar y take an hande.