Revised by Edward E. Foster - Alliterative Morte Arthure, Part III lyrics

When these wordes was said, the Welsh king himselven Was ware of this widerwin that warrayed his knightes; Brothely in the vale with voice he ascries: "Viscount of Valence, envious of deedes, The va**alage of Viterbo today shall be revenged! Unvanquisht fro this place void shall I never." Then the viscount, valiant, with a voice noble Avoided the avauntward, enveround his horse; He dressed in a derf sheld, endented with sable, With a dragon engoushed, dredful to shew, Devourand a dolphin with doleful lates, In sign that our soveraign sholde be destroyed, And all done of dayes, with dintes of swordes, For there is nought but dede there the dragon is raised! Then the comlich king castes in fewter, With a cruel launce coupes full even Aboven the spayre a span, among the short ribbes, 144 That the splent and the spleen on the spere lenges! The blood sprent out and spredde as the horse springes, And he sproules full spakely, but spekes he no more! And thus has Sir Valiant holden his avowes, And vanquisht the Viscount that victor was holden! Then Sir Ewain fitz Urien full enkerly rides Anon to the Emperour his egle to touch; Through his brode batail he buskes belive, Braides out his brand with a blithe cheer, Reversed it redily and away rides, Ferkes in with the fowl in his fair handes, And fittes in freely on front with his feres. Now buskes Sir Launcelot and braides full even To Sir Lucius the lord and lothly him hittes; Through paunce and plates he perced the mailes That the proud pensel in his paunch lenges! The hed hailed out behind an half foot large, Through hawberk and haunch with the hard wepen; The steed and the steren man strikes to the ground, Strak down a standard and to his stale wendes! "Me likes well," says Sir Lot, "yon lordes are delivered! 145 The lot lenges now on me, with leve of my lord; Today shall my name be laid, and my life after, But some lepe fro the life that on yon land hoves!" Then strekes the steren and straines his bridle, 146 Strikes into the stour on a steed rich, Enjoined with a giaunt and jagged him through! Jollily this gentle knight for-jousted another, Wrought wayes full wide, warrayand knightes, And woundes all wathely that in the way standes! Fightes with all the frap a furlong of way, Felled fele upon feld with his fair wepen, Vanquisht and has the victory of valiant knightes, And all enverouned the vale and void when him liked. Then bowmen of Bretain brothely there-after Bekered with brigandes of fer in tho landes; 147 With flones fletterd they flit full freshly thir frekes, Fichen with fetheres through the fine mailes; Such flytting is foul that so the flesh deres, That flow a ferrom in flankes of steedes. Dartes the Dutch-men delten againes, With derf dintes of dede dagges through sheldes; Quarrels quaintly quappes through knightes 148 With iron so wekerly that wink they never. So they shrinken for shot of the sharp arrows, That all the sheltron shunt and shuddered at ones; The rich steedes rependes and rashes on armes, The hole hundreth on hie upon hethe ligges; 149 But yet the hatheliest on hie, hethen and other, All hourshes over hede, harmes to work. And all these giauntes before, engendered with fendes, Joines on Sir Jonathal and gentle knightes, With clubbes of clene steel clanked in helmes, Crashed down crestes and crashed braines, k**ed coursers and coverd steedes, Chopped through chevalers on chalk-white steedes; Was never steel ne steed might stand them againes, But stonays and strikes down that in the stale hoves, Til the conquerour come with his keen knightes. With cruel countenaunce he cried full loud: "I wend no Bretons wolde be bashed for so little, And for bare-legged boyes that on the bente hoves!" He clekes out Caliburn, full clenlich burnisht, 150 Graithes him to Golopas, that greved him most, Cuttes him even by the knees clenly in sonder; "Come down," quod the king, "and carp to thy feres! Thou art too high by the half, I hete thee in trewth! Thou shall be handsomer in hie, with the help of my Lord!" With that steelen brand he stroke off his hed. Sterenly in that stour he strikes another. Thus he settes on seven with his seker knightes; Whiles sixty were served so ne sesed they never; And thus at this joining the giauntes are destroyed, And at that journee for-jousted with gentle knightes. Then the Romanes and the renkes of the Round Table Rewles them in array, rereward and other, With wight wepenes of war they wroughten on helmes, Rittes with rank steel full real mailes But they fit them fair, these frek bernes, Fewters in freely on feraunt steedes Foines full felly with flishand speres, Fretten off orfrayes fast upon sheldes; So fele fey is in fight upon the feld leved That ech a furth in the firth of red blood runnes. By that swiftely on swarth the swet is beleved, Swordes swangen in two, sweltand knightes Lies wide open welterand on walopand steedes; Woundes of wale men workand sides, Faces fetteled unfair in feltered lockes, All craysed, for-trodden with trapped steedes, 151 The fairest on folde that figured was ever, As fer as a furlong, a thousand at ones! By then the Romanes were rebuked at little, Withdrawes them drerily and dreches no lenger; Our prince with his power persewes them after, Prikes on the proudest with his pris knightes, Sir Kayous, Sir Clegis, Sir Cleremond the noble, Encounters them at the cliff with clene men of armes; Fightes fast in the firth, frithes no wepen, Felled at the first come five hundreth at ones! And when they fande them for-set with our fers knightes, Few men again fele mot fich them better, Fightes with all the frap, foines with speres, And fought with the frekkest that to Fraunce longes. But Sir Kayous the keen castes in fewter, Chases on a courser and to a king rides; With a launce of Lettow he thirles his sides That the liver and the lunges on the launce lenges; The shaft shuddered and shot in the shire berne, And sought throughout the sheld and in the shalk restes. But Kayous at the in-come was keeped unfair With a coward knight of the kith rich; At the turning that time the traitour him hit In through the felettes and in the flank after That the bustous launce the bewelles entamed, That braste at the brawling and broke in the middes. Sir Kayous knew well by that kidd wound That he was dede of the dint and done out of life; Then he raikes in array and on row rides, On this real renk his dede to revenge: "Keep thee, coward!" he calles him soon, Cleves him with his clere brand clenlich in sonder: "Had thou well delt thy dint with thy handes, I had forgiven thee my dede, by Crist now of heven!" He wendes to the wise king and winly him greetes: "I am wathely wounded, waresh mon I never; Work now thy worship, as the world askes, And bring me to burial; bid I no more. Greet well my lady the queen, yif thee world happen, And all the burlich birdes that to her bowr longes; And my worthily wife, that wrathed me never, Bid her for her worship work for my soul!" The kinges confessour come with Crist in his handes, For to comfort the knight, kend him the wordes; The knight covered on his knees with a kaunt herte, And caught his Creatour that comfortes us all. Then romes the rich king for rewth at his herte, Rides into rout his dede to revenge, Pressed into the plump and with a prince meetes That was eier of Egypt in those este marches, Cleves him with Caliburn clenlich in sonder! He broches even through the berne and the saddle bristes, And at the back of the blonk the bewelles entamed! Manly in his malencoly he meetes another; The middle of that mighty that him much greved He merkes through the mailes the middes in sonder, That the middes of the man on the mount falles, The tother half of the haunch on the horse leved; Of that hurt, as I hope, heles he never! He shot through the sheltrons with his sharp wepen, Shalkes he shrede through and shrinked mailes; Banners he bore down, brittened sheldes; Brothely with brown steel his brethe he there wrekes; Wrothely he writhes by wightness of strenghe, Woundes these widerwinnes, warrayed knightes Threped through the thickes thriteen sithes, Thringes throly in the throng and chis even after! Then Sir Gawain the good with worshipful knightes Wendes in the avauntward by tho wood hemmes, Was ware of Sir Lucius on land there he hoves With lordes and lege-men that to himself longed. Then the Emperour enkerly askes him soon: "What will thou, Wawain? Work for thy wepen? I wot by thy wavering thou wilnes after sorrow; I shall be wroken on thee, wretch for all thy grete wordes!" He laght out a long sword and lushed on fast, And Sir Lionel in the land lordly him strikes, Hittes him on the hed that the helm bristes, Hurtes his herne-pan an hand-bred large! Thus he layes on the lump and lordly them served, Wounded worthily worshipful knightes, Fightes with Florent, that best is of swordes, Til the fomand blood til his fist runnes! Then the Romans releved that ere were rebuked, And all torattes our men with their reste horses; For they see their cheftain be chauffed so sore, They chase and chop down our chevalrous knightes! Sir Bedvere was borne through and his breste thirled With a burlich brand, brode at the hiltes; The real rank steel to his herte runnes, And he rushes to the erthe; rewth is the more! Then the conquerour took keep and come with his strenghes To rescue the rich men of the Round Table, To outraye the Emperour, yif aunter it shew, Even to the egle, and "Arthur!" ascries. The Emperour then egerly at Arthur he strikes, Awkward on the umbrere, and egerly him hittes; The naked sword at the nose noyes him sore; The blood of the bold king over the breste runnes, Bebledde at the brode sheld and the bright mailes! Our bold king bowes the blonk by the bright bridle, With his burlich brand a buffet him reches Through the breny and breste with his bright wepen; O slant down fro the slot he slittes him at ones! Thus endes the Emperour of Arthure handes, And all his austeren host there-of were affrayed. Now they ferk to the firth, a few that are leved, For ferdness of our folk, by the fresh strandes; The flowr of our fers men on feraunt steedes Followes frekly on the frekes that frayed was never. Then the kidd conquerour cries full loud: "Cosin of Cornwall, take keep to thyselven That no capitain be keeped for none silver, Ere Sir Kayous dede be cruelly venged!" "Nay," says Sir Cador, "so me Crist help! There ne is kaiser ne king that under Crist regnes That I ne shall k** cold-dede by craft of my handes!" There might men see cheftains on chalk-white steedes Chop down in the chase chevalry noble, Romanes the richest and real kinges, Braste with rank steel their ribbes in sonder, Braines forbrusten through burnisht helmes, With brandes forbrittened on brode in the landes; They hewed down hethen men with hilted swordes, By hole hundrethes on hie by the holt eves; There might no silver them save ne succour their lives, Sowdan, ne Sarazen, ne senatour of Rome. Then releves the renkes of the Round Table, By the rich river that runnes so fair; Lodges them lovely by tho lighte strandes, All on lowe in the land, those lordlich bernes. They kaire to the carriage and took what them likes, Camels and cokadrisses and coffers full rich, 152 Hackes and hackenays and horses of armes, Housing and herberage of hethen kinges; They drew out dromedaries of diverse lordes, Moilles milk-white and marvelous bestes, Olfendes and arrabys and olyfauntes noble 153 That are of the Orient with honourable kinges. But Sir Arthur anon ayeres thereafter Even to the emperour with honourable kinges, Laght him up full lovelyly with lordlich knightes, And led him to the layer there the king ligges. Then harawdes hiely at hest of the lordes, Huntes up the haythemen that on height ligges, The Sowdan of Surry and certain kinges, Sixty of the chef senatours of Rome. Then they buskes and bawmed thir burlich kinges, Sewed them in sendell sixty-fold after, Lapped them in lede, less that they sholde Change or chauffe yif they might escheve 154 Closed in kestes clene unto Rome, With their banners aboven, their badges there-under, In what countree they kaire, that knightes might know Ech king by his colours, in kith where he lenged. Anon on the second day, soon by the morn, Two senatours there come and certain knightes, Hoodless fro the hethe, ovre the holt-eves, Bare-foot over the bente with brandes so rich, Bowes to the bold king and biddes him the hiltes. Whether he will hang them or hedde or hold them on life, Kneeled before the conquerour in kirtels alone, With careful countenaunce they carped these wordes: "Two senatours we are, thy subjettes of Rome, That has saved our life by these salt strandes, Hid us in the high wood through the helping of Crist, Beseekes thee of succour, as soveraign and lord; Graunt us life and limm with liberal herte, For His love that thee lente this lordship in erthe!" "I graunt," quod the good king, "through grace of myselven; I give you life and limm and leve for to pa**, So ye do my message menskfully at Rome, That ilke charge that I you give here before my chef knightes." "Yes," says the senatours, "that shall we ensure, Sekerly by our trewthes, thy sayinges to fulfill; We shall let for no lede that lives in erthe, For pope ne for potestate ne prince so noble, That ne shall lely in land thy letteres pronounce, For duke ne for douspeer, to die in the pain!" Then the bannerettes of Bretain brought them to tents There barbours were boun with basins on loft; With warm water, iwis, they wet them full soon; They shoven these shalkes shapely thereafter To reckon these Romanes recreant and yelden Forthy shove they them to shew for skomfit of Rome. They coupled the kestes on camelles belive, On a**es and arrabyes, these honourable kinges; The Emperour for honour all by him one, Even upon an olyfaunt, his egle out over; Bekend them the captives, the king did himselven, And all before his keen men carped these wordes: "Here are the kestes," quod the king, "kaire over the mountes, Mette full monee that ye have mikel yerned, 155 The tax and the tribute of ten score winteres That was teenfully tint in time of our elders; Say to the senatour the citee that yemes That I send him the sum; a**ay how him likes! But bid them never be so bold, whiles my blood regnes Eft for to brawl them for my brode landes, Ne to ask tribute ne tax by nokin title, But such tresure as this, whiles my time lastes." Now they raik to Rome the rediest wayes Knelles in the Capitol and commouns a**embles, Soveraignes and senatours the citee that yemes, Bekend them the carriage, kestes and other, Als the conquerour commaunde with cruel wordes: "We have trustily travailed this tribute to fetch, The tax and the trewage of foure score winteres, Of England, of Ireland and all thir out-iles, That Arthur in the Occident occupies at ones. He biddes you never be so bold whiles his blood regnes To brawl you for Bretain ne his brode landes, Ne ask him tribute ne tax by nokins title But such tresure as this, whiles his time lastes. We have foughten in Fraunce and us is foul happened, And all our much fair folk fey are beleved; Eschaped there ne chevalry ne cheftaines nother, But chopped down in the chase, such chaunce is befallen! We rede ye store you of stone and stuffen your walles; You wakens wandreth and war; be ware if you likes!" In the kalendes of May this case is befallen; The roy real renowned with his Round Table On the coste of Constantine by the clere strandes Has the Romanes rich rebuked for ever! When he had foughten in Fraunce and the feld wonnen And fersely his fomen felld out of life, He bides for the burying of his bold knightes, That in batail with brandes were brought out of life. He buries at Bayonne Sir Bedwere the rich; The corse of Kayous the keen at Came is beleved, Covered with a crystal clenly all over; His fader conquered that kith knightly with handes. Senn in Burgoine he badde to bury mo knightes, Sir Berade and Bawdwyne, Sir Bedwar the rich, Good Sir Cador at Came, as his kind askes. Then Sir Arthur anon in the Auguste thereafter, Enteres to Almaine with hostes arrayed, Lenges at Lusheburgh to lechen his knightes, With his lele lege-men as lord in his owen; And on Cristofer day a counsel he holdes With kinges and kaisers, clerkes and other, Commaundes them keenly to cast all their wittes How he may conquer by craft the kith that he claimes; But the conquerour keen, courtais and noble, Carpes in the counsel these knightly wordes: "Here is a knight in these cleves, enclosed with hilles, That I have covet to know because of his wordes, That is Lorraine the lele, I keep not to laine. 156 The lordship is lovely, as ledes me telles; I will that duchy devise and dele as me likes, And senn dress with the duke, if destainy suffer; The renk rebel has been unto my Round Table, Redy ay with Romanes to riot my landes. We shall reckon full rathe, if resoun so happen, Who has right to that rent, by rich God of heven! Then will I by Lumbardy, likand to shew, Set law in the land that last shall ever, The tyrauntes of Tuskan tempest a little, Talk with the temporal, whiles my time lastes; I give my protection to all the pope landes, My rich pensel of pees my pople to shew. It is a folly to offend our fader under God Other Peter or Paul, tho postles of Rome; If we spare the spiritual we speed but the better; Whiles we have for to speke, spill shall it never!" 157 Now they speed at the spurres withouten speche more, To the march of Meyes, these manlich knightes, That is in Lorraine alosed as London is here, Citee of that seinour that soveraign is holden. The king ferkes forth on a fair steed With Ferrer and Ferawnte and other four knightes; About the citee tho seven they sought at the next, To seek them a seker place to set with engines. Then they bended in burgh bowes of vise, Bekers at the bold king with bustous lates, Allblawsters at Arthur egerly shootes For to hurt him or his horse with that hard wepen. The king shunt for no shot ne no sheld askes, But shews him sharply in his sheen weedes, Lenges all at leisere and lookes on the walles Where they were lowest the ledes to a**ail. "Sir," said Sir Ferrer, "a folly thou workes, Thus naked in thy noblay to nighe to the walles, Singly in thy surcote this citee to reche And shew thee within there to shend us all; Hie us hastily henne or we mon foul happen, For hit they thee or thy horse, it harmes for ever!" "If thou be ferde," quod the king, "I rede thee ride utter, 158 Less that they rew thee with their round wepen. Thou art but a fauntekein, no ferly me thinkes! Thou will be flayed for a fly that on thy flesh lightes! I am nothing aghast, so me God help! Though such gadlinges be greved, it greves me but little; They win no worship of me, but wastes their tackle; They shall want ere I wend, I wagen mine heved! Shall never harlot have happe, through help of my Lord, To k** a crownd king with crisom annointed!" Then come the herbariours, harageous knightes, The hole batailes on hie harraunt thereafter, And our forreours fers upon fele halfes Come flyand before on feraunt steedes, Ferkand in array, thir real knightes, The renkes renowned of the Round Table! All the frek men of Fraunce followed thereafter, Fair fitted on front and on the feld hoves. Then the shalkes sharply shiftes their horses, To shewen them seemly in their sheen weedes; Buskes in batail with banners displayed, With brode sheldes enbraced and burlich helmes, With penouns and pensells of ilke prince armes, Apparelled with perry and precious stones; The launces with loraines and lemand sheldes, Lightenand as the levening and lemand all ove Then the pris men prikes and proves their horses, Satilles to the citee upon sere halves; Enserches the suburbes sadly thereafter, Discoveres of shot-men and skirmish a little, Scares their skotifers and their scout-watches Brittenes their barrers with their bright wepens, Bette down a barbican and the bridge winnes; Ne had the garnison been good at the grete gates, They had won that wonne by their owen strenghe! Then with-drawes our men and dresses them better, For drede of the draw-bridge dashed in-sonder; 159 Hies to the herberage there the king hoves With his batail on high, horsed on steedes. Then was the prince purveyed and their places nomen, Pight paviliouns of pall and plattes in sege. 160 Then lenge they lordly as them lef thought, Watches in ilke ward, as to the war falles, Settes up sodenly certain engines. On Sononday by the sun has a flethe yolden, 161 The king calles on Florent, that flowr was of knightes: "The Fraunchmen enfeebleshes; ne ferly me thinkes! They are unfonded folk in tho fair marches, For them wantes the flesh and food that them likes. Here are forestes fair upon fele halves, And thider fomen are fled with freelich bestes. Thou shall founde to the felle and forray the mountes: Sir Ferawnte and Sir Floridas shall follow thy bridle. Us moste with some fresh mete refresh our pople That are fed in the firth with the fruit of the erthe. There shall wend to this viage Sir Gawain himselven, Warden full worshipful, and so him well seemes; Sir Wecharde, Sir Walter, these worshipful knightes, With all the wisest men of the west marches, Sir Clegis, Sir Claribald, Sir Cleremond the noble, The Capitain of Cardiff, clenlich arrayed. Go now, warn all the watch, Gawain and other, And wendes forth on your way withouten mo wordes." Now ferkes to the firth these fresh men of armes, To the felle so fawe, these freshlich bernes, Through hoppes and hemland, hilles and other, Holtes and hore woodes with heslin shawes, Through mora** and moss and mountes so high, And in the misty morning on a mede falles, Mowen and unmade, mainovred but little, 162 In swathes sweppen down, full of sweet flowres; There unbridels these bold and baites their horses. To the gryging of the day that birdes gan sing Whiles the sours of the sun, that sande is of Crist, That solaces all sinful that sight has in erthe. Then wendes out the warden, Sir Gawain himselven, Als he that wise was and wight, wonders to seek; Then was he ware of a wye, wonder well armed, Baitand on a water bank by the wood eves, Busked in breny bright to behold, Enbraced a brode sheld on a blonk rich, Withouten any berne, but a boy one Hoves by him on a blonk and his spere holdes. He bore gessenande in gold three grayhoundes of sable, With chappes and chaines of chalk-white silver, A charbocle in the chef, changand of hewes, 163 And a chef aunterous, challenge who likes. Sir Gawain gliftes on the gome with a glad will; A grete spere from his groom he grippes in handes, Girdes even over the streme on a steed rich To that steren in stour on strenghe there he hoves, 164 Egerly on English "Arthur!" he ascries. The tother irously answers him soon On the lange of Lorraine with a loud steven That ledes might listen the lenghe of a mile: "Whider prikes thou, pilour, that proffers so large? Here pickes thou no prey, proffer when thee likes, But thou in this peril put of the better, Thou shall be my prisoner for all thy proud lates!" "Sir," says Sir Gawain, "so me God help, Such glaverand gomes greves me but little! But if thou graithe thy gere thee will gref happen Ere thou go of this greve, for all thy grete wordes!" Then their launces they latchen, these lordlich bernes, Laggen with long speres on liard steedes, Coupen at aunter by craftes of armes Til both the cruel speres brusten at ones; Through sheldes they shot and sheered through mailes, Both sheer through sholders a shaft-monde large. Thus worthily these wyes wounded are bothen; Ere they wreke them of wrath away will they never. Then they raght in the rein and again rides, Redily these rathe men rushes out swordes, Hittes on helmes full hertilich dintes, Hewes on hawberkes with full hard wepens! Full stoutly they strike, thir steren knightes, Stokes at the stomach with steelen pointes, Fighten and flourish with flamand swordes, Til the flawes of fire flames on their helmes. Then Sir Gawain was greved and grouched full sore; With Galuth his good sword grimly he strikes, Clef the knightes sheld clenlich in sonder. Who lookes to the left side, when his horse launches, With the light of the sun men might see his liver. Then grones the gome for gref of his woundes, And girdes at Sir Gawain as he by glentes, And awkward egerly sore he him smites; An alet enameld he oches in sonder, Bristes the rerebrace with the brand rich, Carves off at the coutere with the clene edge Anentis the avawmbrace vailed with silver; 165 Through a double vesture of velvet rich With the venomous sword a vein has he touched That voides so violently that all his wit changed; The vesar, the aventail, his vestures rich With a valiant blood was verred all over. Then this tyraunt tite turnes the bridle, Talkes untenderly and says: "Thou art touched! Us bus have a blood-band ere thy blee change! 166 For all the barbours of Bretain shall not thy blood staunch, 167 For he that is blemist with this brode brande blinne shall he never! 168 "Ya," quod Sir Gawain, "thou greves me but little. Thou weenes to glopin me with thy grete wordes; Thou trowes with thy talking that my herte talmes; Thou betides torfer ere thou henne turn But thou tell me tite and tarry no lenger What may staunch this blood that thus fast runnes." "Yis, I say thee soothly and seker thee my trewth, No surgeon in Salerne shall save thee the better, With-thy that thou suffer me for sake of thy Crist To shew shortly my shrift and shape me for mine end." 169 "Yis," quod Sir Gawain, "so me God help, I give thee grace and graunt, though thou have gref served, 170 With-thy thou say me sooth what thou here seekes, Thus singly and sulain all thyself one, And what lay thou leves on - laine not the sooth - And what legeaunce and land and where thou art lord." "My name is Sir Priamus, a prince is my fader, Praised in his partyes with proved kinges; In Rome there he regnes he is rich holden; He has been rebel to Rome and ridden their landes, Warrayand wisely winters and yeres By wit and by wisdom and by wight strenghe And by worshipful war his owen has he won. He is of Alexander blood, overling of kinges; The uncle of his aiele, Sir Ector of Troy. And here is the kinreden that I am of come, Of Judas and Josue, these gentle knightes; I am apparent his eier, and eldes of other; Of Alexandere and Afrike and all tho out-landes I am in possession and plenerly sesed. In all the pris citees that to the port longes I shall have trewly the tresure and the landes And both tribute and tax whiles my time lastes. I was so hautain of herte whiles I at home lenged I held none my hip-height under heven rich; For-thy was I sent hider with seven score knightes To a**ay of this war by sente of my fader; And I am for surquidrie shamely surprised And by aunter of armes outrayed for ever! Now have I told thee the kin that I of come, Will thou for knighthede ken me thy name?" "By Crist," quod Sir Gawain, "knight was I never! With the kidd conquerour a knave of his chamber Has wrought in his wardrope winters and yeres On his long armour that him best liked; I poine all his paviliouns that to himselve pendes, Dightes his doublettes for dukes and erles, Aketouns avenaunt for Arthur himselven That he has used in war all these eight winter! He made me yomen at Yole and gave me grete giftes, An hundreth pound, and a horse, and harness full rich." "Yif I hap to my hele that hende for to serve 171 I be holpen in haste, I hete thee for-sooth! If his knaves be such, his knightes are noble! There is no king under Crist may kempe with him one! He will be Alexander eier that all the world louted, Abler than ever was Sir Ector of Troy! Now for the crisom that thou caught that day thou was cristened, Whether thou be knight or knave knowe now the sooth." "My name is Sir Gawain, I graunt thee for-sooth Cosin to the conquerour, he knowes it himselven, Kidd in his kalender a knight of his chamber, And rolled the richest of all the Round Table! I am the douspeer and duke he dubbed with his handes Daintily on a day before his dere knightes; Grouch not, good sir, though me this grace happen; It is the gift of God; the gree is his owen!" "Peter!" says Priamus, "now payes me better Than I of Provence were prince and of Paris rich! For me were lever privily be priked to the herte 172 Than ever any priker had such a prise wonnen. But here is herberd at hand in yon huge holtes, Hole batailes on high, take heed if thee like! The Duke of Lorraine the derf and his dere knightes, The doughtiest of Dolfinede and Dutch-men many, The lordes of Lumbardy that leders are holden, The garnison of Goddard gaylich arrayed, The wyes of the Westfale, worshipful bernes, Of Sessoine and Suryland Sarazenes ynow; They are numbered full nigh and named in rolles Sixty thousand and ten, for sooth, of seker men of armes; But if thou hie fro this hethe, it harmes us bothe, And but my hurtes be soon holpen, hole be I never! Take heed to this hansemen, that he no horn blow, Or thou hiely in haste bes hewen all to peces, 173 For they are my retinues to ride where I will; Is none redier renkes regnand in erthe; Be thou raght with that rout, thou rides no further, Ne thou bes never ransouned for riches in erthe!" Sir Gawain went ere the wathe come where him best liked, With this worthilich wye that wounded was sore, Merkes to the mountain there our men lenges Baitand their blonkes there on the brode mede, Lordes lenand low on lemand sheldes, With loud laughters on loft for liking of birdes, Or larkes, of linkwhites, that lovelich songen; And some was sleght on sleep with slight of the pople 174 That sang in the sesoun in the sheen shawes, So low in the laundes so likand notes. Then Sir Wicher was ware their warden was wounded And went to him weepand and wringand his handes; Sir Wecharde, Sir Walter, these wise men of armes Had wonder of Sir Wawain and went him againes, Met him in the mid-way and marvel them thought How he mastered that man, so mighty of strenghes. By all the welth of the world so wo was them never: "For all our worship, iwis, away is in erthe!" "Greve you not," quod Gawain, "for Goddes love of heven, For this is but gosesomer and given on erles; Though my shoulder be shrede and my sheld thirled, And the weld of mine arm workes a little, This prisoner, Sir Priamus, that has perilous woundes, Says that he has salves shall soften us bothen." Then stertes to his stirrup sterenfull knightes, And he lordly alightes and laght off his bridle, And let his burlich blonk baite on the flowres, Braides off his bacenett and his rich weedes, Bounes to his brode sheld and bowes to the erthe; In all the body of that bold is no blood leved! Then presses to Sir Priamus precious knightes, Avisely of his horse hentes him in armes His helm and his hawberk they taken off after, And hastely for his hurt all his herte changed; They laid him down in the laundes and laght off his weedes, And he lened him on long or how him best liked. A foil of fine gold they fande at his girdle, That is full of the flowr of the four welle That flowes out of Paradise when the flood rises, That much fruit of falles that feed shall us all; Be it frette on his flesh there sinews are entamed, The freke shall be fish-hole within four houres. They uncover that corse with full clene handes, With clere water a knight clenses their woundes, Keled them kindly and comforted their hertes; And when the carves were clene they cledde them again. Barrel-ferrers they broched and brought them the wine, 175 Both brede and brawn and bredes full rich; When they had eten anon they armed after. Then tho auntrend men " As armes!" ascries, 176 With a clarioun clere thir knightes togeder Calles to counsel and of this case telles: "Yonder is a company of clene men of armes, The keenest in contek that under Crist lenges; In yon oken wood an host are arrayed, Under-takand men of these oute-landes, As says Sir Priamus, so help Saint Peter! Go men," quod Gawain, "and grope in your hertes Who shall graithe to yon greve to yon grete lordes; If we get-less go home, the king will be greved And say we are gadlinges, aghast for a little. We are with Sir Florent, as to-day falles, That is flowr of Fraunce, for he fled never; He was chosen and charged in chamber of the king Cheftain of this journee, with chevalry noble; Whether he fight or he flee we shall follow after; For all the fere of yon folk forsake shall I never!" "Fader," says Sir Florent, "full fair ye it tell! But I am but a fauntekin, unfraisted in armes; If any folly befall the faut shall be ours And fremedly o Fraunce be flemed for ever! Woundes not your worship, my wit is but simple, Ye are our warden, iwis; work as you likes." "Ye are at the ferrest not pa**and five hundreth And that is fully too few to fight with them all, For harlottes and hansemen shall help but little; They will hie them henn for all their grete wordes! I rede ye work after wit, as wise men of armes, And warpes wilily away, as worshipful knightes." "I graunt," quod Sir Gawain, "so me God help! But here are some galiard gomes that of the gree serves, The cruelest knightes of the kinges chamber, That can carp with the cup knightly wordes; We shall prove today who shall the prise win!" Now forreours fers unto the firth rides And fanges a fair feld and on foot lightes, Prikes after the prey, as pris men of armes, Florent and Floridas, with five score knightes, Followed in the forest and on the way foundes, Flingand a fast trot and on the folk drives. Then followes fast to our folk well a five hundreth Of frek men to the firth upon fresh horses; One Sir Feraunt before, upon a fair steed, Was fostered in Famacoste; the fend was his fader; He flinges to Sir Florent and prestly he cries: "Why flees thou, false knight? The Fend have thy soul!" Then Sir Florent was fain and in fewter castes, On Fawnell of Frisland to Feraunt he rides, And raght in the rein on the steed rich, And rides toward the rout, restes he no lenger! Full bu*t in the front he flishes him even, And all disfigures his face with his fell wepen! Through his bright bacenett his brain has he touched, And brusten his neck-bone that all his breth stopped! 177 Then his cosin ascried and cried full loud: "Thou has k**ed cold-dede the king of all knightes! He has been fraisted on feld in fifteen rewmes; He fand never no freke might fight with him one! Thou shall die for his dede, with my derf wepen, And all the doughty for dole that in yon dale hoves!" "Fy," says Sir Floridas, "thou fleryand wretch! Thou weenes for to flay us, floke-mouthed shrew!" But Floridas with a sword, as he by glentes, All the flesh of the flank he flappes in sonder That all the filth of the freke and fele of his guttes Followes his fole foot when he forth rides! Then rides a renk to rescue that berne; That was Raynald of the Rodes, and rebel to Crist, Perverted with paynims that Cristen persewes, Presses in proudly as the prey wendes, For he had in Prussland much prise wonnen; For-thy in presence there he proffers so large. But then a renk, Sir Richere of the Round Table, On a real steed rides him againes; Through a round red sheld he rushed him soon That the rosseld spere to his herte runnes! The renk reeles about and rushes to the erthe, Rores full rudly but rode he no more! Now all that is fere and unfey of these five hundreth Falles on Sir Florent and five score knightes, Betwix a plash and a flood, upon a flat land; Our folk fangen their feld and fought them againes; Then was loud upon loft "Lorraine!" ascried, When ledes with long speres lashen togeders, And "Arthur!" on our side when them ought ailed. Then Sir Florent and Floridas in fewter they cast, Frushen on all the frap and bernes affrayed, Felles five at the front there they first entered And, ere they ferk further, fele of these other; Brenyes brouden they briste, brittened sheldes, Betes and beres down the best that them bides; All that rewled in the rout they riden away, So rudly they rere, these real knightes! When Sir Priamus, that prince, perceived their gamen, He had pitee in herte that he ne durste proffer; He went to Sir Gawain and says him these wordes: "Thy pris men for thy prey put are all under; They are with Sarazenes over-set, mo than seven hundreth Of the Sowdanes knightes, out of sere landes; Wolde thou suffer me, sir, for sake of thy Crist With a sop of thy men suppowel them ones." "I grouch not," quod Gawain, "the gree is their owen; They mon have guerdons full grete graunt of my lord; But the frek men of Fraunce fraist themselven; Frekes fought not their fill this fifteen winter! I will not stir with my stale half a steed lenghe, But they be stedde with more stuff than on yon stede hoves!" Then Sir Gawain was ware, withouten the wood-hemmes, Wyes of the Westfale, upon wight horses, Walopand wodely as the way forthes, With all the wepens, iwis, that to the war longes; The erl Antele the old the avauntward he buskes, Ayerand on either hand eight thousand knightes; His pelours and pavisers pa**ed all in number That ever any prince lede purveyed in erthe! Then the Duke of Lorraine dresses thereafter With double of the Dutch-men that doughty were holden, Paynims of Prussland, prikers full noble, Come prikand before with Priamus knightes. Then said the erl Antele to Algere his brother: "Me angers ernestly at Arthures knightes, Thus enkerly on an host aunters themselven! They will be outrayed anon, ere undron ring, Thus foolily on a feld to fight with us all! But they be fesed, in fey, ferly me thinkes; 178 Wolde they purpose take and pa** on their wayes, Prik home to their prince and their prey leve, They might lenghen their life and losen but little, It wolde lighten my herte, so help me our Lord!" "Sir," says Sir Algere, "they have little used To be outrayed with host; me angers the more! The fairest shall be full fey that in our flock rides, Als few as they ben, ere they the feld leve!" Then good Gawain, gracious and noble, All with glorious glee he gladdes his knightes: "Glopins not, good men, for glitterand sheldes, Though yon gadlinges be gay on yon grete horses! Bannerettes of Bretain, buskes up your hertes! Bes not baist of yon boyes ne of their bright weedes! We shall blenke their boste, for all their bold proffer, Als buxom as bird is in bed to her lord! Yif we fight today, the feld shall be ours, The fekil fey shall fail and falssede be destroyed! 179 Yon folk is on frontere, unfraisted them seemes; They make faith and faye to the Fend selven! We shall in this viage victores be holden And avaunted with voices of valiant bernes, Priased with princes in presence of lordes And loved with ladies in diverse landes! Ought never such honour none of our elders, Unwine ne Absolon ne none of these other! When we are most in distress Marie we mene That is our master's saine that he much traistes, Meles of that milde queen that menskes us all; Who-so meles of that maid, miscarries he never!" By these wordes were said they were not fer behind, But the lenghe of a land and "Lorraine!" ascries; Was never such a jousting at journee in erthe In the vale of Josephate, as gestes us telles, When Julius and Joatelle were judged to die, As was when the rich men of the Round Table Rushed into the rout on real steedes, For so rathely they rush with rosseld speres That the rascal was rade and ran to the greves, And kaired to that court as cowardes for ever! "Peter!" says Sir Gawain, "this gladdes mine herte, That yon gadlinges are gone that made grete number! I hope that these harlottes shall harm us but little, For they will hide them in haste in yon holt eves; They are fewer on feld than they were first numbered By fourty thousand, in faith, for all their fair hostes." But one Jolyan of Gene, a giaunt full huge, Has joined on Sir Gerard, a justice of Wales; Through a jerownde sheld he jagges him through, And a fine gesseraunt of gentle mailes; Jointer and gemous he jagges in sonder! On a jambe steed this journee he makes; Thus is the giaunt for-jouste, that erraunt Jew, And Gerard is jocound and joyes him the more. Then the genatours of Gene enjoines at ones And ferkes on the frontere well a five hundreth; A freke hight Sir Frederik with full fele other Ferkes on a frush and freshlich ascries To fight with our forreours that on feld hoves; And then the real renkes of the Round Table Rode forth full ernestly and rides them againes, Melles with the middle-ward, but they were ill-matched; 180 Of such a grete multitude was marvel to here. Senn at the a**emblee the Sarazenes discoveres The soveraign of Sessoine that salved was never; Giauntes for-jousted with gentle knightes Through gesserauntes of Gene jagged to the herte! They hew through helmes hautain bernes, That the hilted swordes to their hertes runnes! Then the renkes renowned of the Round Table Rives and rushes down renayed wretches; And thus they driven to the dede dukes and erles All the dregh of the day, with dredful workes! Then Sir Priamus the prince, in presence of lordes, Presses to his penoun and pertly it hentes, Reverted it redily and away rides To the real rout of the Round Table; And hiely his retinue raikes him after, For they his resoun had redde on his sheld rich. Out of the sheltron they shed as sheep of a fold, And steeres forth to the stour and stood by their lord. Senn they sent to the duke and said him these wordes: "We have been thy soudeours these six yere and more; We forsake thee today by sert of our lord. We sew to our soveraign in sere kinges landes; Us defautes our fee of this four winteres. Thou art feeble and false and nought but fair wordes; Our wages are wered out and thy war ended; We may with worship wend whither us likes! I rede thou trete of a trewe and troufle no lenger, Or thou shall tinne of thy tale ten thousand ere even." " Fy a diables!" said the duke, "the Devil have your bones!" 181 The daunger of yon dogges drede shall I never! We shall dele this day, by deedes of armes, My dede and my duchery and my dere knightes; Such soudeours as ye I set but at little, That sodenly in defaut forsakes their lord!" The duke dresses in his sheld and dreches no lenger, Drawes him a dromedary with dredful knightes; Graithes to Sir Gawain with full grete number Of gomes of Gernaide that grevous are holden. Those fresh horsed men to the front rides, Felles of our forreours by fourty at ones! They had foughten before with a five hundreth; It was no ferly, in faith, though they faint waxen. Then Sir Gawain was greved and grippes his spere, And girdes in again with galiard knightes, Meetes the Marches of Meyes and melles him through, 182 As man of this middle-erthe that most had greved! But one Chastelayne, a child of the kinges chamber, Was ward to Sir Wawain of the west marches, Chases to Sir Cheldrik, a cheftain noble; With a chasing-spere he shockes him through! This check him escheved by chaunces of armes. So they chase that child eschape may he never; But one Swyan of Swecy, with a sword edge, The swyers swire-bone he swappes in sonder! He swoonand died and on the swarth lenged, Sweltes even swiftly and swa*k he no more! Then Sir Gawain gretes with his gray eyen; The guite was a good man, beginnand of armes. For the chery child so his cheer changed That the chilland water on his cheekes runned! "Wo is me," quod Gawain, "that I ne witten had! I shall wage for that wye all that I weld, But I be wroken on that wye that thus has him wounded!" He dresses him drerily and to the duke rides, But one Sir Dolphin the derf dight him againes, And Sir Gawain him gird with a grim launce That the grounden spere glode to his herte! And egerly he hent out and hurt another, An hethen knight, Hardolf, happy in armes; Slyly in at the slot slittes him through That the slidand spere of his hand slippes! There is slain in that slope by sleghte of his handes 183 Sixty slongen in a slade of sleghe men of armes! Though Sir Gawain were wo, he waites him by And was ware of that wye that the child wounded, And with a sword swiftly he swappes him through, That he swiftly swelt and on the erthe swoones! And then he raikes to the rout and rushes on helmes, Rich hawberkes he rent and rased sheldes; Rides on a randoun and his raik holdes; Throughout the rereward he holdes wayes, And there raght in the rein, this real the rich, And rides into the rout of the Round Table. Then our chevalrous men changen their horses, Chases and choppes down cheftaines noble, Hittes full hertely on helmes and sheldes, Hurtes and hewes down hethen knightes! Kettle-hattes they cleve even to the shoulders; Was never such a clamour of capitaines in erthe! There was kinges sonnes caught, courtais and noble, And knightes of the countree that knowen was rich; Lordes of Lorraine and Lumbardy bothen Laght was and led in with our lele knightes. Those that chased that day their chaunce was better; Such a check at a chase escheved them never! When Sir Florent by fight had the feld wonnen He ferkes in before with five score knightes; Their preyes and their prisoneres pa**es on after, With pelours and pavisers and pris men of armes; Then goodly Sir Gawain guides his knightes, Gos in at the gainest, as guides him telles, For gref of a garnison of full grete lordes Sholde not grip up his gere ne such gram work; For-thy they stood at the straightes and with his stale hoved, Til his preyes were past the path that he dredes. When they the citee might see that the king seged (Soothly the same day was with a**aut wonnen), An heraud hies before at heste of the lordes, Home at the herberage, out of the high landes, Turnes tite to the tent and to the king telles All the tale soothly and how they had sped: "All thy forreours are fere that forrayed withouten, Sir Florent and Sir Floridas and all thy fers knightes; They have forrayed and foughten with full grete number And fele of thy fo-men has brought out of life! Our worshipful warden is well escheved, For he has won today worship for ever; He has Dolphin slain and the duke taken! Many doughty is dede by dint of his handes! He has prisoners pris, princes and erles, Of the richest blood that regnes in erthe; All thy chevalrous men fair are escheved, But a child, Chastelain, mischaunce has befallen." "Hautain," says the king, "heraud, by Crist, Thou has heled mine herte, I hete thee for-sooth! I give thee in Hampton a hundreth pound large!" The king then to a**aut he sembles his knightes With somercastel and sowe upon sere halves, Shiftes his skotiferes and scales the walles, And ech watch has his ward with wise men of armes. Then boldly they busk and bendes engines Paises in pillotes and proves their castes. Ministeres and masondewes they mall to the erthe, 184 Churches and chapels chalk-white blaunched, Stone steeples full stiff in the street ligges, Chambers with chimnees and many chef inns, Paised and pelled down plastered walles; The pine of the pople was pitee for to here! Then the duchess her dight with damesels rich, The countess of Crasine with her clere maidens, Kneeles down in the kirnelles there the king hoved, On a covered horse comlyly arrayed. They knew him by countenaunce and cried full loud: "King crowned of kind, take keep to these wordes! We beseek you, sir, as soveraign and lord, That ye save us today, for sake of your Crist! Send us some succour and saughte with the pople, Ere the citee be sodenly with a**aut wonnen!" He veres his vesar with a vout noble, With visage virtuous, this valiant berne, Meles to her mildly with full meek wordes: "Shall none misdo you, madame, that to me longes; I give you charter of pees, and your chef maidens, The childer and the chaste men, the chevalrous knightes; The duke is in daunger; dredes it but little! He shall be deemed full well, dout you nought elles." Then sent he on ech a side to certain lordes For to leve the a**aut; the citee was yolden (With the erle eldest son he sent him the keyes) And sesed the same night, by sent of the lordes. The duke to Dover is dight and all his dere knightes, To dwell in daunger and dole the dayes of his life. There fled at the ferrer gate folk withouten number, For ferd of Sir Florent and his fers knightes; Voides the citee and to the wood runnes With vitail and vessel, and vesture so rich; They busk up a banner aboven the brode gates. Of Sir Florent, in fay, so fain was he never! The knighte hoves on a hill, beheld the walles, And said: "I see by yon sign the citee is oures!" Sir Arthur enters anon with hostes arrayed, Even at the undron ettles to lenge. In eche levere on loud the king did cry On pain of life and limm and lesing of landes That no lele lege-man that to him longed, Sholde lie by no ladies, ne by no lele maidens, Ne by no burgess wife, better ne worse Ne no bernes misbid that to the burgh longed. When the king Arthur had lely conquered And the castel covered of the kith rich, All the cruel and keen, by craftes of armes, Capitains and constables, knew him for lord. He devised and delt to diverse lordes A dower for the duchess and her dere childer; Wrought wardenes by wit to weld all the landes That he had wonnen of war through his wise knightes. Thus in Lorraine he lenges as lord in his owen, Settes lawes in the land as him lef thought, And on Lammas day to Lucerne he wendes, Lenges there at leisere with liking ynow. There his galleys were graithed, a full grete number, All glitterand as gla**, under green hilles, With cabanes covered for kinges annointed With clothes of clere gold for knightes and other; Soon stowed their stuff and stabled their horses, Strekes streke over the streme into the strait landes. 185 Now he moves his might with mirthes of herte Over mountes so high, those marvelous wayes, Gos in by Goddard, the garret he winnes, Graithes the garnison grisly woundes! When he was pa**ed the height, then the king hoves With his hole batail beholdand about, Lookand on Lumbardy and on loud meles: "In yon likand land lord be I think!" 186 Then they kaire to Combe with kinges annointed, That was kidd of the coste, key of all other. Sir Florent and Sir Floridas then foundes before With freke men of Fraunce well a five hundreth; To the citee unseen they sought at the gainest, And set an enbushment, als themselve likes, Then ishewes out of that citee, full soon by the morn; Sleyly discoverers skiftes their horses; Then skiftes these scowerers and skippes on hilles, Discoverers for skulkers that they no scathe limpen. 187 Poverall and pastorelles pa**ed on after With porkes to pasture at the pris gates; Boyes in the suburbes bourden full high At a bore singlere that to the bente runnes. Then brekes our bushment and the bridge winnes, Braides into the burgh with banners displayed, Stekes and stabbes through that them again-standes; Four streetes, ere they stint, they stroyed forever! Now is the conquerour in Combe and his court holdes Within the kidd castel with kinges annointed, Recounseles the commouns that to the kith longes, Comfortes the care-full with knightly wordes, Made a capitain keen a knight of his owen; But all the countree and he full soon were accorded. The Sire of Milan herde say the citee was wonnen, And send to Arthur certain lordes, Grete summes of gold, sixty horses charged, Besought him as soveraign to succour the pople, And said he wolde soothly be subjet forever, And make him service and suite for his sere landes; For Plesaunce, for Pawnce, and for Pownte Tremble, For Pise and for Pavy he proffers full large Both purpure and pall and precious stones, Palfreyes for any prince and proved steedes And ilk a yere for Milan a melion of gold, Meekly at Martinmas to menske with his hordes, 188 And ever, withouten asking, he and his eiers Be hommagers to Arthur whiles his life lastes. The king by his counsel a condeth him sendes, And he is comen to Combe and knew him as lord. Into Tuskane he turnes when thus wel timed, Takes townes full tite with towres full high; Walles he welt down, wounded knightes, Towres he turnes, and tourmentes the pople, Wrought widowes full wlonk wrotherayle singen, Oft werye and weep and wringen their handes; And all he wastes with war there he away rides; Their welthes and their wonninges wandreth he wrought! Thus they springen and sprede and spares but little, Spoiles dispiteously and spilles their vines, Spendes unsparely that spared was long, Speedes them to Spolett with speres ynow! Fro Spain into Spruysland the word of him springes And spekings of his spenses; despite is full huge. 189 Toward Viterbo this valiant aveeres the reines; Avisely in that vale he vitailes his bernes, With Vernage and other wine and venison baken And on the Viscounte landes he vises to lenge. Vertely the avauntward voides their horses In the Vertenonne vale the vines i-monges; There sujournes this soveraign with solace in herte, To see when the Senatours sent any wordes, Revel with rich wine, riotes himselven, This roy with his real men of the Round Table, With mirthes and melody and manykin gamnes; Was never merrier men made on this erthe!