The romance of Guy of Warwick. The first or 14th-century version.

                      
                        'God man,' seyd Gij, 'listen me now. [C line 7703] 
                      
                        For þine sones gret sorwe hastow,
                      
                        & no wonder it nis.
                      
                        When þou Gij & Herhaud hast souȝt,
                      
                        & þou no may hem finde nouȝt,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þi care is michel, y-wis.
                      
                        Þurch hem þine hope was to go fre,
                      
                        & þi sones al forþ wiþ þe,
                      
                        Þurch godes help & his.

Page 440

                      
                        Sum time bi dayes old
                        Line 10 
                      
                        For douhti man y was told
                      
                        & holden of gret priis.

                      
                        ¶ Þurch godes helpe, our driȝt
                      
                        (He be min help, & ȝiue me miȝt,
                      
                        & leue me wele to spede!),
                      
                        & for Gyes loue & Herhaud also,
                      
                        Þat þou hast souȝt wiþ michel wo,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þat douhti were of dede,
                      
                        Batayl ichil now for þe fong
                      
                        Oȝain þe geaunt, þat is so strong,
                      
                        Þou seyst is so vnrede.
                      
                        & þei he be þe fende out-riȝt,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Y schal for þe take þe fiȝt,
                      
                        & help þe at þis nede.'

                      
                        ¶ When þerl herd him speke so,
                      
                        Þat he wald batayl fong for him þo,
                      
                        He biheld fot & heued:
                      
                        Michel he was of bodi piȝt,
                      
                        A man he semed of michel miȝt,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Ac pouerliche he was biweued;
                      
                        Wiþ a long berd his neb was growe.
                      
                        Miche wo him þought he hadde y-drowe.
                      
                        He wende his wit were reued,
                      
                        For he seyd he wald as ȝern [folio 152a:a] 
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Fiȝt wiþ þat geaunt stern
                      
                        Bot. ȝif he hadde him preued.

                      
                        ¶ 'God man,' þan seyd he,
                      
                        'God al-miȝten for-ȝeld it þe,
                      
                        Þat is so michel of miȝt,
                      
                        Þatow wost batayl for me fong
                      
                        Oȝain þe geaunt, þat is so strong.
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þou knowest him nouȝt, y pliȝt.

Page 442

                      
                        For ȝif he loked on þe wiþ wrake
                      
                        Sternliche wiþ his eyȝen blake,
                      
                        So grim he is of siȝt,
                      
                        Wastow neuer so bold in al þi teime,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þatow durst batayl of him nim,
                      
                        No hold oȝaines him fiȝt.'

                      
                        ¶ 'Gode man,' seyd Gij, 'lat be þat þouȝt,
                      
                        For swiche wordes help ous nouȝt
                      
                        Oȝain þat schrewe qued.
                      
                        Mani haþ loked me opon
                      
                        Wiþ wicked wil, mani on
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þat wald han had min hed;
                      
                        & þei no fled y neuer ȝete,
                      
                        No neuer for ferd batayl lete
                      
                        For noman þat brac bred.
                      
                        & þei he be þe deuels rote,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Y schal nouȝt fle him a fot,
                      
                        Bi him þat suffred ded.'

                      
                        ¶ 'Leue sir,' þan seyd he,
                      
                        'God of heuen forȝeld it te:
                      
                        Þine wordes er ful swete.'
                      
                        For ioie he hadde in hert þat stounde
                      
                        On knes he fel adoun to grounde,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        & kist sir Gyes fet.
                      
                        Gij tok him vp in armes to.
                      
                        Into Alisaunder þai gun go, [C line 7755] 
                      
                        Wiþ þe king to mete;
                      
                        & when þai com in-to þe tour
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Bifor þe king sir Triamour,
                      
                        Wel fair þai gun him grete.

                      
                        ¶ And when he seye þerl Ionas,
                      
                        Unneþe he knewe him in þe fas:
                      
                        So chaunged was his ble.

Page 444

                      
                        'Erl Ionas,' seyd þe king,
                      
                        'Telle me now wiþ-outen lesing, [folio 152a:b] 
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Gij & Herhaud where ben he?'
                      
                        Þerl answerd, & siked sore,
                      
                        'Gij no Herhaud sestow no more;
                      
                        For soþe y telle þe,
                      
                        For hem ich haue in Inglond ben,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        & y no miȝt hem no-whar sen:
                      
                        Þer-fore wel wo is me.

                      
                        ¶ Ac þe lond folk teld me in speche
                      
                        Þat Gij was gon halwen to seche
                      
                        Wel fer in vncouþe lond,
                      
                        & Herhaud after him is went
                      
                        For to seche him, verrament:
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Noiþer of hem y no fond,
                      
                        Ac þis man ich haue brouȝt to þe
                      
                        Þat haþ ben man of gret bounte,
                      
                        Þat wele dar take on hond
                      
                        Oȝain þe geaunt þat is so fel,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Al for to fende þe ful wel:
                      
                        For drede wil he nouȝt wond.'

                      
                        ¶ 'Erl Ionas,' seyd þe king, [C line 7779] 
                      
                        'Loke wiþ him be no feynting,
                      
                        Þat y deseyued be.
                      
                        & ȝif þer be, þou schalt anon
                      
                        Be honged & þi sones ichon.'
                        Line 5 
                      
                        'Y graunt, sir,' þan seyd he.
                      
                        Þe king cleped sir Gyoun,
                      
                        & asked him at schort resoun,
                      
                        'What is þy name? tel me.'
                      
                        Sir Gij answerd to þe king,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        'Youn,' he said, 'wiþ-outen lesing,
                      
                        Men clepeþ me in mi cuntre.'

Page 446

                      
                        ¶ 'What cuntre artow?' þe king sede.
                      
                        'Of Inglond, so god me rede:
                      
                        Þerin ich was y-bore.'
                      
                        'Owe,' seyd þe king, 'artow Inglis kniȝt,
                      
                        Þan schuld y þurch skil and riȝt
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Hate þe euer more.
                      
                        Knewe þou nouȝt þe gode Gij
                      
                        Or Herhaud þat was so hardi?
                      
                        Tel me þe soþe bifore.
                      
                        Wele ouȝt ich be Gyes foman:
                        Line 10 
                      
                        He slouȝ mi broþer Helmadan;
                      
                        Þurch him icham forlore.

                      
                        ¶ Min em he slouȝ, þe riche Soudan,
                      
                        Ate mete among ous euerilkan. [folio 152b:a] 
                      
                        Seyȝe y neuer man so bigin:
                      
                        Y seyȝe hou he his heued of smot,
                      
                        & bar it oway wiþ him fot hot,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Maugre þat was þer-inne.
                      
                        After him we driuen þo,
                      
                        Þe deuel halp him þennes to go:
                      
                        Y trowe he is of his kinne.
                      
                        Mahoun ȝaf þat þou wer he!
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Ful siker miȝt y þan be
                      
                        Þe maistri for to winne.'

                      
                        ¶ Sir Gij answerd to þe king,
                      
                        'Wel wele y knowe, wiþouten lesing,
                      
                        Herhaud, so god me rede.
                      
                        & ȝif þou haddest her on here,
                      
                        Of þe maistri siker þou were,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þe bateyl for to bede.'

Page 448

                      
                        Þe king asked him anon riȝt,
                      
                        'Whi artow þus iuel y-diȝt
                      
                        And in þus pouer wede?
                      
                        A feble lord þou seruest, so þenkeþ me,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Or oway he haþ driuen þe
                      
                        For sum iuel dede.'

                      
                        ¶ 'Nay, sir, for god,' quaþ Gij,
                      
                        'A wel gode lord [ar] þan serue[d] y:
                      
                        Wiþ him was no blame.
                      
                        Wel michel honour he me dede,
                      
                        & gret worþschipe in eueri stede,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        & sore ich haue him grame[d],
                      
                        & þer-fore icham þus y-diȝt,
                      
                        To cri him merci day & niȝt,
                      
                        Til we ben frendes same.
                      
                        & mi lord & y frende be,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Ichil wende hom to mi cuntre,
                      
                        & liue wiþ ioie & game.'

                      
                        ¶ 'Frende Youn,' seyd þe king, [C line 7838] 
                      
                        'Wiltow fiȝt for mi þing?
                      
                        Oþer y schal anoþer puruay.'
                      
                        'Þerfor com ich hider,' quaþ Gij,
                      
                        'Þurch Godes help & our leuedi
                        Line 5 
                      
                        As wele as y may.
                      
                        Bot first þerl Ionas & his sones
                      
                        Schal be deliuerd out of prisones
                      
                        Þis ich selue day.'
                      
                        Þe king answerd, 'y graunt þe. [folio 152b:b] 
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Mahoun he mot þine he[l]p be,
                      
                        Þat is mi lord verray.'

Page 450

                      
                        ¶ 'Nay,' seyd Gij, 'bot Marie sone:
                      
                        He mot me to help come,
                      
                        For Mahoun is worþ nouȝt.'
                      
                        'Frende Youn,' seyd þe king,
                      
                        'Under-stond now mi teling,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Al what ich haue y-þouȝt.
                      
                        Ȝif þat þou may ouercom þe fiȝt,
                      
                        & defende me wiþ riȝt
                      
                        (Þe wrong is on me souȝt),
                      
                        So michel y schal for þe do,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þat men schal speke þer-of euer mo
                      
                        As wide as þis wald is wrouȝt.

                      
                        ¶ Alle þe men þat in my prisoun be
                      
                        Þai schul be deliuerd for loue of þe
                      
                        Þat Cristen men be told.
                      
                        Fram henne to Ynde þat cite
                      
                        Quite-claym þai schul go fre
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Boþe ȝong and old.
                      
                        And so gode pes y schal festen anon,
                      
                        Þat Cristen men schul comen & gon
                      
                        To her owhen wille in wold.'
                      
                        'Gramerci,' þan seyd sir Gij.
                        Line 10 
                      
                        'Þat is a fair ȝift, sikerly.
                      
                        God leue þe it wele to hold.'

                      
                        ¶ Þe king dede make a baþe anon riȝt, [C line 7881] 
                      
                        For to baþe Gij & better diȝt:
                      
                        In silk he wald him schrede.

Page 452

                      
                        'Nay, sir,' þan seyd sir Gij,
                      
                        'Swiche cloþes non kepe y,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Also god me rede,
                      
                        To were cloþes gold-bi-go
                      
                        (For y was neuer wont þerto)
                      
                        No non so worþliche wede.
                      
                        Mete and drink anouȝ ȝiue me,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        & riche cloþes lat þou be:
                      
                        Y kepe non swiche prede.

                      
                        ¶ & when þe time com to þende,
                      
                        Þat þai schuld to court wende,
                      
                        Þer sembled a fair ferred.
                      
                        King Triamour maked him ȝare þo,
                      
                        And Fabour his sone dede also,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Wiþ kniȝtes stiþe on stede.
                      
                        To court ward þan went he,
                      
                        To Espire, þat riche cite, [folio 153a:a] 
                      
                        Wiþ joie & michel prede.
                      
                        To þe Soudan þai went on heye
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Wiþ wel gret cheualrie,
                      
                        Bateyle for to bede.

                      
                        ¶ Gij was ful wele in armes diȝt [C line 7899] 
                      
                        Wiþ helme, & plate, & brini briȝt,
                      
                        Þe best þat euer ware.
                      
                        Þe hauberk he hadde was renis,
                      
                        Þat was king Clarels, y-wis,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        In Ierusalem when he was þare.
                      
                        A þef stale it in þat stede,
                      
                        & oway þerwiþ him dede:
                      
                        To heþenesse he it bare.
                      
                        King Triamours elders it bouȝt,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        & in her hord house þai þouȝt
                      
                        To hold it euer mare.

Page 454

                      
                        ¶ Sir Gij þai toke it in þat plas.
                      
                        Þritti winter afrayd it nas:
                      
                        Ful clere it was of mayle,
                      
                        As briȝt as ani siluer it was:
                      
                        Þe halle schon þerof as sonne of glas,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        For soþe wiþouten fayle.
                      
                        His helme was of so michel miȝt,
                      
                        Was neuer man ouer-comen in fiȝt
                      
                        Þat hadde it on his ventayle.
                      
                        It was Alisaunders, þe gret lording,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        When he fauȝt wiþ Poreus þe king,
                      
                        Þat hard him gan aseyle.

                      
                        ¶ A gode swerd he hadde, wiþ-outen faile,
                      
                        Þat was Ectors in Troye batayle,
                      
                        In gest as so men fint.
                      
                        Ar he þat swerd dede forgon,
                      
                        Of Grece he slouȝ þer mani on,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þat died þurch þat dint.
                      
                        Hose & gambisoun so gode kniȝt schold,
                      
                        A targe listed wiþ gold
                      
                        About his swere he hint.
                      
                        Nas neuer wepen þat euer was make[d]
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þat o schel miȝt þerof take,
                      
                        Na more þan of þe flint.

                      
                        ¶ Or king Triamours elders it lauȝt,
                      
                        King Darri sum time it auȝt:
                      
                        Þat Gij was vnder piȝt.
                      
                        Ich man axe oþer bigan [folio 153a:b] 
                      
                        Whennes & who was þat man
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þat wiþ þe geaunt durst fiȝt.
                      
                        King Triamour seyd wiþ wordes fre, [C line 7939] 
                      
                        'Sir Soudan, herken now to me,
                      
                        Astow art hendy kniȝt.

Page 456

                      
                        To þi court icham now come
                        Line 10 
                      
                        To defende me of þat ich gome
                      
                        Þat is so stern of siȝt.

                      
                        ¶ Þis litel kniȝt þat stont me by
                      
                        Schal fende me of þat felonie,
                      
                        & make me quite & skere.'
                      
                        'Be stille,' seyd þe Soudan þo,
                      
                        'Þat batail schal wel sone be go,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Also brouke y mi swere.'
                      
                        He dede clepe Amorant so grim,
                      
                        & Gij stode & loked on him,
                      
                        Hou foule he was of chere.
                      
                        'It is,' seyd Gij, 'no mannes sone:
                        Line 10 
                      
                        It is a deuel fram helle is come.
                      
                        What wonder doþ he here?

                      
                        ¶ Who miȝt his dintes dreye,
                      
                        Þat he no schuld dye an heye?
                      
                        So strong he is of dede.'
                      
                        Þan speken þai alle of þe batayle:
                      
                        Where it schuld be, wiþ-outen fayle,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þai token hem to rede.
                      
                        Þan loked þai it schuld be
                      
                        In a launde vnder þe cite:
                      
                        Þider þai gun hem lede.
                      
                        Wiþ a riuer it ern al about:
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þer-in schuld fiȝt þo kniȝtes stout.
                      
                        Þai miȝt fle for no nede.

                      
                        ¶ Ouer þe water þai went in a bot,
                      
                        On hors þai lopen fot hot,
                      
                        Þo kniȝtes egre of mode.

Page 458

                      
                        Þai priked þe stedes þat þai on sete,
                      
                        & smiten togider wiþ dentes grete,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        & ferd as þai wer wode,
                      
                        Til her schaftes in þat tide
                      
                        Gun to schiuer bi ich a side
                      
                        About hem þer þai stode.
                      
                        Þan þai drouȝ her swerdes grounde,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        & hewe togider wiþ grimli wounde,
                      
                        Til þai spradde al ablode. [folio 153b:a]

                      
                        ¶ Sir Amoraunt drouȝ his gode brond, [C line 7975] 
                      
                        Þat wele carf al þat it fond,
                      
                        When he hadde lorn his launce:
                      
                        Þat neuer armour miȝt wiþstond
                      
                        Þat was made of smitþes hond
                        Line 5 
                      
                        In heþenesse no in Fraunce.
                      
                        It was sir Ercules þe strong,
                      
                        Þat mani he slouȝ þer-wiþ wiþ wrong
                      
                        In batayle & in destaunce.
                      
                        Þer was neuer man þat it bere
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Ouer-comen in batayle no in were,
                      
                        Bot it were þurch meschaunce.

                      
                        ¶ It was baþed in þe flom of helle:
                      
                        A goddes ȝaf it him to wille,
                      
                        He schuld þe better spede.
                      
                        Who þat bar þat swerd of miȝt,
                      
                        Was neuer man ouercomen in fiȝt,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Bot it were þurch vnlede.
                      
                        Þer worþ sir Gij to deþ y-brouȝt,
                      
                        Bot ȝif god haue of him þouȝt,
                      
                        His best help at nede.
                      
                        Togider þai wer ȝern heweinde
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Wiþ her brondes wele kerueinde,
                      
                        And maden her sides blede.

Page 460

                      
                        ¶ Sir Amoraunt was agreued in hert,
                      
                        & smot to Gij a dint ful smert
                      
                        Wiþ alle þe miȝt he gan welde,
                      
                        & hitt him on þe helme so briȝt,
                      
                        Þat alle þe stones of michel miȝt
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Fleyȝe doun in þe feld.
                      
                        Al of þe helme þe swerd out stint,
                      
                        & forþ riȝt wiþ þat selue dint
                      
                        Oþer half fot of þe scheld,
                      
                        Þat neuer was atamed ar þan
                        Line 10 
                      
                        For kniȝt no for no noþer man,
                      
                        No were he neuer so beld.

                      
                        ¶ Þe sadel bowe he clef atvo,
                      
                        Þe stedes nek he dede also,
                      
                        Wiþ his grimli brond.
                      
                        Wiþ-outen wem or ani wounde
                      
                        Wele half a fot in-to þe grounde
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þe scharp swerd it wond.
                      
                        Sir Gij to grounde fallen is,
                      
                        He stirt vp anon, y-wis,
                      
                        & loked, & gan wiþ-stond.
                      
                        Anon riȝt in þat ich stede [folio 153b:b] 
                        Line 10 
                      
                        To god almiȝten he bad his bede,
                      
                        & held vp boþe his hond.

                      
                        ¶ Sir Gij anon vp stirt
                      
                        As man þat was agremed in hert,
                      
                        Nouȝt wel long he lay.
                      
                        'Lord,' seyd Gij, 'god al-miȝt,
                      
                        Þat made þe þerkenes to þe niȝt,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        So help me to-day.
                      
                        Scheld me fro þis geaunt strong,
                      
                        Þat y no deþ of him afong,
                      
                        Astow art lord verray.

Page 462

                      
                        Þat dint,' he seyd, 'was iuel sett.
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Wele schal y com out of þi dett
                      
                        Ȝif þat I libbe may.'

                      
                        ¶ Gij hent his swerd, þat was ful kene, [C line 8007] 
                      
                        & smot Amoraunt wiþ hert tene
                      
                        A dint þat sat ful sore,
                      
                        Þat a quarter of his scheld
                      
                        He made to fleye in þe feld
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Al wiþ his grimli gore.
                      
                        Þe stedes nek he smot atvo,
                      
                        Amoraunt to grounde is fallen þo:
                      
                        Wo was him þerfore.
                      
                        Þan wer on fot þo kniȝtes bold:
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Fiȝt ofot ȝif þai wold.
                      
                        Her stedes þai han forlore.

                      
                        ¶ Amoraunt wiþ hert ful grim
                      
                        Smot to Gij, & Gij to him,
                      
                        Wiþ strokes stern & stiue.
                      
                        Hard þai hewe wiþ swerdes clere,
                      
                        Þat helme & swerd, þat strong were,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þai gun hem al to-driue.
                      
                        Hard fouȝten þo champiouns,
                      
                        Þat boþe plates & hauberiouns
                      
                        Þai gun to ret & riue,
                      
                        & laiden on wiþ dintes gret.
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Aiþer of hem so oþer gan bete,
                      
                        Þat wo was hem oliue.

                      
                        ¶ Sir Amoraunt was agreued strong, [C line 8025] 
                      
                        Þat o man stode him þo so long.
                      
                        To Gij a strok he rauȝt,
                      
                        & hit him on þe helme so briȝt, [folio 154a:a] 
                      
                        Þat al þe floures fel doun riȝt.
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Wiþ a ful grimly drauȝt

Page 464

                      
                        Þe cercle of gold he carf ato,
                      
                        & forþ wiþ his dint also
                      
                        Þer bileued it nouȝt:
                      
                        On þe scheld þe swerd doun fel,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        And cleue it in-to haluendel,
                      
                        Almost to grounde him brouȝt.

                      
                        ¶ What wiþ þe swerdes out draweing,
                      
                        & wiþ his hetelich out braiding,
                      
                        Þer fel a wonder cas:
                      
                        Sir Gij fel on knes to grounde,
                      
                        & stirt vp in þat selue stounde,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        & seyd, 'lord ful of grace,
                      
                        Neuer dint of kniȝt non
                      
                        No miȝt me are knele don
                      
                        In no stede þer y was.'
                      
                        Sir Gij hent vp his swerd fot hot,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Amoraunt on þe hod he smot,
                      
                        Þat he stumbled in þe place.

                      
                        ¶ He hit him on þe helme an heyȝe,
                      
                        & wiþ þat dint þe swerd it fleyȝe:
                      
                        Bi þe nasel it gan doun founde,
                      
                        & so it dede bi þe ventayle,
                      
                        & carf it ato, saunfaile,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        & in-to his flesche a wounde.
                      
                        His targe wiþ gold list
                      
                        He carf atvo þurch help of Crist,
                      
                        He cleue þat ich stounde.
                      
                        So heteliche þe brond out he pliȝt,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þat Amoraunt anon riȝt
                      
                        Fel on knes to grounde.

Page 466

                      
                        ¶ So strong batayle was hem bitvene: [C line 8071] 
                      
                        So seyd þai þat miȝt it sene
                      
                        Þat seye þai neuer non swiche,
                      
                        Þat neuer was of wiman born
                      
                        Swiche to kniȝtes as þai worn,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þat fouȝten togider wiþ wreche.
                      
                        On a day bifor þe natiuite
                      
                        Of seyn Ion, þe martir fre,
                      
                        Þat holy man is to seche,
                      
                        Togider fouȝt þo barouns boþe,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þat in hert wer so wroþe.
                      
                        Of loue was þer no speche. [folio 154a:b]

                      
                        ¶ Sir Amoraunt wiþ-drouȝ him
                      
                        Wiþ loureand chere wroþ & grim,
                      
                        For þe blod of him was lete,
                      
                        Þat drink he most, oþer his liif forgon:
                      
                        So strong þrust ȝede him opon,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        So michel was his hete.
                      
                        'Fourti batayls ichaue ouercome,
                      
                        Ac fond y neuer er moder sone
                      
                        Þat me so sore gan bete.
                      
                        Tel me,' he seyd, 'what artow?
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Felt y neuer man ar now
                      
                        Þat ȝaf dintes so grete.

                      
                        ¶ Tel me,' he seyd, 'wennes þou be;
                      
                        For þou art strong, so mot y the,
                      
                        & of michel miȝt.'

Page 468

                      
                        Sir Gij answerd, 'wiþ-outen bost,
                      
                        Cristen icham, wele þou wost,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Of Inglond born, y pliȝt.
                      
                        King Triamour me hider brouȝt
                      
                        For to defenden him, ȝif y mouȝt,
                      
                        Of þat michel vnriȝt
                      
                        Þat ȝe beren on him wiþ wouȝ,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þat Fabour neuer Sadony slouȝ
                      
                        Noiþer bi day no niȝt.'

                      
                        ¶ 'O, artow Inglis?' seyd Amorant.
                      
                        'Now wald mi lord Teruagaunt
                      
                        Þat þou were Gij þe strong!
                      
                        Mahoun ȝaf þat þou wer he!
                      
                        Bliþe wald y þan be
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Batail of him to fong:
                      
                        For he haþ destrud al our lawe,
                      
                        His heued wald ichaue ful fawe,
                      
                        Or heiȝe on galwes hong;
                      
                        For keuer schal we neuer more
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þat he haþ don ous forlore
                      
                        Wiþ wel michel wrong.

                      
                        ¶ Wiþ michel wrong & michel wouȝ
                      
                        Fourti þousend of ous he slouȝ
                      
                        In Costentin on a day:
                      
                        He & Herhaud, his felawe,
                      
                        Michel han destrud our lawe,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þat euer-more mon y may.
                      
                        Ȝif he wer slain wiþ brond of stiel
                      
                        Þan were y wroken on hem ful wel [folio 154b:a] 
                      
                        Þat han destrud our lay.'
                      
                        Sir Gij answerd, 'whi seistow so?
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Haþ Gij ani þing þe misdo?'
                      
                        Amoraunt seyd, 'nay,

                      
                        ¶ Ac it wer gret worþschip, y-wis,
                      
                        To alle þe folk of heþenisse,
                      
                        Þat y hadde so wroken mi kende.

Page 470

                      
                        Cristen,' he seyd, 'listen to me. [C line 8105] 
                      
                        Þe weder is hot, astow may se;
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Y pray þe, leue frende:
                      
                        Leue, to drink þou lat me gon
                      
                        For þe lordes loue þou leuest on,
                      
                        Astow art gode & hende.
                      
                        For þrist mi hert wil to-spring,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        & for hete, wiþ-outen lesing,
                      
                        Mi liue wil fro me wende.

                      
                        ¶ & ȝif y schal be þus aqueld
                      
                        Þurch strong hete in þe feld
                      
                        It were oȝain þe skille:
                      
                        Unworþschipe it war to þe,
                      
                        It were þe gret vilete
                        Line 5 
                      
                        In wat lond þou com tille.
                      
                        Ac lete me drink a litel wiȝt
                      
                        For þi lordes loue ful of miȝt
                      
                        Þat þou louest wiþ wille,
                      
                        & y þe hot bi mi lay,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Ȝif þou haue ani þrest to-day,
                      
                        Þou shalt drink al þi fille.'

                      
                        ¶ Sir Gij answerd, 'y graunt þe,
                      
                        & ȝete to-day þou ȝeld it me
                      
                        Wiþ-outen ani fayle.'
                      
                        & when he hadde leue of sir Gij [C line 8127] 
                      
                        He was ful glad, sikerli:
                        Line 5 
                      
                        No lenger nold he dayle.
                      
                        To þe riuer ful swiþe he ran,
                      
                        His helme of his heued he nam,
                      
                        & vnlaced his ventayle.
                      
                        When he hadde dronken alle his fille
                        Line 10 
                      
                        He stirt vp wiþ hert grille,
                      
                        & sir Gij began to asayle.

                      
                        ¶ 'Kniȝt,' he seyd, 'ȝeld þe biliue;
                      
                        For þou art giled, so mot y þriue.
                      
                        Now ichaue a drink,

Page 472

                      
                        Icham as fresche as ich was amorwe: [folio 155b:b] 
                      
                        Þou schalt dye wiþ michel sorwe,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        For-soþe, wiþouten lesing.'
                      
                        Þan þai drowen her swerdes long,
                      
                        Þo kniȝtes þat wer stern & strong,
                      
                        Wiþ-outen more dueling,
                      
                        & aiþer gan oþer þer asayle;
                        Line 10 
                      
                        & þer bi-gan a strong bataile
                      
                        Wiþ wel strong fiȝting.

                      
                        ¶ Amoraunt was ful egre of mode,
                      
                        & smot to Gij as he wer wode
                      
                        (Ful egre he was to fiȝt),
                      
                        Þat a quarter of his scheld
                      
                        He made it fleye into the feld,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        And of his brini briȝt:
                      
                        Of his scholder þe swerd glod doun,
                      
                        Þat boþe plates & hauberioun
                      
                        He carf atvo, y pliȝt,
                      
                        Al to þe naked hide, y-wis,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        & nouȝt of flesche atamed is
                      
                        Þurch grace of god almiȝt.

Page 474

                      
                        ¶ Þe scharp swerd doun gan glide
                      
                        Fast bi sir Gyes side
                      
                        (His knew it com ful neye),
                      
                        Þat gambisoun & iambler
                      
                        Boþe it karf atvo y-fere:
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Into þerþe þe swerd it fleye
                      
                        Wiþ-outen wem or ani wounde
                      
                        Half a fot in-to þe grounde,
                      
                        Þat mani man it seye.
                      
                        & when Gij seye þat fair grace,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þat noþing wounded he was,
                      
                        Iesu he þanked on heye.

                      
                        ¶ & when Gij feld him so smite
                      
                        He was wroþ, ȝe mow wite:
                      
                        To Amoraunt he gan reken.
                      
                        He hent his brond wiþ wel gode wille,
                      
                        & stroke to him wiþ hert grille:
                        Line 5 
                      
                        His scheld he gan to-breken.
                      
                        So hetelich Gij him smot,
                      
                        Þat into þe scholder half a fot
                      
                        Þe gode swerd gan reken;
                      
                        & wiþ þat strok Gij wiþ-drouȝ:
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Weri he was forfouȝten y-nouȝ;
                      
                        To Amoraunt he gan speken. [folio 155a:a]

                      
                        ¶ 'Sir Amoraunt,' þan seyd Gij, [C line 8173] 
                      
                        'For godes loue now merci,
                      
                        Ȝif that þi wille be.
                      
                        Ichaue swiche þrist þer y stond,
                      
                        Y may vnneþe drawe min hond;
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þerfore wel wo is me.
                      
                        Ȝeld me now þat ich dede:
                      
                        Y ȝaf þe leue to drink at nede.
                      
                        Astow art hende & fre,
                      
                        Leue, to drink þou lat me go,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        As it was couenaunt bitven ous tvo:
                      
                        For loue y pray þe.'

Page 476

                      
                        ¶ 'Hold þi pes,' seyd Amoraunt,
                      
                        'For, bi mi lord sir Teruagaunt,
                      
                        Leue no hastow non.
                      
                        Ac now þat y þe soþe se,
                      
                        Þat þou ginnes to feynt þe,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þine heued þou schalt forgon.'
                      
                        'Amoraunt,' seyd Gij, 'do ariȝt:
                      
                        Lete me drink a litel wiȝt
                      
                        As y dede þe anon,
                      
                        & togider fiȝt we:
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Who schal be maister we schal se,
                      
                        Wiche of ous may oþer slon.'

                      
                        ¶ 'Hold þi pays,' seyd Amoraunt,
                      
                        'Y nil nouȝt held þe couenaunt
                      
                        For ful þis toun of gold;
                      
                        For when ichaue þe sleyn now riȝt
                      
                        Þe Soudan, treweli, haþ me hiȝt
                        Line 5 
                      
                        His lond ȝif me he schold
                      
                        Euermore to haue & hold fre,
                      
                        & ȝiue me his douȝter briȝt o ble,
                      
                        Þe miriest may on mold:
                      
                        When ichaue þe sleyn þis day
                        Line 10 
                      
                        He schal ȝiue me þat fair may
                      
                        Wiþ alle his lond to hold.

                      
                        ¶ Ac do now wele & vnarme þe,
                      
                        & trewelich ȝeld þou þe to me:
                      
                        Oliue y lat þe gon.
                      
                        & ȝif þou wilt nouȝt do bi mi red
                      
                        Þou schalt dye on iuel ded:
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Riȝt now y schal þe slon.'
                      
                        'Nay,' seyd Gij, 'þat war no lawe:
                      
                        Ich hadde leuer to ben to-drawe [folio 155a:b] 
                      
                        Þan swiche a dede to don.

Page 478

                      
                        Ar ich wald creaunt ȝeld me
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Ich hadde leuer an-hanged be,
                      
                        & brent boþe flesche & bon.'

                      
                        ¶ Þan seyd Amoraunt, 'at a word, [C line 8215] 
                      
                        Bi þe treuþe þou owe þi lord,
                      
                        Þat þou louest so dere,
                      
                        Tel me what þi name it be,
                      
                        & leue to drink ȝiue y þe
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þi fille of þis riuer.
                      
                        Þou seyd þi name is sir Youn:
                      
                        It is nouȝt so, bi seyn Mahoun,
                      
                        It is a lesing, fere.
                      
                        Ȝif þi name were Youn riȝt
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þou nere nouȝt of so miche miȝt,
                      
                        No þus vnbiknowen here.'

                      
                        ¶ 'Frende,' seyd Gij, 'y schal telle þe:
                      
                        Astow art hendi man & fre,
                      
                        Þou wray me to no wiȝt.
                      
                        Gij of Warwike mi name it is:
                      
                        In Inglond y was born, y-wis.
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Lete me now drink wiþ riȝt.'
                      
                        When Amoraunt seye, sikerly,
                      
                        Þat it was þe gode Gij
                      
                        Þat oȝaines him was diȝt,
                      
                        He loked on him wiþ michel wrake
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Sternliche wiþ his eyȝen blake,
                      
                        Wiþ an vnsemli siȝt.

                      
                        ¶ 'Sir Gij,' he seyd, 'welcom to me!
                      
                        Mahoun, mi lord, y thank þe
                      
                        Þat ich haue þe her-inne.
                      
                        Michel schame þou hast me don:
                      
                        Þi liif þou schalt astite forgon,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þi bodi schal atvinne,

Page 480

                      
                        & þine heued, bi Teruagaunt,
                      
                        Mi leman schal haue to presaunt,
                      
                        Þat comly is of kinne.
                      
                        Hennes-forward, siker þou be,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Leue no tit þe non of me,
                      
                        For al þis warld to winne.'

                      
                        ¶ 'Allas,' seyd Gij, 'what schal y don? [C line 8247] 
                      
                        Now y no may haue drink non
                      
                        Mine hert brekeþ ato.'
                      
                        Anon he biþouȝt him þenne [folio 155b:a] 
                      
                        Riȝt to þe riuer he most renne:
                        Line 5 
                      
                        He turned him, & gan to go.
                      
                        Amoraunt wiþ swerd on hond
                      
                        He thouȝt haue driuen Gij to schond:
                      
                        Wiþ sorwe he wald him slo.
                      
                        Gij ran to þe water riȝt:
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Bot on him þenke god almiȝt
                      
                        Vp comeþ he neuer mo.

                      
                        ¶ Þo was sir Gij in gret drede.
                      
                        In þe water he stode to his girdel stede,
                      
                        & þat þouȝt him ful gode.
                      
                        In þe water he dept his heued anon,
                      
                        Ouer þe schulders he dede it gon;
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þat keled wele his blod.
                      
                        & when Gij hadde dronken anouȝ
                      
                        Hetelich his heued vp he drouȝ
                      
                        Out of þat ich flod;
                      
                        & Amoraunt stode opon þe lond
                        Line 10 
                      
                        With a drawen swerd in hond,
                      
                        & smot Gij þer he stode.

                      
                        ¶ Hetelich he smot Gyoun:
                      
                        Into þat water he fel adoun
                      
                        Wiþ þat dint vnride,

Page 482

                      
                        Þat þe water arn him about.
                      
                        Sir Gij stirt vp in gret dout:
                        Line 5 
                      
                        For noþing he nold abide,
                      
                        & schoke his heued as kniȝt bold.
                      
                        'In þis water icham ful cold
                      
                        Wombe, rigge, & side,
                      
                        & no leue, sir, ich hadde of þe,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        & þer-fore haue þo[u] miche maugre,
                      
                        & iuel þe mot bi-tide.'

                      
                        ¶ Sir Gij stirt vp, wiþouten fayl, [C line 8269] 
                      
                        & Amoraunt he gan to asayl:
                      
                        To fiȝt he was ful boun.
                      
                        Hard togider þai gan to fiȝt:
                      
                        Of loue was þer no speche, y pliȝt,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Bot heweing wiþ swerdes broun.
                      
                        'Amoraunt,' þan seyd Gij,
                      
                        'Þou art ful fals, sikerly,
                      
                        & ful-filt of tresoun.
                      
                        No more wil y trust to þe
                        Line 10 
                      
                        For no bihest þou hotest me:
                      
                        Þou art a fals glotoun.' [folio 155b:b]

                      
                        ¶ Hard togider þai gun fiȝt:
                      
                        Fro þe morwe to þe niȝt
                      
                        Þat long somers day,
                      
                        So long þai fouȝten boþe þo.
                      
                        Wiche was þe better of hem to
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Noman chese no may.
                      
                        Bot at a strok as Amoraunt cast,
                      
                        Sir Gij mett wiþ him in hast,
                      
                        & tauȝt him a sori play:
                      
                        Þe riȝt arme wiþ þe swerd for hot
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Bi þe scholder of he it smot,
                      
                        To grounde it fleye oway.

                      
                        ¶ When Amoraunt feld him to smite
                      
                        In his left hond wiþ michel hete
                      
                        Þe swerd he hent fot hot:

Page 484

                      
                        As a lyoun þan ferd he,
                      
                        Þritti sautes he made & þre
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Wiþ his swerd, þat wel bot;
                      
                        Bot for þe blod þat of him ran
                      
                        Amoraunt strengþe slake bigan.
                      
                        When Gij þat soþ wot,
                      
                        Þat Amoraunt was faynting,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Sir Gij him folwed wiþouten dueling:
                      
                        Þat oþer hond of he smot.

                      
                        ¶ When Amoraunt had boþe hondes forlore
                      
                        A wreche he held him-self þerfore:
                      
                        His wit was alto-dreued.
                      
                        On sir Gij he lepe wiþ alle his miȝt,
                      
                        Þat almast he had feld him doun riȝt,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        & sir Gij was agreued,
                      
                        & stirt bisiden fot hot,
                      
                        & Amoraunt in þe nek he smot:
                      
                        His miȝt he haþ him bireued.
                      
                        He fel to grounde, wiþouten faile,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        & sir Gij vnlaced his ventayle,
                      
                        & he strok of his heued.

                      
                        ¶ Ouer þe water he went in a bot, [C line 8313] 
                      
                        & present þer-wiþ fot hot
                      
                        Þe king, sir Triamour.
                      
                        Þe king, sir Triamour, þan
                      
                        Went to þat riche Soudan,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        & also his sone Fabour.
                      
                        Þan was þe Soudan swiþe wo:
                      
                        Quite-claim he lete hem go [folio 156a:a] 
                      
                        Wiþ wel michel honour.

Page 486

                      
                        Into Alisaunder þai went, þat cite,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        & ladde wiþ hem sir Gij þe fre,
                      
                        Þat hadde ben her socour.

                      
                        ¶ Þe king tok þerl Ionas þo,
                      
                        & clept him in his armes to,
                      
                        & kist him swete, ich wene,
                      
                        An hundred times & ȝete mo,
                      
                        & quite-claim he lete him go
                        Line 5 
                      
                        & his sones fiftene.
                      
                        'Erl Ionas,' seyd þe king,
                      
                        'Herken now to my teling,
                      
                        & what ichil mene:
                      
                        For mi liif þou sauedest me,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Half mi lond ich graunt þe
                      
                        Wiþ þis kniȝt strong & kene.

                      
                        ¶ Vnderstond to me, sir kniȝt:
                      
                        Mahoun ȝaue ful of miȝt
                      
                        Þou wost duelle wiþ me!
                      
                        Þridde part mi lond y ȝiue þe to:
                      
                        Michel honour ichil þe do,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        A riche prince make þe.
                      
                        Y nil nouȝt þou forsake god þine:
                      
                        Þou art bileueand wele afine
                      
                        Better may no be.'
                      
                        Sir Gij answerd him ful stille,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        'Sir, of þi lond nouȝt y nille,
                      
                        For-soþe y telle þe.'

                      
                        ¶ Þat erl to Ierusalem went anon, [C line 8335] 
                      
                        Gij of Warwike wiþ him gan gon
                      
                        & alle his sones on rawe.
                      
                        Þerl wold ȝif he miȝt
                      
                        Wite þe name of þat kniȝt,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Ȝif he him euer-more sawe.
                      
                        In conseyl, 'sir kniȝt,' þan seyd he,
                      
                        'Þat þou Youn dost clep þe,
                      
                        Þou no hatest nouȝt so, y trowe.

Page 488

                      
                        For Iesu loue y pray þe,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þat died on þe rode tre,
                      
                        Þi riȝt name be aknawe.'

                      
                        ¶ Sir Gij seyd, 'þou schalt now here,
                      
                        Seþþen þou frainest me in þis maner:
                      
                        Mi name ichil þe sayn.
                      
                        Gij of Warwike mi name is riȝt. [folio 156a:b] 
                      
                        Astow art hende & gentil kniȝt,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        To non þou schalt me wrayn.
                      
                        Batayl for þi loue y nam,
                      
                        & þe geaunt ouer-cam;
                      
                        Þerof icham ful fain.'
                      
                        When þerl seye it was sir Gij
                        Line 10 
                      
                        He fel doun on knes him bi,
                      
                        & wepe wiþ boþ his ayn.

                      
                        ¶ 'For godes loue,' he seyd, 'merci!
                      
                        Whi artow so pouer, sir Gij,
                      
                        & art of so gret valour?
                      
                        Here ich ȝiue þe in þis place
                      
                        Al þerldam of Durras,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Cite & castel tour:
                      
                        Þi man ichil bicomen & be,
                      
                        & alle mi sones forþ wiþ me
                      
                        Schal com to þi socour;
                      
                        For þe priis of heþen lond
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þou hast þurch douhtines of hond
                      
                        Wonne wiþ gret vigour.'

Page 490

                      
                        ¶ 'Erl Ionas,' þan seyd sir Gij,
                      
                        'Mi leue frende, gramerci
                      
                        For þi gode wille!
                      
                        Þan schustow hire me al to dere
                      
                        To ȝiue me þi lond in swiche manere;
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Þer-of nouȝt y nille.
                      
                        To ȝour owen cuntre wendeþ hom:
                      
                        God biteche y ȝou euerichon.
                      
                        Mi way ichil ful-fille.'
                      
                        Þan went & kist him eueri man:
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þerl so sore wepe bigan,
                      
                        Þat miȝt him no man stille.

                      
                        ¶ Þerl to Durras went anon
                      
                        & his sones euerichon,
                      
                        Were scaped out of care.
                      
                        Gij þan in his way is nome:
                      
                        For þat þe geaunt was ouer-come,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Ful bliþe þan was he þare.
                      
                        Into Grece þan went he,
                      
                        & souȝt halwen of þat cuntre,
                      
                        Þe best þat þer ware.
                      
                        Seþþe forþ in his way he ȝede
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Þurch-out mani vncouþe þede:
                      
                        To Costentyn he is y-fare. [folio 156b:a]

Page 502

                      
                        ¶ When Gij in Costentin hadde be [C line 8747] 
                      
                        Out of þat lond þan went he,
                      
                        Walkand in þe strete
                      
                        On pilgrimage in his iurnay,
                      
                        His bedes bidand niȝt & day,
                        Line 5 
                      
                        His sinnes for to bete.
                      
                        In Almaine þan went he, y-wis,
                      
                        Þer he was sumtime holden of gret pris.
                      
                        He com to a four way lete
                      
                        Biȝonde Espire, þat riche cite:
                        Line 10 
                      
                        Under a croice, was maked of tre,
                      
                        A pilgrim he gan mete,

                      
                        ¶ Þat wrong his honden, & wepe sore,
                      
                        & curssed þe time þat he was bore:
                      
                        'Allas,' it was his song.
                      
                        'Wayleway,' he seyd, 'that stounde!
                      
                        Wickedliche icham brouȝt to grounde
                        Line 5 
                      
                        Wiþ wel michel wrong.'
                      
                        Sir Gij went to him þo:
                      
                        'Man,' he seys, 'whi farstow so?
                      
                        So god ȝeue þe ioie to fong,
                      
                        Tel me what þi name it be,
                        Line 10 
                      
                        & whi þou makest þus gret pite:
                      
                        Meþenke þi paynes strong.'

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Notes

The romance of Guy of Warwick. The first or 14th-century version.

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