Lines 757–1132

Antioche, and bastarde,
Pyment, also, and garnarde ;
Wyne of Greke, and muscadell,
Both clare, pyment, and Rochell.
The reed your stomake to defye,
And pottes of osey set you by.
You shall have venison ybake,
The best wylde foule that may be take,
A lese of grehound with you to stryke,
And hert and hynde and other lyke,
Ye shal be set at such a tryst
That herte and hynde shall come to your fyst.
Your dysease to dryve you fro,
To here the bugles there yblow,
With theyr begles in that place,
And sevenscore raches at his rechase.
Homward thus shall ye ryde,
On haukyng by the ryvers syde,
With goshauke, and with gentyll fawcon,
With eglehorne, and merlyon.
Whan you come home, your men amonge,
Ye shall have revell, daunces, and songe ;
Lytle chyldren, great and smale,
Shall syng, as doth the nyghtyngale.
Then shall ye go to your evensong,
With tenours and trebles among ;
Threscore of copes, of damaske bryght,
Full of perles they shal be pyght
Your aulter clothes of taffata,
And your sides all of taffetra.
Your sensours shal be of golde,
Endent with asure many a folde.
Your quere nor organ songe shal wante,
With countre note, and dyscant,
The other halfe on orgayns playeng,
With yonge chyldren full fare syngyng.
Than shall ye go to your suppere,
And sytte in tentes in grene arbere,
With clothes of aras pyght to the grounde,
With saphyres set and dyamonde,
A cloth of golde abought your heade,
With popinjayes pyght with pery reed,
And oftycers all at your wyll,
All maner delightes to bryng you till,
The nightingale sitting on a thorne,
Shall synge you notes both even and morne.
An hundreth knightes, truly tolde,
Shall play with bowles in alayes colde,
Your disease to drive awaie,
To se the fisshes in poles plaie ;
And then walke in arbere up and downe,
To se the floures of great renowne,
To a drawbrydge than shall ye,
The one halfe of stone, the other of tre ;
A barge shall mete you, full ryght,
With twenty-four ores full bryght,
With trompettes and with claryowne,
The fresshe water to rowe up and downe.
Than shall ye go to the sake fome,
Your maner to se, or ye come home,
With eighty shyppes of large towre,
With dromedaryes of great honour,
And carackes with sayles two,
The sweftest that on water may goo,
With galyes good upon the haven,
With eighty ores at the fore staven.
Your maryners shall synge arowe
Hey how and rumby lowe.
Than shall ye, doughter, aske the wyne,
With spices that be good and fyne,
Gentyll pottes with genger grene,
With dates and deynties you betwene.
Forty torches, brenynge bryght,
At your brydges to brynge you lyght.
Into your chambre they shall you brynge,
With much myrthe and more lykyng.
Your costerdes covered with whyte and blewe,
And dyapred with lyles newe.
Your curtaines of camaca, all in folde,
Your felyoles all of golde.
Your fester pery at your heed,
Curtaines with popinjayes white and reed.
Your hyllnges with furres of armyne,
Powdred with golde of hew full fyne.
Your blanketts shall be of fustyane.
Your shetes shall be of clothe of rayne.
Your head-shete shall be of pery pyght,
With dyamondes set and rubyes bryght.
Whan you are layde in bedde so softe,
A cage of golde shall hange alofte,
With longe-peper fayre burnning,
And cloves that be swete smellyng,
Frankensence, and olibanum,
That whan ye slepe the taste may come.
And yf ye no rest may take,
All night minstrelles for you shall wake.
" Gramercy, father, so mote i the,
For all these thinges lyketh not me."
Unto her chambre she is gone,
And fell in sownyng sone anone,
With much sorow and sighing sore,
Yet seven year she kept hym thore.
But leve we of that lady here,
And speake we more of that squyer,
That in pryson so was take,
For the kinges doughters sake.
The kyng hymselfe, upon a daye,
Full pryvely he toke the waye,
Unto the pryson sone he came,
The squyer sone out he name,
And anone he made hym swere
His counsayl he should never diskere.
The squyer there helde up his hande,
His byddyng never he should withstande.
The kyng him graunted ther to go
Upon his jorney to and fro,
And brefely to passe the sea,
That no man weste but he and he,
And whan he had his jurnay done,
That he wolde come full soone :
"And in my chambre for to be,
The whyles that i do ordayne for thee :
Than shalt thou wedde my doughter dere.
And have my landes both farre and nere."
The squyer was full mery tho,
And thanked the kynge, and forth gan go.
The kyng hym gave both lande and fe.
Anone the squyer passed the se.
In Tuskayne and in Lumbardy,
There he dyd great chyvalry,
In Portyngale, nor yet in Spayne,
There myght no man stand hym agayne ;
And where that ever that knyght gan fare,
The worshyp with hym away he bare :
And thus he travayled seven yere,
In many a land both farre and nere ;
Tyll on a day he thought hym the
Unto the sepulture for to go
And there he made his offeryng soone,
Right as the kinges doughter bad him don.
Than he thought hym on a day
That the kynge to hym dyd saye.
He toke his leve in Lumbardy,
And home he came to Hungry.
Unto the kynge soone he rade,
As he before his covenaunce made,
And to the kyng he tolde full soone
Of batayles bolde that he had done,
And so he did the chyvalry
That he had sene in Lumbardy.
To the kynge it was good tydande,
Anone he toke him by the hande,
And he made him full royall chere,
And sayd, Welcome, my sonne so dere.
Let none wete of my meyne
That out of prison thou shuldest be,
But in thy chamber holde the styll,
And i shall wete my doughters wyll.
The kynge wente forth hymselfe alone,
For to here his doughters mone.
Right under the chambre-window.
There he might her counseyle knowe.
Had she wyst, that lady fre.
That her father there had be,
He shulde not, withouten fayle,
Have knowen so muche of her counsayle,
Nor nothing she knew that he was there
Whan she began to carke and care.
Unto that body she sayd tho,
Alas, that we should parte in two!
Twyse or thryse she kyssed that body,
And fell in sownynge by and by.
Alas ! than sayd that lady dere,
I have the kept this seven yere,
And now ye be in powder small,
I may no lenger holde you withall.
My love, to the earth i shall the brynge,
And preestes for you to reade and synge.
Yf any man aske me what i have here,
I wyll say it is my treasure,
Yf any man aske why i do so,
For no theves shall come therto :
And, squyer, for the love of the,
Fy on this worldes vanyte !
Farewell golde, pure and fyne ;
Farewell velvet, and satyne ;
Farewell castelles, and maners also ;
Farewell huntynge, and hawkynge to ;
Farewell revell, myrthe, and play ;
Farewell pleasure, and garmentes gay ;
Farewell perle, and precyous stone ;
Farewell my juielles everychone ;
Farewell mantell, and scarlet reed ;
Farewell crowne unto my heed ;
Farewell hawkes, and farewell hounde ;
Farewell markes, and many a pounde ;
Farewell huntynge at the hare ;
Farewell harte and hynde for evermare.
Nowe wyll i take the mantell and the rynge,
And become an encresse in my lyvynge :
And yet i am a mayden for thee,
And for all the men in Chrystente.
To Chryst i shall my prayers make,
Squyer, onely for thy sake ;
And i shall never no masse heare,
But ye shall have parte in feare :
And every daye whyles i lyve,
Ye shall have your masses fyve,
And i shall offre pence thre,
In tokenynge of the trynyte.
And whan this lady had this sayde,
In sownyng she fel at a brayde.
The whyle she made this great mornynge,
Under the wall stode her father the kynge.
Doughter, he sayde, you must not do so,
For all those vowes thou must forgo.
" Alas, father, and weleawaye !
Nowe have ye harde what i dyde saye."
"Doughter, let be all thy mournynge,
Thou shalt be wedede to a kynge."
" I wys, father, that shall not be
For all the golde in Christente ;
Nor all the golde that ever god made
May not my harte glade."
My doughter, he sayde, dere derlynge,
I knowe the cause of your mournyng
Ye wene this body your love should be.
It is not so, so mote i the.
It was my stewarde, syr Maradose,
That ye so longe have kept inclose.
" Alas ! father, why dyd ye so ?
" For he wrought you all thys wo ;
He made revelation unto me,
That he knewe all your pryvyte ;
And howe the squyer, on a day,
Unto your chambre he toke the way,
And ther he should have lyen you bi,
Had he not come with company ;
And howe ye hyght hym golde and fe,
Strengthe of men and royalte ;
And than he watched your chambre bryght,
With men of armes hardy and wyght,
For to take that squyer,
That ye have loved this seven yere ;
But as the stewarde strong and stout
Beseged your chambre rounde about,
To you your love came full ryght,
All alone about mydnight,
And whan he came your dore unto,
Lady, he sayde, undo ;
And soone ye bade hym wende awaye,
For there he gate none other praye :
And as ye talked thus in fere,
Your enemyes drewe them nere and nere,
They smote to him full soone anone,
There were thyrty agaynst hym one :
But with a baslarde large and longe
The squyer presed into the thronge ;
And so he bare hym in that stounde.
His enemyes gave hym many a wounde.
With egre mode and herte full throwe,
The stewardes throte he cut in two ;
And than his meyne all in that place
With their swordes they hurte his face,
And than they toke him everichone
And layd him on a marble stone
Before your dore, that ye myght se,
Ryght as your love that he had be ;
And sone the squier there they hent,
And they dyd of his good garment.
And did it on the stewarde there,
That ye wist not what he were :
Thus ye have kept your enemy here
Pallyng more than seven yere :
And as the squyer there was take,
And done in pryson for your sake,
And therfore let be your mourning,
Ye shal be wedded to a kyng.
Or els unto an emperoure.
With golde and sylver and great treasure."
"Do awaye, father, that may not be,
For all the golde in Chrystente,"
Alas ! father, anone she sayde,
Why hath this tray tour me betraid
Alas ! she sayd, i have great wrong
That i have kept him here so long.
Alas ! father, why dyd ye so ?
Ye might have warned me of my fo ;
And ye had tolde me who it had be,
My love had never be dead for me :
Anone she tourned her from the kyng,
And downe she fell in dead sownyng.
The kyng anone gan go,
And hente her in his armes two ;
Lady, he sayd, be of good chere,
Your love lyveth and is here ;
And he hath bene in Lombardy,
And done he hath great chyvalry ;
And come agayne he is to me,
In lyfe and health ye shall him se.
He shall you wede, my doughter bryght,
I have hym made squier and knyght ;
He shal be a lorde of great renowne,
And after me to were the crowne.
Father, she sayd, if it so be,
Let me soone that squyer se.
The squyer forth than dyd he brynge,
Full fayre on lyve and in lykynge.
As sone as she sawe him with her eye,
She fell in sownyng by and by.
The squyer her hente in armes two.
And kyssed her an hundreth tymes and mo.
There was myrth and melody
With harpe, getron and sautry,
With rote, ribible and clokarde,
With pypes, organs and bumbarde.
With other mynstrelles them amonge,
With sytolphe and with sautry songe
With fydle, recorde, and dowcemere.
With trompette, and with claryon clerc,
With dulcet pipes of many cordes,
In chambre revelyng all the lordes,
Unto morne that it was daye,
The kyng to his doughter began to saye,
Have here thy love and thy lyking,
To lyve and ende in gods blessinge ;
And he that wyll departe you two,
God geve him sorow and wo.
A trewer lover than ye are one
Was never fleshe ne bone ;
And but he be as true to thee,
God let him never thryve ne thee.
The kyng in herte he was full blithe,
He kissed his doughter many a sithe,
With melody and muche chere,
Anone he called his messengere,
And commaunded him scone to go
Through his cities to and fro,
For to warne his chevalry
That they should come to Hungry,
That worthy wedding for to se,
And come unto that mangere.
That messenger full sone he wente,
And did the kinges commaundement.
Anone he commaunded bothe olde and yynge
For to be at that weddyng,
Both dukes and erles of muche myght,
And ladyes that were fayre and bryght :
As soone as ever they herde the crye,
The lordes were full soone redy.
With myrth and game and muche playe,
They wedded them on a solempne daye.
A royall feest there was holde,
With dukes and erles and barons bolde,
And knyghtes and squyers of that countre,
And sith with all the comunalte :
And certaynly, as the story sayes,
The revell lasted forty dayes ;
Tyll on a day the kyng himselfe
To hym he toke his lordes twelfe,
And so he dyd the squyer
That wedded his doughter dere,
And even in the myddes of the hall
He made him kyng among them all ;
And all the lordes everychone,
They made him homage sone anon ;
And sithen they revelled all that day,
And toke theyr leve, and went theyr way,
Eche lorde unto his owne countre.
Where that hym [thought] best to be.
That yong man, and the quene his wyfe,
With joy and blysse they led theyr lyfe ;
For al so farre as i have gone,
Suche two lovers sawe i none :
Therefore blessed may theyr soules be !
Amen, amen, for charyte !