Lines 379–756

By fortune and by other grace,
By herytage and by purchace
Therfore, stewarde, beware hereby,
Defame hym not for no envy
It were great reuth he should be spylte,
Or put to death withouten gylte
And more ruthe of my doughter dere,
For chaungyng of that ladyes chere ;
I woulde not, for my crowne so newe,
That lady chaunge hyde or hewe,
Or for to put thyselfe in drede,
But thou myght take hym with the dede :
For yf it may be founde in thee,
That thou them fame for enmyte,
Thou shalt be taken as a felon,
And put full depe in my pryson,
And fetered fast unto a stone,
Tyl twelve yere were come and gone,
And drawen wyth hors throughe the cyte.
And soone hanged upon a tre ;
And thou may not thyselfe excuse,
This dede thou shalt no wise refuse ;
And therfore, steward, take good hed,
How thou wilt answere to this ded.
The stewarde answered, with great envy,
That i have sayd that i wyll stand therby ;
To suffre death and endlesse wo,
Syr kynge, i wyl never go therfro
For, yf that ye wyll graunt me here
Strength of men and great power,
I shall hym take, this same nyght,
In the chambre with your doughter bright
For i shall never be gladde of chere,
Tyll i be venged of that squyer.
Than sayd the kynge, full curteysly,
Unto the stewarde, that stode hym by,
Thou shalt have strength ynough with the,
Men of armes thirty and thre,
To watche that lady, muche of pryce,
And her to kepe fro her enemyes.
For there is no knyght in Chrystente,
That wold betray that lady fre,
But he should dye under his shelde
And i myght se hym in the feldde
And therfore, stewarde, i the pray,
Take hede what i shall to the say;
And if the squiere come not to-night,
For to speke with that lady bryght,
Let hym say whatsoever he wyll,
And here and se and holde you styll ;
And herken well what he wyll say
Or thou with him make any fray
So he come not her chambre within,
No bate on hym loke thou begyn,
Though that he kysse that lady fre,
And take his leave ryght curteysly,
Let hym go, both hole and sounde,
Without wemme or any wounde
But yf he wyl her chamber breke,
No worde to hym that thou do speke.
But yf he come with company,
For to betraye that fayre lady.
Loke he be taken soone anone,
And all his meyne everychone,
And brought with strength to my pryson,
As traytour, thefe, and false felon ;
And yf he make any defence,
Loke that he never go thence ;
But loke thou hew hym al so small,
As flesshe whan it to the potte shall
And yf he yelde hym to thee,
Brynge him both saufe and sounde to me.
I shall borowe for seven yere
He shall not wedde my doughter dere :
And therfore, stewarde, i thee praye,
Thou watche that lady nyght and daye.
The stewarde sayde the kynge untyll,
All your byddyng i shall fulfyll.
The stewarde toke his leave to go,
The squyer came fro chambre tho,
Downe he went into the hall.
The officers sone can he call,
Both ussher, panter, and butler.
And other that in office were
There he them warned, sone anone,
To take up the bordes everychone.
Than they dyd his commaundement,
And sythe unto the kyng he went
Full lowe he set hym on his kne,
And voyded his borde full gentely ;
And whan the squyre had done so,
Anone he sayde the kynge unto,
As ye are lorde of chyvalry,
Geve me leve to passe the sea,
To prove my strenthe with my ryght hande,
On godes enemyes in uncouth land
And to be knowe in chyvalry,
In Gascoyne, Spayne, and Lumbardy ;
In eche batayle for to fyght,
To be proved a venterous knyght.
The kyng sayd to the squyer tho,
Thou shalt have good leve to go ;
I shall the gyve both golde and fe,
And strength of men to wende with thee ;
If thou be true in worde and dede,
I shall thee helpe in all thy nede.
The squyer thanked the kyng anone,
And toke his leve and forth can gone ;
With joye, and blysse, and much pryde,
With all his meyny by his syde.
He had not ryden but a whyle,
Not the mountenaunce of a myle,
Or he was ware of a vyllage,
Anone he sayde unto a page,
Our souper soone loke it be dyght,
Here wyll we lodge all to-nyght.
They toke theyr ynnes in good intente,
And to theyr supper soone they wente.
Whan he was set, and served at meate,
Than he sayd he had forgete
To take leve of that lady fre,
The kynges doughter of Hungre,
Anone the squyer made him ayre,
And by hym selfe forth can he fare,
Without strength of his meyne,
Unto the castell than went he.
Whan he came to the posterne-gate,
Anone he entred in thereat,
And his drawen swerd in his hande,
There was no more with him wolde stande :
But it stode with hym full harde
As ye shall here nowe of the stewarde.
He wende in the worlde none had be
That had knowen of his pryvite,
Alas ! it was not as he wende,
For all his counsayle the stewarde [kende].
He had bewrayed him to the kyng
Of all his love and his woyng
And yet he laye her chambre by,
Armed with a great company,
And beset it one eche syde,
For treason walketh wonder wyde.
The squyer thought on no mystruste
He wende no man in the worlde had wyste,
But yf he had knowen, ne by saynt John
He had not come thedur by his owne ;
Or yf that lady had knowen his wyll,
That he should have come her chamber tyll,
She would have taken hym golde and fe,
Strength of men and royalty ;
But there ne wyst no man nor grome
Where that squyer was become ;
But forth he went hymselfe alone
Amonge his servauntes everychone.
Whan that he came her chambre to,
Anone, he sayde, Your dore undo !
Undo, he sayde, nowe, fayre lady !
I am beset with many a spy.
Lady, as whyte as whales bone,
There are thyrty agaynst me one.
Undo thy dore ! my worthy wyfe,
I am besette with many a knyfe.
Undo your dore ! my lady swete,
I am beset with enemyes great ;
And, lady, but ye wyll aryse,
I shall be dead with myne enemyes.
Undo thy dore ! my frely floure,
For ye are myne and i am your.
That lady with those wordes awoke,
A mantell of golde to her she toke ;
She sayde, Go away, thou wicked wyght,
Thou shalt not come here this nyght
For i wyll not my dore undo
For no man that cometh therto.
There is but one in Christente
That ever made that forwarde with me
There is but one that ever bare lyfe,
That ever i hight to be his wyfe ;
He shall me wedde, by Mary bryght,
Whan he is proved a venterous knyght
For we have loved this seven yere,
There was never love to me so dere.
There lyeth on me both kyng and knyght,
Dukes, erles, of muche might.
Wende forth, squyer, on youre waye.
For here ye gette none other praye ;
For i ne wote what ye should be,
That thus besecheth love of me.
I am your owne squyr, he sayde,
For me, lady, be not dysmayde.
Come i am full pryvely
To take my leave of you, lady.
Welcome, she sayd, my love so dere,
Myne owne dere heart, and my squyer ;
I shall you geve kysses thre,
A thousande pounde unto your fe,
And kepe i shall my maydenhede ryght
Tyll ye be proved a venturous knyght.
For yf ye should me wede anone,
My father wolde make slee you soone.
I am the kynges doughter of Hungre,
And ye alone that have loved me,
And though you love me never so sore,
For me ye shall never be lore.
Go forth, and aske me at my kynne,
And loke what graunt you may wynne;
Yf that ye gette graunte, in faye,
Myselfe therto shall not say nay;
And yf ye may not do so,
Otherwyse ye shall come to.
Ye are bothe hardy, stronge, and wight,
Go forth, and be a venterous knight.
I pray to god, that our lady,
To send you the whele of Victory,
That my father so leve he be
That wyll profer me to thee.
I wote well it is lyghtly sayd,
Go forth, and be nothyng afrayde.
A man of worshyp may not do so,
He must have what neds him unto ;
He must have gold, he must have fe,
Strength of men and royalte.
Golde and sylver spare ye nought,
Tyll to manhode ye be brought ;
To what batayll soever ye go,
Ye shall have an hundreth pounde or two ;
And yet to me, syr, ye may saye,
That i woulde fayne have you awaye,
That profered you golde and fe,
Out of myne eye-syght for to be.
Neverthelesse it is not so,
It is for the worshyp of us two,
Though you be come of symple kynne,
Thus my love, syr, may ye wynne,
Yf ye have grace of victory,
As ever had syr Lybyus, or syr Guy,
Whan the dwarfe, and mayde Ely,
Came to Arthoure kyng so fre,
As a kyng of great renowne
That wan the lady of Synadowne.
Lybius was graunted the batayle tho,
Therfore the dwarfe was full wo,
And sayd, Arthur, thou art to blame ;
To bydde this chylde go sucke his dame,
Better hym semeth, so mote i thryve.
Than for to do these batayles fyve,
At the chapell of Salebraunce.
These wordes began great distaunce,
They sawe they had the victory,
They kneled downe and cryed mercy;
And afterward, syr, verament
They called hym knyght absolent.
Emperours, dukes, knyghtes, and quene,
At his commaundement for to bene,
Suche fortune with grace now to you fall,
To Wynne the worthyest within the wall.
And thynke on your love alone,
And for to love that ye chaunge none,
Ryght as they talked thus, in fere,
Theyr enemyes approached nere and nere,
Foure and thyrty, armed bryght,
The steward had arrayed hym to fyght.
The steward was ordeyned to spy,
And for to take then utterly.
He wende to death he should have gone,
He felled seven men agaynst hym one ;
Whan he had them to grounde brought,
The stewarde at hym full sadly fought.
So harde they smote together tho,
The stewardes throte he cut in two,
And sone he fell downe to the grounde,
As a traitour untrewe with many a wound.
The squyer sone in armes they hente,
And of they dyd his good garmente.
And on the stewarde they it dyd,
And sone his body therin they hydde.
And with their swordes his face they share,
That she should not knowe what he ware,
They cast hym at her chambre-dore,
The stewarde that was styffe and store.
Whan they had made that great affraye,
Full pryvely they stale awaye ;
In arme they take that squyer tho,
And to the kynges chambre can they go,
Without wemme or any wounde,
Before the kynge bothe hole and sounde.
As soone as the kynge him spyed with eye,
He sayd, Welcome, sonne, sykerly;
Thou hast cast thee my sonne to be,
This seven yere i shall let thee.
Leve we here of this squyer wight,
And speake we of that lady bryght,
How she rose, that lady dere,
To take her leave of that squyer ;
Al so naked as she was borne,
She stod her chambre-dore beforne.
Alas ! she sayd, and wealeaway
For all to long now have i lay;
She sayd, Alas ! and all for wo!
Withouten men why came ye so ?
Yf that ye wolde have come to me,
Other werninges there might have be.
Now al to dere my love is bought,
But it shall never be lost for nought;
And in her armes she toke hym there,
Into the chamber she dyd hym bere
His bowels soone she dyd out-drawe,
And buryed them in goddes lawe.
She sered that body with specery,
With wyrgin waxe and commendry ;
And closed hym in a maser-tre,
And set on hym lockes thre.
She put him in a marble-stone,
With quaynt gynnes many one
And set hym at hir beddes head,
And every day she kyst that dead.
Soone at morne, whan she uprose,
Unto that dead body she gose,
Therfore wold she knele downe on her kne,
And make her prayer to the trynite,
And kysse that body twyse or thryse,
And fall in a swowne or she myght ryse,
Whan she had so done,
To chyrche than wolde she gone,
Than would she here masses fyve,
And offre to them whyle she myght lyve
" There shall none knowe but heven kynge
For whom that i make myne oftrynge,"
The kyng her father anone he sayde
My doughter, why are you dysmayde
So feare a lady as ye are one,
And so semely of fleshe and bone,
Ye were whyte as whales bone,
Nowe are ye pale as any stone ;
Your ruddy read as any cherry,
With browes brent, and eyes full mery ;
Ye were wont to harp and syng,
And be the meriest in chambre comyng ;
Ye ware both golde, and good velvet,
Clothe of damaske, and saphyres set ;
Ye ware the pery on your head,
With stones full oryent, whyte, and read ;
Ye ware coronalles of golde,
With diamoundes set many a foulde,
And nowe ye were clothes of blacke,
Tell me, doughter, for whose sake
If he be so poore of fame,
That ye may not be wedded for shame,
Brynge him to me anone ryght,
I shall hym make squyer and knyght,
And, yf he be so great a lorde,
That your love may not accorde,
Let me, doughter, that lordynge se,
He shall have golde ynoughe with thee.
" Gramercy, father, so mote i thryve,
For i mourne for no man alyve.
Ther is no man, by heven kyng,
That shal knowe more of my mournynge."
Her father knewe it every deale,
But he kept it in counsele :
"To-morowe ye shall on hunting fare,
And ryde, my doughter, in a chare,
It shal be covered with velvet reede,
And clothes of fyne golde al about your hed,
With damaske white, and asure blewe,
Wel dyapred with lyllyes newe ;
Your pomelles shal be ended with gold,
Your chaynes enameled many a folde ;
Your mantel of ryche degre,
Purpyl palle, and armyne fre ;
Jennettes of Spayne, that ben so wyght,
Trapped to the ground with velvet bright ;
Ye shall have harp, sautry and songe,
And other myrthes you amonge ;
Ye shall have rumney and malmesyne.
Both ypocrasse, and vernage wyne,
Mount rose and wyne of Greke,
Both algrade, and respice eke,