Lines 3361–3837

To the kynge A-gayne wente he thare,
And sayd : " leve syr, I saw An hand ;
Oute of the water it cam All bare.
And thryse brandysshyd that Ryche brande."
" helpe me sone that I ware there."
he lede hys lord vnto that stronde j
A ryche shyppe, with maste And ore,
Full of ladyes, there they fonde.

The ladyes, that were feyre and free,
Curteysly the kynge gan they fonge,
And one that bryghtest was of blee
wepyd sore and handys wrange.
"Broder," she sayd, " wo ys me !
Fro lechyng hastow be to longe.
I wote that gretely greuyth me,
For thy paynes Ar full stronge."

The knyght kest A rewfull rowne,
There he stode, sore and vnsownde.
And sayde : " lord, whedyr Ar ye bowne ?
Allas ! whedyr wyll ye fro me fownde ? "
The kynge spake with A sory sowne :
" I wylle wende a lytell stownde
In-to the vale of Avelovne,
A whyle to hele me of my wounde."

Whan the shyppe from the land was broght,
Syr bedwere saw of hem no more ;
Throw the forest forthe he soughte,
On hyllys and holtys here.
Of hys lyffe Bought he Ryght noght.
All nyght he went wepynge sore ;
A-gaynste the day he fownde ther wrought
A chapelle by-twene ij holtes bore.

To the chapell he toke the way ;
There myght he se A woundyr syght ;
Than saw he where an ermyte laye
By-fore A tombe that new was dyghte ;
And coveryd it was with marboll graye
And with Ryche lettres Rayled Aryght ;
There-on An herse, sothely to saye,
With an C tappers lyghte.

vnto the ermyte wente he thare
And Askyd who was beryed there.
The ermyte Answeryd swythe yare :
" There-of can I tell no more.
A-bowte mydnyght were ladyes here,
In world ne wyste I what they were ;
Thys body they broght vppon a here
And beryed it with woundys sore ;

Besavntis offred they here bryght,
I hope an C povnd and more,
And bad me pray bothe day and nyght
For hym that is buryed in these moldys bore
Vnto ower lady bothe day And nyght,
That she hys sowle helpe sholde."
The knyght redde the lettres A-ryght ;
For sorow he fell vn-to the folde.

"Ermyte," he sayd, " with-oute lesynge,
here lyeth my lord that I haue lorne,
Bold arthur, the beste kynge
That euyr was in bretayne borne,
yif me som of thy clothynge.
For hym that bare the crowne of thome,
And leue that I may with the lenge.
While I may leve, And pray hym forne."

The holy ermyte wold not wounde —
Some tyme Archebishop he was.
That mordred flemyd oute of londe,
And in the wode hys wonnyng chase —
he thankyd Ihesu All of his sound
That syr bedwere was comyn in pease ;
he resayved hym with herte And honde,
To-gedyr to dwelle, with-oiiten lese.

Whan quene Gaynor, the kynges wyffe,
Wyste that All was gone to wrake,
A-way she went with ladys fyve
To Avmysbery, A nonne hyr for to make.
Ther-in she lyved An holy lyffe,
In prayers for to wepe And wake ;
neuyr After she cowde be blythe ;
There weryd she clothys whyte And blake.

Whan thys tydyngis was to launcelot broght,
What wondyr thowgh hys hert were sore !
hys men, hys frendys, to hym sought
And All the wyse that with hym were,
her gallayes were All Redy wroght,
They buskyd theyme And made yare ;
To helpe Arthur was ther thoght
And make mordred of blysse full bare.

lancelot had crownyd kyngis sevyn,
Erlys fele And barons bold ;
The nombyr of knyghtis I can not nevyn,
The squyres to fele to be told ;
They lemyd lyght as Any levyn,
The wynde was as hem-self wold,
Throw the grace of god of hevyn ;
At doner they toke hauyn And hold ;

There herd telle lancelot in that towne,
In lond it is not for to layne,
how they had faught at barendowne.
And how beryed was syr gawayne.
And how mordred wold be kynge with crowne,
And how ayther of theym had other slayn,
And All that were to batayle bowne
At salysbery lay dede vpon the playne ;

Also in londe herd hyt kythe,
That made hys hert wonder sare,
quene Gaynour, the kyngis wyffe,
Myche had levyd in sorow and care ;
A-way she went with ladyes fyve,
In lond they wyste not whedyr whar,
Dolwyn dede or to be on lyve ;
That made hys mornyng moche the mare.

lancelot clepid hys kyngis with crowne,
Syr bors stode hym nere be-syde ;
he sayd : " lordyngis, I wyll wend to-forne,
And by these bankys ye shall A-byde
Vnto fyftene days at the morne.
In lond what so euyr vs be-tyde,
To herkyn what lord hys lyffe hathe lorne,
loke ye Rappe yow not vp to Ryde."

There had he nouther Roo ne Reste,
But forthe he went with drery mode,
And iij dayes he went euyn weste,
As man that cowde nother yvell nor good ;
Than syghe he where A towre by weste
Was byggyd by A burnys flode ;
There he hopyd it were beste
For to gete hym som lyves stode.

As he cam throw A cloyster clere —
All-moste for wepynge he was mad —
he see A lady bryght of lere.
In nonnys clothyng was she clad.
Thryse she swownyd swyftely there,
So stronge paynes she was in stad
That many A man than nyghed hyr nere,
And to hyr chambyr was she ladde.

" Mercy, madame," they sayd All,
" For Ihesu, that is kynge of blysse,
Is there Any byrd in boure or halle
hathe wrathed yow?" she sayd: "nay, I wysse."
lancelot to hyr gan they calle,
The Abbes and the other nonnys I-wysse,
They that wonyd with-in the walle ;
In covnselle there than sayd she thus :

"Abbes,, to you I knowlache here
That throw thys ylke man And me,
For we to-gedyr han loved vs dere,
All thys sorowfull werre hathe be ;
my lord is slayne, that had no pere.
And many A doughty knyght And free ;
There-fore for sorowe I dyed nere.
As sone As I euyr hym gan see —

Whan I hym see, the sothe to say.
All my herte by-gan to colde.
That euyr I shuld A-byde thys day,
To se so many barons bolde
Shuld for vs be slayne A-way ;
Oure wylle hathe be to sore bought sold ;
But god, that All myghtis maye.
Now hathe me sette where I wyll hold ;

I-sette I am In suche A place,
my sowle hele I wyll A-byde,
Telle god send me some grace,
Throw mercy of hys woundys wyde.
That I may do so in thys place,
my synnys to A-mende thys ilke tyde,
After to haue A syght of hys face
At domys day on hys Ryght syde.

There-fore, syr lancelot du lake,
For my loue now I the pray,
my company thow Aye for-sake
And to thy kyngdome thow take thy way;
And kepe thy Reme from werre and wrake,
And take A wyffe with her to play.
And loue wele than thy worldys make,
God yiff yow loye to-gedyr, I pray !

Vnto god I pray, All-myghty kynge,
he yeffe yow to-gedyr loye And blysse,
But I beseche the in All thynge
That newyr in thy lyffe After thysse
Ne come to me for no sokerynge,
Nor send me sond, but dwelle in blysse ;
I pray to god euyr lastynge
To Graunte me grace to mend my mysse."

"Now, swete madame, that wold I not doo,
To haue All the world vnto my mede;
So vntrew fynd ye me neuyr mo ;
It for to do cryste me for-bede !
For-bede it god that euyr I shold
A-gaynste yow worche so grete vnryght,
Syne we to-gedyr vpon thys mold
haue led owre lyffe by day And nyght !

Vnto god I yiffe a heste to holde.
The same desteny that yow is dyghte
I will Resseyve in som house bolde,
To plese here-After god All-myght ;
To please god All that I maye
I shall here-After do myne entente,
And euyr for yow specyAlly pray,
While god wyll me lyffe lente."

" A ! wylte thow so," the quene gan say,
" Full-fyll thys forward that thou has ment?"
lancelot sayd : "yiff I sayd nay,
I were wele worthy to be brent ;
Brent to bene worthy I were,

Yiff I wold take non suche A lyffe,
To byde in penance, as ye do here,
And suffre for god sorow and stryffe ;
As we in lykynge lyffed in fere.
By mary moder, made and wyffe,
Tyll god vs departe with dethes dere.
To penance I yeld me here As blythe.

All blyve to penance I wyll me take
As I may fynde Any ermyte
That wylle me Resseyue for goddys sake,
me to clothe with whyte And blake."
The sorow that the tone to the tother gan make
myght none erthely man se hytte.
madame," than sayd launcelot de lake,
" kysse me. And I shall wende as tyte."

" nay," sayd the quene, " that wyll I not ;
launcelot, thynke on that no more ;
To Absteyne vs we muste haue thought.
For suche we haue delyted in ore ;
lett vs thynk on hyra that vs hathe bought
And we shall please god ther-fore ;
Thynke on thys world how there is noght
But warre And stryffe And batayle sore."

What helpeth lenger for to spelle ?
With that they gan departe in twene,
But none erthely man covde telle
The sorow that there by-gan to bene ;
Wryngyng ther handis and lowde they yelle,
As they neuyr more shuld blynne,
And sythe in swonne bothe downe they felle ;
Who saw that sorow euyr myght it mene.

But ladyes than with mornyng chère,
In-to the chambyr the quene they bare,
And All full besy made theym there
To cover the quene of hyr care,
many Also that with lancelot were,
They comforte hym with rewf nil care ;
Whan he was coveryd, he toke hys gere
And went frome thense with-outen mare ;

hys hert was hevy As Any lede,
And leuer he was hys lyffe haue lorne ;
he sayd : " Ryghtwosse god ! what is my Rede?
Allas ! for-bare ! why was I borne ? "
A-way he went, as he had fled,
To A foreste that was hym by-forne ;
hys lyffe fayne he wold haue leuyd ;
hys Ryche A-tyre he wold haue of-torne.

All nyght gan he wepe And wrynge
And went A-boute As he were wode ;
Erely, As the day gan sprynge,
Tho syghe he where A chapell stode ;
A belle herd he rewfully Rynge ;
he hyed hym than And thedyr yode ;
A preste was Redy for to synge.
And masse he herd with drery mode.

The Archebysshoppe was ermyte thare,
That flemyd was for hys werkys trew ;
The masse he sange with syghyng sare,
And ofte he changyd hyde and hewe ;
Syr bedwere had sorow And care
And ofte mornyd for tho werkys newe ;
Aftyr masse was mornynge mare,
Whan Iche of hem othyr knewe.

Whan the sorow was to the ende,
The byshope toke hys obbyte thare.
And welcomyd launcelot as the hend,
And on hys knees downe gan he fare :
"Syr, ye be welcome as oure frende
Vnto thys byggying in bankys bare ;
Were it yower wyll with vs to lende
Thys one nyght, yif ye may no mare ! '

Whan they hym knew at the laste,
Feyre in Armys they gan hym folde,
And sythe he askyd frely faste
Off Arthur And of other bolde ;
An C tymes hys hert nere braste,
Whyle syr Bedwere the tale told.
To Arthur-is tombe he caste,
Hys carefull corage wexid All cold ;

He threw hys armys to the walle,
That Ryche were and bryght of blee ;
By-fore the ermyte he gan downe falle,
And comely knelyd vpon hys knee ;
Than he shrove hym of hys synnes Alle
And prayd he myght hys broder be,
To serue god in boure and halle.
That myght-full kynge of mercy free.

That holy bisshope nold not blynne,
But blythe was to do hys boone ;
He resseyuyd hym with wele and wynne
And thankyd Ihesu trew in trone,
And shroffe hym ther of hys synne,
As clene as he had neuyr done none :
And sythe he kyste hym cheke and chynne
And an Abbyte there dyd hym vpon.

Hys grete hooste at dover laye,
And wende he shuld have comyn A-gayne,
Tylle After by-felle vpon A day,
Syr lyonell, that was mekyll of mayne.
With fyffty lordys, the sothe to saye,
To seche hys lord he was full fayne ;
To london he toke the Ryght way ;
Alas for woo ! there was he slayne.

Bors De gawnes wold no lenger Abyde,
But buskyd hym And made All bowne.
And bad All the oste homeward Ryde —
God send theym wynd and wedyr Rownd —
To seke lancelot wyll he Ryde.
Ector and echo dy worse wayes yode,
And bors sowght forthe the weste syde,
As he that cowde nowther yvell nor gode.

Full Erly in A morow tyde
In A foreste he fownd A welle ;
he Rode euyr forthe by the Ry ver syde,
Tyll he had syght of A chapelle ;
There at masse thought he A-byde ;
Rewfully he herd A belle Rynge ;
Ther lancelot he fand with mekelle pryde
And prayd he myght with hym there dwelle.

Or the halfe yere were comen to the ende,
There was comyn of there felowse sevyn,
Where yehone had sought there frend,
With sorowfull herte And drery stevyn;
had neuyr none wyll A-way to wend,
Whan they herd of launcelot nevyn,
But All to-gedyr there gan they lend,
As it was goddys wyll of heuyn.

holyche All tho sevyn yerys
lancelot was preste and masse songe ;
In penance and in dyverse prayers
That lyffe hym thought no-thyng longe ;
Syr bors And hys other ferys
On bokys Redde and bellys Ronge ;
So lytell they wexe of lyn And lerys,
Theym to know it was stronge.

hytte felle A-gayne an euyn-tyde
That launcelot sekenyd sely sare ;
The bysshop he clepyd to his syde
And All hys felaws lesse and mare ;
he sayd : " bretherne, I may no lenger A-byde,
my baleffull blode of lyffe is bare ;
What bote is it to hele And hyde?
my fowle flesshe will to erthe fare.

but, bretherne, I pray yow to-nyght,
To-morow, whan ye fynde me dede,
vpon A bere that ye wyll me dyght
And to loyes garde than me lede ;
For the loue of god All-myght,
Bery my body in that stede ; .
Some tyme my trowthe ther-to I plyght,
Allas ! me for-thynketh that I so dyd."

" mercy, syr," they Sayd All three,
" for hys loue that dyed on Rode,
yif Any yvell haue greuyd the,
hyt ys bot hevynesse of yower blode ;
To-morow ye shall better be.
Whan were ye but of comforte gode ? "
merely spake All men but he.
But streyght vnto hys bed he yode.

And clepyd the bysshope hym vntylle,
And shrove hym of hys synnes clene,
Off All hys synnes loude and stylle,
And of hys synnes myche dyd he mene ;
Ther he Resseyved with good wylle
God, mary-is sonne, mayden clene.
Than bors of wepyng had neuyr hys fylle ;
To bedde they yede than All by-dene.

A lytell whyle by-fore the day.
As the bysshop lay in hys bed,
A laughter toke hym there he laye.
That All they were Ryght sore A-dred.
They wakenyd hym, for sothe to saye,
And Askyd yif he were hard by-sted.
he sayd : " Allas And wele A-way !
Why ne had I lenger thus be ledd ?

Allas ! why nyghed ye me nye.
To A-wake me in word or stevyn ?
here was launcelot bryght of blee
With Angellis xxx thousand and sevyn ;
hym they bare vp on hye ;
"A-gaynste hym openyd the gatys of hevyn ;
Suche A syght Ryght now I see,
. Is none in erthe that myght it nevyn."

"Syr," thay sayd, " for crosse on Rode,
Dothe suche wordys cleue A-way.
Syr lancelot eylythe no-thynge but gode ;
he shall be hole by pryme of day."
Candell they lyght And to hym yode,
And fownde hym dede, for sothe to saye,
Rede and fayer of flesshe and blode,
Ryght As he in slepynge laye.

" Allas ! syr bors, that I was borne !
That euyr I shuld see thys in dede !
The beste knyght hys lyffe hathe lorne
That euyr in stoure by-strode A stede.
Ihesu that crownyd was with thorne,
In heuyn hys soule foster and fede ! "
Vnto the fyfty day at the morne
They lefte not for to synge And Rede,

And After they made theym A bere,
The bysshop and these other bold,
And forthe they wente, All in fere
To loyes garde, that Ryche hold.
In A chapell a-myddys the quere
A graue they made as thay wold.
And iij dayes they wakyd hym there.
In the castell with earys cold.

Ryght as they stode A-boute the bere
And to bereynge hym shold haue browght,
In cam syr Ector, hys brodyr dere.
That vij yere A-fore had hym sought,
he lokyd vp in-to the quere ;
To here A masse than had he thought ;
For that they All Ravysshyd were,
They knew hym and he hem nought.

Syr bors bothe wepte And songe,
Whan they that feyre faste vnfold ;
There was none but hys handys wrange,
The bysshop nor none of the other bold.
Syr Ector than thought longe ;
What thys corps was feyne wete he wolde ;
An C tymes hys herte nye sprange,
By that bors had hym the tale tolde.

Full hendely syr bors to hym spakke
And sayd : ' welcome, syr Ector, I-wysse ;
here lyethe my lord lancelot du lake,
for whome that we haue mornyd thus."
Than In Armys they gan hym take,
The dede body to clyppe And kysse.
And prayed All nyght he myght hym wake,
For Ihesu love, kynge of blysse.

Syr Ector of hys wytte nere wente,
Walowed and wronge as he were wode ;
So wofully hys mone he mente,
hys sorow myngyd All hys mode ;
Whan the corps in Armys he bente,
The terys owte of hys yen yode ;
At the laste they myght no lenger stent.
But beryed hym with drery mode.

Sythen on there knees they knelyd downe —
Grete sorow it was to se with syght —
" Vnto Ihesu cryste Aske I A boone,
And to hys moder, mary bryght.
lord, As thow madyste bothe sonne and mone.
And god And man arte moste of myght,
Brynge thys sowle vnto thy trone,
And euyr thow Rewdyste on gentyll knyght."

Syr Ector tent not to hys stede,
Whedyr he wold stynt or Kenne Away,
But with theym to dwelle and lede,
For lancelot All hys lyffe to pray.
On hym dyd he armytes wede,
And to hyr chapell went hyr way ;
A fourtenyght on fote they yede,
Or they home come, for sothe to say.

Whan they came to Avmysbery,
Dede they faunde Gaynour the quene,
With Koddys feyre and Rede as chery ;
And forthe they bare hyr theym by twene,
And beryed hyr with masse full merry
By syr Arthur, as I yow mene.
Now hyght there chapell glassynbery,
An Abbay full Ryche, of order clene.

Off lancelot du lake telle I no more,
But thus by-leve these ermytes sevyn ;
And yit is Arthur beryed thore.
And quene Gaynour, as I yow nevyn ;
With monkes that ar Ryght of lore.
They Rede and Synge with mylde stevyn.
Ihesu, that suffred woundes sore,
Graunt vs All the blysse of hevyn !
Amen.