The Thornton romances. The early English metrical romances of Perceval, Isumbras, Eglamour, and Degrevant. Selected from manuscripts at Lincoln and Cambridge. / Ed. by James Orchard Halliwell.

THE ROMANCE OF SIR PERCEVAL OF GALLES.

Here bygynnes the Romance off Syr Perecyvelle [f. 161.] of Gales.

I.

Lef, lythes to me Two wordes or thre Off one that was faire and fre, And felle in his fighte; His righte name was Percyvelle, [ 5] He was fosterde in the felle, He dranke water of the welle, And ȝitt was he wyghte! His fadir was a noble-mane, Fro the tyme that he begane, [ 10] Miche wirchippe he wane, Whenne he was made knyghte; In kyng Arthures haulle Beste by-luffede of alle,

Percyvelle thay gane hym calle, [ 15] Who so redis ryghte.

II.

Who that righte cane rede, He was doughty of dede, A styffe body one a stede Wapynes to welde; [ 20] Thare-fore kyng Arthoure Dide hym mekille honoure, He gaffe hym his syster Acheflour, To have and to holde; Fro thethyne tille his lyves ende, [ 25] With brode londes to spende, For he the knyght wele kende, He bytaughte hir to welde; With grete gyftes to fulfille, He gaffe his sister hym tille, [ 30] To the knyght at ther bothers wille, With robes in folde.

III.

He gaffe hym robes in folde, Brode londes in wolde, Mony mobles untolde, [ 35] His syster to take; To the kirke the knyghte ȝode For to wedde that frely fode, For the gyftes that ware gude, And for hir ownne sake; [ 40]

Sythene, withowttene any bade, A grete brydale thay made, For hir sake that hym hade Chosene to hir make; And after, withowttene any lett, [ 45] A grete justyng ther was sett, Off alle the kempes that he mett Wolde he none forsake.

IV.

Wolde he none forsake, The rede knyghte ne the blake, [ 50] Ne none that wolde to hym take With schafte ne with schelde; He dose als a noble knyghte, Wele haldes that he highte, Faste preves he his myghte, [ 55] Deres hym none elde. Sexty schaftes I say Syr Percyvelle brake that ilke day, And ever that riche lady lay One walle and byhelde; [ 60] Thofe the rede knyghte hade sworne, Oute of his sadille is he borne, And almoste his lyfe forlorne, And lygges in the felde.

V.

There he lygges in the felde, [ 65] Many mene one hym byhelde,

Thurgh his armour and his schelde Stoneyde that tyde. That arghede alle that ther ware, Bothe the lesse and the mare, [ 70] That noble Percyvelle so wele dare Syche dynttys habyde; Was ther nowthir more ne lasse Off alle those that ther was, That durste mete hym one the grasse, [ 75] Agaynes hyme to ryde; Thay gaffe syr Percyvelle the gree, Beste worthy was he, And hamewardez thanne rode he, And blythe was his bryde. [ 80]

VI.

And thofe the bryde blythe be That Percyvelle hase wone the gree, ȝete the rede knyghte es he Hurte of his honde; And therfore gyffes he a gyfte, [ 85] That if he ever covere myghte, Owthir by day or by nyghte, Inne felde for to stonde, That he scholde qwyte hym that dynt, That he of his handes hynte; [ 90] Salle never this travelle be tynt, Ne tolde in the londe, That Percyvelle in the felde [f. 162] Schulde hym schende thus undire schelde,

Bot it scholde agayne be ȝolden, [ 95] If that he were leveande!

VII.

Now than are thay leveande bathe, Was noȝte the rede knyghte so rathe For to wayte hym with skathe, Er ther the harmes felle; [ 100] Ne befelle ther no stryffe, Tille Percyvelle had in his lyffe A sone by his ȝonge wyffe, Aftir hym to duelle. Whenne the childe was borne, [ 105] He made calle it one the morne, Als his fadir highte byforne, ȝonge Percyvelle: The knyghte was fayne, a feste made For a knave childe that he hade, [ 110] And sythene, withowttene any bade, Offe justyngez thay telle!

VIII.

Now of justyngez thay telle; Thay sayne that syr Percyvelle, That he wille in the felde duelle, [ 115] Als he hase are done. A grete justynge was ther sett Of alle the kempes that ther mett, For he wolde his sone were gette In the same wonne; [ 120]

Theroff the rede knyghte was blythe, Whenne he herde of that justynge kythe, And graythed hym armours ful swythe, And rode thedir riȝte sone: Agayne Percyvelle he rade [ 125] With schafte and with schelde brade, To holde his heste that he made Of maistres to mone.

IX.

Now of maistres to mone, Percyvelle hase wele done [ 130] For the love of his ȝonge sone, One the firste day. Ere the rede knyghte was bownne, Percyvelle hase borne downne Knyght, duke, erle, and baroune, [ 135] And vencusede the play! Right als he hade done this honour, So come the rede knyghte to the stowre, Bot "wo worthe wykkyde armour!" Percyvelle may say; [ 140] For ther was syr Percyvelle slayne, And the rede knyghte fayne, In herte is noȝte for to layne, Whenne he went one his way!

X.

Whenne he went one his way, [ 145] Durste ther no mane to hym say,

Nowther in erneste ne in play, To byd hym habyde; For he had slayne riȝte thare The beste body at thare ware, [ 150] Syr Percyvelle with woundez sare, And stonayed that tyde. And thanne thay couthe no better rede, Bot put hym in a prevee stede, Als that mene dose with the dede, [ 155] In erthe for to hyde. Scho that was his lady Mighte be fulle sary, That lorne hade siche a body, Hir aylede no pryde! [ 160]

XI.

And now is Percyvelle the wighte Slayne in batelle and in fyghte; And the lady hase gyffene a gyfte, Holde if scho may, That scho schalle nevermare wonne [ 165] In stede with hir ȝonge sonne, Ther dedez of armez schalle be donne, By nyghte ne be daye; Bot in the wodde schalle he be, Salle he nothyng see [ 170] Bot the leves of the tree, And the greves graye: Schalle he nowther take tent To justez ne to tournament,

Bot in the wilde wodde went [ 175] With bestez to playe.

XII.

With wilde bestez for to playe, Scho tuke hir leve and went hir waye, Bothe at barone and at raye, And went to the wodde. [ 180] Byhynde scho leved boure and haulle; A maydene scho tuke hir withalle, That scho myȝte appone calle, Whenne that hir nede stode: Other gudez wolde scho nonne nayte; [ 185] Bot with hir tuke a tryppe of gayte, With mylke of thame for to bayte To hir lyves fode; Off alle hir lordes faire gere Wolde scho noȝte with hir bere, [ 190] Bot a lyttille Scottes spere, Agayne hir sone ȝode.

XIII.

And whenne hir ȝong sone ȝode, Scho bade hym walke in the wodde, Tuke hym the Scottes spere gude [ 195] And gaffe hym in hande; "Swete modir," sayde he, "What manere of thyng may this bee, That ȝe nowe hafe takene mee? What calle ȝee this wande?" [ 200]

Thanne byspakke the lady, "Sone," scho sayde, "sekerly It es a dart doghty; In the wodde I it fande." The childe es payed of his parte, [ 205] His modir hase gyffene hym that darte, Therwith made he many marte In that wodde lande.

XIV.

Thus he welke in the lande With hys darte in his hande; [ 210] Under the wilde wodde wande He wexe and wele thrafe: He wolde schote with his spere Bestes and other gere, As many als he myghte bere; [ 215] He was a gude knave! Smalle birdes wolde he slo, Hertys, hyndez also; Broghte his moder of thoo, Thurte hir none crave; [ 220] So wele he lernede hym to schote, Ther was no beste that welke one fote, To fle fro hym was it no bote, Whenne that he wolde hym have.

XV.

Evene whenne he wolde hym have; [ 225] Thus he wexe and wele thrave,

And was reghte a gude knave With-in a fewe ȝere; Fyftene wynter and mare He duellede in those holtes hare, [ 230] Nowther nurture ne lare Scho wolde hym none lere: Tille it byfelle on a day, The lady tille hir sone ganne say, "Swete childe, I rede thou praye [ 235] To Goddez sone dere, That he wolde helpe the, Lorde, for his poustee, A gude mane for to bee, And longe to duelle here!" [ 240]

XVI.

"Swete moder," sayde he, "Whatkyns a Godd may that be, That ȝe nowe bydd mee That I schalle to pray?" Thenne byspakke the lady evene, [ 245] "It es the grete Godd of hevene, This worlde made he with-in sevene [f. 163] Appone the sexte d[a]y." "By grete Godd," sayde he thanne, "And I may mete with that manne, [ 250] With alle the crafte that I kanne Reghte so schalle I pray!" There he levede in a tayte Bothe his modir and his gayte,

The grete Godd for to layte, [ 255] Fynde hyme whenne he may.

XVII.

And as he welke in holtes hare, He sawe a gate as it ware, With thre knyghtis mett he thare Off Arthrus inne; [ 260] One was Ewayne fytz Asoure, Another was Gawayne with honour, And Kay the bolde baratour, And alle were of his kynne. In riche robes thay ryde; [ 265] The chylde hadd nothyng that tyde, That he myȝte inne his bones hyde, Bot a gaytes skynne; He was burely of body and therto riȝt brade, One ayther halfe a skynne he hade, [ 270] The hode was of the same made Juste to the chynne.

XVIII.

His hode was juste to his chynne, The flesche halfe tourned with-inne, The childes witt was fulle thynne [ 275] Whenne he scholde say oughte; Thay were clothede alle in grene, Siche hade he never sene, Wele he wened that thay had bene The Godd that he soghte! [ 280]

He said, "Wilke of ȝow alle three May the grete Godd bee, That my moder tolde mee That alle this werlde wroghte?" Bot thanne ansuerde syr Gawayne, [ 285] Faire and curtaisely agayne, "Sone, so Criste mote me sayne, For swilke are we noghte!"

XIX.

Thanne saide the fole one the filde, Was comene oute of the woddez wilde, [ 290] To Gawayne that was meke and mylde And softe of ansuare, "I salle sal ȝow alle three, Bot ȝe smertly now telle mee Whatkyns thyngez that ȝe bee, [ 295] Sene ȝe no Goddes are!" Thenne ansuerde syr Kay, "Who solde we thanne say That hade slayne us to day In this holtis hare?" [ 300] At Kayes wordes wexe he tene, Bot he a grete bukke had bene, Ne hadd he stonde thame bytwene, He hade hym slayne thare!

XX.

Bot thanne said Gawayne to Kay, [ 305] "Thi prowde wordes pares ay,

I scholde wynne this childe with play, And thou wolde holde the stille." "Swete sone," thanne said he, "We are knyghtis alle thre, [ 310] With kyng Arthoure duelle wee That hovyne es on hylle." Thenne said Percyvelle the lyghte, In gayte skynnes that was dyghte, "Wille kyng Arthoure make me knyghte, [ 315] And I come hym tille?" Thanne saide syr Gawayne riȝte thare, "I kane gyffe the nane ansuare, Bot to the kynge I rede thou fare To wete his awenne [wille]." [ 320]

XXI.

To wete thus the kynges wille, Thare thay hovene ȝitt stille, The childe hase takene hym tille For to wende hame. And als he welke in the wodde, [ 325] He sawe a fulle faire stode Offe coltes and of meres gude, Bot never one was tame; And sone said he, "Bi seyne John, Swilke thynges as are ȝone [ 330] Rade the knyghtes apone, Knewe I thaire name; Als ever mote I thryffe or thee, The moste of ȝone that I see

Smertly schalle bere mee [ 335] Tille I come to my dame!"

XXII.

He saide, "Whenne I come to my dame, And I fynde hir at hame, Scho wille telle the name Off this ilke thynge." [ 340] The moste mere he thare see Smertly over-rynnes he, And saide, "Thou salle bere me To morne to the kynge." Kepes he no sadille gere, [ 345] Bot stert up one the mere; Hamewarde scho gunne him bere Withowttene faylynge: The lady was never more sore bygone, Scho wiste never whare to wonne, [ 350] Whenne scho wiste hir ȝonge sonne Horse hame brynge!"

XXIII.

Scho saw hym horse hame brynge, Scho wiste wele by that thynge That the kynde wolde oute-sprynge, [ 355] For thynge that be moughte. Thanne als sone saide the lady, "That ever solde I sorowe dry For love of thi body, That I hafe dere boghte!" [ 360]

"Dere sone," saide scho [hym to], "Thou wirkeste th[ise]lfe mekille unroo, What wille thou with this mere do, That thou hase hame broghte?" Bot the boye was never so blythe, [ 365] Als whenne he herde the name kythe Of the stode-mere stythe, Of na thyng thanne he roghte!

XXIV.

Now he calles hir a mere, Als his moder dide ere; [ 370] He wened alle other horsez were, And hade bene callede soo. "Moder, at ȝonder hille hafe I bene, Thare hafe I thre knyghtes sene, And I hafe spokene with thame, I wene, [ 375] Wordes in throo; I have highte thame alle thre Before thaire kyng for to be, Siche one schalle he make me As is one of tho!" [ 380] He sware by grete Goddez myȝte, "I schalle holde that I hafe highte, Bot if the kyng make me knighte To morne I salle hym sloo!"

XXV.

Bot thanne by-spakke the lady, [ 385] That for hir sone was sary,

Hir thoghte wele that scho myȝt dy, And knelyde one hir kne; "Sone, thou has takyne thi rede To do thiselfe to the dede, [ 390] In everilke a strange stede Doo als I bydde the! To morne es forthirmaste ȝole day, And thou says thou wille away To make the knyghte if thou may, [ 395] Als thou tolde mee; Lyttille thou cane of nurtoure, Luke thou be of mesure [f. 164] Bothe in haulle and in boure, And fonde to be fre!" [ 400]

XXVI.

Than saide the lady so brighte, "There thou meteste with a knyghte, Do thi hode off, I highte, And haylse hym in hy!" "Swete moder," sayd he thenne, [ 405] "I saw never ȝit no menne; If I solde a knyghte kenne Telles me wharby." Scho schewede hym the menevaire, Scho had robes in payre, [ 410] "Sone, ther thou sees this fare In thaire hodes lye." "Bi grete God," sayd he, "Where that I a knyghte see,

Moder, as ȝe bidd me [ 415] Righte so schalle I!"

XXVII.

Alle that nyȝte tille it was day The childe by the modir lay, Tille on the morne he wolde away, For thyng that myȝte betyde. [ 420] Brydille hase he righte nane; Seese he no better wane, Bot a wythe hase he tane, And kenylles his stede. His moder gaffe hym a ryng, [ 425] And bad he solde agayne it bryng, "Sonne, this salle be oure takynnyng, For here I salle the byde." He tase the rynge and the spere, Stirttes up appone the mere, [ 430] Fro the moder that hym bere Forthe ganne he ryde!

Here is a Fytt of Percyvelle of Galles.

XXVIII.

One his way, as he ganne ryde, He fande an haulle ther besyde, He saide, "For oghte that may betyde, [ 435] Thedir inne wille I."

He went inne withowttene lett, He fande a brade borde sett, A bryghte fire wele bett Brynnande therby; [ 440] A mawnger ther he fande, Corne therin lyggande, Therto his mere he bande With the withy. He saide, "My modir bad me [ 445] That I solde of mesure bee, Halfe that I here see Stylle salle it ly."

XXIX.

The corne he pertis in two, Gaffe his mere the tone of thoo, [ 450] And to the borde ganne he goo Certayne that tyde. He fande a lofe of brede fyne, And a pychere with wyne, A mese of the kechyne, [ 455] A knyfe ther besyde; The mete ther that he fande He dalte it evene with his hande, Lefte the halfe lyggande A felawe to byde! [ 460] The tother halfe ete he; How myȝte he more of mesure be? Faste he fonded to be free, Thofe he were of no pryde.

XXX.

Thofe he were of no pryde, [ 465] Forthirmore ganne he glyde Tille a chambir ther besyde, Moo sellys to see; Riche clothes fande he sprede, A lady slepande on a bedde, [ 470] He said, "Forsothe, a tokyne to wedde Salle thou lefe with mee." Ther he kyste that swete thynge, Of hir fynger he tuke a rynge, His awenne modir takynnynge [ 475] He lefte with that fre. He went forthe to his mere, Tuke with hym his schorte spere, Lepe one lofte as he was ere, His way rydes he. [ 480]

XXXI.

Now on his way rydes he, Moo selles to see; A knyghte wolde he nedis bee Withowttene any bade. He come ther the kyng was [ 485] Servede of the firste mese, To hym was the maste has That the childe hade; And thare made he no lett At ȝate, dore ne wykett, [ 490]

Bot in graythely he gett, Syche maistres he made! At his first in comynge, His mere withowttene faylynge Kyste the forhevede of the kynge, [ 495] So nerehande he rade!

XXXII.

The kyng had ferly thaa, And up his hande ganne he taa, And putt it forthir hym fraa The mouthe of the mere. [ 500] He saide, "Faire childe and free, Stonde stille besyde mee, And telle me wythene that thou bee, And what thou wille here." Thanne saide the fole of the filde, [ 505] "I ame myne awnne modirs childe Comene fro the woddez wylde Tille Arthure the dere; ȝisterday saw I knyghtis three, Siche one salle thou make mee [ 510] On this mere by-for the, Thi mete or thou schere!"

XXXIII.

Bot thanne spak syr Gawayne, Was the kynges trenchepayne, Said, "Forsothe, is noȝte to layne, [ 515] I ame one of thaa;

Childe, hafe thou my blyssyng For thi feres folowynge, Here hase thou fondene the kynge, That kane the knyghte maa!" [ 520] Thanne sayde Percyvelle the free, "And this Arthure the kyng bee, Luke he a knyghte make mee, I rede at it be swaa!" Thofe he unborely were dyghte, [ 525] He sware by mekille Goddes myȝte, "Bot if the kyng make me knyghte, I salle hym here slaa!"

XXXIV.

Alle that ther werene, olde and ȝynge, Haddene ferly of the kyng, [ 530] That he wolde suffre siche a thyng Of that foulle wyghte. On horse hovande hym by, The kyng byholdez hym one hy; Thanne wexe he sone sory, [ 535] Whenne he sawe that syghte! The teres oute of his eghne glade, Never one another habade, "Allas!" he sayde, "that I was made Be day or by nyghte! [ 540] One lyve I scholde after hym bee, [f. 165] That methynke lyke the, Thou arte so semely to see, And thou were wele dighte!"

XXXV.

He saide, "and thou were wele dighte, [ 545] Thou were lyke to a knyghte That I lovede with alle my myghte, Whilles he was one lyve; So wele wroghte he my wille In alle manere of skille, [ 550] I gaffe my syster hym tille For to be his wyfe; He es moste in my mane, Fiftene ȝere es it gane Sene a theffe hade hym slane [ 555] Abowte a littille stryffe! Sythene hafe I ever bene his fo, For to wayte hym with wo, Bot I myȝte hym never slo, His craftes are so ryfe!" [ 560]

XXXVI.

He sayse, "his craftes are so ryfe, Ther is no mane apone lyfe, With swerde, spere, ne with knyfe, May stroye hym allane, But if it were syr Percyvelle sone; [ 565] Who so wiste where he ware done, The bokes says that he mone Venge his fader bane." The childe thoghte he longe bade That he ne ware a knyghte made, [ 570]

For he wiste never that he hade A fader to be slayne; The lesse was his menynge, He saide sone to the kynge, "Syr, late be thi jangleynge, [ 575] Of this kepe I nane!"

XXXVII.

He sais, "I kepe not to stande With thi jangleyns to lange, Make me knyghte with thi hande, If it salle be donne!" [ 580] Thanne the kyng hym hendly highte That he schold dub hym to knyghte, With thi that he wolde doune lyghte And ete with hym at none. The kyng biholdez the vesage free, [ 585] And evermore trowed hee That the childe scholde bee Syr Percyvelle sonne: It ranne in the kynges mode, His syster Acheflour the gude, [ 590] How scho went in to the wodde With hym for to wonne.

XXXVIII.

The childe hadde wonnede in the wodde, He knewe nother evylle ne gude, The kynge hym-selfe understode [ 595] He was a wilde manne;

So faire he spakke hym withalle, He lyghtes doune in the haulle, Bonde his mere amonge thame alle, And to the borde wanne! [ 600] Bot are he myghte bygynne To the mete for to wynne, So commes the rede knyghte inne Emangez thame righte thanne, Prekande one a rede stede, [ 605] Blode rede was his wede, He made thame gammene fulle gnede, With craftez that he canne.

XXXIX.

With his craftez ganne he calle, And callede thame recrayhandes alle, [ 610] Kynge, knyghtes in-with walle, At the bordes ther thay bade; Fulle felly the coupe he fett Before the kynge that was sett, Ther was no mane that durste hym lett, [ 615] Thofe that he ware fadde. The couppe was filled fulle of wyne, He dranke of that that was ther-inne: Alle of rede golde fyne Was the couppe made; [ 620] He tuke it up in his hande The coupe that he there fande, And lefte thame alle sittande, And fro thame he rade!

XL.

Now fro thame he rade, [ 625] Als he says that this made; The sorowe that the kynge hade Mighte no tonge telle. "A! dere God," said the kyng thanne, "That alle this wyde werlde wanne, [ 630] Whethir I salle ever hafe that manne May make ȝone fende duelle; Fyve ȝeres hase he thus gane, And my coupes fro me tane, And my gude knyghte slayne, [ 635] Mene calde syr Percyvelle; Sythene takene hase he three, And ay awaye wille he bee, Or I may harnayse me In felde hym to felle!" [ 640]

XLI.

"Petir!" quod Percyvelle the ȝynge, "Hym thanne wille [I] downe dynge, And the coupe agayne brynge, And thou wille make me knyghte." "Als I am trewe kyng," said he, [ 645] "A knyghte salle I make the, For-thi thou wille brynge mee The coupe of golde bryghte!" Up ryses syr Arthoure,

Went to a chamboure [ 650] To feche doune armoure The childe in to dyghte; Bot are it was doune caste, Ere was Percyvelle paste, And on his way folowed faste [ 655] That he solde with fyghte.

XLII.

With his foo for to fighte; None other gates was he dighte Bot in thre gayt skynnes, righte A fole als he ware; [ 660] He cryed, "How, mane, on thi mere, Bryng agayne the kynges gere, Or with my dart I salle the fere, And make the unfere!" And after the rede knyghte he rade [ 665] Baldely, withowttene bade, Sayd, "A knyght I salle be made For some of thi gere!" He sware by mekille Goddez payne, "Bot if thou brynge the coupe agayne, [ 670] With my dart thou salle be slayne, And slongene of thi mere." The knyghte byhaldez hym in throo, Calde hym fole that was hys foo, For he named hyme soo [ 675] The stede that hym bere;

XLIII.

And for to see hyme with syghte, He putt his umbrere on highte, To byhalde how he was dyghte That so tille hym spake; [ 680] He sayde, "Come I to the, appert fole, I salle caste the in the pole, For alle the heghe days of ȝole, Als ane olde sakke!" Thanne sayd Percyvelle the free, [ 685] "Be I fole or whatte I bee, Now sone of that salle wee see Whose browes schalle blakke!" Of schottyng was the childe slee, At the knyghte lete he flee, [ 690] Smote hym in at the eghe And oute at the nakke.

XLIV.

For the dynt that he tuke, Oute of sadille he schoke, Who so the sothe wille luke, [ 695] And ther was he slayne. He falles downe one the hille, [f. 166] His stede rynnes whare he wille: Thanne saide Percyvelle hyme tille, "Thou art a lethir swayne!" [ 700] Then saide the childe in that tyde, "And thou woldeste me here byde,

After thi mere scholde I ryde, And brynge hir agayne. Thenne myȝte we bothe with myȝte [ 705] Menskfully togedir fyghte, Ayther of us as he were a knyghte, Tille tyme the tone ware slayne."

XLV.

Now es the rede knyghte slayne, Lefte dede in the playne, [ 710] The childe gone his mere mayne After the stede; The stede was swifter than the mere, For he hade no-thynge to bere But his sadille and his gere, [ 715] Fro hym thofe he ȝede. The mere was bagged with fole, And hir-selfe a grete bole, For to rynne scho myȝte not thole Ne folowe hym no spede; [ 720] The childe saw that it was soo, And tille his fete he ganne hym too, The gates that he scholde goo Made he fulle gnede.

XLVI.

The gates made he fulle gnede, [ 725] In the waye ther he ȝede, With strenght tuke he the stede And broghte to the knyghte;

"Methynke," he sayde, "thou art fele, That thou ne wille away stele, [ 730] Now I houppe that thou wille dele Strokes appone hyghte! I hafe broghte to the thi mere, And mekille of thyne other gere, Lepe on hir as thou was ere, [ 735] And thou wille more fighte!" The knyghte lay stille in the stede, What sulde he say whenne he was dede? The childe couthe no better rede, But downe gunne he lyghte. [ 740]

XLVII.

Now es Percyvelle lyghte To unspoyle the rede knyghte, Bot he ne couthe never fynd righte The lacynge of his wede; He was armede so wele [ 745] In gude iryne and in stele, He couthe not gett of a dele For nonkyns nede. He sayd, "My moder bad me, Whenne my dart solde brokene be, [ 750] Owte of the irene brenne the tree, Now es me fyre gnede!" Now he getis hym flynt, His fyre-irene he hent, And thenne withowttene any stynt [ 755] He kyndilt a glede.

XLVIII.

Now he kyndils a glede, Amonge the buskes he ȝede, And gedirs fulle gude spede Wodde a fyre to make; [ 760] A grete fyre made he thanne, The rede knyghte in to brenne, For he ne couthe nott kenne His gere off to take. Be thanne was syr Gawayne dyght, [ 765] Folowede after the fyghte Betwene hym and the rede knyghte, For the childes sake. He fande the rede knyght lyggand, Slayne of Percyvelle hande, [ 770] Besyde a fyre brynnande Off byrke and of akke.

XLIX.

Ther brent of birke and of ake Gret brandes and blake,— "What wylt thou with this fyre make?" [ 775] Sayd Gawayne hym tille; "Peter!" quod Percyvelle thenne, "And I myghte hym thus kenne, Out of his irene I wolde hym brenne Righte here on this hille." [ 780]

Bot thenne sayd syr Gawayne, "The rede knyghte for thou has slayne, I salle unarme hym agayne, And thou wille holde the stille!" Thanne syr Gawayne doun lyghte, [ 785] Unlacede the rede knyghte, The childe in his armour dight At his awnne wille!

L.

Whenne he was dighte in his atire, He tase the knyghte bi the swire, [ 790] Keste hym reghte in the fyre The brandes to balde: Bot thenne said Percyvelle one bost, "Ly stille therin now and roste, I kepe nothynge of thi coste [ 795] Ne noghte of thi spalde." The knyghte lygges ther on brede, The childe es dighte in his wede, And lepe up apone his stede, Als hym-selfe wolde. [ 800] He luked doune to his fete, Saw his gere faire and mete, "For a knyghte I may be lete, And myghte be calde."

LI.

Thenne sayd syr Gawayne hym tille, [ 805] "Goo we faste fro this hille,

Thou hase done what thou wille, It neghes nere nyghte!" "What! trowesthou," quod Percyvelle theȝynge, "That I wille agayne brynge [ 810] Untille Arthoure the kynge The golde that es bryghte? Nay, so mote I thryfe or thee, I ame als grete a lorde als he, To day ne schalle he make me [ 815] None other gates knyghte! Take the coupe in thy hande, And mak thiselfe the presande, For I wille forthire in-to the lande Are I doune lyghte!" [ 820]

LII.

Nowther wolde he doune lyghte, Ne he wolde wende with the knyght, Bot rydes forthe alle the nyghte, So prowde was he thanne! Tille one the morne at forthe dayes, [ 825] He mett a wyche, as mene says; His horse and his harnays Couthe scho wele kenne. Scho wende that it hade bene The rede knyghte that scho hade sene, [ 830] Was wount in those armes to bene To gerre the stede rynne.

In haste scho come hym agayne, Sayde, "It is not to layne, Mene tolde me that thou was slayne [ 835] With Arthours mene!

LIII.

"Ther come one of my mene, Tille ȝonder hille he gane me kenne, There thou sees the fyre brene, And sayde that thou was thare." [ 840] Ever satt Percyvelle stone stille, And spakke nothynge hir tille, Tille scho hade sayde alle hir wille, And spakke lesse ne mare. "At ȝondere hille hafe I bene, [ 845] Nothynge hafe I there sene [f. 167] Bot gayte skynnes I wene, Siche ille farande fare." "Mi sone, and thou ware thare slayne, And thyne armes of drawene, [ 850] I couthe hele the agayne Als wele als thou was are!"

LIV.

Than wist Percyvelle by thatt, It servede hym of somwhatt The wylde fyre that he gatt, [ 855] Whenne the knyghte was slayne;

And righte so wolde he thare That the olde wiche ware, Oppone his spere he hir bare To the fyre agayne; [ 860] In ille wrethe and in grete He keste the wiche in the hete, He sayde, "Ly stille and swete Bi thi sone, that lyther swayne!" Thus he leves thayme twoo, [ 865] And one his gates gane he goo; Siche dedis to do moo Was the childe fayne.

LV.

Als he come by a wodd syde, He sawe tene mene ryde, [ 870] He said, "For oughte that may betyde, To thame wille I me." Whenne those tene saw hym thare, Thay wende the rede knyghte it ware, That wolde thame alle for-fare, [ 875] And faste gane thay flee; For he was so gates cledde, Alle belyffe fro hym thay fledde, And ever the faster that thay spedde The swiftlyere sewed hee, [ 880] Tille he was warre of a knyghte, And of the menevaire he had syght, He put up his umbrere one hight, And said, "Syr, God luke thee!"

LVI.

The childe sayde, "God luke the!" [ 885] The knyght said, "Now wele the be! A! lorde Godd, now wele is mee, That ever was I made!" For by the vesage hym thoghte The rede knyȝte was it noȝte, [ 890] That hade theme alle by-soughte, And baldely he bade; It semede wele bi the syghte That he had slayne the rede knyȝt, In his armes was he dighte [ 895] And one his stede rade. Sone sayde the knyghte tho, And thankede the childe fulle thro, "Thou hase slayne the moste foo That ever ȝitt I hade!" [ 900]

LVII.

Thenne sayde Percyvelle the free, "Wherefore fledde ȝee Lange are, whenne ȝe sawe mee Come rydande ȝow by?" Bot thanne spake the olde knyghte, [ 905] That was paste out of myghte With any mane for to fyghte, He ansuerde in hy; He sayde, "Theis childrene nyne, Alle are thay sonnes myne, [ 910]

For ferde or I solde thame tyne, Therfore fledd I. We wende wele that it had bene The rede knyȝte that we hade sene; He walde hafe slayne us by-dene [ 915] With-owttene mercy.

LVIII.

"Withowttene any mercy He wolde hafe slayne us in hy; To my sonnes he hade envy Moste of any menne. [ 920] Fiftene ȝeres es it gane Syne he my brodire hade slane, Now hadde the theefe undirtane To sla us alle thenne; He was ferde lesse my sonnes sold hym slo, [ 925] Whenne thay ware eldare and moo, And that thay solde take hym for thaire foo, Where thay myȝte hym kenne; Hade I bene in the stede Ther he was done to the dede, [ 930] I solde never hafe etyne brede Are I hade sene hym brenne!"

LIX.

"Petir!" quod Percyvelle, "he es brende, I haffe spedde better thanne I wend." Ever at the laste ende [ 935] The blythere wexe the knyghte!

By his haulle thaire gates felle, And ȝerne he prayed Percyvelle That he solde ther with hym duelle, And be ther alle that nyghte. [ 940] Fulle wele he couthe a geste calle, He broghte the childe in-to the haulle, So faire he spake hym with-alle That he es doune lyghte; His stede es in stable sett, [ 945] And hymselfe to the haulle fett, And thanne, withowttene any lett, To the mette thay thame dighte.

LX.

Mete and drynke was ther dighte, And mene to serve thame fulle ryghte, [ 950] The childe that come with the knyghte Enoghe ther he fande; At the mete as thay beste satte, Come the portere fro the ȝate, Saide a mane was theratte [ 955] Of the Maydene-lande; Saide, "Syr, he prayes the Off mete and drynke for charyté, For a messagere es he, And may nott lange stande." [ 960] The knyght badde late hym inne, For he sayde, "It es no synne, The mane that may the mete wynne To gyffe the travellande."

LXI.

Now the travellande mane [ 965] The portere lete in thane, He haylsede the knyghte as he cane, Als he satt on dese; The knyghte askede hym thare, Whase mane that he ware, [ 970] And how ferre that he walde so fare, Withowttene any lese. He saide, "I come fro the lady Lufamour, That sendes me to kyng Arthoure, And prayes hym, for his honoure, [ 975] Hir sorowes for to sesse; Up-resyne es a sowdane, Alle hir landes hase he tane, So by-seges he that womane That scho may hafe no pese." [ 980]

LXII.

He sayse that scho may have no pese, "The lady, for hir fayrenes, And for hir mekille reches, He wirkes hir fulle woo; He dose hir sorow alle hir sythe, [ 985] And alle he slaes doune rythe; He wolde have hir to wyfe, And scho wille noȝte soo. Now hase that ilke sowdane Hir fadir and hir eme slane, [ 990]

And hir brethir ilkane, [f. 168] And is hir moste foo; So nere he hase hir now soughte, That tille a castelle es scho broghte, And fro the walles wille he noghte [ 995] Ere that he may hir too.

LXIII.

"The sowdane sayse he wille her ta; The lady wille hir-selfe sla, Are he that es hir maste fa Solde wedde hir to wyfe! [ 1000] Now es the sowdane so wyghte, Alle he slaes doune ryghte, Ther may no mane with hym fyghte, Bot he were kempe ryfe." Thane sayde Percyvelle, "I the praye [ 1005] That thou wolde teche me the waye Thedir als the gates laye, Withowttene any stryfe; Mighte I mete with that sowdane, That so dose to that womane, [ 1010] Al-sone he solde be slane, And I myȝte hafe the lyfe!"

LXIV.

The messangere prayed hym mare That he wolde duelle stille thare, "For I wille to the kynge fare [ 1015] Myne erandez for to say."

"For thenne mekille sorowe me betyde, And I lenger here habyde, Bot ryghte now wille I ryde Als so faste als I may!" [ 1020] [T]he knyghte herde hym say so, ȝerne he prayes hyme to-too His nyne sonnes with hym to goo; He nykkes hyme with nay. Bot so faire spekes he, [ 1025] That he takes of thame three In his felawchipe to be, The blythere were thay!

LXV.

Thay ware blythe of ther bade, Busked thame and forthe rade, [ 1030] Mekille myrthes thay made, Bot lyttille it amende; He was paste bot a while The montenance of a myle, He was by-thoghte of a gyle, [ 1035] Wele werse thane thay wende. Thofe thay ware of thaire fare fayne, Forthwarde was thaire cheftayne; Ever he sende one agayne At ilke a myle ende, [ 1040] Untille thay ware alle gane; Thane he rydes hym allane, Als he ware sprongene of a stane, Thare na mane hym kende.

LXVI.

For he walde none sold hym kene, [ 1045] Forthe rydez he thenne, Amangez uncouthe mene His maystrés to make. Now hase Percyvelle in throo Spokene with his emes twoo, [ 1050] Bot never one of thoo Took his knawlage: Now in his way es he sett, That may hym lede, withowttene lett, Thare he and the sowdane salle mete, [ 1055] His browes to blake. Late we Percyvelle the ȝynge Fare in Goddes blessynge, And untille Arthoure the kynge Wille we agayne take. [ 1060]

LXVII.

The gates agayne we wille tane, The kyng to Carebedd es gane, For mournynge es his maste mane, He syghes fulle sore. His wo es wansome to wreke, [ 1065] His hert es bownne for to breke, For he wend never to speke With Percyvelle no more. Als he was layde for to ly, Come the messangere on hy [ 1070]

With lettres fro the lady, And schewes thame righte thare. A fote myȝte the kyng noȝt stande, Bot rede thame thare lyggande, And sayde, "Of thyne erande [ 1075] Thou hase thyne answare."

LXVIII.

He sayde, "thou wote thyne ansuare, The mane that es seke and sare, He may fulle ille ferre fare In felde for to fyghte." [ 1080] The messangere made his mone, Saide, "Wo worthe wikkede wone! Why ne hade I tournede and gone Agayne with the knyghte?" "What knyghte es that," said the kyng, [ 1085] "That thou mase of thy menynge? In my londe wot I no lordyng Es worthy to be a knyghte." The messangere ansuerd agayne, "Wete ȝe his name es for to layne, [ 1090] The whethir I wolde hafe wetene fayne What the childe highte.

LXIX.

"Thus mekille gatt I of that knyght, His dame sonne he said he hight; One what maner that he was dight [ 1095] Now I salle ȝow telle:

He was wighte and worthly, His body bolde and borely, His armour bryghte and blody, Hade bene late in batelle: [ 1100] Blode rede was his stede, His aktone and his other wede, His cote of the same hede, That tille a knyghte felle." Thane comanded the kyng [ 1105] Horse and armes for to brynge,— "If I kane trow thi talkynge, That ilke was Percyvelle!"

LXX.

For the luffe of Percyvelle To horse and armes thay felle, [ 1110] Thay wolde no lengare ther duelle, To fare ware they fayne; Faste forthe gane thay fare, Thay were aferde fulle sare, Ere thay come whare he ware [ 1115] The childe wolde be slayne. The kyng tase with hym knyghtis thre, The ferthe wolde hym-selfe be; Now so faste rydes hee, May folowe hym no swayne. [ 1120] The kyng es now in his waye, Lete hym come whenne he maye, And I wille forthir in my playe To Percyvelle agayne.

LXXI.

Go we to Percyvelle agayne. [ 1125] The childe paste oute on the playne, Over more and mountayne, To the Maydene-lande; Tille agayne the evene tyde, Bolde bodys sawe he byde, [ 1130] Pavelouns mekille and unryde Aboute a cyté stonde; On-huntyng was the sowdane, He lefte mene many ane, Twenty score that wele kane, [ 1135] Be the ȝates ȝemande; And ellevene score one the nyghte, [f. 169] And tene one the daye lighte, Wele armyde at alle righte, With wapyns in hande. [ 1140]

LXXII.

With thaire wapyns in thaire hande, There wille thay fight ther thay stande, Sittande and lyggande Ellevene score of mene. In he rydes one a rase, [ 1145] Or that he wiste where he was, In-to the thikkeste of the prese Amanges thame thanne; And up stirt one that was bolde, By-gane his brydille to holde, [ 1150]

And askede whedire that he wolde Make his horse to rynne. He said, "I ame hedir come For to see a sowdane; In faythe righte sone he salle be slane, [ 1155] And I myghte hym kene!

LXXIII.

"If I hym oghte kene may, To morne, whenne it es lighte daye, Then salle we togedir playe With wapyns unryde." [ 1160] They herde that he had undirtane For to sle thaire sowdane; Thay felle aboute hym everilkane To make that bolde habyde. The childe sawe that he was fade, [ 1165] The body that his bridille hade, Evene over hym he rade In gate there bisyde: He stayred about hym with his spere, Many thurgh gane he bere; [ 1170] Ther was none that myȝt hym dere Percevelle that tyde.

LXXIV.

Tide in townne who wille telle, Folkes undir his fete felle, The bolde body Percevelle [ 1175] He sped thame to spille;

Hym thoghte no spede at his spere, Many thurgh gane he bere, Fonde folke in the here Feghtyng to fille; [ 1180] Fro that it was mydnyghte Tille it was evene at daye lighte, Were thay never so wilde ne wighte, He wroghte at his wille. Thus he dalt with his brande, [ 1185] There was none that myght hym stande Halfe a dynt of his hande, That he stroke tille!

LXXV.

Now he strykes for the nonys, Made the Sarazenes hede bones [ 1190] Hoppe, als dose hayle stones, Abowtte one the gres; Thus he dalt thame on rawe Tille the daye gunne dawe, He layd thaire lyves fulle law, [ 1195] Als many als there was. Whenne he hade slayne so many mene, He was so wery by thenne, I telle ȝow for certene He roghte wele the lesse [ 1200] Awther of lyfe or of dede, To-medis that he were in a stede, Thar he myghte riste hym in thede A stownde in sekirnes!

LXXVI.

Now fonde he no sekirnes, [ 1205] Bot under the walle ther he was A faire place he hym chese, And downe there he lighte. He laide hym doune in that tyde, His stede stode hym besyde, [ 1210] The fole was fayne for to byde, Was wery for the fyght. Tille one the morne that it was day, The wayte appone the walle lay, He sawe an uggly play [ 1215] In the place dighte: ȝitt was ther more ferly, Ther was no qwyk manne left therby; Thay called up the lady For to see that sighte. [ 1220]

LXXVII.

Now commes the lady to that sight, The lady Lufamour the brighte, Scho clambe up to the walle one hight Fulle faste to beholde; Hedes and helmys ther was, [ 1225] I telle ȝow withowttene lese, Many layde one the gresse, And many schelde brode; Grete ferly thaym thoghte Who that wondir had wroghte, [ 1230]

That had thame to dede broghte, That folke in the felde: And wold come none innermare, For to kythe what he ware, And wist the lady was thare [ 1235] Thaire warysonne to ȝelde.

LXXVIII.

Scho wold thaire warysone ȝelde; Fulle faste forthe thay bihelde, If thay myghte fynde in the felde Who hade done that dede: [ 1240] Thay luked undir thair hande, Sawe a mekille horse stande, A blody knyghte liggande By a rede stede. Then said the lady so brighte, [ 1245] "ȝondir ligges a knyghte That hase bene in the fighte, If I kane righte rede; Owthir es ȝone mane slane, Or he slepis hym allane, [ 1250] Or he in batelle es tane, For blody are his wede!"

LXXIX.

Scho says, "Blody are his wede, And so es his riche stede, Siche a knyght in this thede [ 1255] Saw I never nane;

What so he es and he maye ryse, He es large there he lyse, And wele made in alle wyse, Ther als mane salle be tane." [ 1260] Scho calde appone hir chaymbirlayne, Was called hende Hatlayne, The curtasye of Wawayne He weldis in wane; Scho badd hym wende and see, [ 1265] "ȝif yone mane one lyfe be, Bid hym com and speke with me, And pray hym als thou kane."

LXXX.

Now to pray hym als he kane Undir the wallis he wane, [ 1270] Warly wakend he that mane, The horse stode stille; Als it was tolde un-to me, He knelid downe one his kne, Hendely hailsed he that fre, [ 1275] And sone said hym tille,— "My lady, lele Lufamour, Habyddis the in hir chambour, Prayes the for thyne honour To come, ȝyf ȝe wille." [ 1280] So kyndly takes he that kyth, That up he rose and went hym wyth, The mane that was of myche pyth, Hir prayer to fulfille.

LXXXI.

Now hir prayer to fulfille [ 1285] He folowed the gentilmans wille, And so he went hir untille, Forthe to that lady. Fulle blythe was that birde brighte, Whenne scho sawe hym with syghte, [ 1290] For scho trowed that he was wighte, And askede hym in hy; At that fre gan scho frayne, [f. 170] Thoghe he were lefe for to layne, If he wiste who had thame slayne [ 1295] Thase folkes of envy. He sayd, "I soghte none of tho, I come the sowdane to slo, And thay ne wolde noghte late me go; Thaire lyfes there refte I!" [ 1300]

LXXXII.

He sayd, "Belyfe thay solde aby!" And Lufamour, that lele lady, Wist fulle wele ther-by The childe was fulle wighte. The birde was blythe of that bade, [ 1305] That scho siche an helpe hade, Agayne the sowdane was fade With alle for to fighte. Faste the lady hym byhelde, Scho thoght hym worthi to welde, [ 1310]

And he myghte wyne hir in felde With maystry and myghte. His stede thay in stabille set, And hymselfe to haulle was fet, And than, with-owttene any let, [ 1315] To dyne gunne thay dighte.

LXXXIII.

The childe was sett one the dese, And served with reches, I telle ȝow with-owttene lese, That gaynely was get; [ 1320] In a chayere of golde, Bi-fore the fayrest to byholde, The myldeste maydene one molde, At mete als scho satt; Scho made hym semblande so gude, [ 1325] Als thay felle to thaire fude, The maydene mengede his mode With myrthes at the mete: That for hir sake righte tha, Sone he gane undir-ta [ 1330] The sory sowdane to sla, Withowttene any lett.

LXXXIV.

He sayd, "Withowttene any lett, When the sowdane and I bene mett, A sadde stroke I salle one hym sett [ 1335] His pride for to spylle!"

Then said the lady so free, "Who that may his bon be, Salle hafe this kyngdome and me, To welde at his wille!" [ 1340] He ne hade dyned bot smalle, Whenne worde come in-to the haulle, That many mene with-alle Were hernyste one the hille; For tene thaire felawes were slayne, [ 1345] The cité hafe thay nere tane; The mene that were with-in the wane, The comone belle gunne knylle.

LXXXV.

Now knyllyne thay the comone belle. Worde come to Percevelle, [ 1350] And he wold there no lengere duelle, Bot lepe fro the dese; Siche wilde gerys hade he mo, Sayd, "Kinsmene, now I go, For alle ȝone salle I slo [ 1355] Longe are I sese!" Scho kiste hym withowttene lett, The helme one his hede scho sett; To the stabille fulle sone he gett, There his stede was. [ 1360] There were none with hym to fare; For no mane thenne wolde he spare, Rydis furthe withowttene mare Tille he come to the prese.

LXXXVI.

Whenne he come to the prese, [ 1365] He rydes inne one a rese, The folkes that by-fore hym was Thaire strenght hade thay tone: To kepe hym thane were thay ware, Thaire dynttis deris hym no mare, [ 1370] Thenne who so hade strekyne sare One a harde stone: Were thay wighte, were thay woke, Alle that he tille stroke, He made thaire bodies to roke, [ 1375] Was ther no better wone. I wote he sped hym so sone, That day by heghe none With alle that folke hade he done, One lefe lefte noghte one! [ 1380]

LXXXVII.

Whenne he had slayne alle tho, He loked forthir hyme fro, If he myghte fynde any mo With hym for to fyghte: And als that hardy bihelde, [ 1385] He sese ferre in the felde Fowre knyghtis undir schelde Come rydand fulle righte. One was kyng Arthour, Anothir Ewayne the floure, [ 1390]

The thirde Wawayne with honoure, And Kay the kene knyghte. Percevelle saide withowttene mare, "To ȝondir foure wille I fare, And if the sowdane be thare, [ 1395] I salle holde that I highte!"

LXXXVIII.

Now to holde that he hase highte, Agaynes thayme he rydis righte, And ay lay the lady brighte One the walle, and byhelde [ 1400] How many mene that he had slane, And sythene gane his stede mayne Foure kempys agayne, Forthir in the felde. Then was the lady fulle wo, [ 1405] Whenne scho sawe hym go Agaynes foure knyghtys tho, With schafte and with schelde. They were so mekyl and unryde, That wele wende scho that tyde, [ 1410] With bale thay solde gare hym byde, That was hir beste belde.

LXXXIX.

Thofe he were beste of hir belde, As that lady byhelde, He rydes forthe in the felde [ 1415] Evene thame agayne.

Then sayd Arthoure the kyng, "I se a bolde knyghte owt spryng, For to seke feghtyng Forthe wille he frayne; [ 1420] If he fare forthe to fighte, And we foure kempys agayne one knyght, Littille menske wold to us lighte, If he were sone slayne." They fore forthward right faste, [ 1425] And sone kevelles did thay caste, And evyr felle it to frayste Untille syr Wawayne.

XC.

Whenne it felle to syr Wawayne To ryde Percevelle agayne, [ 1430] Of that fare was he fayne, And fro thame he rade; Ever the nerre hym he drewe, Wele the better he hym knewe Horse and hernays of hewe, [ 1435] That the childe hade. "A! dere God," said Wawayne the fre, "How gates may this be, If I sle hym, or he me, That never ȝit was fade? [ 1440] And we are sister sones two, And aythir of us othir slo, He that lifes wille be fulle wo That ever was he made!"

XCI.

Now no maistrys he made, [ 1445] Syr Wawayne there als he rade, Bot hovyde stylle and habade, His concelle to ta. "Ane unwyse mane," he sayd, "am I, That puttis myselfe to siche a foly, [ 1450] Es there no mane so hardy That ne anothir es alswa? Thogfe Percevelle hase slayne the rede knyght, ȝitt may another be als wyghte, And in that gere be dyghte, [ 1455] And takene alle hym fra! If I suffire my sister sone, And anothir in his gere be done, And gete the maystry me appone, That wolde do me wa! [ 1460]

XCII.

"It wolde wirke me fulle wa, [f. 171] So mote I one erthe ga, It ne salle noghte be-tyde me swa, If I may righte rede; A schafte salle I one hym sett, [ 1465] And I salle fonde firste to hitt; Thenne salle I kene be my witt Who weldys that wede." No more carpys he that tyde, Bot sone to-gedyr gone thay ryde, [ 1470]

Mene that bolde were to byde, And styff appone stede; Thaire horse were stallworthe and strange, Thair scheldis were un-failande, Thaire speris brake to thaire hande, [ 1475] Als thame byhoved nede.

XCIII.

Now es brokene that are were hale, And thane by-gane Percevale For to telle one a tale, That one his tonge laye. [ 1480] He sayde, "Wyde whare hafe I gane, Siche anothir sowdane In faythe sawe I never nane, By nyghte ne by daye! I hafe slayne, and I the kene, [ 1485] Twenty score of thi mene, And of alle that I slewe thenne, Me-thoghte it bot a playe; Agayne that dynt that I hafe tane, For siche one aughte I never nane, [ 1490] Bot I qwyte two for ane, Forsothe and I maye!"

XCIV.

Then spake syr Wawayne, Certanely is noghte to layne, Of that fare was he fayne, [ 1495] In felde there thay fighte;

By the wordis so wylde At the fole one the felde, He wiste wele it was the childe, Percevelle the wighte! [ 1500] He sayse, "I ame no sowdane, Bot I am that ilke mane, That thi body bygane In armours to dighte; I giffe the prise to thi pyth, [ 1505] Unkyndely talked thou me with, My name es Wawayne in kythe, Who so redys righte."

XCV.

He sayse, "Who that wille rede the aryghte, My name es Wawayne the knyghte." [ 1510] And than thay sessene of thaire fighte, Als gude frendes scholde. He sayse, "Thynkes thou noghte whenne That thou woldes the knyghte brene, For thou ne couthe noghte kene [ 1515] To spoyle hym alle colde." Bot thenne was Percevelle the free Als blythe als he myghte be, For thenne wiste he wele that it was he, By takens that he tolde. [ 1520] He dide thenne, als he gane hym lere, Putt up hys umbrere, And kyste togedir with gud chere Those beryns so bolde.

XCVI.

Now kissede the beryns so bolde, [ 1525] Sythene talkede what thay wolde; Be thenne come Arthour the bolde, That there was knyghte and kyng, Als his cosyns hadd donne, Thankede God also sone, [ 1530] Off mekille myrthis thay mone At thaire metyng. Sythene, withowttene any bade, To the castelle thay rade With the childe that thay hade, [ 1535] Percevelle the ȝynge. The portere was redy thare, Lete the knyghtis in fare, A blythere lady thane . . . . [ 1540]

XCVII.

"Mi grete socour at thou here sende, Off my castelle me to diffende, Agayne the sowdane to wende, That es my moste foo." Theire stedis thay sett in the stalle; [ 1545] The kyng wendis to haulle, His knyghtis ȝode hym with-alle, Als kynde was to go: Thaire metis was redy, And ther-to went thay in hy, [ 1550]

The kyng and the lady, And knyghtis also.

XCVIII.

Wele welcomed scho the geste With riche metis of the beste, Drynkes of the derreste [ 1555] Dightede by-dene, Thay ete and dranke what thay wolde; Sythene talked and tolde Off othir estres fulle olde, The kyng and the qwene. [ 1560] At the firste by-gynnyng, Scho frayned Arthour the kyng Of childe Percevelle the ȝyng, What life he had in bene? Grete wondir had Lufamour [ 1565] He was so styffe in stour, And couthe so littille of nurtour, Als scho had there sene.

XCIX.

Scho had sene with the childe Nothyng bot werkes wylde, [ 1570] Thoghte grete ferly one filde Of that foly fare. Then said Arthour the kyng Of bold Percevelle techyng, Fro the firste bygynnyng, [ 1575] [Ti]lle that he come thare.

[Whenne that] his fadir was slayne, [Thenne his modi]r to the wode gane, . . . . . here hir allane, [In the holtis hare] [ 1580] Fully feftene ȝere To play hym with the wilde dere, Littille wonder it were Wilde if he ware!"

C.

When he had tolde this tale [ 1585] To that semely in sale, He hade wordis at wale To thame ilkane. The[n] said Percevelle the wighte, "ȝif I be noghte ȝitt knyghte, [ 1590] Thou salle halde that thou highte For to make me ane." Than saide the kyng fulle sone, "Ther salle other dedis be done, And thou salle wynne thi schone [ 1595] Appone the sowdane." Then said Percevelle the fre, "Als sone als I the sowdane see, Righte so salle it sone be, Als I hafe undirtane." [ 1600]

CI.

He says, "Als I hafe undirtane For to sla the sowdane,

So salle I wirke als I kanne That dede to bygynne." That day was ther no more dede [ 1605] With those worthily in wede, Bot buskede thame and to bedde ȝede, The more and the mynne; Tille one the morne erely Comes the sowdane with a cry, [ 1610] Fonde alle his folkes hym by Putt unto pyne! Sone asked he wha That so durste his mene sla, And wete hym one lyfe gaa, [ 1615] The maystry to wynne?

CII.

Now to wynne the maystry; To the castelle gane he cry If any were so hardy The maistry to wynne, [ 1620] "A man for ane, [f. 172] Thoghe he hadd alle his folke slane, Here salle he fynde Golrotherame To mete hym fulle ryghte; Appone siche a covenande, [ 1625] That ȝe hefe up ȝour hande, Who that may the better stande And more es of myghte, To bryng that other to the dede, Browke wele the londe on brede, [ 1630]

And hir that is so faire and rede, Lufamour the brighte!"

CIII.

Thenne the kyng Arthour, And the lady Lufamour, And alle that were in the towre, [ 1635] Graunted ther-with. Thay called Percevelle the wight, The kyng doubbed hym to knyghte; Thofe he couthe littille in sighte, The childe was of pith: [ 1640] He bad he solde be to prayse, Therto hende and curtayse, Syr Percevelle the Galayse Thay called hym in kythe! Kyng Arthour in Maydene-lande [ 1645] Dubbid hym knyghte with his hande, Bad hym ther he his fo fande, To gyff hym no grythe!

CIV.

Grith takes he nane; He rydes agayne the sowdane [ 1650] That highte Gollerotherame, That felle was in fighte. In the felde so brade No more carpynge thay made, Bot sone togedir thay rade [ 1655] Theire schaftes to righte!

Gollerotheram, thofe he welde wede, Percevelle bere hym fro his stede Two londis one brede, With maystry and myghte! [ 1660] At the erthe the sowdane lay, His stede gunne rynne away, Thane said Percevelle one play, "Thou haste that I the highte!"

CV.

He sayd, "I highte the a dynt, [ 1665] And now methynke thou hase it hynt, And I may als I hafe mynt, Thou schalt it never mende!" Appone the sowdane he duelled To the grownde ther he was felled, [ 1670] And to the erthe he hym helde With his speres ende: Fayne wolde he hafe hym slayne This uncely sowdane, Bot gate couthe he get nane, [ 1675] So ille was he kende! Thane thynkes the childe Of olde werkes fulle wylde, "Hade I a fire now in this filde, Righte here he solde be brende!" [ 1680]

CVI.

He said, "Righte here I solde the brene, And thou ne solde never more thenne

Fighte for no wymmane, So I solde the fere!" Thenne said Wawayne the knyghte, [ 1685] "Thou myghte and thou knewe righte, And thou woldes of thi stede lighte, Wynne hym one were." The childe was of gamene gnede, Now he thynkes one thede, [ 1690] "Lorde! whethir this be a stede, I wende had bene a mere!" In stede righte there he in stode, He ne wiste nother of evylle ne gude, Bot then chaunged his mode, [ 1695] And slaked his spere.

CVII.

Whenne his spere was up tane, Then gane this Gollerothiram, This ilke uncely sowdane, One his fete to gete. [ 1700] Than his swerde drawes he, Strykes at Percevelle the fre, The childe hadd no powsté His laykes to lett: The stede was his awnne wille, [ 1705] Saw the swerde come hym tille, Leppe up over an hille Fyve stryde mett: Als he sprent forby, The sowdane keste up a cry, [ 1710]

The childe wanne owt of study, That he was inne sett.

CVIII.

Now ther he was in sett; Owt of study he gett, And lightis downne withowttene lett, [ 1715] Agaynes hym to goo. He says, "Now hase thou taughte me How that I salle wirke with the." Than his swerde drawes he, And strake to hym thro: [ 1720] He hitt hym evene one the nekk-bane, Thurgh ventale and pesane, The hede of the sowdane He strykes the body fra! Then fulle wightly he ȝode [ 1725] To his stede there he stode; The milde maydene in mode Mirthe may scho ma!

CIX.

Many mirthes then he made, In-to the castelle he rade, [ 1730] And boldly he there habade With that maydene brighte; Fayne were thay ilkane That he had slane the sowdane, And wele wonne that wymmane [ 1735] With maystry and myghte!

Thay said Percevelle the ȝyng Was beste worthy to be kyng, For wele, withowttene lesyng, He helde that he highte. [ 1740] Ther was no more for to say, Bot sythene appone that other day, He weddys Lufamour the may, This Percevelle the wighte!

CX.

Now hase Percevelle the wight [ 1745] Wedded Lufamour the bright, And is a kyng fulle righte Of alle that lande brade. Thane kyng Arthour in hy Wolde no lengare ther ly, [ 1750] Toke lefe at the lady,— Fro thame than he rade; Left Percevelle the ȝyng Off alle that lande to be kyng, For he had with a ryng [ 1755] The maydene that it hade. Sythen, appone the tother day The kyng went on his way, The certane sothe als I say, Withowttene any bade. [ 1760]

CXI.

Now thane ȝong Percevelle habade In those borowes so brade,

For hir sake that he hade Wedd with a ryng. Wele weldede he that lande, [ 1765] Alle bewes to his honde, The folke that he byfore fonde Knewe hym for kyng. Thus he wonnes in that wone Tille that the twelmonthe was gone, [ 1770] With Lufamour his lemmane, He thoghte on no thyng: Now on his moder that was, How scho levyde with the gres, With moste drynke and lesse, [ 1775] In welles there thay spryng.

CXII.

Drynkes of welles ther thay spryng, [f. 173] And gresse etys withowt lesyng, Scho liffede with none othir thyng In the holtes hare. [ 1780] Tille it byfelle appone a day, Als he in his bedd lay, Tille hymselfe gunne he say, Syghande fulle sare, "The laste ȝole day that was, [ 1785] Wilde wayes I chese, My modir alle manles Leved I thare!" Thane righte sone saide he, "Blythe salle I never be, [ 1790]

Or I may my modir see, And wete how scho fare."

CXIII.

Now to wete how scho fare, The knyght busked hym ȝare, He wolde no lengare duelle thare [ 1795] For noghte that myghte bee; Up he rose in that haulle, Tuke his lefe at tham alle, Bot at grete and at smalle, Fro thaym wendis he. [ 1800] Faire scho prayed hym evene thane, Lufamour his lemmane, Tille the heghe dayes of ȝole were gane With hir for to bee. Bot it served hir of nothyng: [ 1805] A preste he made forthe bryng Hym a messe for to syng, And aftir rode he.

CXIV.

Now fro thame gunne he ryde: Ther wiste no mane that tyde [ 1810] Whedirwarde he wolde ryde, His sorowes to amende; Forthe he rydes allone, Fro tham he wolde everichone, Mighte no mane with hym gone, [ 1815] No whedir he wolde lende.

Bot forthe thus rydes he ay, The certene sothe als I ȝow say, Tille he come at a way By a wode ende; [ 1820] Then herde he faste hym by, Als it were a womane cry, Scho prayed to mylde Mary Som socoure hir to sende.

CXV.

Scho sende hir socour fulle gude, [ 1825] Mary that es mylde of mode! As he come thurgh the wode A ferly he fande; A birde brighteste of ble Stode faste bondene tille a tre, [ 1830] I say it ȝow certanly, Bothe fote and hande. Sone askede he who, Whenne he sawe hir tho, That had served hir so, [ 1835] That lady in lande. Scho said, "Syr, the blake knyghte, Solde be my lorde with righte, He hase me thus gates dighte Here for to stande!" [ 1840]

CXVI.

Scho says, "Here mone I stande, For a faute that he fande,

That salle I warande Is my moste mone! Now to the I salle say, [ 1845] Appone my bedd I lay Appone the laste ȝole day, Twelve monethes es gone: Were he knyghte, were he kyng, He come one his playnge, [ 1850] With me he chaungede a ryng, The richeste of one! The body myght I noghte see, That made that chaungyng with me, Bot what that ever he be, [ 1855] The better hase he tone!"

CXVII.

Scho says, "The better hase he tane, Siche a vertue es in the stane, In alle this werlde wote I nane Siche stone in a rynge; [ 1860] A mane that had it in were, One his body for to bere, There scholde no dyntys hym dere, Ne to the dethe brynge." And then wiste syr Percevale [ 1865] Fulle wele by the ladys tale, That he had broghte hir in bale Thurgh his chaungyng. Thane also sone sayd he To that lady so fre, [ 1870]

"I salle the louse fro the tre, Als I ame trewe kyng!"

CXVIII.

He was bothe kyng and knyght; Wele he helde that he highte, He loused the lady so brighte, [ 1875] Stod bowne to the tre. Downe satt the lady, And ȝong Percevalle hir by, For-waked was he wery, Rist hym wolde he: [ 1880] He wende wele for to ryst, Bot it wolde nothyng laste; Als he lay althir-best His hede one hir kne, Scho putt on Percevelle wighte, [ 1885] Bad hym fle with alle his myghte, "For ȝonder comes the blake knyghte, Dede mone ȝe be!"

CXIX.

Scho sayd, "Dede mone ȝe be, I say ȝow, syr, certanly, [ 1890] ȝonder out comes he That wille us bothe sle!" The knyghte gane hir answere, "Tolde ȝe me noghte lang ere, Ther solde no dynttis me dere, [ 1895] Ne wirke me no woo?"

The helme on his hede he sett, Bot or he myght to his stede get, The blak knyght with hym mett His maistrys to mo. [ 1900] He sayd, "How! hase thou here Fondene now thi playfere? ȝe schalle haby it fulle dere Er that I hethene go!"

CXX.

He said, "Or I hethyn go [ 1905] I salle sle ȝow bothe two, And alle siche othir mo, Thaire warysone to ȝelde." Than sayd Percevelle the fre, "Now sone thane salle we see, [ 1910] Who that es worthy to bee Slayne in the felde!" No more speke thay that tyde, Bot sone togedir gane thay ryde, Als mene that wolde were habyde, [ 1915] With schafte and with schelde. Thane syr Percevelle the wight Bare downe the blake knyght; Thane was the lady so bright His best socour in telde. [ 1920]

CXXI.

Scho was the beste of his belde; Bot scho had there bene his schelde,

He had bene slayne in the felde Right certeyne in hy; Ever als Percevelle the kene [ 1925] Sold the knyghtis bane hafe bene, Ay went the lady by-twene, And cryed, "Mercy!" Than the lady he forbere, And made the blak knyghte to swere [ 1930] Of alle evylles that there were Forgiffe the lady: And Percevelle made the same othe, That he come never undir clothe To do that lady no lothe, [ 1935] That pendid to velany.

CXXII.

"I did hir never no velany; [f. 174] Bot slepande I saw hir ly, Than kist I that lady, I wille it never layne; [ 1940] I tok a ryng that I fande, I left hir, I undirstande, That salle I wele warande, Anothir ther agayne." Thofe it were for none other thyng, [ 1945] He swere by Jhesu hevene kyng, To wete withowttene lesyng, And here to be slayne! "And alle redy is the ryng, And thou wille myne agayne bryng, [ 1950]

Here wille I make the chaungyng, And of myne awnne be fayne!"

CXXIII.

He saise, "Of myne I wille be fayne." The blak knyghte ansuers agayne, Sayd, "For sothe it is noghte to layne, [ 1955] Thou come over late; Als sone als I the ryng fande, I toke it sone off hir hande, To the lorde of this lande I bare it one a gate; [ 1960] That gate with grefe hafe I gone, I bare it to a gude mone, The stalwortheste geant of one That any mane wate: Es it nowther knyghte ne kyng, [ 1965] That dorste aske hym that ryng, That he ne wolde hym downe dyng With harmes fulle hate!"

CXXIV.

"Be thay hate, be thay colde," Thane said Percevelle the bolde; [ 1970] For the tale that he tolde He wex alle tene! He said, "Heghe one galous mote he hyng, That to the here giffes any ryng, Bot thou myne agayne brynge, [ 1975] Thou haste awaye gevene;

And ȝif it may no nother be, Righte sone thane telle thou me The sothe whilke that es he, Thou knawes that es so kene! [ 1980] There es no more for to say, Bot late me wynne it, ȝif I may, For thou hase giffene thi part of bothe away, Thof thay had better bene."

CXXV.

He says, "Thofe thay had better bene." [ 1985] The knyghte ansuerde in tene, "Thou salle wele wete withowttene wene, Wiche that es he: If thou dare do als thou says, Sir Percevelle de Galays, [ 1990] In ȝone heghe palays Therinne solde he be! The riche ryng with that grym, The stone es bright and nothyng dym, For sothe ther salle thou fynd hym, [ 1995] I toke it fro me; Owthir with-in or with-owt, Or one his play ther abowte, Of the he giffes littille dowte, And that salle thou see!" [ 2000]

CXXVI.

He says, "That salle thou see, I say the fulle sekirly."

And than forthe rydis he Wondirly swythe. The geant stode in his holde, [ 2005] That had those londis in wolde, Saw Percevelle that was bolde, One his lande dryfe. He calde one his portere, "How gate may this fare? [ 2010] I se a bolde mane ȝare One my lande ryfe! Go reche me my playlome, And I salle go to hym sone; Hym were better hafe bene at Rome, [ 2015] So ever mote I thryfe!"

CXXVII.

Whethir he thryfe or he the, Ane iryne clobe takes he; Agayne Percevelle the fre He went than fulle right. [ 2020] The clobe wheyhed reghte wele, That a freke myght it fele, The hede was of harde stele, Twelve stone weghte! There was iryne in the wande, [ 2025] Ten stone of the lande, And one was by-hynde his hande, For holdyng was dight. Ther was thre and twenty in hale, Fulle evylle myght any mene smale, [ 2030]

That mene telles nowe in tale, With siche a lome fighte.

CXXVIII.

Now are thay bothe bowne, Mett one a more browne, A mile withowt any towne, [ 2035] Boldly with schelde. Thane saide the geant so wight, Als sone als he sawe the knyght, "Mahowne, loved be thi myght!" And Percevelle byhelde. [ 2040] "Art thou hym that," saide he thane, "That slew Gollerothirame? I had no brothir bot hym ane, Whenne he was of elde." Than said Percevelle the fre, [ 2045] "Thurgh grace of God so salle I the, And siche geantez as ȝe, Sle thaym in the felde!"

CXXIX.

Siche metyng was seldom sene, The dales dynned thaym by-twene, [ 2050] For dynttis that thay gaffe by-dene, Whenne thay so mett: The gyant with his clobe-lome Wolde hafe strekyne Percevelle sone, Bot he ther-under wightely come [ 2055] A stroke hym to sett.

The geant missede of his dynt, The clobe was harde as the flynt; Or he myght his staffe stynt, Or his strengh lett, [ 2060] The clobe in the erthe stode, To the midschafte it wode; Then Percevelle the gode, Hys swerde owt he get.

CXXX.

By then hys swerde owt he get, [ 2065] Strykes the geant withowttene lett, Merkes evene to his nekk, Reght evene there he stode; His honde he strykes hym fro, His lefte fote also, [ 2070] With siche dyntis as tho Nerre hym he ȝode. Then sayd Percevelle, "I undirstande Thou myghte with a lesse wande Hafe weledid better thi hande, [ 2075] And hafe done the some gode; Now bese it never for ane The clobe of the erthe tane, I telle thi gatis alle gane, Bi the gude rode!" [ 2080]

CXXXI.

He says, "By the gud rode! As evylle als thou ever ȝode,

Of thi fote thou getis no gode, Bot lepe if thou may!" The geant gan the clobe lefe, [ 2085] And to Percevelle a dynt he ȝefe In the nekk with his nefe, Sone neghede thay. At that dynt was he tene, He strikes off the hande als clene [ 2090] As ther hadde never none bene, That other was alwaye: Sythen his hede gane he off hafe; He was ane unhende knave A geant berde so to schafe, [ 2095] For sothe als I say!

CXXXII.

Now, for sothe als I say, [f. 175] He lete hym ly there he lay, And rydis forthe one his way To the heghe holde. [ 2100] The portare saw his lorde slayne, The kayes durste he noght layne, He come Percevelle agayne, The ȝatis he hym ȝolde. At the firste bygynnyng, [ 2105] He askede the portere of the ryng, If he wiste of it anythyng; And he hym than tolde. He taughte hym sone to the kiste, Ther he alle the golde wiste, [ 2110]

Bade hym take what hym liste Of that he hafe wolde.

CXXXIII.

Percevelle sayde hafe it he wolde, And schott owtt alle the golde; Righte there appone the faire molde [ 2115] The ryng owte glade. The portare stode besyde, Sawe the ryng owt glyde, Sayde ofte, "Wo worthe the tyde That ever was it made!" [ 2120] Percevelle answerde in hy, And asked where-fore and why He banned it so brothely, Bot if he cause hade? Thenne alsone said he, [ 2125] And sware by his lewté, "The cause salle I telle the, Withowttene any bade!"

CXXXIV.

He says, "Withowtten any bade, The knyghte that it here hade, [ 2130] Theroff a presande he made, And hedir he it broghte; Mi mayster tuke it in his hande, Ressayved faire that presande;

He was chefe lorde of this lande, [ 2135] Als man that mekille moghte! That tyme was here fast by Wonnede a lady, And hir wele and lely He luffede, als me thoghte; [ 2140] So it byfelle appone a day, Now the sothe als I salle say, Mi lorde went hym to play, And the lady bysoghte.

CXXXV.

"Now the lady byseches he [ 2145] That scho wolde his lemane be, Fast he frayned that free For any kyns aughte. At the firste bygynnyng, He wolde hafe gyffene hir the ryng, [ 2150] And whenne scho sawe the tokynyng, Thenne was scho unsaughte. Scho gret and cried in hir mone, Sayd, "Thefe, hase thou my sone slone, And the ryng fro hym tone [ 2155] That I hym bitaughte?" Hir clothes ther scho rafe hir fro, And to the wodd gane scho go; Thus es the lady so wo, And this is the draghte! [ 2160]

CXXXVI.

"For siche draghtis als this, Now es the lady wode i-wys, And wilde in the wodde scho es Ay sythene that ilke tyde: Fayne wolde I take that free, [ 2165] Bot alsone als scho sees me, Faste away dose scho flee, Wille scho noghte abyde!" Then sayde syr Percevelle, "I wille assaye fulle snelle [ 2170] To make that lady to duelle, Bot I wille noghte ryde: One my fote wille I ga That faire lady to ta; Me aughte to bryng hir of wa, [ 2175] I laye in hir syde!"

CXXXVII.

He sayse, "I laye in hir syde; I salle never one horse ryde Tille I hafe sene hir in tyde, Spede if I may! [ 2180] Ne none armoure that may be Salle come appone me, Tille I my modir may see Be nyghte or by day! Bot reghte in the same wode [ 2185] That I firste fro hir ȝode,

That salle be in my mode, Aftir myne other play; Ne I ne salle I never mare Come owt of ȝone holtis hare, [ 2190] Tille I wete how scho fare, For sothe als I saye.

CXXXVIII.

"Now for sothe als I say!" With that he helde one his way, And one the morne, whenne it was day, [ 2195] Forthe gonne he fare. His armour he leved therin, Toke one hym a gayt skynne, And to the wodde gane he wyne Among the holtis hare. [ 2200] A sevenyght long hase he soghte, His modir ne fyndis he noghte, Of mete ne drynke he ne roghte, So fulle he was of care! Tille the nynte day byfelle, [ 2205] That he come to a welle Ther he was wonte for to duelle, And drynk take hym thare.

CXXXIX.

When he had dronkene that tyde, Forthirmare gane he glyde, [ 2210]

Than was he warre hym besyde Of the lady so fre: Bot whenne scho sawe hym thare, Scho byganne for to dare, And sone gaffe hym answare, [ 2215] That brighte was of ble. Scho bigan to calle and cry, Sayd, "Siche a sone hade I!" His hert lightened in hy Blythe for to bee. [ 2220] Be that he come hir nere, That scho myght hym here, He said, "My modir fulle dere, Wele byde ȝe me!"

CXL.

Be that so nere getis he, [ 2225] That scho myghte nangatis fle, I say ȝow fulle certeynly Hir byhoved ther to byde; Scho stertis appone hym in tene, Wote ȝe wele withowttene wene, [ 2230] Had hir myghte so mekille bene, Scho had hym slayne that tyde: Bot his myghte was the mare, And up he toke his modir thare, One his bake he hir bare, [ 2235] Pure was his pryde. To the castelle, withowttene mare, The righte way gone he fare,

The portare was redy ȝare, And lete hym inne glyde. [ 2240]

CXLI.

In with his modir he glade, Als he sayse that it made; With siche clothes als thay hade, Thay happed hir forthy. The geant had a drynk wroghte, [ 2245] The portere sone it forthe broghte, For no mane was his thoghte, Bot for that lady; Thay wolde not lett long thone, Bot lavede in hir with a spone, [ 2250] Then scho one slepe felle also sone, Reght certeyne in hy. Thus the lady there lyes Thre nyghttis and thre dayes, And the portere alwayes [ 2255] Lay wakande hir by.

CXLII.

Thus the portare woke [by], [f. 176] Ther whills hir luffed s[icurly], Tille at the laste the lady Wakede, als I wene. [ 2260] Thenne scho was in hir awenne [wate], And als wele in hir gate, Als scho hadde nowthir arely ne late Never ther owte bene.

Thay sett thame downe one thaire kne, [ 2265] Thanked Godde alle three, That he wolde so appone thame see, As it was there sene. Sythene aftir gane thay ta A riche bathe for to ma, [ 2270] And made the lady in to ga, In graye and in grene.

CXLIII.

Thane syr Percevelle in hy Toke his modir hym by, I say ȝow than certenly, [ 2275] And home went hee; Grete lordes and the qwene Welcomed hym al-bydene, Whenne thay hym one lyfe sene, Than blythe myghte thay bee! [ 2280] Sythen he went into the Holy Londe, Wanne many cités fulle stronge, And there was he slayne, I undirstonde, Thus gatis endis hee. Now Jhesu Criste, hevens kyng, [ 2285] Als he es Lorde of alle thyng, Grante us alle his blyssyng! Amene for charyté!

Quod Robert Thorntone.

Explicit Syr Percevelle de Gales. Here endys the Romance of Syr Percevelle of Gales, cosyne to Kyng Arthoure.