Altenglische legenden.

II. The Tale of the Smyth and his Dame. Aus einem alten Drucke in der Bodleiana zu Oxford (4^to, Seld. C. 39).

Dieses Gedicht, in demselben Dialect und Strop?enbau und wol von demselben Dichter wie die Disputisoun bytwene a cristenemon and a Jew (Sir Water of Berewyk's wunderbarer Sieg über einen Juden) gedruckt in der "Sammlung altengl. Leg." Heilbronn 1878, p. 204 ff., ist wol schon c. 1360 gedichtet, leider aber nur in einem späteren Druck des Will. Copland in Lothbury, ohne Angabe der Jahreszahl (Anfang des 16. Jhdts.) erhalten; das einzige Exemplar dieser Ausgabe ist in der Bodleiana zu Oxford, Seld. C 39, beschrieben in Dibdin's British Bibliographer 1810 I p. 61—5. Hieraus ist das Gedicht edirt von Halliwell in s. Contributions to early Engl. Litterature London 1849 (for private circulation). In dem Exemplar zu Oxford fehlt leider ein Blatt mit V. 114—180. Neuerdings hat sich im Cajus Coll. zu Cambridge ein Fragment in 2 Halbblättern aus einer anderen Ausg. dess. Gedichts, von Wynkyn de Worde London ab. 1505, gefunden, welches einen Theil des Fehlen|den ergänzt; von dem ersten Blatte ist die obere Hälfte wit je 19 V. auf der Vorder|und Rückseite, von dem zweiten die untere Hälfte mit je 12 V. erhalten, mit den Vv. 105—123, 135—154, 184—195, 214—225. — Der ursprüngliche, nördliche Dialect ist in der Ausg. zum Theil verderbt.

Here begynneth a plesaunt treatyse of the smyth that brent hys dame and after forged her agayne by the helpe of our blessed lorde.

Imprinted in London, Lothburi, over against Sainct Margarites Church, by Willyam Copland.

Here begynneth a treatyse of the smyth whych that forged hym a new dame.

God that dyed on a tree, He glad them al with his gle That wyll herken unto me And here what I wyll say: And ye shall here a marvel, Line 5 Of a tale I shall you tell, How in Egypt it befell. And in that same countraye Some tyme ther dwelled a smyth, That hath bothe lande and lyth, Line 10 Many a plowman hym wyth, By nyght and eke by day. The smyth was a subtyll syer, For well could he werke wyth the fyer What men of hym wolde desyer — Line 15 I tel you trouth, by my fay!

He coude werke wyth a mall Many maner of metall. Hymselfe mayster dyd he call Wythouten any pere. Line 20 Moche boste gan he blowe And sayd he had no felowe That coud worke worth a strawe To hym, ferre nor nere; He called hymselfe the kynge, Line 25 Wythout any leasynge, Of all maner of cunnynge, And of certes clere. [certes = desertes; od. l. artes?] Tyll it befell upon a day Our lorde came thereaway Line 30 And thought the smyth to assay, As ye shall after here.

For hys pompe and hys pryde That he blewe in eche syde, Our lorde thought at that tyde Line 35 His pryde should be layed.

As the smyth stode workynge, To hym came our heaven kynge, "Now he that made all thynge, Spede the!" he sayde, Line 40 He sayd: "I have a thyng to make; And thou wylt it undertake And do for my sake, Thou shalt be well payed." The smyth sayd: "So mote I the, Line 45 Tell on and let me se! It shal be done full wyghtely Wythin a lyttel brayed.

For I am mayster of all That smyteth wyth hamer or mall, Line 50 And so may thou me call, I tell the for veray: I sawe hym never wyth myne eye That could werke lyke I, I tell the full truely, Line 55 By nyght ne by day." "Can thou make a yerdè of stele, To lede a blynde man wele" — . . . . . [Nach 59 fehlt ein Vers.] Our lorde gan to say, Line 60 "And make it so wyth thy mall, That he shall never stomble ne fall? Than a mayster I wyll the call, Syr, by my fay!"

The smyth than in a stody stode, Line 65 Sayde: "I trowe thou be wode, Or els thou can but litle good, To talke of suche a thynge! And he be blynde, he must nede Have a felowe, hym to lede, Line 70 That may se well indede, To kepe hym fro fallynge. For, and two blynd men together go, Full oft they fall bothe two — It must nedes be so: Line 75 They have no maner of seynge. How should a blynde dotarde Walke wyth a blynd yarde, If it be stele never so harde? It is but a very leasynge. Line 80

It were a(s) lytell maystry [Copl. a st. as.] To make a blynde man to se As suche a yerde truely, Wythouten any layne." "Yes, sayde oure lorde, that I can: Line 85 Make suche yerde, certayne, Or he that is an olde man To make hym yonge agayne." The smyth sayd: "So mote I the, I have an olde quayne wyth me, Line 90 Myne olde beldame is she, I tell the, wythout any layne; It is forty wynter and mo Syth on fote she dyd go; And thou coud make her yonge so, Line 95 Than wolde I be fayne."

Our lorde sayd: "Where is she? Anone let me her se, And thou shalt se a maystre More than thou can." Line 100 The smyth sayd: "So mote I the, I shall her fetche unto the." Anone than full wyghtely After her the smyth ranne, And sayd: "Dame, slepest thou? [sayde.] Line 105 I am come for the: thou mayest me trowe, [com. mayste.] Thou shalt be made nowe [shalte.] Agayne a yonge woman." He hent her up than on hye: [hyr vp.] Than set she forth a loude cry [forthe. lowde crye.] Line 10 And sayd: "Stronge thefe, let me ly! [sayde. lye.] Thou art, I trowe, a madde man. [arte. mad.]

Lette me lye, thou unthryfty swayne!" [vnthryfty.]

Hier fehlt ein Blatt.

Das Fragment des Druckes Worde's fährt fort p. I: ["Nay, dame! withouten ony layne]

Line 115

Thou shalte be made yonge agayne — Line 115 Thou arte a very olde trote." To our lorde than he hyr bore And sayde: "syr, loo, I haue broughte hyr here. Thou maye se by hyr chere That she is chekmate." Line 120 Oure lorde sayde: "gode syre, Hye the faste and make a fyre, And blowe gladly for thy hyre!" [V. 105—123 finden sich auf der I. Seite des Fragmentes des Druckes von Wyn|kyn de Worde, London ab. 1505, in Caj. Coll. Cbr. Varianten dieses Druckes sind:] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (11 V. fehlen. p. 2 enthält V. 135—154.) Than began she to grone Line 135 And lowde out to crye, Sayde: "I forfende you to-daye Ony handes on me to ley. What, wyll ye bren me? Fye on you, fye! Line 140 Out, theues! wyll ye me kyll? Lete god on me worke his wyll! Ye shall be hanged on a hyll. . . . . . I am fyue-score yere olde, Line 145 Yet lyue lenger I wolde. Howe dare ye be so bolde With me thus for to fare?" "Howe, quod our lorde to the smyth, Thou canste beste dele her with: Line 150 Lay hyr vpon the styth Without ony more stryfe!" The smyth toke hyr vp tyte. Tho began she to byte] . . . . . Line 155 . . . . . . . . . . "She shall be made at a brayd Line 180 Yonge now agayne." The smyth blewe, as god bed, Tyll she was reed as a gled; Yet for all that dede Felt she no maner of payne. [Felte.] The smith said: "Now is she shent: [sayde. nowe. shente.] Line 185 Bothe her eyen are out brent; [hyr iyen.] They wyl never be ment, [wylI. neuer. amende.] Our workes are all in vayne. [werkes.] She hath had suche a hete: [has. an.] She wyll never eat mete; [That she. ete.] Line 190 I have blowen tyll I swete, [haue.] Withouten any layne." [ony.]

Our lorde sayd: "Let me alone! [sayde. lete.] Thou shalt se, and that anone, A full fayre woman [V. 184—195 stehen auf der 3. Seite des Fragments. Varianten:] Line 195 Of thys olde wyght". Our lord blessed her at a brayd And on the styth he her layd, "Take thy hamer, he sayd, And make her now ryght! Line 200 "Dame, I shall the wake". Wyth a hamer he her strake, No bone of her he brake: She was a byrd bryght. "Stand up now, lette me se!" Line 205 Than at that worde rose she, A fayre woman, truely, And semely unto syght.

Our lord sayd to the smyth: "She is sounde of lymme and lyth, Line 210 Nowe I have made her on the styth [nowe st. newe?] Wyth hamer and wyth mall". Than was she loveseme of chere, [C. loveseme.] Bright as blosome on brere — [bryght. blosom.] None in Egypt her pere, [egypte. hyr.] Line 215 So fayre and so tall; Her colour was clere, [Hyr coloure was full clere.] She semed but thyrty yere, She was whiter of lere [whyter.] Than bone is of whale. [bones is.] Line 220

Line 220 Than our lorde gan say: [oure. saye.] "Now is here a fayre may! [nowe.] Smyth, by night and by day [nyght.] Thy mayster thou me call! Now mayest thou se here in syght [nowe mayste.] [V. 214—225 sind auf der 4. Seite des Fragments erhalten. Varianten:] Line 225 Hole and of lym lyght That was before an olde wyght, Both croked fote and hande". "Gramercy, syr, sayd she, For thou hast wrought on me, Line 230 It was a full great maystry, As I understande. I was blynde, nowe may I se; Croked I was truely, Now may I walke wyghtly; Line 235 My bales are unbande. Suche a smyth as thou art one, I dare say, here is none, And a man shoulde gone Throughout thys land. Line 240 For I dare say that thou can, Yf here were a dead man, [C. wert.] Make hym on lyve anone With thy excelent maystry". Than the smyth gan say: Line 245 "Syr, what shall I to the pay, Or thou wende thy way, Thy craft to teche me?" Our lord sayd than to him againe: "That thou desyrest, is all in vayne; Line 250 Thought þou woldest never so faine, Yet wyl it never be; Thou shalt never, yf thou wolde, Make an yonge man of an olde. Therfore be not to bolde, Line 255 Leest it do disceyve thee! Yet thou toldest me longe ere Thou were wysest man of leere That was knowen any-where, Other farre or els nere! Line 260 Farewell now and have good day! I must forthe wende on my jorney Into another countrey Amonge many craftes there. And leve thy bostes, I rede the! Line 265 For I tell the now treuely: Is none so wyse ne to sle But ever ye may somwhat lere". — Now lysten, syrs, at asent, And ye wil nowe my tale tent, Line 270 How the smith hys dame brent In the next fyt ye shall here.

The seconde fytte.

Whan our lorde was gone, The smyth rathely and anone Called on hys dame Jone Line 275 And bad her com on fast. Anone she aunswered tho: "Thou wotest I may not go, Wherto cryest thou so? Is thy wytte past? Line 280 I am croked and also lame, And now to go, it is no shame(!), [now st. not?] Age doth me muche grame, Me thynketh my bones brast. Thou wotest well I may no(t) se, Line 285 Almost I am as blynde as a be; And yf I bye me, truely, To fall I am agast". The smyth hande on her layd: "Come forth, dame! he sayd, Line 290 Thou shalt be made at a brayd Younge and lusty agayne. Thy dame is yonge agayne, i-wys, She is mended of her mysse, Her rudde redder it is Line 295 Than the rose is in rayne". "That is a lye, quod she, I fayth, that wyl never be! She is blynde of that one eye, Her bones are unbayne". Line 300 The smyth sayd: "Lo! she is here, The swete dame that the bere: She is lovesome of chere, Wythouten any layne". "Art thou my mother?" sayd she. Line 305 "Ye", sayd she, "truely".

Than sayd she: "Benedicite! Who hath made the thus?" Anone to her gan she say: "I was made thus to-daye Line 310 Wyth one that came by the waye, Men call hys name Jesus". "Now truely, than, sayd she, He hath amended well thy ble; For yesterday, so mote I the, Line 315 Thou were a foule sose". "Dame, sayd the smyth tho, I can make the yonge so, [C. yonde st. yonge.] Had I a fyre brennynge blo. But now thou must helpe us". Line 320 Than the smyth at a brayed A quarter of coles on he layed: "Let us blowe nowe, he sayed, Tyl all be on glede! And thou shalt se, dame, in hy Line 325 A crafte for the maystry; Full fewe men can it but I, I tel the trouthe, indede". "Why, what wylt thou do with me?" "Dame, brenne the" sayd he. Line 330 "Nay, not so, sayd she, Chryst it forbede! To brenne me, were a shrewde game: Wottest not thou, knave, whome I am? Thefe, I am thyne owne dame! Line 335 Evyll mote thou spede! Traytour, and thou brenne me, Thou shalt be hanged on a tree. My malyson I gyve thee, Woldest thou me slo: Line 340 God let thee never eate brede, Woldest thou have thy dam dede. Touche me not, I thee rede, For bothe thyne eyen two! The fyrst tyme I thee see, Line 345 I wolde I had throtled thee, Now thou woldest brenne me And werke me thys wo! I tell thee, by sweete saynt John, Thou shalt have my malyson, Line 350 But thy hamer anone Thou cast thee fro. Moche wo hast thou wrought; I kept the when thou were nought, Fostred and forth the brought, Line 355 Full oft dyd I wake". [C. make st. wake.] "Dame, sayd the smyth, I trowe, Olde shrewe, it is for thy prowe That on thys wyse nowe Yonge I shall thee make. Line 360 Anone se that thou shall: Had I my hamer and mi mall, I wolde make the full tall And yonge, I undertake". He layed hande on her tho. Line 365 Than she spurned at hym so That hys shynnes bothe two In-sonder she there brake. Than the smyth began to stare And sayd: "Dame, God gyve the care! Line 370 What aylest thee thus to fare? [aylest st. ayles.] I trowe thou art wode! Yonge ful soone I can make thee, And that anone thou shalt se; I am waxen now full crafty, Line 375 I tell thee, by the rode! Thou spendest now and mai not pay, Thou hast lyen full many a day By the wall, for sothe I thee say, And can do no good". Line 380 Full fast the fyre gan he blow, And sayd: "Be thou never so throw, I shal amende the sonne, I trow, Of bone and eke of bloud". She sayde: "Syr, by saynt Jhone, Line 385 Of thy mendyng kepe I none. Therfore let me alone And touche me no more!" "Yes, sayde he, that I mote. Come forthe, olde dote!" Line 390 She catched hym by the throte, That bloud out gan fare. As he drew her nere, She set her fote agaynst a spere, And sayd: "Thefe, wylt thou me dere? Line 395 God gyve the care!" He cast her on the smythes stocke, And than she hent hym by the locke

And gave hym many a great knocke, She spared not the bare. Line 400 Ever she sporned wyth her fote; In hande a hamer she gate And knocked hym above the pate: The bloud gan out-brast. And she carped at hym then, Line 405 "Strong thefe, she sayd, I shall the ken Thyne owne dame for to brenne!" She bette upon him fast. There she had welny Stryken out his one eye — Line 410 Though the smyth bygge be, Of her he was abasshed. Stefly on her fete she stode And smote on him as she were wode; The smyth ranne on reed blode, Line 415 All to-rent and rasshed. The smyth at a brayd Wolde her in the fyre have layd. "Nay, thefe, tho she sayd, Yet wyl I not come there. Line 420 "Helpe, some good man, sayd she, Thys thefe wyl brenne me!" Anone than full myghtely She caught hym by the heer; Of his lockes gan she pull Line 425 Many great handfull, Rent the skyn from the skull, The pan gan appeare. She sayd: "Thefe, lette me go! Wylt thou thy dame slo?" Line 430 Loude out cryed she tho, That many a man myght here. The smyth than in hast Water on the coles cast, The fyre he blewe full fast Line 435 And made it brenne full bryght. The smyth, angred wyth that, Cast her in the fyre flat; All-way fast gan she scrat At hym wyth all her myght. Line 440 Into the fyre he her thrast And sayd: "I holde thy wytte past. Olde shrowe, at the last Thou shalt be newe dyght". Whan he had smored her in the smok, Line 445 Out of the fyre he her toke: She had none eyen for to loke, For lost was her syght. He laide her on the stythe alonge And wyth an hamer he on throng, Line 450 That both her armes of spronge. Than waxed he unfayne, And sayd: "So ever eate I meate, Thou shalt have a better heate". Mo coles gan he gete, Line 455 To blowe he was full fayne. The fyre sparkeled and spronge, He cast on water sometymes amonge, And sayd: "Yet I hope to make the yonge, Wythout any layne". Line 460 Than he hent her up on hy And layed her on the stethy And hamered her strongely With strokes that were ungayne. Fast on her he layed, Line 465 "Waxe yong, dame!" he sayd. Than bothe her legges at a brayd Fell sone her fro. "What, evyll hayle! sayd he, Wylt not thou yonge be? Line 470 Speke now, let me se, And say ones bo!" Than he toke her by the heed And sayd: "Dame, art thou deed? Speke now in thys steed Line 475 And say ye or els nay! Though both thy legges be awai, Yet speke, pardy, thou may. Say on, dame, I the pray, Felest thou any wo? Line 480 Dame, I have lost on the Moche labour truely; Now and thou deed be, So fayre must me befall". Loud on her he can cry Line 485 And sayde: "Dame, speke on hye, Or by my trouth, truely Brenne thee up I shall. What? canst thou nothyng say? I holde thee deed by this day". Line 490

Line 490 Her arme anone he thrēw away Even agaynst the wall. And lyghtly his way he went than, After Jesu fast he ran, As he had ben a madde man, Line 495 And full fast kan hym call, And sayd: "For saynt charyte, Abyde nowe and speke wyth me! But thou me helpe, truely, My cares are full colde. Line 500 My owne dame I have slayne, I wolde have made her yonge agayne — All my laboure was in vayne, Her legges wolde not holde". Our lorde sayd verament: Line 505 "Hast thou thy dame brent?" He sayd: "Lorde, she is shent, But yf thou helpe wolde". Our lorde sayd: "Go we full yare. Yet I bad the longe eare Line 510 Of suche craft to beware And be not to bolde!" "A, good lorde, sayd he, I crye the hartely mercy; I wolde have wrought after the Line 515 And learned of thy lore". Sayd our lorde: "Go thy way! Now thou doest me pray, I shall helpe that I maye Her for to restore". Line 520 Anone as he her se, He blessed her full fayrely And bad her stande upon hy: Anone she rose up there. She semed younge and not olde, Line 525 Bryght as blossome her to beholde, Fayrer by a thosand folde Than she was before; She was whyte as a bone of whale, Bryghter then berall. Line 530 Than to the earth gan she fall And thanked god intere. The smyth had good game And fetched forth hys beldame. Than they all thre in-same Line 535 Kneled there in-fere And helde up theyr hands on hy(ght) And thanked god wyth all theyr mygh(t) That he had them so dyght And mended theyr chere. Line 540 Our lorde sayd to the smyth tho: "Loke, thou brenne never mo! For this craft, I shal tel the, Can thou never lere. But here a poynt I gyve the: Line 545 The mayster shalt thou yet be Of all thy craft truely Wythout any delay; What man of craft soever be, And he have no helpe of the, Line 550 Thoughe he be never so sle, Warke not he may". Than our lorde forth went And bad the smyth take good tent That he no mo folke brent, Line 555 By nyght nor yet by day. Our lorde thus forth gan go And left them togyther so, And dyd many a mervayle mo In dyvers countreis. Line 560 He made many a croked ryght And gave blynd men agayne theyr syght, Dead men throughe hys myght He raysed full sone agayne, Leprous made he clere, Line 565 Defe men for to here, And other sycknesses in fere He heled them certayne: All sycke men that to hym sought And to hym that were brought, Line 570 And loved lely in theyr thought, [l. leved?] And were losed of theyr payne. Pray we all to hym thys That suche a lordy is: That he brynge us to blys Line 575 That never shall mys. Amen. Thus endeth the game How the smyth brent hys dame And after made her agayne By our blessed lord. Line 580

Finis.

Imprented at London in Lothburi, ouer agaynst Sainct Margarites church, by me Wyllyam Copland.