Part IV: Stanzas 117–155

Torent said: ‘So muste I the,
Sith it wyƚƚ no better be,
I cord with that assent!’
After mete, as I you teƚƚ,
To speke with mayden~ Desoneƚƚ,
To her chamber he went.
The damyseƚƚ so moche of pride
Set hym on~ her bed-syde,
And said: ‘Welcom~, verament!’
Such gestenyng he a-right,
That there he dwellid aƚƚ nyȝt~
With that lady gent.

Sir Torent dwellid thare
Twelffe wekys and mare,
Tiƚƚ letters com hym tiƚƚ
Fro the kyng of Norway;
For Iesus love he did hym praye,
Yf it were his wyƚƚ,
He shold com as a doughty knyght,
With a Geaunt for to ffyght,
That wyƚƚ his londys spyƚƚ;
He wold hym yeve his doughter dere
And halfe Norway ffar and nere,
Both be hold and be hyƚƚ.

Sir Torent said: ‘So god me saue,
I-nough to lyve vppon I haue,
I wyƚƚ desire no more;
But it be, for Iesu is sake
A poynt of armes for to take,
That hath helpid me be-ffore.
I yeve the here oute of my hond
To thy doughter aƚƚ my lond,
Yf that I end thore.’
And whan~ he toke his way to passe,
Mo than ffyfty with hym was,
That fals to hym~ wore.

Syr Torent to the lady went,
Fuƚƚ curtesly and gent: . . . . .
‘Desoneƚƚ, haue good day!
I muste now on my jurnay,
A kyngis lond for to fend.
Thes gold rynges I shaƚƚ yeve the,
Kepe them weƚƚ, my lady ffre,
Yf god a child vs send!’
She toke the ryngis with moche care,
Thries in sownyng feƚƚ she thare,
Whan she saw, that he wold wend.

Shipp and takyƚƚ they dight,
Stede and armour ffor to ffyght
To the bote they bare.
Gentilmen~, that were hend,
Toke her leve at theyre frend,
With hym ffor to fare.
Kyng Colomond, is not to layn~,
He wold, that he cam nevure agayn~;
There fore god yeff hym~ care!
So within the ffyfty dayes
He Come in to the lond of Norways,
Hard Contre ffound he thare.

Thus sir Torrent, for soth, is fare,
A noble wynd droffe hym~ thare,
Was blowyng oute of the weste.
Of the Coste of Norway they had a sight . . .
Of sayling they were aƚƚ preste.
So ffeyre a wynd had the knyght,
A lituƚƚ be-ffore the mydnyght
He Rode be a foreste.
The shipmen said: ‘We be shent;
Here dwellith a geaunt, verament,
On his lond are we kest!’

The maistershipmon~ said: ‘Nowe
I Rede, we take down~ sayle & Rowe,
While we haue this tyde.
Sir,’ he said, ‘be god aƚƚmyght,
The giant lieth euery nyght
On~ the mowntayn~ here be-syde;
My lord the kyng wyƚƚ not ffyght,
Tiƚƚ he of you haue a sight,
On you ys aƚƚ his pryde!’
Sir Torrent said: ‘Here my hond!
Sith we be ryven on this lond,
To nyght wyƚƚ I ryde.’

Sir Torent armyd hym~ anon
And his knyghtes euerychone
With sheld and spere in hond.
The shipmen~ said: ‘As mut I thryve,
I Rede, that euery man~ other shryve,
Or that we go to the lond.’
Sir Torent said: ‘As god me spede,
We wiƚƚ firste se that ffede,
My lord was never failand!
Gentilmen, make chere good,
For Iesu love, that died on Rood,
He wiƚƚ be oure waraunt!’

In a forest can~ they passe,
Of Brasiƚƚ, saith the boke, it was,
With bowes brod and wyde.
Lyons and berys there they ffand
And wyld bestes aboute goand,
Reysing on euery side.
Thes men~ of armes, with trayn~
To the shipp they flew agayn~
In to the see at that tyde;
Fast from land row they be-gan~,
A-bove they left that gentilman~,
With wyld beestis to haue kyde.

The shipmen~ of the same lond
Ryved vp, I vnderstond,
In another lond off hold.
To the chamber they toke the way,
There the kyng hym~ selfe lay,
And fals talis hym~ told . . . . . .
For he wold not the geaunt abyde,
For aƚƚ this contrey feyre and wyde,
Thouȝ he yeff it hym wold.

‘Sir kyng, ye haue youre selfe
Erlis doughty be ten~ or twelfe,
Better know I none:
Send youre messingeris ffar and wyde,
For to ffeƚƚ the geauntes pride,
That youre doughter hath tane.’
‘I had lever to haue that knyght;
With hym~ is grace of god aƚƚmyȝt~,
To be here at his bane.’
Fuƚƚ lituƚƚ wist that riche kyng
Of sir Torrentes ryding
In the forest aƚƚ alone.

Thorouȝ helpe of god that with hym was,
Fro the wyld bestis gan~ he passe
To an hye hyƚƚ.
A lituƚƚ while be-fore the day
He herd in a valey
A dynnyng and a yeƚƚ.
Theder than~ riduth he,
To loke, what thing it myȝt be,
What adventure thare be-feƚƚ.
It were two dragons stiff and strong,
Vppon~ theyre lay they sat and song,
Be-side a depe weƚƚ.

Sir Torent said thanne
To god, that made man~
And died uppon~ a tree:
‘Lord, as thou mayst aƚƚ weld,
Yeve me grace, to wyn~ the feld
Of thes ffendys onfre!’
Whan he had his prayers made,
Pertely to hem~ he Rade
And one thorouȝ oute bare he.
Thus sped the knyght at his comyng
Thorough the helpe of hevyn~ kyng:
Lord, lovid muste thou be!

The other dragon wold not flee, . . . . .
But showith aƚƚ his myght;
He smote ffire, that lothely thing,
As it were the lightnyng,
Vppon~ that comly knyght.
There fore sir Torent wold not lett,
But on~ the dragon fast~ he bett
And over-come that foule wight.
Tho anon the day sprong,
Fowles Rose, mery they song,
The sonne a-Rose on hyȝt.

Torent of the day was fuƚƚ blithe,
And of the valey he did hym~ swith,
As fast as euer he may.
To a mowntayn~ he rode ryght,
Of a casteƚƚ he had a sight
With towrys hyȝe and gay . . . . . .
He come in to an hyȝe strete,
Few folke gan~ he mete,
To wis hym~ the way.

To the gatys tho he Rade;
Fuƚƚ craftely they were made
Of Irun~ and eke of tree.
One tre stonding there he ffond:
Nyne oxen~ of that lond
Shold not drawe the tre.
The Giaunt wrought vp his waƚƚ
And laid stonys gret and smaƚƚ:
A lothely man~ was he.
‘Now,’ quod Torrent, ‘I not, whare,
My squiers be ffro me to fare,
Euer waried they be!

‘Lord god, what is beste,
So Iesu me helpe, Est or Weste,
I Can not Rede to say.
Yf I to the shipp fare,
No shipmen~ ffynd I thare;
It is long, sith they were away.
Other wayes yf I wend,
Wyld bestis wyƚƚ me shend:
Falshede, woo worth it aye!
I ffyght here, Iesu, for thy sake;
Lord, to me kepe thou take,
As thou best may!’

Down~ light this gentiƚƚ knyght,
To Rest hym~ a lituƚƚ wight,
And vnbrydelid his stede
And let hym~ bayte on~ the ground,
And aventid hym~ in~ that stound,
There of he had gret nede.
The Gyaunt yode and gaderid stone
And sye, where the knyght gan~ gone,
Aƚƚ armed in dede;
And wot ye weƚƚ and not wene,
Whan eyther of hem had other sene,
Smertely they rerid her dede.

For that sir Torent had hym sene,
He worth vppon his stede, I wene,
And Iesu prayde he tiƚƚ:
‘Mary son~, thou here my bone,
As I am~ in venturus stad come,
My jurnay to fuƚƚ-ffyƚƚ!’
A voys was fro hevyn~ sent
And said: ‘Be blith, sir Torent,
And yeve the no thing yƚƚ,
To ffyght with my lordys enemy:
Whether that thou lyve or dye,
Thy mede the quyte he wyƚƚ!’

Be that the giaunt had hym dight,
Cam~ ageyn~ that gentiƚƚ knyght,
As bold as eny bore;
He bare on~ his nek a croke,
Woo were the man~, that he ouertoke,
It was twelfe ffote and more.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘ffor charite,
Loke, curtes man~ that thou be,
Yf thy wyƚƚ ware:
I haue so fought aƚƚ this nyght
With thy II dragons wekyd and wight,
They haue bett me fuƚƚ sore.’

The Geaunt said: ‘Be my fay,
Wors tydinges to me this day
I myght not goodly here.
Thorough the valey as thou cam~,
My two dragons hast thou slan~,
My solempnite they were.
To the I haue fuƚƚ good gate;
For thou slow my brother Cate,
That thou shalte by fuƚƚ dere!’
Be-twene the giaunt and the knyght
Men myght se buffettes right,
Who so had be there.

Sir Torent yaue to hym~ a brayd;
He levid that the aungeƚƚ said,
Of deth yaue he nought.
In to the brest he hym~ bare,
His spere hede lefte he thare,
So eviƚƚ was hitt bythought.
The Giaunt hym ayen~ smate
Thorough his sheld and his plate,
In to the flesh it sought;
And sith he pullith at his croke,
So fast in to the flesh it toke,
That oute myȝt he gete it nought.

On hym~ he hath it broke,
Glad pluckys there he toke,
Set sadly and sare.
Sir Torent stalworth satt,
Oute of his handys he it gatt,
No lenger dwellid he thare.
In to the water he cast his sheld,
Croke and aƚƚ to-geders it held,
Fare after, how so euer it ffare.
The Geaunt folowid with aƚƚ his mayn~,
And he come never quyk agayn~:
God wold, that so it ware.

Sir Torent bet hym~ there,
Tiƚƚ that this fend did were,
Or he thens wend.
On hym had he hurt but ane,
Lesse myght be a mannus bane,
But god is fuƚƚ hend:
Thorough grace of hym, that aƚƚ shaƚƚ weld,
There the knyght had the feld,
Such grace god did hym~ send.
Be than it nyed nere hand nyȝt~,
To a casteƚƚ he Rode right,
Aƚƚ nyght there to lend.

In the casteƚƚ found he nought,
That god on the Rode bought;
High vppon~ a toure,
As he caste a side lokyng,
He saw a lady in her bed syttyng,
White as lylye ffloure;
Vp a-Rose that lady bryght,
And said: ‘Welcom~, sir knyght,
That fast art in stoure!’
‘Damyseƚƚ, welcom~ mut thou be!
Graunt thou me, for charite,
Of one nyghtis soioure!’

‘By Mary,’ said that lady clere,
‘Me for-thinkith, that thou com~ here,
Thy deth now is dight;
For here dwellith a geaunt,
He is clepud Weraunt,
He is to the deviƚƚ be-taught.
To day at morn~ he toke his croke,
Forth at the yates the way he toke,
And said, he wold haue a draught;
And here be chambers two or thre,
In one of hem I shaƚƚ hide the,
God the saue ffrome harmes right!’

‘Certayn~,’ tho said the knyght,
‘That theffe I saw to nyght,
Here be-side a slade.
He was a ferly freke in ffyght,
With hym faught a yong knyght,
Ech on other laid good lade;
Me thought weƚƚ, as he stode,
He was of the fendus blood,
So Rude was he made.
Dame, yf thou leve not me,
Com~ nere, and thou shalt se,
Which of hem abade.’

Blith was that lady bryght
For to se that selly sight:
With the knyght went she.
Whan she cam, where the Geaunt lay,
‘Sir,’ she said, ‘parmaffay
I wott weƚƚ, it is he.
Other he was of god aƚƚ-myght
Or seynt George, oure lady knyȝt~,
That there his bane hath be.
Yf eny cryston~ man smyte hym down~,
He is worthy to haue renown~
Thorough oute aƚƚ crystiaunte.’

‘I haue wonder,’ said the knyght,
‘How he gate the, lady bryght,
Fro my lord the kyng.’
‘Sir,’ she said, ‘verament,
As my fader on huntyng went
Erly in a mornyng,
Fore his men pursued a dere,
To his casteƚƚ, that stondith here,
That doth my hondys wryng,
This Giaunt hym toke, wo he be!
For his love he gevith hym~ me,
He wold none other thinge.’

Forth she brought bred and wyne,
Fayn~ he was for to dyne . . . . . .
This knyght made noble chere,
Though that he woundid were
With the Geaunt strong.

Sir Torrent dwellid no lenger thare,
Than~ he myȝt away fare
With that lady bryght.
‘Now, Iesu, that made heƚƚ,
Send me on lyve to Desoneƚƚ,
That I my trouth to plight!’
Tho sye they be a forest syde
Men~ of armes ffaste ride
On coursers comly dight.
The lady said: ‘So mvst I thee,
It is my fader, is com for me,
With the Geaunt to ffyght.’

An harood said anon~ right:
‘Yon I se an armed knyght,
And no squier, but hym~ one:
He is so big of bone & blood,
He is the Geaunt, be the Rode!’
Som~ seith, he riduth vppon~.
‘Nay,’ said the kyng, ‘verament,
It is the knyght, that I after sent,
I thanke god and seynt Iohñ,
For the Geaunt slayn~ hath he
And wonne my doughter, weƚƚ is me!
Aƚƚ his men are atone!’

Wott ye weƚƚ, with Ioy and blis
Sir Torent there recevid ys,
As doughty man~ of dede.
The kyng and other lordys gent
Said, ‘Welcom~, sir Torent,
In to this vncouth thede!’
In to a state they hym~ brought,
Lechis sone his woundis sought;
They said, so god hem spede,
Were there no lyve but ane,
His liffe they wyƚƚ not vndertane,
For no gold ne ffor mede.

The lady wist not or than~,
That he was hurt, that gentilman~,
And sith she went hym tyƚƚ;
She sought his woundus and said thare:
‘Thou shalte lyve and welfare,
Yf the no-thing evyƚƚ!
My lord the kyng hath me hight,
That thou shalt wed me, sir knyght,
The fforward ye to fulle ffyƚƚ.’
‘Damyseƚƚ, loo here my hond:
And I take eny wyffe in this lond,
It shaƚƚ be at thy wyƚƚ!’

Gendres was that ladyes name.
The Geauntes hede he brought hame,
And the dragons he brought.
Mene myght here a myle aboute,
How on the dede hedys they did shoute,
For the shame, that they hem~ wrought,
Both with dede and with tong
Fyfte on the hedys dong,
That to the ground they sought.
Sir Torrent dwellid thare
Twelfe monythis and mare,
That ffurther myȝt he nought.

The kyng of Norway said: ‘Nowe,
Fals thevis, woo worth you,
Ferly soteƚƚ were ye:
Ye said, the knyght wold not com~:
Swith oute of my kyngdome,
Or hangid shaƚƚ ye be!’
His squiers, that fro hym~ fled,
With sore strokys are they spred
Vppon the wanne see,
And there they drenchid euery man~,
Saue one knave, that to lond cam~,
And woo be-gone is he.

The child, to lond that god sent,
In Portyngale he is lent,
In a riche town~,
That hath hight be her day,
And euer shaƚƚ, as I you say,
The town~ of Peron~.
By-fore the kyng he hym sett,
‘Fuƚƚ weƚƚ thy men~, lord, the grett,
And in the see did they drown.’
Desoneƚƚ said: ‘Where is Torent?’
‘In Norway, lady, verament.’
On sownyng feƚƚ she down~.

As she sownyd, this lady myld,
Men myȝt se tokenyng of her child,
Steryng on~ her right syde.
Gret Ruth it was to teƚƚ,
How her maydens on~ her feƚƚ,
Her to Couer and to hide.
Tho the kyng said: ‘My doughter, do way!
By god, thy myrth is gone for aye,
Spousage wyƚƚ thou none bide!
There fore thou shalt in to the see
And that Bastard with-in the,
To lerne you ffor to ride.’

Erlis and Barons, that were good,
By-fore the kyng knelid and stode
For that lady free.
The quene, her moder, on knees feƚƚ,
‘For Iesu is love, that harood heƚƚ,
Lord, haue mercy on~ me!
That ylke dede, that she hath done,
It was with an Erlis sonne,
Riche man~ i-nough is he;
And yf ye wyƚƚ not let her lyve,
Right of lond ye her yeve,
Tiƚƚ she delyuerd be!’