Lines 257–510

When the wedur is cler and bryght,
He taketh his harpe anone ryght,
Into the wode it ryngeth schrylle,
As he coude harpe at his wille.
The wilde bestes that ther bethe,
For joy about hym they gethe ;
All the foulis that ther were,
They comyn aboute hym there,
To her harpyng that was fyne,
So mechel joy was therine.
When he the harpyng leve wolde,
Foule, ne best, abyde ther nolde,
But went hem albydene,
And lete hym alone ther bene.
Ofte he saw hym bysyde
In the hote somer-tyde,
The kyng of Fayre, with his route,
Com to hunte all aboute.
With dunnyng and with blowyng,
And houndys gret cryeng ;
But forsothe no best they nome,
Ne he ne wyst wher they becom ;
And other while he myght yse
A grete ost by him te,
Wel a two hundreth knyghtes,
Wele yarmed at all ryghtes.
Sum while he saw other thing,
Knyghtes and ladies com rydyng
In bryght atyre and disgysid,
With esy pace pace and wele avysed,
Taberis and pypes yeden hem by
And alle maner of mynstrelsy ;
And ladyes ther com rydyng,
Joly they wer in alle thing ;
Jentle and jolef, forsothe, y wys,
No man among hem ther nys.
Every on an hauke on honde bere,
And went haukyng by the ryvere,
Of game they fonde grete haunt,
Fesaunt, heron, and cormerant.
The foules out of the rever flowe.
Every faukun his game slowe.
That saw kyng Orpheo, and lowe.
As he stode under a bowe :
Perfay, he sayde, ther is gode game,
Thider y wil in goddis name,
Such game he was wont to se,
Up he ros, and thider cam he ;
To his owne lady wel nigh he come,
And hur wel ny had undernome ;
He knew hur by the semelant, y wys,
His owe lady, dam Erodysse :
But ther myght non with other speke,
Then sche hym knewe, and he hur eke.
For myssis that she on hym sye,
That sum tyme was bothe ryche and hie,
The teris ran doun by hur yghe,
So dede of hym when he hur sye.
They made hur awey there ryde,
For ther myght sche no lenger abyde,
Alas ! he seyde, that me is wo !
Why nyl deth rayn hert slo?
Alas ! wrecche that y ne myght
Dye anon after this syght !
Alas ! to long lasted my lyfe,
That y ne may speke with my wyfe !
Ne sche with me a worde to speke!
Alas! why nyl myn hert breke?
Perfay, he sayde, [tide what bitide]
Y wil se whyder this ladies ride,
In that wey wyl y go
For of my lyf yeve y not a slo ;
His sclaveyn dede he on his bak,
And toke his harpe ryght as he spak.
Fast after hem he can gone
Over stok and over stone.
In then at the roche the ladies ryde,
He went sone after, he nolde not byde.
When he was into the roche ygo,
Wele thre myle, and sum dele mo.
He cam to a feyr contray,
Was as bryght as ony day ;
Feyr palys, and alle grene,
Hille ne dale was nought sene.
Amyd the launde a castel he sye,
Noble and ryche, ryght wonder hie,
And al the overyst walle
Schene as doth the crystal ;
Fayr tours ther wer aboute,
Gayly set with perles stoute ;
The utmest that stode on the dyche
Was of golde and selver ryche ;
The front that was amyd all
Was of dyvers metalle;
Within were wyde wonys,
Of golde, selver and precious stones,
Feyr pilers theron were dyght
Of precious stones and safyres bryght.
Hit schone so fayr by nyght
That al the towne thereof was lyght.
The ryche stones schone so cun,
Al so bryght as ony sun.
No man myght telle, ne thinke in thought,
The ryches that therein was wrought.
At the castel the ladies alyght,
Orpheo went after as fast as he myght.
Orpheo knocked at the gate.
The porter was redy therate,
And asked, What wilt thou so?
" Perfay, y am a mynstrallo,
To solas the with my gle,
The merier schalt thou be."
He unded the gate anone,
And lete hym into the castel gone.
Orpheo loked about over all,
He saw folk sit under the wall ;
Sum that were thyder ybrought,
Al dede were they nought:
Amonge hem lay his owne wyfe,
That he loved as his lyfe ;
Sche lay under ane ympe-tre,
By her glowes he wyst it was sche.
He went forthe into the halle,
Therin was grete joye with alle.
The ryche kyng therin sette,
He fyl on knees, and hym grette.
By hym sete a quene bryght,
Unnethis he had of hur a syght.
When he had ysene al thing,
He fel on knees byfore the kyng,
And besought hym yif his wil were
That he wolde of his mynstrelsy her.
Then sayde the kyng, What art thow,
That art hyder ycom nowe
Myself, ne non that is within me,
Never sende afther the.
Seth y this kyngdam furst bygan
Fonde y non so hardy a man
That hider durst come ne wende,
But that y aftur hym sende.
Sir, he sayde, y trowe ful wele,
Y holde it soth, sir, every dele,
For sothe it is the maner of us
To come to every lordys hous,
And though we nought welcome be,
Yit we most profer our game or gle.
Byfore the kyng he set hym downe,
And tok his harpe of mery sowne,
And, as he ful wel can.
Many mery notys he began.
The kyng beheld and sat ful stylle.
To here his harpyng he had gode will.
When he left of his harpeng,
To hym seyde that ryche kyng,
Mynstrel, me lyketh ryght wele thy gle,
What thing that thou aske of me
Largely y wol the pay,
Therfor, aske now and asay.
Lord, he sayde, y pray the,
Yif it your wyl be,
Yif me that lady bryght of ble
That lythe yonde under the ympe tre.
Nay, he seyde, as it nought ner.
[A sori couple of you it were]
For thou art row and blake,
And sche is made withouten lak.
A foule couple it wer forthy
To lete hur com in thy company.
Lord, he seyde, ryche kyng,
Yit hit wer a fouler thing
To here a lesyng of thy mouthe,
To me as thou saydest nouthe.
That y schulde have what y wolde ?
A kyngis worde most nede be holde.
Thou sayst soth, sayd the kyng than,
Forsothe thou art a trewe man.
Y wol wel that it be so ;
Take hur by the honde, and go ;
Y wol that thou of hur be blythe :
And he hym thanked mony a sythe.
He toke hur by the honde anon
With ryght gode wille they can out gon.
Fast he went out of that stede,
Ryghth as he came out he yede.
So long they have undernome,
That to Crassens they were ycome,
That sum tyme was her owne cete,
But no man wyst they weren he
With a begger of poor lyfe
He herbored hym and his wyfe ;
He asked tydynges of the londe,
And who then had the kyndam in honde.
The por begger, in his cote,
Anon tolde hym every grote,
How the qwene was fet away
Of the londe, forsothe to say,
And how the kyng aftur them yede,
No man wyst into what stede ;
And now the stewarde the kyngdam doth holde ;
Mony tydynges he hym them tolde,
A morewe at the none-tyde
He made the quene there abyde,
He toke his harpe ryght anon,
Into the towne he can gon.
His owne steward he can mete
As he cam by the strete.
He set hym doun on his kne,
And sayde, Lord, help for charyte !
Y am a por mynstrel of Hethenes,
Helpe me, lord, at this dystres !
The steward sayde, With me com home.
Of my gode thou schalt have somme ;
For my lordys love, Syr Orpheo,
Al mynstrellys ben welcom me to.
Anone they wente into the halle.
The steward and the lordys all ;
The steward wasched and went to mete,
And all lordys weren ysete.
Ther was merthe in halle
When Orpheo sat within the wall.
When they weren all stylle,
He toke his harpe that was schille
And pleyde fast with the gle,
The stewarde loked, and cam to se
And knewe the harpe wel blyve ;
Mynstrel, he seyde, as thou most thryve,
Wher had thou that harpe, and howe?
Tel me now, syr, for thy prowe.
Lord, he seyde, in unkouthe londe,
By a forest y hit ther fonde ;
Y sygh a man draw ful smale,
It lay by hym in a dale :
Now it is ten wynter agone.
Alas! seyde the steward, and made grete mone,
Hit was my lord, syr Orpheo,
Alas ! that ever he yede us fro.
The kyng behelde the steward than,
And wyst he was a trewe man ;
To hym he seyde, without lesyng,
Syr, he seyde, y am Orpheo the kyng.
Here, at the townis ennde,
Y have brought my lady hende.
The lordys sterten up anon,
And maden hym to chamber gon,
With merthe, joy, and processioun,
They fet the quene into the towne :
Ther they lyved gode lyfe afterwarde,
And sythe was the kyng stewarde.
Thus cam they out of care :
God geve us grace wele to fare !
And all that have herde this talkyng
In heven blys be his wonyng !
Amen, amen, for charyte,
Lord us graunt that it so be