Stanzas LXXXI–C

Now hir prayer to fulfille
He folowed the gentilmans wille,
And so he went hir untille,
Forthe to that lady.
Fulle blythe was that birde brighte,
Whenne scho sawe hym with syghte,
For scho trowed that he was wighte,
And askede hym in hy;
At that fre gan scho frayne,
Thoghe he were lefe for to layne,
If he wiste who had thame slayne
Thase folkes of envy.
He sayd, "I soghte none of tho,
I come the sowdane to slo,
And thay ne wolde noghte late me go;
Thaire lyfes there refte I!"

He sayd, "Belyfe thay solde aby!"
And Lufamour, that lele lady,
Wist fulle wele ther-by
The childe was fulle wighte.
The birde was blythe of that bade,
That scho siche an helpe hade,
Agayne the sowdane was fade
With alle for to fighte.
Faste the lady hym byhelde,
Scho thoght hym worthi to welde,
And he myghte wyne hir in felde
With maystry and myghte.
His stede thay in stabille set,
And hymselfe to haulle was fet,
And than, with-owttene any let,
To dyne gunne thay dighte.

The childe was sett one the dese,
And served with reches,
I telle ȝow with-owttene lese,
That gaynely was get;
In a chayere of golde,
Bi-fore the fayrest to byholde,
The myldeste maydene one molde,
At mete als scho satt;
Scho made hym semblande so gude,
Als thay felle to thaire fude,
The maydene mengede his mode
With myrthes at the mete:
That for hir sake righte tha,
Sone he gane undir-ta
The sory sowdane to sla,
Withowttene any lett.

He sayd, "Withowttene any lett,
When the sowdane and I bene mett,
A sadde stroke I salle one hym sett
His pride for to spylle!"
Then said the lady so free,
"Who that may his bon be,
Salle hafe this kyngdome and me,
To welde at his wille!"
He ne hade dyned bot smalle,
Whenne worde come in-to the haulle,
That many mene with-alle
Were hernyste one the hille;
For tene thaire felawes were slayne,
The cite hafe thay nere tane;
The mene that were with-in the wane,
The comone belle gunne knylle.

Now knyllyne thay the comone belle.
Worde come to Percevelle,
And he wold there no lengere duelle,
Bot lepe fro the dese;
Siche wilde gerys hade he mo,
Sayd, "Kinsmene, now I go,
For alle ȝone salle I slo
Longe are I sese!"
Scho kiste hym withowttene lett,
The helme one his hede scho sett;
To the stabille fulle sone he gett,
There his stede was.
There were none with hym to fare;
For no mane thenne wolde he spare,
Rydis furthe withowttene mare
Tille he come to the prese.

Whenne he come to the prese,
He rydes inne one a rese,
The folkes that by-fore hym was
Thaire strenght hade thay tone:
To kepe hym thane were thay ware,
Thaire dynttis deris hym no mare,
Thenne who so hade strekyne sare
One a harde stone:
Were thay wighte, were thay woke,
Alle that he tille stroke,
He made thaire bodies to roke,
Was ther no better wone.
I wote he sped hym so sone,
That day by heghe none
With alle that folke hade he done,
One lefe lefte noghte one!

Whenne he had slayne alle tho,
He loked forthir hyme fro,
If he myghte fynde any mo
With hym for to fyghte:
And als that hardy bihelde,
He sese ferre in the felde
Fowre knyghtis undir schelde
Come rydand fulle righte.
One was kyng Arthour,
Anothir Ewayne the floure,
The thirde Wawayne with honoure,
And Kay the kene knyghte.
Percevelle saide withowttene mare,
"To ȝondir foure wille I fare,
And if the sowdane be thare,
I salle holde that I highte!"

Now to holde that he hase highte,
Agaynes thayme he rydis righte,
And ay lay the lady brighte
One the walle, and byhelde
How many mene that he had slane,
And sythene gane his stede mayne
Foure kempys agayne,
Forthir in the felde.
Then was the lady fulle wo,
Whenne scho sawe hym go
Agaynes foure knyghtys tho,
With schafte and with schelde.
They were so mekyl and unryde,
That wele wende scho that tyde,
With bale thay solde gare hym byde,
That was hir beste belde.

Thofe he were beste of hir belde,
As that lady byhelde,
He rydes forthe in the felde
Evene thame agayne.
Then sayd Arthoure the kyng,
"I se a bolde knyghte owt spryng,
For to seke feghtyng
Forthe wille he frayne;
If he fare forthe to fighte,
And we foure kempys agayne one knyght,
Littille menske wold to us lighte,
If he were sone slayne."
They fore forth ward right faste,
And sone kevelles did thay caste,
And evyr felle it to frayste
Untille syr Wawayne.

Whenne it felle to syr Wawayne
To ryde Percevelle agayne,
Of that fare was he fayne,
And fro thame he rade;
Ever the nerre hym he drewe,
Wele the better he hym knewe
Horse and hernays of hewe,
That the childe hade.
"A! dere God," said Wawayne the fre,
"How gates may this be,
If I sle hym, or he me,
That never ȝit was fade?
And we are sister sones two,
And aythir of us othir slo,
He that lifes wille be fulle wo
That ever was he made!"

Now no maistrys he made,
Syr Wawayne there als he rade,
Bot hovyde stylle and habade,
His concelle to ta.
"Ane unwyse mane," he sayd, "am I,
That puttis myselfe to siche a foly,
Es there no mane so hardy
That ne anothir es alswa?
Thogfe Percevelle hase slayne the rede knyght,
ȝitt may another be als wyghte,
And in that gere be dyghte,
And takene alle hym fra!
If I suffire my sister sone,
And anothir in his gere be done,
And gete the maystry me appone,
That wolde do me wa!

"It wolde wirke me fulle wa,
So mote I one erthe ga,
It ne salle noghte be-tyde me swa,
If I may righte rede;
A schafte salle I one hym sett,
And I salle fonde firste to hitt;
Thenne salle I kene be my witt
Who weldys that wede."
No more carpys he that tyde,
Bot sone to-gedyr gone thay ryde,
Mene that bolde were to byde,
And styff appone stede;
Thaire horse were stallworthe and strange,
Thair scheldis were un-failande,
Thaire speris brake to thaire hande,
Als thame byhoved nede.

Now es brokene that are were hale,
And thane by-gane Percevale
For to telle one a tale,
That one his tonge laye.
He sayde, "Wyde whare hafe I gane,
Siche anothir sowdane
In faythe sawe I never nane,
By nyghte ne by daye!
I hafe slayne, and I the kene,
Twenty score of thi mene,
And of alle that I slewe thenne,
Me-thoghte it bot a playe;
Agayne that dynt that I hafe tane,
For siche one aughte I never nane,
Bot I qwyte two for ane,
Forsothe and I maye!"

Then spake syr Wawayne,
Certanely is noghte to layne,
Of that fare was he fayne,
In felde there thay fighte;
By the wordis so wylde
At the fole one the felde,
He wiste wele it was the childe,
Percevelle the wighte!
He sayse, "I ame no sowdane,
Bot I am that like mane,
That thi body bygane
In armours to dighte;
I giffe the prise to thi pyth,
Unkyndely talked thou me with,
My name es Wawayne in kythe,
Who so redys righte."

He sayse, "Who that wille rede the aryghte,
My name es Wawayne the knyghte."
And than thay sessene of thaire fighte,
Als gude frendes scholde.
He sayse, "Thynkes thou noghte whenne
That thou woldes the knyghte brene,
For thou ne couthe noghte kene
To spoyle hym alle colde."
Bot thenne was Percevelle the free
Als blythe als he myghte be,
For thenne wiste he wele that it was he,
By takens that he tolde.
He dide thenne, als he gane hym lere,
Putt up hys umbrere,
And kyste togedir with gud chere
Those beryns so bolde.

Now kissede the beryns so bolde,
Sythene talkede what thay wolde;
Be thenne come Arthour the bolde,
That there was knyghte and kyng,
Als his cosyns hadd donne,
Thankede God also sone,
Off mekille myrthis thay mone
At thaire metyng.
Sythene, withowttene any bade,
To the castelle thay rade
With the childe that thay hade,
Percevelle the ȝynge.
The portere was redy thare,
Lete the knyghtis in fare,
A blythere lady thane

"Mi grete socour at thou here sende,
Off my castelle me to diffende,
Agayne the sowdane to wende,
That es my moste foo."
Theire stedis thay sett in the stalle;
The kyng wendis to haulle,
His knyghtis ȝode hym with-alle,
Als kynde was to go:
Thaire metis was redy,
And ther-to went thay in hy,
The kyng and the lady,
And knyghtis also.

Wele welcomed scho the geste
With riche metis of the beste,
Drynkes of the derreste
Dightede by- dene.
Thay ete and dranke what thay wolde;
Sythene talked and tolde
Off othir estres fulle olde,
The kyng arid the qwene.
At the firste by-gynnyng,
Scho frayned Arthour the kyng
Of childe Percevelle the ȝyng,
What life he had in bene?
Grete wondir had Lufamour
He was so styffe in stour,
And couthe so littille of nurtour,
Als scho had there sene.

Scho had sene with the childe
Nothyng bot werkes wylde,
Thoghte grete ferly one filde
Of that foly fare.
Then said Arthour the kyng
Of bold Percevelle techyng,
Fro the firste bygynnyng,
[Ti]lle that he come thare.
[Whenne that] his fadir was slayne,
[Thenne his modi]r to the wode gane,
here hir allane,
[In the holtis hare]
Fully feftene ȝere
To play hym with the wilde dere,
Littille wonder it were
Wilde if he ware!"

When he had tolde this tale
To that semely in sale,
He hade wordis at wale
To thame ilkane.
The[n] said Percevelle the wighte,
"ȝif I be noghte ȝitt knyghte,
Thou salle halde that thou highte
For to make me ane."
Than saide the kyng fulle sone,
"Ther salle other dedis be done,
And thou salle wynne thi schone
Appone the sowdane."
Then said Percevelle the fre,
"Als sone als I the sowdane see,
Righte so salle it sone be,
Als I hafe undirtane."