Lines 265–528

The pavyloun was wrouth for sothe, y wys,
All of werk of Sarsynys,
The pomelles of crystall ;
Upon the toppe an ern ther stod
Of bournede gold ryche and good,
Iflorysched with ryche amall.
Hys eyn wer carbonkeles bryght,
As the mone they schon a-nyght,
That spreteth out ovyr all ;
Alysaundre the conquerour,
Ne kyng Artour, yn hys most honour,
Ne hadde noon scwych juell.

He fond yn the pavyloun
The kynges doughter of Olyroun,
Dame Tryamour, that hyghte,
Her fadyr was kyng of fayrye,
Of occient fer and nyghe,
A man of mochell myghte.
In the pavyloun he fond a bed of prys,
Iheled with purpur bys,
That semyle was of syghte,
Therinne lay that lady gent,
That after syr Launfal hedde ysent,
That lefsome lemede bryght.

For hete her clothes down she dede,
Almest to her gerdyl stede,
Than lay sche uncovert ;
Sche was as whyt as lylye yn May,
Or snow that sneweth yn wynterys day,
He seygh never non so pert .
The rede rose, whan she ys newe,
Ayens her rode nes naught of hewe,
I dar well say yn sert;
Her here schon as gold wyre,
May no man rede here atyre,
Ne naught well thenke yn hert.

Sche seyde, Launfal my lemman swete,
Al my joye for the y lete,
Swetyng paramour,
Ther nys no man yn Cristente,
That y love so moche as the,
Kyng, neyther emperour.
Launfal beheld that swete wyghth,
All hys love yn her was lyghth,
And keste that swete flour ;
And sat adoun her besyde,
And seyde, Swetyng, what so betyde,
I am to thyn honour.

She seyde, Syr knyght, gentyl and hende,
I wot thy stat, ord, and ende,
Be naught aschamed of me ;
Yf thou wylt truly to me take,
And alle wemen for me forsake,
Ryche i wyll make the.
I wyll the yeve an alner,
Imad of sylk and of gold cler,
Wyth fayre ymages thre ;
As oft thou puttest the hond therinne,
A mark of gold thou schalt wynne,
In wat place that thou be.

Also, sche seyde, syr Launfal,
I yeve the Blaunchard my stede lei,
And Gyfre my owen knave ;
And of my armes oo pensel,
Wyth thre ermyns ypented well,
Also thou schalt have.
In werre, ne yn turnement,
Ne schall the greve no knyghtes dent,
So well y schall the save.
Than answerede the gentyl knyght,
And seyde, Gramarcy, my swete wyght,
No bettere kepte y have.

The damesell gan her up sette,
And bad her maydenes her fette,
To hyr hondys watyr clere ;
Hyt was ydo without lette,
The cloth was spred, the bord was sette,
They wente to have sopere.
Mete and drynk they hadde afyn,
Pyement, clare and Reynysch wyn,
And elles greet wondyr hyt wer ;
Whan they had sowpeth, and the day was gon,
They wente to bedde, and that anoon,
Launfal and sche yn fere.

For play lytyll they sclepte that nyght,
Tyll on morn hyt was day-lyght,
She badd hym aryse anoon ;
Hy seyde to hym, Syr gentyl knyght,
And thou wilt speke with me any wyght,
To a derne stede thou-gon.
Well privyly i woll come to the,
No man alyve ne schall me se,
As stylle as any ston.
Tho was Launfal glad and blythe,
He cowde no man hys joye kythe,
And keste her well good won.

But of othyng, syr knyght, i warne the,
That thou make no host of me,
For no kennes mede ;
And yf thou doost, y warny the before,
All my love thou hast forlore :
And thus to hym sche seyde.
Launfal tok hys leve to wende,
Gyfre kedde that he was hende,
And brought Launfal hys stede ;
Launfal lepte ynto the arsoun,
And rood horn to Karlyoun,
In hys pover wede.

Tho was the knyght yn herte at wylle,
In his chaunber he hyld him stylle,
All that undern-tyde ;
Than come ther thorwgh the cyté ten
Well yharneysyth men
Upon ten somers ryde.
Some wyth sylver, some wyth gold,
All to syr Launfal hyt schold, '
To presente hym wyth pryde ;
Wyth ryche clothes and armure bryght,
They axede aftyr Launfal the knyght,
Whar he gan abyde.

The yong men wer clodeth yn Ynde,
Gyfre he rood all behynde,
Up Blaunchard whyt as flour ;
Tho seyde a boy, that yn the market stod,
How fer schall all thys good?
Tell us pur amour.
Tho seyde Gyfre, Hyt ys ysent
To syr Launfal yn present,
That hath leved yn greet dolour.
Than seyde the boy, Nys he but a wrecche ?
What thar any man of hym recche ?
At the meyrys hous he taketh sojour.

At the merys hous they gon alyghte,
And presented the noble knyghte
Wyth swych good as hym was sent ;
And whan the meyr seygh that rychesse,
And syr Launfales noblenesse,
He held hym self foule yschent.
Tho seyde the meyr, Syr, pur charyte,
In halle to day that thou wylt ete with me,
Yesterday y hadde yment
At the feste we wolde han be yn same,
And y hadde solas and game,
And erst thou were ywent.

"Syr meyr, god foryelde the,
Whyles y was yn my poverte",
Thou bede me never dyne :
Now y have more gold and fe,
That myne frendes han sent me,
Than thou and alle dyne."
The meyr for schame away yede,
Launfal yn purpure gan hym schrede,
Ipelvred with whyt ermyne ;
All that Launfal had borwyth before
Gyfre, be tayle and be score,
Yald hyt well and fyne.

Launfal helde ryche festes,
Fyfty fedde povere gestes,
That in myscaef wer ;
Fyfty boughte stronge stedes,
Fyfty yaf ryche wedes,
To knyghtes and squyere,
Fyfty rewardede relygyons.
Fyfty delyverede povere prysouns,
And made ham quyt and schere :
Fyfty clodede gestours,
To many men he dede honours,
In countreys fer and nere.

Alle the lordes of Karlyoun
Lette crye a turnement yn the toun,
For love of syr Launfel,
And for Blaunchard, hys good stede,
To wyte how hym wold spede,
That was ymade so well.
And whan the day was ycome,
That the justes were yn ynome,
They ryde out al so snell,
Trompours gon har bemes blowe,
The lordes ryden out a-rowe.
That were yn castell.

Ther began the turnement,
And ech knyght leyd on other good dent,
Wyth mases and wyth swerdes bothe ;
Me myghte yse some, therfore
Stedes ywonne, and some ylore,
And knyghtes wonther wroghth.
Syth the rounde table was
A bettere turnement ther nas,
I dar well say for sothe,
Many a lorde of Karlyoun
That day were ybore adoun,
Certayn withouten othe.

Of Karlyoun the ryche constable
Rod to Launfall, without fable,
He nolde no lengere abyde ;
He smot to. Launfal, and he to hym,
Well sterne strokes, and well grym,
Ther wer in eche a syde.
Launfal was of hym yware,
Out of his sadell he hym bar,
To grounde that ylke tyde,
And whan the constable was bore adoun,
Gyfre lepte ynto the arsoun,
And awey he gan to ryde.

The erl of Chestere thereof segh,
For wrethe yn herte he was wod negh,
And rood to syr Launfale,
And smot hym yn the helm on hegh.
That the crest adoun flegh,
Thus seyd the Frenssch tale.
Launfal was mochel of myght,
Of hys stede he did hym lyght,
And bar hym doun yn the dale ;
Than come ther syr Launfal abowte
Of Walssche knyghtes a greet rowte,
The numbre y not how fale.

Than myghte me se scheldes ryve,
Speres to-breste and to-dryve,
Behynde and ek before,
Thorugh Launfal and hys stedes dent,
Many a knyght, verement,
To ground was ibore.
So the prys of that turnay
Was delyvered to Launfal that day,
Without oth yswore ;
Launfal rod to Karlyoun.
To the meyrys hous yn the toun,
And many a lord hym before.

And than the noble knyght Launfal
Helde a feste ryche and ryall,
That leste fourtenyght,
Erles and barouns fale
Semely wer sette yn sale,
And ryaly were adyght.
And every day dame Triamour,
Sche com to syr Launfal bour,
A day when hyt was nyght,
Of all that ever wer ther tho,
Segh he non bot they two,
Gyfre and Launfal the knyght.

A knyght ther was yn Lumbardye,
To syr Launfal hadde he greet envye,
Syr Valentyne he hyghte ;
He herde speke of syr Launfal,
That he couth justy well,
And was a man of mochel myghte.
Syr Valentyne was wonther strong,
Fyftene feet he was longe,
Hym thoghte he brente bryghte
But he myghte with Launfal pleye,
In the feld betwene ham tweye,
To justy, other to fyghte.

Syr Valentyne sat yn hys halle,
Hys massengere he let ycalle,
And seyde he moste wende
To syr Launfal the noble knyght,
That was yholde so mychel of myght,
To Bretayne he wolde hym sende ;
And sey hym, for love of hys lemman,
Yf sche be any gentyle woman,
Courteys, fre, other hende,
That he come with me to juste,
To kepe hys harneys from the ruste,
And elles hys manhood schende.