Altenglische legenden.
Horstmann, Carl, ed. b. 1851., Barbour, John, d. 1395.
Page  [322]

II. The Tale of the Smyth and his Dame. Aus einem alten Drucke in der Bodleiana zu Oxford (4to, 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,
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,
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 —
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.
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,
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
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
His pryde should be layed. Page  323
As the smyth stode workynge,
To hym came our heaven kynge,
"Now he that made all thynge,
Spede the!" he sayde,
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,
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,
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,
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,
"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,
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,
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:
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.
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:
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,
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,
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."
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.]
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.]
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]

Page  324Thou shalte be made yonge agayne —
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."
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
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!
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,
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:
Lay hyr vpon the styth
Without ony more stryfe!"
The smyth toke hyr vp tyte.
Tho began she to byte]
. . . . .
. . . . .
. . . . .
"She shall be made at a brayd
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.]
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.]
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:]
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!
"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!"
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,
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.]
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.]Page  325
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:]
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,
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;
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.
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:
"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;
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,
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!
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!
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,
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
And bad her com on fast.
Anone she aunswered tho:
"Thou wotest I may not go,
Wherto cryest thou so?
Is thy wytte past?
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,
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,
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
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".
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.
"Ye", sayd she, "truely". Page  326
Than sayd she: "Benedicite!
Who hath made the thus?"
Anone to her gan she say:
"I was made thus to-daye
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,
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".
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
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.
"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!
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:
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,
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,
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,
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.
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.
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!
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,
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".
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,
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!"
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?
God gyve the care!"
He cast her on the smythes stocke,
And than she hent hym by the locke Page  327
And gave hym many a great knocke,
She spared not the bare.
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,
"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 —
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,
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.
"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
Many great handfull,
Rent the skyn from the skull,
The pan gan appeare.
She sayd: "Thefe, lette me go!
Wylt thou thy dame slo?"
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
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.
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,
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,
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,
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".
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,
"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?
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
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?
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
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". Page  328
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,
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.
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:
"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
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
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".
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,
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.
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
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.
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:
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,
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,
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.
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,
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,
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
That never shall mys. Amen.
Thus endeth the game
How the smyth brent hys dame
And after made her agayne
By our blessed lord.
Imprented at London in Lothburi, ouer agaynst Sainct Margarites church, by me Wyllyam Copland.