Stanzas I–XX

Jhesu Crist, Lorde of hevene kynge,
Graunte us alle his dere blyssynge,
And hevene unto oure mede !
Now, hende in haule, and ȝe wolde here
Of eldirs that by-fore us were,
That lyffede in arethede,
I wille ȝow telle of a knyghte,
That bothe was stalworthe and wyghte,
[And worth]ily undir wede :
His name was hattene syr Ysambrace,
Swilke a knyghte als he was
Now lyffes nowrewhare in lede.

He was mekille mane and lange,
With schuldirs brode and armes strange,
That semly were to see;
So was he bothe faire and heghe,
Alle hym loffede that hym seghe,
Se hende a mane was hee !
He luffede glewmene wele in haulle,
He gafe thame robis riche of palle,
Bothe golde and also fee ;
Of curtasye was he kynge,
Of mete and drynke no nythynge,
One lyfe was none so fre.

Als fayre a lady to wyefe had he
Als any erthly mane thurte see,
With tunge als I ȝow nevene;
Knave childire had thay thre,
Thay were the faireste that myghte be
Undir the kynge of hevene !
Bot in his hert a pride was broghte,
Of Goddis werkes gafe he noghte,
His mercys for to nevene ;
So longe he reyngned in his pride,
That God wolde no lenger habyde,
To hym he sent a stevene.

It felle so appone a daye,
The knyghte went to the wode hym to playe,
His foreste for to see ;
And als he come by a derne sty,
A fowle herde he synge one hy
Fulle heghe upone a tree,
And said, " Welcome, syr Ysambrace,
Thou hafes forgetyne whate thou was,
For pride of golde and fee !
The kyng of hevene gretis the soo,
Werldes wele the bus for-goo,
In elde or ȝouthe thou salle dry woo,
Chese whethir es lever to thee !"

With carefulle herte and sygheyngez sare,
The knyghte felle on his knes al bare,
And bothe his handis uphelde : —
" Werldes wele I wille for-sake,
And to Goddes mercy I me bytake,
To hym my saule I ȝelde !
In ȝouthe I maye bothe ryde and goo,
When I ame aide I may nott so,
My lymmes wille waxe unwelde ;
Now, Lorde, ȝif it thi wille bee,
In ȝowthede penance send thou mee,
And welthe appone myne elde !"

The foule thane toke ane heghe flyghte,
Alle-one he leved that drery knyghte,
And sone he went awaye ;
And whenne he of the fowle had no syghte,
His stede, that was bothe stronge and wyghte,
Sone dede downe undir hym laye.
His hawkes and his howndis bothe,
Wente to the wode, als thay were wrothe,
Ilkone a dyverse waye.
Whate wondir was thofe hym ware wo,
One fote now moste hym nedis goo,
To pyne turnes alle his playe !

And als he wente by a wod schawe,
Thare mett he with a lyttille knave
Come rynnande hym agayne ;
And wele wers tythynges he hym tolde,
Brynned were alle his byggynges bolde,
His bestes werene alle slayne !
" A ! Lorde, ther es no thyng lefte one lyfe
Bot thi thre childir and thi wyfe,
The sothe es noghte to layne !"
The knyghte thane ansuerde with herte so vey,
" With thi that I may one hir see,
My wyfe and my childire thre,
ȝitt was never mane so fayne."

Bot als he wente by hym allone,
His hirde-mene mett he everylkone,
With a fulle drery swoghe,
And saide thaire fee was fro thame revede,
" Certis, syr, us es noghte levyde
A stotte unto ȝoure plowghe !"
Thay wepede sare and gaffe thame ille ;
The knyghte bad thay solde be stylle,
" I wytte ȝow noghte this woghe ;
God that sent me alle this woo,
Wele hase he sent me also.
And ȝitt may send y-noghe !"

A dolefulle syghte the knyghte gane see
Of his wyfe and his childir three,
That fro the fyre were flede ;
Alle als nakede als thay were borne
Stode togedir undir a thorne,
Braydede owte of thaire bedd.
Bot changede never the knyghttes blee,
To he sawe thame so nakede bee
He levyde so comly clede.
The lavedy bade hir childir be blythe,
" I see ȝoure fadir ȝondir one lyve,
For nothynge that ȝe drede !"

They wepede alle and gafe thame ille,
The knyghte bad thay solde be stylle,
"And wepe ȝe noghte so sore ;
For alle the sorowe that we aryne inne,
It es ilke dele for oure syne,
We ware worthi wele more !
Bot we kane nonekyns werkes wyrke,
Owre frendis of us wille sone be irke,
Of lande I rede we fare ;
Of my-selvene hafe I no thoghte,
Bot I may helpe my childir noghte,
For thame es alle my kare !"

The knyghte offe his mantille of palle,
And over his weyfe he lete it falle
With a fulle drery mode ;
His riche surcote i-wysse schare he,
And gafe his pore childir thre,
That nakede byfore hym stode.
" Now salle ȝe alle," he said, " do my rede,
To seke thare God was qwike and dede,
That done was one the rode ;
For Jesus Criste so hende es he,
That who so sekes hym with herte fre,
He sendis thame lyves fode."

And with a knyfe son gerte he schare
A crose appone his schuldir bare,
In storye als I ȝowe saye ;
Alle those that there his frendis ware,
They wepid alle and syghede sare,
Thayre sange was waylawaye !
The knyghte and his lady hende
Toke lefe at thaire dere frendes,
And made thaire fondynge daye ;
For thame weped bothe olde and ȝynge,
Thare was a carefulle departynge,
And sythene thay went thaire waye.

With thame tuke thay fulle littille gude
That myghte helpe tham to thaire lyves fode,
Nowther golde ne fee ;
Bot in the lande to begge thaire mete,
Were so that thay myghte any gete
For saynte charite.
Fyve wokes thus them gunne thay over-passe,
Als it Jhesu Cristes wille was,
With thaire childir three ;
Tho that are was wonte to wele and wyne,
The myschevous poverte that thay were inne
Grete dole it was to see !

ȝitt in a wode thay were gone wylle,
Towne ne myghte thay none wyne tille,
Als wery als thay were ;
Bot whenne thre dayestille ende was gane,
Mete ne drynke ne hade thay nane,
Thay weped for hungre sore !
Nothynge sawe thay that come of corne,
Bot the floures of the thorne,
Up-one those holtes hore ;
Thay entirde thane to a water kene,
The bankes were fulle ferre bytwene,
And watirs breme als bare.

The knyghte his eldeste sone tase there,
And over the water he hym bare,
And sett hym one the bryme ;
And sayde, " Luke, my sone, that thou be stylle,
To whils I feche thi brother the tille,
And playe the with the blome."
The knyghte that was bothe hend and gude,
Agayne swythe over the water he wode,
His medille sone over to brynge ;
So come a lyonne with latys un-mylde,
And in hir pawes scho hent the childe,
And to the wode faste gane rynne.

Thane with carefulle herte and syghynge sare,
His medilmaste sone ȝit lefte he thare,
[And went wepynge aweye.]
Thus with sorowfulle chere and drery mode,
Agayne over the water he wode,
To pyne tornes alle his playe !
A labarde ther come and tuk that othir,
To the wode he bare hym to his brother,
Wyghtly he wente awaye !
The lady grette and gafe hir ille,
Nere scho wolde hir-selvene spille
One lande righte whare scho laye.

The knyghte mase dole and sorowe y-noghe,
Nerehand he hym-selvene sloghe
Are he come to the banke ;
And the lady grett and gafe hir ille,
Nowther of tham myghte other stille,
Thaire sorowe it was fulle ranke !
Thay sayd, alias that thay were borne,
" Felle werdes es layde us by-forne,
That are were wele and wanke !"
The knyghte bad scho sulde be stille,
And gladly suffir Goddes wille,
" Us awe hym alle to thanke !"

Littille wondir thofe thame wo were,
For bothe thaire childir leve thay there,
[Hys lovely sonnes two.
Hys wyfe thane toke he there,]
And over the water he thane bare
His ȝongeste sone also.
And thurgh a foreste ȝode thay three,
And entred in towardeȝ the Greckes see,
Thare thay sawe stormes bloo :
And appone the lond thus als thay stude,
Thay sawe come saylande over the flode
A thowsand schippes and moo.

And als thay stode so appone the lande.
And lokede in-to the see strande,
Those schippes sawe thay ryde
With toppe-castelles sett one lofte,
Of riche golde thame semed wroghte,
Stremours fro thame ferre gane glyde.
The sowdanne hym-selfe was therinne,
That Cristendome was commene to wynne,
Thare wakkyns woo fulle wyde !
The knyghte thoghte that he wolde wende
In-to that havene at ferrere ende,
A littille ther bysyde.

Those schippes landed by that land syde,
The folke come up with mekille pryde,
ȝaa moo thene I kane nevene ;
The knyghte thane karpede to the lady free,
" What maye thiese ferly folkkes bee ?"
He spake with lowde stevene :
" In this foreste lange hafe we gane,
Mete ne drynke myghte we gete nane
More thane thiese dayes sevene ;
Aske we thiese folkes of thaire mete,
And luke ȝife we maye any gete
For Goddis lufe of hevene !"