Part I: Stanzas 1–40

God, that ys worthy and Bold,
Heuen~ and Erthe haue In hold,
Fyld, watyr, and wynde,
Yeve vse grace hevyn~ to wyne,
And brynge vs owt off Dedly synne
And In thy seruyse to Ende!
A stounde and ye woƚƚ lyst be-Dene,
Ale dowghtty men~ þat Euyr hathe ben~,
Wher So that they lende,
I Schaƚƚ yow teƚƚ, ore I hense pase,
Off a knyght, þat Dowghtty wase,
In Rome ase clarkys ffynde.

In Portynggaƚƚ, that Ryche londe,
An Ereƚƚ that wase wonande,
That curtese wase and wyght;
Sone aftyr he had a sone,
The feyerest þat on fot myght gon,
Tyrrant, men seyd, he hyght.
Be tyme he wase XVIII yer~ old,
Of deddes of armys he wase bold,
To felle bothe kyng and knyght;
And now commythe dethe appon a day
And takythe hys father~, ase I yow sey,
For God ys most of myght.

The kyng of Portynggaƚƚ wase fayne,
To-warde hym he takythe Torrayne,
That Dowghtty ys in~ dedde;
And ther he fesomnyd in~ hys hond
A good Eyrldom in~ that lond,
Bothe forest and fede.
The kyng hathe a dowghttyr whyte ase fame,
Dysonell wase her name,
Worthyest in wede.
When Torrent had of her~ a syght,
More he lovyd that swete wyght
Than~ aƚƚ ys fathyrys lede.

For love of thys lady Deyr~
In dede of armys far and nere
Aventorres gan he take
With heve tymbyr and ovyr-Ryde,
Ther myght no man~ hys dent a-bydde,
But to the Erthe he them strake.
Her father and other knyghttes mo
Had farly, how he Ryd soo,
And on a day to hyme spake,
He Seyd: ‘Torrent, howe may thys byne,
That thow Dyspisyst thes knyghttes kene
And ordurres non woƚƚ take?’

Torrent sayd: ‘So mvt I the,
An other sayment woƚƚ I see,
Ore I take ordor of knyght.’
Tho he sware be hevyn kyng,
Ther wase told hym a wondyr-thyng~
In hys chambyr to nyght:
‘For~ the love of my doughter dere
Thow makyst good far and nere
In~ Dedde of armys bryght;
And wyt thow wyƚƚ, so god me saue,
Thow schalt her~ wyne, yf thow her haue,
Be thow neuyr so wyght!’

Torrent sayd: ‘Be Marry dere,
And I were off armyse clere,
Yowr Dowghttyr me leve were.’
The kyng seyd: ‘Yf yt be soo,
Ore VII yere be a-go,
More schaƚƚ we here:
Durst thow, for my dowghttyr sake,
A poynt of armys for to take
With-owt helpe of fere?’
Than seyd Torrant: ‘So god me sped,
With anny man~ that syttythe on stede
Other far ore nere!’

Ther-of the kyng~ for tene wax wode:
‘Yf thow wylt make thy body good,
Be trew and hold thy contenance . . . . . . .
Tho seyd Torrant: ‘So god me sped ere!
And I wyst, in~ what sted they were,
Fore no man~ wold I chaunce.’

‘In to the Grekes see a mylle
Ther lyvythe a gyant in an yle,
Fuƚƚ Euyƚƚ thow dourst hyme stond.
My fayer~ forestes fellythe downe he
And Ryche castelles in~ that contre,
No ston lettythe he stond.’

Terrent sayd: ‘Be Marre bryght,
Yt ys gret sorrow that he hathe syght,
The devyƚƚ of heƚƚ hym blynd!’
The kyng sayd: ‘Par la-more de dewe,
Thow darryst fuƚƚ evyƚƚ with thy Ey hym sewe,
He wold feƚƚ the with hys wynde.’
‘Now, be my trowthe,’ seyd Torrent than~,
‘Ase I ame a jentylman~,
Yf I may hym fynd,
Won fot woƚƚ I not fro hym pase,
Thow he be stronger~ than Samson~ wase,
Or anny man~ of hys kynd!’

Hys squyerys, they mornyd sare,
With-owt fere that he schold fare
To that gret iorney,
With the gyant heygh for to fyght.
Be-gon~-mese that gyant hyght,
That fynddes fere for aye.
To arme hyme Torrant gas,
Hys good stede with hym he tas,
With owt squyer~ that Day.
He takythe leve at lorddys hend,
And on hys wey gan he wynd,
For hym aƚƚ they pray.

Lytyƚƚ wyst Desoneƚƚ that jente,
For whos love that he went
To fyght with that knave.
Now god, that Dyed appon a Rode,
Strengithe hym bothe bone and blod,
The fyld for to haue!
He that schaƚƚ wend soche a wey,
Yt were nede for hym to pray,
That Iesu hym schuld saue.
Yt ys in~ the boke of Rome,
Ther was no knyght of kyrstendome,
That jorney Durst crave.

VI days Rydythe he
By the cost of the feyer~ see,
To seke the gyant kene.
By the cost as he Rode,
In a forest longe and brode
And symly wase to sene,
Hey sperrys ther he fonde
And gret olyvys growonde
Coverd in~ levys grene.
Sone wase he ware, ase y yow say,
Vppon a movnteyn~ ther he laye
On slepe, ase I wene.

Torrent, on kne knelyd he
And be-sowght Jesu so fre,
That bowght hym with hys blod:
‘Lord, ase thow dyd ryght for Mary,
Let me never take velony
And gef me of thy fode!
Serttes, yf I hym slepyng~ slone,
Manfuƚƚ Ded were yt none
For my body, be the Rode.’
Tho Terrant blewe hys bugeƚƚ bold,
To loke that he a-wake wold,
And sythe ner~ hyme Rode.

So fast a-slepe he wase browght,
Hys hornys blast a-woke hyme nowght,
He swellyd ase dothe the see.
Torrent saw, he woƚƚ not wake,
He Reynyd hys sted vnto a stake,
Ase a jentyƚƚ man~ so fre.
So hy, he say, wase the movnteyne,
Ther myght no horse wynd hym~ a-geyn~
But yf he nowyd wold be;
Thowe the wey neuyr~ so wykkyd ware,
On hys wey gan he fare,
In~ gret perayƚƚ went hee.

Torent went to that movnteyn~,
He put hys spere hyme a-geyne,
‘A-Ryse, fellow!’ gan he saye;
‘Who made the so bold here to dweƚƚ,
My lordes frethe thus to feƚƚ?
A-mendes the be-hovythe to pay.’
The gyant Rysythe, ase he had byn~ wod,
And Redyly by hyme stode,
Be-syd hyme on a lay,
And seyd: ‘Sertes, yf I leve,
Soche a wed I woƚƚ the geff,
To meve the Euyr~ and ay.’

Thow the chyld were neuyr~ so yinge,
The fyndes spere sparrythe hyme no-thyng~
In the holttes haree;
Who had fare and nere byne,
And neuer had of fytyng syn~,
He myght a lernyd thare.
The gyant, the fyrst stroke to hym he cast,
His good schyld aƚƚ to-brast,
In schevyres spred wase yare;
Tho covd he no bettur Red,
But stond styƚƚ, tyƚƚ one were ded;
The gyant lefte hym thar.

Torrent vndyr hys spryt he sprent
And a-bowght the body he hyme hente,
As far as he myght last.
‘A! fellow, wylt thow so?’
And to the grownd gan they goo,
Of the movnteyn~ bothe downe they past.
Ase the boke of Rome tellys,
They tornyd XXXII ellys,
In armys walloyng fast.
Yt tellythe in~ the boke of Rome,
Euyr~ ase the gyant a-boue come,
Hys guttes owt of hys body brast.

At the fot of the movnteyn~
Ther lay a gret Ragyd ston~, serteyn~,
Yt nyhed ys schuldyr bon~
And also hys Ryght syd,
Ther to that gyant feƚƚ that tyd,
Ase I herd in~ Rome . . .

Thorrow hyme, that mad man~,
Torrent sone a-bovyn~ wane
And fast he gan him quelle
With a knyffe feyer~ and bryght;
Torrent, with aƚƚ hys myght
Ther-with he gard hyme dweƚƚ.

Torent knelyd on hys kne,
To Iesu Cryst prayd he,
That hathe thys world to wyld:
‘Lord, lovyd, evyr lovyd thowe be,
The feyer~ fyld thow hast lent Me,’
--Vpp bothe hys handes he held--
‘Aƚƚ onely with-owt any knaue
Of the fynd the maystry to haue,
Of hym to wyn the fyld.’
Now ys ther none other to say,
Of hyme he wane the fyld þat day;
I pray God hyme schyld.

Torrent went vppe a-geyne
To the movnt, ase I gan sayne,
The londes to se far and nere;
In the see a myle, hyme thoȝt,
An hold wase Rychyly wrowt,
In that lond wase not here perre.
The see wase Ebbyd, I yow sey,
Torrent thether toke the way,
Werry aƚƚ thow he were;
And ther he fownd Ryche wonys,
Towrres Endentyd with presyos stonys,
Schynyng ase crystaƚƚ clere.

Two gattys off yron~ ther he fond,
Ther in~ Torrent gan wonde,
A nyghtes Rest there in~ to ta;
And at the hale dore ther wase
A lyon~ & a lyonasse,
Ther men be-twene them twa
Fast Etyng~, ase ye may here;
Crystyñ man thow he were,
Hys browys wexe bla,
And wit yow wiƚƚ, lord god yt wote,
He durst goo no fote,
Lest they wold hyme sla.

Torrant stod and be-held,
And prayd to god, that ale may wyld,
To send hyme harborrow good.
Sone hard he within a whalle
The syghyng of a lady smalle,
Sche weppte, as sche were wod;
Sche mornyd sore and sayd: ‘Alas,
That Euyr~ kynges dowghttyr wase
Ouer-come of so jentyƚƚ blod,
For now ame I holdyn~ here
In lond with a fyndes fere!’
Torrent hard, wher he stod.

‘Dere god,’ seyd Torrant than~,
‘Yff ther be anny crystyn~ man~
In thys hold of ston~,
That woƚƚ, for the love of god of myght,
Harbourrow a jentylman~ thys nyght,
For I ame but on~!’
‘Seynt Marry,’ seyd that lady clere,
‘What crystyn~ man~ axithe harburrow here?’
Nere hym sche gothe a-non.
‘I wold harburrow the fuƚƚ fayne,
But a gyant wyƚƚ the slayne.’
To hym sche mad here mone.

‘Say me now, fayer~ lady, belyve,
Who owte of thys plase schaƚƚ me dryve,
Thes tourres, that are so bryght?’
Ther sche Seyd: ‘Be hevyn~ kyng~,
Here ys a gyant Dwellyng,
That meche ys of myght.
Be my trowthe, and he the see,
Were ther~ XX lyvys in~ the,
Thy dethe than wyƚƚ he dyght.
Iesu cryst yef me grace
To hyd the in~ some preve plase
Owt of the fyndes syght! . . . . .

‘Euyr~ me thynkythe be thy tale,
The song of the burdes smale
On slepe hathe hyme browght.’
‘Ye,’ seyd Torrent, ‘ore he be wakyn~,
I schaƚƚ the teƚƚ soche a tokyn~,
Of hym thow haue no thowght!
But wolddes thow for thy gentry
Do the lyonnys downe lye,
That they nyee me nowght?’
By the hande sche ganne hym ta
And led hyme in~ betwe them twa;
Ryght ase sche wold, they wrowght.

The lady wase neuyr~ so a-drad,
In to the hale sche hym lad,
That lemyred ase gold bryght;
Sche byrlyd whyt wyne and Rede:
‘Make vse myrre a-geyne owre Dedd,
I wot wiƚƚ, yt ys so dyght!’
‘Be my trowthe!’ seyd Torrent,
‘I wole be thy warrant,
He comythe not here thys nyght.
On soche a slepe he ys browght,
Aƚƚ men of lyve wakythe hym nowght,
But onely godes myght.’

Blythe then wase that lady jent,
For to on-harnes Torrent,
That dowghtty wase and bold;
‘For sothe,’ sche seyd, ‘I wot wher ys
The kynges sone Verdownys,
Fast put in hold
In a dongon~, that ys dym;
Fowyre good Erylles sonnys be with hyme
Ys fet in~ fere and fold.
The gyant wan theme in~ a tyde,
Ase they Rane be the watyr syd,
And put them in~ preson~ cold.

‘In an yron~ cage he hathe them done.’
Torrent went thether~ sone:
‘Are ye yet levand?’
The kynges sone askyd than~,
Yf ther were anny crysten man~,
‘Wold bryng vse owt of bond?’
‘Lord,’ he seyd, ‘god aƚƚmyght,
I had levyr on a Day to fyght,
Than aƚƚ my fathyrys lond.’
With an iryn~ maƚƚ styff and strong~
He brake vpe an yron~ dore or longe,
And sone the keyes he fond.

Owt he toke thys chyldyryn~ fyve,
The feyrest that were on lyve,
I-hold in~ anny sted.
The lady wase fuƚƚ gled,
Sche byrlyd whyt wyn~ and Redd,
And sethyn~ to soper sone they yed.
‘Lordes,’ he seyd, ‘syn yow are her~,
I Red yow make Ryght good cher~,
For now ys aƚƚ thy nede.’
Thus he covyrd owt of care.
God, that sofryd wonddes sare,
Grante vse weƚƚ to sped!

Lorddes, and ye wol lythe,
The chyldyr namys I woƚƚ teƚƚ blythe,
Here kyn, how they were me told;
The kynges sone, that dowghtty ys,
Wase clepyd Verdownys,
That dowghtty wase and bold,
And an Erylles son, that hyght Torren~,
A nother Iakys of Berweyne,
The forthe was Amyas bold.
The kynges dowghttyr of Gales lond,
Elyoner~, I vndyrstond,
That worthy wase in hold,

In to hys chambyr sche hyme led,
Ther gold and syluyr wase spred,
And asur~, that wase blo;
In yron ther he gan stond,
Body and armys al schynand,
In~ powynt to trusse and goo.
In to a stabyƚƚ sche hym led,
Eche toke a fuƚƚ feyer~ sted,
They were redy to goo;
And wote ye weƚƚ and vndyrstond,
Had the gyant be levand,
They had not partyd soo.

They woƚƚ not to bed gange,
Tyƚƚ on the morrow the Day spronge,
Thus a wey to ffare.
Torrant sperryd the gattys, i-wyse,
Aƚƚ that he lyst he clepyd hys,
The keys and thyng he bare.
The lyons that was at the dore
Wase led to her~ mayster that wase befor~,
On hym thay fed them yare,
Vpp won of the horse, that wase ther~ levyd,
On hym thei trussyd the gyanttes heved.
Thus helpt hym god thar~.

But ore III wekes wer~ commyn~ to End,
To Portynggaƚƚ gan he wend,
Ther~ ase the kyng gan lend;
The porter~ sawe hym ther he stood,
He fled a wey, ase he were wod,
Flyngyng ase a fynd.
‘Syr kyng,’ he seyd, ‘be goddes dede,
Torrant bryngythe a devyƚƚ ys hed,
Ther with he woƚƚ yow present.’
Desoneƚƚ seyd: ‘Porter~, be styƚƚ!’ . . .
In hys walke ther ase he went.

The kyng to the gatys gan pase,
Gret lordes that ther wase,
Bothe knyghtes and squyerre,
Lordes wase fuƚƚ sore a-dred
Fore the lyonys, þat he had,
They durst not come hyme ner~.
The kyng seyd: ‘I wyƚƚ the kysse,
Durst I for~ thy bestes, Iwysse.’
Torrent dyd them ly ther~,
And kyssyd the kyng with joy and blyse;
And aftyr, other lordes of hys,
And aftyr, ladys clere.

Messengyres went the weye,
To the kyng of Provyns to sey,
Hys sone ys owt of hold:
‘Yyng Torrent of Portynggaƚƚ
Hathe browght hym owt of balle
And slayne the jeyant bold.’
Lytyƚƚ and mykyƚƚ þat ther wer~,
Aƚƚ they mad good cher
Her~ prynse fayne se wold.
The kyng seyd: ‘So mot I the,
I woƚƚ geff the towynnys thre
For~ the talles thow hast me told.’

Than seyd they, that to Gales yede,
Yeftys to take were hem no ned,
Then Verdownys had they.
Ase they seyłyd on a tyde,
At Perrown~ on the see syd
. . . . . . . . . . .
The kyng of Provynse seyd: ‘So mot I the,
Yftles schaƚƚ they not be,
That dare I sothely sey.’
The kyng of Gales proferd hym feyer~:
‘Wed my dowghttyr and myn Eyer~,
When so euyr~ thow may! . . . . .

The kyng of Pervense seyd: ‘So mot I the,
Thys seson~ yeftles schaƚƚ thow not be,
Haue here my Ryng of gold,
My sword, that so wyƚƚ ys wrowyt;
A better than~ yt know I nowght
With in~ crystyn~ mold;
Yt ys ase glemyrryng ase the glase,
Thorrow Velond wroght yt wase,
Bettyr ys non~ to hold.
I have syne sum tyme in~ lond,
Whoso had yt of myn~ hond,
Fawe they were I-told.’

Tho wase Torrent blythe and glad,
The good swerd ther he had,
The name wase Adolake.
A gret maynerey let he make ryght
That lest aƚƚ a fortnyght,
Who so wiƚƚ hys met take.
Euyry man toke ys leve, ase I yow say,
Hom-ward to wend ther wey,
Euery man ys Rest to take.
Tyƚƚ yt be-feƚƚ vppon a day,
Ase they went be the wey,
The kyng to hys dowghttyr spake:

‘Ye schaƚƚ take hed of a jeentyƚƚ man~,
A feyer~ poynt for~ yow he wane,
Desoneƚƚ, at the last.’
‘Syr,’ sche seyd, ‘be hevyn kyng,
Tyƚƚ ye me told, I knewe no thyng,
For who ys love yt wase.’
‘Desoneƚƚ, so mvt I the,
Yt wase for the lowe of the,
That he trovylld so fast.
I warne yow, dowghttyr, be the Rode,
Yt ys for yow bothe good,
Ther to I Red yow trast.’